Dell's Devilish Writings

WHAT I CAN AND WILL WRITE

TROPES AND WHATNOT

Character x Character, Character x Reader

Platonic fics! (Friends, found family, etc.)

Romance, Angst, Fluff, and Crackfic/Jokefic

Yandere!Character and/or Yandere!Reader

Queer/Gay/Lesbian ships

Objectum (ykw? yell heah! kiss that computer or that car!)

Uh, anything, really!

PREFERED FANDOMS

Mewgenics/Time Fcuk/Tboi (My main fandoms!)

FNAF (Main games, Fan games + AUs)

Inscryption

Pizza Tower, Anton Blast, and Buster Jam/Boom Buster (rare, but I will write for them!)

THE MAYBE PILE

TROPES AND WHATNOT

Age gaps (AS LONG AS THEY ARE BOTH CONSENTING ADULTS.)

Dubcon (REALLY RARE)

Canon x OC (rare, but I will do it if requested)

FANDOMS

If there is a fandom not listed that I am familiar with, I will write for it. Any past fandoms I've written for, I will write again! But anything that I am unfamiliar with will be a solid maybe without promise of writing, depending on what it is.

HARD NO.

Anything that's just against basic decency and morals in general. No harmful paraphilias that could do damage to anyone. (No z00s, p3d0s, none of that!)

Anything discriminatory. Everybunny should feel welcome here. (no racism, transphobia, or homophobia)

Weird k1nkz, no sc4t, p1ss, or anything that nature

PROBLEMATIC FANDOMS. I'm talking Alfr3d's Playhouse, TCOAAL, stuff like that.

TAGS!!

Impish Writing / Fanfics

Impish Scribe / AU related

Tragedimp / Angst

Comedimp / Fluff

Romantimp / Romantic/Ship

Jestimp / Crackfic/Jokefic

Platonimp / Platonic

Familimp / Familial

Impish Scraps / Misc. Posts

Impish Brain Stew / Headcanon Posts

BEFORE YOU REQUEST!!

This is more so for the Mewgenics fans, since that's what I'm mostly writing for. Before y'all request, read THIS LIST of characters that I will/will not write for! I know that some of you may have certain characters you want to see fics of, but there are some characters that I simply refuse to write! Before you request, read through this list, and see where your character lands. If they land in the 'no' section, then sadly, I won't write them. It'd be better to look through a rules list before getting kicked from a public pool for something you didn't know was against the rules, after all!

And my account for my more... Interesting fanfics, is @hellthebelldell ! don't forget to drop a follow on my AO3 (DellTheHellBell) Have a lovely day, everybunny! and I hope you all will enjoy my writing!

That was when you saw it. Below your apartment, you saw a wanted poster stapled onto a wooden phone pole. Interesting. Grabbing your binoculars, your gaze meets the poster in full. A man, at least in his late twenties or early thirties, with mocha brown skin and hair as dark as night. His eyes looked cold, unfeeling, one had been pale and blinded while the other one was a striking scarlet that made your heart sink that had a scar running through it that spoke louder than any words or rumors could have. Even though it were merely a wanted poster, the visage of the man felt as if he were staring into your soul. Looking up from the image, you saw the name. Zodiac. No real name, only an alias.

Another look over at the poster, you freeze right on cue as the money for catching the criminal meets your eyes. Ten thousand dollars, dead or alive. That'd be more than enough to pay off rent for a couple of months! Determination radiates from your soul as you snuff your cigarette out on the windowsill and toss the bud into your ashtray, grabbing your bag of stuff and a pack of smokes, and prepare to catch this mysterious criminal. From what you could recall on the poster, it stated that his last known location was within the desert, just a few miles from the outskirts of Boon County. It'd be one hell of a case. You'd become famous! There goes [Name] [Lastname], the detective that caught the infamous Zodiac.

Beyond the horizon, Boon County is left forgotten temporarily. No more having to handle with back-alley scrap fights or petty theft... This was real. Something substantial! Something that could really get your name out there. A real crime, one that could get your name all throughout the Midwest of the states, your face all throughout the town, maybe even an autobiopic deal in the bustling city of Hollywood, if you got lucky enough! Amidst your thoughts, the sweltering heat of the desert soon meets your face. Rather hot, it was... You hadn't considered that. If you had knew how scorching the sun truly was, you would've dressed lighter. Instead, you simply took off your trench coat, your dress shirt decent enough to not make you pass out from a heat stroke, the sheer white fabric breathable within the arid biome of sand and outlaws.

Sand soon meets your shoes once you step out of the car. Clouds hung over the sky, not as dense as Boon County, but a plethora of them to make the majority of the azure sky a plume of white tufts. Light beams down as rays of sun dance amidst the openings within the sky, your hat being the only solace of shade that allowed you to see within the bright terrain of the desert. A few buildings were scattered about: not exactly a ghost town, but not as bustling as your previous endeavor in Boon County. Perfect. Seeing this Zodiac individual would be as easy as pie, even asking around would be far more helpful. So that was what you had done first. Ask around. Something that you had seldom done beforehand due to the dense population within the town before.

One of the buildings, a saloon, was fairly busy. A few people were in there, some placing bets on a game of blackjack, others were enjoying drinks and clamoring about their day to day lives within the lonesome desert town they have lived in. Simplistic things. What wasn't simplistic, however, was getting answers, for every time you even uttered Zodiac's name, the saloon went silent as people gasped and hid within whatever it was they were doing. Some fainted, others tensed up, but few even said anything. Those who did elaborate stated that Zodiac was a notorious killer, an outlaw that even uttering the name of was a death sentence for. At that information, you blood runs cold, but surely, this wasn't new to you. Far from it.

You've dealt with killers and murderers before, many of which were folks in town who had a goal in mind. Money from a will, revenge for something, or maybe they were hired to do so from an outside force. All of those were reasons someone could've been driven to murder. But with what you've heard about Zodiac, stories and whispered rumors that lingered in the bar, an omen that warned you of what was to come, it seemed that he did it all for fun. For the love of the game. That was the most mortifying thing about this. He had no motive, no money to go after, no revenge plot to act out, everything that he had done was on his own volition. Something then happened when you asked the saloon owner about his whereabouts, something that you could only interpret as a warning from fate itself...

BANG!!

From the entrance of the saloon, a gunshot goes off, just an inch shy of your head as the bullet makes an impression into the wood of the wall next to you. Speaking of bullets, you were sweating them, beads of salt-laced panic forming on your neck and palms as your eyes leer to the wall. You could've sworn you saw your life flash before your eyes at that! When your eyes rove over to the saloon's doorway, you're not met with anything. No figure, no looming shadow that was imposing, not a reaper of death that was staring you down. Silence blankets over the saloon, the entire establishment went dead for a split second. Yet, there was an underlying feeling within you. Dread. A suspicion that eyes lingered on you, ones that felt rather striking and harrowing.

Evidence. That's what you needed. A gunshot like that was deliberate, and you had an underlying suspicion on who could've caused that. You leave the saloon, now heading your way around the entirety of the small desert town, along with the outskirts. Nothing was there within the town, but you felt your stomach churn the further you go, something deep within you making you reconsider all of this. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. A murderer who killed for kicks scared the wits out of someone who was just as hard-boiled as you were, just hearing the stories and the rumors made your skin crawl. Seldom did you ever encounter someone who murdered for fun, and when you did, they were a monster to deal with.

However, while you stew in your thoughts, you felt your foot graze over something as a smell hit your nose. Odd. No new smells or textures came into play. When your eyes leer downwards, you felt sick to your stomach at the sight of what was beneath you. A body, one that had a gunshot wound between the eyes, still leaking the red ichor of lifeblood onto the scorching sand below. Within the pocket of the vest that the victim wore, you saw a piece of paper, peeking out. Curious. This could be a clue. Your hand reaches down, and with deft fingers, you open the paper. Scrawled writing meets your gaze as you notice that what was written was a cipher, one that you didn't immediately recognize. An issue, considering that this could've been crucial.

Footsteps. A sound that drags your attention all around the area, yet you are met with nothing. Eyes could be burnt into the back of your head, and your hands tremble with every passing second that breezes on past you. The note is stuffed into your pocket as your feet hit against the sand. Run. Each step was followed with a gunshot that was just shy of grazing your ankle or leg, anxiety pours through each patter of your shoe against coarse ground. Back into town you go! When you do make it back, the gunshots had stopped, yet that burning feeling of leering eyes had never parted from the back of your head. You had to find safety.

An inn was the best option. Inn, motel, tavern, anything along those lines would work. Lucky for you, there was an inn within the confines of the small desert town that you could hold residence in for the duration of the case. Perfect. You dash inside, the interior was well decorated with art and colors, shapes and other such silhouettes that were unique and flavorful. One explanation to the clerk and thirty dollars later, you managed to rent out a room for the next three days and three nights. Sanctuary had been brought to you the moment you stepped into the inn, and by God, was it nice. Cool air that hit your skin perfectly, a scent of linen that had hit your nose just right, and the pillow even had one of those complimentary chocolate mints on it as a little welcome gift.

Quickly, you pop the mint chocolate into your mouth as you pull out the note, looking at the cipher. Nothing pops up for a translation just yet, at least nothing immediate. Each hypothetical is shot down when the garbled mess is only translated into nonsensical jumbles of words, and soon enough, you're stumped. This cipher, it was new. Foreign. Whoever this 'Zodiac' was, you couldn't tell for the life of you, but you did know that they were far more calculating than the average person who had simply murdered for kicks. Ringing soon fills your ears as the phone screams out. A call? But from whom? When you reach for the phone, you're met with more questions than answers.

"Hello?" your eyebrow raised as you're met with silence.

Then, breathing. Heavy. Ragged. Followed by a low and rumbling Southern accent. "Hello. I'd like to report a murder. No... A double murder."

Immediately, your entire being freezes. Blood runs cold as beads of sweat trail from your neck and forehead, your knuckles growing white from how tightly you were holding onto the phone. You wanted to slam it back down onto the receiver. Call this mysterious person insane and deranged, scold them for wasting your time! Yet deep down within you, you felt this nagging feeling. One that wouldn't go away. This could very well be the killer, calling you of all people, taunting you. Your throat grows dry as your hands tremble, not long before one slams down onto the table. A scowl etches itself onto your face, not long before anger takes hold of you, just as boiling as the heated sun outside.

"Who the fuck is this?" Venom laced each word that grazed past your lips, your breath shaky and arid as you stood up. "I'll have you know I'm the best goddamn detective in all of Boon County. I can get you arrested in the blink of an eye," your eyes narrow as you attempt to keep composed, yet the death grip that fear has on you makes each sentence shake with a subtle, ragged breathing that you attempted to hide.

Another spine-chilling laugh rings out, cruel, taking enjoyment in the anxiety that dripped from every word you spoke. "I think you know damn well who I am, sugar. Cus' I already know who you are. Been watchin' ya ever since you waltzed into the desert, [Name]. And guess what? I won't stop huntin' ya down until you're mine... See ya real soon."

Click.

The drone of the steady disconnect tone hums. Oh, no. Phone soon meets receiver as you slam it down with little to no regard. Someone was after you, presumably the killer. Possibly to stop you before you could catch them in their tracks! Never before had you considered running away from a case, especially not one as high-grossing as this one! Rent was due, this case was worth ten thousand dollars, yet the anxiety of death looming over your shoulder was swaying you in the opposite direction of this whole ordeal: you could probably plant evidence in Boon County and earn money easier that way, but you wouldn't make as much, nor would it make you famous, since drug crimes were rampant in Boon County.

Two options were being weighed, but you had landed on the safer one. Better to leave with your blood on the inside and alive, rather than to die solving a case that the actual feds could handle. When you go to turn around, however, you stop at the sound of a click. Not that of the door, but one that sounded more mechanical. Cold metal kisses the back of your head, the barrel of a gun touching the skin beneath your hair. Time freezes as your blood runs frigid and your heart hammers within the miniscule space of your ribcage, your own heartbeat audible within your ears as your breathing hitched within the space of your throat. Looks like they weren't lying when they told you that they'd be seeing you soon.

"Don't. Move."

That voice. It registered at the drop of a hat: it was the same voice on the phone. All of the rumors and stories came back to the front of your mind, as recollections of how people described Zodiac's voice, a low and rumbling Southern accent. Just like the one on the phone. The one behind you. Frozen in place, you don't even consider moving. You don't even blink. A hand reaches to your shoulder, spinning you around so that you could now see the face of the infamous Zodiac. He looks just like his poster, the striking gaze of one good crimson eye, sleek hair that was as dark as the midnight abyss, a casual get up of his iconic hat, poncho, and jeans. His smile was striking, not reaching his eyes to the fullest, an undercurrent of mania within his gaze simply at the thought of killing you.

Not lowering the gun from your face, he tilts his head, that damn smirk almost perpetual when his eyes never let your own. "My, my... Yer' a lot more cute when face-to-face. Killin' ya would be a mighty regretful mistake I'd be makin'," Finally, the gun is holstered. Zodiac's hand trails from your shoulder to your cheek, wiping away a stray droplet of sweat and smearing the water along your flesh. "Tell ya what. If yer' willin' to come with me peacefully, then we ain't gonna have much trouble. Why, I bet we'd be better partners in crime than any other sharp-shootin' duo!"

What. The fuck. Was he asking you to work with him willingly?! Taking a closer look, you notice that his smile was more wide, now reaching his eyes. Mania had now been replaced with something far worse, an obsession you had seen only in one or two cases before. A gaze you had sworn you felt before. Burning into you. Realization dawns onto you: Zodiac had been watching you this whole time. Every note of eyes on you, the gunshots that had followed you from when you ran from that body, even that bullet that was shy of making your trip to the desert's saloon your last location, all of it had made sense now. Stalking. Deliberate, simple stalking, a case of some type of obsession or possessive nature.

It sickened you. The audacity that Zodiac had to propose such an idea. Ire brims within you as you lunge forward, fists flying as blood splattered on your knuckles, leaving your skin stained with scarlet ichor. Bullets fly from his revolver, but you duck and tumble out of the way of a good chunk of shots. Of course, one landed on your arm, a non-lethal spot that seared with ache and pain, but the adrenaline that shot through you was far more than any stinging sensation of suffering could do. While he was busy reloading, you tackle Zodiac to the ground, each pummel of your fists connecting with both his face and chest. Alas, the worst had came when he managed to knock you out, the hard metal of his gun connecting with the side of your head, plunging you into darkness.

Hours. Hours had melted together, you were unaware how long it had been up until you had woken up from your unexpected nap. Hell, a nap was putting it lightly. A throbbing pain radiated from your head, your arm was still in pain from the gunshot you had suffered during that fight. You sat up, one hand flying up to rub at the side of your head. Warm air hits your face once you look around: you were behind a type of plateau, in some kind of canyon opening of sorts, and it was already night time. The moon hung over the sky, as beams of silver light danced down into the canyon you were in. Just enough to see your immediate surroundings. Looking down, you noticed your arm, now bandaged up from the prior brawl you were in, the linen stained and streaked with crimson. Possibly the only courtesy you were given here.

From within your lungs, a sigh emits from within, condensed air that had went unreleased ever since you had risen from your unconsciousness. Great. Not only were you in an area of the desert you were unfamiliar with, but you had no food, water, nor did you know your way back into town. This might be your end if you weren't careful. Best bet was to stay in the canyon and wait for someone to mosey on by. You lean back, resting your back against the hard wall of natural rock behind you as your eyes rove over the scene around you, the stars connecting, freckles amidst the night sky as clouds waltzed among the midnight blue. Peace fills you as you look over to your left. Low and behold, Zodiac is standing right next to you, that smile still stuck on his face.

"What the f-?!" You scramble backwards, heart thrumming in your chest once you're met with the sight of Zodiac staring at you. Each breath shudders, hands trembling as pain languished throughout your body. Lurching up, you manage to stand on your feet once more, almost stumbling from how sudden the action was. "Alright, you bastard... What are your plans with me?!"

Zodiac lets out a low chuckle, his eyes roving over you as he takes out his revolver, not pointing it at you just yet, but spinning it in his hand. "Ain't it obvious, gumshoe? I like ya a whole lot. Not often is it that someone catches my attention in this place," The explanation doesn't help. He likes you? But in what way?! "The real question is, why'd ya decide to come after me? Most folks run at even just hearin' my name."

A sigh leaves you when he asked that. "Rent's due. I'm down on my luck and saw your wanted poster. Offered up ten grand for your capture, dead or alive," you explain, the truth sounding cold and distant. "Thought I could make it a quick three day excursion. Catch you, get back into Boon County, and make it out a far more famous detective, hired for every case. But hey, I should've expected the unexpected."

Silence waved over the both of you, the only sound that could be heard was the quiet ambiance of the desert itself. The explanation hung heavy. Three days and three nights this was meant to take, with you emerging unscathed and successful. But now? Hopes were shattered and dreams were sent asunder as you were faced with the very killer you had aimed to arrest, who had now turned the tables to you being stuck with him rather than him being stuck with you. Zodiac holds the gun in his hand, considering whether to holster it or not. That's when he gets an idea, pointing the gun at your head. Your hands shoot up in surrender as you felt your breath hitch, held within your throat as he soon speaks up once more.

"I got an idea, darlin'... One that'd benefit us both," The mania returns in his gaze, possessive and deranged in every sense of the word. Zodiac steps closer to you, his breath ample against your face as the smell of tobacco and whiskey meets your nose, scents you were familiar with yourself. Frigid steel pressed against your bosom, the gun no longer aimed at your face, but at your heart, a somewhat romantic statement within this dangerous scenario. "I let'cha arrest me so that yer' able to pay rent. After a few days, I break back out and meet up with ya again. Once I do, ya cover up my crimes... We'll be peas in a pod, a real team. And I'll make damn sure nobody ruins that fer' us, darlin'.~"

Your heart thrums at that wording. How he called you 'darling' in that low and rumbling drawl of his, the sheer lack of space between you, even the offer was too good to be true. Arrest him and get the money, he comes back and you cover his crimes. A simple favors-for-favors exchange betwixt the both of you, yet there was something far more intimate that you felt that could not be explained by any amount of wording. With how close you both were, that name he called you: if you didn't know better, you would've assumed he were flirting with you rather than attempting to coerce you into being his little crime buddy. Maybe he was flirting with you and you couldn't tell. After all, it was in you to read if people were lying, not attempting to flirt with you.

Defeat takes you as a sigh leaves you. Zodiac notices this and holds his hands out after holstering his gun, knowing that you were accepting of his deal. Once he's handcuffed, you both walk out of the canyon and he gives you the directions back into town. Everyone at the inn is shocked once they see that you had managed to capture Zodiac, planning on sending him away for his crimes, but deep down, you knew that you too were now a criminal. Packing your things and heading back to your car, both you and Zodiac get in as you drive off to Boon County, the deafening silence letting you drown in your thoughts. Working with a criminal... How uncouth. Sure, you've done some bad tings before, such as planting evidence, but that was because you were in a pickle and the case you were solving would've given you money for things, whether it was rent that was due or some kind of tab or debt you had to pay off.

Never did you consider covering up another person's crimes. Especially not that of the infamous Zodiac. Yet it seems like it were a burdening deal that would weigh down on you until the end of time, or at least until one of you bites the dust. Not optimal, far from it, but it'd be far from the last time you tampered with a crime scene to have your way. Road flies past, the scenery blending and changing as the sand transitioned into grass and concrete when you both migrate back into Boon County. Home sweet home, or in this case, home sweet hell. You park your car in front of the police station, leading Zodiac alongside you. Before you enter the building? He pecks a quick kiss onto the side of your face, just shy of your lips as his own met the corner of your mouth. Teasing prick.

Arrested, Zodiac doesn't really fight back, leaving the officers confused, but none of them seem too bothered. A criminal's arrest was a criminal's arrest. Ten thousand dollars is handed to you, plain and simple. More than enough to pay for the rent this month. Departure from the police station had felt empty and lonesome, yet there was a feeling of dread that loomed from within you, never fully leaving you. A parasite it was, having stuck to you when you enter your car and drive back to your apartment. The solace of your own apartment was too dead, the still hush feeling like an omen rather than a solace of peace. Pulling out a packet of cigarettes, you light one up, your mind still lingering on Zodiac.

That drawl in his words, how he had called you 'darling', even that kiss on the cheek he gave you before parting ways with you. All of it reverberated and looped in your mind, a record on spin that had refused to cease, tormenting you with the visage of the serial killer that you had sworn to capture, only to end up with in a deal. Sins started to weigh down on your shoulders as you snuff out your cigarette and light another one up, the smooth taste of tobacco rolling throughout your mouth and aerating when you exhale. Your nerves went mild, but not long before your heart clenched in your chest when your mind repeated Zodiac's low and sultry voice, a phantom of the very man you had just arrested. Even in the desolate lonesome of your apartment, he wouldn't shut the hell up.

Days pass, and soon a new month falls. November is met with rain, paid rent, and a lovely purchase of an elegant red wine to celebrate another case solved by you. If anything, it seemed like that your life had gone back to normal, despite that deal you made. Maybe the prison they had sent Zodiac to was far more complex than he anticipated. Well, either that or he died in there. Hey, that was life: you go to prison sometimes and end up dying in there, whether it was from disease, an infection on a wound, or being attacked by one of the other prisoners. You've seen it happen before. The cold night air bites at your face, your path lit up by the streetlights from lamps that emit a golden glow. However, you stop when you hear footsteps follow you.

Odd. Only time you were ever followed was by criminals who were planning to mug you. At least you carried a taser gun around, just in case you had to deal with the hypothetical of being held up in an alleyway. Buildings and the occasional person pass you by, yet nobody shows up to demand you for your wallet or other valuables that you had on your person. What may be considered a relief to some felt eerie to you, as you knew that you were being followed, yet the person following you refused to show themselves just yet. It was dangerous. A type of dangerous that you knew all too well. One that sent chills down your spine and made your heart swell in your chest with something that could only be described as a romantic sort of hope.

The scent of smoke hits you when you enter your apartment, faded cigarettes and alcohol enter your nose. Home sweet home. You place the wine bottle on your desk as you sat down in your chair, spinning about as you take your hat and coat off. No more cases for the week, since most of them were either petty thefts or drug crimes that had already been dealt with, either by you or the police. Now would be the perfect time to rest and relax. That was, if there weren't a knock at your door. Slow and methodical. Who could it be at this hour. Preoccupied, you didn't make it to open the door. It was unlocked, just in case there were a person in need of reporting a crime. You immediately stood up, not wanting to look as if you were being too leisurely.

"Door's unlocked!" You call out, popping open the bottle of wine and pouring it into a glass.

Creaking fills the room as the door groans, followed by footsteps and the jingling of spurs. No. No, that couldn't be right! It'd only been a couple of days! Escaping a prison or jail could take weeks, months, maybe even years! Yet it only took him a few days. Your body goes stiff, freezing up when the steps stop right behind you. An arm snakes around your waist, pulling you close to an emaciated frame only distinguished by a pot belly that protruded slightly, but the warm and arid breath on your neck that stunk of cigarettes and whiskey already alluded to who it was. That voice, you already who it was once it whispered in your ear, low and playful.

"Guess who, darlin'...~"

"Good uhh... Good morning, my lord," words slip from your lips with little grace. My lord? What were you, a serf? Whatever, he doesn't seem too bothered by that term.

The Destroyer looks at you, expression still hard to read. Damn it, was he just going to be hard to read and stoic the whole time? "A pleasant morning to you as well, [Name]," He didn't blink. The greeting felt far too formal for your liking, but you assumed you'd get used to it.

Right, you had to get ready for work. You stand from your bed, feet meeting with the ground as you start to do your usual schedule. A shower, change of clothes, and some coffee. No breakfast, though. The thought of eating something felt like a waste of good work ethic, plus you'd have to wait until whatever you had was fully digested before delving into cadavers. If anything, it'd be a lost cause. As you go over to the door that lead into the main mortuary part of the building, a firm paw rests on your shoulder, stopping you fresh in your tracks, Turning around, your gaze meets that of the Destroyer once more.

His eyebrows seem to furrow, just enough to show a bitter expression. "Aren't you forgetting something, [Name]?"

Silence washes over you as you blink. "No? Not that I know of, at least," denial comes first, as you crane your neck up to look at the Destroyer's face.

A twitch. His eyebrow twitched, giving away some semblance of emotion as he leans down, his face just a few inches from your own. He smells clean, unlike anything from this mortal plane of existence that you were on. Really good. A smell you never wanted to forget. Hell, his fur looked so soft. Would it be rude to just reach out and pet him? Maybe. It wouldn't be formal, but something that took form of a giant, anthropomorphic cat probably wouldn't mind a scratch behind the ear every once in a while, right? You could only hope, however, your thoughts were interrupted when the Destroyer speaks again, his voice holding a scolding lilt to it.

"You forgot to eat. Go make yourself something, you need sustenance, lest you'll collapse during work," his voice was firm as his paw leaves your shoulder. The Destroyer stands up, looking at you expectantly.

Within your lungs, a scoff exhumes itself out your lips and into the air. Your expression melts from confusion to mild contempt, annoyed at being reminded of needing to eat, how frivolous! "Eh, I'll be fine. Besides, I've got an autopsy today. If I eat, I'll end up getting nauseous once the procedure starts."

He scowls. Nothing comes from him, but his face said it all: don't say I didn't warn you. Finally, he's showing a semblance of emotion. Shaking your head, you put on your protective equipment piece by piece. Today's autopsy was on someone who had presumably died of a heart attack, no foul play was involved, but the loved ones of the person in question said they didn't know how something like that could have happened. Once you enter the autopsy room, you are presented with the cadaver. Cold, unmoving, just another corpse that was ready to be dealt with. Of course, the Destroyer had followed you, too, for some unknown reason. Probably to nag at you whilst you work or to stare into your soul.

A simple y-incision to start the procedure. Time flies by, you're doused within your work, sweat coating you within the room as you make way of organs and viscera, blood staining the gloves you had on as you used your tools to search through the cavity that were made. Heat fills your suit and the room, the temperature rising and brimming that caused you to swelter and sweat beneath your gear. The humidity was a searing bitch, of course with how rainy it was, the autumn heat was possibly worsening it. But you couldn't get up to turn on the air conditioning, not whilst you were amidst something as important as this autopsy. After all, you had money to make and a debt to pay off!

Hours melt within one another as your face is dripping with sweat, your hair having gotten a bit greasy from how long you had been within your protective gear for without cease. You weren't even done. The cause of death had seemed to be a heart attack, but the reasoning for sudden cardiac arrest was still unknown to you through your fogged visor! Struggle comes when you attempt to shift your focus back onto the autopsy, your mind refusing to coagulate to the body before you as you stare at the entrails, tools in hand. Soon enough? Dizziness settles in, one that you couldn't ignore.

With careful precision, you pry your hands out of the body, placing the tools on the tray beside you as you stumble about, nearly falling over. Before your body could meet the floor, a familiar paw rests on the small of your back, catching you as your vision swims, blurring between seeing what was around you and seeing nothing at all. Above you stands the Destroyer, his expression hard as rock, yet something within his eyes felt soft. You attempt to stand, but you merely wobble. Too weak to move. Far too weak to stand on your own. Yet, you kept attempting, to the detriment of both you and the Destroyer. Nausea causes you to lurch a bit, but you held back whatever was brimming within your throat for the sake of not stinking up the autopsy room.

Letting out a begrudged sigh, the Destroyer suddenly hauls you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. No warning, no prerequisite, just one paw firm on your waist, the other one opening the door of the autopsy room and taking you into the air conditioned sanctuary of the lobby, which was fairly empty this time of day. He places you down on a chair, removing your protective gear and disposing of whatever it was that was contaminated from your person. No longer was heat thrashing at your person or causing you to become a perspirating, clammed mess. Cool air kissed your skin, as breathing came back to you naturally.

"You were in there. For hours on end without stopping," that low, brassy voice rung out, as you turn your head to look up at the Destroyer. It was hard to discern if he were mad or disappointed in your actions, or overflow of such. "You hadn't stopped to eat. Hadn't stopped to use the restroom. Not even for water. If you keep this up, [Name], you might as well be working into an early grave."

Huh. Yeah, sometimes you'd suffer during work, but never did it get bad enough to where you had to be dragged out and had to be taken out of your protective gear mid autopsy. Something forms within you, a feeling. Maybe it was shame. Or perhaps it were embarrassment that blanketed your mind? Whatever it was, it made a pit form in your stomach. Every second that could've been spent working was being wasted here, in a conversation you wished you hadn't been part of. That debt, that one thing you had to pay off. Even if it weren't there, you were wasting good time, which was wasting good money.

A protest rose within you, but dies in your throat halfway once you're handed something: a simple granola bar. One with chocolate chips. "Eat. I'll handle the rest of the autopsy for you," the Destroyer's gaze doesn't break away from yours.

Reaching out, your hand grabs the granola bar and unwraps it. Confusion takes hold of you, as you raise an eyebrow to look at him in his glowing white gaze. "You... Know how to do an autopsy?"

He scoffs, not offended, but not taking that question too lightly, either. "Sweetheart, I created humanity, if anything an autopsy would just be a game of Operation for me."

With that last comment, the Destroyer leaves back into the autopsy room, leaving you sat alone in the lobby with nothing but your thoughts, and that looping memory. Sweetheart? Surely, he didn't mean to call you that! Did he? That'd be ridiculous. Imagine an immortal god, one of the Abrahamic religion who had created and smote more people than you could count on your hands, calling you such a term of endearment! Ridiculous. Yet his words lingered in your mind, looping, a carousel of his sweet, velvet voice thrumming about before his departure. That one word, 'sweetheart', is stuck to you like a thorn in your heart. It annoyed you, but by God, did you enjoy it.

Time passes once more, your mind is still ruminating on the Destroyer. For a deity who had crashed down from the heavens themselves and tarnished your roof in a manner that landed you into debt, you couldn't bring yourself to be upset at him. For what reason? You couldn't come up with one. Everything came off as something that you liked, rather than something to be ireful at. His stoic face that shown seldom emotion, how his fur was pristine and soft, how clean he smelled yet how he had a scent not like that of this mortal plane, even how he acted... He stopped you from fainting. Came with you into the autopsy room.

He cared. And you didn't know how to feel about that. People caring for you was something so foreign, so far from your understanding that you never considered it once in your daily life. So how were you supposed to handle a deity caring for you? One that you hadn't believed in before it crashed into your little slice of Boon County? You couldn't even think of how. The wrapper of the granola bar rests in your hands, shimmering beneath the fluorescent lighting of the lobby whilst you ruminate deep in thought about why he would care, what reason. Was this mere obligation? The Destroyer was indeed stuck with you, after all, with the Infinite being bombarded with a nuclear explosion and whatnot. If he wanted to, he could kill you. But if that were equally as true, why hadn't he done so yet?

Interruption soon impedes on your thoughts as the door to the autopsy room soon opens. The Destroyer walks out, grace in each step. Once your eyes met him, you felt your chest do this weird thing. A squeeze. Cardiac arrest wasn't this soft, yet your chest felt more tight than what was considered normal. Everything before had been shoved aside as you clear your thoughts, making sure to appear as normal as you could muster up. A last minute mask of normalcy to hide whatever storm was brewing within you. Lifting your neck upwards to meet his gaze, you notice that the Destroyer has something soft in his gaze. Something akin to... Remorse? Impossible.

"So, how'd it go?" You tilt your head out of habit, your eyes fluttering as you blink.

The Destroyer sighs, shaking his head. An action that was solemn from a being that showed stoicism more often than not. "The autopsy had went fairly decent. Underlying cardiomyopathy, their heart was far more stiff than that of an average person."

Silence washes over you both. It was... Quiet. Desolate and lonesome, despite the company that you had. Something was bothering him, you could tell by how his gaze had looked soft and mournful, or at the bare minimum, concerned. Why was he making that face, anyways? Death was a normal part of life, and he possibly knew it to. Why was he being so mopey about it? Questions soon formulate in your mind, but you snuff them out before they can race out of your lips. Whatever he was feeling, it seemed rather deep-rooted. The Destroyer doesn't kneel or lean down, but rather his head looks down at you, just enough so that you don't need to stand on the tips of your toes anymore.

"[Name]... How can you handle being around so much death and viscera? Doesn't it get depressing at times?" he inquired, his voice soft and tender.

That question stung. Yes, it did get depressing, especially when you thought about your own mortality and death. But that was normal. You shook your head, "Well, that's a part of life. It's not pretty, but you get used to it at some point."

He nods. No argument, nothing yet. Just deafening quiet amidst you both that blankets around the mortuary. Embalming was soon to come, but when you get up to try and go back to get the body ready, you stop in your tracks. You didn't know why. A nagging feeling was telling you to just stay with the Destroyer, even for just a second longer. It felt as if two tiny voices were screaming at you, one scrambling to make you avoid overworking yourself, while the other one was far more loud and pressuring you to continue working. That's when that phrase comes back, working yourself into an early grave.

Reluctance fills you, but sooner than later, you decide to stay out in the lobby with the Destroyer. Just for the moment. Maybe this would be nice. Peace, not having to worry, but each thought of the debt kept pushing you towards feeling guilty. At least now, you don't have to worry about passing out. You pat the seat next to you, offering up a spot for the Destroyer. He sits next to you, crouched in the chair in a manner that felt a bit awkward for a 7-foot tall anthropomorphic cat, but welcoming enough to not feel too weird. Just like that, peace comes back one more, unexplainable, yet welcomed.

Of course, work isn't all calm and serene. Autopsies would be gruesome, the paperwork was hell to get completed, and the amount of people grieving was something that had weighed on your mind. How people talked about death had never made any sense to you, for people would talk about how their souls were in better places, how they were with god or whatever else they believed in, all that jazz. To you, death was a one-and-done thing. No afterlife, no reincarnation, just pure darkness that swallowed you whole with no care. But that's the thing with life and death. Both were cruel, however only one managed to get the favor of the public.

From the cradle to cremation, you had seen life as nothing but a coping mechanism for the inevitable. How people pray for most their lives, went to sermons and churches, held prayer beads close and read out of bibles and other religious scriptures depending on beliefs. None of it made any sense. If anything, you welcomed death with open arms. Not that you were suicidal, no, rather that you had accepted that one day you would meet the cold embrace of death. Religion just felt like a blanket to drape over the shoulders of those who were afraid of the nothingness that came after their demise, which is why you never really bought into the whole thing.

Amidst a particularly dark evening, darkness shrouding the town beneath the lack of light via a new moon and paisleys of stars painted among the hollow abyss of the sky beneath the shawl of cumulus clouds, you were busy with work. Autopsy. A body found off the riverside that some had reported. Suicide, due to how you could find no other trace DNA of anybody else upon the body, but injury and internal bleeding from within. They must've jumped off the bridge and missed the water entirely. Painful. Embalming was the next process, as you took out the needed chemicals to do the process. Last thing you want is to bury a body that would rot away too soon, the festering stench of your first burial had still haunted you from when you didn't think you'd need to embalm a body you had to bury.

However, a loud noise broke you from your focus, a thundering and loud thud, followed by what sounded like a crash of tile had rang throughout your humble morgue. Odd. Usually, the thunder within Boon County had never had such reverberance or echo to it, nor did it cause as much property damage as that crash had. Work had to be put aside as you jolt upwards and swiftly make your way out towards the waiting room just near the entrance, and the first thing that catches your eyes? The roof. A massive hole had been put at the top of the roof, leaving part a ruined opening that lets you see the sky. It's normal, but one thing certainly makes you stop dead in your tracks.

A billow of red and yellow amidst the dark of the night, with just enough white to make you think that it were something going off amidst the puffs of clouds. An explosion? Maybe, but with where you stood, you couldn't make it out quite enough. From the size of the hole, you could tell that this may cost you a decent fortune, at least three-thousand dollars or so. What the hell could have caused such destruction to your morgue?! Anger fills your heart as ire blinds your decision making. You look down towards the hard-wood floor to see what had caused your roof to give way so quickly, but your vehement fury melts away into pure, unfiltered shock at the sight. A cat.

No regular cat, though, but rather a humanoid with the face and hands of a cat, wearing a crown and having worn robes that hid whatever was underneath, aside from a tail that had peeked out. It even had paws for hands, yet they were structured in a manner similar to that of man with opposable thumbs. Confusion brims within your being at the sight of this being, what was this? A person in a fur suit? An actual cat? Some sort of higher being from the sky?! No, most of those sounded ridiculous to you. Most logistical was a person in a fur suit, probably having fallen from an exploding aircraft. That would explain the sky explosion prior.

But when its eyes opened, your met with an interesting sight. For when this cat-man thing or whatever it was fluttered its eyelids open, a bright and beaming light was seen where its eyes would have been. The light looks back at you. No normal human's eyes would be glowing like that, fur suit or not. Your breath hitches as you take a quick step back, heart hammering within your rib cage. Whoever this was, whatever this was had to be removed from your morgue, because whatever this may be, it was certainly not human, and you didn't want to risk getting attacked by it if it were hostile.

Before you could speak, the being stands up! Slow, almost stunned. It towers over you, standing at around seven and a half feet in height. Why, you only reached its stomach in height! Heart thrumming, you froze, your throat growing dry like an arid desert from sheer shock that had stopped you in your tracks. A groan leaves the being as it rubbed the back of its head, tail flicking behind it with annoyance as its ears were pinned beneath a crown that had sat crooked on its head. When the being spoke, you're met with a low, brassy voice that makes the very morgue itself tremble slightly, honeyed with a rather charming accent that would, on a normal human be attractive, but in this case made you stand at attention.

"Ugh... My head is aching rather profusely. That condemned scientist, how he'll be damned for putting my domain in ruin. I'll-" A pause, not long before the being looks down at you, eyes widening in shock. Now it decides to acknowledge you? Great. The towering cat-man's gaze lingers on you, causing your knees to buckle and sweat to bead on your face and palms. "Oh. It seems that I'm not alone. Hello, mortal, lovely to meet you. Yes it's me, your Lord and Savior-"

"Wait. So, you're like... God? From the Bible?" You raise an eyebrow, confuddled by that implication. Again, you weren't religious, never believed in any religion Abrahamic or elsewise. Yet, this cat-man thing was telling you it was the Abrahamic god? Something wasn't quite adding up, but with how crazy this evening was, questioning was far out of your nature.

Silence washes over the waiting room of the morgue, waves of dead quiet blanketing over the gothic scenery of your establishment/living space. Ah. That's totally a good sign! The deity, who you assume is the Abrahamic god, looks at you, arching an eyebrow in shock. Or, what you could determine is shock. Reading faces was far from your strong suit, so you relied on your instinctual gut feelings, which were rusty on reading emotions that weren't grief or depression from the death of a loved one. It points at you, a clawed finger covered in white fur meeting your face, just shy of touching, as its voice echoed throughout the mortuary. Not exactly an accusation, but not quite a simple observation.

"Are you... Doubting me, [Name] [Lastname]?" It asked, using your whole name first meeting. Yep, only an all-knowing deity would know that. This was the real deal!

Anxiety brims within you as your hands shoot up in a placating surrender as sweat raced down your face. Shit! Last thing you wanted to do was offend a literal god! "N-No! No, it's just- I never thought you were... Real? I-It's a long story, really," Words fly from your lips, an erratic swarm of an apology followed by a half-assed explanation. The story was long indeed, but to put it short, you've seen so much death that the thought of an afterlife felt like a fairytale, rather than something that was palpable.

The deity now seems a bit less befuddled, now lowering its paw-hand back to its side. It was still towering over you, but its gaze seemed to grow soft, though it was still stoic, face hard as stone. No longer was it accusing or observing your doubt, but rather, it was attempting to get a read on you. For what? Was it judging your soul? Reading into your mortal life? Your mind race as you gazed into those glowing eyes of the god before you, bright lights that caused you to see those weird, floaty rainbow things you see after looking at a blaring illumination for too long. Soon, the god had spoke once more, its voice now more quiet and soft-spoken.

"You seem to be... Desolate. A forlorn person who has seen death far too often. It lead to your own thoughts being influenced," That statement hit a bit too close to home. Lonesome as you were, you seldom talked to anybody else unless it were for business. By definition, you were a workaholic at times. "Although I may not get back into the Infinite just yet, on account of... Reasons... I am willing to stay around and provide you company. Consider me as a temporary guardian of sorts for you, to protect both you and your soul."

Wow. Either there was some sort of favoritism with this special treatment, or this god didn't really have much else to do with being kicked out of the Infinite, or Heaven, whatever people call it. Temporary or not, the feeling of being around someone who considered themselves a guardian over both you and your soul was somewhat touching, albeit you felt as if you didn't deserve it. No, far from it! You were an adult who could handle themselves just fine. Besides, you were working around the dead all the time, no protection was needed against corpses, at least to your beliefs.

"I uhh... Appreciate it, sir?" Uncertainty coats each word that leaves you. Sir felt too informal, no, that sucked. Looking up at the being, you crane your neck upwards so your eyes met its face. "Par- Pardon me, is there something you'd like me to call you? I feel like 'sir' is a bit too informal!"

Its eyes widen, shocked at first, not long before it lets out a calm sigh and goes back to that stoic expression that you couldn't read for the life of you. "Call me whatever you see fit. Some call me The Destroyer, others The Creator, some may even call me God. I seldom care what you may call me, as long as you show integrity and respect towards me."

Jeez, what an answer. How helpful and not vague at all. You nod, deciding that a fitting title or name would come to you naturally in due time. The hole in the roof brings your attention once more, as the draft makes you shudder. Right. That. It had to be fixed soon, elsewise there'd be bats, birds, and maybe even a few insects fluttering about in your establishment. Reaching over to your phone, you dial up the roofing company, and call. They're available, and they can fix your roof around tomorrow. The price? Eight-thousand dollars. You only have three thousand, but they insist that you can pay the rest of it off later. Very well. When you hang up from the phone, your mind races.

With how expensive that was, you may never fully pay off that damn roofing bill. That damn deity, that god, he had to have just fallen through your roof, huh? Your eyes flit over to look at him. White, pristine robed and a red shawl draped over black-and-white fur, that crown that rest on its head, those glowing eyes that pierced right through your soul. Anger wanted to bristle through your being, yet there was some kind of calming energy that waivered within you at seeing something such as The Destroyer. Why? Soothing feelings never came to you, all you felt was emptiness throughout your years, yet this serene feeling made you feel so different. It was sickening, yet you liked it. Nothing could explain why, though, for every time you tried to think why, you felt far more comfortable not wondering why.

Defeated, you retire back to your bed in the hidden living space, the Destroyer following you right behind as it kept close to you. That same, calming aura never went away, but at this point, you were far too tired to deal with whatever spiritual reassurance you were being given. Your work clothes are discarded, replaced with a comfortable hoodie and sweat pants. On your mattress, you lie down, while the Destroyer looks around your small bedroom, taking in the decor options you had that were miniscule. Within your mind your thoughts race. Was this your life now? Being some underling that was to be protected? How would people even react to the Destroyer being within this mortuary of yours, anyways?

Your thoughts grow null as your eyelids flutter shut as sleep lulls over you. Tomorrow would be another day, but with different obstacles, hinderances that you've never really considered beforehand. Odd as it may be, a part of you felt somewhat elated that you were no longer alone. But another part years for that lonely solace that you once had, for having someone just... There. It felt weird. You had gotten so used to being alone that even the thought of another presence lingering amidst your area made you feel uneasy. Oh, well. Tomorrow, you'd thrust yourself right into your work. After all, you need the money to pay off that roofing bill.

Act 1

Will Write For:

Magnus

Fenrir

Maisie

Lucy

Trampy

Dybbuk

Guillotina

The Throbbing King

Radical Rat

Queen Hippo

By extension, Pebbles

Maybe Pile:

Flushmaster

Spinnerette (I'll TRY to make mama spider lady work, gangalang...)

Mama Maggot (Kinda leaning towards 'no' for her, though)

Big Slime (leaning towards 'no' for them, though they'd be platonic + fluff only)

Will NOT Write For:

Chubs + Nubs

Rat King

Boris

Act 2

Will Write For:

Gein

Dack

Morana

Marshmallow

Zodiac

Gambit

Lenny

Rocky Bobo

The Abandoned Ones

Man In The Moon (even though I FUCKING HATE HIM)

Pyrophina + Zaratana

By extension, Arthur

Maybe Pile

Johnny

Crater Maker

Soahc

The Coven + The Tormentor

Will NOT Write For

Brumblefoot

Infested Pair

Cerberubs

Act 3

Will Write For:

Franklin

Draven

Chan-Hung (godspeed, translators...🙏)

Alice

Stacy

The Creator/The Destroyer

c-800 + c-1000

Maybe Pile:

Zapphauser is like... the ONLY future level boss that can be up here.

Frostbiter

The Rocksnows

Dino Lovers (again, leaning towards 'no' for them)

Spewer (platonic + fluff only)

Lord Bunga

The Mother

Will NOT Write For

NO DR. MANGLER. I can't believe I've got to put this at the top, but I've gotten 2 requests to write for him in the past. No, I will not write for him.

Same goes for H2/H3. I will not write for him, either.

The Bloat

And that's the entire list of bosses, mini-bosses, and house bosses that I'll write for in the Mewgenics fandom! Hope this helps out future requesters with characters in mind for requests, and have a delightfully devilish day! <3

-Sincerely, DellTheHellBell ^q^

Aisles of cat toys and food for pets line the store, followed with displays of cat nip and whatever else were there. Harsh white lighting fills your eyes, as Ash had to cover his eye for a few seconds before it had gotten used to the store's cold white glare. Your shoes click against the linoleum floor, each step growing more sheepish, but you double down when you remember who you're fighting for. Ash. The only person in this town that made your heart flutter. One of the most kind, sweet, and possibly romantic souls amidst Boon County, the only person in the town that made you swoon and feel far more welcomed than anybody else within the city. Taking a deep breath and calculating your words, you gather enough courage to speak your mind.

"Tracy. Look, I know this looks bad, but you know what? I-I don't care! Ash loves me, and I love Ash. It won't... It doesn't matter what you think. An- And doesn't matter what the whole town thinks! Okay? So... So tell them. Tell the whole town about our love, and look- and see if we care!"

Silence washed over you both, your heart pounding in your chest loud enough to ring throughout the whole store. Ash stood next to you, his cold, leathery rotten hand squeezing yours as he smiled at you. It was anxious, too, you could tell by how Ash was postured that it was nervous about Tracy's reaction. Not as bad as your own anxieties, which you were shoving into the back of your head for the sake of being brave, but still rather potent enough for you to notice. The trembling fingers, the uneven breaths, even how Ash's smile faltered for just a split second. Tracy looks between you both, from you, to Ash, then back at you, her gaze stone cold and unimpressed.

Then, she says it. "So?" That one word. No judgement within her tone, very little care. You had been expecting her to call you both freaks, threaten to tell the whole town that you were dating a zombie! Apathy was the last thing you would have expected from someone who was usually volatile and filled with ire and vehement hate towards everyone else. To say it was odd was an understatement. It was certainly bizarre, mind-boggling!

Shock fills your expression, as Ash stares at Tracy, a bit dumbfounded itself. The store goes dead, seldom for the sound of the clock ticking behind the counter. An underwhelming reaction, no nauseated remark, no scolding that you were sick in the head, nothing like the many ruminations of your mind had alluded to what could have happened. Just a casual shrug off that left you surprised! No, no, she would've snapped and called you ill, maybe even insulted Ash! Yet she didn't. Tracy had acted like this was just another normal part of living amidst Boon County. Which, was it really? It were uncertain in your eyes, since to you, this was the pinnacle of scandal, waiting to be ripped into by the town, a lamb to the slaughter of gossip.

"W-Wait! You... Don't think it's weird or gross that I'm- I'm dating a zombie?" The question slips from your lips like butter, fast and soapy with the grace of a baby deer. Every word had wobbled from your mouth, and your face grew warm from embarrassment.

A sigh leaves Tracy as she pinches the bridge of her nose, too tired to be handling with this. "Gross, maybe. I hope you plan on brushing your teeth after kissing that guy of yours... Don't know what you might catch," A reasonable argument. Ash and you let out an awkward giggle, both knowing that he wasn't the most healthy or clean fellow in town. "As for weird, there's been weirder shit that happened here. Kaijus, cannibals, robots from the future, murderers, people who wear fur, fascists who consider animals as property! You'll be fine with your undead Romeo over here."

Relief washes over you. You'd be fine. Both you and Ash would be. The worst would most likely not happen, and even if it did, there would've been worse that had happened that would overshadow your love. Tears well in your eyes, no longer ones of sorrow or fear, but pure, unadulterated joy. With swift hands, you pull Ash into a kiss, your lips interlocking as you both held each other close, no longer bound by the secrets of the night nor the shroud of the dark. Love, no longer privatized by the need to seem normal, flourishing without a care of the opinions of other people. Breaths mingle as your tongues swirl in a whirlwind of passion that was no longer hidden. This was your freedom, your gateway to heaven! And that was all that had mattered.

After a good few minutes, you both pull away, with you catching your breath and Ash smiling like a love-struck goofball. Tracy looks a bit proud of you, although there was an underlying hint of nausea. Which, again, was reasonable: you were kissing a zombie, so one can only imagine the flavor sensation and taste that would be. Soon, both of you leave, giving Tracy a sweet wave goodbye. Your hand is held within Ash's, and the both of you soon stand outside the store, looking at one another with soft gazes beneath the light of the full moon. Both of you share another kiss, sweet and tender as your hands rest on your bodies, melting together as you share this intimate, quiet moment.

Morning soon comes. Ash meets you first thing in the morning when you're all dressed up and ready to walk to work. He walks beside you, fingers interlaced with your own as people pass you by on your walk to work. A few glances meet you both as you converse with one another, some were intrigued and curious while others were in utter awe and shock, but very few were of the judgment that you had once dreaded. Confidence fills your very being as you make your way to the lab, giving Ash a tender and sweet peck on the lips goodbye. When you both part, you continue to go on about your work day as normal, even talking about your boyfriend to your boss.

Dr. Beanies is perplexed at first. Not the bad kind, no. He lets out a thoughtful hum, writing every detail down. Dr. Beanies seems to be taking this well, too, seeing it as a possible scientific endeavor rather than something that was scandalous or shameful. "Interesting... An undead humanoid being able to show docile and romantic feelings towards another person. How intriguing! Care to bring him over some time so I can, shall I say, run a few tests on him?"

You let out a soft chuckle, finding his eagerness to test on Ash both endearing, and a bit worrying. Oh, how well you knew how he was when finding something new to test and prod at. "Hm. Maybe one day, doc. One day," a reply that was casual, yet held no exact time or date. With how excitable he got, maybe it'd be best to keep Ash away. For the sake of your undead boyfriend who was still sheepish around people, anyways.

When work ends, both you and Ash are walking about with your hands held together. A date in the park, just as you both had talked about and dreamed of ever since you both had became an item a while ago. Passerby raised eyebrows, some shrugged while others crooned about how you both were somewhat cute of a couple. Of course, there were a few rotten eggs, a couple sneers from the elderly and vehement scowls of zealots and religious folk, but Ash was there and you remembered that much weirder had happened. Neither of you paid any mind to it. Nobody else's opinions mattered, not now, and possibly not ever. Both of you had found a spot on a small hill, one that had overlooked the gradient of the sunset. Romantic.

Shade from the tree kept you both comfortable, as you both had sat near an old tree that had seen this town for far longer than either of you. The sun dips down further, and a few ideas flutter about in your mind. not just about how sweet or charming Ash was, but about your future. One that was hopeful and sweet. A wedding, maybe. Both of you dressed in your best, flora draped around a small area within this very park where you'd both stand. Tracy would be your best woman, since she partially helped you get over this vehement anxiety and fear of yours that the whole town would despise you and Ash. Slow dancing with swelling instrumentals in the background, you and Ash locking eyes at the altar, sharing that lovely kiss after your vows. Each thought made you swoon further.

Leaning over, you plant a kiss onto Ash's rotting cheek, and it catches him off guard. A bit of blood leaks from his nose as a maggot wriggles out and plops onto the front of his hoodie, his gaze locking in on your own that had sparkled with love, and something far more complex and hungry than usual. It'd be Ash who'd start contact, yet it's partially shocked, and admirable, that you had decided to take the lead this time. No hesitation comes when Ash reciprocates, leathery and chapped lips meeting the tender flesh of your face as it kisses your cheek in a tender, feather gentle manner. Trailing along your bodies, your hands start to move about freely.

Kisses trail along from the face to the lips, and soon the neck and collarbones. Steam swirls about from your mouths as the air grew algid, the temperature dropping just as the sun had done so, the time being long forgotten between your intimacy and passion that had burned far hotter than any star that hung within the sky. Ash doesn't just stop at kissing you, no. Far from that. Its teeth meet your skin as Ash started to gnaw and nibble at a particular area of your neck that was rather sensitive, eliciting a whine to emit from within your chest. Both of you had been thrown into the throes of passion without any warning, with Ash leaving marks of hickies and bites that bruised at the tender skin upon your neck.

Your hands start to rove in more risky places, from being just shy of Ash's happy trail that had been laced about with rotted flesh and the occasional squirming maggot that plopped onto the ground beside you, to the curve of his hip. Blood from Ash's nostrils smears your neck, another mark that you were all his. Both of you pull away once the night grows far too cold, deciding to go home. That night, you decided to take Ash in, since it was so used to being outside in such frigid temperance, you decided that if you both were dating, you should live together. Warmth fills your apartment, from the heating unit that was running, and the general comfort of having your partner next to you as you both lay on the couch while watching a movie on the television.

Cold, leathery flesh that had gave way to festering rot meets yours as you and Ash both cuddle on the couch. He wasn't as cold as the air outside, but cold enough to feel his presence. His hands rested on you, protective with the tender gentleness that any other lover would have. But he's far different. Not just a regular lover, but one who stole your heart in a back alley, one who you were willing to get shunned and exiled from town for because you just loved them so much. Turning over a bit, your face meets Ash's, bandages wrapped around its face as maggots and worms crawl about in a laggard manner throughout. Asleep, despite being dead. Comfortable. Safe. A soft breath leaves you as you plant a kiss on his cracked lips, and sleep soon takes you as well, your body resting well next to your partner's.

Soon enough, your eyes stake a claim, landing on a creature of the evening. A cat, one that was rather obese, mangy from presumably wandering the strets for so long. Surely, a being that wouldn't be missed, having nary a sign of an owner nearby nor on its body. Your jackpot. No hesitation comes once you slay the creature, your claws hacking away at fur and flesh, blood staining your hands as a small, blue orb fizzles from out of the creature's heart.

A soul.

One that was sweet, at that. Usually, the blue souls were ones of innocent, who had done no harm, retaining the sweetness they had once held within their life. Such a shame it was so small, too. Smaller souls often pointet to ruminating feelings of unfufillment, an emptiness that often lead to a long leer of depression for the mortals. Still, it would suffice for the time being. You weren't planning too much, so you pull the soul to your mouth, slurping at the essence until you had absorbed it fully. The blood on your hands was also a rather tender treat, the metallic red stains being lapped up within the confines of your mouth. A delicacy.

Fatigue wanes over you, lumbering the urge to sleep as your eyelids grew heavier with the growing seconds. Rest was needed... Much needed. You may be a powerful being of stealing souls and feeding off blood, but you knew your limits when it came to whether you could or couldn't keep burning your candle. A being of eternal fire needs to let the flame dwindle at times when needed, after all. Within an alleyway, you spot a rather comfortable pile of trash. No rats, no strays, just peace. As you approach, you circle the heap of rubbish. Once. Twice. Perfect... Laying down, you look at the sky, admiring the stars. A thought passes your mind: what if the sky was staring back at you, admiring you as well? As if. Sleep overtakes you, leaving you unconcious on the trash heap, your tail flicking behind you in juncture to your breathing.

That was the memory of last night that repeated itself within your memory. A dream-like recollection of events prior to where you were now. No longer do you feel well-rested, but rather groggy. A beaming white light invades your sight the minute your eyes flutter open, the pale refractions burning your retinas and causing you to wince in disdain. You felt weak, ill, unable to move without feeling nauseous... Not just physically weak, but in the sense of your magic. Whilst your hands often vibrated with power, now they lacked that certain je ne sais quoi you would have had elsewise. Almost like something were keeping you from using your demon magic. But why? Why would you struggle to even use your magic? Seldom did you struggle, unless you were in an area that was considered holy or blessed.

It hits you, an observation you could only make throughout being unable to use magic and feeling physically unwell. Settling to sit upwards, you took a quick note of your surroundings. White clouds surrounding each and every inch of whatever soft, malleable ground you had sat upon, pale blue and dimmed gold swirls painting the inner area like a painting of the Renessaince, pillars and gates decorate the outdoors, mundane grey shades forming the image outdoors. Outside had equally soft, cloudy ground, lightning striking about in sporadic patterns as winged beasts surrounded by rings that had been plastered with eyes flutter aroud freely.

Heaven.

Enemy territory, at least in your eyes. Tall tales of demons taking Icerean tasks to break into heaven and never being seen from family and peers again had spread all throughout the inferno you had lived in. But why were you here?! It made little sense. Obviously, no plan to invade heaven had occured to your train of thought, but mayhaps you had stumbled into heaven on accident? You couldn't recall stepping into Heaven for the life of you, the infinite paradise not really being a location you could see yourself entering willingly, at least not whilst you were sober. Must have taken a lot of alcohol for you to come around these parts, yet for the life of you, no reccourance of alcohol could be remembered by you. Not a drop had touched your fangs.

Steps interrupt your thoughts, methodical, yet calculated clicks against the floor that had emerged from behind you. Crap, just what you needed: company within enemy territory. You were an unwanted guest, a sore thumb! A pimple ready to be popped! Fear encases itself around you, wrapping around your mind, a blanket to any or all reason that you would have attempted to gather a grasp of. No time for thinking, you had to get out of there, and fast! If it were one of the seraphims, then you were really deep in the dirt! As you attempt to get up, you hear a booming voice speaking to you, deep, yet sharp.

"Running from God, now, are we? I should have expected it from your kind... It's no use. I'm an omniscent being, remember?"

That deep, British voice ringing out behind you, followed by a smug chuckle that was laced with venom and snark... It sent a shiver up your spine, causing you to jolt. You didn't turn around. You were too afraid. Yet a feeling deep within you beckoned you to let yourself take in the sight of the benevolently cruel being that stood behind you, to at least make an attempt to see who or what had directed your attention to it. Gathering some courage, or whatever semblance of it was left in you, you turn around, taking in the sight of the entity that had awaited your gaze.

A tall, lanky body stood before you, adorned in white robes and a red shawl that draped over his shoulders. From the v-neck cut of his robes, a tuft of black and white fur peeked out. Within his paws, almost hand-like, he held a rather powerful blade in one, and a shield with a scarlet cross enabled in the other. The moment your eyes turn upwards to see his face, you freeze up. That shining light, crown made of glimmering gold that was kept perfect, pristine, adorned on top of the head of a feline with white, glowing eyes. More black and white fur, some of it extending underneath the chin like a goatee. A smirk is plastered onto the face of the deity, as it looks directly at you.

The Destroyer himself. God. The one who had made everything, the earth, the firmament of the sky, each and every creature... Except you. No. The Destroyer had not made demons such as yourself, the closest thing he could have made to a demon was him casting Lucifer out of heaven, and even then, that was more of a reprimand than actual creation! Questions flashed in your mind, going as quick as your heart was: why would he have you here? Why were you even in heaven in the first place? And why was he smirking like that?! He looked at you like he had plans for you, plans that were far from favorable, let alone enjoyable.

"You may be wondering why you're here, or why I had enacted most of what I did to the benevolent mortals down on the Earth, people of the town you're so familiar with. Ah, yes... I remember Magdalene. I managed to convince her to attempt to kill her own son, Isaac, for my appeasement!" A cruel laugh escapes The Destroyer, not long before he shrugs, "You could confabulate anything, say that it was on my behalf, and that woman would eat it like hot cakes... But that's besides the point, my wretched little possession."

Silence washes over you, as you blink with incredulity that was soon traded with frightened confusion. You weren't his 'wretched little possession' or whatever it was that he had called you! A snarl forms onto your face, but as you go to stand up, you stumble upon your own feet and land onto your posterior, a grunt escaping you once you hit the clouded floor. Speaking was also rather difficult. With how weak you felt, each word you attempted to utter felt like butter slipping down a hot pan, going back down your throat and into your lungs. Eventually, you managed to spit out words of venom, quiet, yet audible enough for The Destroyer to hear you.

"I'm... Im not yours d-damn it!"

His smirk drops into a bitter scowl, his glowing eyes staring down at you like you had just insulted the manner in which he had managed his own kingdom. Never before had anyone attempted to defy him like that, not until that Magdalene woman or whatever her name was that The Destroyer mentioned a while back. You didn't care about any of that, because the manner in which his expression changed sent a strike of fear that penatrated your heart. Never before were you this mortified at the prospect of angering a higher being, especially not God himself. Behind you, your tail curls betwixt your legs, your wings flit behind you, useless to do anything within your situation.

"Watch your tone with me, mutt. If you wish to disrespect me within the confines of my own domain, then I won't hesitate to show you what I do to heritics who'll never be redemed," The Destroyer leans down, just so that you could get a better look at his face, the manner in which his eyebrow furrowed whilst he looked down at you with contempt... Yet intruige.

Just the thought of possibility made your throat grow dry, arid from the anxiety pulsating within your chest. You may be half demon, yet you were still mortal. Only half of you was still sucseptible to feeling pain, and even then, you knew just how cruel that The Destroyer could be, just from the singular interraction that you both were having. And He knew your fear, his smirk returning once he saw your fear painting your expression, your wings wrapping around you, a shield of leathery flesh and brittle bones that was useless against him unless he decided that you behaved well enough to keep them.

Silence wafts over the area you both were in, a deep, bitter frown scorning your face. You weren't his, and you knew that! But arguing against The Destroyer, God himself, would lead you into a punishment far worse than being kicked out of the Inferno. Despite wanting to talk back, you kept your lips sealed, and decided to plot your escape later, silently. Not in your thoughts, no, you knew that He could easily read those. In your heart. Deep within you, you had determination to escape this deity who seemed so infatuated, yet disgusted by your mere existence. But the worst part of it all?

You had to play along.

Oh, it made your stomach churn. Knowing that you had to attempt to apease him, The Destroyer, the very god who had kidnapped you from your comfortable area in Boon County, just so that you could escape later. Sickening as it was, it seemed to be your only plan. After all, escaping a being that was omnipotent, omniscent, and could easily strike you down dead with one swipe of his paw, was not something that was just simple, no, it wasn't like escaping a lab. The Destroyer knew your every move, possibly before you did. If you had wanted out, then you would have to pull the rug out from under his feet when he had least expected it.

His paw-like hand wraps around your wrist, tight enough so that escape would have been futile, but not tight enough to hurt you. The Destroyer drags you upwards by your feet, leading you around so that you didn't fall right on your face, or your ass. This felt humiliating, having to be dragged around like some kind of doll due to being weak within a domain that was considered holy. Whatever. Not like you could do anything else in the time being. After all, your strength wouldn't come back quickly. You didn't know when your strength would come back, or even if it'd come back at all. All that you had the knowledge of knowing was that for now, you were stuck, with little to no way out.

Walking was something you gotten used to once again quickly. No longer were you falling over, but you didn't exactly walk with much grace, either. Rather, you wobble about, a fawn that had just gotten used to its own legs. The span of a few minutes passes, and you're now in an elegant, elaborate dining room. The one you'd see in a castle! A pristine white tablecloth adorns a well carved oak table, the chairs had velvet cushioning, the same oak carving that matched the table rather well. Upon the table rests some food, some sustenace, nothing more than a basic dinner of sorts: a fowl bird, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. Still, it had been better than nothing.

The Destroyer motions for you to sit down, taking a seat as well. A second of hesitation comes, but you sit down anyways. Human food. A waste of time to most full-blooded demons, but a delicacy to your halfling nature: whenever you weren't killing for blood or souls, you often scrounged for whatever else you could have found. Human food was a blessing on your tongue, whether it was something as simple as a burger, or a rare enjoyment like a wagyu steak. But this? It felt binding, something that was truly close rather than a simple meal. After all, the way his glowing eyes had leered at you, a subtle smirk still plastered on his face, you've felt that something was amidst this meal that was far worse than you'd ever consider.

As you had ate, The Destroyer watched you. His tail flicked behind him as he soon spoke up. "Since you are mine now, my dear halfling, I'd like you to know this. I've watched you for quite some time," A paw rested on his chin, the other one grazing against your hand. It felt cool, the fur tickling against your flesh, yet it didn't soothe. Only caused more dread to loom within you. "I've watched most other mortals. Some better, some worse. Yet your nature as a halfling intrigued me. You cannot be saved, yet you've shown points of weakness. No, you can be tamed, owned by the hand that treats you with-"

You snap. Not only did he admit to basically stalking you, but he kept pushing that you could be owned, tamed, that you were just an object of his desires! Ire burns within you, stronger than any hell fire that you had came from as hatred clouds any better judgment you could have had as you lunge forward, dinner knife in hand. No blood comes out. He doesn't seem injured. Instead of a victory slain in blood, you're met with a bent knife, and The Destroyer's scowl. Not long was it that his paw grabs your wrists in a single sweep, holding you up as he moved away from the dining table, his eyes burning into your very being.

"You... You worthless, insolent mutt! I had attempted to show you kindness when I had brought you here, I've fed you and attempted to be civil with you, to talk to you over the conditions of belonging to me!" Each word was coated in venom. Claw soon kisses flesh as your blood seeps out, red ichor dripping from your wrists onto his paw. The Destroyer's scowl melts into a cruel grin, an idea forming within his mind, as his free paw grazed against your wings. "Mayhaps this will teach you who you belong to."

Pain sears your flesh as he grips onto your left wing, his claws digging into the skin and membrane. A guttural scream is soon ripped from you when he starts to pull downwards, tears welling in your eyes as you felt the sinew and muscle part with force, the crunch of meat and bone filling the walls of the castle. Ripping further, you thrash about, sobs replacing the screams that had once filled the air. Soon, The Destroyer tosses something aside. Your wing. No longer a part of your body, it lays on the floor, cold without life, the red ichor of life leaking out onto the floor beneath you both.

Terror fills every inch of your expression as it dawns onto you that he wasn't done. No, not when he's still smiling, not when he licks the blood freshly off his paw. Membrane soon met paw as he grips your other wing. This time, he's slower in his movement, more methodical. The Destroyer starts off gentle, caressing your wing which makes you whine and shudder, a pathetic display before you cry out at the feeling of his claws piercing the membrane and skin. His hand lowers, the feeling of connective tissue giving away and muscle being torn sends a strike of ache throughout your being. Another scream is torn from you, not long before the entirety of your other wing is severed from your flesh.

Long forgotten, your other wing is soon tossed aside, yet your suffering did not yet end there. Instead, your lips met that of The Destroyer in a rough, claiming kiss that was nothing but tongues and teeth. You squeal and thrash about, yet no matter what you did, you were far more weak than the deity that had decided to steak its claim onto you. His taste was that of ambrosia and something unique to Heaven itself yet this might as well be eternal suffering for you. It wasn't long before your tears fell from your eyes in a swift succession, saltine sourness streaking down your cheeks, leaving trails of sorrow in their wake. The Destroyer pulls away, only a string of saliva connected you both as a shuddering snivel leaves you.

Your back soon hits the ground when you're dropped with little to no care. He leans down, his voice a low and demanding thrum of control and possession. "Without your wings, you cannot fly, my wretched pet. You must stay loyal to me," at the flick of his hand, holy energy radiates around your neck, as a glowing collar of golden light forms on you. It's snug, fits you like a glove. Looking downward, you notice a matching leash, one that The Destroyer held in his paws, that smirk never leaving his face. "As Proverbs 3:3 states, my insolent little halfling; Let love and faithfulness never leave you, bind them around your neck, and write them on the tablet of your heart."

Escape was no longer viable. Not only were your wings severed from your body, but you had been leashed and collared like some common household pet. Embarrassment and shame flood your senses, along with something you couldn't describe, or rather, something you had wished not to dive into at all. The rest of your days would be spent within the infinite expanse of firmament and clouds, seen as nothing more than a claim that had been taken by The Destroyer, but you couldn't give up hope just yet. One day. Not now, not soon, but at some point in the future, you'd make it out of here, and never look back.

On occasion, your worries would melt away. No longer would you be plagued with trepidation of the town's opinions towards you, but rather you'd indulge in the sweet saccharine of thoughts that were soft and pillowy. A wedding one day, where the two of you would be bound through life and undeath, a picnic in the park where he'd enjoy an actual meal instead of roadkill, other such fuzzy thoughts followed in suit, but it's not long until reality came crashing down upon the sincere warmth in your heart. He was a zombie, and you were human. Everyone in town would possibly break out into disarray at the sight, let alone the thought of it.

It'd start out small. Rumors, a few whispers. Did you see [Name]? Yeah, they're dating that alley freak. Things that could've been brushed off by the meek, the quiet, or the socially inept could ignore with ease. Then it'd escalate. Mocking taunts from children or adolescent passerby, glances from groups that were heading into church for Sunday service, maybe even a comment from a person who had been heading to work. Outrage. That would be third, people would yell at you on the streets and throw cans and rocks your way, people would yell insults at you upon the street. After the outcry? Ostracization. People would no longer talk to you, no business would open its doors for either you or Ash, and soon enough, the town would shun and exile you.

Every thought grew more vivid, a painting made by the Picasso in your mind that had used your worries as the paint. However, this wouldn't subdue you! Sure, you'd stew in thought during work hours at random times, but seldom were you caught amidst the thoughts long enough for Beanies to notice. It was a pain, truly it was. He'd check up on you whenever you were too quiet, prod at your love life that you knew could get you into grandiose amounts of trouble. Hell on Earth was the best way to describe it. Keeping this love secret, making sure that nobody would find out about the truth that you've kept under denial and avoidance.

Today was unlike any other. You were at work, fiddling about with DNA samples and sorting them out, your mind drifting between anxiety and euphoria. Wedding bells would ring as you both got wed, or a gavel would hit the table as you were sentenced to exile with Ash, or you both going on a lovely date in public, followed by humiliation and ridicule from the townsfolk. Muddling between bliss and panic, you start to space out. Reality around you melts away, nothing had felt real as you just idly sort samples, as the world felt sordid and bored around you, nulled by your thoughts.

Work passed you by in a flash. Beanies had attempted to coerce information from you, but to no avail, your lips were sealed. After work, you had decided to go back into the alleys to meet up with your boyfriend. Yes. Your boyfriend. Ash had actually grown on you enough for you to love him back in a genuine sense. Not out of pity, not out of fear of breaking his heart. No, this was a sincere sort of feeling that thrummed in your chest, made your brain alter itself, and sent you down a river of romance that distracted you from the far bigger picture of dread that would've normally loomed over you.

Constellations made painted sprinkles within the sky of the night, luscious blues and dark indigoes filled the evening as the silver moonlight danced down on the town, cascading so that the paths in the back alleys were illuminated enough for you to see. Standing before you, blood leaking from his nose as a maggot flew out and splattered near his feet, was Ash. Just by looking at him, his reverent gaze locking with your own, that smile that could warm anybody's heart... He was excited to see you, just as you were with him. Both of you hugged each other close, swaying in each other's arms, giggling as you pepper tender pecks onto the other.

"Ohhh, [Name]... Angel. You've been the sweetest to me ever the second we've met. I'd like to taste that sweetness myself, since we're alone," A low chuckle leaves Ash as he flirts with you, eyeing you up and down like a banquet, a feast ready to be devoured.

He leans down slightly, his tongue licking a cold, wet stripe of saliva up your soft flesh. The texture of his tongue, slightly rough with a meaty softness that sent a shiver up your spine. A low groan emits from within your chest as you lean into his touch, as he licks and bites at your neck. Warmth worms its way into you, as desire pooled in your mind. Nothing else existed as of that moment. Only you and Ash. Gnawing at your neck, Ash's hands slip under your shirt, feeling at the flesh on your stomach, making an inferno of warmth fly upwards to your face. Not long was it that your back meets the wall, Ash's hands on you, mapping you out with need and desire.

Your arms snake to his shoulders, massaging him as he marks up your neck with bites and licks that made you shiver. Ash pulls away, only to lock his lips with yours in a kiss that made you swoon. You can't help but kiss back, melting into his love as you felt his hands continue to rove over you beneath your shirt, low sounds of ecstasy leaving you as cold flesh met that of warmth. Nothing could ruin this moment... Both of you pull away from the kiss as a string of saliva connects you both, glistening beneath the light of the moon and the street lamps that had soon came on, signaling that it were late. But that didn't matter to you. Not now, and possibly not ever.

Unfortunately, the sound of a nearby door snaps your attention open. Out comes Tracy, holding a trash bag, possibly taking it out from something that she had been doing in the P-Mart. Within the moment, your heart stops, your blood runs cold as she looks at you both in a rather compromising position. Oh. Oh no. Silence washes over you as Tracy just trots over to the dumpster, hauling the bag over and placing the contents within the unit of disposal and walking back into the P-Mart like nothing had happened. In your eyes? This might as well have been a death sentence. It was over. All of it was so over! Fare well, wicked town, and so long, lab of cats and weird experiments, for you knew that it wouldn't be long until you were casted out.

Everyone staring. Their eyes leering at you as whispers run out, laughter echoing. They all know. You were dating a zombie. All because you decided to make out with him behind the P-Mart, right when Tracy was able to catch you. All of them hated you, whispering about how disgusting and vile you were for doing something so taboo, how horrific you were for even considering Ash as a viable option. You're kicked from your workplace, denied your apartment as your landlord kicks you out, then entire town now scorns your name, shuddering it as if it were some ancient curse. Some hated you, others pitied you, but none were proud of you.

"What a creep!" "They were dating that... That re-animated corpse!" "Poor thing. They must've not had any other option," "Poor thing?! Absolutely reprehensible, I tell you! They've ought to be jailed for considering dating such a monster!"

Kids would've made fun of you on the sidewalks as you went down to the only shop in town that accepted you, businesses swiftly shutting their doors and windows and hanging up closed signs to ward you off. Soon enough? Pitchforks. Torches. Hellfire and brimstone. All of it soon fills your vision as an angry mob swarms you and Ash, faces painted with ire and hate as you were both chased out of Boon County. Neither of you would make it, though. The towns folk tie you to steaks, poking at you with their weapons as fire ate both you and your boyfriend alive.

Pre-school, daycare, and the times before. The only time in your life where you weren't bullied. Back when you were happy, wide dimples and sippy-cups filled with apple juice, cartoons playing on the TV as you played with your toys and made drawings with the other kids. Blissful times. Before you had these anxieties of normalcy or fitting in. Friends came naturally to you. A shared snack. Similar interests. Even your parents had felt genuine love towards you. No harsh reprimands, no sneering glances at you or wails from your mother, but rather tender coos and soft hugs. Happiness that had been long forgotten. Your bright and beaming smile now left behind in the dunes of time, that laughter of yours now rusted and faded as you couldn't recall what had made you laugh. Nothing did, at least, not within the past decade or so.

Of course, none of it lasted. The more memories that came to you, the more sour everything had gotten. Elementary's harsh and punishing playground that felt more like a warzone of gossip, the bullying throughout middle school that had left you scarred and tattered for life, and how your parents grew distant throughout your adolescent years. Every slap from your father, every tirade against loving for passion, your mother's sobs audible through your mind as she insisted you aim for stability. Cruel reminders that nobody cared. That everyone had wanted to tear you and Ash down. Everyone wanted to see you suffer. Just as life had made you do so for years on end with no reprieve.

Tears well in your eyes as your shoulders start to tremble, causing Ash's hands to slip out of your shirt and onto your hands. He frowns, worried for you. The sudden flip from pleasure to despair had caught him off guard, and the sight of you crying made him feel terrible, worried that you started to sob so suddenly. To him? Someone just saw you both macking it and getting a bit hands on. But in your eyes, this was far worse than any public slip-up that you could have ever been in. Hands shaking within his own, you hug him close, hyperventilating as you stuff your head into the crook of his neck. Garbage smell lingered on his hoodie and wafted into your nose, giving you some semblance of comfort, but not a whole lot.

"... Angel? Are you doin' alright?" Ash's tone was now more gentle, still raspy, but not as excited as he normally was. His eyes look at you, not long before your eyes meet his, now red and puffy from the tears.

A sniffle escapes you before you manage to speak. "I... I don't want to lose you, Ash. Tracy knows now. Everyone's gonna know about us, they'll hate us-"

"Don't say that. People can think what they want, but what matters is that we got each other! I'll beat the hell outta anyone who says elsewise!" Something oddly tender and protective. Ash doesn't usually act like this unless it's getting really tense over something.

No warning comes when Ash's lips smack against your own in a passionate kiss of fire and sheer will. It motivates you. People will talk. Spread rumors. Probably attempt to maim you and Ash or even kick you both out from the town of Boon County. But no matter what, you knew that your love burned through all of that. Through the judgement, through the trials, and through tribulation, your love was stronger than anything else. And if Ash were going to have the courage to fight for your love? You might as well try to be brave, too. your tongues quickly intertwine once more in a solidarity, just before you both pull away.

His hand intertwined within your own, you double down. Now, you'd profess your love to the first person who saw it! Give not a care for what they thought! Gathering as much courage as you could, you decided to march into the P-Mart through the back door, heading after Tracy with a new motive. Show your true love to her, and show her that you weren't scared of what she had thought!

Dressed up in your best, a sweater with slacks and loafers, you started to head off into the alleyways. Turns and twists of concrete and asphalt confuddle you for a second. Was it this way? No, no, that's the wrong turn. Right, left, north and west. Eventually, you made it just in time, and there stood Ash, a wide smile on his face that felt all too sweet. He greets you with a quick peck to the lips, arms snaking around you in a tight hug that squeezed the soul out of you. You hug back, warmth encasing your being as your arms rest on his shoulders. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. After all, Ash had plenty of good intentions with you, so no shame should come in this date.

Both of you had sat down at a table, which was more so a crate draped with a messy, used tablecloth that had been thrown out by the staff, while your chairs were both boxes that were stuffed with news papers and rocks so that they could hold up weight easier. The moment you sat down was when you were met with a decent surprise. Instead of your plate being met with a carcass of a cat or some other poor roadside corpse, you had some leftovers that had been thrown out. Their freshness was questionable, sure, an odd smell emit from the styrofoam box that held its contents, but it'd been better than gnawing on raw entrails.

Speaking of which, Ash had already been chowing away at his own food, which was, you guessed it, a dead cat. Blood driveled from his chin and lip onto the floor as he slurps up the organs like some sort of macabre escargot. Gross. Yet you had the urge to do something real quick. Taking hold of a napkin within your hands, you gently dab away the scarlet ichor that clung to Ash's mouth, and you could feel the warmth form beneath his flesh as you did so. Within your chest, your heart fluttered at the feeling, since it wasn't often that someone had looked at you with such adoration for simply cleaning their face for them during a meal.

"Awww, you're far too sweet, angel! I could gnaw at you for hours! ... Or until you're beggin' me to stop.~" Ash leaned over, smirking as he lets out a playful giggle. First date, and he's getting real ballsy, huh? Not that you mind. You actually found his comment kind of funny, and a bit brave. "But seriously, though, [Name]... You're by far the sweetest person I know that's got a pulse!"

Your stomach grew with butterflies fluttering about as he had said that. You? Sweet? Not something you would consider yourself, yet Ash sounded so genuine in his wording, sincere to his very core. It felt surreal. Being loved in such a manner. Both of you could be kept close like this for as long as either of you wanted, and neither one would pull away. An inferno of fire burned beneath your own flesh as your gaze meets his, locking together. Fuck! You had to say something. Compliment him, tell him you love him, anything! A fish out of water was what you were, and you'd be damned if you ruined this date from fiddling with your words, tinkering with sentences only to sputter like a broken engine.

"Ash, I think- Uhm, you're rather kind yourself. The kind- nicest corpse I've met," the confession slips with little to no grace. Taking a bite of your food, you pause for a bit. Oh, this went bad, probably yesterday or some span of a few days ago. The food slides down your throat as you force a smile, trying not to puke your guts out immediately. "I... Jeez, I dunno how to say this... I really- I love you! A lot."

His face drops, an expression of quiet shock. It's not long until it's followed with a longing, desperate kiss of the sincerest kind. Lips intertwined, followed with breaths mixing and tongues tying themselves together, a tango of romance and intimacy that tasted of blood and post-mortem. It was grody, but by God, it was raw and real and something that you weren't ashamed of in the moment! The kiss lasts longer than either of you would have expected, for when you both pull away, you're gasping for air as a mixed strand of saliva and scarlet ichor connects you both.

"Ohh, [Name], I love ya, too! I was wonderin' ... Wait. What was I gonna say?" Ash ponders a bit, spacing out. His voice then echoed out in the alley, excitement filling each word as he gently shook you by your shoulders. "Right! I was wonderin', one day, would you like to maybe stroll in the park together? I'll bring you some real nice flowers!"

"I'll... Think about it," Hesitance fills your entire being as those words slip from you. You'd think about it, alright, and the consequences that were sure to follow if you'd gotten caught.

At the end of the date, you were back in your lonesome apartment once more. Minimalist and quiet. Silence blankets over you as your thoughts drown out any logic that you could have mustered up. People will see you in the park, walking hand-in-hand with Ash, and none would regard you with awe or adoration they would have with normal couples, but rather with repugnance that would be saved for bugs beneath the feet of society. Both of you were 'taboo', far from the norm in a small town where you thought that breathing wrong could get you looked at funny. Whilst the TV rumbled in the background with a period piece drama, you couldn't help but feel your chest tighten as your mind raced.

Amidst the town square, possibly in the near future, you stood before everyone. Eyebrows furrowed in your direction, whispers furl about in the air about how disgusting you were, how revolting you had been, even a few mourn you for the choice you had taken for dating the undead that resided within the alleys. The judge slams his gavel down... And everyone turns their gaze towards you. Eyed burnt into your very soul as whispers die down, your heart racing as the jury's chatter dies down. The verdict is delivered. Exile. Banishment from the town, being seen as too obscene, you and Ash had mere days to leave.

A crescendo from the TV snaps you out of your thoughts as you jolt. On the screen, there was an argument amidst a father and daughter about who she were to marry, the noble archduke who would promise the family wealth and stability, or the artisan who the daughter had loved with all her heart. Huh. Ironic. This very show feels close to your own life, where your genuine love for someone was seen as a detriment rather than what was conventional, let alone seen as normal in the eyes of the other townsfolk. Tiredness soon hits you. No bed for tonight. Your face soon meets the couch as you flop downwards, eyelids snapping shut as you snore throughout the evening.

Morning sun soon hits you, golden rays dancing down upon your face as your eyes stutter open. Another day. Just another day, you remind yourself. Looking at the clock, you soon realize you've overslept through your alarm! You've only got five minutes to head to work, surely Dr. Beanies would fire you for this, maybe even worse! Rushing through your routine, you wash your hair while brushing your teeth in the shower. Kill two birds with one stone! Slipping out of the shower, you harshly tumble out of your clothes and into your proper work attire, almost tripping over your shoes. As you grab your phone, wallet, and keys, you dash off.

Once you make it there, your chest is swelling and falling with air as you catch your breath. Right on time, too. Beanies doesn't yet notice you, nor how exasperated you are from the rude awakening you've had, so you just go on about your tasks. Although you were soaking yourself in work, throughout the day, you couldn't help but feel that your boss had noticed something about you that you hadn't. Whatever, maybe you were paranoid again. Lunch break soon comes, and you're in the break room, scrolling through your phone. Your head soon snaps up at the sound of boots clicking against the linoleum floor, as Dr. Beanies stops in front of you.

"Well, [Name], it's not usual that I come to check in on my assistants," Dr. Beanies rests one hand on the table near you, his gaze calm yet burning with a curious fire that you knew all too well. Oh no. That's when he drops that damn question on you. "I couldn't help but notice a deprivation of sleep in your schedule due to the discoloration beneath your eyes, elsewise known as 'eyebags'. Do tell me... Were you busy last night, perhaps a date or something of a similar nature?"

He knows. At least, that's what your brain is screaming at you, as red alarms blare within your mindscape, every thought and emotion scrambling as scenarios fly and flutter about every nanosecond. "Wh- What? Date? What date?! I've never been on a date in my life! I was just uhh- j-just busy! Busy with uhm... Uh, something related to my life! Yeah, yeah," Sweat forms on your forehead, beads of it pearling at the nape of your neck as you deny being on a date.

Silence blankets over the lab, a silence that felt like a death sentence. Beanies' gaze locks onto you, analyzing you like fresh veal at the stock market. He only says one thing, "You're lying," before departing, abrupt and without any further words. Your heart sinks, screaming in your chest as your hands tremble. Whether or not he knows, any logistics was long forgotten in the dirt. This was far worse than any accusation that you could've been given.

High school. Some of the worst years of your life. Rumors had spread about you, ones that wouldn't go away. Jokes rose from the rumors, jokes that were pointed at you. Everybody made fun of you for being around the school's other punching bag, jabbing about how you'd both get hitched one day and have super ugly babies together. No period was safe. Not math, not geology, not even your Spanish class held any semblance of solace. During lunch, kids would stroll on by, mocking you while they howled out in laughter and throwing milk cartons at you. Peace was never an option for you as harassment and buffalo followed you whenever it could.

Bile rises in your throat as memories and possible futures flash within your mind. Tears well in your eyes, your chest pounding and heaving from the thrum of apprehension that had strangled its hold on you. Your head grew light as you stumble upwards towards the exit to lurch in the alleyway, if you were to spew in the laboratory it'd be sure to upset your boss by a mile, you were sure of it. Nothing had felt real, yet you were overly aware of your surroundings. Stacy clones stared down at you from their containment cells, miniature gargoyles of white fur that had judged your every movement, your hands trembling yet having no feeling within them whatsoever, and your hair and skin growing matted and slick with sweat that was drenching your form.

Amidst the back alley, the emetic feeling could no longer be held within you. Your stomach had churned and spun about wildly with no abandon as you began to gag and retch without any pause or repose as you began to upchuck. Acid, followed by whatever you had eaten had flown from your mouth and onto the asphalt beneath you. The taste of bile and whatever else lingered within your mouth. Either your own anxieties had caught up to you, or that food from last night's dinner date kicked your ass. Either way, you were gasping afterwards, one hand clutching your stomach whilst the other lay idle on the wall. At least it were over. Hidden within the alley, with nobody to see you in your acidic, emetic shame.

You hobble back into the lab. No sign of your inner expulsion aside from the grimace on your face from the taste that lingered in your mouth. Shame filled your body as you make it back to working, acting as if nothing were happening. Night falls, but before you could leave, Dr. Beanies insisted you stay. Not optimal. Yet, you chose to do so. After all, he was your boss. It'd be common courtesy to stay if he had asked you to. He leads you into his office, decently decorated with photos of him and Stacy on the walls, the real Stacy before she had passed away. The two of you sit down, and his gaze meets yours.

"[Name], you know you can tell me anything, yes?" Beanies raised an eyebrow, a hint of worry in his gaze. A seldom sight from the doctor.

Hands fiddling about in your lap, you nod. No words leave you, for you're fearful of any slip-ups that could leave you. No word of Ash, no word of the corpse that was alive whom had won your heart over, just dead silence washing over you as your gaze attempted to focus on your boss, yet grew blurry from the sheer dread that you had been feeling. Dr. Beanies lets out a sigh as he reaches one gloved hand out, allowing it to rest on your shoulder as he gives you a sincere smile, one that would've felt comforting, if not for your situation. He then says something that struck fear into your chest, something that came off as sweet, yet you didn't trust inherently.

"I want you to feel comfortable telling me who you were out with. I won't judge!"

Back when you were younger, you heard your parents say the same thing. That they wouldn't judge you for whom you had loved. But they did, for the moment when you said the name of the guy you had loved, the shy and nerdy art fellow, they broke. You were berated, your hopes seen as 'unrealistic'. You were called broken, a disappointment, sent into therapy to see what all was wrong with you. But there was nothing wrong. Your parents wanted you to be with someone who was practical, someone with stability rather than passion within their heart. And that broke your heart worse than anything else. Knowing that who you loved was a wrong choice.

"This isn't optimal. Do better," Your father would scorn you, before entering a long tirade about how if you loved that artist boy, you were sure to fail in life. "You won't get anywhere in life with your head in the clouds."

"We only want what's best for you, dearie!" Your mother would cry out as crystal tears fell from her eyes. She'd already been mourning you long before your death. "You're acting like a brat! We just want you to have a stable life..."

For what? The fact that you were in love with someone who had passion in their heart rather than a big brain or an overflowing wallet?! Anger seeps through your being, as each day passed by. You loathed your parents. It didn't matter what you had wanted anymore, but rather what they had wanted from you. They wanted you to love someone simply for benefit, not for genuine love. Yet their words stung. Hit you like a truck. Eventually, you had decided to remove yourself from the dating pool entirely. Just to avoid their gazes, their stabbing words that wounded you, all so that you could be at peace at home for once in your life.

Emotions boil over in you, a storm of wind and wave, sorrow and anger, fear casting aside your composure. With no warning, you stand upright, removing his hand from your shoulder as you storm out without further words. He makes no effort to go after you, not even yelling at you, but rather letting out a somber sigh as he shook his head. You leave Dr. Beanies' lab in a huff, not yet deciding to meet Ash in the alleys. Both of you had 'off days' where you would take a break from meeting, just like how most couples in secret wouldn't meet constantly to avoid the public's eye. And tonight? It was certainly off, not just in a physical sense, but mentally and emotionally as well.

As you enter your apartment, your face meets the pillow of your bed as you scream and cry. Maybe next week will hold better promises. But who knows? Life had screwed you over for as long as you could recall. No kindness had met you aside from Ash and your boss. A few other people in town were nice, but you weren't too close with them to discern their true colors, so they didn't count. Your mind lingers back to your relationship with Ash, and that offer he gave you about that romantic promenade through the park in town. Perchance, it'd be a good idea. A walk to test if you could go out in public. But then, fear strikes you. What if someone saw you? Both of you would go out at night! At least, that was your hope. But Boon County was a town that never slept...

Maybe someone will finally notice you both. And then, only then, will you have yourself to blame if they do.

Of course, he was far more reverent than most of the other beings that resided in Heaven. His black-and-white patterned fur was always so soft and pristine, his robes draped over his form and moved like water with his calculated, precise movements. And his voice? Oh, the booming baritone that was theatric, that British accenting of his words made your wings flutter and puff up and your tail wag. That posh English cadence he spoke with never went unnoticed. Any time the Destroyer spoke, all the other angel cats and seraphim would quickly turn to hear what he would have to say. Of course, you were no exception, either. Any time that he spoke, you would mull over each word, taking in his voice that caused you to secretly swoon.

Although you may be in Heaven, your emotions were hell on your job. Each time you were around the Destroyer, your heart thrummed in your chest. Any time his voice rang out, you dropped whatever it was you had been doing just to hear him, even if it were just a sneeze or cough. Even the mere mention of Him, the Destroyer, God, what-have-you, the second his name is uttered, you're grappling the sash that rested on the shoulder of your pristine robes, holding back the desire to burst and explode with adoration. What was this feeling? An emotion? Heaven was renowned for being the place of joy and wonder, at least to mortals...

Yet you didn't expect to feel mortal emotions up there.

The worst part of it was that you were confident that the Destroyer hadn't liked you back. No, if anything, you were merely a colleague to him if he had even acknowledged you. You were a lower-ranking angel cat, not a throne, a virtue, and not even an archangel. Just a regular angel cat. Nothing more. Despite being a spirit of life and a messenger betwixt the realm of the holy and the realm of the living, you didn't feel all to well about yourself. Far from it. Within your heart, the feeling that God himself wouldn't like you back the way you like him, that the Destroyer wouldn't notice your pining over him, the fawning you suffer through every second, or the possibility that he wouldn't have loved you at all to begin with; all of it made your heart shatter within your chest.

However, pining would lead to an idle mind, which would invite sin into your life and ruin you. So each time you thought about him, his silk-like fur and those glowing white eyes that were as bright as stars, you shove it into the back of your mind, steering your mind into sending messages, answering prayers, anything but your devastating infatuation. It was a parasite. A festering tapeworm that fed off of your desires, your delusions that one day, or deep down, that the Destroyer had adored you, just as you did him. Romance was a joke that had lacked a punchline, yet it had punched you in the gut with these emotions you had towards your higher-up, your creator, and your boss that was all in one.

More time passes, yet your emotions still grab onto you, holding without much release. Your heart would thrum within your chest as his visage fills your mind, his voice ringing out in your ears, both a blessing to be so devoted to the Destroyer, yet a curse to have such a fickle, hopeless crush on him at the same time. It meddled in your work: you'd send the wrong prayers to the wrong people on occasion, messages got mixed up, your day to day tasks grew sloppier with each and every passing minute! Soon, you'd find yourself spacing out, detrimental to your behavior. Pity you, with how often you were crushing and swooning over the Destroyer, you could be considered almost human.

And yet one day, he noticed.

How you'd pause in the midst of reading prayers, your wings would puff and flutter with a mind of their own, and low, swooning sighs would escape between your lips. Details that would've been missed by most other beings of the Infinite, but the Destroyer notices and sees all. Even angels that swoon over him in a more genuine manner rather than simply fawning over him. That's when he decided to approach you, his tail swung slow behind him, a calm metronome that waved about with each step. You were in the middle of writing messages, a scribe of heaven and earth. Your eyes locked onto the paper, up until you felt a paw land on your shoulder, both gentle and firm.

The second your turned your head, your wings expanded as an inferno formed in your blood, rising to your face. There he was, looking down at you, his expression hard to read. "Greetings, [Name]," his brassy and low voice greeted you, music to your ears, making your tail wag behind you. "I wish to have a chat with you, if you don't mind..."

"N-Not at all, sir!" you reply, biting your lower lip.

The Destroyer's paw wraps within your own, as he led you away from your work. With the snap of his fingers, another angel cat quickly takes your place, answering prayers and scribing messages betwixt the Infinite and the Earth. Being dragged along by the very deity you had a crush on felt both elating, yet mortifying. Why did he need you to come with him, anyways?! Only very few angels were dragged into a private conversation with the Destroyer, and often, it would be meant for reprimands and punishment. Seldom cases included being cast down from heaven, banished! That was something you had feared, a sharp frown forming at the thought of having to be cast out because of your impudent thoughts.

Where you were lead was a peaceful creek amidst the Infinite, plastered with green foliage and blue water that babbled and flowed freely. Animals played amidst the creek, birds and fawn, rabbits and foxes, forest critters pranced and skittered about with not a worry in the world. Far different from the panic that had plagued your own mind. The Destroyer sits down near the brook, patting a spot next to him, a silent command for you to come sit next to him. No hesitation comes as you flutter forth with your wings, flopping down next to him, tail bristling from the anxiety alone. The Destroyer picks up a small critter, a squirrel, and pets it idly with his paws.

"I've noticed something about you recently, [Name]," he doesn't yet look at you. No malice is within his tone, yet it doesn't hold any kindness yet, either. He's neutral. "How your mind seems to be stewing about in thought. The second you hear my voice, your wings flutter and puff up. Even at the sight of me, I notice your eyes locking onto me far more than the other angel cats. Why do you suppose that is?"

Your throat grows dry, arid from the pule of nervosity's song. He knows. The Destroyer just wants to hear you say it. Either that or he genuinely didn't know about your feelings towards him. You take a deep breath, holding your tail in your paws as your wings flutter behind you. Now or never... Cast out from heaven or demoted. Maybe worse. The confession spills from you with little grace. "I... I love you. Genuinely, like- like... Mortal feelings! Romance! Oh... Forgive me, my Lord-"

A low chuckle rumbles within the Destroyer, not long before it becomes a full on billow of laughter. Not cruel, not mocking, no. In fact, he sounds weirdly delighted. A seldom sound or sight to see him, he's smiling ear to ear, and for once? His tail's wagging. For a split second, your fears melt away, morphing into confusion that you've never felt before. Why was he so jolly? He then looks at you, his gaze softening, that smile never leaving his face. And for the first time seeing him, that feeling of desire and love swelled within you, your face growing warm as your wings flutter and puff about wildly. The feeling was so intense that you swore that your heart could burst from your chest onto the cloudy floor beneath you.

"Forgive you? The devotion you feel, that love is the most pure, devoted feeling in all of the Infinite. You've held no ill intent within your love towards me, only adoration of the sweetest kind. You don't need to be ashamed of that," the Destroyer placed a tender paw onto your own, your paw now releasing your tail that swept behind you. He raised your paw to his muzzle, planting a tender kiss unto the back of it. "If anything, I find it a devotion that deserves the highest reward of being my right hand. I suppose saying this would be considered rather binding, but... I love you, [Name]."

Trembling breaths leave you as you had heard those words leave his lips. He loves you?! He does. It were as if your own prayers had been answered, and mayhaps, they were. No longer were you merely just another angel, but rather the right hand of the Destroyer himself. You swooned, pulling yourself forward so that your muzzles can meet in a tender and chaste kiss. After a while, you pull away, your head resting in the crook of his neck. All of this had felt like a blessing, and it most likely was, as you were now proudly alongside the Destroyer in the Infinite. Not as an underling or a cohort, but as a partner.

ITP!Spring Bonnie

He doesn't really know too much about horror films! C'mon, he's a living creature that takes form of an animatronic that stayed in a ball pit in a pizzeria for quite a while, so he wouldn't hold much cinematic knowledge.

It is VAUGELY familiar with some films like 'Killer Klowns from Outer Space' and 'Beetlejuice', but it hasn't seen any of the more modern horror films.

LOVES paranormal/supernatural body horror. Movies like 'The Thing' make it get all giddy as it points to the creature like 'That's me!! :D'

Opposite of that, Pit-Trap DESPISES medical body horror. Films like Tusk or Human Centipede will disturb it very greatly, and it will try to hide into its F/O's (your) touch for comfort

He'll try to find any cutsey horror-related gifts for you, or make some of his own! It doesn't know how money works, so it might accidentally shoplift some things...

Pit-Trap absolutely loves going on movie dates with you! You both get dressed up in matching horror t-shirts to go see scary movies together in the theater

It's a fan of more goofier/unserious horror movies, but also likes the more grittier stuff like actual horror (i.e: Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, Scream, etc.)

LOVES ghost stories. You tell each other spooky myths and urban legends while cuddling together!

You both do matching horror costumes for halloween, too <3

Springtrap

Has probably seen a few back when he was alive, and is willing to watch them with you

Absolutely adores horror mockumentaries like Faces of Death, but really likes the crime themed mockumentaries like The Poughkeepsie Tapes or Man Bites Dog. "Ah, reminds me of the documentaries they made of me after my death!" he'd say.

Probably would not understand an A24 horror film. Hereditary, maybe, but he'd lose it at all the King Paimon stuff and get confused.

He'd manage to get you some horror themed stuff off random people he kills if they have any on them. "Look what I have found you, my love!" as he holds up whatever he got, which is now stained partially with blood

Spring thinks that ghost stories are childish, but he's willing to listen to whatever mythical, spooky legends you want to yap about

He won't do it often, but with enough pestering, he MIGHT dress up in matching horror outfits or costumes

If you get scared during a horror movie, he's probably gonna use that to scare you a bit more later in the day. Maybe sit in the corner of the bedroom and stare at you, make his LEDs in his eyes glow a bit, or just jumpscare you when you least expect it (he's an asshole like that

Adores slashers, but also dislikes how unrealistic they are at times. Will critique some of their murder methods and yap on about how he'd go about it, "How unrealistic! If I were in that situation, I would-" followed by a solid three minute tirade about how the body wouldn't be stiff enough to stand on its own after decapitation

He'd either love or hate Terrifier. Take that as you will.

These visits were kept discreet. Not a word of Ash was uttered to your boss, nor did you mention it to Tracy, the Paw-Mart clerk who you'd see when you bought cat food for the Stacy clones in Dr. Beanies' lab. Seldom did you ever go into the alleys in broad daylight. Only when the sun had lain its head down for sleep and the moon rose high above Boon County did you take yourself to visit Ash. A zombie like him didn't really need to sleep, and you mostly ran on coffee or whatever caffeinated beverages you could scrounge up, so your meetings were rather late. Sure, it meddled in your waking life later, but that was a sacrifice you were willing to make for the time being.

Although Boon County was a town of many oddities, your peril still lingered in your mind. What if Tracy saw you and Ash behind the P-Mart one night? Or some random passerby overheard the both of you talking about how the day had went? Someone would find out eventually, and the word would spread, a forest fire of gossip! You knew how fast it spread... All too well. Playground rumors. Every time you went into school, there'd be a new rumor or something similar being spread about amongst the other children, from harmless things, to full blown ostracization that made you suffer.

Spring. March Twentieth. 1997. Third grade. Amongst the kids that were playing in recess, hopscotch and jump rope or even a game of tag, you approached a group of kids. You asked to join, your voice soft and timid, one of your baby teeth having been missing from eating a granola bar. Looking at you, the other kids whisper among themselves, not long before they pointed at you and jeered a mocking rhyme about you having cooties, laughing in unison as the methodical chant yanked at your heart and tore it to peices. It wasn't real, but you didn't know, and it broke your heart, sending you off crying near the fence on the outskirts of the school's playground.

If it wasn't cooties, it were a crush. If it weren't a crush, it'd be some made up rumor of you doing something embarrassing. You couldn't win. Every week, it were something different, you'd be laughed at. Humiliated. No matter how much you cried or how often you told teachers and staff, nothing changed. Shutting down was your only solace, you found comfort in reading alone, drawing alone, even eating alone during lunch. Cravings for companionship haunted you, a sirens song you ignored. Each day was filled with tears, but you lived with it. A new normal. One that you suffered with up until your adult years.

A shudder leaves your lips as you ruminate on those thoughts. No. Never again. Shaking your head, you go on about your day, attempting to just try and keep calm about your situation with Ash. About keeping something so controversial and taboo so secret. No matter! You go on about work. Assist Beanies, sort things... Oh. Looks like you might need to buy more cat food. Well then, that settles it. Grabbing your coat after you fed the last of the cat food to the clones, you make your way to the P-Mart. The bell above the door jingles, signaling your approach to Tracy, who rolls her eyes and waves at you. No need to greet a regular that usually comes every few days or so.

Each bag spoke out to you differently. But the one that was your priority was big, at least twenty or so pounds, if not heavier. Large enough to keep all the Stacy clones fed for weeks on end, or at least a couple of days. Again, there were quite a lot of those little cats roaming around the doctor's lab, so you wouldn't be shocked if they'd need multiple bags of food. Grabbing two bags, you haul them over to the counter. Rather heavy, you swore your back could've gave out at any second! Once on the counter, you took out your wallet, ready to pay for the cat food. Tracy punches in the numbers into the register... Then looks at you. Annoyance and disdain in her gaze.

"That'll be $56.99. You know I can see when you go into the back alleys, right? You're not subtle," She points a finger at you, accusing you of something. Oh no. Tracy leans in further, her breath beating your face as spit flies onto your face. "And you act like I can't see you bringing in dead animals with you?! You FASCIST!! I know you're probably sacrificing those poor animals or eating them without a second care in the damn world! You're HORRIBLE, [NAME] [LASTNAME]!! I don't know what you're doing, but I know it's unethical against animals, you nazi scum..." Followed by Tracy clearing her throat, looking around in a panic, and then putting on that customer-service voice once more through gritted teeth. "Have a blessed day!"

Leaving about seventy bucks on the counter, you wobbled off with your cat food, not looking back. Well, at least she didn't know about Ash... But still, how she yelled at you with ire and disdain, that hateful look that burned within her eyes, a fire that tore into the deep crevasses of your soul. Within your mind, the thought lingered. What if she knew? About you and Ash? What if she was going to tell everyone at one of the town hall meetings?! Or worse, what if she tells all the other customers, who will tell their friends and family?! Word will spread, up to your boss, Dr. Beanies was sure to fire you, you just knew it!!

The second you brought those bags back into the lab, you rushed into the bathroom. No room to talk, no room for argument. Just feet padding against the linoleum floor in harsh, desperate thuds against the ground. Locking yourself in the bathroom, you were alone. Perfect. You turn the faucet. Water rushed from the spout of the sink, covering up any noise you would have elsewise made. Air in your lungs struggled to stay both in and out, as you began to hyperventilate, your vision swimming in a blur. Your hands fly to grip the porcaline of the sink, knuckles growing white as you felt your heart tremble, much like the rest of you.

Panic fills you as each second slows down, each minute feeling like a limbo of eternity. Tears flow from your eyes, landing onto the floor beneath you, salt of sorrow and water of woe staining your cheeks as you look at yourself in the mirror, then back at your hands that were clasped around the sink's frame. Shame. Disgust. That was what you felt towards yourself. Nothing felt good about you for being near Ash. He was nice, sweet, you liked him! Yet... Nobody else saw that. You believed, firm in your heart, that people were cruel. Nothing would change that.

Laughter. That was all you had heard in the bathroom before your head was shoved into the bowl of the toilet, feeling the water swirl about you, a whirlpool of shame while you were being harassed. You felt intimidated, the goal of the perpetrators. They rip your head from the bowl, the bellowing echo of their schadenfreude rings out in your ears, insults were slung at your direction. A scream to stop was ripped from you, alas, it fell upon deaf ears as your head met toilet water once more. Swirlies. They were the worst. Not as horrific as being shoved into a locker, but still awful. And for what? The fact you liked reading? Science?! You were a nerd in their eyes, a social outcast who deserved this. Yet you didn't see it like that.

Work ends. Its not long that you're scrounging for something that you can hand over to Ash. Anything, really... That's when you find it. A small, plush cat with 'I <3 YOU' embroidered on its chest. It's cute, sweet, and something simple. It's the perfect gift for Ash, so you pick it up, holding it in your hands. Once you're in the alley, Ash looks at you, his glassy gaze meeting your own. He's happy to see you once again after a while of being apart. After all, the nights grow so cold and isolated at times when you leave, so it's blatant that he's going to light up at the sight of you. Ash's arms wrap around you, lanky and cold, yet welcoming.

"[NAME]!! I missed ya so much! ... The worms kept biting at me from how sad I was. What's that in your hands?" Ash tilted his rotting head, a worm popping out of a small wound on the side of his head.

A small giggle leaves you, as you hand Ash the little cat plushie. "It's a plushie. You hug it when you get lonely. I saw it and thought of you, and I thought you would like it-"

Smooch!

Ash leans in and kisses you, smack dab on the lips. Not quite romantic, far from it. Hyper, excited, he tasted of rot and mildew, the faint tinge of blood lingered in his mouth from his cut tongue. Ash's arms kept wrapped up around you, tight for a corpse that was alive, the plush cat dangling from his hands. His lips felt chapped against your own, cold, just like death itself. Your eyes widen. You couldn't be kissing! What if somebody saw you?! You'd be done for, that was certain! Yet the moment he pulled away, your heart ached. That kiss felt magical, a warmth spread beneath your face as your chest thrummed from something that felt fuzzy and soft, a pule leaving your lips as you craved more of that kiss.

That was when Ash spilled his feelings out to you, sincere and devoted. "Oh, [Name], you really are an angel of brains and beauty! You make the maggots in me squirm more than they normally do! ... What was I gonna say? Oh, yeah! I love ya, [Name]!" Ash nuzzled into your neck as he giggled, a dumb, love-struck grin stretching across his face.

He... WHAT?!

So, Ash was just in love with you? You've only known each other for about a week or so! But... He seemed so sure. If you were to reject him, he'd be devastated. The image formed in your head. Ash crying in a dumpster alone, heartbroken and dejected from your words. Bugs crawling in and out of his skin, blood and mucus coming from his nose, ugly sobs that would haunt the town for weeks: even thinking about it made your heart ache within your chest. So, what do you do? Play along. Ignoring the fetid reek of his decay and rot, you muster up a kind smile, looking at him with you [eye color] gaze.

"I... I love you to, Ash," sweat formed on your palms as you blink, looking at him to see for anything that looked like too much brain power, but there were little to no thoughts in that head of his.

Without warning, blood gushed from Ash's nostrils, not much of a nose, only the holes. Red ichor and maggots landed on the floor as he let out a manic giggle, as he spins around with you in his arms. Ash peppers your kiss in cold, loving kisses, your heart thrumming in your chest at his ecstasy from those simple words. He placed you in front of him, grabbing your shoulders in a firm manner, a singular dark tear of rot and bile leaking from his eye as his smile was now close to splitting his face in half. Looking at him, he was so overjoyed from your words. He's not used to kindness. To love. Yet with you, it's the most natural thing.

"Oh, [Name]! You're so sweet, you'll kill me a second time!" Followed with another kiss to your lips that lasted a shorter time than the first one. Ash keeps you held close, his voice now dropping to a whisper. "I'm gonna make sure that I love ya reaaaaal good... Pamper you properly! Take you out on an actual date! Maybe behind the dumpster near the Mexican food place?"

Well, at least he was considerate. A date sounded nice, yet, again, you only said yes to avoid hurting his feelings. You nod, and Ash's lips meet yours once again, his hands gripping you, afraid that you'd disappear the moment he released you. As the kiss ended and you left to go home to your apartment, the day's events played on loop. Ash's kiss, his proposal of an actual date, how he confessed his love when you gave him that cat plushie. All of it whirled in your mind, making you feel all sweet and syrupy. Were you actually in love with him? Maybe you were. And that would be an issue.

Ceiling fan spinning. The hum of the heater. Owls hooting outside, their song not lost upon your ears. Flashes of memory loops in your mind, a tape that is constantly rewound and played back again. How cold yet tender Ash's lips were against your own, his raw delight at your feigned confession of love, how happy he was when you gave him that gift. He genuinely thought you loved him. Romantically. Now your life was in a stalemate. Date the zombie man, or at least go along with his romantic advances to not break his sweet, loving heart, and risk the town figuring out and possibly shunning or humiliating you, maybe both... Or be seen as normal, call it off with him, yet hurt Ash's feelings and leave him alone, just as you once were.

Your hands fly to your face, dragging downwards and flopping to your sides as a groan escaped you. Nobody would be stupid enough to land themselves into a situation such as this one, yet here you were. Stuck. Between an undead that had loved you dearly for simply showing him kindness, and the desire to appear ordinary. The clock strikes ten PM. Late. Sleep doesn't come for you, as your mind races with scenarios where you and Ash were caught, shunned by society, laughed at, or even hurt. All for the reason that you loved him. Sure, weirder shit had happened in Boon County. But would that matter once the townsfolk hear about the sheepish assistant of the smartest man in town, dating the ghoul that ate dead cats?! To you, certainly not.

Turning over, another low sigh leaves you. Though tomorrow may be another day, your choices still lingered. Everything that you had done today wouldn't erase by tomorrow's light. Ash would still be in love with you, Tracy would still be onto you for whatever it was she got angry at you prior... And you'd still be feeling that fluttering, light feeling that wrapped around you. Every second in your bed, you felt it. Warmth that wouldn't leave, your heart swelling in your chest with every second that had passed, something you've feared yet yearned to feel. Love. Raw and real. Only one question remains: can you keep it secret from the rest of the town, and if so, how long until they all know your dirty little secret? Time will tell, but nothing else would.

That's why you found solace in being an assistant. Just work, don't talk a whole lot. Peaceful for you, but some would find that sort of work underwhelming in their eyes, people who craved attention like a lifeline. It never made sense to you. How people could desire the limelight of attention and leering gazes like that. In your eyes, it was mortifying, just the thought alone could strike fear into your eyes. What would people think if you got attention? Would they judge you for being nervous, or praise you for your mind? The uncertainty of it all made your stomach lurch and turn, as fear blanketed any reason you had. No. Thinking about being in front of a crowd alone made you shiver. Such a thought made you feel sick to your stomach.

Today was a day unlike any other. Getting dressed, showering, eating whatever you could scrounge up for breakfast, and taking some time to listen to the news on your radio before heading off to work. Work was average: organize vials, feed the Stacy clones, clean up any messes you see, and assist Dr. Beanies in any way you can. He requested help? You go over to assist him. Simple, not much socialization needed! It was perfect, your dream job. However, everything became odd the second that you had decided to take your route home, for within the back alleyways behind an old laundromat that had been running for longer than you could recall, a lingering smell of copper and decay lingered.

It was far from your nature to investigate something so morbid. So decrepit! Anyone in their right mind knew that odd smells and a back alley only meant one of two things: either there were a serial killer back there, or there was a fresh crime scene that had unfold prior to your approach. Yet, curiosity festered in your mind, feeding in the need to explore and discover the cause of the smell for yourself. Your feet led you deeper into the alleyway, further and further, up until you noticed a figure that were crouched over something. A fetid stench of decay lingered about, sneaking into your nose and causing bile to climb up in your throat. So that's where the smell came from... No matter! You swallow, attempting to hold in your lunch, and approach.

Turning around, the figure's face meets your own. Pale green skin that had been partly falling off, seldom hidden by linen bandages wrapped around its head that had been soaked in grime and dried blood, a glassy white gaze that met your own, with a smile that held rotted or missing teeth and cracked lips. Red ichor of life and masticated meat had stained its mouth, but not from itself, but rather what looked like a dead cat carcass in its bandage-wrapped hands, one that had possibly been dead before it grabbed it. Entrails leak from the body, as maggots writhe on the creature's hands, and onto the corpse. Disgust churns within your stomach, your brain cannot fathom why or what this mysterious being was or whatever it had been doing eating deceased felines! Horrific as it was, it intrigued you, caught your interest. A why was needed, a reason was required!

That's when it stood up, joints and ligaments cracking under pressure, rusted and worn from decomposition and decline. It was much taller than you, but rather lanky, at least around six feet in height. Its one, milky eye stared down at you. Not with hunger, but with a curiosity and confusion similar to your own. Within a situation like this, your first instinct would be to run. Yet, you didn't. There were no reason to run, at least not within this exact moment. This new being in front of you, although undead and festering away, shown no sign of hostility. It didn't make any remarks on wanting to eat your brains, or you in general, so you stood your ground, not yet running off or fighting. The being leans over, poking you with a bony, gangrenous finger, examining your for a second before it leans back, and speaks.

"Hey... How come you ain't runnin' or screamin'? Most people tend to do that when they see me! ... Or they throw rocks at me." It tilts its head, circling around you as it observed how you stood, your facial expressions, every last bit.

Its voice was raspy, a low scathe from damaged vocal chords that had been long deteriorated due to rot and the passage of time. Upon further inspection, you noticed something rather crucial. This creature, this unknown living dead had actually looked familiar to you. Not from a prior encounter, no, far from that! But rather in the newspaper. 'Breaking News! The Organ Grinder Returns To Feast On Dead Kitties!' That was the headline that had broken out around town, the image of it hunched over a dead cat, fur and meat mangled about in its mouth caused an outcry of cat owners and other townsfolk alike. Although most people were more so worried about it for sanitation reasons, concerned about how they could keep him around without a CDC violation and proposals of keeping him away from food shops and vendors, a vocal minority of townsfolk, mostly the elderly, considered him an abomination. Weirder stuff had happened in Boon County anyway, so a zombie wasn't the priority of the town.

Silence loomed over you both, as you consider your next words carefully. Again, you didn't know its intentions, so caution was of your utmost need. "Well, you don't seem mean... Why should I be scared? You're the Organ Grinder, right? A- At least that's what the town calls you! I'm un- ... I dunno if you wanna be called anything else."

The Organ Grinder blinks, its gaze unsteady. It seems to be spacing out in thought, possibly in an attempt to remember something. Post-mortem brain fog must be a bitch. "... Oh, yeah! Most people in town do call me that. But if you wanna call me somethin' else, I ain't stoppin' you!" It chimed, sounding rather happy that someone was willing to give it an actual name, rather than just going off of what the townsfolk called it.

You blink. Damn. You weren't good with names, nor were you good with coming up with any on the fly. Stroking your chin, you ruminate within thought, pondering about what you could possibly name an undead zombie that most townsfolk didn't consider appropriate company. It's not long until your eye catches wind of a book within the dumpster's brimming pile of trash. Bingo. Reaching over, you pull the book from the strewn mix of garbage, splitting it open and revealing its pages. Names fill the pages, followed with numbers that looked rather old. An old phone book. Maybe there was a name in here that the Organ Grinder can take up for grabs? Yeah!

Grazing through the list, each name doesn't stick whatsoever. Tom? No, not really fitting. Jason? Felt too uncharacteristic. Mark? He didn't even look like a Mark! Difficulty rises as you scramble through the book. Page after page of name, yet nothing seemed to placate itself within your mind as a fitting name. Up until you saw the name 'Ash'. Like glue, it manage to stick itself to your mind, never letting go and clinging onto you like it were a lifeline. Ash. You test the name in your head, lolling it about in your receptors. It fit like a glove. Looking up from the book, your eyes met with the Organ Grinder's one good eye, his pale, white gaze looking at your own. Ugh... Not more eye contact, you avert your gaze as sweat clammed up on your palms.

"What uhh... What about Ash? Is that- Is that a good name?" You hide your face into the book, heat rising to your face as you felt that you'd be ridiculed for suggesting a name like that.

Another pause. The Organ Grinder lets out a low, hoarse hum, gravel in a bag being shaken together was the best comparison for what you had heard. He then speaks up, loud and hyper, its arms wrapping around you in a sudden embrace. "YEAH!! Yeah, Ash works real good! Oh, you're one of the smartest persons I know... Uhm... Do smart persons like you have a name?"

Huh. Well, at least it liked the name. Looking at Ash, he now seems unsure, his smile lopsided and awkward. It could have gone worse, that was for certain. After all, you'd came up with at least twenty scenarios where he had despised the name you'd thought up. But never a scenario where he liked it or asked for your own name, no. That had never came into your thought process. Introductions were also rather nightmarish, having to do icebreakers at your old jobs or even stating your name to prior cohorts felt like giving them ammunition to use to make fun of you later! But Ash? He felt somewhat safe. Not entirely, but he wasn't hostile either.

"O-Oh! I'm- I- My name is [Name]!" You blurted out, your face heating up as you peek out from behind the book, your eyes meeting the Organ Grinder, or rather, Ash's face. He's still beaming, still bright as ever. It's not long until his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, as a low croon leaves it.

"[Naaaaame]... So nice, like an angel with big smarts and a bigger heart," Ash's arms were shockingly tight around you, far more than you had expected for a corpse. It was so nice, yet... You didn't know how to feel about it hugging you like this.

Besides, what would the townsfolk think of this?! Surely, they would shun you out or make fun of you for being around a rotting, undead corpse such as Ash! At least that's what you think. Boon County was a small town, so word got around fast about who was doing what or who was intermingling with who. That was what scared you. Gossip. Even the word alone felt like poison on your tongue, a calling for the worst to come forth for you. What came with gossip varied: humiliation, public shunning, the gazes and sneers of passerby who either loathed you or pitied you depending on the situation... Even thinking of it made your heart sink down into your stomach and then some.

More thoughts brew about in your mind about the possibilities. Sure, you didn't have a crush on Ash, yet he seemed so fond of you! Not to mention how endearing he was acting... How were you to break it to him that you were simply friends and nothing more? What would your boss think about you being around an undead being such as Ash? Furthermore, what would the entire town think?! They'd be disgusted. They would loathe to see someone as sheepish and meek as you around a zombie that ate roadkill and got giddy over something as simple as being named in a genuine manner! You'd be as much of a freak in the town's eyes as Ash was, you just knew it! Even if you had no evidence.

After a while of being cuddled, you had to depart. It was getting rather late and you didn't want to stick out past the Winter Curfew. The reason why Boon County had that was so that nobody died of hypothermia, due to an incident that had happened all the way back in the 1800's, far before you were even a blip within the timeline. Within your apartment, you felt lonesome, but not the usual lonesome that you were okay with dealing with. Instead, it was something gut wrenching, something rather debilitating to yourself as you had lingered about on thoughts and memories of Ash, the Organ Grinder himself: his smile that didn't have quite enough teeth, his pale gaze that looked at you like some form of higher being, and just how he acted so nice to you in general.

It felt foreign, yet you adored it. Being treated so kindly after being adverse to socializing for what felt like years of your life, or maybe even your whole life. A warmth spread out all throughout your body as you lay in your bed, the soft hum of your heater in your room mingling with the thoughts in your head. Ash was so nice... Yet the townsfolk would probably freak out if they saw him walking about with you in his hands. They'd curse you both, laugh at you, shun you from the very township you had spent years in! Curating your persona, enduring horrible social interaction after dreadful festival invite! You wouldn't really break it all over some zombie guy.

Would you?

Well, life's been quiet in Boon County. Aside from the occasional chaos, such as the kaiju attacks or robot cats attempting to come forth to exterminate mankind and felines alike, you've spent most of your time to yourself. Beanies and you weren't working together anymore, yet both of you were still close and visited as you went about your own ways. He became a scientist, an inventor with a great mind of logic. On the opposing spectrum, you were a creative at heart, selling your works for cash. Each piece was a dive into your soul, something that was intimate, yet deep. Whenever you both got the chance to visit at the other's place, both of you would demonstrate whatever latest creation it was that either of you had made, tell stories of your week, and ruminate on fond memories of the past.

Up until now. At least two weeks had passed where Beanies had been absent: no messages, no calls, vanished into thin air with a lack of a trace. Even his lab, once full of his rambling rants and excited jeers, had now fallen silent and dead, save from the mewling croons of the cloned cats that reside within his residence. It was... Eerie. Disheartening. Your old friend, one who smiled bright like the sun at the sight of you, had eccentric behaviors that only you could see past into that soul of his, now a mere memoir. None of it made sense. Not his disappearance, not the abrupt nature of it, and certainly not the lack of notification. Concern muddled your trail of thoughts, leading you into pacing about in your apartment and reflecting on memories and possibilities alike.

And with his disappearance? That feeling worsens. Not the mourning of your friend's abrupt departure that went unsung, not the sorrow that had grappled and twisted your heart, no. Paranoia. One that had followed you since the initialized creation of that damn time machine, which had now sat in front of Thomas' garage lab in ruin. Eyes that had watched you that were invisible, a voice that was inaudible yet spoke only to you, phantom hands that rested on you when you weren't looking, and the shadows that loom near you had grown ever more present, far more visible than prior. It felt that there was something not of this world that had decided to steak its claim on you.

But that concept alone felt ridiculous. A supernatural being that had loomed over you, taking interest in your every move, now being drawn closer to you since the absence of Thomas had left you more vulnerable. After all, you had a minuscule selection of friends and neighbors that you could talk to. Thomas was one of, if not the only person within Boon County that you could feel comfortable enough with talking to about anything and everything under the sun, and since he was no longer present, you've grown a bit more enclosed. Silence would blanket and smother your apartment, memories waltz in your mind as a looping dance of nostalgia that left a bittersweet taste in your mouth.

Days melted together, a loop of itself. Morning awakes you with light dancing down from the sun and hitting your face, you lurch upwards and get dressed for the day. Painting, sculpting, and other creative work takes up most of your time, immersing yourself to keep yourself away from an idle mind. You're lucky if you even manage to stuff a few bites of food without reminiscing over the many times you'd nag Thomas to get up from his workbench to get something to eat. Nightfall brings forth your leisure. Showering makes you yearn once more, missing when you and Beanies would shower together to save money, at least that what you both had told one another. Even the TV isn't safe from your past, as sci-fi movies reminded you of those little rants Thomas would do, complaining about the inaccuracies of certain details and showing a vehement ire that was somewhat charming.

Depression grows far more worse for you. Some days, you wouldn't get out of bed, lacking the viable energy to brush your teeth or shower. Sorrow overtakes your creative endeavors, too. More of your paintings grew morbid and despondent in subject matter, as more lines of desaturated paint are used rather than the vibrance of pastels you had used just weeks ago, your sculptures are now mournful as vases had painted stories of loss and statues shown a melancholy that could be felt by even the most energetic of souls. Some of your projects even went unfinished, left forgotten by time. You said you'd do it later, but later soon melted into never. Sunlight became your enemy, each morning a cruel reminder of the friend you lost, the light a reminder of that warm smile of his.

You'd ponder the questions of life, about what your meaning or purpose was. What's a creative without their logistic? Who were you, if not aside from Thomas' close friend from college? Will he ever come back? Sure, you had a life outside of him. But that life was isolated. Alone. No other person really existed as close as Thomas did with you. It hurt, waking every morning, having hope being ripped from your chest and torn to shreds as no new updates come from him. Tears take up time you'd spend your free time. During movies, you'd hug your pillow and sob, pretending it were him at least one more time. At bed, you'd put a lab coat he gave you as a gift onto a pillow, a makeshift case that smelt faintly of chemicals, of him, that you'd lay your head against with crystalline sorrow trailing down your face. Even in your work process, you'd remember his voice complimenting your innovation of artistic talent, and soon your sadness mixed with the paint.

Those eyes never left you. Never stopped staring at you in such a miserable, pathetic state. If anything, the feeling of that gaze grew more intense, laughter could be heard within your mind, yet never aloud, as sometimes you'd struggle to breath, only to gasp for breath as you felt your neck grow tight and then release with little explanation. Almost a strangle, not one to kill you, but one to mess with you. To mock you. Each time you turn into another room, the shadows would move with striking, fluid grace, as a voice in your head would whisper unintelligible garble into your ears. The imminent feeling of ghostly hands grazing against your waist or shoulders makes you shudder, and at first you assume that it's just merely the nostalgic memory of Thomas taking hold in you. Yet it kept happening, growing more bold, holding your hand and petting your hair: things Thomas himself wouldn't do.

Everything. Oh, everything was a lot. Too much, even! There had to be something you could by to make everything null down into whatever depths there were! Each waking hour of your life had been plagued with the feeling of eyes leering onto you, memories of the past that had now been reminders of what you had lost, and phantom feelings of both voice and touch encasing you. On a particular smog-smothered evening amidst the crisp autumn breeze, you encounter a rather shady looking individual who was dressed in mostly black. They were selling marijuana. A type of herbal drug that could either quell your issues, or uphold them into a light that would amplify them. Only one way to find out, really.

Purchasing a bag of weed, you decide to indulge in the drug. You grind it up, roll it in some parchment paper you had lying around, and set it alight. With trembling hands, your mind ponders. This was wrong... What would Thomas think?! He never liked the idea of drugs, save for a few experimental chemicals he worked on that had drug-like affects on them, and he'd be vehement and ireful if he found out that you even considered smoking that Mary Jane. Taking a puff of the blunt, your mind calms itself down, your nerves no longer high-strung or racking from the endearing paranoia that festered within your mind. Calm. That was a feeling that had washed over you after weeks, maybe even a month or two of pure anxiety and despondence that had never ceased. A quell to your storm.

Euphoria soaks your brain, not long before your mind goes from being a sponge of pleasure to a projection of bright colors and sounds, a kaleidoscope within a shop of musical instruments and whirling doo-dads. Hallucinations. Your pupils dilate as you look down at your hands which had changed shape and colors, not long before the room's entire tint changes to blue, then green, then pink, back to blue. Melting like butter, the walls reveal a pasture of flowers and grass, butterflies fluttering by, a beautiful redwood tree stands in front of you, along with... Thomas. He's smiling, looking at you with that calm smile he had whenever he'd just woken up. He doesn't look like what he looks like now, but when he did back in college. A full head of that curly hair you loved to run your fingers through, his physique much more lean from his habit of not eating unless bothered to, wearing his favorite argyle sweater and slacks.

Swelling in your chest, your heart pounds in your ribcage, a roaring lion compared to your elsewise quiet personality. Your blood grows hot, as some of it starts to trickle down your nose and out your fingertips. Thomas approaches you and caresses your face, his touch reverent and warm, not hidden behind those gloves he wore in the modern day. Behind those glasses of his, his greenish hazel gaze locks with your own, full of admiration and adoration. He leans in, and no warning comes when his lips interlock with yours. No stress, no anxiety. Pure bliss. The both of you floated above the ground, the pasture long forgotten as you both loom amongst the clouds, kissing one another within a tight embrace. You missed this. Far more than you could've ever admitted.

Once you fall from your high, so does your hallucination. Everything fades away as you pull away from the kiss, and soon, it hits you. Nothing was there, you just kissed the air. Huh. Thank goodness that you were in your apartment alone. At least, you assume you were alone. The paranoia had subsided, you feel inspired by the visions of the marijuana as artisanal creativity strikes you from within your very bones. Grabbing some paints, vibrant and bright colors, you splatter them amongst a canvas that had laid forgotten for some time, each trail of paint telling a story, each splotch diving deep into your heart and mind. After what felt like hours, an abstract masterpiece had been created! It was so beautiful, it'd be worth a fortune!

Weed was your only anchor. Every day, at least three times a day, you'd smoke and inhale, indulging in hallucinations that weren't there, basing your artistic visions on what you had seen while under the influence of the herbal drug. Alas, with ups, comes many, many downs. Each second you went without any marijuana in your systems, you grew shakier, more paranoid than you were prior. A looming figure in the shadows would stare at you. Smiling. It never blinked, seldom did anything other than flash you a quick smile of a white-lined mouth with two fangs, and disappear without a trace. Fear would leech onto you every time you saw that figure: its gaze, you felt that you've had it linger on you before, despite this being the only time you've seen this... This thing!

Fall passes. Winter comes forth as the new year rears its face towards you. A lack of resolutions for change were made. You couldn't do it this year. Not without your friend, your closest companion. On this cold, snowing December night, you can only feel numb, if not frightened. Silence felt like an omen, each time a shadow even moves an inch, in terror you would flinch. Nothing had felt normal, as you've spent more time getting high than curating your art, let alone making it: you were a shell of your former self, and it made you feel nothing. Amidst your thoughts, one bothersome urge won't leave you alone. Take a hit. C'mon! It'll make you feel better, make you forget about your sad, lonely life within this crappy town. Aren't you tired of feeling like a fish in a birdcage? Nobody else will be here to comfort you. You could kill yourself and nobody would bat an eye. You're only a starving artist. Just do it and take the drugs already, you pathetic excuse of a human.

Shaking your head in disappointment towards yourself, you take up a bong you bought back in October, placing the weed within the bowl and setting it alight. But when the high hits? No bright colors, no bliss. Shadows. Dark, leering tendrils of the abyss come forth from the shadows and begin to wrap around your ankles, cold and slimy tentacles of the dark that wouldn't release you. Ripping from your throat, you scream as you throw the bong down at the tendrils, which soon melt into the ground. Air is thrusted in and out of your lungs as you start to hyperventilate, your eyes dart around the room as it starts to melt and spin, the shadows moving and morphing with a life of their own, paintings becoming gross exaggerations of your life, your trials and tribulations, mockeries of your memories.

You trip over the coffee table, not long before another shadowy tendril latches onto your wrist. Nothing felt real, yet it all felt too real to be a hallucination at the same time. Ripping your arm away, you free yourself from the shadow of the tendril once more, and you immediately stand up, running down your hallway that seemed to stretch on for miles. Grotesque paintings filled the hall, memories of you with beanies being distorted, showing him as a rotting, festering corpse and you as some kind of junkie, making you feel sick to your stomach as bile rises in your throat, nausea taking over your form. Reaching the bathroom, you slam the door shut and lock it behind you. Loud, boisterous slams could be heard against the door, making you shake with tears of fear in your eyes. The sink comes to life when you turn the knobs in a harsh manner of force, cupping the water into your hands and splashing it onto your face.

Everything stops. The banging ceases, the room is no longer spinning about or melting, normalcy forms about your life once more. A sigh leaves your lips as you close your eyes and take a breath. Finally. Peace at last, no paranoia. Not for long. For when you open your eyes, you see the figure, standing behind you. The very same one, made of the shadows, white eyes staring into your own, that white, fanged grin plastered onto its face. So that wasn't a bad trip? Or was it? Nothing made sense anymore. Reality or drug-induced madness. None of it would matter. for when you turned around to let out a scream, cold metal meets your head, leading you to be knocked out cold onto the tile floor of your bathroom. Last thing you see before the darkness takes you over is that shadowy figure, glowing eyes leering down at you, and that damn smile.

Pain throbs about within your head, a sharp ache that had been pounding within your head for a good few minutes as you awake. What you saw made you gasp, for you were no longer in your own apartment, but somewhere all to familiar. Thomas' lab. Why? How?! Did that entity take you here?! Questions swirl about in your mind, a whirling storm of mystery. Struggling first came to your mind, but when you try to stand, nothing happens. You're tied up. That was when the entity manifested in front of you again, a shadow growing and popping into reality to become a solid, tangible manifestations. Same glowing eyes, same smile, it's tumor-like attachment on the side of its head looks at you with its own blank expression. Before you could scold or cry at it, the entity soon speaks up, its voice glitching, like this wasn't supposed to exist within this reality.

"Good morning! You've been out for so long, I thought I killed you. But holy fcuk, you're alive, that's good!" It beams, its arms shooting up as it cheered for your survival. Without warning, the entity leans in, it's face an inch from your own as the scent of stagnant ozone mixed with something damp and earthy takes up your nostrils with no preface. "Y'know, your apartment looked like shit. Thank God I got you out of there! Smelled like weed and old takeout... What a sad little man you are, [Name], absolutely pathetic!"

"Wh- Who are you?!" Your tone is frantic as the question flew from your lips. You look around, still no sign of Thomas to be found. "Where- Where's Thomas? Beanies?! Are you here?!" No response forms when you call out for your friend.

A low, humorless laugh leaves the entity. It rolls its eyes before its glowing white gaze meets yours, unimpressed at how panicked you were acting. "Woooow, how frivolous. He's dead, y'know. Killed him myself, too! I'm Steven, by the way, and I've been watching you ever since that fcuker died trying to mess with time!"

Fear. That was all you felt, starting to mix with disbelief and ire so strong that it could burn down cities. Refusal to believe anything that this entity, that Steven had said was your first instinct. "He's... He's not dead, he can't be! If he is- If he were dead, I would've known!" Tears well in your eyes as you begin to protest. Just the thought alone felt so harmful, so cold to even think of.

Steven snaps his fingers, as a temporal rift opens up above the medical table that Thomas had used for autopsies on humans and cats alike. Within the rift, you saw a limp hand fall out, covered by a black latex glove that looked far too familiar to be a coincidence. With little grace, the carcass of Beanies flops onto the table. Dead. There was no breathing from him, no slow rise and fall of his chest. His skin was pale, having grown cold and clammy from the kiss of death's harsh grasp upon him. Looking at him further, his eyes were lifeless voids of pure black, his gaze frozen in a petrified gasp, horror filling his final expression before he had met such an untimely demise. And seeing that sight? It'd hurt you far more than anything else this cruel world could have hurled your way.

Tears well up in your eyes as your throat felt an ache of sorrow strangle any words that could've escaped. Nothing coherent left you. Only violent, pained sobs ripped from deep within your spirit, a sort of pain that only true grief and despair could conjure up. Your best friend, possibly the only friend you've had throughout college and during the most lonesome years of your life, was now deceased: Thomas was no longer around for you to talk to about mundane life, to hear his rambles about how inaccurate Back to the Future was, he was gone. Forever. Thomas Anderson Beanies, now merely stuck in your memories. The man you were close with. The man you loved. One you wished you confessed to sooner before it was too late.

Horrified as you were, Steven only laughed. He laughed at your pain. Your suffering. The fact that Beanies had died without being able to even say goodbye to you! And the worst of it all? One detail that Steven himself admitted? He did it himself. Steven had killed Thomas, the man who was there for you when the world ticked around you. Whether it was an act of sick devotion or a punishment for Beanies' endeavors to save his cat Stacy or whatever it was had no longer mattered to you. All that mattered to you in the harsh and grueling present moment was that Steven was a sick, twisted entity, who killed the only other person that was there for you within your adult years. It's not long before Steven's hand roughly entangles itself within your [hair color] hair, forcing you to meet his sadistic, manic gaze.

"WOW! You're crying? Like a little bitch?? Fkcu me, [Name]! It's just that cheating old man's corpse. Quit crying, be a man!" His voice glitched with a chuckle that lacked humor and satirized your suffering. His head tilts, his crooning voice becoming more cruel with each word, venom dripping in each word. "What's wrong? Are you sad that your little boy toy isn't around anymore? Don't worry, [Name]. You've got me now! I've had my eyes on a pretty boy like you for a while, and since you're available-"

"I don't want you!!" You snap, tears falling from your eyes in large droplets that raced from your face and hit the linoleum floor beneath you. Thrashing about, you attempt to free yourself from the ropes that bound you down, from Steven's grasp that had been planted into your hair. No success. Hate fuels your words, your expression growing sour as a vehement abhorrence mulls over your entire being. Every last bone in your body itched with the need to insult him. Now. "Thomas was always there for me, and you ripped him away from me! And for what? For time-travelling to save something he loved? You're selfish. You're selfish, and cruel, and I'll never want to be with you! Ever!!"

After you finish yelling, chest heaving from the sheer energy of your outburst alone, Steven's smile drops. His expression is now empty, a blank slate of neutrality that you couldn't read entirely. Burke blankets the room, it's dead, yet there's an underlying tension that's bubbling between both you and Steven. Before you knew it, you're being pummeled with fists, each blow to your face a harsh bruise as blood flies from a missing tooth that flies from your mouth. Steven grabs you by the back of your hair once more, turning you around as he slams you into the floor, repeatedly, the sickening crunch of your nose against the floor as more of that crimson ichor of life coats your face. Pain radiates throughout your being, not long until Steven pulls you back up, his arms wrapping around your neck in a tight, strangling grasp.

His smile's back. This time? Far more cruel, evil, a burning inferno of rage from within. A spine-chilling ire mixed with something far worse. "You know... I liked you. Watching you in your mess of an apartment, seeing you struggle with addiction, causing you to freak out from paranoia. But no! You had to fkuc it up with all this talk of that old fart! So, if I can't have you, then nobody can! Sayonara, shit-face!" A cruel laugh rings out as Steven's grip tightens around your neck.

Air doesn't reach your lungs. Your vision starts to swim, fiddling between blacking out, tunneling through seeing blurry and not being able to see at all. The tears slow down, lack of blood making its way to your face due to how tight Steven was holding you. "W-Wait, please... Don't- ghhhhk... Don't do this," A plea, one that Steven lets out a low hum at before his face is once again only an inch away from yours.

"Say you love me. Like you mean it."

Cold. Commanding. Steven's hand releases just enough pressure for you to speak clearly, yet you're still slowly suffocating. No. You didn't want to say that, you didn't want to confess a love to a being of time that you had an ardent hatred towards! If anything, you'd rather be dead next to Beanies than ever say that you loved Steven! Yet, you were scared. Afraid of what would come after death. Nothingness, maybe heaven, maybe even hell. Uncertainty causes you to cave in, terror clouding your allegiance to your friend whom you'd swear to be with through life and death. Through arid gasps and choked sobs, you managed to cry out.

"I-I love you! I love you, okay, Steven? Please, I love you!" Desperation is coaxed through each word as you struggle to breath. You felt pathetic. Truly. Never before had you stooped so low as to saying something as sincere as that, let alone just so that you could live. Sickness overtakes you, your stomach lurching as you soon realized the actions you had just taken.

A smug, leering grin forms on Steven's face, his glowing eyes now locked onto your soul with something possessive, something that made your blood run cold. His hand lets go of your neck, yet it doesn't leave your body entirely. No, far worse, Steven's hand rests on your knee, and he leans in, closing the space between you. To your worst demise, Steven kisses you, rough and marking, no gentle or tender movement as his lips crash against yours, his fangs grazing against your lower lip as his tongue lapped at the blood within your mouth from your now missing tooth. Disgust grabs hold of you, but Steven's other hand pressed against the back of your head, making it impossible to pull away from this predatory brand of his that he decided to thrust upon you.

Moving from your knee, Steven's other hand rests on your chest, rubbing in slow and idle circles that felt more disingenuous, a false comfort that didn't quite mitigate the harsh, decrepit nature of the kiss. A vague taste invaded your mouth as his tongue ties with your own. If shadows had a taste, then it could be easier to describe what Steven had taste of. But it felt stale, a mix of dust and lackluster air, with an undercurrent of something that could come off as a citrus. After what had felt like an eternity of hell within physical form, Steven pulls away as a string of mixed saliva and blood connects you both. He's still smiling, looking at you with that cruel, demeaning smile, enjoying the sight of you squirming beneath him.

"Awww, good boy! You're being pathetic for me instead of that meddling old man!" Steven croons, not long before he peppers your face in more kisses, ones that felt lackluster, only done to mock you, claim you further... Torment you. "It's adorable, really! I love you too, [Name]."

He loved you too. It was horrific, yet elating. No longer were you alone, yet the companionship you craved was handed to you on a plate of blood that leaked onto your hands. Guilt fills you. Thomas wouldn't want this. But Thomas is dead. No amount of sorrow or mourning would ever change that, so you simply chose to accept this new, sick fate of yours that had been passed into your hands. Not optimal. Far from it. Yet what other options did you have? Steven had kidnapped you, stalked you, killed one of the few people that had cared about you: you had nobody else to turn to, nobody else to talk with or go for help when things got tough. Only Steven. Just Steven. It scared you. But for Steven? He was reveling in it. Having you in this corner, kissing you all over, and making sure that you knew who owned your heart now.