#entishe

hurt comfort prompts // Accepting !

Rachel had never bothered to lift a finger to help the times Tracy got into fights, but she was sure fighting now.

These evenings were more difficult for Faith. The ones where she could practically hear her past, hear the doubts and accusations start to bubble to the surface of her consciousness. Additional work or other methods of busying herself usually quieted the noise, but not tonight.

Tonight she was barely keeping her head above the sea of whispers Rachel had created. Like she was drowning.

You're not a burden.

The form in the doorway was unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time. From her spot on the floor, she reached a hand up, all but begging to be saved from the watery death that only she could perceive.

answering @entishe

what a mess. most of the chaos has been scrubbed away, cleansed, and buried back into the earth, where the world below could pull it in. the only thing left of the miserable scene was the bodies. mangled, missing limbs, exposed wet bones poking through masses of jagged flesh and muscle. it was a masterpiece of red, all for him.

the people who started this were at the top, as lucifer was a believer that everyone should be forced to see the consequences of their actions. so when these fuckheads started killing in his name, and their body count began to reach past twenty, he had to step in. a few kills here and there is flattering, but when news stations start picking up on it and it becomes something true crime podcasters start to chat about, it becomes a problem.

they were in the middle of a particularly gruesome group kill when he showed up. he made them watch with horrified eyes as he finished the job, and then took the axe to their necks. he could later deal with what their souls would suffer through, but the physical evidence always came first, and this case was hot. no time could be wasted on theatrics. he didn't need cops and detectives showing up and giving him a headache.

the walls of the trailer sparkled with the sinking sun, as if they never had a single drop of blood on them. all evidence went through a bucket of water and soap, rubbing alcohol, and a sunbath before they were buried in the dirt. the bodies were piled up, ready for the final fire.

𝑨𝑺𝑲 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑵 | 𝑨𝑪𝑪𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮

𝑫𝑶 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑲 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑵 𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑩𝑬 𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑰𝑵 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫?

"IT'S A FIRM 'NO' FROM ME. HE'D PROBABLY TRIP, HIT HIS HEAD ON A GENERATOR, AND DIE OF A BRAIN ANEURYSM. HE'S NOT VERY AGILE."

𝑫𝑶𝑬𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑼𝑵 𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑾𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑶𝑹 𝑵𝑶𝑻?

"OH SURE! SURE, HE LISTENS TO ME MORE OFTEN THAN NOT. HARD HEADED AS ALL GET OUT. I'LL TELL HIM TO WRITE SOMETHING DOWN, AND HE'LL BE ALL LIKE 'WE CAN'T SAY THAT! IT'LL GET US ON THE FBI'S WATCHLIST."

𝒀𝑶𝑼'𝑹𝑬 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑨 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 | 𝑨𝑪𝑪𝑬𝑷𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮

"COMING FROM THE THING THAT BROUGHT ME HERE TO BE A MONSTER. CHEAP WORDS, BABY.”

danny sharpens his knife, lovingly gifted by the entity, and he marvels at the quickly shink! it makes as he passes it across the whetstone. it’s perfectly clean now, no trace of the blood that had been on it earlier. no, no more meg guts left. just the pristine perfect reflection of his favorite person. danny johnson.

or well, ghostface. danny didn’t like taking the mask off around other people anymore. not since he’d been pulled in this world. he took it off when he was alone, left in his killer’s shack which was, for all intents and purposes, literally a shack. still, he hated seeing himself and fearing that he’d be here forever. no more alternate egos. no more... danny. just ghostface. no more jed. just ghostface. which, he didn’t mind the whole... “no jed” bit. jed was a fucking asshole. or well. a boring asshole.

@entishe​ sent ; " why am I so fascinated by you? "