#ofhercs

horror headcanons

🔥 in a fire, they can only save three things (including people). who/what do they save?

soj y

in terms of people: emme, link, noah

in terms of items: maybe a couple of polaroids, the handmade card lenny made him, drawings emme gave him

one can almost imagine the scene as something soft, something comforting - woman with her head resting delicately on the boy’s shoulder, an almost display of vulnerability, of unguarded trust - or the illusion of it - swan necks bent gently, as if reliant on the sturdiness of the boy next to her to keep her upright. as if she wasn’t built with steel for bones, a thing that has always stood tall and unforgiving in silk.

but such illusions are easily ruined - not by the fumble of women wearing their guises of things needing their kings to rest heavy heads on, but rather, the harsh pull of guards on thin wrists, threatening to topple women over from their place in a makeshift-pretend peace.

“what is this - let go of me, you brute - !”

(we do not miss how the woman has waited until guards have turned their way before whispering in griffin-boy’s ears soft comforts, of asking him to sit closer to avoid the cold - making sure they see the whispers, footsteps thumping over moments later. we do not miss this, but the boy does)

Send “&” for a LOVING text.

[ text: link 🦅 ] thought you should know every dream i get that has him in it - from you or not [ text: link 🦅 ] but this one was of your brother this time, and not from you[ text: link 🦅 ] he still talks about you, the same way as i think he's always did [ text: link 🦅 ] i’ll draw for you the look on his face[ text: link 🦅 ] you're a good brother [ text: link 🦅 ] could you tell me what it's like - to have a brother

Send “%” for a CURIOUS text.

[ text: link 🦅 ] please don't think this is too much [ text: link 🦅 ]i wanna see if i can share dreams with real animals, not like when everyone's shifted [ text: link 🦅 ]how would the lions react if i take a nap by them? [ text: link 🦅 ]i don't know if that's helps but? [ text: link 🦅 ]i'll let you know if they dream of you

Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text.

SCARED TEXT.

boy is too inviting to uninvited guests; others all simmering in their rage at the newcomers gawking, newcomers smirking but boy wears one just the same, has no problem picking one out the crowd and pushing them to the back. says, i know free shows are a treat, but paid ones with me won’t leave you hungry. says, you don’t even need your wallet to afford me.

and when fists start to fly, lips meet mouth instead. asks for a different kind of fight with no less blood spilled. boy forgets that humans are things that know no beauty in carnage, the other shoving fingers down throat as if searching for his heart, hissing, it’s such a shame, pretty boy. are you really as docile as you are in your little cage?

(and we’ve seen this before, haven’t we? bones of fingers snap in mouths and eyes gleam golden, teeth stained red. bodies pinned down by moonlight and hunger on tables and belt buckles on thighs and canines bared in a chelsea grin and claws breaking through flesh - )

(heart between teeth and boy drenched in red, sitting up from the managed body beneath him, letting blood trickle down an arched back. is the beauty in the carnage himself, dead humans can now appreciate)

and in the crowd, a too familiar face staring back - soren catches his eyes, grins with mouth a horror painted crimson. slips off the body almost languidly, as if there wasn’t a hell broken loose around him.

“enjoying the show, lincoln?” he reeks too much of death when he stands too close to the other, licking his lips and keeping eyes golden, keeping eyes unblinking. “i won’t charge, just because ‘f how much i like you.”

the girl needs no help with zipping up the back of her gown, fastening diamonds to her ears with sharp jawlines angled here and there in the mirror before remembering the other in the washroom, the sound of bottles knocking and faucets turning on reminding the girl that she was not alone. 

“sweetheart, you do know that i booked the reservation for eight - being fashionably late is distasteful, especially if the table is booked under my name.” she calls out, the curve of her sentence as bladed as the lines drawn on her eyes. there’s always been a knife underlying her words, the other knows, and while sol has had no reason to use it on him yet, it was all a matter of misstep. 

(and what would a monster with all these heads, all these eyes do other than watch your every move?)

“you’ll be wearing the tie i bought you, yes? green brings out your eyes best and i won’t have my dear boy looking like anything other than the best when he’s with me.” there’s a smile on her lips, in her voice, but it’s always pressed closed. hiding teeth. hiding blood behind blood-red lips. 

a quick scan of his opened closet shows that the tie wasn’t there, nor was it draped on the chair or on some forlorn hanger - sol makes a mental note to chastise the boy for it later, especially when she sees a peek of green from underneath the mattress - my gift? tossed aside like that? how dare - but all thoughts are secondary when sol lifts the mattress and finds something better nestled snugly between the space there.

“let me help you.” she smiles, almost sweetly when the boy steps back into the room. slender fingers tie the green fabric easily, eyes as piercing as the diamond of the ring that now rests comfortably on her index finger, a new addition. with the way it flashes, the way her fingers pull at the fabric near his neck, there’s no way he can miss it. 

“now, doesn’t that look lovely?” sol hums, ring on her finger glinting as she traces a line down lincoln’s tie slowly, eyes never leaving his. 

it’s a quiet rebellion, bodies pressed to walls and high heels tapping softly against dining hall floors as they sneak out, hushes whispers and wide smiles as the cryptids are closer and closer to the outside, to freedom. soren swears he can see it already, the dazzling lights all neon and gaudy and perfect.

the vision is perhaps a little too good to be true, what with how chaos breaks loose in a split second, what with how their neat lines tiptoeing out the door turns into a frantic scramble towards the exit as a guard rounds the corner, loud shout commanding them to stop.

cover blown and any disguise of organization blown and the boy is making a dash towards the door, yelping and laughing as he dodges swiping hands just centimetres away from grabbing the hem of his suit jacket, close enough to hear the guards panting behind him. 

reaching hands are just close enough to grab the boy by his shirt when another pair snatches him from out of nowhere, pulling him to the side and leading the boy crashing through open doors on the side of the street. 

fingers pressed to lips and eyes peeking out bar windows and it takes soren a moment to recognize his new savour as none other than lincoln himself. 

the other slinks down into a seat at the bar once it seems he’s deemed the area safe of guards and soren takes the one next to him, still breathless, wind still in his hair. 

“if you’re gonna drag me into a bar, the least you can do is buy me a drink.” he grins, adrenaline still running in his veins with his restless fingers on the counter. 

send 🍺+ a question and my muse will answer drunk!