#subtle horror

Overgrown

it may well be that you are not him.

I have known it, in quieter hours.

and yet—

you remain,

and that has proven kinder

Tomura Shigaraki drabble

It’s so foggy you almost don’t see him.

A few feet into the margin, a hitchhiker stands on the side of the road with his thumb held high.

Not just any hitchhiker.

He's wearing a nice suit. A crisp black jacket with pants to match. You run your eyes from the white collared shirt down to his bare feet.

Interesting outfit choice, you think to yourself as you slow to a stop. There's no way you can leave a man without shoes on the side of the road. Especially not in the middle of the night.

You unlock the passenger side as the man approaches. The crisp autumn air hits your face as he swings the door open. An earthy scent surrounds him, filling your car.

“Where to?” you ask, merging back into your lane.

“Wherever,” he grates, sounding like he hasn't spoken for a long time. It's as if the words are his own but he'd need to search for his voice again.

His red eyes look you over, settling onto your hands as they linger over the steering wheel. They're so vivid they practically glow in the dark. He's mesmerizing. It takes a lot out of you to not stare at him.

Up close, he's much more frail than you expected. His pale skin looks like it's never seen the light of day. It's nearly as light as the pearly white hair flowing past his shoulders. You notice that the back of his head is tangled but not the front.

Outside, the fog begins to clear. Settling in wisps around the trees. Rolling grassy hills are speckled with what you're now realizing are tombstones.

You glance at the man in the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

Silly + Angsty NSFW-ish One-shot

characters: 3700-ish 📝💪('ω'💪)

🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶

Rui was buried in paperwork, filling out forms MC needed to deliver back to Moby. Ed sat in the same room, unusually quiet, book in hand, the steady flip of pages punctuating the scratching of Rui’s pen. They heard the muffled slam of the entrance door. Definitely Lyca.

DC Fanfic

ONE - The What If Masterlist

The couch was too small for two grown people, but they made it work — legs tangled awkwardly, the TV flickering in the background with some low-budget reality show neither of them were really watching.

Stephanie shifted, grimacing as her arm bumped the sling strapped to her shoulder.

Across from her, sprawled half-off the other side of the couch like he didn’t have a spine, Oakly snorted, eyes flickering away from the TV towards her with a grin threatening to break across his face.

"You fell off a fire escape, Brown," he said, dry as hell. "A fire escape. That's like... Gotham 101. What are you even doing out there?"

Steph stuck her tongue out at him and adjusted the pillow jammed under her elbow.

"Slipped," she said defensively, rolling her eyes. "It was raining. It was wet. Shut up."

Oakly grinned, sharp and easy, and then went right back to rambling, his voice loose, casual, the way it only ever got when he was at home.

"Anyway," he continued, tipping his head back against the cushion, "Mio tried to crawl into the laundry chute again. Fourth time this month. Leila practically begged me to fish him out before the fire department got involved — 'cause last time they made her fill out incident reports and she’s convinced they’re gonna put her on some CPS watchlist."

Stephanie laughed under her breath.

"You get him out?"

Oakly shrugged lazily.

"Bribed him with Oreos and the promise of learning how to pick locks."

Steph choked.

Oakly just smirked — that slow, easy smirk that usually meant I'm kidding and I'm not at the same time.

Stephanie leaned her head back against the couch, listening to him talk — about Leila’s stress, about Mio’s latest attempt at breaking the sound barrier on his skateboard, about the old neighbor upstairs who kept trying to leave "offerings" at Oakly’s door because she was convinced he was some kind of guardian spirit.

The sling dug into her shoulder — dull and aching — but she barely noticed.

Because somewhere between Oakly’s deadpan stories and the hum of the broken heater, a thought sneaked up on her:

He could have been something else.

Not just museum tours and babysitting rescues.

Oakly had been good at it — scary good. Fast, brutal, smart. The kind of fighter you didn’t see coming until he was already in your blindspot.

If he’d stayed, if he’d let himself be pulled deeper — he could’ve been one of Gotham’s best.

But he hadn’t.

He was here. Half-asleep, hair messy, laughing about a ten-year-old stuck in a laundry chute.

And Steph couldn’t tell if it made her heart ache or feel lighter.

Maybe both.

Oakly reached over, plucked the remote out of her good hand.

"When's Cass coming? Did she get tired of your ass yet?"

"Bite me," she said automatically, tossing a popcorn kernel at his forehead.

He caught it mid-air, smirking.

For a moment — just a moment — it was easy to forget that there was a whole other world outside this apartment.

A world that ate people alive.

Note:

Some fanart of 'There's Something with Amy' by Mashed which is a 'Sonic the Hedgehog' fan animation, please check it out because the writing is very good along with the voice acting and animation.

DON'T TRUST TAILS