haven underground

So I got this idea from Reddit

This thread about killers getting their own personal chase music. If you look at my replies, you’ll see I’ve been shot- I mean Silent Hill music came up! So just for fun, I thought I’d put a Silent Hill track to each killer/map! 

This track starts with heavy strums and thanks to the percussion, brings to mind heavy metal objects or containers. The music plods loudly like heavy footsteps. 

The dry strumming seems a good fit for all things hillbilly and rusting farm equipment, but the song also has a lonesome air to it that I think really suits poor Max. 

This sounds more suited for Torment Creek but I guess it can work for Gas Haven. The dry string sound as though something is being raked across them violently and brings to mind The Wraith’s handmade axe. The repetitive sound also seems fitting for Mr. Bing Bong. 

While there is certainly a spooky aspect to this song, I feel the piano brings a level of romance that’s warranted for Sally given her back story. The title is pretty fitting too.

This one feels almost like cheating but I couldn’t think of a better track to cover Lisa’s strange, primal and mystical culture background. I’m sure whatever her elders were teaching was great and all, but those triangles mean nothing but bad news anymore. 

This track has a quite unnerving sound that fades in a out, bringing to mind echos along blank walls. It’s intriguing, as well as a little spooky. (It was this or Remodeling from SH4.)


Also feels like a cop out, but hey, what better track for a hunter or huntress? Actually, let me know! Fling some suggestions for killer related music my way! 

Poison

Title: Poison
Characters: Dean x Reader, some Sam
Request: “could you do an imagine where sam and dean are drinking at the bunker and the reader gets kinda disappointed and sad bc she doesn’t drink? (her dad was an alcoholic or something?) maybe some fluff if you want? thanks! ily” - anonymous
Word Count: 3,125
Warnings: profanity, alcoholism, 
POV: Readers, 1st person

There was something about the simplicity of how Dean brought the golden-brown liquid to his lips that made me cringe. A bright smile upon his face, laughing along his brother, as they talked fondly of old hunts, drinking more and more of the toxin with each story. This wasn’t an unusual case in the bunker. It happened quite often, really. I wouldn’t be stretching the truth if I said they cracked the bar open most nights a week.

Dean especially.

If the hunt went well, he’d drink to their success with a grin and rare hope for the future he grasped onto with every part of him. If the hunt went south, well, that would usually end with Dean lying on the couch, passed out, clinging to an empty bottle of bourbon.

Either way, each night always ended the same. Drinking himself away to preserve the scarce feeling of happiness or erase all memories from his mind.

It killed me and he had no idea.

Keep reading