#(Boy why you got that paint face and thinner face?)

[beepsparks]

Good timezone people I just wanna say i got recommended a trailer for this movie called Mr. Crocket and

CLOCK CLOCK CLOCK CLOCK CLOCK 🫵🫵🫵

[strangersteddierthings]

Bad News First, Eddie

Part One 🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three����FInal Part

A continuation of Bad News First, Eddie. I am absolutely floored by the responses I received, and I will try my best to tag everyone who asked. I know it's not Eddie's part, but chronologically, Wayne's part felt right.

-

Of all the things Wayne’s been called, unobservant isn’t one of them. He’s lived in Hawkins his entire life. He knows who is who, what is what, and to keep his head down and believe there’s a cougar in the woods when he’s told.

So, when Nancy Wheeler shows up, asking questions, Wayne has answers. Is willing to give those answers because he remembers when little Will Byers went missing, and how Nancy and her friends had done more to try and find him than the entire police force of Hawkins. Nancy and her friends always seemed to be in the orbit of whatever terrible thing was happening in Hawkins these last few years.

So, foolishly, terribly, he doesn’t intervene. He thought they were like that Scooby Doo cartoon Eddie used to love; kids solving mysteries. If he’d known the true extent of the horror, he wouldn’t have let those kids go it alone. But he didn’t know then.

-

Still didn’t know the day he pretends to not know who Dustin Henderson is while swapping out Eddie’s missing poster. It’s easier than having to face someone who knows Eddie, someone who had been looking for him but failed to find him.

Until Dustin calls after him. Until Dustin speaks to him. Hands him Eddie’s necklace. Wayne can’t stand anymore, this breaks him. Dustin says he was with him, in the end. Calls Eddie a hero, said people would have loved him had they known him. It’s nothing Wayne doesn’t already know.

Eddie is his hero. He loves Eddie. And if he’d stepped in sooner, chased down these kids and asked just what the fuck was happening, maybe he could have changed the ending of this story.

-

Hawkins explodes into a hellscape days later and Wayne sets out to find Nancy Wheeler. If Eddie gave his life to protect these kids, then Wayne must strive to do no less.

Nancy’s got a good head on her shoulders, willing to accept any help offered. He can see how she’s survived this long. She gets in in touch with Hopper, who introduces him to Doctor Sam Owens and Lt Colonel Jack Sullivan.

-

He doesn’t think it’s fair that the fate of the world rests on the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old girl.

-

It’s Dustin who tells him the whole story, the night before the end. Either Eleven will win tomorrow, or she won’t, but the outcome gets decided then.

“I’m s-so sorry, Mr. M-Munson. We just… just left him there!” Dustin breaks down crying and Wayne reaches out to him, an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. If Wayne sheds a few tears, too, well. Who can blame him?

“Doctor Owens, a word,” Wayne pulls the man aside after the kids have gone to bed. “Dustin said… my boy is just yards away from our trailer. He didn’t even get out of the park. I understand it’s an all hands on deck situation, but can anyone be spared? Can anyone bring my boy back? I’ll go myself if I have to.”

Doctor Owens, a genuinely kind man, Wayne can tell, has tears filling his eyes just at the request. “Mr. Munson, we will do everything in our power to bring your boy home.”

-

Doctor Owens pays for the headstone. Said it was the least he could do since his team failed. Wayne tries not to be bitter about it.

The graffiti starts up almost immediately. Wayne doesn’t understand why.

-

He thinks he’s caught someone in the act, grabs roughly at the perpetrator and yanks. The Harrington boy stumbles up and back, a little bit of fear in his eyes but no paint in hand. He’s holding a rag and small container of paint thinner. A quick look between Harrington and the grave, he can see the half-cleaned headstone.

He’s never spoken much with Harrington, but Dustin has nothing bad to say.

“You know my boy?” because he can’t bring himself to say ‘knew’ just yet.

Harrington looks just about as haunted as Wayne feels when he says, so quietly, “Not as well as I would have liked, sir.”

-

Wayne is observant, but even he can admit it takes longer than he thought to figure out Steve Harrington. That boy had put himself between those kids and danger again, and again, and again, and lived. Eddie did it once and… well, Wayne reckons Steve thinks it should have been him. He won’t say so out loud, but Wayne sees a lot of his younger self in Steve, knows him in much the same way he knows himself.

Steve lives with a guilt he shouldn’t; this was Eddie’s choice. His reckless, dangerous, courageous choice. And they’ve got to learn to live with it. Steve’s parents are absent, and Wayne’s nephew is gone. Without any conscious decision about it, they’ve adopted each other.

Steve wants to know everything about Eddie. Every little story Wayne can come up with. And he, well, he loves that someone wants to know. Wants to remember Eddie with him.

“Bad news. I regret not knowing him sooner,” Steve confesses to him one day as they scrub the headstone clean again.

“Good news. You know him now,” Wayne replies.

“Do I?”

Wayne can’t answer that. Not honestly one way or another. How well can you know someone from secondhand information? Steve spent a total of five days in his nephew’s company but he helps keep his memory alive. “I don’t know. What I do know is that Eddie Munson won’t be forgotten when I die. And that matters.”

-

He gets in an accident at the plant. He doesn’t remember what happened, not fully, but he knows that Steve never left his side. Demanded his come stay in his big empty house. Easier to move around in, with all the open space.

Wayne wasn’t really attached to his apartment anyway. If he was going to live the rest of his life in a home that had never known Eddie’s presence, it could at least be with someone who had known Eddie’s presence, however briefly.

-

Wayne wonders if he’s done the right thing sometimes. Indulging Steve’s need to know Eddie. At first, he thought it was fine, because learning about Eddie seemed to alleviate Steve’s guilt. But now.

He’s watching the boy fall in love with a ghost.

Helping it happen, even.

Robin and Steve aren’t nearly as quiet or subtle as they think, and Wayne’s observant. They seem to forget that Wayne’s just old, and not deaf and blind.

Or maybe, they’re comfortable enough that they don’t truly hide from him.

And it hurts his heart to think this (because he’s thinking it about his Eddie, wonderful, loving Eddie) but Steve deserves to love more than a ghost.

-

And then the kids graduate. Start to go to college. Steve acts fine, but he’s not. Wayne knows. It’s like he’s losing his purpose, but Wayne’s just as broken. Not strong enough to push Steve away. To make Steve go, too.

Honestly, he’s a little afraid that if he tried, then Steve would follow right after Eddie.

So, he doesn't. He decides he needs Steve, and perhaps even more so, Steve needs him.

-

Then, five years after Eddie’s death, the call happens. It’s about his piece of shit little brother, Wyatt. He’s gotta go, though. Because this is one last strand of Eddie. Eddie’s mother has been gone longer than Eddie, and fuck, Wyatt deserves to know. Wayne doesn’t claim to be a saint; if his brother wasn’t being released, he’d probably never tell him. He’d let him die in that prison believing his son is alive.

He doesn’t even know if Wyatt will care that Eddie’s gone. But he’s got to find out.

Steve drives him to the airport and no matter how many times Wayne says he’s coming back, Steve doesn’t seem to believe him.

-

But it’s not his shitty little brother waiting to greet him in Tennessee. It’s Eleven.

“Sorry for the lie, Mr. Munson,” she says. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I learned but Doctor Owens said that, this one time, we needed to be right before we could be honest.”

It’s Eddie. It’s Eddie Wyatt Munson, who looks at him shyly, almost as if afraid, from the apartment doorway Eleven takes him to. “Hey Uncle Wayne.”

It’s five fucking years too late but he pulls Eddie in a bone crushing hug. “I love you so much, you little bastard. Don’t you ever, ever do this to me again.”

-

Wayne learns.

They had found him, barely alive. It was better, they said, to take him away. Let the town cool down while Eddie healed, but he was catatonic for the better part of these last five years.

“Eddie woke up empty,” Eleven says softly, apropos nothing sitting next to Wayne as they watch Eddie discuss next steps with Owens. “He could be told to do things. Drink this. Eat that. His eyes never focused on anything. Doctor Owens called him a shell. I asked what that means. He said that Eddie’s body worked, but his mind did not because Eddie was not in his own mind anymore. But I knew he was in there. I had to get him back.” She reaches a hand out, waving in the general direction of Eddie’s head.

This surprises Wayne. “You brought him back?”

“Memory by memory,” Eleven says, picking at her pants leg. “Even the painful ones. Doctor Owens says every memory shapes who we are, even tough ones.”

Wayne looks at Eleven, a young woman of nineteen now, but remembers how scared and brave she’d been at fourteen.  “Words cannot express how thankful I am for you.”

“I did it for you. And maybe a little bit for me.”

Wayne makes a humming noise. Not truly questioning, but an acknowledgment of what she said. If she wants to share her reasons, he won’t stop her. He’s just not going to pry.

“I chose my friend. I chose Max.”

He knows. “You made the right choice.”

“I know. I am not guilty about it,” she frowns as she thinks about her words. “But Dustin is my friend, too, and I knew Eddie was his friend. But I cared more about Max. I had to do all I could to make it right. For you. For Dustin. For me.”

Wayne doesn’t have words, so he just pulls Eleven into a hug. It must convey all he needs because when she pulls back, she beams at him.

-

Wayne fills Eddie in on what has happened as best he can. It’s such a jarring difference, speaking to Eddie about Steve than it had been speaking to Steve about Eddie. Eddie just looks confused for most of it and doesn’t really ask followup questions, but Wayne understands. Eddie had known Steve for five days and he’s got time to really get to know Steve now. Steve thought all he’d ever have of Eddie is someone else’s memories.

“Just give him a chance, Eddie,” Wayne says.

“Give him a chance? As if I’d waste it,” Eddie breaths out, all wonder and awe and- Well, maybe Wayne isn’t as observant as he had always thought. “He took care of you when I couldn’t. He cares. I don’t think there’s a chance I wouldn’t give him.”

“How long have you had a thing for Steve?”

Eddie stutters over his words, eyes wide and wild. “That’s not- why would you think- when have I ever!?”

“You think I wouldn’t know this about you?” Wayne chuckles and lies, as if he hadn’t just watched all the pieces slot together in this moment.

“So, we’ll be living with Steve Harrington?” Eddie is blushing but he blows past Wayne’s question. “Will he… be okay with me being there?”

Steve’s been loving a ghost, is what Wayne thinks. Steve’s been in love with a ghost and this. This is a ghost story that can have a better ending. But he’s not going to make those declarations for Steve, so what he says is, “yeah. Steve and I had each other when we needed it. Now I need you, so Steve won’t mind at all.”

Eddie smiles to himself, pulling a strand of his hair to hide his face behind.

If he hadn’t just figured it out two minutes ago, that would have been a dead giveaway that his boy might be a little bit in love with Steve.

-

He calls Steve. Tells him he’s coming home and bringing a guest. Steve says that’s fine, he’ll fix up Robin’s old room into a guest room.

-

“This isn’t the way to the Harrington house,” Eddie observes from the passenger seat of the rental car Doctor Owens had paid for, to get them from Indianapolis back to Hawkins.

“Steve won’t be there. He comes here when he’s overwhelmed.”

“The cemetery?”

Wayne shrugs, “we both come talk to you. Steve always starts with the bad news, you know. I think you should start with good news. Just this once. Ah. See, there he is.” Wayne points and Eddie’s eyes follow.

Something akin to wonder passes over Eddie’s face and he all but falls out of the car before it’s even stopped.

Wayne thinks he’ll give them five or so minutes before following.

[adoresia]

۶ৎ Warmth in the rain

⌗ FEATURING : ARMIN ARLERT X FEM!READER

⌗ SYNOPSIS : A gray afternoon, the scent of banana bread, and quiet moments shared under a blanket—when emotions run high and tears fall over the silliest things, Armin tries his best to make it all better, one thoughtful gesture at a time.

⌗ CW : period-related symptoms, emotional outbursts, crying, irritability, self-consciousness

⌗SIA HERE! : @fushiguruuzzzz seduced me into posting guys I fell for it 💔💔 she trickered me but I got kisses so maybe I liked the trickery 😇 I love Armin so much he’s so autumn, book worm, baker boy, awkward coded I fear I have a type for losers (not complaining). Armin smau next? 😜 (yes)

Armin stood in the kitchen, his pale hands trembling slightly as he sifted flour into a bowl. Sunlight slanted through the sheer curtains, painting soft golden rectangles on the counters and wooden floorboards. The kitchen, normally quiet and still, felt alive with his nervous energy. His lips pressed together in a tight line, and his ocean-blue eyes darted between the recipe on his phone and the mess of ingredients scattered around him. He’d spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out what was wrong. You weren’t yourself today, and it was throwing him off. You were normally so expressive, so vibrant, but now… now you’d retreated into this irritable shell that had him second-guessing every move. It wasn’t just the sharp words or the tears—it was the way your shoulders slumped and your voice sounded thinner, like you were carrying something invisible that weighed you down. Armin wasn’t great at reading between the lines. He’d always been better with facts, with logic. But the look on your face today—the frustration, the vulnerability—clung to him like static. He was sure he’d done something wrong at first, but you’d muttered something about cramps and a heating pad, and suddenly things began to click.

“Periods,” he muttered to himself under his breath, glancing nervously at the batter as he stirred it. “How does anyone even… deal with this?”

The sunlight shifted as a cloud passed over the house, dimming the room for a moment. Armin leaned against the counter, his hair falling slightly into his eyes as he paused to think. He imagined you upstairs, bundled under layers of blankets, your face half-hidden but your emotions written all over the little parts of you he could see. He hated that he couldn’t just fix this for you—couldn’t just take the pain and frustration away. But he could try to make you feel better.

That’s why he was baking banana bread.

The idea had come to him like a flicker of light in the fog. You loved banana bread—always lit up when the smell filled the air, always hummed in satisfaction after the first bite. The memory of you smiling over a warm slice made his chest ache with longing to see that expression again. He worked carefully, his movements slow and deliberate. Armin wasn’t much of a baker, but he approached the process with the same methodical care he gave to his research. Measuring the sugar felt like balancing equations; folding the wet and dry ingredients together was like conducting a gentle experiment. The batter thickened under his careful stirring, the sweet scent of ripe bananas and vanilla creeping into the air like a soft promise. He glanced out the window as the oven preheated, watching the branches of the oak tree outside sway gently in the breeze. The world felt so calm out there, so steady, and he wished he could borrow some of that stillness to bring to you. Once the batter was poured into the pan and slid into the oven, Armin set a timer and leaned against the counter with a sigh. His golden hair caught the light as he looked toward the ceiling, his thoughts inevitably drifting back to you.

You hadn’t meant to snap at him earlier—he knew that. But hearing your voice break as you apologized, seeing the tears spill from your eyes, had sent a pang of helplessness through him. He hated feeling out of his depth like this, hated that he wasn’t sure how to make things better.

But maybe his baking would help.

The timer beeped softly, and Armin jumped a little, startled out of his thoughts. He hurried to the oven, pulling on mitts and carefully lifting the pan out. The golden-brown loaf looked perfect, its surface cracked just enough to let the sweet, warm aroma spill out into the kitchen. He let out a relieved breath, setting it on the cooling rack with a satisfied nod. He didn’t stop there. He rummaged through the cabinets and fridge, gathering little things he thought you might like: your favorite chocolate bar, a bottle of juice he knew you always reached for, and a heat pack he’d bought for you once but didn’t think you’d ever used. He arranged everything neatly on a tray, his meticulous nature showing in the way he aligned the items just so. Taking a deep breath, he made his way upstairs. The soft creak of the floorboards under his steps was the only sound in the quiet house. As he reached your room, the door was slightly ajar, and he nudged it open gently with his foot. You were a bundle of blankets on the bed, your head completely buried beneath the duvet. The room was dim, the curtains drawn just enough to let a soft, hazy light seep in. Your favorite pillow was propped against the headboard, and there were tissues crumpled on the bedside table—a testament to the emotional whirlwind of the day.

“Hey,” Armin said softly, his voice carrying a careful warmth as he stepped inside.

The smell of the banana bread hit you before his words did. It curled into the room like a comforting hug, and you froze for a moment before peeking your head out from beneath the duvet. Your eyes, still a little red from earlier, widened when you saw the tray he was holding.

“Oh, Armin,” you breathed, your voice breaking.

You sat up slowly, your blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. When your gaze flickered over the tray—the banana bread, the chocolate, the drink, the heat pack—your lip trembled. Tears welled in your eyes again, spilling over as you covered your face with your hands.

Armin panicked, setting the tray down quickly and kneeling beside the bed. “Wait—why are you crying again?” he asked, his voice tight with worry. “I didn’t mess up, did I?”

You shook your head, trying to compose yourself but failing miserably. “No! No, it’s perfect, Armin. It’s just—you did all this for me? Even after I yelled at you and acted like a total mess?”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I just… I wanted to help. You’ve had a rough day, and I thought maybe this would make it a little better.”

You sniffled, letting out a watery laugh. “It’s not just today, it’s—ugh, stupid hormones. I’ve been all over the place because of my period, and I feel bad for taking it out on you.”

“Oh,” he said, his expression softening with understanding. “So… that’s what this is about?”

You nodded, wiping at your cheeks. “Yeah. Sorry I’ve been so weird.”

He smiled, small and shy, as he reached up to brush a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t apologize. I mean… it’s not your fault, right? I’m just glad I didn’t make things worse.”

You pulled him into a hug, burying your face against his shoulder. “You made it so much better.”

A few moments later, the two of you were tangled up under the duvet, sharing the banana bread he’d baked. The golden light from the window wrapped around the room like a soft blanket, and the sweet, comforting taste of the bread melted on your tongue. You shifted slightly under the weight of the duvet, leaning to the side and resting your cheek against the cool edge of the pillow. Your gaze wandered to the window, where a curtain of soft gray clouds had draped itself over the sky. The once steady light filtering through the room had dulled, replaced by a muted, silvery hue.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to trail down the glass, catching what little light remained and refracting it like tiny prisms. They started slowly, clinging to the pane for a moment before slipping downward in winding, unpredictable paths. Soon, more joined in, cascading in uneven rivulets that raced each other to the bottom, leaving streaks in their wake. The faint sound of the rain tapping against the window filled the room, rhythmic and persistent, like a whisper you couldn’t quite ignore. Your lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of irritation crossing your features as you watched the rain build in intensity. It wasn’t just the rain itself—though you’d always found its presence more of a nuisance than a comfort—but the oppressive weight of the grayness it brought. It reminded you of the low mood already pulling at you, dragging you deeper into the haze you’d been trying to escape all day. Armin noticed the shift in your expression almost immediately. You’d always had such a transparent way of showing how you felt, whether you meant to or not. The way your brows knitted together, the slight tilt of your head as you stared out at the rain with an almost accusatory look—it was so you, and yet he couldn’t help the pang of worry that rose in his chest.

“I know you don’t like rain,” he said softly, his voice cutting gently through the ambient hum of the weather outside. His lips quirked into a faint, unsure smile, his blue eyes scanning your face for any sign of another emotional landslide. “But I can’t really stop it from happening. Please don’t cry.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just blinked at him. Then, the corners of your mouth twitched, betraying the beginnings of a smile.

“Shut up, Armin,” you said with a playful nudge, your voice carrying a warmth that hadn’t been there all day.

The sound of your laughter, light and airy, spilled into the room like a welcome guest. Armin’s chest swelled with a quiet pride at the sight of you smiling, your mood lifting even just a little. He leaned back against the pillows, the two of you tucked close together under the blanket as the rain continued its gentle dance against the window. And though the gray clouds lingered outside, a different kind of warmth spread through you—a steady, comforting glow that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the boy sitting beside you.

[gothamite-rambler]

Don’t Mess with Tim Drake or his family will deal with you: Kylar

Wayne Manor - a spacious living room filled with elegant furniture. The afternoon sun casts warm shadows across the room.

Dick sat on the couch, a concerned look on his face. Tim sat next to him, visibly distressed and wiping tears from his eyes.

Dick (comforting): It's gonna be okay, Tim.

Tim (voice shaky): I usually can handle it, but… who the hell pours paint thinner on someone’s car?

Suddenly, the front door swung open with a loud bang, startling them. Jason strode in, exuding casual bravado.

Jason (playfully): Hey, assholes, how’s it—

He stopped upon seeing Tim’s tear-streaked face.

Jason (concerned): Why is Tim crying?

Dick (glancing at Tim): Somebody's been picking on him at work for being bi.

Jason’s demeanor shifted instantly, becoming serious.

Jason (intently): What?

Jason pulled out his cell phone.

Tim (sniffling): His name is Kylar. I reported him, but they say there’s no proof. I just have to wait and see what he does next.

A dry chuckle escaped Jason’s lips as he turned the phone towards Tim, displaying a photo of a frat boy type with a smug grin.

Jason (smirking): This him?

Tim (nodding): Y-Yes.

Jason (confidently): Sweet. He lives close by. I’ll be back.

Jason grabs one of Nightwing’s Escrima sticks and exits.

Dick (concerned): Where is he going?

Dick turned to Tim, who was still sobbing.

Dick (comfortingly): I’ll help you feel better.

Twenty minutes pass. Dick and Tim remain on the couch, the mood heavy.

Tim (regretfully): I should’ve never told them who Bernard was. Kylar made a bunch of homophobic jokes...

Dick (reassuring): Tim, it’s not your fault. This guy was always like that. He’s disgusting.

Tim (sighing): I’m sick of dealing with it.

Dick (calmly): Just tell Dad what happened.

Tim (defiantly): I can handle this on my own.

Dick (jokingly): What about giving him one quick bop on the face?

Tim (laughing softly): Violence isn’t going to help. I’d look bad.

Their conversation is interrupted by the front door slamming open again.

Dick (frustrated): Jason, seriously?

Jason returns, dragging a beaten Kylar into the room. Tim's eyes widen in shock.

Jason (excitedly): Timmy, I got a present for ya!

Kylar looks battered, with a black eye and bruises.

Jason (commandingly): Apologize.

Kylar (trembling): I’m sorry for what I said at work.

Jason (twisting Kylar’s arm): And?

Kylar (gasping): I’ll pay for the damages to your car!

Jason (menacingly): And you won’t bother him at work again, or I will ‘accidentally’ hit you with my car.

Kylar (defeated): Yes! Just let me go home!

Jason releases Kylar, who stumbles out, tears streaming down his face. He laughs as Kylar leaves.

Jason (turning to Tim): You good?

Tim (smiling despite the situation): Um... yes, actually.

Jason patted Tim on back then left.

Jason (over his shoulder): I’m ‘borrowing’ Bruce’s car for the day. Bye!

Dick turned to Tim.

Dick (apologetically): I’m sorry he did that—

Tim (smiling): On second thought… I’m glad he did something crazy this time.

Dick (chuckling): What happened to no violence?

Tim (light-heartedly): He’s more intimidating than both of us. Kylar got the message.

Dick (smiling): If he messes with you again, don’t worry—we’ve got your back.

Tim (softening): I appreciate that a lot.

The brothers shared a moment of laughter, the strength of their bond evident in the warmth of the living room.

[bookwormbynight]

Halloween Short Story!!!!!!

Here it is guys! (Some 600 words)

x

The woods behind my house are tamed. They are knowable. They are 200 acres of purposely preserved nature, surrounded on all sides by developed civilization like an island vastly outclassed by the miles of ocean water around it, and complete with well-stomped footpaths led by brightly pigmented artificial paint splotches on the trees. Put in a bottle for human beings to enjoy, trimmed to the size we want it; the woods behind my house are domesticated.

So. What the fuck did I see in there last night.

It wasn’t a bear - not the right shape, not big enough, and these woods aren’t large enough to accommodate bears besides. But it wasn’t human. Humans don’t eat like that.

I don’t know what to do.

Should I call the police? Would there be anything left for the police to uncover? It ate the bones.

There had been a couple, yards ahead of me, on the Redwing Trail. Young. Probably college kids. A gangly boy with a blond fade that got harder to distinguish as the sun set, and an asian girl in a fashionably oversized chunky sweater who only reached the middle of his chest. When you start on the edge of the woods, the trees are thinner, and the stars can reach you. I’ve walked those trails with the moon out many times. As you go further up the hill, though, the tree branches begin to knit together, so you walk in occasionally sun-dotted shade under a skyless leaf canopy. 

Your eyes adjust to the dark at night, but you can’t see like you do on the open paths. I don’t go that far often, because of it. It makes me uncomfortable - preterrational symptoms. But I wanted a longer walk. I guess that couple did too.

There was no reason to be afraid, because the biggest predators besides us were easily startled coyotes.

Why doesn’t anyone fucking tell you, people have fear instincts for a reason. I didn’t know.

The birds don’t sing at night, and the peepers and crickets are too far away. All you can hear (all I heard) is the quiet rustling of the wind and the occasional snap of a stick on the ground. And then a screech.

It rushed in faster than I could register, with a sickening crunch of breaking bone, and the girl started screaming. The shadow was hunched over her, I caught a flash of gleaming teeth stained pink to red, the boy yelled, “Oh, shit,” and fell backwards, another crunch like crab legs, and the girl’s screaming stopped.

I was rooted to the ground. My muscles rusted still, trapped me in my position, and I think that might be what saved me, because when the boy tried to scurry up from the dirt and run, it got him too.

Or, maybe I was too small to bother with. Or maybe it got full.

When both kids - people my age, but they were just kids - were corpses on the ground, one with a head crushed and splattered like an egg, like a watermelon, and the other fully ripped open at the torso and insides spilling onto the ground, the creature sat and ate. 

Snot blocked my nose and tears salted my mouth, making it hard to breathe, but I knew marrow-deep that I had to stay quiet, so I did my best. I stifled my hyperventilation. My face grew dry again before it left. I must have waited hours in the dark, with the sounds. It didn’t hork its kill down, survivalist-style, to fill its belly. It savoured.

The thing was human-sized. It had hands with opposable thumbs. An ape? A vampire? It devoured two whole people. It ate the bones.

My dad came and found me in the morning.

[kavrillia]

The Origins of Kavrillia - Part Two

In Part One I took a trip down memory lane at the early influences and inspirations for Kavrillia. Now we pick up when my universe broke off in its own direction!

Late 1995

My War of the Worlds fanfic saga had run its course, and I needed a new muse.

I was zoning out in the shower one evening when out of nowhere a scene flashed into my head. Now, I'm not one of those writers who thinks I'm somehow channeling beings from a different plane of the multiverse or anything, but the scene did just pop into my brain all at once, like a five-second clip from a movie. I had impressions of the characters as if they existed and I was getting to know them instead of creating them on the spot. I've never had something quite like that happen again. Make of that what you will. I sure can't explain it.

In the scene that came to me, a young empress was riding in a procession, waving to the crowd gathered along the street. I felt she was kindhearted but very lonely. An intimidating, stone-faced bodyguard stayed close beside her, wearing the cliché dark suit and sunglasses. I got the feeling he had secrets, but she trusted him completely. Why? Should she? And why was she so lonely? Meanwhile, a teenage boy dressed in black was chasing a terrified homeless girl through the crowd. Who were they? Why did he want to catch her? What would he do when/if he did? I got the sense it wasn't because of something the girl did, but because of what family she came from.

I didn't have answers to those questions, but I was excited to figure them out. As soon as I got out of the shower, I decided to jot down some notes and see what I came up with.

Along with those notes were these sketches: the very first pictures I drew of Vazali, Delzeena, Bronzar, Zenni, Xorax, and Zola.

They were the only characters who existed in the beginning, although I had vague ideas about Xorax's henchmen, who eventually became Elzar and Ryshan.

At first I imagined Zola as Xorax's girlfriend, but quickly decided a sibling or cousin relationship was better. I had just seen West Side Story (1961) for the first time and definitely took inspiration from the Sharks.

Above: The origin of Xorax's aesthetic. Yes, really.

You'll also see that Xorax's medallion was there from the very beginning, and I knew it was tied to his family legacy, just not exactly how yet.

Zenni came from trying to figure out what Bronzar's life was like when he wasn't on duty, and somehow "single dad" seemed to fit.

As I had been playing in the sandbox of my War of the Worlds-spinoff fanfiction for a couple years, I assumed this story would take place there, too. I made the empress the daughter of Xeres the Great to anchor it somewhere in my headcanons for that universe's history, and began to write.

1996

Above left: Vazali and Bronzar are peeved. Above right: I'm pretty sure that's the first picture of Xeebec and Kazaneta, or at least the first colored one.

Once the ball was rolling, the story kept unfolding, the characters found their voices, and the answers to those initial questions spawned many more. As the world expanded and grew more detailed, I realized that, aside from a handful of names, it was completely original. Once I changed those names, no one familiar with either the Tripods books or War of the Worlds would recognize anything. Somehow I had weaned myself off fanfic and ended up with my own universe.

Late 1997-1998

Previously, my art had been done in a combination of markers and colored pencils. In late '97 I started using all colored pencils instead. I also began dabbling with computer paint programs.

Early 1999

This was a transition period when the look of my characters changed significantly. I wanted to make them more human, so I drew them with two legs instead of three, removed the third eye and skin markings from males, added a thumb, made their antennae much thinner, and tried to do more realistic eyes. I also discovered how awesome Prismacolor pencils were.

2000

I changed the Kavrillian facial structure so they now have a bridge to their nose/snout. That went a long way to making them look more like they could exist in three-dimensional space. I still wasn't sure how realistic to make their eyes.

2002

Not too many changes since 2000. Their antennae were still very thin. The nose bridge shortened somewhat. The eyes are still horizontal ovals, but I didn't usually try to give them irises.

(Continued in Part 3)

[beautifulblooms]

hello!! I had just been looking if your request were open and suddenly you opened them :0 !! I hope you don't mind me requesting a little fic of a male/gn reader doing corpse paint on Eddie? maybe he walked in on the reader painting his face and asked if he would do it on him too? thank you very much <33 have a lovely day

Do Me Too! - Eddie Munson Face Paint Headcanons

Masc!Reader, he/they used, absolutely love this request, always nice to see when people get excited that my requests are open, I also hope you have a lovely day darlin

CIS Women and Female Aligned people, please DNI, this story and all of my others are for non-binary, masculine aligned and male readers!

Tags: @eddieverse. @alexs-playground, @rlmt1, @qthetherapist, @mother-dragon-and-her-hatchlings, @samthecultist, @mazettns

"Whatcha doin' there pretty boy?" Eddie startled me slightly and making me drop my brush onto my lap.

"Jesus Eddie, I'm doing some face-paint, got bored and decided to pull out my old pallets. Why, what's up?" He seemed super curious in the pallet in my hand while I grabbed the brush out of my lap and began to paint again.

"Will you do me?" I choked on air at the question, he definitely didn't realize the implications behind that question.

"Do you mean paint your face too?" Nodding frantically I scooted over on the couch to let him sit next to me in front of the small mirror I had propped up with books and records. I grabbed his face and made him look at me. "Close your eyes, don't need you getting paint in them."

Doing as he was told I started to paint out a general pattern with a thinner brush, lining where I was going to do larger portions. Circling around his eyes and adding spokes along the top and bottom of the circle I did the same to his lips. Lining them with the black, adding some lines going up or down here and there. It took another 15 minutes before I was done and let him look in the mirrior.

"So whatcha think handsome?" He was still holding the mirror in his hands while deciding if he liked it or not, looking back up at me his eyes were beaming.

"I love it!" He glanced down at the mirror in his hands admiring the face-paint.

"Glad you like it pretty boy. Now put the mirror down I need to finish mine."

[tastyykpop]

Will you be able to do a mark lee smut / He catches you reading a smut about him

combining two asks if you don't mind :)

ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏғ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

pairings: idol!mark x mua!reader

genre: smut, friends with benefits, idol au

warnings: dom!mark, sub!reader, blackmail, free use (idk how I got here) degradation, manipulation(?), dacryphilia, thigh riding, hair grabbing/pulling, dubcon-ish, praising, nipple sucking, cockwarming, mark takes a video 😮‍💨, kinda unedited

"'biting on marks lips, you're body melted into his like putty. submission fully taking its course over-'"

"mark fucking lee! give it back!" you outstretched your arm, reaching for your phone yet mark pulled away, grin on his lips as he did nothing more but continue. he waltzed around the bed, you chasing him. the phone illuminated his face, scrolling down a few before stopping.

"'mark, oh you feel so good! daddy always feels the best'." he laughed at the words, your face painted in embarrassment. of all things that could happen to you...why couldn't you just be more subtle about what you're reading? "this must be the best one I've seen yet! never thought I'd be reading one from my friend though."

"you've read fics before?!"

mark shrugged, "out of curiosity. but this is pretty damn nasty... didn't think you'd be into this- or into me..."

"im not into you!" you groaned, crawling over the bed to reach mark who smirked down at you. totally not believing a single word from your mouth.

"really?" he ruffled your hair like a human did to a dog. "because the phone says otherwise." mark shook the device in your face, pulling from you when you attempted to take it back again, "the guys would love to hear about this one. wonder if I should send it to the group chat we're all in. maybe the company would have a laugh at this one as well."

air seemed thinner, almost disgusting as you felt like throwing up at the thought. "you wouldnt-"

"hm, you're right... that's going too far, wouldn't want to make you lose your job and all." he said, throwing the phone onto the bed next to you, a sigh of relief coming from your mouth as you snatched it without another thought. "under one condition."

you go stiff, praying that whatever is on his mind is highly less embarrassing or even bareable so you don't have to pay the consequences of dealing with the other boys or the company.

marks not known to be devious, the thought of it though was a different story. he climbed on the bed, your body falling onto the soft matress, phone slipping out of your hands. heart pounded in your chest, him crawling closer until he was between your legs, one wrapping around his waist. "w-whats the condition?"

"you let me use you wherever and whenever I please." the seriousness in his eyes was something to fear, so toxic and wrong. your head spun, trying to wrap around his 'terms and agreements'. mouth going dry, lips chapped and chaste. would this be so bad? it's living out your fantasies...with your friend. it sounds worse when it's put together like that.

"if i give myself to you, do you promise not to tell anyone about the fanfics? i really cant risk losing my job over something so stupid." your voice wavers as you speak, trapped in terrible yet strange predicament.

mark smirked, a hand glided over your thigh to your hip, tugging at the hem of your pajama shorts. almost instantly you wanted to submit, give in to him before he said "cross my heart" in that raspy voice of his. it was wrong, and maybe not desperation, but a new found need for your best friend.

weeks went by. it was getting hectic having mark constantly pulling you into empty closets or bending you over in the practice room when no one was around. he took you however he pleased, meaning each word he said that day and it was disgusting. painful as well. you never thought mark of all people would be so rough when given the chance to do whatever. the bruises and hand prints from earlier this morning already proving what a menace he really was. and he didn't apologize for it. mark would just laugh or call you a slut for enjoying it.

you did. too much for your own liking.

one day specifically, probably the scariest was during practice. it was obvious how frustrated mark was. not only because the day hasn't been going so great when jaehyun spilt his coffee all over him, but the staff were all up his ass this morning.

so what better way to treat his anger than calling you to the sm building and fucking you, during your day off. on the contrary, he's not rude afterwards and doesn't throw you away after hes finished like some may think. mark would rather stay with you rather than going back to practice if it meant having you in his arms.

hes sweet.

to some extent.

now its been about two weeks of nonstop fucking with maybe a three and a half days worth of a break.

yes, adding the half because mark couldn't take jerking off by himself anymore on a saturday night.

anyways- you were sore. very sore. mark still didn't care, he would threaten you with sending links of multiple fanfictions he's found on your phone to the company and group chat if you didn't give in to at least sucking him off or giving him a handjob. literally anything to make him happy.

"not gonna happen."

"fine, then let me just," mark unlocked the device and opened to the group chat, "hit send really quick then notify the-"

you rested your weight on your arms as you sat up on the bed, snatching his phone before any moves could be made and threw it on the other side of the bed. "you're crazy!"

"and completely serious." mark eyes his phone before looking back at you, speaking with a whine, "I really need you!"

face inches from yours, eyes having sight on your lips. mark exhaled, drawing his hot breath on your mouth. yet you turned away, ignoring the rising heat that came over your body. "mark, it's just one day, you can handle it."

mark scrunched his face, "I can literally cum in my pants right now, don't tell me I can handle it!"

you shake your head with a small chuckle at the thought, not advancing to help but instead laid back on the bed. however, mark really seemed to be that desperate, terribly adamant on having us way with you. pulling you onto his lap so easily by the waist, leaning back to rest on his hands. you wanted to get up, go back in the comfortable position mark had taken you out of. but knowing him, it wouldn't be in your best interest if he really wanted you here.

"stay right here." mark says, "and just watch if you don't wanna help."

you can feel your own heartbeat climbing to your throat. one of marks hands fiddling with his belt and his zipper, impatiently freeing his hard cock. you didn't want to help nor did you have intentions, and shifted uncomfortablly when he began stroking it. in a different situation, you'd find it completely hot how much he craved you. it wasn't like this now, and you hated to admit that he's getting you wet. hated him so much.

the precum oozed from the head, your eyes trying not to watch, finding something else in the room to look at before being brutally grabbed by the hair. hand not failing to yank, making you whimper pathetically almost sounding like a moan.

"stop it, mark!" you meekly yelp, clawing at the hand knotted in your hair. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch you jerk off!"

"what happened to you agreeing with all this a few weeks ago? you know damn well if I let you go, your job will be gone." he knew you'd keep fighting even with that fear. in the split second he untangled his fist from your hair, his belt was suddenly around your wrists before you knew what was happening. that crazy smile on his face, enjoying the fear in your eyes as you looked up at him. scared of what he'd do, mark loved it. "look at my girl. can't do anything now, can you? just gotta watch."

there really wasn't much you could do. besides, marks not messing around, he's an honest man, and you can't risk losing your job. you even began to wonder if after all this mark will return to that awkward boy you knew as your best friend. then again, nothing can be the same after he's already had his way with you. now wouldn't be any different. fist around his hard length, eyes gazing deep into your soft ones, tempting you as he sucked in a breath of air.

his motions moved faster, giving quick pumps to his cock. the movements brushing against your shirt, tip poking at the material that caused a wet patch to form just below your belly button. shamefully enough, you were basically soaked at this point. between your thighs ached and you knew you'd soon fold and let him have his way. you still wanted to touch yourself or better yet, let your mind run off and ride his thigh. tied hands holding them to have a steady balance as your slicked heat stuck to your panties and marks jeans. it was a good day to wear a skirt.

"and you said you were sore..." mark rolls his eyes, "cant say I'm mad though. you look so pretty trying to get off on my thigh." he flexes the muscle you graze over. clentching, more juices pour out. panties now feeling as if they weren't there, mark reached his free hand to move the fabric to the side. the rough material of the jeans made you feel even more sensitive than you already were. and soon mark began bouncing his leg. the contact alone making you furrow your brows, moaning as your grip around his thigh tightened so you wouldn't fall.

but your hands didn't stay locked in place for long, shifting to touch marks dick instead with both hands. the leather of his belt rubbing against the skin. mark closing his eyes, sighing and re-opening them. his hand crawling to reach for his phone. movements of your own now coming to a halt when he opened his camera.

"eyes up here." mark smiles when you listen. a proud one and slightly sadistic when he notices the fear behind them.

"this isn't a good idea.." you mumble, "someone can go through your phone."

"so what? they get to see my personal toy making a mess on my thigh," he chuckles, "keep riding me and get me off."

his head falls back, admiring you when you do as he says. your mind far to gone when you finally ride against his thigh, hands wrapped around his length as you jerk him off slowly. almost too agonizingly and painfully slow for him so he bucked his hips. thighs flexing underneath each time he went up and hit your stomach with his tip. the same sticky wet spot on your shirt leaving a string that attached to his pink cock.

"you look so dirty," mark comments. "gonna fuck you so hard, don't care if you're sore. I'll make you cry."

your stomach flipped. there's something so different about mark when he's horny. if he says he wants you to cry, he'll definitely make you. but otherwise, like when he's not in the mood, he'd regret ever seeing a tear on your cheeks.

your thoughts were cut short when the camera zoomed to the your hips, mark tilting his head and panning the device to his pink cock. the tip swollen with a need to cum. your small hands making the tiniest of movements to actually let him. just watching his cock twitch made your own thighs clamp around his and you werent close to begin with. but the desire for mark was too much, you craved every inch of the man.

"mark....mark please."

"what do you want, baby? I'll give you anything." he guides your hips to meet his. bare cunt almost sitting on his length, rubbing against him sweetly.

"I need you to fuck me." you whine, "need you so bad!"

he smirks to himself, holding the camera at an angle so it can see just how needy you were after he flipped your skirt up. perfect blackmail for another day.

"ride me if you want it so bad." you were so lost in the situation. mind drunk and dazed that you found yourself already sinking on his cock like it was all you knew. bouncing up and down, meeting the base of his cock in a feverish manner. biting your lip, your walls stretched trying to get accustomed to his size. even after all these times you fucked, it always felt like the first time. however it wasn't the stretch that caused you to whine in pain, it was the sensitivity and soreness. tearing up as you moved, it felt too good to stop. besides, mark was still filming and you didn't want him to send the video to anyone.

but you knew, in the back of your mind, that mark couldnt keep anything to himself when it came to you. even if it isn't for the soul purpose of making you embarrassed, he'll show you off like a prize won at a carnival.

as he began to strip you of your shirt and bra, one of his hands swiped over your sensitive bud with admiration. his mouth watered, licking his soft lips before attacking your chest with fierce kisses. nipping at your soft skin, his hold on your waist was strong, making sure to never let you go like he had a fear of losing you. only then did you arch into him, chest pushing farther into his face yet he didn't mind. mark sucked on your perky bud, biting your nipple as if wanted more from them- more to taste.

it wasn't until you started moaning that mark was writhing on his spot on the bed. his hips thrusting into yours, already on the verge of an orgasm. but he didn't want to cum. not yet. and certainly not when you felt so amazing on top of him, admiring you like a goddess before his eyes. but if you asked for it, or even begged him, he may let you milk him dry.

"so perfect." he spoke, bring the camera to your face. cheeks stained with tears and makeup, mark smirking as you attempted to wipe any tears that threatened to fall. but he pulled your hands away, uncovering your messy face for him and his phone to see, kissing the stray tear that slid down your cheek. "my babys so pretty when she cries. so cute and messy. my beautiful slut."

your hips stutter, bottom lip trembling as tou started to cry again. yet your eyes locked on his, his hand squishing your cheeks like you were the cutest thing, even with some drool at the corners of your lip. he couldn't lie and say that he didn't like you making a mess of yourself. mark absolutely loved it and admired you with heart eyes. the way you moaned, or whimpered made him adore you even more. your voice was like a euphoria.

"need you to cum, mark." your moan came out like a cry of desperation, earning a raised brow from the boy, "please cum for me."

right there, mark felt himself twitch. shocked as he was sitting still on the bed, hands instead cupping your face as he almost let himself go. lifting your hips with his free hand so he wouldn't cum in you but you stopped him, now sitting on his cock without any sort of movement.

"inside me, marky. cum inside me."

"i-inside....?!" mark blinked, "but I could get you-"

"so what?" you begin rocking your hips, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sunk your head into his shoulder. "I-I wanna feel you cum."

his moans vibrated against your lips as his head fell back, guiding your hips against his cock to reach his climax that soon came faster than he expected. shooting white ropes, painting your walls in seconds as you helped him through his high. mark shook under you, embracing you in his arms, phone long forgotten somewhere on the bed. breathing against your chest, you coming to a halt only to hold him back. the energy you once had before was nonexistent. not only did you not care if you came or not, but you also just wanted to stay in marks arms.

"dont wanna get up, huh? love my cock that much?" mark chuckled into your chest.

"shut up, I'm just comfortable."

he scoffed, not believing a single word. though he didnt care, it was comfortable staying inside. his warm cum mixed with your wetness was oddly relaxing for the both of you. until, after minutes of pure silence, a constant ringing and many vibrations snapped you from your comfortable thoughts, staring in the direction of marks phone with an eyebrow raised. and suddenly, your phone was doing the same on the nighstand next to the bed. "why's our phones blowing up?"

mark shrugged and unlocked his phone, his eyes going wide as he read the messages from the group chat,"oh shit..."

[circus4apsycho8]

Hello, I hope you are doing well. I was wondering could you write love crossover Cole x supernatural story, where reader is a hunter who dated him when they went to Marty Oppenheimer School until one day he suddenly left without saying a word. When she finds Cole she was hurt to find out that he left on purpose.Walking home she got attacked by monster but Dean saved her, and she decided to become hunter too. Couple of years later she was working on a case when she gets arrested by ninja.

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘! 𝚒 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘! 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒'𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚛. 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎. 𝚒 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝!

according to plan. | cole x reader | chapter i

Since when had he grown to despise the sunrise?

Splashes of orange melt into vibrant hues of pink and yellow, beckoning the sun to serve another day. Sleepiness riddles Cole’s eyelids as he rests his forehead on the rails of the Bounty, staring at the clouds below as his feet dangle precariously off the edge. A chilly breeze sweeps through his hair, eliciting a chill across his skin as he faces the sunrise once more. 

The black-haired boy sighs, pulling his hoodie tighter around him. The fabric is thinner than that of his gi, making for worsened protection from the cold. In a strange way, though, part of him finds the cold refreshingly numbing. Today bears an event he has been dreading for a long time, but it appears that karma has reared its ugly face in order to force him to face his past. 

Clutched in his right palm lies a ring – nothing fancy, or even real for that matter. Just a cheap, plastic ring painted with a metal-textured silver paint with its imposter of a gem comprised of a purple shade resembling that of amethyst. 

He chuckles quietly, the sight of the ring triggering one of the many lines he had spent so much time perfecting: 

“With this ring... I ask you to be mine,” he quotes quietly, flipping the object around in his grasp. He never thought a painted piece of plastic could bear so much meaning to him. Yet, here he is, ruefully reflecting on the memories this ring brings back. 

“Ready?” calls Kai, interrupting his moment of quiet. Cole nods, taking a moment to stretch before standing and slipping the ring in his pocket. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Cole replies. Having to fake the whole Marty Oppenheimer thing had been hard for him to do. Now, having to face his dad in person? With his team members? That brings a whole other element to the charade. 

“You okay, man? You’ve been kind of off lately,” Jay questions as the four prepare to jump. 

“I haven’t seen my dad since I ran away. Part of me is wondering if I’ll really be able to keep up the act,” Cole answers. “We didn’t exactly leave off on good terms, you know.” 

Well, it’s not entirely a lie, at least. He couldn’t have them knowing the entire truth. Not until he knows himself. 

“In that case, what are we waiting for?” Kai questions. With that, Cole grabs the weapon case resting at the center of the Bounty deck before the four leap over the edge of the Bounty, losing themselves to the adrenaline rush that follows.   

...      

“Alright. Hand them over.” 

“Ah-ah. But no mortal shall possess all four,” Jay quips with a chuckle, setting his nunchucks inside the case. 

“Very funny,” Cole mumbles, rolling his eyes as the others set their respective weapons in as well. 

“You wanna remind me again why we can't keep our weapons?” Kai questions, hesitantly eyeing the case as Cole snaps it shut. 

“I told you, my dad can't find out I'm a ninja. And I don't feel like making up excuses why I'm carrying a giant scythe around with me. Just remember the plan: we find out who has the Fangblade trophy, we snatch it, and then we get the heck out of town.” 

With that, Cole turns towards his childhood home, a whelm of mixed emotion coursing throughout him as he approaches the door. How long has it been...? 

Well, there’s no point in putting it off. Shoving his fears away, he knocks on the door. It’s going to suck no matter how he approaches this, so he might as well just power through.   

“Just a moment!” calls the familiar voice of his dad. Cole swallows, free hand fidgeting at his shirt.   

Sooner than he likes, the door swivels open to reveal Lou. Upon first glance, he hasn’t changed much – just a little bit older, is all. Cole notices that Lou bears a cane, on which he is leaning. Is he hurt? 

“Hey, dad. How long has it been?” Cole greets, the happy hint to his tone sounding painfully forced. 

“What? You too good for the doorbell?” Lou questions sternly, slamming the door shut. 

“Uh...” 

“Use. The bell. Son.” 

Rolling his eyes, Cole pushes the button. He knows one thing for sure – he's dreading his father’s stupid antics. 

“Welcome!” sings the doorbell in the unmistakable tone of The Royal Blacksmiths. That was one of many aspects of Cole’s childhood that he didn’t miss – hearing that damned quartet practice over and over again. 

Once more, the door swings open. “Haha! Come on in, son. It's been forever. What did you bring? A quartet? Come in, come in. I've got a kettle of lemon honey tea on the stove right now.” 

… 

“Alright, time for a break. Take five,” Lou instructs, exiting the room. 

“Uh, I'm starting to see why Cole is so closed off. It's cause twinkle toes here couldn't deliver the goods. Is that why you ran away?” Jay questions as the four file into the living room. Cole sticks towards the couch as the other three study all of the pictures lined up on the wall, eyeing each one carefully. 

“Oh, I could deliver the goods. Look, I'll deal with my father, but let's stick with the plan. All we have to do is keep this charade long enough until we can get our hands on the trophy.” 

“I don't know. I'm starting to think we can win this thing,” Jay suggests, smirking. Cole merely grunts, the idea of having to go on stage again making him want to vomit. “Okay, okay. We'll stick to the plan!” 

“Hey, Cole?” 

The group silences, all turning to face Kai. The brunet is staring at one of the pictures on the wall, pointing to it. 

“Who’s that?” 

Cole frowns, making his way over to Kai. Soon enough, the picture frame comes into focus as his heart drops. 

Within the picture is a younger Cole, dressed in a costume as he hugs a girl around his age. Cole’s stomach drops at the image, face softening as guilt creeps throughout his being. 

“Who is she?” Jay repeats as Cole sits down, the three crowding him with expectant stares.  

“Just...an old friend of mine,” he mumbles, averting his gaze to the floor. Kai, Jay and Zane all exchange questioning glances, silently deciding to drop the topic for the time being. 

“Alright, I’ve got you four registered for tomorrow!” declares Lou as he re-enters the room. “Now, get back to it!” 

… 

After what can only be described as hours of torment, Lou finally finishes the boys’ lessons for the day. The ninja groan as the four pile into Cole’s old room. 

“That was horrible,” Jay whines, flopping onto Cole’s bed. “My feet...they hurt...”  

“How are we going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Kai questions, sitting across from Jay. 

“I do not see how we will be fully prepared to perform tomorrow under these circumstances,” Zane notes. “We have not had nearly enough practice!”   

Cole sighs as he looks around, ignoring his team for a moment. Well, at least nothing in his room had changed. His dad at least cared enough to keep everything tidy while he had been gone.   

“Wow, Cole. You’re a lot nerdier than you let on,” Jay comments, causing Cole to spin around. He notices that Jay has migrated towards his bookshelf, pointing at the Earth Ninja’s rather packed display. It’s filled with books of all genres. Ranging from wild fantasy novels to play scripts and nonfiction, Cole seems to have a little bit of everything. Garnishing the shelf are various crystals and geodes he had found as a kid during his adventures in the woods. He’d always had a knack for finding pretty rocks and crystals. 

“Shut up,” Cole mumbles. 

“Such a wide variety,” Zane notes as he examines the shelf. “Although, I am most curious – why do you have so many scripts? Did you act at all during your time here?” 

“Yeah, I did. A lot,” Cole answers. 

“Let’s see...of course there’s Shakespeare, Homer, Sophocles...” Jay trails off at the mention of the last one before cringing. “Hopefully you didn’t act out Oedipus Rex.” 

"Jay, do you really think they would let people perform that one in a family-friendly theater?” 

“You have a point.” 

“Also, I didn’t act out every single one up there. I read a lot of plays too,” Cole clarifies. 

Jay nods, continuing to read. “Disney plays...oh, cool, Corpse Bride?”  

Cole remains silent, electing to stare out his window instead. Maybe there’s still something he could do...? 

The three ninja glance at each other, Kai shaking his head at Jay. Zane steps forward, resting a hand on Cole’s shoulder. 

“Cole, what is the matter? You have not been yourself today.” 

“Just thinking,” Cole answers. “It hasn’t been easy for me to return, you know.” 

“Can we help at all?” Jay asks as the three come to sit by him at the window. 

“I’ll be okay. Let’s just sleep for now, yeah?” 

With that, the four go for a round of rock-paper-clam to settle on sleeping arrangements. But Cole knew his brothers – and he used their answers to his advantage. Jay claimed Cole's old bed, Kai slept on the couch, and Zane insisted that he was fine on the floor. 

Cole, however, had no intention of sleeping. Tonight would be the night that he made things right, no matter how scared he got. 

Well, one positive of Lou’s intense rehearsal session meant that his brothers would fall asleep rather quickly. Soon enough, his teammates’ soft snores and breaths fill the room. Cole creeps through his room, unlocking the hinges of the window before clambering out and shutting it. Just like he used to. 

Immediately, he shudders. His gi is no match for the biting cold, but he wastes no time in hopping off of the ledge and dashing across the rooftops, the familiar path gently jogging his muscle memory. Deep down, he knew he would never forget the way. 

He arrives soon enough, leaping down onto the ground gracefully as he surveys the building in front of him. 

It’s nothing special – just a one-story house. It looks a little bit different than he remembers – less lively. Not taken care of. Cole frowns, approaching the front door as a wary feeling skitters over him. 

His heart skips a beat when he sees the “NO TRESPASSING” sign up front, the door slightly ajar. 

“She’s...not here anymore?” he wonders to himself quietly as his heartbeat increases. He pushes the door open, listening as it silently creaks open. 

An oppressive atmosphere settles onto his chest, making him more alert as he steps inside warily. Something is wrong. 

White sheets cover the furniture inside. He tentatively peeks underneath the sheets, realizing all of the furniture is the same as he remembers. A frown lines his lips as he makes his way towards the living room. Interesting...the television is still there. So is her old gaming console. And all of the games they had played together late at night. Why are these still here? 

The rest of the house is in a similar state – same furniture, all of her belongings present... Everything is there but clearly nothing had been disturbed for a long time. Though, something odd strikes Cole as he examines the contents in her room: 

“The pictures are all gone,” he whispers. 

That is the only item he can tell to be missing. But why is everything else here? Where did she go? 

The first explanation to come to Cole’s mind – she moved. But if so, why hadn’t she sold her house? Why was everything left behind? He quickly debunks that explanation, moving on to something else. 

Did she run away, like he did? That would explain why her furniture was still here. But a lot of her essential items were still here too. Wouldn’t she have taken those as well? 

The last explanation to come to mind... 

Something happened.

He shudders, realizing that must be the case. Nothing else made sense. His mind runs wild with thoughts as he approaches her old bed, when - 

“What the...?” Cole frowns, a foul stench entering his nose. He cringes, glancing around for the suspect when his eyes land on her windowsill. A yellow powder seems to have been scattered across the surface. 

That’s when it clicks in his mind. The smell, the yellow powder... 

“Sulfur?" he wonders confusedly. Why would there be sulfur here? 

Cole checks the window, surveying it for any kind of damage. No sign of forced entry. Odd. 

His gaze drifts down to her nightstand, an old memory flashing through his mind as he grabs the handle. 

“I wonder...” he mumbles, pulling it open. “Ah, there we go.” 

Cole pulls out an old polaroid picture. She was there, laying on his chest and smiling while he hugged her from behind. He remembered that morning – waking up next to her, teasing her for wanting to take a picture of them first thing in the morning... 

But she hadn’t taken this with her, though. That is, assuming she was the one who took the other pictures. If so, why not this one? 

Maybe it’s because you just up and left. Dumbass.

“Right,” Cole mumbles to himself, shaking his head as he slips the photo in his pocket before standing once more. 

It’s then he realizes that he hasn’t checked the bathroom yet – the last place he hadn’t examined. He swallows, the heavy atmosphere growing stronger as he pushes the door open. 

Chills course over his body as he studies the scene before him. 

Broken shards of glass litter the floor. All of the mirrors had been completely smashed. Cole realizes more sulfur is scattered about the counters of the sinks. 

Suddenly, it all grows to be too much. The atmosphere is nearly suffocating him now, so he turns back, immediately deciding that he had seen enough. Enough to realize that his mistake was even bigger than he had initially thought. 

Cole exits the house, already knowing where to head next as his mind buzzes with unanswered questions. 

…   

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited you in a while.” 

Silence creeps throughout the cemetery as Cole sits across from his mother’s tombstone. The darkness shrouds the stone in shadow, but he can still make out her name: 

Lilly Brookstone

“A lot has happened since I last visited,” he comments, taking his mask off and tossing the fabric to the ground for the time being. “I’ve been busy. But that’s not really an excuse, I know.” 

He trails off, unsure of what to say first. “You know...I feel like there’s so much I need to say, but...I don’t know where to start.” 

Silence consumes him for a moment before he speaks again. “Well...I came back. To visit dad, I mean. Even if it’s just for a mission. It’s weird being with him again, you know? He thinks I’ve been at Marty Oppenheimer all this time, but instead...I followed your footsteps. Not his. Sensei Wu told me about you, Mom.” 

He sniffs, using his mask to wipe his tears away before setting the mask on the ground. “He told me that you were a ninja. And...it’s just...it’s hard. Knowing that my element used to be yours. Knowing that my existence took it from you, and that might have been part of the reason why you...you...” 

He shakes his head, biting his lip as he looks down. His vision is blurry now. “But Sensei keeps telling me it’s not my fault. I can’t help but feel like it is, though.” 

Once more, he wipes away his tears, deciding to change the subject. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, too. You told me it was okay to make mistakes, but Dad never seems to agree with that. The dancing stuff I never really cared about. But I felt like I was never good enough. I think I chose the right path, in the end, but...I messed up. And I feel like something bad happened because of it. 

“When I was still living with Dad, I...met this girl.” Cole tells his mother your name. “We met at the theater one day...and we were best friends. We did everything together. And...come high school...we started dating. I think you would have liked her, Mom. She was tough. Strong. But really caring, too. She was such a good singer, too, and she loved to dance and act. 

“I started enjoying theater work because of her. We played Orpheus and Eurydice together. And then...the last play we did together was Corpse Bride. But we never got to perform it in front of a live audience...because I left. I just left. With no word. No goodbye. I was too scared to do it. Too weak. And now...something bad happened to her. She could be gone because of me.” 

Cole exhales sharply, rubbing his forehead. “I checked her house just a few minutes ago. But she wasn’t there. Her belongings were still there, but...she was gone. I couldn’t find anything that could have indicated where she went, either. Maybe Dad knows something?” 

He sighs. “I don’t know. I’m going to find her, though.” Cole stands, realizing that the sun is beginning to rise. Looks like he’d been out longer than he thought. “But for now, we have to get that Fangblade before the Serpentine do.” 

Cole grabs his mask, approaching his mother’s grave once more. He kneels down, resting his forehead against the cold stone. “I’m sorry, Mom. I miss you more than anything. I hate that I don’t feel comfortable leaning on Dad more. But I’m gonna make things right. I’ll bring you flowers next time, too. I know how much you loved flowers. And I’ll clean your tombstone up. I love you, Mom. See you next time.” 

With that, Cole yanks his mask back on as he exits the cemetery, eyes landing on the sunrise as he makes his way back home. He can’t help but wonder if you’re staring up at the same sunrise too. 

…   

[Somewhere in Ninjago...]  

You haven’t been able to sleep. 

A quiet yawn escapes your lips as your eyes crinkle. You lay your head against the glass of the car, the vibrations preventing any sort of sleep. Instead, you elect to study the sunrise. 

It’s a new day. What will it hold? 

“Rise ‘n shine, sweetheart!” Dean calls from the front. You sit up straight, rubbing your eyes as Sam turns to look at you from the passenger seat. 

“Hey. Were you able to sleep any?” he questions, donning that signature concerned Sammy expression. 

You shake your head, trying to stretch as best you can. “Not really. Just kind of closed my eyes without really sleeping, you know?” 

“I get it. We’re almost to our motel for this hunt, so you can nap later at least.” 

“We need to eat first. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving,” Dean comments. 

“Yeah, I could eat too,” Sam adds. 

“Me too,” you mumble, noticing you’re back on the highway leading to Ninjago. By the looks of it, it’s relatively close to your hometown. A wave of nostalgia floods over you as you glance out of the window again, wondering what all has changed in your home. 

“I didn’t realize that we were coming here,” you note, the skyscrapers of Ninjago City coming into view. Wow, they’ve gotten quite a bit of construction completed. It looks a bit bigger than you remember. 

“We didn’t either, until last tonight,” Sam replies, handing you a piece of paper. You frown, taking it from him. 

“That’s a letter from Mystake. You know, that little old lady who runs her own tea shop?” Dean explains. 

“Oh, Mystake? I hope she’s doing okay,” you question, skimming the letter as you frown. You know Mystake’s tough, but you had been worried for her when you left after the incident. 

"She’ll be fine. She’s a tough old geezer,” Dean replies. 

“And she’s been experiencing weird stuff?” you wonder, referring to the contents in the letter. “Doesn’t sound like a haunting, though.” 

“More like someone trying to get the drop on her,” Sam comments. “Obviously, it didn’t work.” 

“I imagine whoever it was probably got a face full of lead,” you mutter with a small smile. Oh, Mystake. How you missed that eccentrically kind old lady who probably wouldn’t hesitate to gut a wrongdoer. 

“Right?” Sam agrees, unfolding a map onto his lap as he chuckles. 

“Right now, we think it’s probably a shapeshifter,” Dean adds, not looking away from the road. “But you know that can always change.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble, sighing. 

“Something wrong?” Sam questions, glancing back at you once more. 

“No, it just...feels weird to be back here, you know? And I’m probably going to have to be careful out in public because, well...” 

“Oh yeah. You’re still technically MIA,” Dean comments as the three of you enter your home city, Baby’s engine whirring through the busy streets. “I wonder if you’ve been declared legally dead yet? That could be a funny prank. You know, if you find any of your old friends here. You could become a zombie.” 

“I think that being legally dead takes at least seven years,” you comment. “But that would be kind of funny.” 

“Well, try to enjoy it. You can use this while we’re here,” Sam note, setting the map aside so he can open the glove compartment. He rummages around, eventually pulling out a black, cloth mask. “There you go.” 

“Oh, thanks,” you reply, tucking the mask away in a secure spot as he returns his attention to the map. “And I’ll try to. Enjoy it, I mean,” you mumble, now lost in a pit of mixed emotions. 

…   

Soon enough, the three of you arrive at a cozy little restaurant. The purr of Baby’s engine ceases for the time being as you eagerly clamber out of the car, taking a moment to stretch your weary limbs. The fresh air kisses your skin as Sam and Dean do the same. Suddenly remembering your situation, you slip your mask on. Hopefully it’d do the trick and not raise too much suspicion. 

“Finally, some grub,” Dean muses as you all gather near the front. Dean lovingly pats Baby’s hood a few times before your trio enters the diner. “I wonder if this place is any good?” 

“The reviews were great from what I read,” Sam notes, ever the more responsible brother as you chuckle slightly. 

You smile, quietly enjoying the lightened atmosphere as you file in behind the brothers. The divine scent of the restaurant graces you, probably inciting a tummy growl on its own. Seriously, is there anything more appetizing than the smell of yummy food after hours and hours of being on the road? 

“Good afternoon, guys!” greets a feminine voice. The three of you glance over to see a red-headed woman leaning against the counter, offering you all a welcoming smile. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Sam greets. 

“Doing pretty well. How about you all?” 

“Hungry,” Dean notes with a small smile. 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” she replies. “Go ahead and seat yourselves. I’ll be over to get your drink orders in a second.” 

“Thank you,” Sam says before the three of you slink towards a more secluded spot. Sam gestures for you to take a seat facing the wall so that having the mask off wouldn’t be as big of an annoyance. 

Silence overcomes the group as you glance around the area, noticing that there are televisions stationed throughout the place. They all seem to be tuned into the same channel – the news. You decide to watch for a moment: 

“Good afternoon, Ninjago! Gayle Gossip here at the Marty Oppenheimer School of Performing Arts, where this year’s annual Ninjago Talent show will take place in just a few short hours! We have so many talented groups competing this year – and we’re seeing some new faces as well, such as the Treble Makers and Spin Harmony!” 

“No way,” you mumble. 

“What’s up?” 

“The Marty Oppenheimer...that’s where I used to go to school,” you answer, voice dropping. 

“Really? Performing arts?” Sam questions, shooting you a quizzical glance. 

You shrug, turning back towards them. "Yeah. I wasn’t bad at it, either.” 

“So, what, like acting? Singing?” Dean questions. 

“A little bit of everything. I mostly specialized in singing and dancing, but I...unexpectedly started acting, too,” you recall with a bitter frown. 

Thankfully, the redhead from before is approaching, notepad in hand. “Are you guys ready?” 

You can’t help but zone out as Sam and Dean order, the realization of just how much time has passed hitting you like a brick. It sucks, but this is the way it has to be. 

“And for you, miss?” the woman questions, snapping you out of your haze. 

You order quickly, missing the concerned glance that the brothers exchange. She thanks you all before returning the counter. 

“So, about the case...” Wow. Way to subtly change the topic. “What are the details?” 

Dean quietly pulls out a folder from the abyss of his leather jacket, slapping it on the table. You open it, finding the usual: case summaries, victim profiles, crime scene pictures, the works. 

“Four people dead. All killed under...well, weird circumstances,” Sam says. “The pattern here is that they were all killed by who they thought to be their loved ones.” 

“Definitely sounds like a shapeshifter,” you mumble, flipping through the papers and scanning them all. “But Mystake’s letter mentioned that she thought something was weird about the case. What do you think that is?” 

“Take a look at the crime scene pictures,” Sam says. 

You do so, finding the photographs at the end of the file. You notice there’s one consistency among all of the scenes – a symbol engraved on some part of the rooms. One on the left wall, one on the floor, one on the right wall, and one on the front wall. 

“Interesting...why are these placed so methodically?” you wonder. 

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Sam replies, taking the folder back once you close it. You frown. 

“What?” Dean questions. 

“That symbol is familiar,” you say. “But I just...I don’t remember where I saw it from.” 

The waitress comes by, setting down all of your drinks. The three of you thank her, waiting for her to go back before resuming the conversation. 

“Just think on it. Don’t push too hard. It’ll come to you,” Sam suggests. 

“Great. Well, I, for one, don’t wanna be talking about dead people before I eat, so how about something more positive?” Dean offers. 

From there, the brothers strike up a chat, trying to include you. You’re too consumed with thought, though. There were too many loose ends from when you’d left, and yet... 

...you don’t know what to do about them. 

Minutes pass before the waitress comes back, distributing your food. Once she finishes, she stands back, tray under her arm and a smile on her face. “Anything else I can get for you guys?” 

“Actually, I have a random question,” you say, catching her attention. 

“Of course! I’ll answer to the best of my ability.” 

“Thanks. Um...would you happen to know what time the Ninjago Talent show is? We’re...relatives of someone performing and got a bit sidetracked along the way.” 

“Well, you’re in luck. They’re hosting it later tonight, at nine,” she comments. 

“Oh, good. Thank you,” you say. She nods, thanking you all once more before leaving. 

“Did you perform in that competition?” Sam questions as you all dig into your meals. 

You nod. “Yeah. More times than I can count.” 

“Did you ever win?” Sam wonders. 

“A few times.” 

“Look at you, twinkle toes,” Dean teases between bites. 

“Ugh, don’t even,” you say, faking a disgusted face. You had heard that stupid nickname more times than you can count. 

From there, the conversation takes a more lighthearted turn as the three of you finish up your meals for the night. 

…

[Brookstone Residence]   

Thankfully, Cole manages to make it back just in time for everyone else to wake up. He glances around, knowing his father would probably be up already.   

Part of him feels like a kid again – the walk to the living room reminds Cole of when he would dart through the halls, anxiously waiting to see what morning cartoons were on. Or what his mother had prepared for breakfast. He sighs quietly, reflecting on those small moments as he proceeds. 

Quietly creeping through the halls, he immediately recognizes his father’s humming as he enters the kitchen. 

“Dad?” 

“Good morning, son. I was just making breakfast. Did you sleep well?” 

No. “Uh, yeah, thanks,” Cole replies. “Actually, I have a question.” 

“What is it, son?” 

“Have you...heard from her?” 

Lou pauses what he’s doing on the stove, smiling sadly and shaking his head. “No. No one in the village has seen or heard from her ever since…” Lou trails off, gaze somewhat distant. 

Cole’s eyebrows furrow as he sits up straighter. “Since what?” 

“Something happened,” Lou says quietly. “It was shortly after you left. The last time she was seen, she had been walking home from the theater. But she never made it home, and no one has seen her since.” 

“What?!” Cole states, his voice raising as he stands. “She’s missing?” 

Lou nods solemnly, gesturing for Cole to follow him to the dining room. The two take a seat as he sighs. “Like I said, she was walking home from the theater late one night. Never came back. No one saw her that night anywhere. There was no evidence that could have led to an explanation. Nothing except for a pile of sulfur.” 

“A pile of sulfur?” Cole wonders. Just like what he found in your house... 

“I know. None of it made sense. The only video footage that was caught of that night was unobtainable because the file coincidentally became corrupted before the authorities could view it. They couldn’t get it to return to normal.” 

“What?! So...so she’s just...gone?” 

Lou nods, sighing. “What we know is little and not enough to go on: she was walking home from the theater one night after practice. The best guess as to what happened was that she was kidnapped, but there were no leads. None. It was doomed to be a cold case.” 

“No...there’s no way...there had to have been something. People always leave something behind!” Cole insists, suddenly unable to sit still. How did he not hear about this? “They missed something, they had to of-” 

“Son,” Lou says softly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I saved this for you.” 

Cole turns, eyeing a newspaper article in his dad’s grasp. He takes it, unfolding it:

MISSING TEEN 

Late this Wednesday night, a girl went missing. Eerily enough, there was little evidence to go on – nothing except for a pile of sulfur, as odd as it is. Officials have attempted to extract any type of trace evidence, but to no avail. To add to the bizarre element of this case, the video footage surrounding the area of her disappearance was completely corrupted, rendering it useless. All camera footage recorded within a one mile radius of the crime scene were completely distorted, meaning that someone successfully erased the only lead that officials could have used. Authorities attempted to recover the file, but their attempts remain unsuccessful. 

Authorities are asking anyone who could have information about this case to step forward, even if anonymously. A reward is being offered to anyone who gives information leading to her rescue or an arrest. 

Could this have been the perfect crime? Updates will be posted here as they come up. 

“What?” Cole mumbles, setting the article down as he rubs his forehead. 

Lou nods. “Nothing about the whole thing made any sense. None of the working theories add up. The best explanation we can think of was that she was just...kidnapped. By someone who was extremely diligent about not leaving evidence behind.” 

“But if so, then why the sulfur?” Cole mumbles. 

“Exactly. Every time we thought we had some kind of explanation, something like that comes up,” Lou replies. 

Cole stares at your picture on the article. What happened? Where did you go? Were you... 

...no. He knows you’re not dead. 

But there are far too many unanswered questions, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let that go so easily. No matter how angry you might be with him, no matter how inconclusive the evidence is... 

“I’m going to find her.” 

“Son...” Lou sighs, sitting back down in his chair as he rubs his forehead. “The authorities have had no lead in this. What makes you think you’ll be any different?” 

Cole grits his teeth, clenching his fist as he turns away from his father. “Well, some of us can’t just stand around singing and dancing to avoid reality.” 

Lou remains silent, expression darkening as Cole shakes his head, also going quiet as the rest of his team enters the living room, Kai and Jay both groggy while Zane is as alert as ever.  

“Come on, guys. Let’s get ready. We only have a few hours to prepare.” 

…   

[Ninjago City – 6:37 PM]

Darkness gradually begins to shroud the sky as you find yourself stepping out of the Impala once more, this time in front of an old motel. It’s nothing special, but it’ll get the three of you through the case. 

Travel days always take a toll on the three of you. It’s just exhausting. And while it’s been cool to travel frequently, it also sucks in a lot of ways. Sam and Dean are the only people you really have now. Any of the other friends you had made along the way probably wouldn’t matter because you were unlikely to see them ever again. 

A sigh escapes you as you follow Sam and Dean inside, the guys carrying the duffel bags stashed with weapons and miscellaneous items while you carry your own personal bag. After checking in, the three of you unload in the room. 

“About damned time,” Dean mutters, all of you dumping your bags on the table. “Sleep now. Case tomorrow.” 

You wander towards the window, pushing aside the curtain so you can have a glimpse outside. While you’re not exactly familiar with the area, you recall passing a sign that listed a village close to your hometown on the way here. That means you can’t be far, even if it’s just a matter of you needing to get your bearings. 

Mind set, you decide you’d have a look around tonight. You have some unfinished business here. 

Dean is the first to hop in the shower, leaving you and Sam to unpack. You pull out your laptop and other belongings, deciding that you’d do some digging before you go. 

“How are you doing?” Sam questions, pulling the bags off to the side so that the table is clear. You shrug, opening your computer. 

“Fine, I guess. Why?” 

“I meant with the nightmares,” Sam clarifies, tone soft as he studies you. “Sorry. Should have been more specific.” 

“I mean...they’re the same. Haven’t gotten worse, haven’t slowed down, either.” 

“No progress at all?” Sam wonders, frowning. 

You wave off his concerns as you type in your password. “I’m fine, Sam. They’re just dreams after all.” 

“Yeah, but...that also means that everything we’ve tried hasn’t helped. Which means this thing is stronger than we initially thought.” 

“Nothing else is happening, though. I’ll be okay.” 

Sam sighs, rubbing his forehead. “At least let Cas try to help?” 

You smile, nodding as you glance at Sam. “Yeah. That sounds good.” 

“Good. I feel like if anyone can give us some direction with it, it’s him.” 

“I hope so,” you say, taking a second to glance at the internet search bar on your screen. What to look up first? 

“Anyways. I’ll stop prying about that for now. I know it’s annoying, but we’re just worried,” Sam says, opening his own laptop. “This is something we haven’t faced before, and we haven’t found anything similar in our dad’s journal, which is kind of throwing us for a loop, I guess.” 

“I appreciate it. I’ll tell you guys if it gets worse. I hope I’m not being too irritated today...it’s just really strange being back after everything that happened.” 

“I get that. Do you miss it at all?” 

You shrug. “I do sometimes. I used to love being on stage. I felt like it was really what I was meant to do, you know? But now...I just have a hard time singing or dancing or pretending to be someone else when there are people dying. People getting hurt. Families being torn apart. By doing this, I’m actually helping people. And it’s not always pretty, but...I like doing it,” you explain, eyes studying something in the distance. “I feel like I’m a part of something bigger.” 

“Hey...you know it’s not selfish to do what you want to do, right?” Sam counters as he shuts his laptop, leaning forward in his chair. “Truthfully, I wasn’t going to become a hunter. Not until Azazel killed Jess,” he recalls, expression darkening at the memory. “Because I wanted to go to college. I didn’t want to end up like my dad. I just wanted to be happy, to live a life that was normal and...basically the complete opposite of what I had as a kid. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to keep doing this. You don’t have to throw away your life for a cause that’s as morbid as this.” 

“But...I want to help people-” 

“And you still can. Helping people isn’t just killing monsters. You can help people in so many different ways, and those don’t have to be violent.” Sam sighs before speaking up again. “And what about your old friends?” 

You avert your gaze, throat tightening. “They’re all off doing their own thing now, I think.” 

Sam remains quiet for a moment. “Look...just think about everything I’m telling you. You still have a chance to get out of this and I want you to do what makes you happy. Don’t just stay in this mess of a lifestyle just because you’re out for vengeance. I can assure you that revenge isn’t as satisfying as it appears. It just leaves you empty and numb.” 

“But...I need to know why it happened,” you mumble, glancing away. “Why it had to be me. Why I’m still having nightmares. And why I feel like it isn’t the end.” 

“I understand. I know it’s frustrating. I know it’s hard. But...just promise me you’ll take time to think about my point?” Sam smiles softly as he offers you his pinky – a running inside joke between the two of you. “We can figure out your case as we go. But you deserve to live your life the way you want, and no supernatural being should have a say in how you do that.” 

You roll your eyes before nodding, wrapping your pinky around his. “I promise.” 

“Thank you.” 

From there, the two of you resume your respective laptop activities, waiting for Dean to finish showering. 

By now, you’ve caught up on most of the historical events that have happened since you left: 

Shortly after you disappeared, an investigation was launched to no avail. It was quickly driven to a halt as there were no leads to follow. No surprise there. A few months later, Ninjago saw the rise of the Serpentine in addition to a mysterious new force of...ninjas? With powers? Cool. Looks like they were last spotted at Mega Monster Amusement Park. A small smile lines your lips as you recall the fond memories you have of that place. 

You’re also able to determine where you’re at in regards to the city. The theater isn’t horribly far away. You decide that you’ll definitely have a look around tonight before you go watch the talent show. 

Lastly, you hesitantly type in a name you’ve been reluctant to know the fate of. 

His name grants your search no news. Just the old articles of the theater days, when you were there with him. Interesting. 

Shaking the thought of him away, you shut your laptop as Dean emerges from the bathroom, dressed in comfy clothes. You gesture for Sam to go next, knowing you wouldn’t need to shower just yet. 

Dean groans as he opens his bag, quickly realizing Sam had already unpacked it. He turns towards the mini fridge, pulling out a beer and cracking it open. 

“You gonna go watch that show? Or whatever it is?” Dean questions, taking a swig as he turns on the TV, lowering the volume before sitting down across from you. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I just want to have a look around.” 

“You have enough silver?” he questions, eyeing you with a raised brow. 

“Plenty. I’ll be fine.” 

“Holy water?” 

“Yep.” 

“Salt?” 

“Always.” 

“Okay. Just be careful. Especially with-” 

“I’ll be okay, Dean. Thank you though.” 

He sighs, nodding. “Just call us if you need us. Or Cas.” 

“Thank you, Dean. I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

…   

It’s still here. 

A shaky breath escapes your lips as you gaze at your old house – still standing, still empty. Save for the remnants of your shattered life. You gently push the door open, peeking inside cautiously. 

Wow. How long has it been since you’ve been here? You step inside, surveying the scene. All of the furniture is still here, just like your belongings. Everything is either super dusty or covered with tarp. Nothing seems to be missing, though, which is surprising. 

Not caring about the majority of your old stuff, you decide to head to your old room. Even though it’s quiet enough being here, you don’t want to stay for long – not just because the show is due to start within the hour, but also because it would be the perfect spot for something nasty to show up. Surely it would know you’d return home eventually. 

And it was right. There was one thing you hadn’t grabbed before you left. One item that had hurt too much to take back then that a part of you had been missing for a long time. 

Pushing open the door to your old room, you find that it has remained seemingly undisturbed. You step over to your nightstand, opening the drawer slowly... 

“Huh?” you mumble, realizing that the picture you had left there is gone. No trace of it. “It’s gone?” 

But...something is weird. There’s still an imprint of a rectangle there – the surroundings are coated in dust. That means that someone must have taken it recently. But who? 

You frown, standing as you glance towards your bathroom door. You shudder, immediately deciding that coming here might have been a bad idea. 

As quickly as you came, you were gone.  

Shaking the bad memories from your mind, you set in the all-too-familiar direction of the theater, taking the shortcut you know by heart. 

It only takes you about ten minutes to find the road that leads to the theater. You remain silent as you take in your surroundings: 

The chilly fall air, the old bakery you used to frequent with him, the old café, the park, the market... 

A small smile settles on your lips as you pause at the bakery, taking a moment to peer inside the glass window. Seems as if not much has changed; through the darkness and stacked chairs you can see that it’s still the same, well-loved bakery you remember. You lean back, deciding you would try and convince the guys if you could come here for breakfast tomorrow morning. 

Continuing on your way, you eventually find yourself standing at the entrance of the theater. A shaky breath escapes you as you hesitate, wondering why it all feels so different. So foreign, even though you know this place like the back of your hand. 

Despite your fears, you proceed forward, noticing a few people standing outside and chatting. There’s still about a half hour before the start of the show, though. You make sure your mask is covering your lower face before entering. 

You spot a few people seated behind a folded table as you enter. 

“Good evening. Have your ticket, or do you want to buy one?” 

“I’ll buy one,” you answer, shuffling around in your pockets and pulling out some spare cash. “How much?” 

With that, you pay your admission fee and thank the clerk before proceeding deeper into the theater. 

The halls are teeming with people as you squeeze your way past them, paying no mind to the hushed chatter flittering about the room. To no surprise, you notice that the main path backstage has been blocked off. Little do they know, however, is that there’s a hidden way to gain access. 

You slip into a custodial closet after having a glance around, fumbling to feel for the light switch along the wall. You find it a few seconds later, pushing it. The lights flicker to life, dimly illuminating the dusty closet. Various cleaning and maintenance tools line the shelves, and a ladder stands in the middle of the room across from you. You waste no time in climbing it, heaving the old trap door open as quietly as you can. 

Dust stirs around you, but you’re unfazed as you lift yourself onto the upper floor, being sure to close the trap door when you’re through. 

Wow. If you thought the nostalgia was intense before… 

You feel almost breathless as you rise, spotting the immense amount of storage boxes lining the perimeter. Across the room is another trap door and ladder that will lead you to the backstage area. For now, though, with the time you have before the show, you decide to reminisce for a little while. 

You approach the boxes, noting the names scribbled onto each one. Soon enough, you stumble across the one you’re looking for. 

Scrawled in your old handwriting reads: 

Corpse Bride 

Your fingertips trace the dried ink of the marker before drifting towards the flaps of the box, which have been taped shut. You tear the tape off, shoving it aside before opening it. 

It’s a rather small box considering that the play was never actually performed. It only contains a few potential costumes along with a few props. 

The first thing to catch your eye is the dress. 

A soft smile lines your lips as you gingerly lift it from its prison, the texture of the fabric just the way you remember it. 

It’s Emily’s dress – the character you were supposed to play. You had been so excited for this play – getting to know Emily and her tragic backstory was fun for you to dive into. Not to mention that you got to put your own little spin on her physical appearance, too. The dress had been tailored to your measurements, adding a bit of a macabre edge to it considering the nature of the actual movie. It still seems to be in a good state considering that it’s been stashed in a box for a while. 

Part of you wants to try it on, but you know that you don’t have much time left before the show starts. With that thought in mind, you hesitantly put it back. Well, you could always come back… 

You sigh, folding the box closed before you push it back to where it was, going to throw the discarded tape away before you make your way towards the other trap door, opening it quietly before you clamber down the ladder, verifying that the area is empty. 

The room is dark, but it’s not much of an issue considering that the room is pretty small. You’re able to find the door easily, quietly slipping out so that nobody notices. You slip through the crowd of performers, making your way to the audience when - 

“Ow! Dude, you gotta follow me!” 

“Follow you? You're two beats off!” 

“Actually, two point seventy-two off of the beat.” 

“Guys, guys!” interrupts another voice. This one, though... 

You turn. It can’t be. 

“Let's not make this any harder than it needs to be. We just stick to the plan and keep up the charade until the trophy's revealed. Once we steal the Blade Cup, we can argue all we want once we get back home.” 

You freeze in your pathway, not-so-subtly staring at the group of boys across from you. There are four, dressed in striped suits featuring four different colors: red, blue, white, and black. But one... 

You realize that the blue one has noticed you, the redhead returning your stare before you’re able to verify your suspicion. Realizing that you’ve been caught, you simply continue walking, eventually making your way into the auditorium. 

Your breathing becomes uneven as you think about what just happened. Was that really him back there? 

No. No, it can’t be. Or...can it? Did Cole really return? After all the time he was gone? 

You do your best to keep an unfazed expression as you move through the crowd, eventually finding an open seat at the back. Did Cole actually come back after you disappeared...? How long has he been back? 

...Did he try to find you? Does he even know you’re technically missing? 

You shake your head as you settle into your seat, anxiously gnawing on your lip as you wait for the show to begin. If that really was him...then why did he come back? You knew that he and his father were having issues, and that he had discussed running away before. But...he had talked to you about that. About how tired he was of fighting with his dad, and how he wanted a future with you above anything else. 

And, just like that, you’re led to the one question that’s been haunting you ever since he left: 

Why did he leave me? 

Where did he go? Why did he throw everything away in such a short period of time? The whole time during your relationship, you felt that everything on both sides was truly genuine. You loved him so much, and you knew that he loved you. And when he initially left, you thought that something had happened to him. Seeing this now, though...

If that was him...he didn't sound too disturbed. More annoyed, if anything. But if that's the case, then what was so important that he just left? Without any word? Any warning? Any explanation? 

Tears prick your eyes as you glance down at your hands. You would have gone with him. You would have given anything to have a life with him. But apparently, he didn’t feel that way. For what reason? 

Your thoughts stumble to a halt when a familiar figure slides across the stage. You would recognize that mop of orange hair anywhere; it’s Jackson, the announcer. Wow, he still works here. He had always been kind of...egotistic, but generally was a nice guy who always supported your work during your time here. 

Jackson greets the crowd as they cheer, giving his typical introduction for the show. You tune out, observing as the first few performers have their turns. 

At first, it’s nothing you didn’t see during your period here – people singing, dancing, doing cool tricks, that kind of thing. It’s not until Jackson announces a certain group that you become interested. 

“Now, for a new group – give it up for the Treble Makers!”

He darts offstage as a bizarre group of...snake people?...enter the stage, all donning wigs. What the hell? That’s a first. 

While you’re intrigued by their presence, their performance makes you want to claw your ears out. You do your best to pay them no heed until the very end: 

“My poison lies over the ocean! My poison lies over the sea! My poison lies over the ocean! So bring back my poison to me!” 

“Thank the stars,” you mutter as people boo them. 

Once they’re offstage, Jackson slides out to announce the final group. “And last, but not least, The Royal Blacksmi-” He pauses, listening to his earpiece as someone hands him a sheet of paper. “Uh, hold on. This just in! There's been a switch. Taking the stage next is Spin Harmony!” 

Lou’s quartet isn’t performing? That’s not like them at all. 

However, no one comes out initially. You’re beginning to wonder if this is supposed to be that group of guys you saw earlier. If so, what’s the holdup? 

Everyone else begins to think the same thing as hushed chatter stems from the crowd. Seconds later, Jackson calls for the group once last time. 

You’re about to lose hope when Jackson skids to a halt on the stage once more and finally says: “Ladies and gentlemen, Spin Harmony!” 

With that, the crowd erupts into cheers as a rock song begins playing. You’re instantly into the song. For some reason, it Folds into a sense of nostalgia that has you jamming. 

Four ninja twirl towards the audience – a white, blue, red, and black ninja. Initially, they’re dancing in sync, but moments later they find themselves fending off more snake people. They work together to knock the snake people down before the chorus, where they begin dancing again. 

“Jump up, kick back, whip around and spin! And then we jump back, do it again!” 

You observe in fascination as they start spinning into multicolored tornados. You notice that one of the snakes is chowing down on one of the weight bag ropes overhead, but thankfully the white ninja leaps into action and kicks the bag away before it can land on the blue ninja. 

The other three proceed to spin around the stage, knocking down more snake dudes. To the crowd’s amusement, the three stop spinning to reveal themselves in various poses – most notably, the ‘draw-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls' pose Mr. Red is striking. The crowd is eating the performance up, though. The white ninja starts doing the robot – pretty well, too. It’s like his movements are almost too precise to be human. 

Then, more snakes appear from the stage – this time, though, the black ninja jumps into action. 

In awe, you observe as he performs the one dance move you could never conquer: 

The Triple Tiger Sashay. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, eyes wide. You tried that move so many times, and you could never get it! 

The white ninja echoes your thoughts: “The Triple Tiger Sashay!” 

The crowd is completely silent, everyone stuck in a whelm of disbelief until they completely erupt into cheers. You can’t help but join in, impressed. 

Jackson darts next to the black ninja, bowing to him. “Oh, he did it! The Triple Tiger Sashay! He's danced the impossible!” 

From your position in the crowd, you can’t see the scores. They seem decent until the last judge shows his, to which the crowd begins booing. A few moments later though, they cheer with the same ferocity once more. 

“It's a perfect score! Spin Harmony wins the Blade Cup!” Jackson yells as a few workers carry the Blade Cup over to the ninja, handing it to the black ninja. He holds the cup up proudly as he scans the crowd, seemingly searching for someone. 

You don’t expect his eyes to land on you, though. For a few moments, you’re left frozen as he holds your stare for a few seconds before moving on. You remain silent, suspicions falling into place before you shake them off. No, there’s no way... 

Shaking the thought off, you decide to take one last peek backstage. Maybe if you just double check, you’d feel better? 

You slip past security with ease, knowing a good spot to view the area without being caught. You keep your head down as you pass the performers, slipping into the custodial closet again and climbing the ladder. Once you’re up, you find the hole situated in the wall of the storage area. It leads to the upper beams supporting the roof of the backstage area. You crawl through, sticking to the shadows as you make sure to get a good angle as you observe the ninja. 

The black one bears the cup, handing it to the blue one. “Thanks, but go on and celebrate without me. Winning this doesn't feel the same without my dad being able to—” 

“Cole!” 

Well. There’s your confirmation. If his voice wasn’t enough the first time, then that is. Not to mention that Lou is there too now, walking up to Cole. You notice that he’s using a cane. Is he injured? That must be why he’s not competing. 

“Dad?” Cole questions, turning to face his father. 

“I saw it all, son. I saw it all,” Lou admits, grinning as Cole hugs him. You find yourself smiling before reminding yourself that this is the man that left you without so much as a warning. 

Cole pulls his mask off, allowing you to get a good look at his face. He hasn’t changed much, aside from his stature. He looks stronger than you remember, which makes sense considering that he’s a ninja now. But other than that...his face, his hair...all the same. He’s still your Cole. 

The two speak for a little while before a tall, purple snake with a beard slithers out to them. They, too, speak for a few moments when a nearby hissing noise catches your attention. 

Horror courses through your veins as you spot two snake people on one of the beams across from you. The ninja haven’t noticed them yet. You realize their plan as your eyes settle on the hanging crate that they're standing next to. you quickly try to cross the beams as quietly as you can without losing your balance. 

Please don’t slip, shoes, please don’t slip! 

Thankfully, you’re able to make it to the other side, sneaking up on them. 

Just before you tackle them, they knock a giant, chained crate across the ceiling, smashing into the overhead ceiling light fixtures. They go crashing down. Cole sprints across the floor, able to shield his dad just as the lights hit the ground. 

You gasp as the two snake people eye you from below, getting up from their fall. The purple snake wastes no time in snatching the cup. Then, he eyes the two fallen snakes. 

You realize your mistake as he spots you. 

“Oh, who’s this?” he wonders. Thankfully, the other ninja are scrambling towards the wreckage, too concerned about the people who were just crushed to notice you. You swallow nervously, wondering how you’re going to get out of this. 

It’s then you feel a weight tugging on your ankle, throwing you off balance as you’re pulled off the ledge. You grunt as you hit the ground, trying to break your fall as best as you can. 

A white and red snake flickers into view, laughing as he releases your ankle. They can go invisible?! Not fair. 

You pick yourself up, grunting from the pain as the snakes laugh at you. 

“Doessssn’t feel sssso nicccce, doesssss it?” taunts one of the guys you tackled. 

You don’t answer, instead electing to jerk yourself upward before slamming your elbow up into its jaw. It rears backward, hissing in pain. You’re about to send another attack towards the other one when the purple snake’s tail coils around your neck, lifting you up and squeezing you before tossing you towards the wall. You collide into it harshly, but are able to shield your head with your arms as you fall to the ground, gasping for air. 

The white ninja notices you, immediately coming to your aid. 

“Are you injured?” he questions, helping you sit up. You shake your head, ensuring that your mask is still on securely as you force yourself to stand. 

You immediately turn, darting to the custodian’s closet. Before you leave, though, you watch as a light brown glow emanates from the pile of debris. A low hum resonates through the air before one of the fallen lights is lifted up, revealing a...glowing masked Cole? 

You can’t help but admire him for a moment. He’s literally radiating power, tossing aside that giant light like it weighs nothing. He helps his dad stand. You’re glad that they’re okay, though. That scared you. 

You hear the others saying something about a ‘true potential’. You don’t stay long enough to hear what else they say, though. 

… 

“I say today calls for a celebration!” Lou states, patting Cole on the shoulder as he grins. “Come on, pizza’s on me tonight!” 

“Yes!” Jay exclaims, fist pumping. Kai rolls his eyes, seemingly still a little upset about not getting his True Potential. 

Cole spots Zane hovering near the custodial closet, though. Weird. 

“Zane, what’s wrong?” Cole calls, the four approaching the nindroid. 

“Did anyone else see that woman?” Zane questions as he opens the closet door. “Most peculiar.” 

“What woman? We were too distracted trying to make sure Cole and Lou were okay,” Jay answers. 

“She was fighting the Serpentine, but Pythor got ahold of her and threw her against the wall. She appeared uninjured and hardly fazed, though. From my analysis, she tried to prevent the Serpentine from knocking the fixtures down when Pythor saw her.” 

“What’d she look like?” Kai prompts, folding his arms. 

Zane briefly gives a description, noting the black mask. Jay perks up upon hearing this, whirling towards the others. 

“Wait, I think I saw her earlier, before the show,” Jay comments. “She was just staring at us, like a creep!” 

“Well, if she went in here, then she probably has been a student here at some point,” Lou adds. 

“Why’s that?” Jay wonders. 

“Because of this,” Cole states, approaching the ladder with a frown. “Hey, you guys head back with my dad. I need to look around for a minute.” 

“Are you sure?” Jay wonders. “She was probably just one of those crazy fangirls.” 

“Yeah. The Serpentine may still be around here, and we don’t need them targeting my dad again.” 

“Okay. How about we split up?” Kai suggests. 

That thought gives Cole an idea as he nods in agreement. “Actually, yeah. Zane, come with me. Everyone else head back.” 

The four nod, with Kai and Jay accompanying Lou back to his home while Cole ascends the ladder, Zane not far behind him. 

“Out of curiosity, why did you select me?” Zane wonders when the two make their way into the storage room. 

“Because, I had an idea,” Cole comments. “But first...do you think you can recover corrupt files that even the police couldn’t get back?” 

“It depends,” Zane answers. “I would have to look at it myself.” 

“Okay, I’ll take it,” Cole replies. 

Wow. It’s been forever since he’s been up here. He glances around the room, suddenly overwhelmed with nostalgia as Zane studies the area. 

“Hm...” Zane trails off, approaching a stack of boxes. “This one appears to have been opened recently.” 

“Which one?” Cole wonders, coming over to where Zane is.  

“Corpse Bride,” Zane replies, opening it. 

“What?” Cole questions, scanning the contents. The dress lies on top, much to his interest. Almost like someone had dug it out to look at it. 

“I detect a few recent partial fingerprints,” Zane states after examining the whole box. “Something is most unusual, however.” 

Zane stares off into the distance for a moment. Cole lets him calculate, patiently waiting for him to continue. 

“It appears as if...these prints have been scarred to obfuscate the image,” Zane adds, frowning. “This means that I cannot match these prints in my database at this time.” 

“Damn,” Cole mumbles. “Do you think she’s trying to hide her tracks?” 

“We do not know for sure that she is the one who opened this box,” Zane reminds. “Although, assuming that she did...it is likely. Paired with the behavior I witnessed, it does make sense.” 

Cole remains silent, a strange gut feeling gnawing at him. He hates that he can’t decipher it. All he knows is that he needs to keep searching. 

“What is it?” Zane asks. 

“I have this...weird hunch,” Cole mumbles. “I think we need to figure out who she is.” 

“Why don’t we check the ticket log? We could question the workers as well,” Zane suggests. 

“Good idea,” Cole replies. 

… 

Zane intently studies the logbook, scanning through the names and transactions recorded within. 

“A girl wearing a black mask?” the worker wonders. “Um...if she was here, I didn’t check her in. Did anyone here check in a girl with a black mask? Asking for the ninja.” 

“I did,” a lady says, approaching Cole. “Why?” 

“Do you remember what name she checked in as?” Cole questions. 

“We don’t get names for people who pay at the gates anymore,” she admits. “She paid with cash. I do remember that much.” 

Zane sighs, closing the logbook and setting it on the table. “Then we have no lead here, either.” 

“Okay. Thank you,” Cole says as the two turn toward the exit. “Figures that she wouldn’t pay with card.” 

“Indeed,” Zane agrees. “Where are we going now?” 

“Hold on! Cole!” a voice calls. The two turn, seeing Jackson hurrying over to them. 

“Oh, Jackson!” Cole states, greeting the announcer with a brief hug. “How’ve you been? It’s been a while!”   

“I’ve been doing alright! But man, look at you! You’re a ninja now!” 

“Yeah,” Cole replies with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oh, and this is Zane, my teammate. Zane, meet Jackson. He does a lot of the host work here.”   

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Zane states, quickly shaking Jackson’s hand.  

“Same here, bud,” responds the orange-haired man. 

“Oh, while you’re here,” Cole asks, expression darkening as he pulls the folded article out from his gi, holding it out to him. “What can you tell me about her?”  

Jackson studies the picture for a moment before his face drops. “Oh...her. Well...it was weird. A few days before she disappeared, she was...acting really off. She seemed to be...scared, I guess? She was coming to practice, but her behavior was just...not like her. Honestly, I was creeped out too. To see a girl like her, absolutely rattled by something...” he sighs. “I don’t really know why she was so scared. We asked her, tried to offer help...but she never took it. It got to the point where it was interfering with her performance. She would try to come on stage and get her practice in, but she would see something and get too spooked to continue.” 

“What do you mean by ‘see something’?” Cole presses. 

“There were rumors that she was hallucinating,” Jackson answers. “There were moments where she would just stop and stare. Either at her hands, somewhere in the distance or at someone else. The night before she disappeared was the creepiest. She came in acting completely fine. Like she hadn’t been shaken at all.” 

“Why do you say ‘acting’ if she was being herself?” Zane wonders. 

“I didn’t say that she was acting normally. She was acting like she was fine...but was completely out of character the whole night. She was too chipper. Too smiley. Y’know, normally she was a hardy girl with a great sense of humor and a bit of an attitude at times. But something about the way she was acting that night...” Jackson trails off, stare completely blank as he recalls the memory. “I knew something was wrong, but none of us knew what it was. Or what we could do to help. We weren’t sure if it was some kind of mental illness, or a type of coping mechanism, or what. But all of us were thoroughly freaked out by the time she left. It was like this...oppressive atmosphere just left when she stepped out of here.”  

“Oppressive atmosphere?” Cole questions, frowning. “Can you elaborate?” 

“I can try, but it’s difficult for me to explain.” Jack takes a deep breath. “Okay. So...I want to say like a week before she went missing, that was when she starting acting off. Then, I felt the atmosphere change slightly. But, the last night? It was worse. It made some of the other students nauseous.” 

“That’s weird,” Cole mumbles, coming to a realization. “I visited her house last night. I felt the same type of feeling when I went to her bathroom. All of her mirrors were smashed in there, though.” 

Jackson visibly shudders, shaking his head. “Look...between you and me? I think there’s a reason why her case went cold. It’s because whatever took her wasn’t actually human.” 

“You believe that paranormal activity was involved?” Zane clarifies. 

“Yes. Let me tell you...the way she looked at me before she left...it was absolutely haunting,” Jackson recalls. “It was almost like...she was telling me that the real her was gone. Before it even happened.” 

Shivers dart down Cole’s spine as that weird feeling in his stomach grows. He was right – something was off about this whole thing. But what does this mean? What were you afraid of? What, exactly, was after you, and why? 

“Okay, thank you, Jackson,” Cole says. “That helps us a lot.”  

“Of course,” the orange-haired announcer replies. “Any way I can help, I’m glad to do it. And I’m glad you came back, buddy. Theater hasn’t been the same without you here.” 

“Thanks,” Cole states, guilt trekking through him yet again. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly.” 

“Hey, shit happens,” Jackson says. “Not my place to judge. I’m just glad you’re okay. Let’s catch up before you leave town again, yeah?”  

…   

“Potential hallucinations, uncharacteristic behavior, signs of paranoia...” Zane trails off. “I wonder what made her act that way.” 

“I know. That’s not like her at all,” Cole replies, knowing that Zane doesn’t completely understand just yet. He fumbles for the article in his pocket, knowing it would be best to show Zane the article too.

“Where are we going now?” 

“Just a spot down the street,” Cole answers before he finally pulls the news article out from his gi. “Here, read this.” 

Zane takes it, looking the article over. “I see. This was the girl in your father’s picture, yes?” 

“Right,” Cole replies. “I have a feeling that she’s out here. And that we’re close to discovering the truth. By the way, what did you make about that paranormal stuff?” 

“I do not know,” Zane admits. “Credible paranormal research is few and far between. There is not enough immediately available, ergo I cannot comfortably apply it to anything in this case.” 

“Hm, okay. Hopefully the tapes can tell us something.” 

“We will likely need to go to the police station in order to gain access to the file,” Zane states. “I do not think that the average camera would contain that kind of memory length.” 

“Probably not. Hopefully they still have it.” 

“I hope so too.” 

Cole glances around the street, going quiet as Jackson’s story comes back to mind. Was something paranormal really involved? If so, how?  

He’s not sure. Maybe his dad could corroborate Jackson’s account. On that note, Cole realizes that asking around the town might give him a new lead too.   

Then it’s settled. At the very least, Cole has a plan of attack for the time being. Despite the weary feeling he’s been experiencing, he thinks that he may yet be able to discover the truth.   

It only takes about two minutes to get to the spot pictured in the article – the alleyway where you went missing. Cole frowns, an ache surging through his heart as he glances around.   

Obviously, nothing is immediately out of place. He doesn’t really expect to gain much from this, but it can’t hurt to try.   

“This appears to be the camera that captured the video,” Zane states, glancing up at a white camera stationed on the corner of the building. “It does not appear to be functional anymore.” 

“Yeah...” Cole trails off, sighing as he studies the surrounding area. “It’s a dead end down here. I wonder if they checked the other cameras on the street?” 

“I recall that the article stated that they did,” Zane answers. “After all, there are plenty of shops around. But that’s quite a feat – corrupting all of those files to the point where they are irretrievable.” 

“Definitely. That makes me wonder – how did the kidnapper escape with her?” Cole mumbles. 

“Wait...” Zane trails off for a moment, staring at the wall behind Cole. The black ninja steps to the side, wondering what Zane sees that he can’t. 

“What is it?” Cole questions, a surge of hope swelling through him as Zane does his thing.  

“There’s something odd about this wall,” Zane states, frowning as he approaches it. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There is some type of unknown trace substance on the surface. It forms a pattern...some kind of symbol?” 

“A symbol?” 

“I have the image saved to my database. I will be able to print a copy for you to see later,” Zane states. “We should certainly pay the police a visit tomorrow morning. I do not believe they would have been able to find this symbol. Perhaps they have seen it before?” 

“Maybe they have. What if it’s connected to some other kidnapping or crime?” 

“I believe it’s entirely possible. And, if I may ask, what was your relation to her?” Zane wonders. 

“She was my girlfriend while I was a student at the theater. We went to school together here, too.” 

“Can you recall anyone in her life that would have wanted to harm her?” 

“No, not off the top of my head,” Cole answers, trailing off to think for a moment. No one comes to mind. No one he knew would have wanted to hurt you. 

And suddenly, the entire realization crashes down into him. It had seemed urgent before, but now...it’s like a pile of bricks. 

He pulls the polaroid of you and him from his gi, staring at the picture wistfully. Why hadn’t he just told you? Why was he so scared to tell you? Why did he just leave you here? And now, here he is, wishing that he could just hold you and apologize and know that you’re okay, not out there hurt, or in the hands of a criminal – 

A comforting hand settles on his shoulder, snapping Cole turns to see Zane studying the picture too. 

“We will find her, brother,” Zane states. 

“I know, but...” Cole doesn’t finish sentence, tensing as another thought occurs to him. “It’s my fault she’s gone. We always walked home together after rehearsals. I could have been there to help her. I could have-” 

“Cole, this is in no way your fault. The blame solely lies on the perpetrator. Right now, we cannot afford to place the blame anywhere else. We will visit the police station tomorrow morning.” 

Cole takes a deep breath, stealing one last glance at the picture before he tucks it away. “You’re right. We’ll find her, and I can tell her myself...” 

“Precisely. For now, I believe we should return to your father’s house. Perhaps he has a printer we could borrow?” 

“Yeah, I think he does,” Cole replies. “Let’s go.” 

The two continue on their way, sharing related chatter as they leave. The two appear to be completely unaware of you emerging from the roof of a nearby building. Once the two are out of sight, you hop down onto the concrete, ensuring that they’re gone before you approach the alleyway where your life had changed forever. 

After taking a moment to ponder their conversation, you’re led to the realization that this investigation might get trickier. If they successfully provide a new lead to the police, it would be hard for you to show yourself in public unless you made a drastic change to your appearance. 

Your mind shifts to Cole, thinking about his words and the way he had gazed at the polaroid you had been looking for earlier. You find that a tear has slipped, taking a moment to wipe it off. 

He’s looking for me... 

So...he does still care. To an extent, at least. And you could have just jumped down from the roof and taken your mask off, showing him that you’re here. You’re okay, and you missed him, but you had worried...

But you didn’t show yourself.

Why? 

Because...you’ve moved on, and you have to figure out what exactly happened that day. You have to learn the truth of why you were targeted, and what the entity’s end goal is for you. You know you’re still at risk. But why? 

You miss Cole, and you want to talk to him. But you can’t. Not yet. He’d be too much of a distraction for you to finish this case. For now, you’re going to try your best to steer clear of him. Maybe when it’s over you can finally reveal yourself and hear him out too. 

You’ll figure it out. Hopefully you can blast the entity that stole your life to pieces and exorcise its sorry ass back to hell. Perhaps Sam was right about vengeance. Even with his words in mind, though, you still can’t help but want closure before you figure out what direction you want to take with your life. 

Another part of Cole’s conversation is bugging you, too – what symbol was the white ninja talking about? How was he able to find it? 

You think about it for a moment before coming up with an idea. 

“Castiel...if you can hear me, I could use your help.” 

You wait for a few seconds, wondering if you should say more when the sound of flapping wings catches your attention from behind you. 

A smile crosses your lips as your favorite angel stands before you. 

“Hello. It’s been a while.”

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚒 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢/𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚖, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘. 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍��'𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.

𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢! 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜, 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘, 𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗; 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘.

[gredandforgesmischief]

after all - plus size lily x james!

title: after all

pair: james potter x plus size! lily evans

summary: lily never thought that a person like james could be sincere when asking someone like her out.

content: uhh idk what to put here but lily has anxiety/body image issues

word count: 2500

a/n: hiii everyone this is my first piece of writing on this account :)) i posted this headcanon on my tiktok a while back and people really wanted me to write about it, so i did! feedback is always welcome.

other characters/ships mentioned: dorlene, wolfstar, mary macdonald, marlene mckinnon, remus lupin, sirius black, minerva mcgonagal

_

“Oi, Evans, wait!”

Lily groaned as the bespectacled boy jogged towards her. Not this again she thought to herself. Despite her less than happy expression, James smiled kindly towards her. She nodded to him hoping that he would carry on and say whatever he had approached her for.

“Would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?” Lily noticed that he was fumbling with his sleeve as he asked, and could tell that he was nervous. His anxiousness made her feel a bit bad about what she was to say next.

“James I-” She started, her lips pursing into a frown, but James already knew what she was going to say.

James smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s no worries,” Lily avoided eye contact with him, as he began to walk away. “Just let me know if you change your mind.” James said as he continued down the corridor.

-

“Lily, I honestly don’t know what you’re on about. James asks you out every chance he gets,” Marlene said, glaring at the redhead as she plopped down onto her bed, “you just never accept his offers.”

Lily looked to Mary for help, but had little luck as Mary silently agreed with Marlene. The three had just come back from dinner and were painting each other’s nails.

“Why are we even talking about this, Mary was asking you about Dorcas. What does that have to do with James and I?” Lily pulled her hand away from Mary, smudging the nail that Mary was painting.

“So you agree that there is something going on between you and James?” Mary questioned, ignoring the fact that Lily had ruined the work that she had been doing for the last twenty minutes. Marlene laughed, noticing the flush on Lily’s face.

“We all saw you two today before potions, don’t be coy!” Marlene egged on. Lily got up from her position on the floor, rolling her eyes while doing so.

“I don’t know how many times that I have to tell you that James isn’t into me. Neither of you will ever get it. A guy like him wouldn’t want to date someone like me.” Mary glanced at Marlene, the air in the room starting to become a bit tense. Lily cleared her throat, hoping that neither of the girls across from her would press further.

Mary and Marlene were not unfamiliar to Lily’s harsh demeanor. At this point, they knew Lily like the back of their hands. They knew what she meant when she said “someone like me”. It was far too often the two consoled Lily when she cried to them about a cruel comment that someone had made to her about her weight.

Although Lily had been dealing with these comments all throughout her sixteen years of life, her insecurities only grew as she became a teenager. It was quite difficult for her to not compare herself to her thinner classmates, regardless of how much it hurt to think about.

“You are beautiful Lils,” Lily looked at Mary as she spoke, awaiting the rest of her sentence, but was met without any other words.

Marlene and Mary’s affection towards her was something that Lily had to get used to at first. Lily had never been comfortable with people complimenting her physical appearance because of the conditions that usually accompanied the compliment.

Nearly every compliment that Lily could remember was backhanded, until she had met her two best friends. Whether it was her aunt congratulating her on losing some amount of weight or the uncomfortable, “You’re pretty for a big girl.” Regardless of how hard she tried, the comments about her body never seemed to cease.

“Mary is right, Lily, you are stunning. You don’t have to go on a date with James, but give him some credit. He’s not a total arse.” Marlene said, trying to deescalate the situation.

Lily nodded, but even their kind words couldn’t soothe her anxiety. She looked toward the clock on her side table and noticed the time.

“I have to go. Head Girl duties call.” Lily quickly grabbed the robe on her bed, bringing it along in case she got cold while making her rounds. Marlene and Mary flashed sympathetic smiles at the redhead as she left the dorm, knowing she would have to go face James.

-

Surprisingly, James was waiting for her when Lily reached the bottom of the steps. Lily held back a laugh, noticing him struggling to attach his “Head Boy” pin onto his uniform. You would think someone as smart as James could figure out a simple pin.

“Let me help you,” Lily said, breaking James out of his deep concentration. He looked at her with appreciation before handing the gold pin her way.

Lily tugged the front of his robes slightly before attaching the pin onto it. She hummed in satisfaction before pulling away from him. As she pulled away she noticed James was staring at her quite intensely.

Lily flushed as they made eye contact. She couldn’t deny that James was attractive, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it.

“We should probably get going, I don’t want to be out all night.” Lily stated firmly starting to head out into the corridor, James following close behind her.

As the two walked around the castle, Lily distanced herself from James. She honestly did not want to deal with any awkward conversation. At this point, she had brushed James off far too many times to count, and it made her unbelievably anxious to have to do it again.

Just as they had turned the corner towards the middle courtyard, the pair heard a loud boom near the transfiguration classroom.

“Oh great, just what I need right now,” Lily thought to herself as she and James headed into the classroom. Just as they walked into the room, the door shut behind them quite forcefully. There had seemed to be no one in the room besides the two of them. The brunet grabbed the handle of the door quickly, realizing that it was stuck.

“You don’t happen to have your wand… do you?” The boy looked towards Lily with a concerned look on his face.

Lily patted the pocket of her robe before realizing that this was in fact not her robes, but rather Marlene’s. She huffed out a breath of air. “You would think I would notice the size difference” Lily silently cursed at herself before looking towards a confused James.

“This isn’t my robe, I must have grabbed Marlene’s before I left. Why don’t you have your wand? Kind of irresponsible, no?” Lily scolded, hoping that he was messing with her about not having his wand. After her conversation with Marlene and Mary, Lily was not feeling her best, and it became very apparent to James as she bit her nails anxiously.

“Hey, you also forgot your wand, but you don’t see me complaining.” James was joking, but when he looked at Lily once more, he noticed that her eyes were watering. “I’m just kidding, Lily, are you alright?”

Lily frowned at the brunet’s apology, she couldn’t stand him acting like he cared so deeply for her. The two were barely even acquaintances, and she didn’t feel like explaining all of her anxiety quirks to someone she hardly knew.

“Please don’t do that. Don’t act like you care.” Lily said forcefully, meeting eyes with the brown-eyed boy. The two had now moved away from the door and were sitting on the floor near the wall opposite to the door.

Once more, James looked at the redhead in confusion. He racked his brain to think about every interaction he had with Lily that day, before it dawned on him.

“Is this about me asking you out? I never meant to make you uncomfortable- you see I thought Hogsmeade could even be a group thing. Remus and Sirius would also come- wait I guess they’re a couple, but it doesn’t have to be a double date… you could bring Mary-” James went on, his cheeks a soft pink, before Lily cut him off.

“Listen, James, I don’t know if you get some sort of kick out of asking me out, but whatever angle you’re playing at I’d rather not be a part of it,” Lily was visibly distraught now, her jaw was clenched and a single tear was rolling down her cheek. For what felt like the hundredth time, James looked to her in genuine confusion.

James had nothing to say, and as he stared at her mouth ajar, she started up again.

“You could have at least picked a better joke. Asking out the fat girl is so overdone. I didn’t think that you of all people would be so awful,”

Lily was really crying now. “Marlene told me that you were sweeter than before, and I really gave you the benefit of the doubt...but here we are and you’re still laughing at me!” Lily didn’t mean to blow up at James, but at this point they had been stuck in the classroom for what had felt like hours.

Lily wrapped her arms around herself, her head hanging down. She knew that James was staring at her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Maybe now he’ll leave me alone.

Both of the Gryffindors were quiet for a long minute before James decided to break the silence.

“Lily, I don’t know what I’ve said to make you think that I’m joking, but I promise you I’m not. I get it if you don’t want to go out with me, but I just need you to know that I would never ask you out as a joke. Why would you think that?”

Lily finally pulled her head up and looked at James. His brow was furrowed and the expression on his face was unreadable. She took a breath, calming herself down.

“What do you mean, James? I mean look at me.”

There it was. That feeling. It was unavoidable at this point. All of the insecurity that Lily had shoved down was threatening to spill out. It was infrequent that Lily really confronted her self-image, but her conversation with James forced everything to surface.

James could almost see the gears in Lily’s head turning, it was very obvious that she was thinking hard about something. He sighed, not wanting to press her further.

“Lily, I don’t know what happened to make you think that I was joking, but I would truly be honored to take you out.” James said cautiously. He couldn’t tell if this would upset her further. Lily was looking at him in speculation, but at some point she had stopped crying.

She was looking at him, not speaking, almost as if to tell him to keep going. For months she had thought James was playing some cruel prank on her, but they were alone now. There wasn’t some audience to laugh at her if she told James how she felt. And even if he was joking, the pair were by themselves, and Lily could deny accepting James' invitation for a date to anyone that James would tell.

As she looked at him, she noticed that James genuinely seemed horrified at her accusation against him. If she wasn’t completely sure that James was being sincere, she would not have said another word, but for whatever reason, Lily trusted James.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Lily was sorry, “I don’t know what it is. There’s just something about someone like you wanting to go out with someone like me that seems… off.”

James frowned. He wasn’t oblivious to what Lily was talking about, but he really couldn’t understand why Lily was insecure. There weren't enough words to describe the beauty that Lily emitted.

“Lily, you’re the smartest person I know-”

“That’s what everyone says, James.” Lily laughed softly, watching James squirm at her words. She knew that he was nervous, but it was funny to see him care so much.

“Oh, so you do want me to be mean to you?” James’ tone was serious, but there was a lighthearted look in his eyes.

Lily rolled her eyes, “Haha, very funny. I don’t even think you could be mean to me. I think the last time I saw someone this nervous was when Marlene tried out for quidditch during second year.” The two laughed, James nudging Lily with his arm playfully.

As their laughter died down, James remarked, “Enough with the jokes, though. You’re actually the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Even after he was met with a glare from Lily, he continued. “You’ve been crying and you still look lovely, Lily.”

Lily sighed. First Mary and Marlene, now him? Lily felt embarrassed, but James was still staring at her, and adoringly at that. The soft rouge tint that marked his cheeks was still prominent.

“Well, you’re cute when you’re nervous,” Lily retorted, smiling as James flushed a deeper shade of red, “But I’m sure you get that often.”

James hummed, “Blimey, I don’t think anyone has seen me as nervous as I am right now, honest.” Lily apologized once more for assuming the worst in him.

The two small talked for a long while after that, simply basking in each other’s presence. James learned about Lily’s family, and Lily learned about what it was like at the Potter’s residence. Something about their dynamic felt natural.

Their conversation was halted as someone opened the door. There, standing in pajamas, was a distraught looking Mary and an annoyed Professor Mcgonagall.

Mary started, “There you are! You were gone for nearly two hours. After a while, I thought I should go check on you.”

“That’s enough, Ms. Macdonald,” Professor Mcgonagall said, “What were you two even doing in here?”

Before Lily could start to explain, James cut her off. “We were making our rounds down the corridor, when there was a loud noise coming from the classroom. When we walked in here, the door was jammed and neither of us had our wands.”

Mcgonagall looked skeptical at their story, but decided not to press the issue any further. With a gesture of her hand, the three Gryffindors started walking towards the common room.

Mary immediately went up to bed, exhausted from worrying about her best friend. Meanwhile, James and Lily had to have a quick word with Mcgonagall.

The Professor commented briskly, “Next time, please make sure you have your wand on you. You two are Head Boy and Girl after all.” Noting the nod of approval from the two teenagers, Mcgonagall went off to bed.

The pair walked into the common room, both exhausted. In spite of their tiredness, the two were radiant.

“Goodnight, Lily. I hope you sleep well.” Lily smiled, mumbling a quiet, “Goodnight James,” as she made her way up the dormitory steps.

As Lily settled into bed, she thought to herself, Maybe James would get that date after all.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Kurt Kelly x Fem!Bitch!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Someone Gets Hurt

Plot: Some little wannabe steals away your boyfriend, Kurt, while also batting her big ass lashes and winning over your friends, too... until you've had enough. No one out bitches you.

Notes:

Obviously, this is inspired by Someone Gets Hurt from Mean Girls except with Regina (The reader) as the heroine.

Warnings: Overall bitchiness, possessiveness (You about Kurt), break ups (Make ups too though so its not too bad ^^), the ruining of another persons relationship (Random girl Lizzie and Kurt's), rapeiness (Ram), sexual references, underage drinking, overage drinking, just LOTS of debauchery over all, a smut bit near the end (Not full), etc.

Was I too proud with you? Was I too cold and forbidding? And you chose her over me Are you kidding?

Watching Kurt and Lizzie together this week has been torture. Terrible, burning, squeezing, not-at-all sexy torture.

Because Kurt, is yours.

He has always been yours. He was yours in kindergarten, he was yours in middle school, and he was yours all through highschool until this, unfortunate and butt fucking ugly, snag. Crossing your arms now and poisoning them with your eyes, you sit in the cafeteria... and think.

Just, think.

You don't gossip with your minions about all the bullshit going on in school, you don't discuss what you're going to do to the freshmen this year, no. Nothing. You're too busy... plotting.

There is no way in hell, that this pee-brained virgin bitch is going to steal your boyfriend, and not get paid back in turn. Its only fair- and you include interest, in your transactions like this.

One eye actually twitches, when Lizzie... the pee brained virgin bitch in question, gives Kurt a peck on the nose - oh so cute, but you don't even have to look at Kurt to see the disappointment flash in his eyes, - and hops off his lap when the bell rings. He has a free period now, you know because so do you and you usually spend it at the back of the football field together, but she has Chemistry, a thing you also know because hell- you just know everything. That's a basic fact. The whole school knows it and love that you never have to explain how you just fucking know shit.

But even being all knowing does not make you feel better, knowing that itty bitty roach-cunt has her claws embedded in your poor, weak-willed... ex boyfriends,... heart. Or his penis, more likely. Metaphorically speaking, obviously, because Lizzie's the 'Mary'est whore in the land of Westerberg High.

That doesn't really matter though. Either way, he's with her now and not you, and that just wont do.

Maggie, your right hand babe, gets up from your lunch table and leaves for her next class, too. And its only until she's out of sight, that you notice the piece of paper she left behind. Rolling your eyes, a growl of annoyance escapes you and you sigh- turning away from Kurt and Ram's table to see what the fuck it is. The reprieve is almost palpable, not looking at him anymore. It feels a little better- but not by much. And certainly not enough for you to forget what fuckery is going on.

Picking up the piece of paper in one perfectly manicured hand, you see that its an invitation. "Hmm... " Worrying the inside of your cheek, you think; This is interesting.

A Halloween party...

A gleeful smirk quirks slightly at the corners of your lips.

Kurt always did have a thing for Halloween.

~

And what you meant by 'Kurt always did have a thing for Halloween'- is 'Kurt always did have a boner for your Halloween costumes'. For the past several years, since the two of you blossomed with the help of puberty, you have used your assets as an advantage - because why else have them? - ; With the help of lace tights, push up bra's, winged eyeliner and red lipstick.

This year you've pulled together your favourite costume yet, which is fitting for the task at hand and the fact that its senior year- this may be your last chance to put these bottom dwelling highschool chuckleheads in their place.

I mean, you hope not but its basically a given.

Looking around the party as you walk in, you figure its just the same as any party Ram has thrown before. And his house is perfect for it, you'll give him that. The lights a turned down low enough that everyone looks a little hot, cooler's full of ice and alcohol are set up so you're never too far from a fix and thanks to his houses sound system the music is loud enough to make you think for a couple hours that you're in a place between reality and your dreams; A perfect set up for mistakes and one wild night.

But you aren't here to get drunk and kiss a loser, except for Kurt; You're here to take back the goddamn crown. Which getting Kurt back, will do. It'll humiliate Lizzie, and that's really all you want out of life right now.

Prowling through the crowd - which still knows to part for you, despite your current, slightly lower social standing, - in your knee high, shiny black leather boots, you look for someone to talk to. You know Maggie's here somewhere but that bitch is on her last life with you, after she said Lizzie's hair looked nice the other day. And you think some silent treatment will set her straight.

"Oh- Hi Ram." You find the host in the backyard, about to push an unsuspecting demoness into in a very sheer red blouse into the pool - which would doubtlessly make the blouse more of a red tint to her skin rather then any kind of coverage, which Ram well knows, - , and he double takes when he sees you. A sleazy, mischievous grin slops over his face at the sight, which makes you roll your eyes.

Deeply.

"Ohhh, heyyyy, Y/N!" He has to yell over the sound of the music and the other party-goers, not that you would mind if you didn't hear anything he said. He hasn't got a whole lot of substance, Ram, so you can basically assume that rolling your eyes is always the answer to anything he's saying. His eyes shift back, anxiously, to the girl he's currently got a hit out on, but you just raise your eyebrows sharply at him and he's at attention. "I didn't know you were gonna come! You know, with the state of things... "

Oh, he's so obnoxious. And dumb! So, so dumb. He doesn't know the half of your shit. Yet he still runs his mouth... Rolling your eyes once again, you flip some hair behind your head. "Oh don't worry your pretty little head about that, Ram." Eyes flickering around the party some more, searching for your own target, you rest your hands on your hips that are tightly bound, in various layers of violet georgette cloth. The witches hat on your head is pinned down, so theirs no chance of it flying off. You have a train of thinner fabric hanging down the back of your short-short skirt, and your tight tube top reveals exactly the shapes you require it to. "I'll be perfectly fine- oh, have you seen Kurt anywhere?"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh I think I saw him and Liz against a wall earlier- but by the looks of Liz, I doubt they're in a situation like that anymore." He chuckles, dumbly. The stupid boy has a slur in his voice that you hadn't noticed before but probably should've known would be there. But you're sure focusing in on him now, jealousy burning in your eyes at his description. What does that mean??

"What?"

A geek walks by, toting a bottle in his hands that Ram snatches for himself. As the kid continues by, faster now due to the angry look in Ram's eyes and the animalistic growl that slips from the footballers lips, you continue to glare bullets at Ram. He takes a messy swig of his beer before continuing. "Just sayin', Y/N. Your friend's a prude. Won' even let Kurt get to second base with 'er or anything. So I'd say Kurt's, probably, uhhh... by the pool table, now." He shrugs big round shoulders then, as relief and mirth wash over you. So he didn't mean they'd have moved their dirty little adventure to somewhere they could really get down, or anything. He means quite the opposite.

A smirk graces your red painted lips.

"Well- enjoy your party." You shrug, not really caring as his eyes shine... turning back to the demon girl who's just laughing with her friends; He sure will. Eyes narrowing, you mutter a bitter "Dick." under your breath, as a final bid to Ram.

Turning on your heel, you head back into the house. You've been here plenty of times with Kurt and know exactly where the pool table is (And how uncomfortable it is to be bent over) and sure enough- there he is.

Your boyfriend.

Or, soon-to-be, once-again boyfriend.

He's standing back with a stick, waiting for his turn as he laughs with some over football boneheads. Lizzie isn't here, but you suppose she could have gone to get a drink or talk to one her - your, - friends, but where she is actually doesn't concern your in this moment. All you can do right now, is stand and stare.

God, he's hot.

You miss him; You really do. And, admittedly- not just because he can fuck you like no one else.

But your moment passes, and you gather your wits. Ready.

You're hot, you're smart, and you're ruthless. You can do this.

Saddling up beside Kurt, a genuine smile slips across your face as you look up at him; Running a hand back through your hair. "Hey, Kurt." Slightly widening your eyes, you raise a brow as he turns to look down at you. "What's up?"

Like- its been a while. What have I missed?

Immediate 'Oooooh's and 'Oh no the ex- Kurt watch out!'s erupt from his meathead athlete friends, but what you care about is how Kurt struggles for a moment to tear his eyes away from yours, like the eyeliner you perfected and the colour and the just- you, has hypnotised him. He flashes his friends a wicked grin, waiving them off as he turns to put his body between you, and the group. It puts you so close together- and you sure don't step back any.

Then his eyes flicker down to the rest of you- and he really has a problem looking away. "Oh, uh, hey Y/N. N-nothing much. Uh... you look... "

A gentle chuckle flutters out of you, resting a hand on your right hip. "What? Black cat caught your tongue?"

Jesus- even the mention of that particular muscle reference to him does something to you. And being this close to him again, and seeing his reaction to your outfit... its all just so right. The way things should be.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but immediately closes it again on remembering something. A seriously awkward hm sound escapes him which you don't quite get yet, but you decide that you don't need to.

"So... " You start, getting rid of the tough bravado suddenly... letting awkwardness seep into your tone; Your appearance. On purpose. Eyes downcast, you let your arms slide down to your sides again, lacing your fingers together in front of you for a moment, pretending you're at a loss for words. "Um... maybe this is... weird... "

"What?" A big hand ghosts over your hip- you can just feel his skin graze against you.

You look up to catch his gaze again suddenly, lips and eyebrows scrunching after a moment, unsurely. "Uh, well... " Chewing innocently on your bottom lip, you hold your arms behind your back; not-at-all meaning to push out your chest more. No, not at all... "Me coming up to talk to you... since the break up... "

A hiss escapes him, as he suddenly, seemingly, like just seeing you had him returning to old habits, remembers that fact himself and takes a step back from you. Your brows knit together, up at him- perfectly pitiful.

"Oh man- yeah. Maybe. Fuck!" He runs a hand up through his hair, looking convincingly tortured.

Already!

You could rejoice.

Oh, Kurt... we've only just started.

Sighing, you look away again. "Look, I'm sorry. I just... well, Kurt, I've missed you!"

Suddenly his eyes, still and focused, turn more sternly down on you and your insides squirm at it. Like muscle memory, your body screams for you to back up; Get on your knees, bat your lashes. Ask what's wrong, Daddy?

His eyes narrow, and you resist the temptation to smirk. "Oh- no. No, Y/N. I know what you're doing, okay? I'm not dumb! This is all just too... too... " The fact that he cant even really speak, even as he's trying to be all tough and put up walls between you two, really gives you confidence. You must still really have an effect on him- as you should. Of course you do. One week with a little lily livered slut bag does not erase an entire lifetime between two people. Kurts lips curl into a scowl. "You're not like this." He states, and you raise your brows. Oh? "You're manipulating me, aren't you? Come on, Y/N!"

His tone is pleading. He's begging, you.

Damn, he must really want Miss Lizzie's little ass.

After a moment, you shrug. "Okay, whatever, you got me." Shedding the innocent act, you lean back on the pool table as the boys continue to play; Laying yourself out for him. "Does that mean I was lying? No, I really do miss you."

He scoffs. "Yeah, right." Rolling his own eyes, he focuses his gaze off somewhere else in the party- rather then on you. "All you care about is your reign of terror."

Oh... he knows that's not true.

But still, if he's going to play that way- "Yeah, sure- and all you care about is pussy." Shrugging, you drum your fingers bordly against the edge of the table on either side of you. "I guess we're a pair."

"Fuck, Y/N... you know you're... y-you're... Damn, that I love you. You fucking know that." He hisses, getting mad. And you inwardly smirk.

There it is...

Tightening your grip now, you look up at him to see he's once again looking at you. And for a moment, amongst all the madness that party's are- it feels like its just you two. "And you know... I love you."

Pushing off the pool table, you stalk towards him and trace your hands up his chest; Locking your arms around his neck lazily, and resting your chest against his. And you can see it. You can see, the struggle inside him about whether to just give into you- and your tits and your lips and your hips, and- just, you! Or to stay away. Because you're poison; Even you're well aware of that fact.

You're like a boa constrictor. You get yourself wrapped around your victim and you squeeze, and squeeze, and squeeze... until you have them just how you want them. Moulded into a shape that works well, for you.

But he's a lion. Imposing, and selfish, and self serving. And too big for you to ruin.

Its like you said; You're a pair.

And you cannot give him up.

"Kurt... come on." Leaning up, and talking in a quiet, just-for-him voice now, your lips brush against his and he lets out a shuddering breath. "We belong together, don't we? Its us- forever. You've known it since second grade. Sure, it took me a few more years to realise it too, but we're here now." Sincerity bleeds into your tone; Something you can't help when he looks like he wants to kiss you so badly, like that. "It can't be you and her." It cant. Tilting your head to the side, teasingly, you smirk mischievously; Just for him. "Is she going to fuck you like I do?"

"Shit... " Kurt mutters, eyes stuck on your lips. His hands find your waist, gathering you up against him roughly like he always does when he just wants you. Animalistically, wherever you are- whoever sees be fucking damned.

But he still isn't taking you. And that's a problem.

Brushing a thumb over his bottom lip, you turn your head like your making out to kiss him- but don't. Furrowing your eyebrows, you look pleading at him for an answer. "Was it all a lie, then? With us? Were we?- "

And that does it- he's had enough- he's at boiling point- Lips smash into yours, crossing the centimetre of space between them and he doesn't fuss around at all, to warm up. Your tongues connect almost instantly, and in 0.2 seconds, you two are that moaning, making out mess couple that every party has.

Through your lust filled haze, you can just about feel victorious.

A few moments after that your back hits the closest wall, and your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you up- you two know the drill by now. Kurt's grinding his raging hard on deliciously through his jeans into your bare cunt- moaning and muttering something into your cheek as he sloppily makes his way down to your breasts about you being such a slut.

You REALLY don't mind.

Eyes half lidded, you catch sight of Lizzie in the crowd behind Kurt. The crowd that, apart from her, doesn't care at all what the two of you are doing.

You smirk absolutely evilly towards her, before mouthing 'mine'.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 5

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, coercion, manipulation, trauma, sextoy, recording, anal.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: It was close but y’all wanted more Birch!Sam so here we go. This one is... porn. Let’s be honest lmao.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 5: Come on in, sit right down

💀💀💀

It was a pain you’d never felt before. It was more than physical, it was deep, it was like part of you was missing. Something taken from you. More than just that outdated concept of purity that you never bought into, more so your autonomy. You never felt very in control of your life, trapped in the small town with dreams but now your life was completely out of your grasp.

Sam left late, some time after midnight. It didn’t matter, you still felt him inside of you. You tried to rinse him off of you, out of you, but the shower only left you cold and hollow. You gave up on sleep just after five in the morning and you typed in a trance, barely thinking as your fingers fluttered over the keyboard.

Hours passed like days and you descended as you heard your nan below, the clink of her heavy cast iron pot on the stove. She cooked her oatmeal in it and it was heavy enough to hammer back in the loose floorboard in front of the fridge. She offered you some as you entered the kitchen and you sat at the table with a sigh.

“Is that man coming back?” she asked.

You tilted your head at her as she put a bowl in front of you and the bag of sugar just for you. You sprinkled the brown granules over your oatmeal and added milk, “you looking forward to it?”

“The only reason I didn’t spray Lysol in his eyes was because of you, girly,” she sat heavy with the jar of artificial sugar and the little cinnamon container, “you know I’d do anything to keep you safe even if you’re too dumb for your own good.”

You nodded and scooped up the thick oatmeal. You pushed your tongue through the oats and said nothing.

“I told you to stay away from that bar,” she huffed. The crotchety old lady was back.

“You seemed happy enough about the pie and wine,” you shrugged.

“You think I don’t know his kind. I’m an old lady, that won’t keep him from cracking my skull like poor old Mikey Rae,” she tutted, “that was the first biker I fucked with.”

“Nan,” you gasped at her language.

“Well, you’re an adult now. Gonna have to grow up quick if you messin’ with those boys,” she pointed her spoon at you, “but you say the word and I’ll twist his balls off. Being old only means I gotta be patient.”

You couldn’t help but snicker. You knew she was serious and you realised then that it was all a show. A cautious act that you’d mirrored for her own sake. But this was a problem you had to deal with yourself. The one thing you couldn’t live with was bringing harm to the woman who raised you.

“No ball twisting, nan,” you shook your head, “alright?”

“For now,” she returned, “but you be careful, girly. You’re in deep enough.”

“I know,” you bit the edge of your lip, “nan?”

“Mmm,” she grumbled as she swallowed.

“Mikey Ray, if he was one of them, who bashed him?” you asked.

“The second one, Colin,” she frowned, “cocky bugger, took what he wanted… until he got what he couldn’t handle.”

“And what happened to him?”

It was the most your nan ever told you about those days, more inclined to talk about her hippy festivals and protest arrests.

“I twisted his balls off,” she snickered, “in a manner of speaking.”

You drew your brows together as you watched her take another bite and she opened the pocket book of crosswords she kept on the table.

“In a manner of speaking?” you wondered.

“I plead the fifth,” she took the pencil from between the pages and adjusted her thick glasses, “but he wasn’t around to cause me any trouble.”

You shoved another spoonful into your mouth and sat back. You always thought your nan was a tough old bitch, you couldn’t imagine what she was like when she was your age.

💀

Sam showed up just after noon. You weren’t surprised but you weren’t happy either. You were only thankful he came in the back. You didn’t need Nan following through on her threats and you would rather she didn’t know about the visit. If you were fortunate, she didn’t notice him for her knitting.

He knocked on your door and you unlocked it. He made no move to enter as he twirled your phone between his fingers.

“Charged it last night,” he smiled, “thought we could have some more fun.”

“I’m working,” you said quietly.

“Did I ask?” his lips straightened and he tilted his head, “and it’s about time you came over. Kind feels off with the old lady just on the other side of the wall.” You winced at the memory of the night before. He noticed and chuckled. “Kinda hot too but… still,” he mused.

“You can’t come back later?” you crossed your arms.

“You were so good last night,” he said, “I don’t like this little game you’re playing so don’t make me give the old lady a show. Let’s go.”

You dropped your arms and grabbed your thinner jacket from the back of your chair and shoved your feet into your zip up Martens. He waited with his arm across the open door and you stepped past him as his other hand went to your ass and squeezed. He closed the door and followed you down the wooden steps.

The snow wasn’t as deep as the first fall and you crunched through to the sidewalk. He placed his arm over your shoulders as he ushered you along to the main road. You passed The Asp and cut through the lot as he waved to other members of the club.

“I talked to Bucky, let him know you won’t be an issue any longer,” he said, “right?”

“Right,” you echoed and hugged yourself against the bitter air.

“Aw, honey, don’t worry, we’re about to get you warmed up,” he led you down another side street and up the paved walk of a pale blue house, “this is my place, Chez, uh, Wilson.”

He let you inside and nudged you further in as he followed. You slid out of your boots and he helped you out of your jacket. His impatience showed as he unzipped his coat and tore off his own boots. He took out your phone and grinned.

“Today,” he held it up, “you can get this back… if you earn it.”

You stared at him and picked at the hem of your shirt. His eyes followed the movement of your fingers and he licked his lips.

“Why yes, you can take that off, that’s a great start,” he purred, “all of it.”

You clenched your teeth and gripped the fabric nervously. He shouldered past you and pointed across the front room.

“You can go wait for me in there,” he said, “I’ll be a couple.”

You nodded and made to pass him but he stopped you before you could enter the living room. The place was cozy even if you didn’t want to be there. He bent and turned your face up to kiss you sloppily. He tapped your ass again as he urged you onward.

“Gotta loosen you up,” he taunted, “in more ways than one.”

You continued across the room if only to get away from him, even if it wouldn't be for long. You pushed past the painted door and entered the bedroom. The wall was hung with a large framed diagram of a Harley and another of a bike engine. There was a large poster for the Godfather and a Marvin Gaye album leaned against a retro player. The bed was made and the carpet freshly vacuumed.

You went to the dresser and looked over the dog tags that hung from a miniature statue of David. You looked up at the large mirror over the dresser and you looked as scared as you felt. You gulped down your nerves as he entered and looked away from your reflection.

He had a stool in hand and kicked the door closed. He placed it between the bed and the dresser. He kept his hands on the top and his chest flexed beneath his grey henley. He watched you knowingly and tutted.

“You’re not naked,” he said, “don’t you want this back?”

He let go of the stool and revealed your phone once more. You murmured and lifted your shirt slowly. He went to the dresser and unfolded a small metal tripod and affixed the cell to it. He angled it then slid out the top drawer. You scoffed as he turned around with a large suction dildo and stuck it to the top of the stool, your hands frozen on your open fly.

“Um, what the hell?” you sputtered.

“I think you know what the hell but I’m more than happy to give direction,” he wiggled the dildo and let it wobble as he pulled away.

You gaped at it. You couldn’t fit that whole thing in you. How were you even supposed to get yourself onto that?

“Honey, quit stalling,” he warned as he put his hands on his hips. You blinked at him and scowled, “or we can make a special post for TikTok… but I think it might be against their terms of service.”

You glanced away and pushed down your jeans. You let your socks crumple in the ankles and stood to unhook your bra. He hummed as he moved to lean against the wall beside the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. You hesitated before you shimmied out of your panties, shying away as you eyed the stool.

“Oh,” he pushed away from the wall and reached into the drawer again. He tossed you a tube and you caught it. Lubricant. “You’re gonna wanna get some of that on there.”

You inhaled deeply and flipped open the cap. You cringed as you hovered the bottle over the tip of the dildo and squirted it onto the silicone. You spread it down the length of the toy and your hand shook. You felt him watching you as embarrassment burned through you.

You finished and capped the lube and set it on the dresser. He nodded to the toy and lifted a brow. You hid your discomfort and approached the stool. You stepped up onto the crossbar and clung to the edge of the seat as you brought your knee up. You felt as if it would all topple as you brought your other leg up.

You shuddered as you felt the tip against your cunt and you reached unsteadily between your legs. You rubbed the head of the toy against your folds to spread the lube and peeked over at Sam.

“Go on,” he ordered, “if you can get that whole thing inside you, I’ll give you your phone back.”

You gripped the toy and pushed it back to your entrance. You lowered yourself a little so it stretched you just slightly. You scrunched your nose at the discomfort and slowly eased further onto it. You got halfway and stopped as you gasped. Your fingers curled around the seat and the toy.

“You’re doing good, honey,” his voice was smoky and you looked at yourself in the mirror. The phone blocked the bottom half of the toy but you could see your cunt around the top.

You bent your knees further and groaned as your walls strained around the dildo. Your eyes watered as it hit your cervix and you arched your back to take it as deep as you could. You cried out as you reached the base.

“Whoa, you really did it,” he mused, “fuck, you look good all stretched out.”

You whimpered and adjusted your legs as you tried not to slip.

“Well, you know what to do,” he motioned up and down with his fingers.

“Please,” you breathed, “I did--”

“Not done yet,” he said pointedly.

You huffed and lifted yourself carefully. You pushed back down and let out a moan as the toy grazed your walls. The fullness was overwhelming, a painful pressure laced with pleasure. You rocked your hips as you moved on your knees and gripped the edge of the stool, mindful not to shake the stool too much.

You closed your eyes as your breath hitched. You needed more. The toy could only do so much as your clit thrummed and the wetness spread down your thighs.

“Mmmm,” Sam came around you and snaked his arm down your front. He pushed his fingers between your swollen folds and circled your bud, “you like that, don’t you, honey?”

You whined as your nerves sparked at his fingertips and you sped up. He planted his foot on the crossbar to keep the stool from tipping and you rode out your orgasm as his touch spurred you on.

“Ah, fuck,” he pressed against your back, “I’m so fucking hard.”

You panted and opened your eyes. You looked at yourself in the mirror but quickly shied away. You were weak, so weak.

He stepped around you and reached for the lube. You watched him as you didn’t move from atop the toy and he rounded you again. He drizzled the lube between your cheeks and flung the lube away. He pushed his fingers along your ass and lingered on your tight ring. You winced and tried to lift yourself off the dildo.

He caught your shoulder and held you down.

“Again,” he ordered.

You glanced at him in the mirror and he gave you a stern look as his fingers tightened around your shoulder. You held your breath and began to fuck the toy again. He nuzzled the back of your head and poked against your ass until his finger slid inside. You cried out and his hand went to your neck as he urged you on.

“Ah, honey,” he whispered against your hair.

He drew his finger in and out of your ass as a burning pressure seared through you and added to that in your cunt. 

“You can touch yourself,” he uttered as his fiery breath encircled you.

You did so without thinking. He pushed another finger into you and a squeak escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but delight in how the sensations mingled and bloomed to a new climax. He sped up in time with your hips and your legs shook as you came in a series of strangled mewls.

He kept on until you slowed to catch your breath. He slipped his fingers out of you and your head lolled as he removed his hand from your neck. You heard his zipper and as you looked back, his hand stretched across the back of your head and turned it straight. He bent so his head was next to yours and grasped your chin as he made you look at him in the mirror.

“One more time, honey,” he pulled his dick out and his tip brushed along your ass.

You tried to lift yourself off the toy but he hooked his arm around your middle and kept you on it.

“Sam, no, please,” you begged, “I can’t--”

“You can handle it all, honey,” he purred, “I know you can.”

His tip pressed to your ring as he forced you down on the toy. You exclaimed and he pushed until you stretched around the head of his cock. You gritted your teeth and threw your head back against his shoulder. 

He pulled back and pushed in again. He got deeper with each slow thrust, an inch at a time, until you were filled by him and the toy. Your eyes welled and the tears trickled down your cheeks as you held onto the stool and grunted through each tilt of his hips.

He trailed his hand down between your legs and spread your folds as he flicked your clit with his middle finger. He moved you against him and on the toy. He pushed into as the dildo reached its limit and your voice grew louder and louder. 

Through the agony, you couldn’t help but feel the unyielding tingle in your core and it crawled down your thighs and up your spine. The stool rocked with his motion but he kept you flush to him as he fucked you from behind. Your legs slipped over the side of the seat and you were impaled on the toy.

He didn’t let up as you gasped and gulped, whining as your cunt twitched around the silicone and you came as you reached back to scratch at his open jeans. He rutted into you without relent as he kneaded your thighs and his breath seared down your flesh.

“Ah, honey,” he muttered through his delighted groans, “goddamn, god-- shit, I’m gonna fill you up.”

He slammed into you as deep as he could and you felt him burst. He gave several long thrusts as rode out his orgasm and groaned. When he stilled he leaned against you and sighed.

“You can have the phone back,” he rasped as he caressed your thigh, “tomorrow.”

[pianorexic000]

Sweetspo Saturday

Hi y’all, so today is sweetspo Saturday.......

it speaks for itself. By the way, none of these are mine. I take no credit I have 0 creativity.

I dream of collarbones and thigh gaps, of hips jutting out and ribs just visible, casting shadows on porcelain flesh. I dream of crop tops and denim shorts, of thigh highs and sugar highs. And when I lay in bed at night, counting the calories of the day before my mind can’t help but wander, and I press into my doughy stomach, feel the hips hiding underneath, and remind myself how far I’ve come, and how far I still have to go.

Please listen, I know, I know it’s hard but listen, focus, you, you the most beautiful person on this whole entire planet you are going to make it, I promise you sweetheart, you’re going to make it. Think about it, think about how skinny you’ll be, how happy you will be, how you are going to be able to wear what you want, how you are going to be able to eat what you want and no one is going to make you feel bad for eating, no one. They’re going to be jealous, so fucking jealous, jealous of how you look and how you feel. They’re going to envy you. So stand up, keep your pretty head up and go. Exercise, drink water, eat less, eat healthy, sleep, do yoga, dance around. Get skinny and be finally happy. Please be finally happy.

You’ve been so disappointed in yourself lately. You’ve cursed those girls with a fast metabolism and regretted so much, sweetie. Countless of times you’ve thought, planned and wished to be skinny. I know you want this so badly, honey. But it’s never going to be given to you, sugar. You have to work for it and make yourself proud! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

I know you’re very impatient with your weight-loss. You want to lose it NOW and would do anything to wake up tomorrow at you ugw. But that’s never going to happen, doll. It’ll take time, but you will get there, sweetie. You just have to be persistent and never give up. The road is very long, and there will be days where it’ll feel hopeless, angel. But i promise you that those days where you feel incredibly sexy and comfortable in your own skin are just around the corner. You’ll get there baby, but it’ll take time. So don’t beat yourself up.

You’ll look good in everything; you remember that bikini with the cute print? yes, you’ll look beautiful in it. you won’t look like a fat pig.

people will be jealous; they’ll envy you. you’ll become thinner while others are getting fatter.

you’ll be dainty; you’ll be the lightest in the room. everyone will be able to pick you up effortlessly.

others will compliment you; people will look at you and say “wow, have you lost weight?” “you look great!” “i wish i looked like you.”

you won’t be able to keep more than a cup of food down; you’ve trained your body, you and your body both know its limits.

you’ll have power; you can can control how you look, you’ll have control. self control instead of eating everything in sight. you’ll be proud when you refuse a chocolate bar someone is offering.

are you going to keep saying “i’ll do it tomorrow”

or are you going to start today?

you’ll get there sweetie, make them regret the day they dare call you fat; they’ll start talking GOOD behind your back; “she is losing so much weight omg” “ i wanna look like her.” “im so jealous of her tiny waist.”

make it happen, you cause the gain of weight

and the loss of weight.

It's Okay!

You were really bad this weekend weren’t you? You ate fatty food and cheated on your diet? I know you bash yourself for pushing yourself further from your goal, but it was just Easter and you were enjoying spending time with your family. Unfortunately that included eating. Thin is all you think about cutie, why would you stuff your face uncontrollably like that, sugar? You can’t stop now, i know it’s hard but it’ll be worth it in the end.

Meanspo

Dear You,

You’ve grown up being the “big” girl. You’ve grown up being the “I want seconds” girl. You entered college being the “let’s eat out because it’s easier” girl.

When will you be the “I eat healthy” girl? The “people can pick me up” girl? The “I love my body” girl?

Today? Oh, right, you say tomorrow. Funny, that’s what you said yesterday.

It’s YOUR fault you’re fat. You don’t control your fatty urges to binge and stuff your face. One day, you’ll regret that. And that day is TODAY. If you regret it, then make a change. Skip that meal. Eat less calories. Exercise and burn what you have consumed and stored from your past pathetic eating habits. Get rid of your fatty urges. BECOME SKINNY…Become beautiful. Because if you don’t start today, you’ll only hate yourself tomorrow… again.

Do it. Do it so you can wear cute short shorts without everyone looking at your thighs and being disgusted.

Do it for that bitch who always called you fat at middle school.

Do it for that fuckboy who never looked at you as girlfriend potencial.

Do it so you can be confident.No seriously you’ll never be confident with that big tummy dude.

Do it so you don't ALMOST DIE in fitting rooms.

Do it for the cute clothes.

Do it for the summer.

Do it for the pool parties and how all of your friends will be SHOOK at your perfect body.

Do it for that life little baby. You deserve it. You deserve so much happiness.

Imagine you’re sitting at your desk in your perfectly decorated bedroom. You’re doing school work (all A’s of course), and since the lighting is good, you stop studying for a second and take a selfie.

You notice your collarbones are perfectly peaking out, and your chest bones are slightly visible. You have no makeup on but you still look absolutely gorgeous. Your flawless skin (that you got from not eating junk food all the time) looks great on your camera. Your thin arms look especially toned in this picture, and your smile is unforgettable.

You decide to post it to Instagram, and it instantly gets likes and comments saying how gorgeous you look. You want to keep studying…but the amount of likes and attention is distracting!

You think to yourself “Amazing how my life has changed. 30lbs ago I barely got 30 likes. My grades were bad and I had horrible acne…it’s so great what being thin can do to a person”

One day I won’t have to suck in

One day I’ll sit down and not have belly rolls

One day my thighs won’t touch

One day I’ll be able to see my ribs

One day I’ll step on the scale and smile

One day I’ll be able to smile at my protruding collar bones

One day I’ll wear the clothes I want

One day I’ll be confident

One day I’ll be skinny

do it for the boy who leaves your snapchats at read. imagine how quickly he’ll reply when he sees how good you look in your new body. do it for the girls you envy, the girls who show up in crop tops and short shorts whilst you hide behind a baggy sweater. imagine how proud you’ll feel when you can finally wear what you want and look just as good, if not better than them. do it for the people who bullied you about your weight and the boys who turned you down because of it. watch them gawk and whisper among themselves at how much weight you’ve lost. do it for the mean girls, the ones that walk around school like they own the place, the ones who’s parties you never get invited to, the ones that all the boys want. prove yourself to them. soon they’ll notice you and you’ll be too proud to care. own your new found confidence, throw your own parties, feel wanted. do it for the boy you’ve been crushing on since the first time you met. make him want you just as you wanted him. laugh at yourself as he chases after you. watch him suffer just as you did. do it for the bikini you’ve never had the body to wear. make your old self proud. wear that bikini. finally feel good in it. go to the beach and the pool and show it off. it belongs on you. do it for yourself. do it for your own happiness and do it right now. you deserve this. it might take some time and maybe you’re growing impatient. but it’s okay, everything good takes time. so be safe, stay strong, and don’t give up. this will be worth the wait. trust me.

I literally cannot fucking wait until I’m thin. I can’t wait to not feel like the outsider in my friend group. I can’t wait to not feel like the ugly friend. I can’t wait to be as thin as my best friend and for people to not see me as a charity case. I can’t wait to be able to go shopping and not worry about what will hide my fat. I can’t wait to see my collarbones and feel great in shorts. I can’t wait to be able to post selfies confidently from any angle and get as many likes as all the thin girls from school. I can’t wait to be someone else’s thinspo. I can’t wait to be happy with myself. I can’t wait to be thin.

Okie lovey, I know you might have had a rough couple of days or maybe you’ve been doing everything right and you just need a little pick me up. That’s okay too. I’m here for you, maybe not there physically but I’m still here. Make some tea, and take a bath; while you’re in there light a few candles and take time for yourself. Paint your nails read a book or simply think about bettering yourself. You’re almost there, I’m so excited for you! I’m going to be there when you cross that finish line (UGW). Finished with tea? Are you hungry? No. Exactly, chin up sweetheart, you got this. I love you

10 Reasons I want to be Thin

1. A flat stomach looks so good in anything. 2. No more armpit fat. 3. Finally have a thigh gap (again). 4. Feel beautiful and in control 5. people you already know will ask you how you did it, new people you meet will fall in love with you. 6. Go on adventures and have fun without worrying about your fat jiggling around. 7. Tan outside or at the lake without wanting to die because you’re too fat for a bikini. 8. Going out to parties and making friends because you’re confident and beautiful. 9. Not wanting to cry every time you see your full body in a mirror/ reflection. 10. Not crying in general anymore. Finally being happy.

11 Reasons Why I'm Doing This

1. To be the skinny friend

2. So I can be lifted up and be called light

3. To wear anything and still look cute

4. To have pretty bones to show off

5. To hear those words; ‘Have you lost weight?’

6. To not feel guilty when having a sweet treat (occasionally!)

7. To wear tight jeans and not have a muffin top

8. To not want to cry every time I look in the mirror

9. To not feel embarrassed in a bikini or swimsuit

10. To sit on someone’s lap without fear of crushing them

11. To finally feel happy with myself

They are in the kitchen making dinner. It smells so good, and all you want to do is have some. But would that make you happy? Would that food actually do anything for you? Sure, it would taste good. But as soon as you swallow, it would be gone. You’d take a drink of water, and the taste would wash away. Five minutes of fun, and then you’d be full. Full of food, regret, hate, shame, and disgust. Today would be yet another day wasted. So go ahead, eat the food. Be the fat tub of lard you always have been. Or don’t. Don’t eat the food. Be a day closer to your goal.

The choice is yours.

[k-s-morgan]

What He Grows to Be: Snippet 5

Thank you to everyone who expressed their preference over what they’d prefer to see in the snippet! Tom watching Harry’s memories about the Chamber of Secrets got the most votes, so here is the draft version of it. Though since it’s almost 4K long, maybe calling it a snippet isn’t appropriate :D 

------------------------------------------------------------

Talking through a diary was an interesting idea. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of magic this was, but now that he’d seen it, he could figure it out. He and Harry would be able to have immediate conversations instead of relying on letters or Patronuses.

Then again, considering what this diary had led to, perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The last thing Tom wanted was to add himself into Harry’s collection of negative associations in one more way.

He didn’t see how Harry had managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. One moment, he was staring at the bloody inscription on the wall; the next one, he was standing in an entirely new vast space. Tom still had no idea where it was located or how to access it.

His heart sank in disappointment, but when the full implications hit him, it stopped entirely.

Harry had excluded this memory on purpose. He didn’t trust Tom with the knowledge of where the Chamber was. He showed him the core events but not the details because his trust and his faith were already gone by that point.

And the ritual made it even worse.  

An uncomfortable itchy heat began to radiate from Tom’s chest. The sensation was entirely unfamiliar, so he pressed his palm against it, confused and hoping to squash it down.

He couldn’t name it, but it felt a little like shame. He’d never experienced it to this extent before, and it was never mixed with this kind of almost desperate hurt.

He’d been trying. For years, he’d been trying to be someone Harry would approve of. The craving, the longing for his acceptance stayed his hand so many times that now Tom couldn’t count them all — he even allowed that scum Morfin to blackmail him, no matter how maddeningly outrageous the whole situation was, simply because he refused to risk Harry finding out.

He’d made mistakes, but they were minimal in comparison to what he would have done if he hadn’t been trying. And yet Harry still didn’t trust him.

The shame began to curl away, giving way to dejection. Loneliness suddenly felt sharp and uncompromising, and Tom wrapped his hands around himself, watching how Harry’s head snapped up.      

“She won’t wake,” a voice said. It was soft but cold, so it took a moment for Tom to recognise it. His eyes quickly moved towards one of the pillars, and something in him shuddered from what he saw.

It was like watching his reflection in someone else’s dream. Something was wrong with the boy he was looking at, and it wasn’t just about the fact that his physical contours were blurred, as if he was being held together by magic alone.

No, he was simply different. He didn’t have the splendour Tom prided himself on. He was thinner and hollow-cheeked; his clothes, while neat, came from some cheap store Tom would have never stepped into. He was but a shadow with empty vicious eyes and greed that swarmed around him in a cloud — greed Tom wasn’t sure he could relate to.

He longed for things. He longed for Harry. But even from here, he could read the shallowness and the arrogance written all over his twin’s face, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This wasn’t him. This was Tom Riddle. Someone he could have been.

“Are you a ghost?” Harry asked. He was staring at Riddle with such earnestness, like he trusted him entirely and couldn’t see what a hollow shell he was. This was the first time Tom would disappoint him — the first in a long line of failures and betrayals.

“No,” Tom murmured to himself, shaking his head briefly. He couldn’t keep blurring himself and Riddle — that way madness lied. Despite some superficial similarities, they were completely different people. He might have let Harry down, too, but their story was different. This abomination was dead and could never touch it.

“A memory,” Riddle replied. His voice was quiet, but its sinister and bitter undertones were as loud as shouting. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.”

Tom’s brows furrowed. What? A memory? That must have been some ritual. Why would he condemn himself to this kind of existence? To give Voldemort more power? Maybe Voldemort had managed to subdue his will and make him into a brainless soldier somehow. This was more plausible than any version of him feeling such loyalty to some monster that he would follow him blindly and sacrifice his life force for him.

How did one become a memory in the first place? Even Tom with his knowledge about all possible forms of dark arts couldn’t figure it out.

Riddle burst into an animated, mostly one-sided conversation, and several minutes later, Tom had to admit that listening to his own voice was surprisingly challenging. Riddle’s arrogance was distorting his words; his excitement over successfully breaking an 11-year-old girl was embarrassing — Tom had felt less enthusiastic when he killed Charlus, and that happened back when he was a child himself. His first impression had been accurate: Riddle was worlds away from him. He was stupid, and Tom would have never believed it if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes.  

“I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here,” Riddle said pleasantly. His eyes were fixed on Harry in an intense, hungry way — and well, they did have something in common, after all. “I knew you’d come. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter.”

“Like what?” Harry spat angrily. He didn’t look intimidated in the slightest — his anger and righteousness made him appear taller, and his blazing eyes were furious enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

“How is it that you, a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent, managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time?” Riddle wondered. The pleasant notes were disappearing again under the piles of bitterness and odd envy. “How did you escape with nothing but a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

By the end of it, a red gleam entered his eyes. It looked unnatural enough for Tom to make an instinctive step towards Harry.

This was unnerving. Magic was one thing, but what would turn his eyes — Riddle’s eyes — red? Humans couldn’t do that, it went against all laws of nature. Unless… Unless Riddle wasn’t human.

If so, what was he?

“Why do you care how I escaped?” Harry asked slowly. His own gaze was narrowed in a dawning realisation that Tom couldn’t decipher. Did Harry have a theory? How could he — he was only twelve. “Voldemort was after your time.”

Riddle smirked at him, looking almost giddy, and Tom had to amend his opinion. This impostor wasn’t simply stupid, he was crazy. He grew excited over irrelevant things and reacted inappropriately to every logical question Harry asked.

“Voldemort,” he uttered, “is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter.”

Pulling a wand out of his pocket, he slashed the air with it, writing three rapid words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

Tom studied them, his stare lingering on “Marvolo.” Something about it stood out. Something was strangely familiar.

Before he could follow the clues, Riddle waved the wand again, rearranging the letters. The syllables shifted and clung to each other briefly before assuming their designated places.

I Am Lord Voldemort

His mind went utterly blank. Time stopped. The existence of the world lost its meaning. Tom stared at these words, re-reading them again, and again, and again.

I Am Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle. Voldemort.

He was Voldemort.

He was Voldemort. All this time, he was watching himself, and he didn’t even realise this.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. Tom recoiled from the damning words so violently that he lost his balance and collapsed onto the wet floor. His body didn’t feel the impact — it couldn’t, he didn’t even have it here, but it still burned, it still groaned and shuddered, as if the weight of his mind and his feelings was too much for it to bear.

“It can’t be,” he tried to speak. No words reached his ears, so he did it again. “It’s not possible. I’m not him.”

Still nothing.

Acid burned at the back of his throat. His stomach contorted in pained shock, and then the terrible screaming something filled his ears, crawling in them until it was the only sound they could perceive. It was violent and shredding — it echoed in his very bones.

He was Voldemort. All along, he was Voldemort. He’d killed Harry’s parents. He tried to kill Harry. He made so many Horcruxes that he had gone insane, losing his mind along with his powers, losing the respect of his followers, leaving only fear in its place.

He wasn’t the right hand of Harry’s nemesis. He was his nemesis. Harry had spent his entire first life hating and fearing him — he had single-handedly ruined Harry’s existence so thoroughly that Harry was forced to escape into the past. To accept guardianship over someone who tortured and destroyed him.

An icy fist closed around his lungs, clawing and squeezing the remains of air out of them. Tom gasped, his body jerking in odd abrupt movements that he had no control over. The next second, the contours of the Chamber of Secrets faded, melting back into Harry’s bedroom. The phantoms of the past were gone — they stayed trapped in the Pensieve, but their terrible echoes remained with Tom. They latched onto his mind with hungry vengeance, throwing an image after an image of the pictures he had seen when he was first watching Harry’s memories.  

It didn’t matter then. Those pictures were just that — the images of a monster he didn’t know and had no direct relationship with. But recalling them now and putting his own face onto them…

His mind rebelled. Tom pressed his hands to his ears, trying to silence the screaming, but it kept getting louder. It hurled accusations and mockeries, painted every crime he committed, every time he hurt Harry and raised his wand against him.

There was no silencing something like this. The only thing Tom could do was outcry it, so he screamed, too.

He found that he couldn’t stop.

***

That night, he added just one sentence to his letter.

Why would you love me?

*** 

The sleep didn’t come. The desire to tear into his skin and shred it until physical pain remained the only sensation was strong, but every time Tom raised his wand or his hands, he stopped.

He wanted to hurt himself. He didn’t want to hurt Harry.

It was easier before. In Harry’s absence, for a long time, he’d been putting his own hurt above everything, even above Harry himself; he’d marred his skin without care, wanting, needing acknowledgement.

But he couldn’t do it now. The thought of leaving even a small scratch on Harry made him sick.

That cursed ritual.

Tom managed to stay physically intact throughout the night, yet he spent it curled into a tight ball, shaking under the pressure of ache and grief and emotions he couldn’t identify. There were so many of them — they were crowding his chest, interfering with his heart, making him feel like he was about to explode with them.

When the morning came and nothing changed, Tom made himself get up. He cooked breakfast, then stared at it silently, knowing that he could never eat it without vomiting it back.

He needed… something. Something comforting. Harry wouldn’t return; Harry’s blanket and things no longer produced the same soothing effect, so it had to be something new.  

If he could capture Harry’s Patronus into some vial… if he could consume the letters Harry had written him…

The letters. He still had the letters. They were the last thing he’d gotten from Harry — they had his personality, his handwriting; they had a whole part of him because Tom could easily trace the story of their creation. From the pressure Harry had applied to a quill in different instances, it was evident where he hesitated, where he took a break, where he got anxious or passionate. It was the closest thing to him Tom had in his possession now.

Without thinking further, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed the last letter. His eyes immediately zeroed in on three specific half-lines.

…I’m going to keep explaining until you do.

…I’ve promised you’ll always be my priority.

…I might consider returning.

A promise of future communication.

The use of future tense.

Future possibility.

This was evidence. Whatever Tom was, Harry didn’t give up on him. Harry still loved him. He might still return.

Tom closed his eyes, nuzzling into the letter, and finally, for the first time in hours, the ache lessened. The sick feeling grew dimmer, too, and he felt solid and grounded again. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to another passage.

Watch those memories. Don’t contact me until you do.

Tom pressed his lips to these lines, trying to breathe them in, feeling how their rough surface scratched his mouth.

Permission to contact Harry. He still had it. He was simply supposed to meet Harry’s condition.

That meant that he had to return to the Pensieve. The sooner he was done, the closer to Harry he could feel again.

Carefully, Tom folded the letter and put it in his pocket. If things got bad again, he could always touch it and remind himself of the future.

The memories weren’t a punishment. They were a chance to improve things.

Tom couldn’t really be certain, but he preferred to cling to this notion.

This made things easier at least to a small degree.

*** 

He chose to return to the start of the memory. Silently, he watched his shadow speak with Harry, lingered on how it hissed the words of self-admiration and hung onto its useless pride.

“I fashioned myself a new name,” Riddle boasted breathlessly, “a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!”

“You are not,” Harry said quietly. Despite his age, his resolution was steely, and if Tom had to choose whom he admired more at this moment... it wouldn’t even be a competition.

“Not what?” Riddle snapped. Insecurity and rage were twisting his ghostly face — it was a pitiful display. If the words of a 12-year-old boy had the power to affect him, then he had not only failed at greatness, he was also a failure of a sorcerer.  

“Sorry to disappoint you and all that, but the greatest wizard in the world is Albus Dumbledore,” Harry said hotly. “Everyone says so!”

The reasoning was… like that of a child. Even though his stomach was clenched into a tight knot, Tom smiled a little, suddenly overcome with a rush of gentleness and fondness for this particular version of Harry.

He was trusting. He was pure in a way that even his Harry wasn’t — he didn’t see death and destruction yet; he was not betrayed by Dumbledore.

He was not betrayed by Tom.                              

The smile disappeared, leaving Tom hollow.

When Dumbledore’s phoenix burst into the Chamber, carrying the Sorting Hat, Riddle laughed, and Tom laughed with him — only his laughter was hysterical because all pieces in his head suddenly clicked into one clear picture.

Dumbledore. Of course. Of course it was Dumbledore’s plan all along, how did he not see this from the start?

Harry hadn’t sneaked into the Chamber secretly — Dumbledore allowed him to. Dumbledore was likely watching him even now, invisible, waiting for the outcome.

Harry was a Horcrux, and Horcruxes could be destroyed with basilisk’s venom.

This was a test. Dumbledore wanted to see if he could get rid of the Horcrux inside Harry without necessarily killing him. The Hat was here to give Harry the Sword — with his mindless bravery, it was not a surprise that he could pull it out. The phoenix was here to decrease the chances of Harry dying and to heal him after he was stabbed.

Clever. And enraging. Because for Dumbledore, Harry was a game piece. For Tom, he was the world.

He would have let Voldemort live for a thousand of years. He would have allowed him to destroy this universe until nothing was left if it meant he could keep Harry safe. Dumbledore would never prioritise one over a billion, and for that, Tom hated him.

“Kill him,” Riddle hissed. The words sent a jolt of automatic panic through him, and Tom moved between Harry and the basilisk before he could think rationally about it.

The snake was magnificent, there was no denying it. Even the first time, when he’d been distracted to the point of ignorance, he stopped to watch it because it was breath-taking in every way.  

There was only one drawback. It wanted to kill Harry, and it meant that Tom would see it destroyed.

Harry broke into a run with his eyes shut. He managed to half-cross the room when he tripped and crashed down, his chin colliding with the cold stone. The sound of it launched Tom into immediate action again before he could stop his stupid feet.

Feeling this protective for such an extended period of time was exhausting. His heart kept hammering relentlessly and his hands were itching with magic, needing to pour it somewhere to protect Harry and to make sure he never got hurt again. How could anyone live in such a state?

The basilisk roared from pain when Dumbledore’s phoenix attacked it. Its tail whipped across the floor, approaching Harry with deadly speed, and Tom’s heart stopped. It stumbled forwards again only when Harry ducked, crouching, dirty and bloodied but with determination still burning brightly on his face. He was beautiful and desperate, and Tom would have cradled him in his arms if he could touch him.

A gust of wind sent the Hat right in Harry’s face. He grabbed it, put it onto his head, and threw himself to the side when the basilisk’s tail snapped forward again, almost crushing him into nothingness.

This was all strategic. It wasn’t a coincidence that the phoenix appeared immediately after Harry pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore. This was training — training in blind devotion, in recklessness, in self-sacrifice. And Harry had no idea.

At least this Harry didn’t. The adult version knew everything yet he still seemed to hold deep respect for Dumbledore.

Perhaps some training was too ingrained to ever fade from one’s core. This explained… almost everything about Harry. If Tom got another chance to make things right, he would dedicate himself entirely to removing these suicidal ideas from his head once and for all.

Harry pulled out the Sword from the Hat. He spent only a second on contemplating it — the next one, he was already standing and pointing it at the basilisk.  

Nothing about this picture was palatable. The sword was too heavy for a child his size: Harry was struggling with it, and the basilisk kept thrashing, hitting everything in sight. How he survived was a matter of miracle. If he had died… If he’d died, this would be it. Tom would never be the person he was now. He would be limited to a memory in his own diary, to a ruin incapable of human thought. He would never get his second chance, and the life as he knew it would never exist.

Terror that rolled through him could only be rivalled by the sheer horror of witnessing the basilisk’s fang separate itself from its mouth and plunge into Harry’s arm. Static electricity burned somewhere above his elbow in a phantom sensation of pain Harry had to be experiencing. It wasn’t real, but Tom’s breathing still quickened, and his fingers wrapped around his arm convulsively.

He couldn’t tell if the fang fell out because Harry had aimed his Sword there or if it was Dumbledore again. Either way, Harry was dying, and even though Tom knew he’d survive, watching this was no less excruciating.

“Fawkes,” Harry murmured hoarsely. His eyes were fluttering shut in an image that came straight from Tom’s worst nightmares. “You were fantastic, Fawkes.”

Giving praise to an impervious bird when life was bleeding out of him. Harry was insane. He was the Harry — his Harry. It was no wonder that an overwhelming longing for him had been and was going to be Tom’s undoing in every life he lived.

“You’re dead, Harry Potter,” Riddle crowed, and Tom turned to face him with a snarl.

He hated this version of himself. Hated him. It was just a shard of him, dull and shallow, and if this underwhelming thing was ever his future, he would have preferred death.  

Riddle wasn’t a powerful wizard. Even now, when faced with a dying wandless boy, he was too wary of making his own move. He let the basilisk be his weapon; he was watching Harry die and not intervening because he was intimidated.

Though perhaps it made sense. Maybe even Riddle could see Harry’s brilliance despite his narrow-mindedness — maybe, beneath the hatred and the fear, he was fascinated. Tom knew he would be.

Harry might not have much power, and he certainly didn’t at the age of twelve, but he still managed something no other wizard had tried. He’d defeated a giant basilisk with a sword; his agility was almost otherworldly as he twisted, crouched, and ducked from the heavy blows.

This was worthy of admiration. Even Riddle couldn’t be that blind so as to miss it.

When the phoenix healed Harry, Riddle didn’t cry out in alarm or anger like Tom might have expected him to. Instead, his face shifted between different conflicting expressions, and his eyes regained the hungry glint Tom found intimately familiar.

“It makes no difference,” Riddle spoke confidently, with only the tiniest twitch of uncertainty underneath. “In fact, I prefer it this way. Just you and me, Harry Potter... you and me.”

The surprising jealousy raised its ugly head, making Tom tense. He didn’t know in what way his shadow meant these words — he didn’t like to think about it either. It didn’t matter any way because there would never be such thing as Riddle and Harry, not until Harry came back to the past and gave the real Tom a chance at rebirth.

Without answering, Harry stabbed the diary with the fang, his eyes glistening with fevered hatred. Even Riddle’s piercing scream didn’t shake Tom the way this look had. He barely heard a sound through the sudden roaring in his ears, the sudden realisation that this was Harry’s first and last meeting with an actual Tom Riddle. Voldemort was a monstrosity with a face Tom refused to claim, but physically, Riddle was him.

How did Harry feel, watching him grow up? Had he ever looked at him and seen Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets? How could the feeling of love prevail over the feeling of hatred the 12-year-old Harry was currently wearing?

Tom turned away, unable to keep looking. His throat was dry, and as his knees started to shake, threatening to buckle right under him, he thrust his hand into his pocket, gripping the letter there.

In some other world, this moment had been Riddle’s end. But it wouldn’t be his.

He could do better. He would do better.

He’d finish watching these memories, he’d complete his letter to Harry, and then he’d start working. Harry would never look at him like he had at Riddle. In years, the memories of the Chamber of Secrets would fade; Riddle would become a shadow of a shadow, and Tom’s image would outshine him. It would take precedence in Harry’s mind.

This determination washed away the worms of doubts and self-hatred. When the new wave of memories swept him along, Tom felt prepared to face them.  

[aliassinvestigations]

ZERO HOUR

24 HOURS TILL ZERO HOUR

Child investigations were the worst for her. The depravity and secrets under the veil of a loving family always revealed themselves to her. You didn't have to dig deeply to find them either, you only needed to know where to look to find it.

Jessica sat in her apartment reading over hospital records she gathered. Broken wrist, concussion, cracked rib. It was a telltale sign of domestic violence, at least the doctor wasn't stupid enough to brush it over as "kids being kids." Child Protective Services did little to help the situation, their involvement seemed to escalate the dangerous homelife.

Now the mother was in the wind and the dad was a drunken mess trying to find the bitch that killed their son. Here she was, doing just that. She'd find the woman and turn her in. Jessica went to pour another drink, not even a buzz and she was half way through her Jack. They were either watering down their product or her tolerance was getting stronger, either way it sucked.

Picking up another a list of bank records, she looked between two notes made on a strange transaction. Her brows furrowed and she reached in her pocket for her phone. It didn't make sense, why buy three plane tickets for only one person? The dad said he went out on a business trip...

"Hello, this is Sarah Jane with Think Tech's accounting department," She forced a cheery tone, with just a hint of pep. "I'm going over Mr. Smith's books here, and I want to confirm a couple of transactions. It shows here on his statement last month he purchased three plane tickets for five hundred and sixty four dollars, were those tickets for wife and child?" Just as she thought. She thanked the airline receptionist and hung up. So, the bastard still had contact with them after all. She got up from her desk and finished her glass in one swig. Time to go have a little chat with the alleged "grieving father."

She found him at his home but made no move to engage. Instead she sat on a wall across the street, binoculars in hand, watching his behavior through the window. He was laughing at some shit on TV, a petite redhead snuggled up with him having the time of his life. Had the mother been beating the kid as he proclaimed? Doubt it. Watching the couple on the couch painted a different narrative to Jessica.

She had to find the mother, the sooner she did the faster she'd know what happened to the boy. Should she confront him now or tomorrow, the thought rattled in her head. Jessica hopped off the wall and walked down the street; now wasn't the time. She didn't have enough to corner his ass with. If she was going to nail him for child abuse, she wanted it to hurt like hell. She took a couple of shots of him and the redhead kissing, then, left for home.

Her walk home was peaceful, the night air wreaked of smog and filth, in a way it was tranquil. Jessica popped into a liquor store as she turned right at one of the intersections. Might as well try something other than Jack, it wasn't giving her the same warmth and haze as it did six months ago.

She walked up to the counter and placed a twenty down. "Give me the cheapest 100 proof shit you got." Time to up the anti. The guy gave her a dirty look but turned and grabbed her some vodka. Jessica scrunched her nose, practically tasting the astringent bitter taste. She could clean her tub with that paint thinner. She paid for it no less, it got the job done right so what did she care?

A scream ripped from an alleyway across the street, Jessica rolled her eyes and cursed. So much for going straight home, she turned on her heel and ran across the street. A mugger shoved a young girl to the ground, she clung to her purse screaming.

Jessica came up behind him and grabbed the back of his head slamming him face first into the wall, his nose popped and he cried in pain. She looked down at the terrified blonde who sat there wide eyed, "Go! Run!" She bolted leaving the asshole for her to deal with.

She spun him to face her, his nose gushing down his face. Jessica wanted to give him some quip about praying on kids, instead she reared back and with the totality of her strength smashed a fist-sized hole in the concrete next to his ear. Her look deadly as she sneered, "next time, I won't miss." She dropped him, watching him scurry off into the depths of the alley. Jessica growled and looked down at her torn up hand, he wasn't worth her bloodied knuckles yet she was still pissed. Sick of taking teen and child cases, yet they were pouring in and paying her bills. It made her sick some nights, thinking her income came from those cases. She was helping people, that's what she told herself as she downed herself in the liquor. But it making a difference? No, not really. Those families would still be haunted by their tragedies, they'd never be the same no matter how hard she worked to close those cases and make things better.

The moment Jessica's door closed, she pulled the bottle from the brown paper bag and twisted off the cap. She tossed in the trash with the tower of empty liquor and beer bottles. Instead of grabbing a glass, she drank from the bottle, a glass would slow her down. She paced her apartment and went to the bathroom to tend to her scrapped knuckles.

The next night was like the last. Working day and night with one thought in mind, where was the boy's body if he was dead.

[tothemeadow]

THE REQUEST ARE OPEN AGAINN!! AHHHH CONTINUATION OF PILLAR BODY SWAP THANKYOUUUU

‘switch ‘em up pt. 4′ / Pillars x Reader (now with the Kamaboko Squad!)

warnings: none

words: 2,243

(a/n): I just wanna thank the lovely anon that gave me the idea to this plotline; it helped a lot!

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for reference: Giyuu/Shinobu | Gyomei/Mitsuri | Obanai/Tengen | Sanemi/Muichiro | Kyojuro/you

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“I’m not sure I understand entirely,” Tanjiro confesses, his eyebrows furrowing. “So you’re looking for some special type of herb?”

“Precisely,” Shinobu says.

Overhead, birds chirp and flood the skies, hopping from branch to branch and competing each other with their harmonies. A delicate breeze sweeps through the area, carrying loose leaves and the crisp smell of nature. On any other day, you’d love to come back; however, considering the circumstances, you’d rather not be here.

After much discussion on what should be done to return everyone to their normal bodies, Shinobu voiced an idea that may work – finding a special herb and using its medicinal properties. It’s a bit of a longshot, but it’s not like anyone else has any other better idea. And whether the others voiced it or not, everyone is secretly wishing that this magical plant will bring a miracle.

As such, you and the rest of the Pillars take the trip to Mount Sagiri; Tanjiro insisted he tag along since he knows the area well, plus he wanted to help. Of course, this meant traveling with his two friends, Zenitsu and Inosuke. Truthfully, it’s quite a crowd you’re traveling with, but it should prove to be useful to have extra eyes searching for the herb.

“Giyuu knows this area as well, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find it!” Tanjiro chirps, looking to his friend. Although Giyuu is still stuck inside Shinobu’s body, he looks away, a light blush dusting his face. “Plus, Urokodaki-san should be able to help us!”

“Wait, that old man who used to be the Water Pillar?” Tengen questions.

“Don’t disrespect him,” Giyuu abruptly snaps. The muscle in his jaw ticks. “That is all I ask.”

At that, Tengen lets out a drawn-out whistle. “Damn, alright. Don’t tear my head off, waterworks.”

“Waterworks? What kind of name is that?” Sanemi speaks up. “I think you’ve been inside of Obanai for too long, Tengen. Your insults are starting to turn lame.”

“Fuck you,” Obanai mutters.

“It’s not my fault Obanai doesn’t possess a flamboyant sense of humor!”

With a sigh, you watch on as Tengen, Sanemi, and Obanai start bickering. Frankly, you don’t know why they’re even putting in the effort. Everyone is stuck in a situation that they don’t like, so what’s the point?

Beside you, Zenitsu wrings his hands, an uneasy expression crossing his features. “Uh… Kyojuro? Wait, wait, sorry – (y/n)?” You hum in response. “Are all the Pillars this… tense? Like, normally?”

“Heh. Well, not really. Sanemi’s always got a stick up his ass, and Obanai’s just naturally edgy like that,” you tell him. As you look to him, it strikes you as odd to have to look down at him. You’ve otherwise grown used to the height difference, but it still takes you aback sometimes.

Zenitsu snickers. His unease melts away, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “When you put it that way, it sounds just like that moron Inosuke.”

“Oi! Who the fuck are you calling a moron?!” Inosuke barks.

Quirking an eyebrow, Zenitsu shoots you a bored look. “See what I mean?”

“We’re here!” Tanjiro exclaims.

Having been distracted from the short conversation with Zenitsu, you’ve completely ignored your surroundings. Cursing yourself internally for being so careless, you look ahead, taking in the sight of a small home with an even smaller garden next to it. So this must be Urokodaki’s home, huh? How quaint.

“This doesn’t really look like much,” Muichiro voices. Shifting his attention to Giyuu, he cocks his head. “So this is where you were trained?”

Giyuu nods stiffly. The look on his face – Shinobu’s face – is, well, vulnerable. You haven’t seen him show so much emotion before, and it’s a bit startling. If you’re being entirely honest, it looks as though he’s ready to throw up everything that’s inside his gut.

“It’s just as I remember!” Tanjiro chirps. “It’s nice up here, don’t you think? The air gets thinner from here on up, so please be careful when scaling the mountain.”

As if on cue, the door to the house slides open, revealing an elderly man with a tengu mask adorning his face. The air about him demands respect; it’s more than obvious that this very man was a Pillar, and a strong one at that. You watch on as Tanjiro and Giyuu step up towards the house before dropping into respectful bows. Tanjiro’s movements are much more fluid, more comfortable. Giyuu’s are more… wooden.

“Tanjiro, my boy!” Urokodaki greets. Ushering Tanjiro closer, he greets the young man with a hug. “…Who’s this fine lady with you?”

Tengen laughs.

“Urokodaki-san, it’s me,” Giyuu grumbles. “Giyuu…”

Although you can’t see Urokodaki’s face, you have a pretty good idea of what it’s like. The man falls silent, glances from him to Tanjiro, then he scans over the group behind him. Sure, you can’t blame him for being skeptical; a random swarm of people showing up to your house unexpectedly is bound to raise some questions. However, these are all Pillars he’s dealing with. This isn’t something to take lightly.

“Urokodaki-san,” Tanjiro begins, “we need your help. We’re not entirely sure how, but all the Pillars switched bodies with each other. It’s been like this for a number of days now, and we don’t know how long it’s supposed to last.”

After another moment or so of silence, Urokodaki sighs and crosses his arms. “Listen, kid, that seems a bit… much, don’t you think?”

“It might be some sort of Blood Art!” Tanjiro rushes. “Please, Urokodaki-san!”

Again, another sigh. “So everyone is in another body than their own? Haven’t heard of an ability like that before, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.” Nodding in Shinobu’s direction, he says, “So, that’s Giyuu’s body, but it isn’t him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Shinobu tells him. “Believe me when I say I don’t want to be in Giyuu-san’s body more than I have to.”

“Ehhh?! What’s with all the talking!” Inosuke bursts. “You guys said you wanted to find a plant, not talk to some old coot!”

“Inosuke!” Tanjiro scolds, but he’s too late. In a blink of an eye, Giyuu practically materializes right before Inosuke, his fist colliding with Inosuke’s gut. There’s a loud groan of pain as Inosuke drops to the ground, his hands clutching onto his stomach. To the side, both Zenitsu and Tengen break out into fits of laughter.

“I told you not to disrespect him,” Giyuu grunts.

“Ohoho!” Kyojuro booms, just as loud as always. At this rate, he’s going to blow out your vocal cords before you can get them back. “How loyal, Giyuu! I’m impressed!”

Rolling your eyes, you break away from the group, opting to join Tanjiro. “Urokodaki-san,” you greet, giving a polite bow, “it’s a pleasure to meet you. Listen, I know this is a complicated situation, but we really need to find this plant. It’s crucial that we do.”

Urokodaki hums. “I know you – you’re Rengoku Shinjuro’s boy, aren’t you?”

“Huh? Well, technically – but I’m not Kyojuro. I’m (l/n) (y/n), the Wild Pillar.”

“You’re not? Figures. This whole “switched body” conundrum is making my brain work in ways it hasn’t worked in years.” Urokodaki waves a dismissive hand at you. “Whatever. If all of you are willing to look for such a plant, feel free to scale the mountain to your heart’s content. I’ll get dinner started.”

“Thank you so much!” Tanjiro chirps. After Urokodaki slides the door shut behind him, the two of you turn back to the others, smiles plastered on both of your faces. “Everyone – it’s time! Let’s turn you all back to normal!”

-

After hours of searching, no one has come up with anything. Granted, a vast variety of edible plants line the mountain – all of them useful in one way or another – but it’s not the dreaded silva you’re looking for. Shinobu said it was vine-like, with delicate leaves shaped like bells. The only you found worth of any interest was watching Inosuke eat almost every mushroom he could find and crack open acorns like they were nothing.

Soon, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of peach and berry. The view was simply breathtaking, and you had to stop to take it in for a few moments.

“It’s always been like that,” Giyuu says quietly. Stopping next to you, he gazes at the setting sun, a wistful gleam in his eyes. “Most of the time, we were too busy training to watch it, though.”

Now that you think about it, Giyuu has been acting weird ever since arriving. Call it intuition, but you’re almost positive that he was feeling guilty about something. And he said we instead of I, so that only confirms your suspicion. Glancing around, you imagine a younger Giyuu descending the mountain, panting like crazy in the thin air, narrowly avoiding the numerous traps Urokodaki set up. If he experienced anything like the pain roaring in your back and sides right now, you’re amazed he dared to set foot back on this very mountain.

“Thinking back to simpler times, huh?” you ask, voice soft.

Giyuu scoffs. “The training was far from simple, but yeah. Things were a lot more different then.”

As if acting on its own, your arm slings itself around Giyuu, tugging him closer and holding him against your body. With him in Shinobu’s body, he’s so small, his head nestled against your chest. At first, he tenses up, but then slowly relaxes in your hold. Ever since switching bodies, you’ve noticed Kyojuro’s personality starting to bleed into yours. Hell, even his body is trying to one up you.

“I miss him,” Giyuu whispers.

Your heart drops to your stomach at his tone. “…Who?”

“Oi! Are you two just gonna stand there or are you coming back down?” Sanemi snaps.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you pull away, but you keep a hand on Giyuu’s forearm. “You’re helping me down, got it? This mountain gives me the creeps and I don’t want to get rammed by another damned log. Seriously – how did Urokodaki-san even set them up?”

Despite the saddened glint in his eyes, Giyuu manages to crack a smile.

-

The inside of Urokodaki’s house is cramped, but it’s also very homely. Scattered around the living area, each person more or less sticks to themselves, too much in pain to engage in lively conversation. Shinobu treats to the wounds, making sure bones are intact and intestines didn’t take too much of a beating. The only ones completely unaffected are Tanjiro and Giyuu, but that much is obvious.

“So what now?” Mitsuri asks. Still in Gyomei’s colossal body, she’s probably one of the Pillars that’s had the most trouble adjusting to her new form. “We’re not going to give up looking, are we?”

“I didn’t think it was this rare,” Shinobu admits. “Perhaps we were looking at the wrong spots on the mountain? It’s possible.”

“Take a breather before springing back into motion,” Urokodaki says. Sitting before the hearth, he absentmindedly prepares some tea. “Think, plan, then go about your business. A mindless game of hide and seek isn’t going to produce any results.

“Mmph! Mmph!” Nezuko agrees (or you think so, anyway). You’ve only met her a handful of times outside of her box, but you enjoy her company very much.

“Wait,” Shinobu suddenly says, snapping upright. “Urokodaki-san, what’s that you’re grinding up right now?”

Setting down his mortar and pestle, Urokodaki busies his hands with plucking apart wildflowers. “It’s silva. It grows right out here in my garden.”

At that, Shinobu’s draw drops. “By the gods-“ She facepalms, then, and groans. “That’s the herb we were looking for! You’re telling me that it’s been down here the entire time?!”

“Why didn’t you say what you were looking for?” Urokodaki says. “Could’ve saved a lot of time.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sanemi curses.

“That wasn’t very flamboyant of you,” Tengen chimes in. “I agree with Sanemi – this is bullshit.”

Urokodaki shrugs. “And how is that my fault? You’re all Pillars, are you not? Shame on you for being unobservant.”

“Urokodaki-san, please,” Tanjiro says.

“Alright, alright, fine.” In a couple of minutes, he prepares the tea as planned and pours it into a number of ceramic cups. “Since you’re all on my ass about it, drink up.”

“Uh, should we really be drinking this…?” Zenitsu squeaks, staring down at his own cup.

“Stop being a pussy!” Inosuke cackles. Tipping his head back, he downs his tea in one go.

Everyone more or less follows suit, taking sips of their own tea. As you set your own cup down, you feel the beginning of a warm, pleasant sensation in your lower tummy.

“Hey, Shinobu?” Tanjiro asks. “Is the herb supposed to make you feel sleepy?” At his words, Nezuko slumps to the floor. One by one, all the others drop like flies, yourself included.

Some time passes before your eyes crack back open. The inside of Urokodaki’s house is dark; from the crickets chirping and an owl hooting nearby, you quickly realize that it’s nighttime, and it’s probably late. With a groan, you sit up, dragging a hand across your face in the process. Wait… that’s not your hand, and it’s not Kyojuro’s either. Squinting through the darkness, you’re able to make out slight details, but it’s enough to make your heart sink. The herb didn’t work.

You’re in Giyuu’s body instead.