#I’m going to throw myself out the closest window

[messrmoonyy]

educated guess you are a POWER BOTTOM

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Sailor Boy

tom bennett x reader

A/N: i haven't actually watched the show but i had this idea and really wanted to write it

WARNINGS: smut!, tom is a little pushy, size kink (if you squint)

WORD COUNT: 1,416 words

The knock at your window frightens you. Your parents are only two doors down the hall but you can’t imagine who would be climbing up to your window at this ungodly hour. 

Then you hear it, his voice.

“Open up, love. It’s bloody freezing out here.”

It can’t be.

You rush to your window, opening it up wide to see Tom Bennett hanging on with a playboy grin on his face.

“Took you long enough.” He teases as he climbs inside. You throw your arms around him right away.

“I didn’t think you’d be back for months!” You exclaim in a whisper-shout. Your father never liked it when Tom was sneaking into your room.

“Well i’m back early, doll. Wanted to surprise you.” He murmurs into your hair as his arms squeeze around your waist. Nothing has ever felt quite as good as having you in his arms.

“That’s why you didn’t respond to my last letter?” You ask. “God, Tommy. You had worried out of my bloody mind.” You look at him with sorrow in your eyes. “I almost let myself think you were dead.”

“I’m sorry to frighten you, love. You know I never meant to, but i’m here now.” He strokes your cheek with the back of his two fingers. He clearly means it.

“I never knew how much I needed my best friend.” You say mournfully.

“Thought about you every day when I was gone.” He whispers.

His fingers trail up and down your waist. “I thought about you every day too.”

“I barely got back an hour ago, wanted you to be the first person I saw.” His words make a blush rise to your cheeks.

“Explains the sailor uniform. You clearly haven’t washed it in a while.” You tease.

“You gonna talk to someone who served your country like that? You should be thanking me for my service.” He says with mock self-righteousness. 

“Thank you.” You say nonchalantly.

“That's it? I think I deserve a bit more of a reward than that.” He says as a cheeky grin makes its way onto his face.

“What kinda reward are you wanting, soldier boy?” You ask, sensing his innuendo.

“Just a little kiss, doll.” He replies and you roll your eyes before quickly pecking his cheek.

“Happy?”

“I meant on the lips, darling. You knew that.” He lifts your chin up with his hand and brushes his thumb over your soft lips.

“Don’t…” You pull your head away and take a step back. “You know i’m not your girl, Thomas Bennett.” He always knows he’s in trouble when you use his full name like that. He hates when you’re upset with him… but he likes teasing you more.

“I just want one little kiss, then i’ll leave ya alone.” He gives you his best puppy-dog eyes with his baby blues.

“Then go down to the bar and pick a girl there.”

“I don’t wanna go down to the bar when I already got the prettiest girl in England right in front of me.” He places each of his hands on your waist as he gazes down at you.

“You shouldn’t be such a flirt with your closest friend.” You murmur.

“You shouldn’t deny a navy-man his one wish after coming back from war.” He returns.

“We both know you won’t stop at one kiss.”

“I will if that’s what you really want.”

You think on his words for a moment, nibbling on your lip that he’s so desperate to taste.

“One kiss.”

He grins and you before pulling you closer with his strong hands and then lifting one so he can guide your head until your lips meet his. It’s nothing of an innocent peck. No, this kiss is much more. He pushes his tongue past your lips and in your hazy state, you weren’t stopping him. Tom knows he might not get another chance like this so he kisses you with all the passion he can muster, hoping that it keeps you coming back for more… but it all ends too soon when you push him away gently, just enough so he gets the idea.

“What’s wrong?” He asks in a low, almost drowsy tone.

“You promised.”

“I did… but I can tell you wanna kiss me more.” He looks at you with such desire in his eyes.

“I won’t be another notch on your belt, Tommy.” You say firmly.

“A notch on my belt? Is that what you think?” He looks at you, clearly upset. “Do you not know how much you mean to me?”

“You just… sleep with a lot of girls.”

“I don’t only want to sleep with you, love. You’re so much more to me than that. I wanna make you my girl.” He says earnestly, looking you right in the eyes as he speaks.

“But I just thought-”

“Doll, your letters were the only thing keeping me sane when I was away. A girl like you is no one night stand.”

“You really mean that?”

“Of course I do. Is that why you’ve never let me kiss you before?”

You feel yourself blush even harder. “Yeah.” Your eyes fall to the floor but he lifts your chin back up right away.

“Let me show me how much I love you.”

He waits for a moment until you finally nod. He then closes the space between your lips and kisses you with just as fervour as before. You whine into his mouth as his hands squeeze at your waist and before you know it, one of those hands is sliding up your skirt. You let out a gasp as he begins to rub you through the thin fabric of your panties. You never knew a man could bestow such pleasure.

“Mmm, Tommy.” You whimper out.

“You like that, pretty girl?” He rubs your pearl a little more firmly now. “Why don’t you take those panties off and lie on your bed for me?”

You climb back on your bed quickly and he smirks at your eagerness. You pull your panties off from under your nightgown and he lifts the hem of the garment so he can see your glistening cunny.

“Knew you wanted it.” He smirks before beginning to rub your pearl directly now. As he does, he uses his other hand to free himself from his trousers. His fingers slip inside of you now as he starts stroking his cock.

“I want you, Tommy… all of you.” No other words could have been more perfect for him to hear.

“This is your first time, right?” He asks slowly as he lines up with your entrance. 

You nod.

“I’ll be real gentle with you then.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your lips as he slides in. It does sting ever so slightly but nothing akin to pain even with how big he is.

“You can um… continue.” He laughs when you can’t seem to find the words.

“I’ll take good care of you, doll.” He murmurs as he starts to thrust in and out of you.

You’ve never felt anything quite like it before. You’ve pleasured yourself with your fingers before but it’s never felt this good. He seems to hit every spot inside of you that needs attention.

“You feel so good squeezing around me like that.” He praises as he picks up the pace. It feels like he’s fucking into you even deeper now.

“I like it, Tommy.” You whine.

“I knew you would, baby.” He presses fluttering kisses to your neck that contrast very nicely with how he’s pounding into you. He goes back to rubbing your pearl, wanting you to get as close to your peak as he is.

“I think i’m gonna…” You breathe out.

“Do it, darling. Cum for me.” He says and immediately notices how your walls contract around him. 

He fucks your hard through your high, until your squirming beneath him, and then finally pulls out to cum on your tummy, just below where your nightgown rests.

“You did such a good job for me. Made me feel so good.” He whispers as he collapses on top of you. You start to run your fingers through his hair. As much as you would like to savour this moment, you know you can’t.

“My parents will be up soon, Tommy. I can’t imagine how they’d react if they saw the state of us right now.”

“Five more minutes.” He grumbles into your chest.

You sigh. “Fine… five more minutes.”

taglist (comment to be added):General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

[sturniololoco]

can you do one where justin is in la visiting and all the boys start doing stuff (going out to eat, going shopping, etc) all without her and she starts to feel left out so she isolates herself until chris starts to notice and does something to make her feel better (her and chris are the closest)

Left Out

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) x The Sturniolo triplets

warnings: crying, angriness, jealousy, fluff, etc.

₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚⊹♡₊˚

SLS’s POV

Today was a big day for my brothers and I: My oldest brother Justin was flying into LA to spend the week with us.

We were in the car, heading to the airport to pick him up.

Nick pulled out the camera and began filming an intro to the blog they were filming while he’s here.

“Are you excited?” Nick asked me, leaning over and holding the camera to show the both of us in selfie position.

“Heck yes!” I said, leaning over and smiling into the lenses with Nick.

“That’s good because we’re almost there!” Matt said as we passed under the green sign that said we were taking the exit to get to the airport.

-

“Hey guys!” Justin said as he saw us parked in the back of the parking garage.

He gave each of my brothers a hug, smiling into the camera that Nick had rolling.

I sat there excitedly, waiting for my hug from my big brother.

But it didn’t come.

“Sis, you cool with sitting in the back?” Chris asked me as he put the very back seat down before throwing Justin’s bags in the trunk.

“Oh-um yeah.” I said, not seeming like I had much of a choice, I quietly climbed in the back of the car.

-

I was pretty quiet on the ride home, giving up on trying to but into the conversation.

As we pulled into the driveway, everyone got out, except for me who was waiting for Chris to put the seat down so I could climb out.

But he didn’t.

He walked inside, carrying Justin’s backpack as they walked inside, leaving me in the car.

I tried to tell for him, text him, call him, but I didn’t get any response.

I eventually sighed and spent the next 10 minuets forcing my body through the small opening between the headrests to get into the trunk.

I eventually got and found the emergency exit button in the trunk.

“Mother fucker,” I mumbled under my breath as I rubbed my knee that I banged on the window of the car.

-

“What happens to you?” Chris laughed as I walked in, an unpleasant look on my face.

I rolled my eyes and mumbled,

“I’m gonna take a shower, I’ll be right back.”

-

After doing my skincare and hair routine and getting into some cozy pj’s, I walked down stairs,

To be met with an abandoned house.

I looked around, checking my brothers room which we’re completely empty.

After defending the stairs to the garage, I found that my brothers left me here by myself.

I had no notification from them either.

I slouched down on the couch and pulled out my phone, dialing Nick.

He didn’t answer till about 20 minutes later.

“Where the fuck are you?!” I shouted into the phone, letting my anger out.

“okay, chill the fuck out.” He said sarcastically back to me.

I rolled my eyes and responded.

“You just left me here! Where did you go?”

“We took Justin out to dinner and we’re on the way to top golf now.” He said.

At this, I felt my hear shatter.

I quickly hung the phone up, not even responding.

I willed the tears not to come, but they did anyways. They rolled down my face as I though about how they just left me out.

They didn’t even bother telling me! Justin hasn’t even talked to me once.

As the tears kept falling, I feel myself drifting off to sleep.

-

I feel myself being picked up and carried up the stairs. I open my eyes to see myself pressed against Chris’s chest.

“Shhh, go back to sleep.” He said as he opens my door and walked me to my bed.

As he played me down, he pressed a kiss to my forehead, saying his good nights.

But then it came flooding back to me.

I feel the tears come again as he pulls away. He noticed and kneeled down beside me, brushing some hair out of my face.

“Hey, what’s wrong sweet girl.” He asked, grabbing my hand and looking at me with a sad face.

“Y-You guys just left me here! A-And I was scared when Nick didn’t answer. And Justin doesn’t even wanna see me, he’s only here to see you guys and I-“

I began to rant, letting my feeling pour out. He climbed into bed next to me and pulled me into a hug, saying,

“Shhh, I promise that’s not true. And I’m so sorry we left you bud.” I nodded into his chest, hugging him back tightly.

As I drifted off to sleep again, I hear Chris’s soft words say,

“tomorrow will be a better day. I promise.”

-

The next morning, I was being lightly shook awake.

I opened my eyes to see Justin’s smiling at me.

“C’mon! We’re gonna go get donuts!” He whispered, signaling that it might be early.

I quickly shot up, smiling before throwing on a hoodie and following him out to the car.

-

“Hey kid, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. We left you out and I feel really bad.” Justin said as we pulled out of the Duncan drive through.

he grabbed my hand and gave it a little squeeze before looking at me with a sympathetic smile.

I smiled back, but mine was sincere.

I didn’t say anything, all I did was lean into him, resting my head in his shoulder as he held my hand.

“I love ya kiddo.”

-

Note: kinda short fluffy one. I’ll have some GOOD fics out tomorrow 😏

@idkwhosnyla @babypat08 @eyelessdemon00 @christopherowensturniolo @sturnsxx @freshloveforthefit @matty443355 @sleepysturnss @emeraldgreenbeautiesstu @sunsetsturniolos @hoesturniolo @x4nd3rsukz @chr1sgirl4life @sstvrnioloo @sturns-posts @chrisstopherfilmed @kylasrealityx @zoeysturnioloooooo @comet235 @islaasblog @sturnioloblogs @defnotayonna @mattsleftnipple03 @thematthewlover @mattsaq @idkhowtosleep

[crazyinluvfix]

1:1 WOLF MOON ( pt. 1 )

FATAL ATTRACTION - a stiles stilinski story

summary: after a late night trip to the woods, scott obtains a strange animal bite that heals within a day. sera struggles with the fact that her best friend might be a werewolf, while simultaneously trying to keep them from finding out her own secret.

WARNINGS: none

series masterlist

4.6k words

┌──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┐

January 2nd, 2011

It was the night before the first day back at school after winter break, which had been incredibly slow.

Considering what I heard about what was going on back home, I did not want to risk a trip to see my brothers - lord knows what I would be roped into. I was enjoying my unproblematic, stress-free, normal life. Nothing could take that from me.

And at least I had Stiles.

Yes, Scott was my best friend too, but Stiles was like a brother to me. And his dad was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father, even when mine was alive.

So naturally, I spent a lot of time at their place. Including Christmas, which was just the three of us - we ate, played games, watched movies. Nothing too special, yet it was nice, peaceful.

But I lived alone.

For legal reasons, everyone (including Stiles and Scott) was under the assumption that I lived with my older brother, Damon, and that my twin brother Stefan was off at some camp. But in reality, it was just me and my apartment. But I didn’t mind that much, I liked my own company.

Tonight was one of those nights. I sat on my bed, alone, reading some book I didn’t care all that much about while sipping on a glass of bourbon Damon had gifted me. That’s when my phone lit up with an urgent flurry of texts.

Stiles

SERA

COME OVER ASAP

BIG NEWS

I put down my book with a huff and picked up my cell, scanning over his words before typing back.

Sera

why?

what’s up?

‘Big news’ to Stiles could mean anything. And right now, I wasn’t exactly sure that whatever he was getting at was worth interrupting my simple night.

Stiles

I'll tell you when you’re here

Now come and we’ll go get Scott

I turned off my phone and rubbed my face before shooting up and straightening myself out, throwing back the last sip of golden liquid in my glass and sighing as the warmth travelled down my throat.

As I made my way downstairs I remembered to take my time, since it would only take me a minute to run there and neither Stiles nor Scott knew I was a vampire. I had to make it look believable, so I took the time to fix my hair and waltz about before leaving the house.

About ten minutes after Stiles had texted I appeared outside his window, a spot I frequented so much you could almost see the wear on the roof tiles from where I so often waited for him to respond to my knows on the glass.

Soon enough, he did.

I watched him shoot up from his desk and shuffle over to the window where I was curled up with my hood over my head, shielding myself from the harsh winter winds.

“Wait there, I’m coming out,” he held out a finger to stop me from coming inside, going back across to the other side of his room, bending down to find his shoes.

The way I rolled my eyes was almost audible as I crossed my arms over my chest, “Stiles,” I complained as he took his sweet time. “Hurry up, it’s cold.”

My gaze followed him as he hurried to tie his laces, subsequently tripping over and just about catching himself as he hopped over to the window and looked me in the eyes before stepping outside.

“Did you just run here?” he observed, looking me up and down, noticing my shortness of breath and the fact that he could see no car or bike.

In fact, I was just playing into the role of ‘human girl having run half a mile,’ but I was glad my efforts were convincing. Stiles knew I didn’t drive, and I usually did just get everywhere on foot. But even when he dropped me home or picked me up I made sure he let me out just a bit down the road so he didn’t see that my house had no car at all, let alone having no one else in it.

“Yeah,” I shrugged before quickly changing the subject.

“So what’s going on? Is this actually serious or is it just another one of your little adventures you’re dragging me and Scott along for,” I teased with a slight laugh.

Stiles was notorious for his little late-night escapades, but even though I usually put up a bit of a fuss, I did typically enjoy them. If for nothing else but being there to make sure he or Scott didn’t actually die.

He scrambled out of the window, pumped up on too much Adderall to focus on not falling off the roof, leading me to grab him by the sleeve of his flannel as if second nature and pull him back to safety.

He stared at me with those wide brown eyes and spoke again, “I promise you I have a good reason this time.” Too sincere to be a joke, but he still seemed thoroughly excited.

~

Soon, we arrived at Scott’s house. We hopped out of Stiles’ prized Jeep and he started to dramatically tiptoe over to the side of the house like an old silent film, deciding to climb up the tree to get on the roof.

Meanwhile, I just stood there in the middle of the driveway, hands on my hips with my head cocked to the side, a breathy chuckle escaping my lips as I watched him clamber up the branches.

“Stiles?”

“Mhm,” he replied plainly, not taking his eyes off the tree.

“You know Scott’s mom is out, right? She’s on the night shift?” my smile grew as I laughed at him, who had now made his way atop the house, finally glancing back to face me.

He failed his arms in annoyance upon seeing I didn’t follow him, “Yeah, but it’s more fun this way.”

I shook my head, walking up to the side of the house, alongside him just a few feet down.

That’s when I heard footsteps coming from inside the house. My ears perked and I listened closer; they were coming from Scott’s room, then down the stairs, then to the front door…

Instinctively I hid behind a bush to watch this play out, looking on in amusement as I had a view of both scenes. Scott was treading cautiously, holding a baseball bat as a defence - which was funny in itself considering we were in Beacon Hills, practically the safest, most uneventful place on Earth. Meanwhile, Stiles was crawling carefully on the roof, trying to be as quiet as possible before hooking his legs on the tiles and flinging himself down so his body appeared right in front of Scott like Spiderman.

Upon both of them seeing the other they started to scream back and forth, causing me to stumble out from behind the bushes and onto my knees, clutching my stomach - I’d never seen a funnier sight.

Scott looked at me, then back at Stiles, lowering the bat. “Stiles! Sera! What the hell are you two doing here?” he exclaimed angrily as I scrambled up to shush him.

“Shut up! You’re gonna wake the whole neighbourhood!” I ran up to Stiles’ side, my head next to his upside-down one.

“Yeah!” Stiles agreed, all of us now speaking in exclamatory whispers. “And why do you have a bat?”

Scott stuttered, still shaken from the sudden rush, “I thought you were a predator!”

I giggled to myself as I watched them interact, Stiles proceeding to ramble on and move his arms in an expression of utter confusion, “A predator? Wh- What!”

“You weren’t answering your phone!” he continued as if that made the situation miraculously make sense.

“Okay, Stiles. Now that we’re with Scott could you please tell me what we are doing!” I joined in, flinging my hands up in the air before landing them back on my hips as I waited for his response.

Stiles turned his body to face mine, then turned back to Scott before explaining at his usual fast speed. “I saw my dad leave 20 minutes ago. Dispatch called and they're bringing in every officer from the Beacon department and even state police.”

“For what?” I interrupted his excited rambles. It was clear to anyone with any of the 5 senses that Stiles worshipped his dad and his job as Sheriff, so this sort of thing really got him ticking.

“Two joggers found a body in the woods.”

Before we could ask any more questions he dropped down from his position to stand upright on the ground next to me.

Scott’s eyes widened, “A dead body?” he asked hesitantly.

Stiles scoffed and jumped up and over the fence onto the porch to be face-to-face with Scott, nudging me to do the same.

“No, a body of water,” Stiles rolled his eyes sarcastically - a trait that not even an event like this could shake from him - “Yes, dumbass! A dead body.”

“You mean like- murdered?” Scott inquired further while I was in pure disbelief.

Stiles rested his hands on his hips and shook his head, “Nobody knows yet.”

The words sent a chill down my spine.

“Just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties.” he recited whatever he overheard from his dad.

I finally spoke, confused about the logistics. “But… if they already found the body then what are they looking for?”

“That’s the best part,” Stiles pointed to me before practically jumping for joy - a strange reaction considering the topic at hand. “They only found half.” His voice shifted to a significantly higher pitch and I noticed Scott’s face twist in curiosity, raising his eyebrows.

I chuckled dryly, clearly taken aback at how casually he had stated it. It’s not like I was a stranger to death, not by any means, but here? That was something I had never expected. “How is that the ‘best part’?” I retorted, but Stiles didn’t respond, just looked at us both and nodded his head determinedly.

“We’re going.”

~

“I’m still not sure about this, guys,” I expressed my concern as we trudged through this secluded, dark part of the woods Stiles had driven us to, with one torch and nothing else.

“Oh, don’t be a sourpuss,” Stiles teased as he hung back to walk next to me, “you’re the one always bitching about how nothing ever happens in this town.” He nudged me in my side as he briefly put a hand on the small of my back so that we’d continue moving.

‘Bitching’ was admittedly somewhat accurate. But even though a part of me missed the eventfulness of my old lives, it didn’t mean we weren’t all better off without it!

“Yeah, man,” Scott agreed with me, “I was tryna get a good night's sleep before practice tomorrow.”

“‘Cause sitting on the bench is such a grueling effort,” I teased before going back on myself. “I’m sorry, stress really does make me a bitch.”

I drained out the sound of their lacrosse talk as they went ahead, distracted by the ever-so-faint smell of blood in the distance. Tuning back in instantly when I heard Scott bring up something else of importance.

“Just out of curiosity, which half of the body are we looking for?”

“Huh,” Stiles shrugged, “Didn’t think about that.”

The smell of blood hit me stronger and I unconsciously stopped in my tracks.

“Sera? You good?” Scot turned back around.

“Hm?” my eyes darted between them, I then snapped out of it and caught up, “Oh yeah. I’m good.”

A subject change was all I needed to distract from my weird behaviour, playing off Scott’s question. “And what if whoever killed the girl is still out here?”

Stiles chose ignorance. “Also something I didn’t think about.”

We approached a hill and Stiles started to scale it, leading me to throw my arms up in exasperation and whine, “Ew, I don’t wanna get all muddy!”

“Well you’re gonna have to, princess,” he teased, making it to the top, as I now followed, easily overtaking Scott who was leaning up against a tree, desperately sucking on his inhaler.

“Maybe the severe asthmatic should be the one holding the flashlight,” I heard him say, although it seemed to go ignored as we all made it to flat ground.

But then all of a sudden Stiles dropped to the ground, and when I didn't immediately do the same he reached up to grab me by the wrist, pulling me down with him, Scott copying on the other side of me.

“Stiles-” my grievance was abruptly stopped by him putting a hand over my mouth.

“Shh,” he hissed and pointed his torch to the lights in the distance. Police cars.

I must’ve missed them while trying to rid myself of dirt, only to now be covered by even more. They were talking about the investigation, repeating everything Stiles had told us earlier.

“That’s my dad,” Stiles whispered.

Indeed it was, I recognised his voice.

But then he did the unexpected - which, when it came to Stiles Stilinski was rather expected - and legged it towards them, beckoning me and Scott to follow which we reluctantly did.

We must have been too caught up in following Stiles’ crazy idea to notice what was right in front of him. Sheriff Stilinski.

“Stiles-” I choked out his name, only to be yanked behind a tree while Scott stood behind another.

Stiles turned around to shout at me for speaking, but when he turned back after not seeing me the police dog barked loudly, flashing his fangs and sending Stiles falling to the ground, scrambling to get back, looking straight up at his dad.

Me and Scott both held our breath - it was Stiles’ idea, we didn’t need to be punished.

“Hang on, hang on,” the Sheriff stopped the other officers approaching. “This little delinquent belongs to me.” His tone was disappointed, not a rarity since Stiles did do stuff like this an awful lot.

My eyes closed as I listened to them talk, knowing it was only a matter of time before we were discovered too.

“Where are your usual partners in crime, huh?”

There it was.

His tone was still gruff and I could practically sense the nervousness radiating 0ff Stiles as he contemplated whether to rat us out.

But he didn’t, he never did.

“What? Sera and Scott? Pft-” he stuttered, trying to catch his breath after the scare. “They’re home. Probably fasttt asleep,” he goes on to tell probably the least convincing lie ever told, as if dragging out his syllables would make his statement more believable.

Bringing my hand up to my forehead I glanced over to Scott and shared a look, it was difficult for me not to laugh, however, Scott appeared genuinely worried as he was sabotaging his opportunity to make first-line tomorrow.

“It’s just me…” Stiles carried on rambling, not helping our case at all, “In the woods… alone.”

“For fucks sake,” I sighed, raking my hand down my face.

I practically jumped out of my skin when I heard the Sheriff’s booming voice once again.

“Sera! Scott! You out there?” His flashlight caught the hood of my jacket poking out from behind the tree. He took a step closer, tone even firmer, “Sera!”

I went to walk out, but Scott eyeballed me in a way to tell me not to, but I knew that if I showed myself he wouldn’t catch Scott. So I rounded the tree with my hands up in surrender, skipping over to Stiles’ side.

The Sheriff sighed. He walked up to us without a word, parting a gap between me and his son, and stood between us.

A hand reached up to the back of Stiles’ neck, grabbing it forcefully, “I am going to walk you back to your car and we are going to have a serious conversation about invasion of privacy,” he scolded.

I almost sighed in relief, but my hopes were in vain as he did the same to me - albeit a tad lighter, but still firmly. “And you, young lady,” he exhaled loudly, “what are we gonna do with you.”

He walked us back to his car like this, letting go of us to get in our usual spots to drive us back to the Jeep. The journey was incredibly silent. When Stiles got home he was surely in for the lecture of his life - I was just glad that this time it wouldn’t include me.

Sheriff Stilinski saw me as a daughter the same way I saw him as a father, meaning he usually was not afraid to shout at me too, but he always saw me through a faint lens of pity around the holiday seasons - in ways, my solitude worked in my favour.

Soon, we had made it back to Stiles’ car and he was tasked with driving me home, straight home with no detours. Tension radiated off him the whole way back, partly due to the anticipation of being told off, and partly because we still hadn’t found the body.

“I guess Scott’s gonna have to find his own way back,” I chuckled, slumping down in the passenger seat.

“He’s a big boy, he’ll make it,” Stiles assured before interrupting with one of his little quips, “that’s if the killer doesn’t catch him first,” he put on a scary voice and looked over to meet my unamused expression.

The only reason I agreed to this was to know I’d be there to kill the thing out there before it killed us. But I guess we’d just have to find out what happened in the morning.

What a pleasant start to the term.

~

Waking up the next day was a panic.

Memories flashed back like freezeframes from last night and I worried for Scott since he hadn’t answered his phone since.

My nerves were only settled once I arrived at school, seeing my two best friends on the sidewalk, looking as alive as the last we saw him.

I skipped over to them and turned Scott around, my hands on his shoulders, “Thank god you’re alright,” I breathed a sigh of relief until he gave me a look that said otherwise, piquing Stiles’ interest now too.

“Well… about that…” He lifted up his shirt slightly to reveal a massive bandage on his torso, blood that had seeped through the white cotton staining the outside. “I got bit by something.” His comment was all too vague.

Stiles reached forward to touch it and Scott jumped back, “Woah,” he laughed at his enthusiasm.

“It was too dark to see, but I’m pretty sure it was a wolf.”

‘A wolf?’ No, surely not, it can’t be. I had done thorough research before moving here to be sure that nothing like this would happen. During my research, I found that not only have there been no werewolves here for decades, but no wolves of any sort.

“No, it wasn’t,” I butted in abruptly as we walked to class.

Scott scoffed at my quick rebuttal, “I heard a wolf howling.”

After mimicking his noise, I spoke again, “No, you didn’t.”

“Oh yeah?” he questioned, looking back at me, “How do you know what I heard?”

“I don’t. But I do know that there hasn’t been wolves in California for like 60 years,” I elaborated, watching his eyebrow quirk in confusion.

Stiles interjected, running forward to walk backwards in front of us. “And how do you know that?” he challenged, almost tripping over a pebble.

I thought fast. “School project.”

We didn’t all have the same classes, so it wasn’t questioned. Luckily, Scott was quick to change the topic anyway.

“Well, if you don’t believe me about the wolf then you guys are definitely not gonna believe me when I tell you I found the body.”

It’s as if he had just told Stiles he had won the lottery because his eyes lit up so bright and he jumped so high that birds thought he was one of their own, “Are you kidding me? That is freaking awesome!”

“I wish. I’m gonna have nightmares for a month,” Scott chuckled.

I was too stunned to reply, so Stiles happily filled the silence.

“I mean- this is like the best thing to ever happen to this town since…” That's when his attention was drawn elsewhere, it was when he practically started drooling that me and Scott knew it was the work of Lydia Martin.

“Since Lydia Martin,” he eyed her like a moth to a flame as she passed, “Hey Lydia,” he greeted her with a slightly awkward wave, turning over his shoulder when she didn’t give him so much as a glance. “You look… like you’re gonna ignore me.” He admitted defeat, turning back to us.

His schoolboy crush always amused me and Scott.

I reached over, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You’ll get her next time, tiger.”

“Ya think?” We continued walking and he didn’t wait for a reply. “It’s your fault, you know?” he spun around and pointed at Scott. “Dragging me down to your nerd depths. I’m a nerd by association!”

“That doesn’t make sense. Because Sera’s cool and we’re both friends with Sera,” Scott pointed out, simultaneously disproving Stiles and admitting his own nerdiness.

I saw his words click with Stiles, making him ponder why he was perceived as nerdy rather than cool considering his social circumstances, I just laughed and went to take my seat.

Class was a bore, but then again, I had done this all before so it wasn’t that mandatory for me to pay attention. Instead, my focus was drawn to the girl outside, sitting on the bench. I always felt a little guilty to eavesdrop, but it’s not like I could help it.

“Mom, three calls on my first day is a little overdoing it.”

“Great. I’ve got everything except a pen.”

Poor girl. Today was exactly one year since I started here too, I knew the feeling.

My eyes followed the the man from the office who collected her and coincidentally her first period was with us.

“Class, this is our new student, Allison Argent. Please do your best to make her feel welcome,” the man said, gesturing for her to take a seat.

There was a free seat next to me, behind Scott, so I gave a friendly smile to tell her to come take it. But the second she sat down, Scott turned around with a pen in hand and passed it back to her.

At first, I thought nothing of it, but then it clicked. ‘How did he know she needed a pen?’

I chose not to dwell on it.

~

After class, I decided to befriend the new girl, I knew the new school stress well, so I waited by the lockers.

She came out of the classroom after speaking briefly to the teacher about catching up on reading material.

“Hi,” I called her attention, “Allison, right?” I held out a hand.

She accepted, seeming a little nervous, but she responded with a friendly nod.

“Sera,” I stated with a smile.

“That jacket is absolutely killer,” outfit talk was always a good ice breaker. “Where’d you get it?”

“Oh! My mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Fransisco,” her smile widened too.

My jaw dropped in typical teenage girl fashion, “You are my new best friend.”

Lydia was summoned to us like a beacon. “I heard boutique,” she skipped over and pouted, “I’m Lydia,” instantly being swept up by her boyfriend. “Hey Jackson,” she lilted before he gave her a kiss.

While they were distracted I turned to Allison and jokingly rolled my eyes at their PDA and she bit back a laugh.

“Somebody tell me how it was so easy for Sera to make friends with the new girl?” Scott sighed, slumping against his locker.

Stiles scoffed as if it was obvious. “‘Cause they’re both hot?” His eyes flicked between Allison, Lydia who had joined them, and his best friend. Like Scott, he too was a tad jealous of her social skills.

“Beautiful people herd together,” he sighed, quickly tearing his eyes away to continue pestering Scott with everything he could about the body.

But he wasn’t listening. Well, he was, but not to him. Somehow he was able to hear the new girl and Jackson’s conversation as if he were standing right next to them.

Lacrosse talk bored me. And I could tell it bored Allison too, but she was trying to be polite. Just as I was about to save us with an excuse I noticed a very pensive Scott, his eyes directed at us. But the moment he saw me notice he turned away, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Strange.

Either way, the life-draining sports talk was cut short when Lydia hauled us to next period.

~

After school, Stiles dragged me to watch lacrosse practice. This was how I spent most of my Tuesday afternoons, but this time I had company.

Lydia was almost always there to cheer for Jackson - which got very incessant very quickly. But Allison had asked me earlier ‘Who is that friend of yours?’ (the friend being Scott), and it was now my mission to play matchmaker - maybe it would help distract from the wolf problem handing over my head.

Scott and Stiles waved me down when they got onto the field. I knew better than to question why so I put down my book, leaving my stuff with Allison as I trotted down the bleachers.

“What’s up?” I noticed Scott’s brimming smile, directly contrasting Stiles’ snarl.

Scott was practically buzzing, “I’m playing first line!”

I gasped, bringing my hands to my mouth, “Really?” I was frankly quite surprised.

“Sound a little more shocked will you,” he rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“That’s not what I mean,” I laughed.

Okay, I did mean it a little, but good for him. “But that’s great! Congrats!”

“Yeah. So great,” Stiles added bitterly with folded arms.

“Aw, is someone jealous?” I mocked, pouting.

“No,” he answered quickly. “It’s just that, if Scott’s on the field, who am I going to talk to on the bench!”

Me and Scott both laughed, Scott reaching over to pat him on the shoulder.

Then, before I left, I stepped over to Scott to whisper, “Hey, I think someone’s here to see you,” my smirk directed his attention to the girl on the bleachers who gave him a soft smile and his face lit up considerably.

Gross.

When Coach blew the whistle I went back to my seat, taking the opportunity to tease Allison for the pinkness of her cheeks after relaying Scott’s excitement.

While she was engaged in conversation with Lydia I turned back to my hardback - the novelty of lacrosse had worn off long ago. But my gaze was quickly snapped up to Scott where he stood - or rather sat - in the goal after being knocked over, wincing in sympathy.

Not the best start.

I was practically peeking through my fingers to watch the next player shoot. But to my surprise, and everyone else's, his defense was flawless.

And he did it again.

And again.

And again.

Cheers of awe erupted at his sudden talent. He kept it up for so long it almost felt too good… Considering he hadn’t particularly been great at the game before, it was incredibly unusual, so much so that my jaw hung slack in the stands.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: hiya ! this chapters only a 2-parter because it’s the first episode so there’s a lot of stuff to introduce, future chapters will most likely be condensed into one part x

└──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┘

[kingofanemptyworld]

Choji’s Team:

Cinderace (Partner Pokemon)

Monferno

Torracat

Castform (Sunny Day Form)

Litleo

Charcadet

Yes, Choji has three starter pokemon evolutions on his team. I couldn’t help myself and neither could he, apparently. Choji’s definitely been abroad a fair few times, both before and after becoming his town’s gym leader, and it’s like he’s got a sixth sense for finding the pokemon in each region that are going to give him the biggest challenge. The rarest and most difficult to catch have all been starter pokemon so far (and Castform, which he may or may not have stolen/liberated from a weather research facility in Hoenn). Cinderace is his ace (ha) pokemon, and it’s… totally because he’s got the kanji for rabbit in his name (correct me if I’m wrong but that’s why everyone uses the rabbit emoji for him, right?). Also fire types just felt fitting for Choji. Bright and burning like the sun, just like him! Hence why Castform is perpetually in its Sunny Day form. Monferno matches his acrobatics in a fight and Torracat is for Shishitoren!

As for Litleo… gonna be totally honest here, I briefly forgot Torracat existed and thought this was the closest I was going to get to a tiger. And then I did find Torracat, and I thought about dropping Litleo from the line-up. The eyes, though. Litleo’s damn eyes reminded me too much of Choji, so I kept it. Also it’s cute and I can very vividly imagine Choji play-wrestling with it. And probably playing soccer/football with Cinderace. Choji would dominate in a lot of sports but I’m partial to soccer, so. Might as well tack that headcanon on.

(Also, hey. If my very tired brain is misfiring at the moment and shishitoren’s animal is a lion, not a tiger? I did Litleo on purpose)

Last but not least, Charcadet. I said this in another post but I literally have no idea what goes on in Scarlet and Violet. I don’t know if this is a rare pokemon, or one Choji could feasibly have without completing some plot-relevant quest. But we’re throwing logic out the window for this one because I took one look at Charcadet and said, yeah, that’s Choji’s. No need to look for a backup sixth pokemon, that’s him all over. Tiny fire child warrior!! No regrets.

[candiedspit]

THE HUNDRED POUND COWBOY

I feel like a king when I’m eating chicken wings. Hot sauce dribbling off my chin, sucking the meat off the splintered bones. I was sitting on the floor, my knee to my chest as the television played another episode of my favorite cartoon–Gelatins. Meredith stood by the window with her arms crossed, watching a pair of dogs scrimmage. Meredith let out a giggle and took a puff of her cigarette. I liked Meredith. I liked the way she laughed, the things she laughed at. I liked her freckles. I liked to do coke off her stomach. As I licked my fingers, she put out her cigarette and walked towards the kitchen. 

You got mail, she called out. 

Bullshit, I said. I don’t ever have anything. 

Oh really? She asked, throwing an envelope at me, glass of water in hand.

I wiped my hands on a nearby rag and read the front. It was from my sister June; that old ragtime. I hadn’t seen her in six months. I opened the letter with my thumbnail and stood up to read it aloud. That felt like the proper thing to do, stand up and read it aloud. 

Hey, it said. How are you? It’s strange. Sometimes, I like to picture you in a nail salon. A thousand televisions playing the same channel. Lights buzzing like a crowd. The scent of alcohol. Sometimes, I don’t imagine you at all. Let’s not talk about last time. Here’s the deal–come to Thanksgiving at my house this year. I want you there. It’ll be small. Just mom, dad, Randall and me. We’ll eat and drink and talk. Come. It’ll be nice to see you again. I love you. Hope you’re doing alright. See you soon. 

June

So she wants you to go, Meredith said. You gonna go?

I don’t know, I said. Things got weird last time I saw her. And I haven’t seen my parents in a year. 

You called your mom crying a few weeks ago. Bawling like the world had closed on your little finger. 

That’s because I couldn’t see her, I said. I probably won’t go. 

You should, she said. 

Yeah, but I probably won’t. 

I got up to wash my hands. In the bathroom mirror, I realized I’d spilled hot sauce all over my shirt. 

Goddamn it, why wouldn’t you tell me? I asked, then faced the mirror again. 

Why don’t people tell me these things?

----

That night, Meredith went back home on the train She lived in a small basement apartment with her cousins in Queens. When it stormed, they spent the night with a neighbor. It made me sad to think about so I didn’t. 

I went out on a walk, dressed in my long, trench coat and a pair of popsicle orange panties underneath. I lit a cigarette and sat on the stairs of the library a few blocks from my apartment, watching the people, their shadows. Why would June want to see me? It didn’t made sense enough that she loved me. I loved her but I wouldn’t want to see her. 

And Meredith was right. A few weeks ago, I’d gotten kicked out of a club for fighting a woman over possibly drugging my friend’s drink. When she went to the bathroom she was fine. But a few minutes later and she was slumped over like a bag of rice, incoherent. And the woman was the closest target, I’d seen her walk in like she invented paradise. As if she’d ever even seen paradise. I dropped my friend off at her house and went back home where Meredith was waiting, painting her nails in my living room with a wig on. The radio playing oldies. 

I rushed past her and stripped naked and curled into my bed and called my mother. My heart bleated. I felt awful. Just awful. The thing is, I didn’t expect her to answer. It was late, I was banished. But then there she was with her sweet voice spilling out of the phone like syrup. 

Hello? And that was all I needed. I heaved and cried and begged her to forgive me, love me, want me. And before she could answer, I hung up. When she tried calling again, Meredith told her I was asleep. I was no such thing.

That’s the thing, I repeated to myself as I sat there in the rain and the dark and the night. I was no such thing, I was no such thing.

I liked the way my voice sounded in the rain. I liked my thin wrist and broken hands and heavy clothes. I liked the way my legs moved. I liked the way I lived. 

Thanksgiving was a week away. June had asked. 

That was the thing.

----

The next morning, I went down to the deli to get cigarettes and a coffee and maybe some candy. Ramone was behind the counter, a seventeen year old kid who always gives me an extra straw even when I walk in there drunk as a horse, laughing at the walls. 

Ramone, how are you? I asked.

Doing good, he said. Palls? 

Yeah, I said. What are you doing for the holidays?

His family owned the deli. His father sat in the back reading porno magazines and drinking milk.

Probably gonna see my family, he said. My cousins and all that. Coffee?

Yeah, I said. That’s nice. You deserve a day off.

Fuck yeah I do, he said. What about you? Twirlers?

Got anything sour? Probably gonna stay at home with the missus.

These? He asked, pulling out a bag of sour gummy bears. What’s the missus gonna do for the holidays?

Yeah, those are good I said. She’s gonna stay with me. Her family’s all dead.

Tell her I said sorry, he said. Eight dollars.

I will, I said. I will. Thanks, Ramone.

Meredith’s family wasn’t dead. In fact, I had a suspicion her bloodline would never end. All her sisters—all seven of them—have had maybe twenty kids in total. Meredith’s the only one who hasn’t settled down. And she sure as hell isn’t bringing me around, heathen galore. 

Meredith is scared she’s getting old. She’s a year older than me but sometimes, she comes home crying because none of the store clerks call her sweetie anymore. And none of the guys who whistle at her in the street can even keep it up. And her clothes feel funny. And isn’t she hideous? And shouldn’t I leave her? And I have to calm her down like a frightened dog. I hold her hair down and fuck her and make her pancakes and fuck her again and sing little songs to her. Meredith, my war torn country. 

I went home and slept for a while and took a pill and cleaned the apartment and ate some candy and watched television, reruns of an old sitcom. I waited for Meredith to come home. Meredith worked on Fifth Avenue. Eight hours in heels. Answering the world’s dumbest questions. Pushing handbags. I always tell her she’s too smart to be selling shitheads designer bags. But it’s a steady income and if there’s one thing Meredith needs it’s a steady income. 

I haven’t worked in a couple of months. I’m like that. My resume reads like an epic. This year I’ve worked as a janitor (took one nap too many in the bleachers, the sun crawling across my face) a bookseller (told everyone their taste was shit) a stocker at the grocery store (labeled everything a dollar) a waiter (spilled wine on seven different people in the same night). 

Truth be told, I wasn’t made to work. I was made to lay in bed and take a pill and watch the world. I was made to kiss and beg and sleep.

When Meredith came home, she had some goodies for me. I grinned into her mouth and we shared a pill. And then another. And then one more. When she left for work in the morning, I took a handful of pills. I swore they tasted like lemon drops. 

I spent the next three days awake. 

I put on my wife beater and trench coat and boots and stomped on everyone’s grounds. I went to a string of bars, whatever was open at whatever time it was. I put my mouth on the world’s mouth. I saw Christ in a plastic bag. I stole a lipstick from the pharmacy and gave the lipstick to a homeless woman. I went to a chapel in the middle of the afternoon and listened in on other people’s prayers, felt buzzed by the words leaving them. I went to the MoMa and spoke outloud. What is a masterpiece? I got a tattoo of a burning house on my wrist. I rented a bike and biked back and forth across the Brooklyn Bridge until it got dark, until the sun froze over into the moon. I popped balloons and swam in a fountain and learned how to play chess. I stayed still for an entire minute. I felt every brush of wind, heard every siren at once. I was the cowboy declaring the west his. I was the queen demanding a beheading. I was the beheaded, living after death. I was the ghost finding Heaven quite boring. 

I was God in his undies. 

It’s a miracle, I said when I returned home to find Meredith in front of the air conditioning, sucking on a lollipop and reading a newspaper. 

It’s a miracle I wasn’t arrested.

I don’t believe in miracles, Meredith said.

And she was right. I slept for nineteen hours and awoke in a cold sweat, the ceiling full of snakes. I couldn’t move. Even turning over felt like a marathon. 

 Meredith? I called out. 

But there was nothing. Just the television and the headlines. I stayed in bed for a couple days, weeping and talking myself out of it and weeping again. I called Meredith but she didn’t pick up. I hated her for that. 

When I finally awoke feeling more aligned, less twitch and more get out of bed, I sat on the edge of my bed eating toast. Thanksgiving was in two days. I decided to go. 

I felt that grateful. 

----

On the day before Thanksgiving, I took the bus up to Albany and took a cab to June’s house. I asked the driver to stop so I could smoke. I considered asking him if he could turn around. But I was out of cash. But maybe he’d do it regardless. Yeah, maybe.

Kid, let’s go! He called from behind the wheel.

I stuck with it. 

And as we approached, I could feel my heart drumming. Even more as we sat in her driveway. I paid the driver and got out. June worked as an administrative assistant at a company her boyfriend owned. Thus, two story house in the middle of Albany. I lit another cigarette and sat on her porch. As kids, June used to say I was the morning and she was night. For some reason, she felt so inadequate in comparison, so lame. Perhaps this was the nature of big sisters, especially ones who never got piano lessons or an allowance. Halfway through this thought, I heard the front door open behind me. 

Grace? She asked. Oh my god, Grace. 

I turned around. June was three years older than me. But she looked about ten. All fit in a white skirt and red sweater and floral earrings. I stood up and she hugged me as tight as a sheet. 

Come in, she said. Come in. 

Can I finish this first? I asked. 

Of course, she said. 

I didn’t like the way she stood over me as I smoked. I wondered if she thought I might leave. I wondered if I should have. June didn’t have any children yet. But she had a dog and a boyfriend who worked long hours. And she had a large backyard and a porch swing and windows the size of murals. She kept her eyes on me as I touched through everything. Dictionaries in three different languages. Tulips in glass. A vintage clock stuck at midnight. 

That night, it was only June and I. Her boyfriend was on a business trip. We drank rose and ordered pizza and she read me a chapter from one of her favorite books. And we fell asleep in her bed. I dreamt of crossword puzzles. I solved for genie. 

----

In the morning, June had already made up her side of the bed. I couldn’t hear anything. I got up, dressed in a wife beater and a pair of shorts June let me borrow and stood by the stairs. There were small murmurs. I got halfway down the stairs before realizing the scene. In the living room were my parents and my older brother Randall and June. All sat in a circle. I froze as they stared up at me. 

Hi baby, my mother said. 

I ran upstairs and shut the door behind me. I locked the door and when June knocked, I didn’t say a thing. I waited until I could hear go downstairs before calling Meredith. 

Meredith, I whispered. Meredith, it was all a fucking scam. 

What do you mean?

I mean, my family is pulling a goddamn fucking intervention for me. They’re downstairs in a circle. What do I do?

What? Why would they do that?

I could hear the sound of her snorting a line. 

----

Last time I saw June was back towards the end of May when she and her boyfriend came to the city to visit some of his old college friends. She wanted to see where I lived. It was raining, a hard spring rain. And we ran upstairs, our laughter colliding. It was good for a while. We made sandwiches with whatever was left in the fridge and drank beer and watched a couple of movies. But as I was smoking a cigarette, she turned towards me. 

Why do you do this? She asked. 

What do you mean?

We could help you, she said. We could get you clean. And I’d help you find work. And it could be nice. But this, this isn’t a way to live. 

Clean? I asked. 

Oh, come on. 

What? I’ve been “clean” since you’ve gotten here, I said. 

Yeah, what? Four hours? What were you doing in the bathroom?

I was taking a shit, I said. 

Yeah, for five minutes?

So I take sonic shits, so what? I’ve never asked–

I found this in your kitchen, she said, holding up a baggie. Three little pills inside. 

That doesn’t mean anything, I said. 

No?

No, come on. Who doesn’t take pills? I wanna relax. So, every now and then. 

Then why’s your nose bleeding?

Fuck you, I said, wiping my nose with my hand. And I sent her away into the rain. And yelled at her from the window as she walked to find a phone. 

Fuck you and your happy little life! Fuck you and your dog! Fuck you and your lawn! Fuck you, I hope you find what you’re looking for!

----

I’d taken a couple of pills when I woke up. But for extra measure, I took two more. And waited for June to slither in with her spare key.

Grace? She asked, kneeling down to where I was on the floor. 

I don’t want to do this, I whispered It’s really not so bad. It’s not what you think.

Grace, let’s go.

She held my hand and walked me downstairs as though I were crippled or old. But I was twenty five and nothing could hurt me.

----

Tell us what it’s like, my mother said. I was sitting between her legs as she pet my head, the pills kicking in like heat in my skin. I’d shaved my head a couple of months back. I wondered if that surprised her. And if it didn’t, what that said about me. 

Before we go, you should have a chance to speak. And Grace, we’re only doing this because we love you.

I sighed. 

We’re talking about drugs right? I asked. Not the occasional black out or night on the town. But drugs. The kind you would die for? The best goddamn thing?

Yes, she said.

Then, it feels like God is blessing you. Again and again, you’re blessed. And protected. And worshipped. It feels like you can’t live for another second in this world. But to be in the other world where the walls breathe and you’re on the run, forever on the run. It feels like heat in your skin. Not on but inside. It feels like being reigned king; a fat, slovely king with nothing to do but eat meat and pick who to kill. It feels like the only thing. It feels like hitting a homerun during the last inning, the sun falling into your eyes and the crowd roaring for you. It feels like being crushed during sex. It feels like God wants you to live. It feels like being able to live. 

It feels like that. And you’re asking me to give it up?

There was a silence. 

All we want is for you to be safe, my father said. And well. And there is no between. You can’t be on drugs and be well at the same time. It’s not possible.

But who says I have to be well? I asked, my words slurred. I’m no good at anything. I’m good at being high. And that’s it.

We do. We say that. Because we love you. And we want you around, in our lives. And you’re so young.

I’m not gonna live a long time, I said. Even if I got clean, I don’t have the stamina. I don’t.

Grace, all we ask is that you give it a try.

I did, I said. For twenty two years, I tried. I went to college. I did everything everyone said I had to do. I read books. I did well in class. I got internships. I had friends and time. I was doing well. And I felt nothing. 

Life isn’t one thing, my mom said. I could barely feel her fingers on my head. 

Life is as devoid as it is fruitful, she continued. But all of that is alright, it is doable. By getting clean, you’re choosing the only option that matters. 

----

After six hours of this, I agreed to go ahead with getting treatment. But not before taking the rest of my stash and falling asleep in my mother’s lap. And by that time the following year, I learned what they had meant. 

Because I was alive and Meredith wasn’t. 

[the-shadowsingers-whore]

a court of wards and shadow

chapter one

series overview

summary: the normal drudge of aelis' life is broken up by an interesting meeting with the high lords and she realize she find finally have found a way to escape

length: 4k

warnings: (18+ mdni) non-con (nothing explicit), mentions of assault and abuse, bruises/marks, mentions of war and violence, anxiety/depression, suicidal thoughts/tendencies

disclaimer: this fic in no way represents any of sarah j. maas' work or ideas, it is for purely fictional/personal entertainment purposes

author's note: this is something i've been working on for a long time and i'm so excited to share it. please let me know what you think!!

masterlist /// next chapter>>

i throw my blanket over my head as the sun pierces through the huge window and hits me right in the eyes. i stifle the groan that rises in my throat at the thought of getting out of bed to start another day. a day that will be exactly like yesterday. and the day before. a day that will be just as miserable as all the rest that will come until the day i die. if i ever get that lucky.

i peel back the covers and try to blink rapidly to try and keep the light from blinding me. this room, like almost all the others in the palace of the day court, has floor to ceiling windows covering almost every wall. it used to be one of my favorite things about living here, and now it has been added to the ever growing list of why i despise everything about this building. 

i used to love waking up to the feeling of the sun basking across my face. i could open my eyes and look out at the beautiful, early morning sky without ever getting out of bed.

not anymore though. all i see every morning now is the bright, harsh light that fills the entirety of the palace, hiding all the shadows that lurk within. the shadows that i am unfortunately all too familiar with.

as i get ready for the long day ahead of me i wish i could go back to the time before the hidden darkness of this place seized me. back when i spent my days happily working and enjoying the beauty and light of living and serving in such a gorgeous palace.

i shake off the thought. i’ve spent too long in the darkness to ever go back into the simple bliss of living in the light. how long has it been? years? decades? more? i can’t remember anymore, each day just blends into the ones before and after. 

i take a moment to paste the mask of a smile on my face before exiting my room and beginning my day. the morning passes just like any other: trips back and forth between the laundry and the kitchen. the only thing that distinguishes this day from the thousands of others just like it is that i spend more time in the kitchen helping to prepare the feast for the high lords that are coming for a meeting this evening. 

sometime in the early afternoon i am headed back to the laundry when a hand drags me into one of the countless storage rooms lining the hallways of the servants’ floors. 

i quickly reign my features back in after the initial shock of being grabbed from the hallway washes back over. even after all this time I still jump every time he pulls me aside. “camden.” i say in the relaxed, easy voice i have come to master.

“aelis, i missed you.” he wraps his arms around me and wastes no time in backing me into the closest wall.

“it’s been so long since i last saw you that i thought you had grown bored of me,” i say and add a hint of disappointment in my tone while i fight the urge to vomit at the feeling of his hands on me.

“oh aelis, you know i will never tire of you.” his next words are lost as he dips his head down to kiss my neck. his hand quickly moves up my body to slide the neckline of my dress out of the way as his lips continue their path down and across my shoulder.

i squeeze my thumb hard in my fist to keep myself from recoiling from his touch. i fight to maintain the playful tone in my voice as i carefully move my hand up to his chest and push slightly. “camden, i’m sorry, but i really don’t have time today. i have to finish my normal washing and get back to the kitchen to help with the feast.” a small part of me hopes that the excuse will work, but the part of me who has been living in this reality for years knows it won’t. it’s been too long since his last ‘visit’.

he detaches his lips from my skin, but his hands continue to roam as he lifts his head to look at me again. “oh come on, don’t do this to me. i can’t go another day without you. i’ve missed you so much.” he pleads while leaning into me so i can feel just how much he missed me. i say nothing in response and force a slight smile onto my face as i fight the bile rising in my throat. i learned long ago that playing along is the best way to get it over with quickly and relatively painlessly. his hand begins to drift down towards the hem of my skirt when i hear my name echoing down the hallway outside. 

he steps away from me at the sound of my name being called and lets out a frustrated breath. i take one step towards him and place a hand on his chest. “i’m sorry camden. like i said, busy day with all the high lords visiting this evening. another time.” i lean up on my toes to lightly kiss his cheek. as i pull away, i try and put as much disappointment as i can muster into the look i give him while the rest of me sighs in relief at my salvation.

“i’ll try and find you tomorrow then.” i flash a shy smile over my shoulder at his comment while heading out into the hallway and praying that he won’t.

i keep my steps in check as i step out of the room and head towards the direction of the voice calling me despite the urge to rush away as quickly as possible. it’s a rare day that i am able to escape him and i'm certainly not going to waste it by allowing whoever it is who needs me to disappear in the maze of hallways.

i quickly catch up with the owner of the voice who i recognize as helene, a female who occasionally works in the kitchen, but spends most of her time attending to the needs of the higher ranking members of the day court.

“there you are! you need to get back to the kitchen quickly. silvy slipped on the stairs this morning and injured her ankle. they need you to fill in for her and help serve food for the meeting this evening.”

it takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do anxiety fills me at the thought. “the high lords' meeting?” my voice comes out as barely a squeak as panic tightens my throat. “i can’t do that! the last time i served at a high lord’s banquet i spilt wine on the high lord of summer!”

“that was one of your first times serving. you’ve served at plenty of banquets since then, you’ll be fine. and it’s not like you really have a choice. now hurry up and get to the kitchen!”

i know there is no point arguing so i rush down the hallways back to the kitchen pausing only once in front a window to use the reflection to make myself presentable. not that much about me in my serving clothes is presentable to the high lords themselves, but it will have to do.

i spend the next hour helping set up trays of food and running them back and forth from the great hall. at some point the high lords and their representatives arrive, but i simply duck my head and continue working.

a short time later i am rearranging the platters of food on the banquet table to make room for the rest that are waiting in the kitchen when i hear the conversation amongst the high lords shift to take on a more serious tone. 

“i suppose we should get down to business then,” kallias, high lord of the winter court says. “rhysand, would you care to explain why you called this urgent meeting?”

“of course,” rhysand, who i remember from my lessons with silvy to be the high lord of the night court, begins. “a rogue band of illyrians has been terrorizing the mountains with increasing ferocity and damage over the last few months.” 

“and in what way does that concern us?” beron, the insufferable High lord of autumn interrupts. “illyrians have always been volatile and savage. a group of them going on a killing spree is nothing new.”

i don’t have to look up from my place at the banquet table to see the icy glare rhysand aims at beron. i can feel it as the intensity of his power fills the room and sends a shiver down my spine. 

“it matters because rumor has it that the leader of this rogue band, a general by the name of brekkan, has somehow gotten his hands on an ancient made weapon.” small gasps and murmurs from the other high lords and their advisors fill the room. “i am not sure what item brekkan has in his possession, but it would explain why the carnage from their attacks has grown exponentially over the last few weeks. unfortunately, rumor also has it that they are planning on using the weapon to release a very ancient, very dangerous beast from the prison.”

the shock of his statement rolls through the room and silence fills it as everyone pauses for a moment. i have to remind my hands to keep quietly moving trays of food around as the tension in the room grows. “how do we know these rumors are true?” the soft voice i believe belongs to kallias’ wife viviane breaks the silence and is followed by several murmurs of agreement with her question. 

“we managed to intercept the band during one of their attacks and capture one of the rogues who, after some persuading, confessed brekkan’s plan to infiltrate the prison. he did not know which beast brekkan plans to unleash, but if it resides in the prison then we have reason to worry.”

“i knew illyrians were stupid brutes, but i didn’t think even they would be dumb enough to release a beast from the prison.” beron spits out the insult. “what could they possibly want with a creature like that?”

“as you all probably know, the illyrians have a lot of ancient traditions, especially in regards to their treatment of women. throughout my rule as high lord i have been trying to put an end to their barbaric traditions which has proven to be exceedingly difficult. my attempts are usually met with much resistance and in some instances, outright rebellion. this is simply another one of those instances. we have handled these situations quickly and efficiently in the past, but the introduction of a made weapon changes everything. it would seem as though this specific group of rebels has decided it’s not enough to simply revolt against the changes. they have decided that they want to wipe out me and every member of my inner circle and select a new high lord who will allow them to continue their ancient, barbaric customs. and since they know they would be unsuccessful with any assassination or coup attempts on their own, with or without a made weapon, it seems they have decided to enlist the assistance of something they know even i cannot stand against.”

more gasps fill the room, accompanied by various whispers of ‘treason’." how have you come to learn of such a plot against you and your court?” a voice i do not recognize rises about the others mumbling throughout the room and I battle the urge to look around to discover its owner. i am here simply to serve food and would be punished severely if i was caught eavesdropping on the high lords.

“because they said as much in the letter we found staked to the pile of corpses they left in the last village they raided.” i have to fight the wave of nausea that overtakes me at the high lord’s words. rhysand, however, continues on in a cool, even tone without so much as a pause, as though he was talking about a complication with palace construction plans and not the murder of countless innocent people. 

“which is why i have gathered you here today to plead for your assistance. brekkan must be stopped before he releases the beast. i can guarantee that a creature powerful and ancient enough to be in the prison isn’t going to stop its rampage over something as trivial as court borders. the illyrians are currently camped on mount rontuwan. Its proximity to the prison leads me to believe they are planning on releasing the beast soon. i plan on attacking their camp in one week’s time in order to stop them before they have the chance. if any of you are willing or able to contribute reinforcements, i would be eternally grateful. i will warn you though, with a made weapon in the mix, the battle will not be a pretty one.”

silence fills the room and tension grows as the other high lord’s contemplate rhysand’s words. helion is the first to speak up. “i will send as many troops as i can spare. i will not subject the day court to the risk of such a creature being released so near our lands.”

for the first time in a long time, pride fills me for being a part of this court.

tarquin, high lord of summer pipes in shortly after to say he will also aid the night court, and beron, per usual, refuses on the pretense that he wants to stay out of feuds in other courts. at this point, i have finally finished moving platters around on the banquet table and need to return to the kitchen to retrieve more trays of food. i silently exit the room despite my desire to stay and hear the other high lords’ responses.

the kitchen is abuzz later in the evening with rumors of the meeting yesterday. apparently some of helion’s troops will be leaving in just two days to join the armies of the night court.

“i wish i could go with them.” one of the kitchen boys says while we wash the dishes and pack away the food left over from the meeting. “i would love to get out of this damned kitchen for once and see what lands in another court look like.” me too.

“lance, do you have a death wish? you know as well as i do that you wouldn’t last five minutes in a real fight,” helene scoffs. “you would be dead the minute you stepped onto the mountain.”

“you don’t know that!” lance barks back. “and even if i did die, at least i would have gotten to see something besides these palace walls before i did.” helene laughs before responding. “ha! willing to risk death just for a little sight-seeing? foolish boy.” 

i chuckle lightly and paste a smile on my face while i secretly wish i could find it within myself to disagree with lance.

* * *

camden found me in my room last night.

i try to suppress the memory as i look in the mirror and brainstorm ways to hide the split in my lip. anything i wear will cover my thigh as long as i successfully manage to suppress the limp threatening every step. wearing my high collared dress should hide the dark bruise blooming across the base of my neck, but i can’t think of anything to disguise my lip. i should have known better than to try and stop him, but i was too exhausted last night after working all day for the feast to want to deal with him. and i paid the price for it.

as i stare at my reflection i tentatively trace a finger around the bruise coloring my tanned skin. is this to be my life forever? always at the beck and call of everyone around me? being endlessly used and passed around like a plaything? never getting to make a choice for myself? because i can’t keep living like this forever. every day chips away another piece of me and I don’t know  how much longer i’ll last before i lose myself entirely. 

i feel like i’ve lost almost everything already. i don’t dream anymore. i used to have the most glorious dreams. they helped me cope with the harsh reality of my life. no matter how terrible the day was, once night came and i drifted into sleep’s sweet embrace, i could escape into my beautiful dreams, if only for a few hours. not anymore though. It’s been years since i’ve dreamt. now the horrors of my days haunt me through my nights.

while i stare at the bruise adorning my neck i find myself thinking back to last night in the kitchen when helene said that lance might as well sign his own death warrant if he were going to try and join the fight. i wish it were that easy. signing my own death warrant, that is. i would sign it in an instant, write my life away immediately if i could. i would rather cease to exist rather than keep on here, where i continue to live the same nightmare every day and night.

my body goes completely still while i continue to stare at the dark purple flesh ringing my throat, the sharp throbbing in my thigh in tune with the pounding of my heart. 

maybe it is that easy.

* * *

two days later, i lay on a mat surrounded by thirty sleeping bodies, a rock in my back, the freezing ground leaching through the thin material, and I can’t help but marvel at my luck. i am mere hours away from escape.

i am still in shock that i managed to slip into the army leaving the palace. i thought someone would notice the missing healer’s uniform that i swiped from the laundry. but no one did. i was convinced that the commander would notice me adding a name to his list after delivering his lunch tray. or at least notice that the handwriting was different from the others. but he didn’t. 

no one looked twice when a girl with a uniform two sizes too big slipped into line with the rest of the healers. apparently with the rush of preparing an army to move out in only two days, no one seemed to notice or care that their count was suddenly one fae more.

and now here i am, lying amongst the sleeping army, waiting with bated breath for the sun to rise and the battle to start. i thought i might feel some hesitancy, or fear, or regret, but all i feel is relief. in just a short while it will be over. i will be free. 

never again will i have to experience the nightmare I have lived daily for decades. never again will i feel the nauseating roll of dread in my gut when i awaken in the morning, knowing what the day will bring. never again will i toss and turn at night, fear at who might visit me in the dark keeping me up for hours. and if the price for that freedom is my life, then it is a price i will willingly pay.

i enjoy my last few hours in silence, watching as the twinkling stars slowly dim as night fades. a horn sounds as the first of the sun’s rays break the horizon and i smile, welcoming its rising for the first time in decades. 

* * *

i manage to slip away from the healer’s tent once the battle begins raging and the wounded start pouring in. i don’t have a plan, i just know that i won’t find what i so desperately need while sewing up ragged slices on soldiers in that tent.

the mid-morning sun reflecting off the snowy mountain top momentarily blinds me and i raise a hand to shield my eyes. as i regain my focus, i glance around wildly, trying to assess my surroundings. i can see a few skirmishes happening nearby, but it looks like the majority of the battle is happening further up the mountain. that’s where i need to be, in the thick of it. where every soldier is full of adrenaline, attacking without thinking. no one will notice my healer’s uniform until it’s too late.

i race towards the battle, dodging between rocks to keep myself hidden until i reach the middle of the action. as i sprint from one section of cover to the next, something grabs my ankle and i trip, my hands shooting out to protect myself as i fall. 

“help me,” a strangled voice croaks and i whirl around to find a day court soldier lying prone, pain awash his face. i quickly glance over his body and nausea punches through my gut as i see his leg. it has been cleaved nearly in two just below the knee by only gods knows what, blood pouring from the wound. i shake my head, my eyes widening in horror as i try to scoot myself away from the mangled leg.

"please,” the male begs again, reaching a hand towards me, “help me.” the hollow pain in his voice makes me pause. i am dressed in a healer’s uniform. a healer from his home court. i can’t let this poor soldier die feeling betrayed by one of his own.

i reach for the healer’s pouch slung across my shoulder. i have no idea what to do or where to start, but i have to at least try. i grab a long strip of bandage and turn back to the soldier, looking up just in time to see a sword drop, severing his head from his body. 

the roaring of the battle drowns out the sounds of my screaming. i can’t seem to stop. all i can do is scream and scream and scream as i watch the blood gush from his neck and his eyes go lifeless a moment before a heavy boot kicks his skull down the mountain. 

the boot snaps me out of my trance and my eyes dart to their owner, a huge winged male with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “why hello there. what are you doing all the way out here?”

panic fills me as i watch him slowly move towards me, his broadsword dragging in the dirt behind him as i try to crawl away. this isn’t how i had planned it out in my head. it was supposed to be quick and unexpected, a quick reflex of a soldier in the midst of battle taking me down, not a male stalking and hunting me like prey.

“please, please don’t. i’m just a healer.” i plead, terror overtaking my mind as he draws closer.

“unfortunately for you, i don’t care what you are. although you are a pretty little thing.” he sheathes his sword and draws a small dagger from his side. “i think i’ll take my time with you.” i try to scramble away, but the male is too quick, grabbing me by the front of my shirt and pulling me to my feet. i act on instinct, snapping my knee up and forward as hard as i can, driving it between his legs. a sharp curse sounds and before i can even draw a breath, i feel myself being flung through the air and then something solid meets my back. a crunching sound fills my ears and then a ringing as my head also connects with the hard surface behind me. i can’t seem to suck in air no matter how hard i try. something warm spills down my neck, soaking my shirt and trickling down my spine. and then…..nothing. blackness overwhelms everything. i see nothing. hear nothing. feel nothing. a smile breaks across my face. finally, freedom at last, i think as i let that nothingness overtake me.

next chapter >>

thanks for reading and lmk what you think! i love hearing all your feedback!!!

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©️ the-shadowsingers-whore - plagiarizing, reposting, and translating is not permitted

[cosmicluzer]

hi asking about ur Gross wip in the hopes that the song fic title is from the song i know that is titled “Gross” also 👀

if you are thinking penelope scott’s gross then you are thinking correct lol. kind of hoping you are - that song is one of my personal favorites hehe. kinda sad if it is - the original idea got warped into something WAY more fluffy than gross is, but never fear bc that song will return with its intended angst wether i have to force myself to write it or not.

anyways, you probably won’t have toooo much interest in it, seeing as it isn’t for sp. it’s a one piece (live action bc i love them) fanfic, because i am a liar and a fandom hopping fraud. I was scrolling through my yt shorts one day and stumbled upon that one “you dated brutal dictator of Nicaragua?!” meme and my brain went: “oh. i can do something with this. Small snippet under the cut ;P

REMINDER THAT THIS IS A WIP AND A ROUGH DRAFT AND THAT I KINDA SUCK AT WRITING OK OK GOOD NOW PROCEED WITH CAUTION

Sanji is washing the dishes, the rest of the crew sitting at the dining table conversing. He flits in and out of the conversation, adding bits here and there as he continues his task. The day is peaceful, and Sanji feels at rest.

Nami sits, legs crossed over the top of the chair next to her - Zoro’s - with the newspaper propped into her lap. Zoro sits in his chair, slouching against it and looking mildly annoyed at Nami’s legs at the back of his chair but not saying a word about it. Across the table is Usopp, tinkering on seas knows what, and Luffy, content in gnawing through a bundle of fish jerky Sanji made earlier that morning.

The breeze is light, floating through the open windows and door. The sunshine shines brightly through into the galley, and with the crew this docile together it’s, well… peaceful, like he’s said before.

Of course, that’s when they decide to throw the conversat into a depth Sanji is thoroughly avoiding, and has been since six months after… that.

“Usopp, how long were you and Kaya together?” Luffy asks, interrupting Usopp’s story - one about Kaya, and those were the closest you can get to the truth from him.

Usopp pauses at the words, face going slightly red as he sputters out a reply.

“W-Well, Luffy, the great captain Usopp speaks not of the mountains of women he’s conquered! It is not befitting to-“

“They weren’t together,” Nami says, looking at Usopp with an unsurprised look. “He’s too chicken for that.” With that, she turns her attention back to her newspaper, flipping the page and reading it off.

“Hey-!”

“Did you ever have someone like Usopp didn’t have Kaya?” Luffy asks, because the kid can’t read a room. Usopp lets out an offended noise, and Nami doesn’t even look up from the paper as she speaks next.

“Nope, no time for that.”

Luffy hums, looking over the table. He goes to speak, most likely to ask the question to Zoro, but the green-headed swordsman interrupts him.

“No, Luffy. That’s not my style. Why not ask cook?” Zoro’s tone turns from unamused to smug, and he smirks. He turns in his seat to face Sanji, who has gone back to vigorously scrubbing the plate in his hand as he hopes to be kept out of the conversation. “He’s seen the most people, he must have great stories.”

Sanji turns, sneering at Zoro, before he grabs the next plate and gets to scrubbing.

“Sanji! Tell me a story!” Luffy shouts from his spot, getting excited. Nami turns her attention from her newspaper, looking mildly intrigued. Sanji sighs.

“No. I gave you food, occupy yourself.” Sanji shouts over his shoulder, and Luffy pouts.

“C’mon, Sanji. You must have a good story for us.” Nami says, trying to bait him into it. Everyone turned to face him, Usopp and Luffy putting on their best puppy dog eyes in hopes for some entertainment. Sanji pauses his fish washing, considering before shaking his head and turning around.

“I’m sorry, Nami dearest, but there truly is nothing for me to discuss on this topic. There has been nobody of notice in that area of my life, and besides, a gentleman does not kiss and tell.” He says, using a tone of remorse. Nami quirks an eyebrow at him, face going from casual to interested.

“Was that a lie, Sanji-san?” Nami asks, face breaking out into an amused smirk.

Of fucking course the brilliant redhead would see through his lie. He sighs, admitting defeat.

“You truly are too clever for your own good, my swan.” He says, moving to the table and sitting in an empty seat. The other three males look at him with varying degrees of surprise - it is very out of character for Sanji to lie to the crew let alone Nami, a woman.

“Sanji, share!” Luffy whines, wanting to hear what could possibly be such a grandiose secret to Sanji that he’d hide it.

“Be quiet, Luffy, I’m thinking of where to start.”

“How about the beginning, curly.” Zoro says, and Sanji so wants to ring the other man’s throat for being so smug. Instead, he takes a deep breath.

“Alright,” Sanji exhales, grabbing at the pack of cigs in his pocket and the lighter sitting near them. He knows he’ll need a cigarette to get through this. “So this story starts about five years ago…”

[nottcommitting]

ricochet

We gather here, we line up Weepin’ in a sunlit room, and If I’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? ‘Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day

your new house has the living room with the floor to ceiling windows. so the sun light can shine through. i know you gathered there, with the whole group, when you got the news. to tell them all what you know and what to do. and you wrote that letter accusing me of hurting your kids as if the paparazzi didn’t exist.

I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace And you’re the hero flying around, saving face And if I’m dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

all my closest friends told me to deny, deny, deny that the twitter accounts ever existed. so i lied, lied, lied as if i were on a mission. did the world change? not at all babe. you’re still the hero saving face. but at night, when i close my eyes, i can still hear you cursing my name…wishing i stayed…

We gather stones, never knowing what they’ll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn’t want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me

you and all your rituals, and your crystals, looking for a higher meaning. you like control though, over death so all your ghosts can keep speaking. funny that you keep the stones that i gave you, as a keepsake as you bury me...

I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace 'Cause when I’d fight, you used to tell me I was brave And if I’m dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

i know i didn’t go with grace. that i refuse to end this race. you taught me to fight like hell, so now there aint no grave. but if i’m dead to you, why are you woke at the wake?

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (when I’m screaming at the sky) And when you can’t sleep at night (you hear my stolen lullabies)

and i can go anywhere i want. anywhere i want, just not home [with you] and you can aim for my heart, go for blood. but you would still miss me in your bones. [i know you do] and i still talk to you, when i’m screaming at the sky. and when you can’t sleep at night [you hear my stolen lullabies]

I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same Cursing my name, wishing I stayed You turned into your worst fears

i can never leave with an ounce or a shred of grace. and if we’re still at war, i hope you’re prepared to watch God swallow it beneath the waves. you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same [ i never told you that we’re the same] cursing my name, wishing i stayed. you turned into your worst fears [no saving grace, but a false name. victim to abuser and suddenly your losing at your own game]

And you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain Crossing out the good years And you’re cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet

i can see you now. tossing out blame on every familiar face, drunk on this pain, finally realizing that you butchered everything that you prayed. crossing out the good years and the good work as it bleeds with your worst fears. and you’re cursing my name, wishing i stayed. my love, my love, my love, look at how my tears ricochet.

tears ricochet : taylor swift

[fleshinsomniac]

there's light miles beneath the surface of the earth's crust, forgotten layers of deep earth magma churn around the core, and writhing masses of molten rock eat away at the floating crust. the earthbound inhabitants above are mostly unaware of the ongoing destruction and rebirth a few miles below their patent leather shoes and worn-thin flip-flops.

there is a world within my intestines; thriving cities of microbes interact with my chemistry. Over 100 trillion beings of over 1000 kinds live and die within me, all without a single acknowledgment from their apathetic god. and yet, without them, the body is sick. without them, i am no longer myself but certainly less.

between the spaces of you and 300,000 years of life swim, two sets of history intertwine, their contrasting angles grating against each other. Within our bones sleep stories, the names of friends forgotten yet not altogether lost. our stories branch out like fingers off the palm; we laugh about different things and cry for the same.

a cup is not a cup, but our hands are placed together, scooping the sun into our eyes and pouring the shade away into silverine pools. Your eyes are not eyes but mahogany jetties, pulling starlight from the punched-out ink. a tree is an echo of its first grandfather, and a fern is an ancient ghost. the word we know as "love" bears a thousand different definitions, each one unique to the lips that speak its name.

my nerves go past my body, embedding itself in the asphalt and distant hills. my body is a giant ear, with every crying voice and buzzing insect dwelling inside it. these aren't so much metaphors as they are the closest outline i can make of the world i see, my most earnest attempt to be understood.

within my vein, spaces writhe thousands of microscopic electric eels, pooling and coagulating in the space between the armpit and shoulder blade. they threaten to burst through the skin and spill onto the dining table, ruining a perfectly fine meal. i rub my tongue across the molars' sharp, marble edges, hoping the eels will stop writhing if I pretend they don't exist. the sound of chewing grows louder, and with each bite, the eels trash labor, begging to leave my body and return to rivers elsewhere. hairs snake their way across my face, scraping the skin on my cheek, and the fabric of my waistband constricts me from escape. the fork scrapes against the plate, and i’ve now got thirty seconds till i bash my own head in or rip apart my clothes. i don't want to be rude; i want to be good. cold cuts skin and heat immobilizes, and i’m ever forever aware that i am wearing clothes. the muscles in my jaw itch, my stomach lining tenses. i have to leave before i end up running away or screaming on the ground uncontrollably. if i could stop it, i would, but all i can do is keep my face still as waters run hot salt down my cheeks.

shooting out from the chair, i start tearing the clothes off my body as i make a mad dash for the bedroom. now naked, i throw myself on the bed, cocooning myself in the comforter, begging to feel normal again as i kiss the evening goodbye. there is no easy break towards normalcy after this, only waiting impatiently.

this particular sensation is terrifying, like looking at a canyon and knowing your body is nothing. sometimes, during particularly intense episodes, I'll sob so hard it becomes laughter. it hurts so bad it feels like joy. both sides of the coin are burning in my mouth. i all, all at once, lifted up to heaven a split in two.

this sensitivity is entirely un-unique . i have a rule for myself; if i experience it, it has been experienced by someone else before me. Never am i the lonely exception; i am always one of many. as usual, people pass by looking out the front window, talking on their phones, or walking their dogs. i imagine their nerves, branching out through the top of their head like a mimosa tree, perfuming the summer streets. i imagine myself as their ears, feeling the highway din reverberate along the cartilage folds. perhaps they are, as i am, incredibly sensitive and unable to properly strike the sleeping thing, unable to cast its anomalous form into a well-formed sentence. i imagine the muscles being ripped off my frame and the words finally pouring out, forming neat, tidy little paragraphs.

as a child, when i complained about this sensitivity and the sense of alienation that paired with it, I was only called names: "sensitive" (well, duh. its a completely neutral term and somehow it became derogatory), "dramatic," and "attention-seeking," just to name a few. And now, as an adult, i get to stand and look at the facts. i can see this as a gift or as a curse. the same sensitivity that causes the inside of my skull to itch when hearing the sound of someone's breathing allows me to notice subtle colors ignored by others. violet hiding in the shadows, magenta caressing the arch of someone's brow, and red in the branches of a dying oak. i can smell what brand of laundry detergent a passing stranger uses; i can smell the coffee brewing in a neighbor's apartment. i can pick out harmonies, finish the last notes of a bird call, and recreate a recipe from taste. i can spend hours indulging in the patterns of raindrops in a puddle or finding faces in the tar lines across the blacktop. all this is only because I am so sensitive; i don't think noticing would be so pleasurable without it.

so here we go, us sensitive little bitches, mapping the colors of the stars and crying to the same songs we did as a child. there is a world between us meant only for those who dare to feel.

[klove0511]

It's Rest I Want Chapter 4

“Just like that.”

The demon grinned, and Dean hated her. She had played on his one weakness, and she knew it. But hate or not, he couldn't be mad about it, not if it gave him Sam. 

He opened his mouth to accept the deal when cold washed over him. Suddenly he was a passenger in his own body, completely frozen in place while something else took control.

No, he thought, struggling to move, to speak, to do anything at all.

Sorry, Dean.

The words blindsided him. Sam was possessing him? He knew ghosts could if they were powerful enough, but he'd never expected this. For a moment, just the smallest moment, he was happy. Dean had spent his whole life protecting Sam, and more than once he'd wished Sam didn't have to exist separate from himself. It was out there that could hurt him. He'd once heard a mother lamenting giving birth because now her baby wasn't safe in her body, and he'd understood exactly how she felt. The moment faded as soon as he heard Sam speak. His little brother, his beautiful, intelligent, stubborn asshole of a brother, was telling the demon no. That he would rather stay dead. Dean howled in fury, throwing everything he had at Sam in a vain attempt to reclaim control. 

Then it was too late. The demon was gone and the summoning materials burned. Dean would have cried if he had control of his tear ducts. Since he didn't, he let his consciousness fall back into something like sleep.

He was alone in his body when he woke up in a strange motel room.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, letting him see the ugly orange and olive décor. Some place still stuck in the 70s, then. There was a new bottle of whiskey on the table by the window, and next to it was a piece of paper folded in half. From the bed he could read his name, written in Sam's neat handwriting.

He crawled out of bed, reaching for the note.

Dean,

I’m sorry. I know you're pissed, and I get it. I shouldn't have done that to you. But please, you've got to understand, I couldn't let you make that deal. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you went to Hell for me. Please try to understand. 

Please. Let me go.

Sam

With a snarl he crumpled the paper, throwing it across the room. Rage boiled up, needing to be released. He flipped the table, hardly caring that the whiskey bottle shattered when it landed. For the next few minutes he was barely aware of what he was doing, just needing to break whatever was closest to him. Needing to feel the pain in his hand when he punched the wall. 

By the time the fury was spent, the room was trashed. Dean sagged to the floor, drained of the anger that he'd been wearing like a shield these last few months. Fuck Sam. He— His breath hitched. He closed his eyes, fighting down the sobs that were threatening. Slowly he took one deep breath, then another. When he had a sliver of control he said, “You still here, Sam?”

Silence. He waited for a breeze or a cold spot. The room was as empty as it had been when he woke up. His restraint crumbled, and he mourned with deep, gasping sobs. He hated it. Hated that he couldn't stop, hated that even this didn't feel like enough. There was nothing he could do. Nothing to save Sam. Nothing to let this feeling out. 

He'd had one moment where he was as close to Sam as he could possibly be, and Sam had— Sam had used Dean's body to make sure they would never— It was impossible. Unthinkable. They'd never share another meal. Never fight over laundry day. Never bitch at each other over who cleaned the guns or wanted terrible snacks for movie night. He’d never again feel Sam’s hands on him while tending Dean’s wounds. He couldn't be. He. 

God, Dean had been an idiot. He'd thought he was doing ok, considering. He'd thought he was getting by, dealing with it. Yeah, ok, maybe he was drinking too much and barely eating or sleeping, but he'd been out there. He'd been hunting, and he hadn't even gotten himself killed yet. So, yeah. Considering the circumstances, he'd thought he was doing pretty good. He was a fucking idiot.

John was tucked into one of the back booths of the Roadhouse, nursing a beer while he pored over his research. Ash had told him to come, but he hadn’t specified why. He’d been passed out drunk in the trailer behind the bar when John had arrived two hours ago. Ellen had told John to just be patient. Ash didn’t live on the same schedule as the rest of the world.

When Ash did stagger into the main room, he was rumpled and hungover, which did nothing to deter him from starting his day with a beer. He was in another hideous sleeveless shirt, flannel this time, with the shoulders fraying where the sleeves had been cut off. At least this time he had a shirt on underneath it. “Yo, Papa Winchester! You made it!” he said by way of greeting.

John struggled not to glare. The man had proven his talents already, so it did John no favors to alienate him. “What have you got?”

Ash flopped into the seat across from him. “I,” he started dramatically, “have got a lead.”

John cocked his head expectantly.

Ash rolled his eyes and guzzled his beer. “Winchesters. No flair for theatrics.” He shook his head in disapproval. “Fine. All right, did Ellen catch you up?”

John grumbled low. “No. She didn’t. What is the lead.”

“Fine. Shit, dude. So, you know Dean has been working this case. Well, he managed to find out that the mothers—not always the moms, actually, but mostly them—all encountered our Yellow Eyed friend before the night of the fires.”

John thought of the list in his journal, names and dates where the demon had appeared prior to coming to their home. “What do you mean ‘encountered?’”

“I mean encountered. Ran into. Met. But I also mean made a deal with.”

John’s blood ran cold. “Mary wouldn’t.”

Ash winced and ran a hand through his mullet. “Sorry, my man. Unless you did, then it’s safe to say it was her.”

“What does that mean though? Made a deal for what?”

“That part ain’t real clear. This guy wasn’t making deals like a regular demon. Said he didn’t have any interest in their souls. Just wanted permission. But anyhow. That’s not the lead. All that did was give me more people to look for. It took some doing, mind, but I’ve found like a dozen of these people so far. And get this: most of ‘em have gone missing in the last month.”

Permission. He thought of the demon coming into their home, into Sammy’s nursery. Given what he knew of Azazel’s plans, this information just cemented his certainty that he’d made the right call letting Sam go.  He swallowed back bile. “You figure out where they’ve been going?”

Ash beamed at him. “Ding ding ding! Give the man a medal. Now, understand that I haven’t actually found these kids, right? But I have found demonic omens that line up with the patterns you’ve observed. It stands to reason that the missing people that this demon has previously targeted just might be in the place with all the demonic signs.”

The guy looked so damn proud of himself. John clenched his jaw, trying to keep his patience. “Ash. Where.”

John had just about finished planning his route when Dean came through the door. Dean hadn't looked good when John had last seen him, half-crazed researching for weeks while he tried to save Sam, but he was barely recognizable now. His son looked gaunt, like he hadn't remembered to stop for food enough since they'd parted ways. He was unshaven, unwashed, and the smell of booze reached John from fifty feet away. 

Ellen greeted Dean, who asked for Ash. Ash had disappeared into the back rooms again, doing whatever it was he did most of the time. It didn't take long for Dean to emerge from the back with a new look of determination. He was headed toward the bar when he caught sight of John, his eyes widening in surprise. His poker face was good though, and that was the only sign of recognition John saw. They watched each other a moment, John studying his son's changed appearance. He obviously wasn't sleeping enough either, judging from the dark circles under his eyes. It hurt, seeing Dean look so— He searched for an adequate word. So broken.

It reminded him of himself in those early days. Trying to care for two young boys while he grieved Mary, trying to process what he'd witnessed the night she died. He'd barely survived.

Learning about the supernatural from Missouri had been the only thing he could hold on to, a reason to keep going. His quest for revenge. Like Ellen had said, he did understand that. He just hadn't understood what she'd meant when she'd been talking about Dean, not until now, at least. He’d never suspected things between them had been like that.

Of course, he'd known the boys were close. He'd encouraged it their whole lives. They relied on each other, trusted each other. Sam had worked with Dean far better than he'd ever worked with John, and Dean had blossomed in the year the boys had hunted together without John commanding them. Seeing Dean now, John understood that he had done this to his son. That closeness, such a boon on a hunt where a good partner meant life or death, was only a source of pain. It was a wonder Dean hadn't gotten himself killed yet. 

Dean obviously wasn't going to make the first move, so John tilted his head in a “come here” gesture. Dean hesitated a moment more, then set his jaw and moved. He didn't say anything as he slid into the booth, didn't even look at John. 

John sighed and said, “You coming with me?”

Dean's face contorted, some subtle fight between pissed and darkly amused. But he said, “I'll meet you there, and I’ll call Bobby, have him join us. Don’t forget to bring the Colt.”

“Dean—”

“I'm not debating this with you.”

That hadn't been what he was going to do, but it didn't matter. Apologies could wait. 

Dean drove 20 over the speed limit the whole way, letting the roar of Baby's engine soothe him. Seeing John had been a surprise, and he'd have words with Ellen later about that. For now, he had to concentrate on not getting himself killed long enough to get his revenge. The demon, then John. Or John, then the demon? He saw advantages to both, but trying to play out each scenario made him feel hollow and numb. The anger was protecting him right now, and he needed that if he was going to stay functional long enough to get this done. Fuck planning. He'd play this by ear. 

The radio crackled, and he reached for it, intending to slot a tape in. He was going fast enough that it wasn't worth finding another radio station. Too soon he'd be out of range and have to try again. At least South Dakota wasn't far, relatively speaking. Another hour or two and he'd be there. Before he could get the tape in the player, he recognized the voice breaking through the static, and it wasn't the latest DJ. It was Sam.

Relief flooded him, followed closely by shame and more anger. It took him a minute to even recognize what Sam was trying to say. 

“Slow.... down....” 

Dean rolled his eyes and pressed harder on the gas. 

“Dean...” Sam sounded pissed, and Dean had no trouble imagining the bitch face Sam was shooting at him. He glanced at the passenger seat, a grin on his face before he remembered. 

He refocused on the road, glaring into the night. “Where have you been? I thought you might have moved on or something.”

“Tired.... Work....”

Dean tried to work that out. “Possession wears you out?”

“Yeah...”

“The things you learn.” The air was cooling rapidly, but he didn't slow down. “You doing ok, otherwise?”

It took longer for Sam to respond this time, and Dean wondered if it was because he was choosing his words or because talking like this was hard too. “…Worried...”

“What do you have to be worried about?” It came out incredulous and harsher than he intended, but things often did when he was angry.

“You.” Just one word, and the only one so far that had been crystal clear. Well then.

“You don't need to be worried about me. I'm fine.”

“Not...” The temperature dropped a couple more degrees, and Dean turned the heater up.

Sam wasn't wrong, and he wasn't the first to express concern. Ellen had said as much, and so had Bobby. The way John had looked at him had spoken volumes. Even Ash had said he looked like crap, which was more social than the guy normally was. “I'm fine enough.”

“Don't... kill... Dad...”

Dean furrowed his brow. “What? Why? How do you even know about that? I haven't told anyone.”

“Not... mad...”

“How the hell aren't you mad at him? Huh? He killed you. His own son.” 

“Already.... dead...”

Dean shook his head in denial. The road in front of him was blurring, and he had to let the car slow a little. No way was he dying in a car crash right before— before he finished things.

“Yes...” There was a longer pause, and then Sam's voice came through softer, pleading. “Please...”

“How can you ask me that?” He pulled in a shuddering breath. “You already— You want me to let you stay dead. Ok. Fine. I haven't summoned any demons, have I? But you weren't dead. Not yet. Not until he pulled the plug. So that's on him.”

“Dean...”

“I can't let him walk, Sam. I just can't. He's the one who taught us that family is everything. I don't— How can you be ok with this?”

“Not... ... fault...” Sam's voice was fading, and it sparked panic in Dean’s gut. He wasn’t ready to lose this again already. 

“Hey, now. Don't do that. Ok? Just. You don't have to talk.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel. “It doesn't make any sense to me, is all. After the way we were raised. He loved you most, you know? And I knew it, and I never even was mad about it because I loved you most too. It was just how the world worked, as far as I could tell. Not saying I never got pissed at you. Hell, we both got pissed at you. But that didn't fucking matter. You were the one we were protecting.” He grimaced. “I always kind of wondered if it was because of Mom. She died protecting you, so we spent the next 23 years trying to do it too. So, to have him do what he did, just doesn't make sense to me. I’m sure he had his reasons.” Dean chewed his bottom lip. “But I trusted him to look after you the way I would, and I lost you. So screw him and his reasons.”

Dean drove in silence for a long time after that. Eventually the temperature in the car returned to normal, and the static faded to normal levels. He pushed the Metallica tape into the player but kept the volume low. Sam stayed quiet, though whether or not that was by choice Dean had no way to know. He didn't even know if Sam was still listening. Some time after he crossed the border into South Dakota, Dean said, “I won't kill him, if that's really what you want.”

The words hung in the air, and Dean regretted saying them. But then the radio crackled again, and Sam's voice clearly said, “Yes... Thank you.”

“I can't promise to forgive him. That's not— It's unforgivable.” 

Sam didn't respond again, so Dean took it for agreement. At the least, it seemed Sam didn't want (or didn't have the energy) to argue the point.

Bobby was the first to arrive. He met John at the end of the dirt road that led to the town. It had fallen into disrepair over the last several decades, and the surrounding forest had reclaimed it. They’d have to hike the rest of the way.

John thought back to that voicemail he still had saved and wondered if Bobby was going to follow through on his threat. Neither of them spoke, just nodded acknowledgement into the stony silence. Dean couldn’t be that far behind, and John felt the need to settle things with Bobby first. However Dean felt, he trusted his son to have his eye on the prize. He wouldn’t stab John in the back until the demon was dead. Bobby had no such motivation, and he’d made it perfectly clear that he thought he’d make a better father to John’s boys than John did.

Eyeing Bobby’s shotgun carefully, he was prepared to dodge out of the way at a moment’s notice. “Bobby.”

Bobby grunted in response.

It wasn’t fear that had settled in John’s belly. Resignation, maybe. Low level grief that had nothing to do with Sam or Mary’s loss. He and Bobby had been good friends, once. It had been years since that was true, but the man had put their differences aside not that long ago. John didn’t expect him to be able to do it again.

He opted for blunt honesty. In truth, he didn’t know another way. “How worried do I need to be about you using that on me?” John asked.

Bobby clenched his jaw and gripped the gun a little tighter. “I’m here to make sure Dean don’t end up like his brother. That’s all.” Don’t risk Dean, and you have nothing to worry about went unsaid.

That was fair enough, he supposed. It was good, even, because if Bobby was watching Dean’s back then John could focus on making sure Azazel got put in the ground. He wouldn’t have to split his attention. 

Dean arrived in Cold Oak, South Dakota just before midnight. Bobby hiked ahead, acting as scout. Dean privately thought it was just to get away from John for a while. The tension between the two of them had been palpable when he arrived. 

John broke the silence after only a minute or two. “Are you ready for this?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean said. He was tired and pissed off. Sam had to be somewhere close, and Dean didn't particularly want to think about how it would go if John found out about that. Besides, he hadn't had enough sleep in the last four months. At this point he figured he was allowed to be a little crabby.

“Just making sure your head's in the game.” 

Dean side-eyed his father. “Of course it is. We've been preparing for this fight my whole life. I'm not about to fuck it up now.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Dean let that be it for maybe a minute, but he couldn't stop his mind from thinking about it. “Why do you think my head isn't in the game?”

John shrugged minutely, barely visible in the moonlight. “You look like shit, Dean. It's obvious you haven't been taking care of yourself lately. I don't know how far that goes.”

“Why do you care?” 

John faltered a step, turning to actually look at Dean. “Because I'm your father.”

That was the last thing he should have said. Fury boiled up past all of Dean's exhaustion, and he struggled to remember that an hour ago he'd promised Sam not to murder John. “You're my father? Is that like how you were Sam's father when you told me to let him die? Or how about when you gave me a fake spell that was supposed to heal him? Or were you his father when you took him off life support? God, with parenting like that, who needs monsters?” 

John stilled. The tension in the air was palpable. “Sam was already dead, Dean.”

“No. He wasn't. That's the whole point of life support. There was time to save him. What's the point of knowing about all this shit if Sam was going to die anyway?” He shook his head and started forward. 

To his credit, John didn't raise his voice. If it had been Sam arguing with him, it probably would have already devolved into a shouting match. “It's not our place to mess with the natural order. That's part of what we do.”

Dean groaned and turned to face John. “Right. The natural order. Like you would’ve made the same choice if it was Mom.”

“Don’t bring your mother into this,” John growled.

Dean stepped up into John’s space. “Am I wrong? You let Sam die because of the demon and its fucking plans, and you’re too much of a coward to admit you were scared of your own son.” Dean snarled. “Did you know Mom made a deal with the thing?”

John ignored the distraction. “I wasn't scared of your brother; I was scared for him! The demon was going to use him.”

“How? Have you even met Sam? He's not an idiot. No way he'd let a demon use him to fight a war.”

Sam's voice rippled out of the darkness to Dean's left. “If you wanted Dean to listen to you, why didn't you just tell him what you learned? You didn't have a problem telling me. Except, oh right, I was in a coma.” Sam chuckled, dark anger lacing his voice.

John's expression was a mix of horror and grief. “Sam? What are you— Damn it, Dean, what the hell did you do? Didn't I teach you better than this?”

“Fuck you. I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

“And it didn't concern you that he's a ghost anyway?”

Sam rolled his eyes and threw his arms wide. “What, you want him to burn the Impala? After giving him crap about it needing a wash? Give him a break.”

“I don't need you to defend me, Sam.” John and Sam fighting raised his peacekeeper instincts. He wanted to grab Sam's shoulder and push him back, to physically insert himself between the two of them. Only it wouldn't have worked anyway. Doing that had only ever made them shout louder.

John ignored Dean's statement completely. “Yes, if that's what it takes. What's dead should stay dead. You both know that.”

Sam snarled and reached for John, throwing him against a tree. He moved to follow John's trajectory, luckily not stutter stopping forward like most ghosts, and Dean scrambled to get in front of him. 

“Woah, dude, chill out. What happened to not holding a grudge?” He was still livid, furious with John, but Sam needed him to be a voice of reason. Throwing people was serious vengeful spirit territory, and they needed to get a lid on this, right now.

Sam stopped moving, but he was still seething. “Why do you let him say shit like that? You—”

Sam didn't get to finish his sentence because a demon interrupted them. It was shaped like a little girl but sported long, wicked looking claws. Dean blasted it with rock salt, and it vanished into smoke. “Come on, we need to move. It knows we're here,” Dean said, helping John to his feet. “We must be close.” John looked a little dazed, but he moved ok. Dean hoped Sam hadn't managed to do too much damage.

Bobby broke through the trees then, out of breath and wild-eyed. “The Hell are you idiots doing back here?”

Dean filled him in tersely, and Bobby led all of them the last few yards to the town. Sure enough they had been close, and they broke through the woods into the town after just another 100 yards. The place looked empty, but it didn't feel empty. Standing by the tree line was enough to make Dean's hair stand on end. The buildings were in various states of disrepair. Some seemed largely intact, just a broken window or two. Others, like the house nearest them, had entire walls that had caved in, the wood rotting with time and neglect. 

“Cheery place,” Dean murmured. 

John glared at him, then motioned for them to split up and search the town. Dean silently groaned, rolling his eyes. They'd all been shouting at each other not ten minutes ago, and the Acheri demon suggested they'd already lost their element of surprise. John took the right while Bobby moved toward the center of town. Dean moved to the left, toward the collapsing house. A breath of wind on his neck made him look, and Sam was there, following. 

“It's creepy when you do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Spooky ghost shit.” They moved cautiously. Well. Dean moved cautiously, and Sam moved silently. He had the same posture as Dean, though it probably didn't matter.

“Sorry I can't do creepy werewolf shit instead,” he deadpanned. “This place sucks. Seriously, why do you let him talk to you like that?”

Dean ignored the question. He hadn’t been letting John do anything. They walked in silence a few minutes while they searched the small town. “Does it hurt?”

Sam frowned, confused. “Does what hurt?”

Dean clenched his jaw a couple times before he managed to bite out, “Dying.”

The question surprised Sam, and he stopped walking while he considered his answer. The longer he took, the more certain Dean was that whatever he said was going to be a sanitized lie. 

“If you mean after the spell, then no. I got kicked out of my body in the first couple hours after the crash, I think, and I didn’t feel anything after that.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “Good. That’s good.” The way Sam had phrased it, though. “You remember the accident?”

Sam chewed the side of his lip. “Yeah. You and Dad were knocked out, but I wasn’t. It was a demon possessing the truck driver.” Sam breathed a laugh. “I threatened it with the Colt. God. Dad really would have killed me if I’d used the last bullet on Stunt Demon #5.”

“I thought you weren’t pissed at him.”

Sam rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. Uh. I don’t know. I’m not. Not like you are.”

“So what the hell was that back there, huh? Throwing people?” Dean cleared the next building. Nothing there but some battered and rotting furniture. They turned toward the center of town.

Sam didn’t answer. “Dude, are you seeing all these ghosts?”

“Most haunted town in America, or so the stories say. You can see them?”

“You can't? This place is full of spirits.” Sam grimaced and sidestepped an invisible object. Dean gave him an “Oh really?” look, and Sam elaborated. “I think— Most of them look old, but pretty normal. Like they just got sick or something. But some of them died bloody.”

“How can you tell?” He glanced at Sam, body restored in his spirit form.

Sam shrugged, stopping to study one. Dean wished it didn't look like thin air to him. “Some of them don't fit.”

“Don't fit how? Come on, Sam, stop being cryptic.” 

“They're newer. Younger looking.”

Dean shifted, keeping an eye out for threats he could actually see. “So people have been coming here for years because of the stories. Some of them had to have been killed.”

“Well, yeah, some. That guy over there in the bell bottoms probably died back in the 70s. But her—” Sam pointed off to his right, toward the tavern where John had gone. “She looks modern. I mean, her clothes, but not just that. She looks,” he paused searching for the right word, “I don't know, fresher somehow. I can't really explain it.”

That seemed important and really fucking ominous. The demon was supposed to be here somewhere, though they couldn't figure out why. Ash had started finding other likely psychic kids somehow (the dude worked magic, seriously), and there'd been a half dozen so far that also had missing persons reports. If they had also been showing up here, and at least one was a ghost, then... Dean tried to fit the pieces together. He couldn't yet, but the picture that was forming was grim. He found himself half-grateful that Sam was already dead. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if Sam went missing and turned up here. Worse, if Dean found him too late. He shuddered, then pushed the thought from his mind.

While he'd been thinking, Sam had vanished. “Sam?” he called. “Come on, man, don't wander off.” Dean glanced around anxiously, wondering where his brother had gone. He had to keep moving, though. Sam would have to take care of himself.

Dean had cleared two buildings by the time Sam reappeared, blinking into the periphery of Dean's vision and making him jump. “Don't do that,” he barked. “I almost shot you.”

“It's just rock salt,” Sam said, brushing it off.

“And you're just a ghost, remember?”

Sam considered that a moment, then seemed to remember why he'd come back. “Dude, you need to find Dad and Bobby.  One of the psychics is killing the others.”

Dean looked at him sharply. “It's not the demon?”

“No. Some girl is controlling the demons guarding the town. The ghost I talked to said this is some sort of Battle Royale, fight to the death sort of thing. Only the winner doesn't get to leave.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “That's messed up. Did he know why?”

“She didn't. But it sounds like there's a new 'round' every few weeks, so maybe it just isn't over.” The two of them started heading in the direction John had gone.

“That's a comforting thought. So the girl killing people, how long has she been here?”

“No idea. Sounds like she's won at least a few rounds though. Look, over there.” They could hear someone talking in the distance, and as Dean rounded the corner, he spotted John talking to a group of young adults who all looked around Sam's age. 

Dean clenched his jaw. “That must be the newest crop. Lucky we got here before she picked them all off.” Drawing closer, he called out, “Dad!”

John looked over at Dean, then turned back to the group of kids he’d found. They’d all told him similar stories about blacking out and waking up in the ghost town. None of them seemed to know why they were there, but they’d just arrived earlier that day. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Stay put.”

Jogging over to Dean, he asked, “What?”

Dean filled him in on the supposed killer amongst them.

John was skeptical. Ghosts weren’t a reliable source of information. Their perspectives were always skewed; they saw what they wanted to see. It was part of what made them dangerous. “Even if that’s true, it’s not one of those kids. All their stories match.”

Dean pursed his lips, but he didn’t protest. Together they walked back to the group, and John introduced him to Tony, Ava, Leah, Vaughn, and Mark. All the kids were about Sam’s age, but they were otherwise a pretty diverse crowd. Mark looked like he would have been more at home on the beaches of California, toned and solid and definitely not dressed for a South Dakota winter, while Vaughn was taller than all of them and beanpole thin, though in the dim light of his flashlight John couldn’t tell if the boy was also wiry like Sam had been for a while after his last growth spurts. Tony’s dark skin highlighted the whites of his eyes, and it made him look more scared than the others, and his glasses and chubby build spoke of a more sedate life than the other guys. Maybe he’d be more at home in a library than a haunted town. Ava and Leah stuck together, though he didn’t have the impression that they had known each other before today. Then again, they were both slim and of medium height, and they looked similar enough that they could have been sisters. 

Ignoring the guys, Dean plastered on his best cocky grin and said, “Hello, ladies.”

John murmured at him, “Keep it in your pants, boy.”

Ava ducked her head, flattered. Leah just shifted uncomfortably. 

“Have either of you seen anything? Any idea what might have brought you here?” Dean had turned the charm up to 11. It had been long enough since they’d worked together that John had forgotten that Dean sometimes did this, used his sex appeal like a girl, charming witnesses and victims into spilling their secrets. He was good at it, too. 

The temperature was continuing to drop, though, and they needed to get everyone inside. “All right, everyone,” John said, voice pitched to carry over the wind that had just picked up. “There’s a tavern over there that’s still in decent shape. Let’s get there, get inside. Dean, you see if you can find anything useful.” He shot Dean a look to communicate that by ‘useful’ he meant ‘weapons.’ With luck, he’d also find Bobby and fill him in.

Dean nodded and trotted off the way he’d come, leaving John to babysit five young adults. He herded them toward the intact building he’d seen, not trying to make small talk. There was always the chance that they would let something slip when they thought he wasn’t listening, and it was a good chance to observe them. If Dean and Sam turned out to be right, then they needed to figure out who was killing the kids. His money was still on the demon, or at least a demon. Azazel was supposed to be here, but the signs could have been wrong. He had the guys work on barricading the door while he checked the windows. 

“Everyone, stay close,” he said.

Ava hugged herself tighter. “Who are you guys? Did you bring us here?”

He glanced at her sharply. “We’re hunting the thing that did.” 

“Thing?” Tony chimed in. “What the hell does that mean?”

He’d hoped to get out of this without giving them all the Talk. The less they knew about the supernatural the better. No one needed a bunch of kids deciding they wanted to be hunters and getting themselves killed for it. All five of them were approaching him now, arranged in a semi-circle, and he sighed, resigned to it. The version he gave was abridged, limited to ghosts and demons. 

“You’re insane,” Leah said, backing away. “You and that other guy are going to kill us, aren’t you?”

“None of you are dying tonight,” John said. “Dean is looking for salt and anything else we can use against this thing. We didn’t expect to find all of you here.”

She was shaking her head though, refusing to believe him. When she bolted for the door she was already well out of reach. He could chase her, but that would mean abandoning the other four. He swore but let her go.

“I’ll go after her,” Ava said. 

“No!” Mark whisper-shouted. “What if the thing finds you? We’re safer here.”

Vaughn raised an eyebrow at him. “You actually believe this? No way is this guy telling the truth. I’ll go with you, Ava. Stay here if you want, man.”

“At least it’s warmer in here! I’m going to freeze to death in that wind.” Mark rubbed at his arms and grumbled in frustration. “Fine. Do what you want. Try not to get killed.”

“All of you should stay inside,” John said. “It’s safer as a group.” 

Ava and Vaughn ignored him and left through the only door. He growled, but let them go. When Dean got back with supplies one of them could chase after the others. In the meantime, he’d make sure this place was boarded up as tight as he could make it. 

Leah came back on her own a minute later, complaining of the cold. “Sorry. It’s just—” She shrugged. He understood. She wasn’t taking back her words, but she was at least allowing the possibility that something was happening to her that she couldn’t explain. He figured she’d come around to ghosts and demons if and when any of them showed up. 

Any of them, like Sam. How could Dean have fucked that up? Sam was supposed to be at peace. He was supposed to be gone, far beyond Azazel’s reach. John didn’t know if he believed in Heaven, exactly, but he wanted to. If Hell was real, then why not the other place? If it was real, then that’s where Sam should be. Not here in this ghost-filled wasteland. Definitely not in the one place where Azazel would be. 

That was going to have to be Dean’s problem, though, because the demon from the woods was back. It appeared just behind Leah, and John had enough time to shove her roughly to the side before its claws stabbed out. It caught him square in the stomach, going right through the space she had occupied a moment before. Grunting, he aimed his shotgun and blasted the demon. It dissipated in a cloud of smoke with a shriek. 

“Oh my God!” Leah crouched near him. Her eyes were wide, but she exuded competence as she pressed her hands to his wound. “Sorry. It’s too cold to lose a shirt. Everything’s filthy anyway.”

“Doctor?” he mumbled. The tingling in his fingers felt like blood loss more than hypothermia.

She shook her head and pressed harder. “ER nurse. I could probably get you stabilized if we weren’t in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking demons. How is this real? I mean, I must be hallucinating. Except you’re really bleeding and that thing really attacked us.”

He felt lethargy pulling at him. “Hey. Tell Dean. Tell him—” He couldn’t get the words out; his throat wasn’t working right. Neither was his head, really. Everything was getting fuzzy, and there was a ringing in his ears. Just over Leah’s shoulder he thought he saw Sam flicker into view. Next to him was a stranger. Well. Damn it.

[poetic-dumbass]

…𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝓏𝑒

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Okay I finally made it! It's placed a good bit in the future and featuring a new character. This is nerve-wracking, honestly, because I do genuinely love this fandom but this does not fit in canon :)

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

            “We will never agree, will we?” He asks, eyes glued to the runes engraved on the ceiling above. I shift, the cold wooden floor biting into my back. I know he doesn’t want an answer, not really; I’m too much like my brother, like my mentor – I’m a healer, deep down, and what he wants stands in such stark contrast to everything I’ve ever done. But neither of us would change the other, not for the world.

            I turn on my side, propping myself up on my elbow. I block just enough of his vision this way to make him look at me, bright golden eyes, flashing in the early morning sunlight. His cheeks are flushed still from laughter, and his smile is soft and earnest. I’ve never seen him this happy, and I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it. I just wish I could have the chance to do so.

            “I’m sorry, love,” I say, feeling my voice catch. His smile drops, and he pushes himself up on his elbows not too. He looks concerned, eyes searching my own, and I have to drop my gaze from the intensity of his own. His white hair is a mess, and the bandages covering the burn on his arm are far too loose. “I’m sorry this world forced us to be like this. That we never got a chance to have a life together.”

            His hands are rough on my skin, calloused from years of fighting and creased with scars from the arcane seals he was forced to take. They feel just like mine, and I wonder if he, like me, wonders what could have been if we hadn’t been handed this fate. He lifts my chin, and his golden eyes catch mine again. For the first time since I’ve met him, they don’t feel distant or mysterious – they are warm and sad and feel like home, and I can’t look away.

            “It doesn’t matter what happened before,” he says, voice rough and quiet. “We are here now. That’s what is important, that we are together now.” He lets his forehead rest against mine, the sun streaming through the broken windows. I never liked the idea of angels, but looking at him now, haloed by the sunrise, I can make an exception.

            The cold air wakes me from the dream-memory. I blink, my fuzzy vision not helped by the darkness in the room. Only a sliver of light streams in from under the door, interrupted by the occasional shadow of an attendant rushing through the manor’s corridors. I blink the sleep out of my eyes, glancing around the room. I throw the quilt off my legs, letting the cold of the floor on my feet shock me awake.

            It hits me as I try to get up that my head is pounding, and my limbs ache more than they have since I was drug from the afterlife. I remember yesterday’s fight, the disastrous turn it nearly took, the blade two inches from my ally’s throat. I rub my shoulders, rolling my neck to release the tension, but movement catches my eye. I turn, and he’s there, mask in hand. He turns to face me, raking a hand through his hair to smooth it down. I mimic the movement, knowing the closest mirror is down the hallway, and I won’t make it there without being seen and teased by our teammates.

            He smiles and walks over, sitting down on the bed next to me and taking my hand. I appreciate his attempt at reassurance; I’m going to need it today.

            He sighs, pulling me into his arms and pressing his lips to my forehead.

            “No matter what happens today, I will be there at the end.­”

[oumaheroes]

You said that the UK bros like to keep certain holidays peaceful, do you have examples where they didn't manage it? Like complete chaos and everybody is at least a little bit pissed about the situation

Also on A03, if you prefer

Characters: England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales

----

‘Oh dear.’

‘What?’ Ireland came up and propped his chin on Wales’ shoulder, his stubble poking through the thin material of his shirt, ‘You finally realised that you’ve been walking around all night with curry sauce all over your front?’

‘I forgot my keys,’ Wales said quietly, sense of dread about forthcoming consequences overriding his need to immediately look down and inspect his clothes to see if Ireland were lying.

‘Huh?’

‘What’s the hold up?’ Scotland called from further down the little garden, the yellow light from the street lamps behind him obscuring the details of his face, ‘Come on I want to get in; he’s heavy.’

‘I’m not fucking heavy,’ England hopped wildly on his one good leg as Scotland moved abruptly sidewards, the other ankle now noticeably swollen, ‘You’re just weak; I’m barely putting my weight on you.’

‘Do you want me to throw you over to next door’s garden? Cos I bloody well will.’

‘Oi, stop it a sec,’ Ireland called to them, putting his hand on Wales’ shoulder and giving it a light squeeze, ‘What are you doing, get us in.’

‘You can piss off, you’re the reason my ankle’s fucked up.’ England wasn’t finished.

‘It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t insist on walking on it for two hours,’ Ireland shot back.

‘What else was I going to do? Drag myself across Cardiff?’

‘I thought it was a pretty clear hint that I wanted to leave you behind.’

‘Oh, so it was intentional, then?’

‘You’ll be fine.’

‘Of course I will but that’s not the point, is it?’

‘If I had known you were going wilt like a tight-laced Victorian noblewoman, I wouldn’t have tried to move you aside.’

‘You pushed me down a bank!’

Ireland gave a casual shrug but his grin grew wicked, ‘You were in the way.’

There was a shuffling sound that was either England attempting to lunge out at Ireland but likely being held back by Scotland, or it was Scotland somehow manhandling England to be quiet.

Wales stared unhappily at his doorhandle.

‘Right, both of you stop it, and keep it down,’ Scotland said over England’s muttering, beginning to sound genuinely irritated, ‘Rhys, what’s taking you so long?’

Wales apprehensively eyed the bedroom window of next door, still thankfully darkened, and pressed his lips together, ‘I left the keys inside; my new door is one of those that lock automatically, so....’

Ireland blinked at him, ‘Oh, you’re a massive fucking eejit.’

‘I didn’t mean to!’

‘What did he say?’

‘I think he said that he forgot the key?’

Ireland gave Wales a hard shove and turned back to the other two, ‘Dickhead forgot his keys; we’re locked out.’

‘Christ.’

‘Jesus Rhys, what the hell is wrong with you.’

‘I didn’t mean to, alright? It’s not like I planned this to happen.’

‘You might as well have. You and Arthur are terrible for forgetting or losing your shit but this-‘

‘Excuse me-‘

‘Shut it, Art, no one gives a crap.’

They fell silent, Wales drumming his fingers against the frosted glass window of the door. It was too late in the evening for them to have many options. They could take a bus this late still, but then what? Go where? The closest house was England’s in London which they might be lucky to get a train for, but Wales wasn’t sure that England had carried his London keys out with him. Even if he did it’d be a long night, they’d be better off getting a hotel.

Scotland manoeuvred England to sit on Wales’ low garden wall and then came over to join them, bending down to look at the lock.

‘What are you doing?’ Ireland frowned at him.

‘Looking.’

‘What? Do you think you can just wish it open?’

‘I’m looking, Christ alive would you calm down.’

Ireland huffed and leant against the rough brick of the wall, looking about the tidy patch of Wales’ front garden, ‘At least it’s summer. Worst comes to worst we can camp out here; it’s a warm evening.’

‘We could pick it,’ Scotland said, ignoring Ireland completely, ‘Might break the mechanism but we could get in, at least.’

‘It’s already 3am,’ Ireland continued to himself, ‘Not long left till things open-’

‘No thank you,’ Wales said indignantly, ‘Don’t pick it; this is brand new.’

‘-Could get breakfast at a café-’

‘Aye, but I want to sleep in a bed tonight.’

‘Why don’t we just get a hotel and call a locksmith tomorrow?’

Scotland turned back to the lock and Ireland gave Wales an indifferent shrug, ‘I’m honestly alright to kip out here, it’ll only be for a few hours. Not like we’ve not done it before.’

‘But my neighbours-‘

‘Bad news,’ they all turned to England who was scrolling through his phone on the wall, ‘because of the half marathon tomorrow, I’m struggling to find a hotel that’s got vacancies. Unless we want to pay for something stupidly expensive.’

‘No,’ Scotland jumped in quickly, ‘no we’re not paying silly buggers for just one night.’

‘Well, what then?’

‘Settles it,’ Ireland pushed off the wall and hopped down the small steps to the grass, ‘Come on Arthur, get comfortable.’

‘I’d rather stay up here, thank you.’

‘Suit yourself.’

‘Oh! Wait a minute.’ Without saying anything more, Wales hurried past to jog down the driveway which ran along the side of his house, hoping that he’d find what he expected to. Pushing his way along the subsequent alley between high fences and branches, he came to his back garden gate and quickly let himself inside.

Wales enjoyed his garden. He was letting it run a bit wild this year and, apart from the disapproving glances his elderly next-door neighbour shot him at every opportunity, he preferred it. Wild flowers and untrimmed bushes made a much more natural path through the space than the artificial sharpness of the paving stones that had broken it up previously, and the little pond at the bottom looked so much nicer covered with lily pads.

Skirting through it all, he came to the still trimmed part closer to the house and gazed up at the windows. As he had expected, the window to the bedroom Scotland had been sleeping in had been left wide open.

‘You’re lucky I wasn’t robbed,’ Wales scolded him when he rejoined them all out the front to let them know what he’d found, ‘You always do this and one day someone’s going to notice and break in.’

‘You’re fine, stop whingeing. Besides, it all worked out, didn’t it? You should thank me.’

‘The only thing that's worked out is that you’re consistent,’ Wales grumbled, ‘At least there’s some use for your forgetfulness; you complain about me and Arthur yet you’re just as bad.’

‘I’m not bad.’

‘Arthur love, you’re the worst.’

‘We’re not even in yet,’ Ireland pointed out as he helped England hop pathetically through the alley, making no attempt to prevent the overgrown branches from swinging back to hit him, ‘An open window doesn’t mean anything if we can’t get to it.’

‘Getting to it ain’t the problem,’ Scotland gazed up at the open window, hands on his hips, ‘It’s who can fit through.’

They all turned to look at Ireland.

‘Woah wait, why me?’

‘You’re the slimmest,’ England said, eying the window critically.

‘Also, the easiest for us to throw up there.’ Scotland added, ‘Less likely to break Rhys’ conservatory roof too.’

Wales tried not to think about it.

‘Can’t be me,’ Scotland rolled his broad shoulders and raised his eyebrows at them all with a smirk.

England rolled his eyes and Ireland shot him a dirty look, ‘Aye, alright muscle man. We know your head’s too fat to fit, no need to show off.’

Scotland patted Ireland’s cheek, ‘No need for jealousy.’

‘Shh!’ Wales glanced fearfully about at his neighbours’ windows, ‘Can we just get this over with?’

‘Gladly,’ leaving England to steady and defend himself against the newly disturbed midges emerging from the nearby bushes, Ireland followed Wales and Scotland over to the conservatory, where they hunkered down with hands clasped and ready to lift him up.

‘I wish North were here,’ Wales said, ‘He’d be perfect for this.’

‘I wish you were taller,’ Scotland grunted as he heaved Ireland up, ‘I’m taking all the weight.’

‘Weight? Alright fat head, do you want to swap?’

‘Do you want to get dropped?’

‘Oh, hurry up, please.’ Wales’ arms shook, ‘Patrick, what’s taking you so long?’

‘It’s disgusting up here, moss everywhere. Do you not clean this?’

‘I’m far too sober to enjoy this properly.’

‘Arthur, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up-‘

‘I’m good! Let go.’

With a sigh of relief, Wales and Scotland stepped back to watch Ireland pull himself up and tentatively step his way over the glass roof.

‘If he falls through…’

‘At least we’ll be in.’

‘Arthur…’

‘What?’

‘What kind of bloody window is this?’ Ireland tapped the sash window, ‘Why do you open the top half, Alasdair, what’s wrong with you?’

‘Oh just-‘

‘Shhh! For God’s sake keep it down.’

They all paused, watching in silence as Ireland attempted to pull himself through the top half of the window without falling back and crashing into Wales’ conservatory. A few testing hops before one big jump that luckily he calculated just right, slipping through before clumsily landing with a china shattering crash in the bedroom, followed by muffled swearing.

Scotland winced, ‘Ooo.’

Wales turned on him instantly, ‘What. What did you do.’

Scotland rubbed at the back of his neck, ‘I wanted to put my shirts on the shelf, so I moved those fancy plates that were there onto the dresser.’

‘The dresser under the window.’

‘…Aye.’

Wales pressed his hand over his mouth and shook his head, looking towards the house.

‘Rhys-‘

‘Don’t fucking touch me.’

‘I’ll buy you some new ones.’

‘We had this conversation when you threw my bloody phone out of the car last month, remember? You can’t just buy new ones.’

‘It’s fine, we can just-‘

‘It’s not BLOODY fine! Those were fucking ANTIQUES, you absolute incompetent shitstain!’

Either side of Wales’ house, bedroom lights flicked on.

‘Crap.’

----

AN:

This isn’t holiday themed at all, but I hope you liked it anyway, Anon!

I was going to write some sort of Christmas holiday disaster, but I’ve recently written one of those and wanted to do something different for the Isles bros. Please know though that they often go out drinking together for all sorts of celebratory reasons and things often go wrong, usually something like this in one way or another. One of them gets hurt, one gets pissed off, and they’re all usually drunk by the end of the night as they try to drag themselves home.

As my last story was so description heavy, I wanted to experiment about and try to use mostly dialogue this time. Lemme know what you think!

Thanks for reading <3

[calciferous-kelpie]

Siren Theory: Boxman’s Parents

So I’ve been obsessively examining OK KO for a while now, and I often found myself wondering: “Yo... why is Boxman Like That?” His behavior throughout the series, especially the way he treats his kids and interacts with others, suggests to me that he has a lot of unaddressed issues from his past.

Well, one thing led to another, and now here’s my headcanon designs for his parents. Idk dude, they kinda... made themselves.

[More info under the cut so this post isn’t too long lmao]

Boxman’s Father - Heron Once a sailor and now a woodsman, Heron lives alone in the middle of the forest. Well, he’s not completely alone... Having a special bond with nature, Heron is quick to make friends with wild creatures, and his closest companion is a pterodactyl he’s named Paulie. Heron is a crafty man with skills in construction, carving, knitting, and gardening, but his most impressive ability is probably his strength, as he can lift things that are much larger and heavier than himself with relative ease. Oh, and he’s afraid of his wife...

Boxman’s Mother - Meredith Meredith is a siren, a bird-woman who can control people with her singing. Having failed to become a world-renowned singer herself, Meredith now tries to live out her life’s dream through her kids. She is pompous and difficult to please, and even though she isn’t a popular singer, she is a powerful siren and a terrifying woman when she wants to be.

---

That’s all I’m going to say about this theory for now! Maybe you can see where I’m going with it though lol :3c

I’m actually hoping to make a comic series using this concept, so a lot more will be revealed in the future! But of course, making these comics will take a lot of time and effort, so you’ll have to bear with me. 😅

If you’re eager to know more, I’m totally open to answering questions about this! You can send me an ask or throw a rock through my window or somethin’, idk. My answers may be kind of vague depending on the question, though, because I don’t want to spoil too much!

(Also I’ll probably share some behind-the-scenes content on my patreon as I work on this project! Maybe consider supporting me there if you wanna see more 😉)

[parkersbliss]

My Reason | K. Brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x female reader

warnings: cursing? maybe slightly out of character?

wc; 2k

synopsis: kaz brekker makes a desperate attempt to protect you, but it backfires for both parties

prompts: 015: “You’re everywhere I go!” 020: “I just wanted you to be happy.”

a/n: kaz brekker: *breathes* me: I LOVE YOU YOUVE DONE NOTHING WRONG MY SWEET CHILD

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

—

You felt like crying.

Scratch that. You were going to cry.

You were going to cry and possibly throw something, anything. You wanted to grab a knife and chuck it at the wall repeatedly until there was a hole.

You wanted the wall to feel the same pain as you.

Like there was a hole in it.

Ironic.

Kaz Brekker, dirtyhands, the bastard of the barrel, shattered your heart. And he probably didn’t even know it or cared.

Kaz only cared, for one thing, money. You couldn’t blame him for that. Money was something necessary in Ketterdam. You needed money to stay alive and above the rest.

But money also puts a sign on your head. A big red blinking sign that probably says something like “big kill, big money.”

You weren’t stupid. You were very well aware of how big of a sign Kaz had on his head. Plenty of people wanted his head on a spike. You almost want to add yourself to the list.

“What?” You asked, voice small.

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

Kaz doesn’t bother to look at you. His eyes stay trained at his desk, filing through paperwork for the slat. He scribbles on them, whether it be a signature or a check.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve made myself clear.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I don’t want to.”

“(Y/N), this isn’t up for debate.”

“Well, it should be! I should be allowed to have a say in this.”

“You don’t get one!” Kaz said harshly, finally meeting your eyes. “Out.”

You want to refuse, sit there and scream at him for the rest of the night. But you can’t. Kaz Brekker won either way. It doesn’t matter if you sat in his office the rest of the night and argued. His say was final. You would only be denying the inevitable by fighting.

You stand up, blinking through the tears forming in your eyes. The words slip past your lips before you even realize.

“I hate you.”

You slam the door shut behind you, missing the way Kaz’s face drops, and his pen explodes from the force of his grip.

He had kicked you out like that. Stripped you of everything you are. One mission gone wrong, and you were booted back onto the streets of Ketterdam.

He had kicked you from the Dregs.

It wasn’t even your fault. You didn’t understand his reasoning. You got shot, and the next thing you know, as soon as you've recovered, you’re alone.

And honestly, if Pekka Rollins himself asked you to murder Kaz, you just might. The Dregs weren't a gang; they were a family. They were home to you.

A home that you hadn’t had in a while, but it wasn’t just the Dregs. It was Kaz Brekker. The bastard of the barrel was also the person that held your heart in his hands. He was the person you went to at midnight when you didn’t know what else to do.

He was the person that listened to you.

He was your person.

But you weren’t his.

You grabbed the knife off the table and throw it as hard as you can at the wall.

You miss.

You grab the knife, wiping away the tears blurring your vision, and aim again. This time it lands in the wall. You clutch it and throw it again.

And again.

And again.

…

The Crow Club is still as lively as ever as you walk past it. You contemplate going inside, but you know better. A shadow catches your eye behind you, but there’s no one out here but you.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Then again, any member of the Dregs was constantly being watched.

You shrugged it off.

Work was easy to find in a place like Ketterdam. It was also easy as one of the top assassins. You busied yourself in easy missions with easy targets.

It was the one thing in your life that remain stable. It was after one of these missions while cleaning your knife, did you see her.

“Inej?”

The said girl steps out of the shadows, silent as ever, and pulls down her face covering. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“The same thing as you.”

You use your knife to gesture to the dead man on the floor, and she nods.

“Looks like I beat you to it,” You joke, tucking your knife away and rolling your shoulders.

“It would appear so.”

You want to ask how everything is, and despite every bone in your body, how Kaz is.

But instead, you turn around to leave.

“We miss you,” Inej blurts.

You freeze, letting your shoulders fall. “I miss you guys, too.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

Inej nods, stepping back into the shadows, and you leave, an aching in your heart.

But that wasn’t the last time you ran into Inej. You saw her everywhere after that and nowhere at the same time. At first, you didn’t mind, but then it became unsettling.

You felt like you were being watched in your own home, but there was no one. It was hard to explain. You always saw her in town, but the feeling of being watched couldn’t be shaken when you got home.

You didn’t know how to explain it. You wanted to call her out on it, but you said nothing.

Until you did catch her in your house.

You let her off with a warning by throwing a knife into her corner. It was never going to hit her, neither of you would allow it, but she stepped out after that.

You raise an eyebrow at her. “What are you doing?”

“Checking on you.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m just looking out-”

“You’re everywhere I go!” You shout, “Everywhere, Inej. If you wanted to look out for me, you could use the door and ask!”

“I’m sorry,” The Suli girl said.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing. You feel bad for yelling at her. Inej was one of your closest friends, and she was only looking out for you. “Inej, it’s fine I just-”

“It’s Kaz.”

“Kaz?” You question, voice softening.

“He wants to know that you’re okay, and not dead. Every time you go on a mission, he sends me as unofficial backup.”

“I can take care of myself. If he’s so worried about my safety, he shouldn’t have kicked me out in the first place," You snap.

“Maybe you should tell him that.”

You turn to face Inej, but when you do, she’s gone.

Kaz? This was his doing? You didn’t believe her, but you also knew she wouldn’t lie. You sit on the edge of your bed, staring out the window. Kaz wants to know if you’re okay.

Kaz Brekker, the man that kicked you from the Dregs wants to make sure you’re okay. The thought should be comforting, but it’s more infuriating to you. At first, you thought maybe he had changed his mind, but this was worse. He didn't trust you to take care of yourself or respect you in the slightest.

You were angry at him. You didn’t understand why, and he refused to tell you. He was so stuck up, thinking that keeping his feelings from others would make him appear stronger.

But the strongest thing anyone can do is admit them.

You stand up, grabbing your knife from the wall and tucking it into your belt.

There was someone you needed to see.

It’s bitter cold outside, biting and chilling. It forces you to walk faster towards the Slat. No one questions you when you walk in; it’s normal to them.

In fact, they look happy to see you.

Jesper’s eyes light up, and he goes to hug you, but Wylan pulls him back.

“That’s her pissed-off face.”

“I would wear earplugs if I were you,” Nina warns, “(Y/N) doesn’t back down from a fight and certainly not with Kaz.”

You make no comment and step past them, making your way up to his office.

You don’t bother knocking and throw open the door, eyes blazing.

Kaz’s head snaps up from his work, equally pissed that someone dared to open his door without permission, but then his eyes soften.

“You’re supposed to knock first, you know that,” Kaz said sharply.

You roll your eyes, slamming the door behind you. Nina smirks as she sits with the other crows outside the door, all wearing earplugs to reduce the sound of your screaming that's bound to come.

“I don’t care about your petty rules, Brekker.”

Venom drips from your voice, and Kaz sets down his pen, leaning back in his chair. “Is there something you want?”

“An explanation.”

“I can’t offer you that.”

“Kaz, you promised.”

His lip twitches ever so slightly at that.

“You promised me this. We made a deal. And Kaz Brekker goes through with all his deals.”

Kaz is silent. He’s at a loss for words. Dirtyhands did not have the upper hand here, and it seemed he was finally stunned.

“You can’t just send Inej out to watch over me after you kicked me out, okay? If you don’t have an explanation, at least let me live the rest of my life without you watching over.”

Nothing.

You sigh, pushing the tears back, ready to make your way out of the slat for the last time, but then he speaks. His voice is raspier than usual but soft, almost like a whisper.

“I just wanted you to be happy.”

“Happy?” You scoff. “Why would that ever make me happy?”

“It was a way out.”

“Out of what, Kaz?”

“This!” He shouts, standing up and gesturing to the walls around you both. “This lifestyle of doing the dirty work to survive and always having a sum of money plastered on your forehead.”

“I don’t want out!”

“It was a way for you to escape…. to escape me.”

There’s silence as you process his words. You wanted to be angry at Kaz and continue to lash out at him, but you understand. He had given you your reason, and you're damned because it's a good one.

But you didn't want to escape him. Kaz was the only reason you stayed in Ketterdam; he was the thing that kept you grounded here. He was your person.

“Why would I ever want that?”

“You hate me.”

You shake your head, “Kaz-”

He cuts you off, switching topics. “This lifestyle isn’t meant for you.”

“It’s not meant for any of us.”

“I gave you a chance.”

“You gave me a reason.”

“A reason?”

Kaz waits for an answer, but you’re afraid to give it. The hardest thing anyone can do is admit their feelings. And you're unsure if you're strong enough to face them.

Kaz Brekker was stone cold, and you don't know if he'd drop the facade, even for you.

“You are the reason I deal with this lifestyle,” You finally said, voice barely above a whisper as you feel the weight lift from your shoulders. “Because it’s worth it. You are worth it.”

“I am not worth anything,” Kaz dismissed.

“Kaz Rietveld, you are worth everything to me.”

The boy freezes, and you take a step forward, placing your hand inches from his. Your heart beats madly in your chest, and you feel like you're suffocating as you wait for an answer, a reaction, anything. You expect him to pull away, but he doesn't. He stares at your hand inches from his on his desk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” You said.

His eyes meet yours, and you can see the fear in them. His hands are shaky, but he manages to take yours in them. He still wears his gloves, and your hands are just barely resting on top of his, but it means enough to you.

“You’re worth everything to me,” he repeats back to you.

Your heart bursts in your chest as Kaz squeezes your hand lightly. The action means everything to you.

Nina screams in triumph with the rest of the crows outside the door.

You and Kaz laugh, still holding his hand.

And at that moment, you know, you are his everything, and he is yours.

[cockatrice-writers-guild]

Hey, you

this is basically the first meeting for the this means war au

warnings: violence, death, brief mentions of corpses, heavy themes, swearing

I sit on the window ledge, legs dangling over the edge as I look at the picture cradled in my hands.

A man.

With long blonde hair and grey eyes, grinning at the camera, half looking like he’s about to start laughing.

His eyes sparkle.

His arms are wrapped around a woman who looks like she’s in the middle of saying something. Her eyes are lit up too and

She’s me.

And that man in the photo is my closest friend, Jax and well…

…

I squeeze the locket in my hands harder as I try to fight back the building tears, taking a shuddering breath as I look up at the barren landscape we’re currently in, the sky finally starting to change colour as the sun starts to rise.

…I haven’t seen him in years.

He’s been taken. Possibly killed and the world’s gone to shit and

And well, I’ve been trying to find answers ever since.

I look down again, taking in his face once more, trying to feel the warmth of his arms around me for just a second before, after wiping away the tears, I snap the locket shut and hide it under my shirt once more.

There’s a building not far from the half collapsed structure my squad is currently holed up in and in a few hours, we’re planning to go in there guns blazing.

It’s suspected to be one of the structures producing those…things that have ravaged the earth for years now. Warmachines. Monsters.

And there’s going to be resistance so

I take a shaky breath to clear my head

I…need to go prepare

-

It’s going well

I dodge the swipe of razor sharp claws before getting a better grip on my knife and lunging, stabbing sideways through the creature’s eye and burying the blade in its brain.

It’s practiced and the creature collapses dead before it can so much as yelp.

I turn, just managing to catch the movement of something barrelling towards me before it collides, throwing me off my feet and pinning me to the ground.

There’s growling, a dog like muzzle inches from my face now and in the half second it takes for it to expose its snake like fangs, head already moving to rip my throat out, I pull the gun from the loop in my belt and shoot two bullets right down its throat.

I push it off before scanning the field around me.

There’s casualties, there’s always casualties, but at least this time there’s more malformed animal corpses littering the ground this time.

I sigh, watching as a man I barely even know deals with the last of them and I take a moment to calm down before turning to look at that damned building in the distance.

Waves and waves of creatures had been pouring out of that roach nest for a while now.

But now it just stands there.

It’s quiet and for just a second, I think it’s finally over, aching arms relaxing against my sides.

But then…something else starts coming out the doorway and I move to ready myself for the next fight, pulling my weapons from my belt once more as the thing…

As it starts oozing out of the building, the sunlight glinting off of what…

…what…

…what is that?

-

…where…where am I?

I…there’s so many new sensations screaming for my attention it’s hard to focus. There’s something below me and a blinding light above. There’s bumps and wind and sound and a dull yellow and bright blue and white and noise and a metallic smell and dust and the ground slowly moving below and it’s all so much.

I don’t…know where I am. Why I’m here. I remember I was…I was going to the store to get something for my friend and then…then just flashes. There was pain and some horrible creature and yelling and more pain and then…nothing. …I remember thinking about someone though, thinking about them a lot during the nothing. Me and her. The two of us against the world. I…she…my head hurts. The…sun shines overhead and it’s hot on my skin and my body doesn’t feel right.

I seem to be in some sort of…desert, I think. There’s sand beneath my feet and every time I stumble, something steadies me. The ground doesn’t look right.

Why am I here?

There’s a new noise now. Too loud. Yelling. Gun fire, I recognize the sound. Pain. Not a lot but still there. Persistent. Stinging like bug bites.

The source seems to be coming from something on the ground ahead. I can make out a multitude of…something. Bugs maybe. I want to see at least. If it’s a nest, I’ll walk away. I don’t want any trouble.

I stop just short of the swarm, looking down at it, trying to clear my vision as I try to make out what they are.

And then my heart stops dead.

Those aren’t bugs. Those are people. Those are people.

Scanning the crowd, I see masses of terrified faces, all staring at me. All brandishing weapons. All in the same uniform. All staring at me.

Were they going to kill me? …was I going to kill them?

What am I? Why am I here?

I’m about to back away in horror when one of the faces catches my attention.

It’s…

Her

-

Silence.

None of us dare move as the massive thing scans the group over and over again. It formed on the way here, something slowly rising out of the sea of black sludge as it made its way forward, tendrils shooting from its body to steady itself whenever it stumbled and now it now looms over us, its huge eyes just watching. It doesn’t seem to have been able to fully form yet though, a sharp splat ringing out as a mass of sludge falls off its face and hits the ground just in front of us. The sudden noise causes several to flinch but

It’s strange. The beast isn’t attacking at all. And it looks almost…humanoid.

We’re all dead silent as its eyes trail over us again and again. Tense, waiting. Even if this thing did attack, would we be able to take it on? It’s huge, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Even its shadow seems to lower the temperature by a few degrees. My knife wouldn’t make a dent in it. Hell, the turrets didn’t even seem to do anything. So for now, we wait. Maybe if we’re lucky this thing’ll lose interest and we can come back when we’re actually prepared. I clench my teeth as those irises finally pass over me and

And they stay there.

And I

I can’t breathe.

Those eyes widen.

And then everything goes to hell.

The thing is falling, what slowly looks more and more like a human head getting closer and closer as the massive thing starts to plummet. I watch in what feels like slow motion as it descends. There’s a horrible rush of wind that blows back our clothes and stings our eyes as the air screams to get out of its way.

And then it hits

And the impact of it so much, too much, it knocks all of us off our feet, launches us in the air and sends our turrets flying. I quickly check for any injures and then on the status of the people around me. No one injured but the unmanned turrets are shot. I finally bring myself to look past all the other soldiers and

We’re completely surrounded.

By what looks like the massive things’ legs as it kneels over us. It…fell to its knees? And as I finally force myself to look up and up and up at its face…it’s still watching me, its expression even more distraught now but…

Wait, face?

The face is finally forming. Three eyes. Exposed teeth from a massive tear in one side of its cheek. Brows furrowed.

Eyes horrified.

Staring at me.

Features getting more and more prominent as the sludge on its face knits itself into something comprehensive. Something…

…familiar?

The thing opens its too long mouth before closing it again. Tries again, head bobbing as it tries to do…whatever it is. It opens its mouth once more and this time-

“…m…Mi…a?”

The voice washes over the now silent battlefield.

It knows my name.

I can’t move. Can’t fucking breath at the face now staring down at me.

It’s…

Him

My friend.

Jax.

This is cruel. This is just too cruel.

A shapeshifting monster masquerading as my dead fucking friend.

The monster wearing Jax’s face stares down at me and the desperation in its eyes is too much.

It’s an almost perfect replica minus the teeth and the extra eye and the ridiculous size, the way its brow creases further as it waits for a response, tilting its head slightly in confusion like he used to.

Tears are starting to well up in its eyes too. Black tears that don’t really look like tears at all, trailing down its face as it watches me.

And now I’m angry. This monster is good at acting and it pisses me off. Jax is dead. He’s fucking dead and they took him from me. And now this?

Jax wanted to be an actor before all of this. He practiced and signed up for any gigs he could find and now he’s gone and whatever this thing is is pretending to be him.

And I’m terrified.

Terrified of the giant on its knees before us, around us, but even so, I grab my locket with one hand, squeezing it so tight the metal digs into my skin, while the other draws my gun.

I aim it right at the stupid things’ head, my heart twisting into a knot at the monsters face as I aim right between its eyes.

And then I pull the trigger.

The shot echoes in the silence and

It does nothing.

But all the same the monster flinches.

Besides that it doesn’t budge. Doesn’t leave, doesn’t attack, doesn’t do anything. It just stares down at me with Jax’s eyes and Jax’s expressions and there’s a pain in my chest as the black tear things start to increase in volume.

“…Mia,” the monster whispers again in Jax’s voice, “…please, I…I’m…it’s me…”

I’m silent as I watch it bawl, my heart crying with it but all the same I grit my teeth. This isn’t fair. What did I do to deserve this? This is overkill. This isn’t right.

I fire again and again and all the while it pleads with me, flinching every time a bullet hits it. Eventually the bullets run out and I’m left with the repeated clicks of an empty chamber. Frustrated, I throw the gun at the monster before taking out my knife and throwing that too.

My heart hurts and hurts and hurts and I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting and I’m tired of the endless war and I’m fucking tired. I want to scream. Why isn’t this thing attacking? Why is it acting like this? What is it doing?

I grit my teeth as the thing goes on and on, begging, pleading, filling the air with stolen words

“..please, I don’t want to hurt you…please I just…Mia, I-”

“SHUT UP!”

The monster’s mouth snaps shut even though it’s visibly shaking now, black tears hitting the ground in front of me like a fucked up waterfall as it watches me in silence.

There’s nothing else to throw and my eyes are starting to blur with tears and it’s hugging itself and it hurts and it hurts and-

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?” I’m losing my composure in front of my entire division but I. Don’t. Care. “EITHER SLAUGHTER US LIKE THE REST OF YOUR FUCKING KIND OR JUST FUCKING LEAVE.”

The monster shakes its head frantically and I can tell it’s about to start babbling again so I cut it off. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t…I don’t know…I was…I needed to get to the store to get us some groceries and then….and then…I,” it shakes its head. “Mia, where are we? …I-”

“And then what?”

The monster pulls back a bit and starts whispering. “The grocery store,” it says again. “You were…you were waiting for me back…back home and…we were going to watch…something together and…I…went to the grocery store to get us some…some snacks and I never…I never got back and you said you’d wait for me to…to start the movie and…oh my God, Mia…how…how long were you waiting?”

My throat starts to close as I stare up at the monster. It sounds like him, it looks like him. They even gave it some of his memories. I’m tired. I’m so so tired of waiting and waiting and hoping for some fucking sliver of something. Some indication that my friend is dead or alive or anything and…

And now I have my proof.

I take a step forward as the monster watches me in silence.

“What was the movie?”

“…something…something about sea monsters…”

Another step forward.

“What food were you going to get for…us?”

“…popcorn. You wanted that…that fancy gourmet one and…and…”

Another step forward.

“What happened at the supermarket?”

“…I…I can’t…I can’t remember. There was…light and I was coming back and…then…darkness…”

It could be telling the truth. Or it could be lying. I need to think of something else, at least enough questions to distract this beast so everyone else can get away. I need to-

“…locket…,” the giant mutters. There’s almost what looks like a smile on its lips now.

Locket?

I look down at the hand still gripping the necklace like a lifeline, knuckles already pale from the lack of circulation. I slowly pry my hands off the metal and hold it out in front of me. “…this?”

The thing’s eyes seem to light up a bit when it sees it, irises tracking the movement as it swings.

The smile grows just slightly. “You…kept it…”

Ah.

A locket Jax came home with one day before the world went to shit. Said he saw it and even though I’m not really a jewelry person, that he thought it would look nice on me. And then he’d reached into his bag and pulled out a gigantic gaudy blue-gold rectangle pendant and I told him I’d rather die. And we both laughed.

And I kept it.

Never brought it up again cuz I didn’t want him to make fun of me for being so sentimental.

There’s tears pooling in my eyes now. “…are you…really him? …Jax?”

The man nods slowly.

And now I don’t know.

There’s doubt there now. Doubt and the tiniest little spark of hope that I can’t quite seem to put out.

Still, I’m not stupid.

Whatever this thing is, a monster or somehow what’s left of Jax doesn’t really matter to me.

If it looks like Jax then it’s here for me.

And I’m…I’m tired.

I’m tired of fighting.

I’m tired of hoping.

I’m tired of waiting.

I’m tired of mourning.

Jax or what’s left of him or whatever those assholes threw together to mess with me is finally here. After all this time I’ve waited. I gaze into the monster’s eyes and slowly raise both my arms to it.

An invitation, a simple one too.

Take me.

And so after a few moments, the thing that could be Jax complies, reaching out and pressing my body between digits large enough to completely engulf me with their fingertips. The fingers start to press together and I close my eyes, bracing myself for the pain but restless to be with Jax once again.

The pressure increases just slightly and I try to imagine Jax waiting for me on the other side as I clench my teeth and

…

and…the pressure…stops.

Instead of killing me, the monster simply picks me up, my feet soon hanging in the air as my ears pop with the sudden change in air pressure. And then just like that, the pressure releases me and I brace myself for the long fall

And land on a warm, plush surface instead.

The ground below me twitches and looking down, I see flesh. Turn around and see structures that stretch upwards like buildings. 5 of them…fingers.

“I...I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” a soft, impossibly loud voice echoes from behind and turning, I barely bite back a yelp when I see what my brain takes a few seconds too long to register as an eye, the pupil of it larger than I am.

It blinks and I flinch and it…he pulls back slightly. “Sorry, I just…you’re really small now, M.”

I vaguely feel like I’m in a fever dream. “Me? I’m not the one who caused a fucking earthquake by being too dramatic, big guy.”

There’s a pause as what I just said dawns on the two of us. Then we both start laughing.

I think I’m hysterical right now, to be honest. I think Jax is too. My head feels funny and my heart is racing and I’m still coated in monster blood and Jax just crawled out of whatever hell he had to endure this whole time but still, even as his now booming laughter shakes the world and hurts my ears, I just…I feel okay.

He pulls back again so I can see more of his face. “I missed you. I’d give you a hug but…well, you know.”

I hold out my arms to him and he cocks his head slightly. “…I…don’t know what you want me to do here, M.”

I wiggle my arms at him while he stares at me helplessly until finally, he starts moving forward. I hold my breath as I watch him approach but stand my ground until all at once, a giant cinderblock of a nose crashes into me and I wrap my arms around what I can of him. And with a sigh that almost sends me flying, he leans into the touch.

There’s a moment of quiet before he speaks again. “…wait, let me just…” Something presses into me from behind and stays there. “There we go. …oh,” the voice trembles through my body as he speaks. “Mia, you’re shaking.”

I just grip onto him tighter and in return the pressure behind me increases just slightly.

“I…I missed you…a lot,” he finally mutters.

“…I missed you too.”

“Mia?”

“Jax?”

“…how long was I…gone?”

Silence.

I lean into him and he leans back.

“…Mia-”

“6 years.”

Silence.

“…oh.”

He shuffles slightly.

“…I’m sorry, M.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Okay.”

Jax leans in closer as he takes another breath, this one a much longer exhale that tapers off in a whimper. He’s starting to shake again.

“I…I don’t recognize any of our surroundings and you…you were shooting at me, Mia. You had a gun. And you were with people in uniforms and they-” I can feel him starting to shift against me, nose moving away and all at once I can tell he wants to look at the group again. While they’re trying to leave.

I reach forward to put a hand on him and he freezes. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Let them go.”

“…let them…oh no, I wasn’t going to…,” his shaking gets worse. “…I…I fell…and…oh God, are they okay? Did any of them…did I…”

“You didn’t. Everyone’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod and he all but collapses into my arms again, the weight flattening me against the thing behind me.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice once again heavy with tears.

“It’s okay.”

“I wasn’t going to stop them.”

“I know that. But they don’t.”

“You have scars on your face now. And you’re covered in…?”

“Blood.”

There’s a small gasp.

“Who’s blood?”

“Monsters.”

“Like…like…me?”

“You’re not a monster.”

“You said I was.”

“You’re not.”

The man shudders again and I pat his nose even as my own heartrate spikes with the movement.

“6 years,” he whispers.

“I know. I…counted every single day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“…okay.”

Something is…wrong. The part of his nose I’m curled around is starting to feel…less solid. And my shoes are starting to sink even more into the surface of his palm.

“The locket,” Jax says as the surface of his nose grows…slippery? Is he sweating?

“Yeah?”

“…sentimental.”

I snort and he chuckles a little.

“I was right though. It does look good on you. …did you put anything in it?”

“…there’s a picture of you in it.”

“…oh.”

Behind me, the wall of flesh that I can only assume is a finger shifts a bit, like he’s rubbing my back. The movement feels sluggish.

“…what happened while I was gone?”

“World’s gone to shit. Monsters everywhere. You know, the usual.”

“…how did that happen?”

I shrug. “If I knew then I wouldn’t have had to lug this eyesore around for so long.”

He laughs at that. It sounds sad.

“You have no idea how hard it is to fight with this thing on. Moving around and shit when I’m trying to dodge. I swear it actively weighs me down.”

“You don’t have to wear it.”

“Yeah I do.”

It’s definitely getting worse now, whatever’s happening to him. I’m actively starting to sink. The ground below me isn’t solid and my face is starting to move into the thing that’s supposed to be the tip of Jax’s nose.

I close my eyes and force myself to focus on his voice.

“Mia?”

“Jax?”

“…how long were you supposed to keep me busy so your team could get away?”

“…to be honest…I…wasn’t supposed to survive.”

“…oh.”

Everything gets worse as the man starts to heave again. Everything around me is starting to lose texture. I try to calm down.

“…I’m sorry for screaming at you earlier. I…thought it wasn’t really you, you know? I thought you were a monster.”

“…I am.”

“You’re not. You just have an extra eye and exposed teeth.”

“…I what?”

I just shrug into him, the surface below easily moving with my shoulders. “I’m sorry I doubted you though. And shot you. And threw shit at you. …though in my defense, I thought you’d been dead for-”

“6 years?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t.”

The man chuckles at that and I find my arms are starting to move through his form.

“…thank you for believing me. I…really thought you wouldn’t but…”

It’s hard to lean closer when my body seems to be actively sinking into him now. “…I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“Don’t apologize.”

We both laugh at that.

“Jax?”

“Yeah, M?”

“I…hope this isn’t rude but…what’s going on with your body?”

“…my-” he cuts himself off with a gasp. “What? Oh no. Oh no no no no no no. I- SHIT.”

The ground below is no longer solid but it’s somehow still holding me up. I can feel myself start to…lower if the air currents are anything to go by. The nose is no longer solid, the pressure on my back starting to wrap around me as we go down.

I keep my eyes closed.

My feet touch down on something solid and slowly, whatever is surrounding me starts to detach itself from me.

“…Mia, I…I have to go,” Jax’s voice somehow comes from below me now. But all the same, my heart falls at his words.

“What?”

“I’m a monster, M.” It’s a pained whisper.

“Jax, you-” I’m interrupted when something wraps around me for just a moment before letting go once more.

“Thank you, Mia. For everything.”

And then a noise, like nothing I’ve ever heard before slowly getting farther away.

My eyes fly open and I’m on the ground again. Alone. There’s something moving away from me though.

Sludge.

A massive fucking ocean of pitch black sludge.

Jax had been sludge before he…stabilized. And then he…destabilized again. And now he’s

I’m a monster, M.

He’s fucking leaving.

I don’t think before I start running. I’m exhausted. Scared. Confused but…that’s my fucking friend out there.

“JAX!” I call out to him as my feet pound into the parched ground and the necklace bumps against my chest. “JAX, WAIT! PLEASE!”

Surprisingly enough, the lake of sludge just stops. And then the front of it shifts slightly, like it…he’s looking over his shoulder.

It’s horrifying to look at so I finally avert my gaze, looking at a caved in building slightly to the left, closing my eyes once more. I take a moment to keep the shake out of my voice before I continue. “Maybe we…maybe could work something out.”

“You’re scared of me,” Jax says quietly.

“I…I know but I…”

Jax waits quietly and even then I just want to pull him into a hug and never let go. I take a slow breath. “I…I don’t want you to leave me again.”

Silence.

Then

“…what did you have in mind?”

-

This should be the place.

I told him where the camp and the long abandoned buildings that surrounded it were. I just need to find the door that’s closed. It doesn’t take too long to eventually find the one I’m looking for, a tall hollowed out skyscraper with a few windows looking into the ground floor. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground as I pass them.

Once I reach the door, I take in a breath and knock, three quick notes and two slow ones.

Nothing.

And then my heart jumps as the rhythm is replicated from the other side.

I sigh and slowly sit down, leaning against the door with my back to it.

The wind blows slightly through smashed out windows and whistles past empty streets.

But then there’s a noise.

Just behind me. Behind the door.

One that sends a shiver travelling up my spine, an awful squelching as something moves down to my level. There’s more noise. A shuffling, and finally,

“…Mia? You there?”