#LEAVE HIM ALONE!!! HES ALREADY STUCK LIVING LIKE A GHOST HIMSELF!!!

[dnangelic]

' WHOSE EGO IS FRAGILE ?! ' not his ! all of him was amazing ! he had no interest in being any taller , anyways ! everyone already loved him for the perfect proportions of his body , unlike this guy , who might as well have been part frankenstein's monster !

arms cross ; the great phantom thief lets out an enormous , haughty huff . ' --- what ? ' it's hardly an intellectual response , but who knew what vivia was saying anymore ? dark had conveniently stopped paying attention . ' an idiot's an idiot . that's all there ever is to it ! '

"Is your ego really so fragile...." He was just stretching!!! The audacity, really. Still, Vivia chuckles as he slouches back to his normal posture, still a bit taller than Dark but not as a dramatic difference as when he stood at full height. He was the tallest in his family, so he was used to the comments about being 'too tall'.

"And what of those who try to make others feel bad for something they cannot control..." Vivia raises an eyebrow. "Are they not too, idiots, as you say?" It's meant to be a joke, but Vivia is so deadpan and monotone that it might as well not be.

[logansbaby]

Worst Logan is probably so touch starved

oh absolutely!!!!! thank you wonderful anon for sharing bc you’ve inspired this tiny drabble <3 extremely short but completely spurred on by my need to hug worst logan ty!

no warnings! just one use of slut by wade (ofc)

word count - around 1k

also, the song hear you me by jimmy eat world kept coming to me during this so! vibes maybe?

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

Logan Howlett hates physical touch.

He hates the way people often go about trying to touch him, whether it be a brief tangle of fingers or a simple hug, he hates it.

He’s not entirely sure where it’s stemmed from, especially considering that as a younger man, he didn’t mind it. Maybe it’s because of the fact that people he cared for were always too far out of reach, leaving him a swirling mess filled with the aches that follow with unrequited feelings. Or, maybe its the fact that once he’d begun to open up to the people he considered family, he’d failed to protect them, only left to ruin their legacy with his destructive, lethal grief.

The reason doesn’t matter, not really, because he’s okay with being alone, nursing copious amounts of whisky shots to numb his loud thoughts.

His plan of rotting away in a bar alone goes to shit the minute Wade shows up and drags him into the shit show he’d landed himself in.

And somehow, after everything settles down, he finds himself stuck in a new universe, living with far too many bodies in Wade's apartment. He wonders why he stayed to begin with, especially with the way Wade pisses him off like no other, but he knows. In the back of his mind, he knows that the group of people he’s come to know have weaseled their way inside his guarded heart. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept, though.

The red masked man often tells him he needs to get laid, get up and find someone to fix his grumpy, brooding act he has going on if he’s not going to let Wade do it himself (his words, not Logan’s).

And whenever he presses too much, Logan’s claws will unsheathe with that unmistakable snikt! before they dig into whatever limb of Wade’s is closest.

People had caught on very early that Logan dislikes physical contact, so it’s an unspoken rule by everyone to not push the man. Well, everyone except Wade— the man has been impaled by adamantium far too many times and never learns. That, or he just likes the pain a little too much.

So, it comes to a surprise to everyone when Logan doesn’t yell at you, sink his claws into a nearby surface in warning, or growl when you wrap the man in a hug the first time you meet him.

It’s at some party thrown by Wade— purely an excuse for the man to see Vanessa under the guise of a celebration for his newest hair system— or whatever the fuck he’d rambled on about, Logan wasn’t listening.

He’d been on his way out, the ghost taste of whisky tingling his tongue as he plans to waste away at the closest bar, when he catches a glimpse of something akin to an angel.

That something is you.

You— in all your pretty glory, a beacon of light that glows through the entirety of the dull apartment with just a single smile. Hair frames your face with wisps that kiss rosy-painted cheeks as you laugh at something someone says. A floral dress sits atop of curves that will absolutely haunt his nights. The scent of you tickles his heightened senses— a swirl of vanilla and honey so sweet that he suppresses a groan.

Logan believes then and there you’re a princess, an angel, something ethereal and enchanting. He wonders then why you’re friends with Wade.

He’s already speechless at the sight of you, wrapped up in thoughts, that he doesn’t realize you’re suddenly in front of him until an obnoxious voice startles him from the depths of his mind.

“Peanut! How could you leave without saying hi to sweetness here? Horribly rude if you ask me.”

Under any normal circumstance, Logan would’ve growled at the man before him, followed by a string of curses. However, he’s too occupied with his body thrumming at the sudden proximity and closeness to you.

“Hi!”

Of course, it makes sense that your voice matches your looks; sweet and syrupy with an addictive lilt.

Before he can utter a poorly spoken sentence, his body goes rigid, every muscle within him immediately tense as an unfamiliar weight is on him.

“Oh, peaches, you don’t want to do that, Wolvie isn’t much of a hugger—��� Wade’s warning comes too late, given the fact that you’re already wrapped around the man frozen in place.

And in an instant, the entire room is silent, because everyone here has witnessed Logan’s distaste when being touched, usually at the hands of Wade.

Logan’s body tingles with how still he is— waiting for that awful feeling to consume every bit of him at the touch of another.

Except, the feeling never comes.

Oblivious, your arms squeeze Logan’s waist as you hug him tightly, head resting against his chest, where his heart hammers maddeningly.

Why is he resisting the urge to bury his nose in your hair?

“I just want to say thank you. I don’t know how you did it, Wade won’t tell me. But I know you saved this universe and I couldn’t be more grateful!”

And, what?

He's confused. You’re speaking to him like you’ve known him your whole life, and he’s not used to this. He’s familiar with people regarding him with disgust or poorly conceived opinions, not this.

“I love my life, truly! My sweet little dog, my friends, my bakery, I couldn’t imagine it being taken away quicker than a breath, so thank you, Logan. Thank you so much!”

Genuine gratefulness coats your rambled words; it’s s then Logan realizes that you’ve pulled back, though your hands still rest causally on his hips, a kind smile gracing your face.

It also dawns on him that the dreaded feeling that often follows people touching him never came Instead, a pleasant tingle kisses the skin that your hands and body touched. Logan has never been more perplexed in his life.

The feel of you is taken away promptly, Wade yanking your body away from his and pulling you to his chest.

“Sorry sweetness, but Logan isn’t known for his love for hugs. He doesn’t like people touching him, it doesn’t end well. And, considering you’re you, I prefer you alive and healthy, not being turned into a human kabob.”

And at that, you feel horror fill you up, your heart sinking, face flushing.

Because oh my gosh, you never would have done that if you had known! but why did you anyway?! you always acted without thought and clearly it had caught up with you!

“I’m so, so unbelievably sorry! I— I didn’t mean to cross boundaries or make you uncomfortable! I’m so—“ before you can ramble yourself into further embarrassment, a deep voice cuts you off.

“S’okay.”

The words are simple, quick. Yet, the delivery of them shakes every person in the room to their core. The implication isn’t to be missed— Logan has never reacted that way to being touched before.

It’s quiet— the room watching with curiosity pooling their eyes and you’re filled to the brim with mortification. And then, the silence is gone when Wade gasps dramatically.

“Peanut, I’m hurt! I thought we had something special, I’ve been playing the long game. And now that’s ruined because some slut stole you away? With a hug? No offense, angel face, but I’m feeling catty.”

His nonsense snaps you out of your head and you roll your eyes, muttering a ‘shut up!’ before focusing on Logan’s face, the man currently glaring at Wade’s face.

“Logan, I’m so sorry. I really am—“

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, but what he really wants to say is please don’t be, your hug felt like home and didn’t make me feel sick for the first time in a long, long time.

You smile, weariness still present. The way your pretty lips stretch into a tiny grin, at him no less, he knows he’s got to get out of there, or he’ll spiral.

You’re about to speak again, but he can’t stop himself from following his instincts. He doesn’t say anything else before practically running out the door, his breath only releasing once he's out of your presence.

And while the man is gulping down numbing alcohol, mind a whirlwind of confusion at himself and youyouyou, the apartment is loud due to Wade having a breakdown.

“—Seriously! I get a claw to the stomach anytime I get to close but you waltz in and suddenly Logan is all for touch? I feel cheated on.”

“Wade, you’re completely overreacting. Maybe you should’ve warned me! I made a complete idiot of myself!” You huff, pacing the tiny living room to expel the anxiety coiling in your abdomen.

“No, baby. The only idiot is me for thinking he’d want me back!” Wade whines, dramatic as usual, and throws himself onto the couch, a move that lands himself in Vanessa’s lap. The woman pats his head in fake sympathy.

“Wade! Shut up, oh my god! He’s never gonna talk to me again!”

And unknowingly, both Logan and you are worrying yourselves sick about that damn hug and the spark that spread from your heart to his.

And maybe, just maybe, Logan doesn’t hate touch after all.

[ninii-winchester]

Timeless Love

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 3.7k

Warnings : angst, s12 ep 6 (spoilers), canon violence, mentions of demons, slight mention of john winchester, mentions of amara (slight spoiler), taylor swift reference (?), fluff. Not proofread.

Part 2 to Fleeting Love.

A/n: I don’t remember what exactly happened in that episode i just winged it.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Leaving was the hardest thing Dean had to do other than breaking Y/n's heart. He cried himself to sleep every night after seeing her looking like a shell of herself at school. He missed her smile and he missed being the reason of her smile. How could he let himself fall for someone, when he knew he could never have that kind of life. Loving her was the best and the worst decision of his life. Best because he got to know what love actually feels like and worst because he knows he'd never find anything like that ever again. He wouldn't allow himself to love anyone else in this lifetime. She was his first and last love.

Dean had left town, and Y/n was still picking up the pieces of a shattered heart. Days turned into weeks, but the ache never dulled. Every time she walked by the places they'd shared—her favorite diner, the lakeside road where they'd stargazed—the memories rushed in like a flood. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't outrun the ghost of him.

As much as she wanted to hate him, part of her would always him. He was her first love, her first kiss and her first time. Deep down she knew it had everything to do with his father but his betrayal was still fresh in her mind. She knew her Dean wouldn't do that her but she wished he'd stood against his father. She wished he would've fought for their love. If only she knew the reason he couldn't do it.

Fifteen years had come and gone, and Y/n had built a life—one filled with new memories, a different kind of happiness. But despite the time and distance, her heart remained anchored to a love she never truly let go of. It wasn't that she was stuck in the past; she had moved on in every way that mattered. Yet, in the quiet moments, when the world fell still, it was Dean's face she saw, his voice she heard, as if time had never touched the feelings she carried for him.

Y/n let out a sigh as she waited for her flight to be announced. She was going to Canada for a wake of the man who saved her life. She vividly remembered six years ago, she was coming back from work and a huge dog like creature attacked her. She wouldn't have believed had she not seen it with her own eyes. It was a werewolf.

She dug into the supernatural, surprised by the sheer amount of lore tied to what was already known. Myths, legends, and creatures she once thought were just stories had entire histories woven into the fabric of the world she knew.

Asa Fox was the one that killed the thing and rescued her. Now he was no more. She owed it him to atleast pay her final respects to him.

Hours later she landed in Canada and made her way towards Asa's mother's house. It was late at night when she arrived. She stepped inside and noticed a small crowd gathered in the living room, while others lingered in the kitchen and a few more were out in the backyard. They were all lost in conversation, sharing memories and stories of the brave hunter they had come together to mourn. The air was heavy with both grief and respect as they honored the life he'd lived.

She'd found Asa's mother and paid her condolences to her, recounting how her son had saved her life and how she looked up to him. The older woman nodded and Y/n took it as her cue to leave her alone. She walked the hallway and bumped into someone, she quickly apologised and looked up to them and all the air seemed to leave her lungs.

"You.." she choked on her words and the other person looked at her in mild confusion and threw her an anticipatory glance. "Mary Winchester." Y/n finally spoke. The older woman tried to rack her brain if she knew the woman infront of her but her mind remained blank.

Y/n had seen photos of Dean's mother in his room also in his wallet and she adored how much he loved his mother. Her mind went haywire thinking back to when he told her his mother died in a house fire. Did he lie? Why would he though? Thousands of thoughts ran into her mind as she thought back to her relationship with the Winchester. Even after fifteen years he's still vivid in her head. Did everything he tell her was a lie? Was Dean even his real name.

Y/n could feel herself hyperventilate and she immediately wanted to put space between the supposedly dead woman and herself. She went to the kitchen to grab herself some water. There were only two people in the kitchen, a woman with a pixie cut and a man taller than anyone she had ever seen. She grabbed a water bottle chugging it down and calming her heartbeat. She took a deep breath before speaking,

"Uhm sorry to intrude but, is a Mary Winchester out there?" She questioned the couple gesturing towards the hallway she came from. The man looked at her with a unreadable look in his eyes.

"Yeah." The woman responded.

Y/n sighed, — atleast I'm not going crazy. She thought to herself. But if that's Dean's mom, what on earth is she doing here?

"You're Y/n." The man said. It wasn't a question. He knew her. She craned her neck to look up at his face and she furrowed her brows.

"I'm sorry have we met before?" She questioned taking a step forward. A sad smile appeared on his face. The woman beside him looked at him expectantly waiting for his reply.

"You seriously don't remember me?" He chuckled and she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but I'd remember if I had met someone as big as you." She replied leaning on the counter behind her.

"I wasn't this big when we met Y/n/n." Sam spoke and the nickname made her eyes flash with recognition but it was quickly overtaken by the hurt that came with those memories.

"Sammy." It just slipped out. She didn't mean to call him by that name, but when he called her y/n/n, it came out subconsciously. Her heart started beating loudly at the thought of his brother being here. She had never thought she'd ever meet Dean Winchester ever again and she was not ready.

Sam knew whatever happened between her and his brother hurt her more than anything and he wouldn't blame her if she up and left without a word, but he'd missed her. And he missed the man his brother was when he was with Y/n. After her, he was just a shell of a man, running on his father's commands like a soldier. Someone who seemed to let go off every emotion and just waiting for his father's next order.

Sam introduced Y/n to the woman beside him as sherrif Jody Mills and she was good friend.

"How're you Y/n?" Sam asked and she looked at him remembering the small kid she used help with homework.

"Been good. How about you?" Sam scoffed at her question. If only she knew how he's been. And how his brother's been. Coming back from the dead, hell, purgatory. She'd probably throw a chair at him for making up all this bullshit.

"Good yeah." Sam nodded. Y/n could hear footsteps approaching and prayed it wasn't who she thought it was. God knew she didn't want to see him. Maybe she hadn't been a good person, and this was her punishment, because Dean Winchester walked into the kitchen, her breath caught in her lungs.

"Sammy where the he-" Dean words got caught in his mouth as his gaze landed on her.

Y/n looked at the man she had loved and hoped that after all these years, she'd have fallen out of love with him. But one look and her heart started thudding against her ribcage. He had aged, but somehow, he was even more handsome. He was muscular now, his arms toned beneath his layers, and she could see it all. She could feel her eyes water and she didn't want to create a scene at someone's wake, she pushed past Sam and left the space with a word.

Dean stood frozen, he couldn't believe he'd run into her here of all places. The sight of her brought back a flood of memories and feelings he thought he had buried long ago. Despite the years and the changes, she was just as beautiful as he remembered. But then he wondered why was she here? Is she a relative? Does she know about the supernatural? Or worse is she a hunter?

He didn't know the answer to his questions but he knew one thing, that them meeting again after fifteen years was fate. And he'd be damned if he let go off her ever again. He'd do anything in his power to win her back because God knows he's been miserable since the minute he broke up with her. Without wasting another second Dean went behind her. He could see her going to the backyard and taking in deep breaths.

"Y/n." He said approaching her.

"Go away Dean.”

“Just hear me out once.” He pleaded.

“I don't want to hear any more of your lies." Her voice cracked as she spoke and Dean knew she was on the verge of crying.

"Lies? What lies?" He asked holding her arm and turning her to look at him. She shrugged her arm out of his grip and pulled away harshly.

"Maybe you have a bad memory Dean, fifteen years isn't that long of a time to forget about it." She snapped glaring at him. "Need I remind you of your lies? My mom died when I was four! She's inside I've seen her with my own eyes." She yelled. "I love you Y/n! And the very next day after breaking up with me I see you making out with some cheerleader. You don't do that to someone you love." She cried pushing at his chest. "You're a goddamn liar so leave me the fuck alone like you did that night at the park."

Each and every word pierced through him like a needle. It was worse than spending forty years in Hell. He knew he'd hurt her and deserved everything she threw his way, but hearing her think that he didn't love her—it just broke his heart. He never lied about his love for her.

"Y/n, baby please let me explain. I swear I'll tell you everything." He said holding her hand and she pushed him again.

"Don't touch me. And I don't need your explanations." She wiped her tears. "I'm not here for you I'm here for Asa." Dean felt a pang of jealousy at the late hunter's name and he wondered if they'd had something before he died. Is that why she's here. He completely forgot it's been fifteen years and there might be a possibility that she'd moved on. 

"How do you even know him?" He couldn't but ask. His jealousy getting the better of him.

"That is none of your concern." She retorted sharply.

"Sweetheart please hear me out." Dean begged and she moved to go back inside but the doors were locked.

"What the hell?" She tried turning the doorknob but it didn't budge. The two of them were locked out. Dean tried pushing the door but to no avail.

"Hello Dean." Dean turned to see Billie standing there and she was smirking almost evilly.

"Billie what are you doing here?" He asked the reaper. And she told him she's here to do what she does. She's here to take everyone who's inside. Dean asked her what's happening inside and she tells him a demon's got them locked inside and something about vengeance. He had to save Sam, his mom and Jody. Dean tells her to open the door for him and let him go inside, she makes him a deal to never interfere in the natural order of things and he agrees as long as she lets him inside.

"Dean what the hell is going on?" Y/n was now scared. Although she was well aware of supernatural theoretically but she was in no way prepared to fight. And demons? She didn't know those were real too.

"I'll explain later." Dean replied as calmly as possible. "Billie, I need you to keep her safe, please." Dean requested and the reaper raised her brow.

"Dean, I can either keep her safe or let you inside. I'm getting one thing out of this deal, and you're getting only one too." His jaw clenched at her words and he was internally cursing her for being a bitch.

"Fine. Get us in." He begrudgingly told the reaper and she created an opening in the door. Dean turned to Y/n and cupped her face in his large hands. "We're going in, but you gotta trust me, sweetheart. Stay by my side and I'll protect you." Y/n thought he was completely out his wits asking her to go inside a place where there's a demon.

"Time's of essence Dean." Billie commented and he glared at her. He held Y/n's hand and before she knew the two of them were inside. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Sam, Jody and his mom alive, and even the others. Sam filled him in how the demon had cut off the water supply and locked all the doors. Y/n was terrified of being locked in a house with a demon but Dean held her close to him. His hand gripping hers tightly.

They all gathered in the living room to make a devils trap to trap whoever the demon was possesing and to keep themselves safe, being inside it.

"Dean who was that outside?" Y/n questioned her voice a quiet whisper.

"That was Billie she's a reaper." Dean replied moving her into the devils trap. She looked at him wide eyed.

"A reaper? The one that takes souls?" She questioned and he nodded. "You're acquainted with a reaper? What the fuck?" Before either of them could say any further Jody accused Mary of being possessed since her was last one to come into the room.

Sam and Dean tensed at her accusation of their mom being possessed but then Mary stepped into the devil's trap and moved out proving she's not it. Then Jody started cackling evilly, saying that was clever of Mary. With a flick of her hand she wooshed the trap, then she started attacking everyone one by one taunting them. She threw the twins across the wall and then slammed Mary in the door. She moved her hand towards Y/n but Dean pushed her behind him and the demon made him fly in the wall. Y/n was left unguarded and demon closed in on her. Sam neared them but possessed Jody threw him in the cabinet.

Y/n screamed as the demon neared her she inched backwards, her body trembling with fear. Dean watched as Jody wrapped her hand around Y/n's neck, he got up on his feet and pushed Jody away from her, not too harshly to not hurt his friend's body. He wrapped his body over her, shielding her body with his' and Sam started chanting the incantation to exorcise the demon out of Jody. The twins joined them and then Mary finished it off sending the demon back to hell.

The lights flickered back on and everyone was relieved at last. Y/n clutched Dean's shirt in her hands and hid her face in his chest. "You're fine..it's gone." He rubbed her back soothingly. "Hey sweetheart, look at me." Dean made her pull away slightly and placed his fingers underneath her chin making her look at him. "You okay?" She shook her head, no.

An hour later, Y/n was wrapped up in Dean's jacket, his mind drifting off to the first time he'd lend her his jacket and how it was their new beginning. He wondered if it was a sign of their another new beginning together. She sat on the hood of the Impala and the boys stood in front of her.

"What. The. Hell. Was. That?" She looked at Sam and Dean, while Mary and Jody watched their interaction for afar. "I mean I know werewolves and Vampires but demons? Reapers?" Dean grabbed her hand and brushed his thumb over the back of her hand.

"How'd you know about Werewolves and Vampires?" Dean asked softly and she told him how she was attacked by a werewolf and Asa saved her. And she researched a bit about the supernatural and Dean nodded in understanding. He shot Sam a glance and younger understood and left them alone.

"Sweetheart, I'll explain everything and I'll tell you why I left. You see I'm a hunter, my parents were too. I've grown up in this life. My mom did die when I was four. A demon killed her. My dad wanted us to find that demon and kill him. When I met you, I forgot all about it. I wanted to be a normal boy, I did love you with everything I had." She looked up at his eyes and they were sincere, different from when he broke her heart. It wasn't like he was holding back, or hiding something. "My dad, he didn't want you to get involved or me to lose focus. He told me that I should break your heart so you can move on with you life." Dean explained.

"I did move on with my life Dean." He shut his eyes not wanting to see the look on her face when she tells him she found someone else. "But I couldn't love anyone else. You made me question my worth, because, fuck it I was in love. And fuck you Dean for I couldn't have us."

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to make you question your worth, hell I wanted to show you how much you mean to me, I just wanted to keep you safe, away from this life. You aren't even back in my life for less two hours and look at this mess. I don't even want to think of what harm I would've caused you if you'd been with me all those years." He looked apologetic. "As for my mom, God's sister brought her back."

"Who THE FUCK?" She looked dumbfounded.

"It's long story." Dean chuckled. "All I'm saying is I've loved you this whole time and I only broke up with you because I didn't want you be in danger and because my dad said it was for the best." He rubbed the back of his head, half ashamed.

"Where's your dad?" She asked after few minutes of silence.

"He died, a few years ago." Dean replied gloomily.

"I'm sorry." Even if the man was the reason for her heartbreak she didn't feel good about him being dead. After all he was Dean's father. Dean nodded. "What now?"

"We could try again, that is if you want to. I'm tired of not being with you. I feel meeting you again after all these years, it's fate." Dean said softly. "And I still love you so fucking much." He rested his forehead against her.

"I still love you too, Dean." She whispered. The tension between them hangs in the air, heavy and charged. Without another word, Dean cups Y/N's face, his thumb gently brushing their cheek. There's a moment of hesitation, a breath, and then he leans in, capturing their lips in a passionate kiss.

The kiss is deep, intense, filled with all the unspoken emotions they've both been holding back. Dean pulls Y/N closer, as if trying to convey everything he couldn't say in words. For that moment, it's just the two of them, lost in the heat of the kiss. When they finally pull back, both breathless, Dean's forehead rests against Y/N's, his eyes still closed.

"Being away from you was worse than going to hell."

"As if you'd know what hell’s like." She replied rolling her eyes. Dean pulled away, his eyes filled with mischief.

"Oh I do, I went to hell, i was there for forty years."

"You're lying." She gave him a look and he shook his head.

"I'm not. I went to hell and then Castiel the angel pulled me out. Who by the way is now my best friend."

"SAMMY? HE'S LYING ISN'T HE??" She yelled to the younger Winchester and Dean barked out a laugh at her reaction. Sam didn't know what she was on about so he laughed too.

"You've got a lot of catching up to do, sweetheart." Dean said while helping her down off the hood. He threw an arm over her shoulder and dragged her towards his mom. "Mom this is Y/n. My highschool sweetheart." He said pecking her temple.

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Winchester.” Y/n said extending her hand for her to shake but Mary pulled her into a hug.

“Call me Mary. And welcome to the family.” She smiled. Dean grinned, watching the exchange with a sense of pride. Mary’s embrace made Y/n feel instantly at ease. Mary pulled back slightly, her eyes twinkling with warmth. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name.”

“You have?” She questioned looking at Dean who looked away shyly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I wasn’t around the first time.” Mary joked and Y/n let out an awkward laugh.

Dean stood by, his arm still around Y/n, feeling a deep sense of contentment as his worlds finally came together. He knew they still had a lot to talk about but he also knew that they were meant to be. It’s destiny. Now that he’s got her, he’s never letting her go matter what life throws at him. He’s finally home.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkness @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

[ghostkinnie]

COD BOYS WHEN YOU DIE IN THEIR ARMS

pairing: ghost, soap, price, könig, alejandro and graves.

warnings: angst, mentions of death and blood, gender neutral y/n.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

- Simon was an empty shell for a long time until you came along and showed him what it was like to live again. You turned his life upside down and taught him what love was.

- But there you were now. Bleeding in his arms for a bullet coming from a sniper that he didn't find and didn't kill. He had failed.

- The only thing keeping Ghost sane and human was now dying in his arms and becoming cold as ice.

- And there was nothing he could do to save you. Once again he would lose everyone he loves because he was unable to protect. He had believed in happiness but it was taken from him again.

- " Please... Please Y/N don't leave me. Open your eyes. Please...Don't leave me alone...."

- But there was nothing else to do. You were dead and Simon went back to being a broken, empty shell. A ghost that would wander in solitude.

●●●

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH

- You are Johnny's sunshine even though he is a contagious explosion. You were everything that made this man smile.

- You "were" as you now hung lifeless in his arms. He had arrived too late.

- And for not arriving sooner now he had the love of his life dead in a pool of blood. He would never forget. He would never forgive himself.

- He would brush your hair out of your face and stroke your cheek one last time as desperate sobs wriggled out of him.

- "Love? Please love answer me...! Y/N breathe.!"

- He would scream and just leave your side when Ghost or Price dragged him.

●●●

CAPTAIN JOHN "PRICE"

- Losing a soldier has always been difficult for Price. He is the captain and responsible for the lives of his men.

- But in the end he always had to move on.. but not this time. Not when the shot hit the only person he lived and died for; you.

- "Baby?! Call the fucking doctors now!...Little one I'm here now I've got you."

- But it didn't matter how quickly the doctors arrived or how much he called your name. There was a lot of blood and you were already choking on it.

- Price would beg you to resist but he knew. He knew you were gone and taken a part of him with you; his happiness.

●●●

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

- Alejandro is a romantic man and in the moment the two of you got into a relationship he knew you would take over his mind. There was only you for him.

- He would die for you and he always told you that. But what he didn't know is you who would do it throwing yourself in front of him to receive a stab.

- The knife would still be stuck in your belly when he grabbed you and looked at you in complete despair. He had never been so afraid.

- He would scream for doctors, carry you, kiss your bloodied hands and be by your side every final second.

- But being by your side wasn't enough to save you. And the scene of your last breaths would haunt him forever.

- ¿Mi amor? Por favor...Talk to me.."

●●●

KÖNIG

- You were the most precious thing in König's life. Everything that kept him stable and close to complete happiness. You were his life.

- And he was a boy so lost in love that he believed you two would be happily ever after. He really wanted this.

- But all of König's dreams of you were shattered when a gunshot rang out and a bloodstain formed on your chest.

- That was it. Nothing could be done. You were dying and König could just scream and hug your body so tightly it could break bones. He was so scared.

- Liebe? Mein Leben?...Bitte.. Wake up wake up wake up.. WAKE UP!"

- Panic fills his body and he knows that after that day he would be a broken man.

●●●

PHILLIP GRAVES

- Graves met you during missions of the 141. You were a bomb of energy and transformed his life into pure joy. He was lost in you.

- It happened during the betrayal. He intended to take you with him and keep you by his side no matter what.

- But one of his shadows ended up shooting you. And the only thing Graves could see was your body collapsing lifelessly to the floor. What was the point of living if the love of his life was dead?

- A scream of pure pain escaped his lips and he rushed to drag his body to safety. But it was no use. You were no longer breathing.

- I'm sorry! I'm sorry it's my fault! It's all my fault please...Please don't die!"

- But you were already dead and it was his fault.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP #18

You want a taste of my brain? Okay, it's yours anyway.

Imagine dis…

This time I get inspiration from an A03 fic, and some of its parts just stuck with me and now I’m writing about it, if some of you want to read it go for it. If you are asking for the name don’t ask, I am not going to sell my soul to the devil to find it in my ever-growing history. If you do manage to find it, kudos to them.

TELL ME I AM GETTING DESPERATE OVER HERE

Credits to them as well. Also, as you’ve noticed I decided to post less, now it is due to a good old lack of inspiration. So, don’t go getting your hopes up on this one.

…

Ever since Danny Phantom had become the Ghost King he repeatedly entered the reincarnation cycle willingly to retain his morals when he was human. He still retained his ability to stay in the middle of life and death. But when he as the High King of the Infinite Realms gained immortality he found himself losing his ideals and values, he began forgetting. With Clockwork’s insistence, every few hundred years he would become human to experience a lifetime. Sometimes he would go another round in the same dimension, but only when he needed to finish an unfinished business.

Sometimes he is lucky sometimes he is not.

Sometimes he would be born into a loving family with either as the only child or him having siblings. He has experienced the life of royalty as the heir prince. He experienced the life of a knight who was known for his skills with the sword. He was born into a normal family which made him second guesses his every choice due to his lack of normality in his life. He was also born into some wild dimensions that of which could look like it came from a book. From wizards and sci-fi worlds, he never had the time to sit and be an extra.

But there were also times he was born far too unlucky. 

He was born in a salve ridden society, a parent who were core members of a rebellion so when his current parents died, he was expected to be like his parents. Born in a society where the rich trample the poor and he was forced into early child labor as expected in society to work at a very young age. Born where he and the people around him had never seen peace in a war-consumed country, a war that separated his family from each other not knowing whether one is alive or not, leaving only him and his siblings to stay alive. Being abandoned by a pair of druggies for his parents left alone inside a dumpster and died in the middle of the night, looking through the dimension he saw that some homeless people found his body and reported it to the authorities leaving his parents in jail while some prisoners seem to leave them at the near bottom of the hierarchy in prison.

…

It seems this time he was born in an assassin cult this time he wasn’t alone. A twin, an older sibling that was with him in the womb and both came into the world together. The moment he laid his eyes on his grandfather he can already tell that he is a major fruit loop from the way he both look at both of them. 

His name is too formal for his liking, Dylan Al Ghul, he already convinced Damian to call him Danny when it was just the two of them. Danny tries to downplay his abilities both ghost and human seeing that his grandfather is too power-hungry to the point of misusing ectoplasm that is corrupted but still ectoplasm to achieve some sort of immortality, he tried to give Damian a childhood in the form of showing him the stars whenever he could sneak him outside. He saw the absolute worship and awe Damian would give to their mother and their grandfather whenever they visit or supervised their training, Danny didn’t care for their approval nor their presence but seeing his brother seem to at awe and do anything to please the two made his heart shatter, his older brother never needed to prove anyone something.

Danny has repeatedly shown his disdain for the two most powerful people in the organization yet it is a miracle he still lives. It is because he is a spare, a spare yes not the heir but a useful spare one, twins one who specialized in stealth and espionage a twin who is a perfect copy of Damian aside from his eyes mirroring their supposed father. Both Talia and Ra seem to make it their life mission to drill his only purpose in his head, it may have never worked due to his adult mind but he pretended it would be as to not raise any suspicion.

…

The day Deathstroke attacked not only he dared to kill the demon head but also choose to kill the chosen heir, by removing an eye and some of his organs as a form of slow torture but also killing him as he made the organs unable to go back to their owner’s body.

Danny couldn’t look away from his bloodied brother, Talia slowly approached him from behind and put her hands on his shoulder, and whispered some honeyed words on how his role as the spare will be fulfilled at a much earlier date and promptly injected with a sleeping drug.

…

Danny was already awake when he noticed the cold metal bed behind him the lack of clothes as well the number of doctors seemingly in a rush to prepare for a last-minute surgery. He saw the unconscious form of Damian on the other side and suddenly heard the loud ticking noise of a grandfather’s clock. 

It seems that it was meant to be, Danny thought as an image of Clockwork flashed in his mind. 

He fell back asleep knowing that Damian lost an eye, kidney, a lung, some ribs as well an ungodly amount of blood, possibly more. Danny knew that this vessel of his wouldn’t survive at the sheer need and he already felt that he would not leave the room alive. So, he took one last peek at the sleeping Damian and promptly closed his eyes, the moment he opened his eyes once again he was back in his chambers in the Infinite Realms clutching his left eye in his face whilst looking at the mirror as he felt his eye be the first one to be removed.

It seems this time he died months before he and his brother celebrated their 10th birthday.

…

Damian woke up with a pounding headache being the assassin he is he immediately looked around seeing that his last memory is being tortured by Deathstroke.

He immediately took notice of his loose clothing and tried to walk towards the door but his knees immediately gave out. As he tries to gain his bearings, he noticed a scar right in the middle of his chest, it couldn’t be from the time when he was captured by Deathstroke as he noticed that this scar is too clean, too sterilized as if someone had just come out of a surgery type of scar. As he tries to loosen his shirt to take a better look at his scar when he noticed a mirror facing his way and noticed his eyes, instead of his usual pair of emerald eyes he was greeted with an emerald eye of his own and his brother’s icy blue eye in his left eye.

Damian remembered that Deathstroke took out his eye, as according to him it reminded him of the Demon head, and decided to promptly pull it out with his bare hands. 

Dread began to fill his very being and tried to go and look for his brother but deep down he already knew what happened to him after all, he is the heir while his brother his beloved younger brother is just a spare.

…

When Damian had met his father’s wards most of them commented on his heterochromia eyes and promptly greeted back with his sword in their faces.

The rest grumbled that Damian couldn’t take a tease or two, but immediately chased the demon brat as he chases each and one of them with the intent to kill.

Damian couldn’t tell them; another son was hidden from Bruce. Another son he had failed, another son who died before they could even meet him.

From the first few interactions he had with his father when he first met him, he knew where his brother’s bleeding heart came from.

Sometimes he could still see him, Dyl- no Danny, every time he looks in the mirror. The constant reminder that his brother was seen by the league as nothing but a spare. Whatever love he had for his mother disappeared the moment he laid his sight at his brother’s eye embedded in his supposed empty eye socket. 

The constant reminder that shows every time he looks at the mirror and the scar in the middle of his chest, Danny’s organs that were used on him to ensure his survival while Danny was left behind.

…

He was 14 years old when he went wide-eyed at the stranger across him and his brothers in a heavily populated area.

A teen looks exactly like him with a medical eyepatch on his left eye as he sits in a wheelchair chatting idly with an older man.

Damian heavily thought of a clone, did Talia, not mother never mother, make another clone after him after weeks of silence?

Damian still remembered the first time he encountered a clone with blue eyes, his running theory is that due to his new organs have bonded with him thus creating a batch of clones with blue eyes. Timothy had spoken up that since babies have a 50/50 chance of inheriting the colored eyes of either parent made a new branch of clones. 

Damian was already planning on disposing of the supposed clone when the said clone suddenly laughed exposing his neck that have a feign white line across indicating a scar. But that scar made Damian double guess, all clones he encountered are scarred free thus leaving him to have no trouble disposing of each and one of them but the existence of the scar he barely caught is something both brothers swore secrecy to it.

The laugh oh god, his laugh, only his brother laughs like that, Damian thought mournfully.

As he tries to look the other way, he suddenly faced the same doctor who was the assistant doctor that foresees his surgery years ago. He may have distanced himself from the League after he had fulfilled his debt but it was no mistaking that it was the same doctor that operated him that time.

A chemist they said, an insufficient man who is more cowardly than any other man yet his talent in poisons made him quite a gem in the League.

A clone who had broke out of their collective mind control? Possible, but why this clone? What made this look alike so special that this man dared to leave the League?

…

Robin began to follow the two, the other bats thought that he had a new case on his lap that requires recon. They didn’t question Robin’s new behavior as they have seen him do the same actions when he landed himself a case or when he was following a lead. Yet they couldn’t shake the feeling that something is not right, whether it is the fact that Robin refused any assistance or just the fact they have no idea what kind of case Robin is working on.

They should have listened to their guts then maybe they wouldn’t be surprised at the bat screen, showing a maternal and paternal match to a picture of a blue-eyed black-haired kid with a medical eyepatch on his left eye looking like Damian in a good day.

…

Danny was doing some paperwork when a flying thought passed by him about his last reincarnation. All memories from his adventures when he got reincarnated are usually put behind the back of his hand yet worries about the well-being of his brother made him distracted, and kept close a special one-way mirror to monitor his baby brother.

Danny felt nostalgic at the family drama and chaos that he can’t help but cackle at each interaction Damian has with their father’s adopted children and wards. He found himself majorly of his time watching for hours and hours, he can’t help but wish he was there. As if he was summoned Clockwork appeared in front of him and told him to go back, which confuses Danny since it was Clockwork who implemented that he cannot go back to the same dimension/ world if his body is too far gone to be revived by him, yet Clockwork told him to give someone named Alfred his regards and vanished. Looking bewildered at his mentor/ grandfather he tried to sense his vessel with little to no hope seeing that the League has his body, but surprises himself when he felt his own body submerged in a portion of the Lazarus pit. 

…

Going back, he was greeted by an assistant doctor that used to be in the League due to his ancestor’s debt. He explained that he cannot in good conscience do what he was instructed to after the operation, stole his body, and submerged it in an undiscovered pit due to its small size, enough to dump a child not enough for a grown adult. 

After an initial check-up, both he and the doctor discovered that the mini Lazarus pit regenerated all of his organs except his eye seeing that it was his entire body submerged excluding his head. The assistant doc theorized that those organs of his may be weaker since they were generated from nothing, Danny in all his eldritch glory as well as being the most powerful being across the Infinite Realms played his part perfectly of a now disabled child.

After all who would accuse this disabled child putting the daughter of the Demon Head in an endless nightmare by his command to Fright Knight? Who would accuse that innocent blue eye of his that he had killed any assassin in their tail ever since he and his now temporary guardian began exploring the world? Who would accuse an adorable child that he was the one who had put the Joker in a definite MIA? Who would accuse this child who smiles like the sun despite his setbacks be the one who tortured Deathstroke to the brink of insanity? Danny is pretty sure his temporary guardian knew of his secret endeavors but remained quiet due to his habit when he was in the League or just to prevent any grayer hairs from growing in. 

…

Now if only his brother stopped moping around the building across their apartment complex and just come inside, he made his infamous fudge to share with his brother. His brother didn’t have to drag the rest of the bat brigade in watching him across the building, he even made extra fudge, if only they could just go through the front door instead of rescuing him first in every rogue attack and pretend, they don’t him. Well, if they are playing a game then count him in to win. But for some reason all of them made a face of being constipated whenever they talk to him, Danny is so sure he used clean ingredients to make his fudge…

God dammit just enter the front door like a normal person, better yet tell Batman to stop looking at him as if he died! Those windows are not paying to fix themselves each time one of them decided to stop dropping and roll every other night!

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[perfectlyoongi]

EX-BOYFRIEND!TAEHYUNG who writes all the promises you made on a sheet and burns the paper. i promise i will always be by your side. i promise i will always listen to you when you need me. i promise that i will always be true to my feelings. i promise to love you. empty words. all Taehyung saw were words without any meaning. when you made these promises to him, and so many others, you spoke with hope on your lips; your pronunciation was bathed with all the tenderness that existed in your heart; your words flew with the grace of eternal devotion; but your heart… your heart hid all the lies you told; in the darkest corners of your heart, the true meaning of your promises flooded your entire being, drowning you in a turbulent sea of deception and falsehood. all the promises were words given, without any weight in their syllables, completely devoid of any feeling. you lied to Taehyung. all the promises that filled that sheet were just reminders of the times when Taehyung was deceived by you. every promise was a pain. every pain was a ghost. every ghost was on fire. “you didn’t just make me believe. you gave me hope. with your empty words, i believed in a future, yes, but i had hope to live that future with you. and you just never meant what you said.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!TAEHYUNG who stops all the clocks on the day you left. time lost all its meaning the day you left Taehyung. trapped in a past he couldn’t let go of, Taehyung saw no reason for so many clocks to remind him of how many minutes had passed since your departure. for Taehyung, time stopped the day you walked out the door. you took Taehyung’s heart with you inside an hourglass that contained all the remaining minutes of Taehyung’s life. and he now didn’t have his heart. now he didn’t have his time. now he had nothing, because he didn’t have you. what was it worth continuing to live every day if the reason for Taehyung’s world to spin was gone? minutes meant nothing when Taehyung remained stuck in a past he would never return to. time didn’t matter at all to Taehyung. only you gave him reasons to count every minute: the minutes until he got home to hug you, the minutes left until you picked him up from work, the minutes left until he lay down another night by your side. you were the definition of time, because you were the reason time moved. and now that you’re gone, taking your heart and time with you, what was it worth continuing to long for? Taehyung could only wait. “you think you always have time, a whole life in front of you. but then someone comes along and takes all the time with them and you’re left alone wondering what you’re going to do now that there’s no future for you.”

EX-BOYFRIEND!TAEHYUNG who looks for your love every time he leaves the house. Taehyung missed you, it was visible. Taehyung dragged himself through the days, letting his body take over his mind. Taehyung couldn’t think. when his mind took him along the paths the two of you took on sunny days when love still existed, Taehyung forced himself not to think. but whenever he left the house, commanded by his feet, muffling his heart, Taehyung would look intently. it had already become a habit. maybe you’ll appear behind that pole. maybe your laugh is stuck in that street sign. maybe your love was spread across the sidewalk he walked on. maybe, but just maybe, Taehyung could find you once again amid all the chaos of the city, appearing like a breath of fresh air, a radiant sun, an eternal love. no. he couldn’t. Taehyung couldn't think about it. but there was passion in his destruction and Taehyung was devoted to himself. whenever he was on the street, Taehyung let his body command his steps, but it was his heart that made him yearn, wait, for you. “i just want you back. i want your love back. can’t you see that i love you? can’t you see that i fell in love with myself when you were finding yourself?”

EX-BOYFRIEND!TAEHYUNG who wakes up during the night with things he wants to tell you. iI miss you. i got a contract with a new brand. i miss you. Jungkook and i went for a walk after dinner, it was cool. i miss you. i already went shopping and brought the ice cream you like. i miss you. i miss you. I mi—. the nights seemed eternal when Taehyung woke up from his sleep, completely bathed in an ice-cold sweat of pure longing. in his dream, Taehyung was hugging you. in reality, Taehyung was crying. why did you leave when there was still so much to live for? why did you leave when there was still so much to say? Taehyung could think of a dictionary of phrases he wanted to say to you; stories and memories, curiosities and reminders, a whole variety of types of words appeared in Taehyung’s mind every night. he just wanted to text you, call you, take off all the weight that those words carry and prevent him from sleeping. but Taehyung couldn’t speak. you weren’t there anymore. you didn’t want to do it anymore. and it was with the knowledge of your indifference that Taehyung allowed his tears to hold for himself all the words he will never say to you. “how can i keep within myself everything i want to say to you when even the whole world would be unable to hold a fraction of what i want to say?”

EX-BOYFRIEND!TAEHYUNG who accuses you of stealing his life. there was nothing. in Taehyung’s life, everything was lost. his heart was trampled by your departure, his soul was drowned by your goodbye, his essence was stolen by your indifference. Taehyung had nothing. no heart capable of loving, no soul capable of feeling, no essence capable of living. you took everything from Taehyung. only interested in you, in your well-being, you stole Taehyung’s life, throwing a bright future to waste, covering a tender present with your goodbye, leaving him only with a past that will never be repeated. it was you. you were the one who destroyed Taehyung and took away all hope for a new day from him. you were the one who ruined Taehyung and ripped away the anxiety of a happiness from him. you were the one who emptied Taehyung and stole from him everything he could have if only you stayed by his side.

EX-BOYFRIEND!TAEHYUNG who starts to feel like a monster. Taehyung was completely destroyed. in the wreckage of his love, Taehyung found despair. among the rubble of his devotion, Taehyung discovered heartache. in the remains of himself, Taehyung saw a monster. now that only ruin existed in Taehyung, there was nothing of him in him; his essence was corrupted, his soul was undone, his love was expelled. Taehyung no longer had anything of his own, nothing that made him human. everything about Taehyung was ugly. they were negative feelings that dyed Taehyung with the color of pure despair. Taehyung was suffering. and in his suffering, Taehyung didn’t feel human. you stole everything that was his. you took everything with you like you owned Taehyung. and you never thought about him. you never thought how Taehyung would fe—

EX-BOYFRIEND!TAEHYUNG who just wants to be loved by you.

[loraliewritesthings]

Concept: inspired by @bluerosefox and they're work about danny demanding the jokers soul. I wanted to write the joker and Danny's interactions too.

Danny groaned as the next set of paperwork was slipped onto his desk.

Joker would soon croak.

He would slip on his own banana peel and fall down the stairs.

Gothem would celebrate that night with alcohol and music. The ghost zone would brace itself for the trial...

Honestly it was bound to happen. It wasn't that danny was surprised. But it would be a long drawn out case. When a human dies they become more of what they are after all.

It's like their souls are condensed to make up their ghostly form. As if their passions were their hearts.

For some that was amazing. Fiery passion can be useful in all sorts of situations, but for joker this would be a nightmare come true.

The ghost looked at him his eyes worried, almost teary.

"Should I alarm the Gothamites of the infinite realms."

Danny thought for a minute, let out a low hum, and thought some more.

He knew what he could do in theory.

If he was to judge the jokers soul in the room that he dies in, the ghost zone would be free from his wrath.

But if the joker defeated him in combat he shuddered at what that monster would do with all the power in the afterlife.

He didn't really think joker could take him down, but knowing others thought the same for him and his predecessor....

So Danny was left with one option.

"Call my knights," he commanded

The fright knight was captain. Head of the army and keeper of the soul shredder.

Danny only needed to borrow it, but when he explained the predicament the ghost dropped to his knees, the metal clang sound echoed through the office. The fright knight began to speak,

"You wish to spare me from looking into the eyes of evil, and I thank you my liege. But I can not and shall not send you alone to your second death."

Danny told him to rise to get off the dirty floor, but he continued.

"As captain of the guards my liege is only under my obligation to the knights under me."

Danny remembered the conversation that made that a possibility. That changed the priority of obligation completely and totally, hopefully for once and for all.

Danny hid a small smile and told him to get of the floor again

............

It didn't take long to find joker amoung the living. He was surrounded by weeping souls unable to move on.

Danny clutched his scale. A gift from clockwork, to a "good and fair king to continue to strive to be better."

Clockwork had, in the end taken up the role of advisor. As such he stood by Danny's right side, his captain to the left.

When they entered the room he was already dead.

The soul of the man was laughing hysterically.

He got louder when he spotted them.

Danny sighed and despite the noise tried to read him his rights.

He argued with each and every one in nonsensical logic.

The third time Danny slapped him across his ghostly face, leaving frostbite and cold crystals on his white cheek.

"I am not batman, I am death. I will not play as he does, I am the ghost king, death himself."

After the rights were read Danny peared into his soul, sticky and tar like, it made him feel ill. He put on the extra gauntlet brought and separated the dead from his deeds.

It felt like lifting a semi, and weighed him down about a foot.

The joker cackled with pride. Danny wondered if he didn't understand the gravity of the situation, or if he didn't care.

Then with the other hand he did the same to himself.

Both sets of deeds were set on the scale at the same time. Danny barely caught the peice of his own ghostly form.

The scale broke the table on its way down, jokers sludgelike, corrupted deeds stuck to it. The scale hadn't twitched once to the other side.

The knights went to pick up the piece of soul and put it back. It took three of them.

Danny put his deeds back were they belonged.

When everything was dead and done, joker was declared guilty and chained down, something he escaped out the window and around the block to avoid.

Danny took out the soul shredder.

It wasn't the fright knights job to play executioner.

Then the joker was blindfolded, he made this difficult via attempted biting, but once it was done, it was done.

Danny didn't ask for a last word.

He took the sword and swung as he had been taught. And as the jokers very soul was torn, the bells rang in Gotham for the first time in Years.

He didn't miss.

[aris-ink]

OMGGGGGGG I NEED PT 2 PLS 🙏🏼 ID DO ANYTHING TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THE PARENTS GO TO DINNER RESERVATIONS 😏 ily 💜

ily more 😚

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!siblings au

warnings: mentions of manipulation, pseudo incest, mentions of ridiculous porn tropes 🤷‍♀️, jk is nasty I'm sorry 💀, daddy kink, degradation, praise, dirty talk, creampie

This wasn't exactly how Jungkook had planned to spend the evening, but why waste such a precious opportunity thrown his way? The moment the lock turned, he made his way to the living room; ready to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and take you to bed. However, he found himself frozen in the doorway, throat dry and heart skipping a beat.

His footsteps were slow, quiet enough not to catch your attention. He knelt down on the carpet right behind you, the heat of his hands on your waist making you jump.

"Jungkook!" you breathed, voice coming out muffled. "Don't do that."

He hummed, rubbing your sides softly in an attempt to apologize.

"Sorry, baby. Did you lose something?"

He could hear you sigh, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine.

"My-" a hitch of breath interrupted your reply.

Like a cute, little kitten, you stiffened up, hairs rising on your arms when you felt his hand sneak under your skirt. Waiting. Assessing the threat. Jungkook smirked, spreading his fingers over your asscheek to grope it lewdly.

"-earrings," you moaned, "Jungkook-"

His dick, already hard and twitching in his jeans, pressed into your panty clad core.

"Yes, baby?" He rubbed your ass, the smooth, familiar motions both soothing and electrifying. "You're not stuck there, are you?"

You could feel a flush spreading through your neck, eyes darting around the dark space. It was impossible to push yourself up and get out from under the couch as long as he was blocking your way, his hips firm as a wall against you.

"No," you swallowed, "if you just move and let me-"

Riiip.

You gasped, cold air immediately hitting your exposed heat. You didn't need to look; you felt his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze touching vulnerable places it never should have seen. Your heart raced beneath your ribs. You knew you were alone in the house, but this was...

Your train of thought disappeared, nothing but a ghost ship in the brief fog of common sense. It was a dark, clear night again, stars floating all around you when you felt his fingertips come into direct contact with your hole to spread it open. He could see the way the muscles clenched around nothing, desperate to be stuffed.

"Jungkook... " You managed nervously, a flicker of sails in the wind.

"Come on," he murmured, entranced by the pretty sight, the slick flowing out, making your cunt glisten. The hand on your asscheek tightened its grip on it, massaging the flesh. "I've always wanted to try this. Please, baby, please?"

You whined, half in stubborn disbelief, half lost in the burning heat already building up in your abdomen, consuming you from the inside like fire.

"You're such a pervert."

Jungkook didn't dare take his eyes off you, watching your cunt contract, releasing more slick, wetting the tips of his fingers.

"Yeah?" He asked raspily, running his tongue along his piercing. "I don't see your pussy complaining."

You said nothing, inhaling shakily. Words just wouldn't come. Jungkook's hand slid off your ass, palming the erection straining against his zipper, though it brought him little relief. He started unzipping his fly instead, and you wondered if he was really going to do this; reenact some ridiculous porn he watched while he fantasized about you, way before any of this began. After yesterday, it shouldn't really be surprising. But your nerves were still frayed, the position unfamiliar, leaving you more vulnerable, making your cunt throb harder. It seemed like the moment Jungkook finally got you, all he wanted was to spend the rest of his life reminding you that you were his, body and soul.

He let out a deep sigh the moment his cock finally sprang free from its confines.

"What's it gonna be, baby?" He asked, leaning over you. He pressed a kiss into your back, and the leaking tip of his shaft into your cunt. "Do you want me to fuck you or not?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine, despite of the heat of his chest against it. Your body spoke his language, even if your mouth couldn't, soaking his fat cock more at the first bump against your clit. You couldn't hold back the moan that slipped past your lips, leaving them open. A shaky exhale fled Jungkook in return, warming your spine and your tummy further.

"I need words, sweetheart."

You tried to focus, fingers digging into the soft carpet.

"Please," you whispered.

Jungkook shut his eyes, aiming the head of his stiff cock at your small hole. He pressed into it slowly, feeling and hearing it stretch as he pushed forward, pulsing around him.

"Please what?"

He rocked in and out of you, sinking in deeper with each thrust forward, biting into his lip to stay quiet. You whined from under the couch, eyes already rolling back.

"Please, daddy."

Jungkook bottomed out with a shudder, hands grasping your hips and back straightening so he could start thrusting into you steadily. He tried to stifle a groan, eyes fighting to stay open, like he was drunk. Drunk on the way you felt, on the way you moaned from underneath the couch. On how dirty it was, how he couldn't even see your face, like he was using a fleshlight rather than fucking you. The thrill that it sent through him was even dirtier.

"Good girl," he praised breathily, slowing for a moment.

He pulled almost all the way out, then, carefully, proceeded to hump you with just the drooling tip of his dick. You whimpered, hips jerking when he suddenly pressed a finger into your clit, rubbing it in lazy circles.

"That's it, baby," he whispered, "cream my cock. I know how much you like it."

He felt your pussy tighten, felt it drip around him. Usually, Jungkook didn't have as much freedom as he wanted to be with you, to touch you. To see how many times you could come, in how many ways; to make you cry. And what was stopping him tonight?

He frowned, tongue poking out in concentration, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple. His balls clenched, and so did his jaw, a low moan flowing out.

"Fucck. Such a good, pretty slut, all fucking mine. Yeah."

Of course he knew you were going to come; he could tell, and of course he's been waiting, holding back, all for this moment. Just to dig his fingers into your hips, shove the rest of his cock into your poor, unsuspecting cunt and blow his load, groaning and bringing new galaxies to life behind your eyes. He remained still, twitching as you spasmed around him, sweet, little sounds leaving your mouth.

One hand grabbing onto the couch, he collapsed forward, feeling his own cum trickling down from where you were connected, like your little hole couldn't hold all of it, even with his cock still buried deep inside you.

His other hand slid down your thigh.

"Are you okay?"

Your mewl made him chuckle, urged him to gently disconnect himself from you and help you out from under the couch. He kissed and rubbed your knees and elbows, sore from being pressed into the floor, for once no longer a slave to the incessant ticking of the clock. No one else was going to be home tonight. At all. Your parents were unfortunately stuck dealing with a flat tire, somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

They just didn't know it yet, and neither did you. But life was just so unpredictable, wasn't it?

💌 taglist: @baalsgurl1913 @kooktrash @era-genius @sweetempathprunetree @bucketofhiros @iceprincessviviane @silv3rswirls @httpsbts @osakis-gf @chimmisbae

[str8rat]

What if IN STARS AND TIME was like FEAR AND HUNGER?

So i've spent the last hour frantically researching phobias for this shit lmao, don't expect any of the phobias i've picked to be canon for Fear and Hunger. Anyways this is a whole ass au and i'm planning to make an entire world setting from this fever mix. Esentially it's gonna be In stars and time kind of plot, with the party going through the house to defeat the king, but the Universe is not as kind to them. if it was ever kind in the canon. all of the characters will be devastated and traumatized or fucked up in different ways, and i'm planning to explain it all below- well, explain Siffrin for now. Even though I have everyone else already scribbled down, i still need to draw their fucked up sprites :> LETS GO

~ ~ ~

Siffrin; Autophobia ( fear of being abandoned, alone, ignored )

Effects; Half-blind ( left eye )

Info;

TW; SELF HARM, SUICIDE [ Canon-typical ]

Traveler from the Island North of Vaugarde. Lost his left eye protecting Bonnie, a child the party came across on their way to Dormont. Siffrin is a short, forgetful person, which has been travelling for the entirety of his life. He met the party by chance, saving Isabeau from a Sadness, as the man parted with the rest of the party briefly in order to gather firewood.

After reaching Dormont, Siffrin makes a wish to the Favor Tree, and quickly finds out the consequences of his actions. He gets stuck in a time loop, forced to re-live the gruesome, painful deaths and horrifying experiences he and his party go through as they venture up the floors of the House. His sanity quickly deteriorates, though it remains more intact than that of Loop, a self-proclaimed star whom he encounters under the Favor Tree after his first death—being crushed by a giant boulder.

Due to him not having his right eye, his depth perception is fucked, and he often bumps into things. After getting imprisoned in the loops, he becomes more anxious, desperate to escape the loop cycle, even going as far as slitting his own throat in order to save time. He also doesn't shy away from self harm, adorning his wrists in "stars", as he calls them- prickling his skin with his own dagger.

He realizes that even after he loops, the scars of his horrible deaths remain on his body, and eventually, his arms and thighs are all covered in "stars", those particular scars being of his own making. Counting the loops, one star for one loop. May become manic when in distress, or have panic attacks. Is incredibly touch starved and desperate for physical affection, but never got around to revealing that fact to his party on his own, leaving him feeling floaty and unreal. Like a ghost of his former self.

Those are just a couple of the effects of the loops. In the end, Siffrin just doesn't want to part with his companions, his friends, his family- wanting them with him so much, to the point of him unknowingly trapping himself in a time loop.

~ ~ ~

Sooo overall Siffrin's backstory/info isn't that different from canon, because he was already going through some tough shit as it was ._. so I just kind of added more mental implications to it, as well as that fun little headcanon of his body keeping scars of his past deaths/injuries. So that's fun. also i mostly focused on the other members of the party as well, since they don't exactly have a lot of angst or trauma ( not as much as siffrin at least ), so in this au all of them are traumatized or psychologically damaged!!!! YAY!!!

ANYWAYS! Who's gonna be next?? i don't fucking know, but i'll probably upload them tomorrow alongside a description explaining just how fucked they are :>

[haveawish]

Miller's Girl Review/Recap

Spoilers for the full movie!!!

No seriously...I spoil the full movie, so if you've not seen it, turn back!!

Cairo is 18 years old bibliophile and inspiring author, who is extremely intelligent, lonely and bored of her life in Tennessee, Cairo's rich lawyer parents completely abandon her, leaving her to dwell in their mansion like a ghost left behind. Cairo seems convinced they don't care about her. That dynamic isn't explored any further sadly.

 Cairo is striving to escape to Yale but struggling with her entry essay. To write about her greatest accomplishment. Cairo realizes she has none, as she’s been insulated in the bubble of her privilege or as best friend Winnie calls her “just another run-of-the-mill generationally wealthy gal living in a haunted ancestral mansion,” 

 The college essay is actually the catalyst for the movie. Cairo needing inspiration and along comes failed writer Jonathan Miller. 

Miller is stuck in his mundane life as a literature teacher, his writing career amounting in a poorly received book and a wife who is more focused on her own career and any available alcohol than placating her husband.It’s unsurprising that Jonathan becomes drawn to Cairo — though his wife exudes sexuality, a good portion of the movie she's in her lingerie, it seems to be no match for Cairos charms.

Cairo is like a breath of fresh air to Jonathan, a young attractive girl who intellectually seems to be on the same wavelength as him and appreciates his opinion and wisdom. He thinks he finds in her a willing protégé into whom he can pour his own unrealized ambitions as a novelist.

Jonathan lets himself be seduced by Cairo’s Intelligence in literacy and flattery. Her being complimentary of  his own book strokes his ego, not to mention her receptiveness to his attention.

Somewhere along the line Miller forgets himself and his boundaries as an educator, treating Cairo not as a student under his care but as a peer and fellow writer.

The movie throws in moments of  mutual attraction and showcases Miller's descent into crossing the line of appropriately, keeping on pushing his own choice of college on her even after she said she was dead set on yale, sharing a cigarette multiple times, inviting the girl to an event after school filled with Miller's friends, looking like a first date as they squeeze next to one another during the reading.

With midterms looming, Jonathan gives Cairo a special assignment: write an essay in the style of an author she admires. An assignment that will soon prove fatal to his career and possibly his freedom.

A mix-up in the classroom lands Cairo’s cell phone in his possession and he breaks another unspoken boundary, he drives to his student house who he is aware lives alone to return it to her.  

What follows is completely up to interpretation of the audience whether or not the two of them confront their mutual attraction. Whether the pair actually shared a forbidden kiss or if they even went further is up for debate. Something may have actually  happened between them at her house. I wouldn’t be surprised if his ‘fantasy’ is actually him recalling their night together when he reads her story.

Cairo delivers her midterm essay inspired by Henry Miller, sent with the note ‘love, Cairo’.

Feeling underappreciated by his wife as usual Jonathan lurks to his man cave where he proceeds to read and masterbate to Cairo’s essay, whether Jonathan is recalling the night or imagining this would've happened between the two is never stated.

The story  in which she thinly disguises Jonathan and herself as her subject and proceeds to write a smutty story almost fanfiction-like of a liaison between the two protagonists. 

 This finally shakes out  Jonathan of his lust filled head to put a stop to things, but unfortunately  for him he's  already gone too far. He's toyed with Cairos growing feelings  much less (potentially) with her body. As the two of them try to navigate the repercussions of their inappropriate intimacy. 

Jonathan tells Cairo to scrap the essay and write a new one; the complete turn around shocks Cairo.  

One day he was this cool teacher who's her friend and potentially her lover, he gives her attention and flirts with her and then next day he threatens her of failing the class. threatening to fail Cairo over the story is the worst thing he could have done in Cairos mind. If he had done it, she would've not been able to go to the college of her choice, Something extremely important to her, which he's well aware of, maybe restricting her to go to any college  at all. Leaving her stranded in Tennessee would have been her worst nightmare.

What follows is the complete ruin of any type of relationship the pair had, Cairo is angry and vengeful. Jonathan's betrayal blindsighted her and as the intelligent girl she is feels that blow to her pride and her feelings. Cairo let's rip at Miller, all his insecurities laid bare, Miller eventually calls Cairo a child and she calls him a coward. 

Him acknowledging her as a child is sickening now that the viewer has seen his actions throughout the movie. To him she's a femme fatale, a fantasy when he wants her to be but when things get real and serious, she's just a naive child and he knows better.

Cairo for all her scheming is still a teenage girl who for the first time has her heartbroken, and that heartbreak turns to cold rage and to get her revenge not even her best friend Winnie is safe from her plans.

Winnie is an interesting character throughout the movie that doesn't get the screen time and depth she deserves.

Winnie is a known lesbian according to Cairo, though Winnie playfully disagrees, claiming to like both as she tells Cairo of her flirtations with high school coach and Jonathan's friend Boris. Although Winnie claims to be interested in Boris, it is obvious to both the viewer and Cairo that Winnie has unrequited love or lust for Cairo.

Cairo offers to make out with Winnie and send a picture to Boris to try to get the coach jealous, perhaps getting her revenge at that moment at the coach rather than her desired revenge against Jonathan. Cairo manages to manipulate Winnie's obvious feelings for her, kissing surprisingly lustfully and hard since it was a supposed ruse, however that moment soon breaks and Cairo dismisses Winnie coldly.

Boris is shown to be a complete hypocrite. His boundaries with students are just as bad as Jonathan despite his denial. The first meeting we see of him and Jonathan is Boris stealing Cairo's erotic novel she had left behind and reading it aloud, completely ignoring any decency of Cairo's privacy. His relationship to our knowledge doesn't go as far as Cairo's and Miller's. However texting a student's personal cell at night is a violation in itself. At  the end of the movie  he tells Jonathan that he “never crossed the line”  in complete denial of how close he could have been in the same boat as Jonathan if Winnie didn't protect him from Cairo's threats. Winnie and  Cairo's friendship becomes a casualty as Cairo blackmails her silence by threatening to out Winnies situation with Boris.

His ‘survival’ for Jonathan's public fall from Grace.

The telling thing is that Cairo didn't lie when talking to the Dean. 

The fact that Cairo told the total truth to the dean leads me to believe that the kiss we saw wasn't real, she was all set to ruin his life and mentioning the kiss would've been the sure way to do that, however she didn't mention it once.

I believe Cairo is many things..but I don't believe she is a liar.

Honestly kiss or no kiss, it doesn't really matter.

Even more confirmation that Miller is not the victim of this story. The dean was asking all the right questions to find out if he did anything inappropriate. The fact that every answer she gave was the truth and the dean looked disgusted is proof in itself. She had a meeting with Cairo first, and Jonathan confirmed everything that Cairo said but was trying to excuse his actions the entire time. The dean thankfully didn't buy into his excuses.

Jonathan Miller is the Villain of this story, his choices were what lead him on this path, he could have done what any respectable teacher would have done and shut Cairo's flirtations down, but his ego and attraction won over his common sense.

Cairo’s actions do not cancel out her victimhood.

The Ending however was a bit too ambiguous for my taste. Through it all, Jenna Ortega is captivating enough to keep me watching. Freeman is completely overshadowed by not only Ortega’s performance, but most of the supporting cast. “like imitation crab in gas station sushi” is a very accurate description to his portrayal of the very one note character.

Cairo Sweet may be the character I will defend absolutely. A morally grey protagonist who deserved better.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Platonic Stobin Mind-Reading AU Part 2

Part 1

The house is quiet when Steve slips in. It always is, now.

He toes his shoes off, unable to bend over enough to untie the laces. His ribs protest the slight hunch of his shoulders, stomach roiling in queasy warning to not curl in further.

The house is quiet, but Steve can almost feel the warmth of an arm around his shoulders. And he doesn’t feel alone. He looks around the foyer, almost waiting for his parents, or hell, the ghost of Hopper to appear. Nothing does.

He’s leaving smatterings of blood and mud with every step, speckling the white carpet in signs of life as he flicks on every lightswitch on his way toward the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, staring up at the insurmountable obstacle to his bed. With a sigh, he turns his back on the climb and stumbles his way toward the couch in the living room, collapsing down into it. Blood is already smearing into the velvety green of its cushions. He ignores the little voice in his head that sounds alarmingly like his Mother, berating him for leaving so many signs of life in her pristine house for lifeless dolls.

Steve falls asleep, alone in his empty house. The comforting weight is still around his shoulders.

It’s still dark when he wakes up, gasping around a nightmare he doesn’t remember having. His stomach roils with fear, like he’s still down in the Russian bunker, begging to keep his fingernails attached to his body. There’s no more comforting weight across his shoulders. He still doesn’t feel alone.

Steve leans across the couch and vomits. There’s very little left in him, popcorn dissolved into green stomach acid. The carpet’s beginning to look like Christmas come early. If she comes back, his Mother will not be pleased.

He doesn’t get up to clean it, exhaustion hitting hard even as the fear persists. He falls back asleep, wakes up mid-nightmare to a pounding at the door.

He stares at the ceiling, stuck still half in nightmare with the pounding of demodog feet echoing through the bunker where Robin and Steve are still tied back to back, her head pressed to the back of his own, Dustin’s screams filling the air as Steve writhes desperately to free himself and protect the kid.

Someone is still pounding at his door. He stumbles off the couch, ribs screaming, head spinning, ears buzzing, eyes half closed against the light as he opens the door, unable to even see who’s in front of him.

“Dingus, where have you been?” they say. Steve forces his eyes open wider past the light and pulsing of his head, willing his swollen eyes to make out Robin’s face. “I’ve been knocking for like five minutes! I was starting to think you were dead! And I was getting so scared that you’d gone off in the woods to die. Cats do that, you know.”

Steve blinks at her, struggling to keep up with her tirade. “Huh?”

Robin rolls her eyes. She steps into the house, making to shove past him where he’s blocking her entry. “Oh just let me in, it’s so hot out–”

She stops talking when her elbow hits his forearm. Stops moving too. Steve stares past her into the empty driveway, wisps of her hair tickling his cheek.

There’s relief coursing through him, thoughts running through his mind that can’t be his own–Thank god he’s alright, I thought he died, what would I have done? Thank god–can’t believe I care about Steve the hair Harrington enough to show up at his house uninvited, what kind of bizarro world are we living in, this is weirder than that flesh monster I swear to god–

Steve stumbles back, spine connecting painfully with the doorknob as the door swings back loudly into the wall with the force of his weight. Robin’s looking at him, eyes wide. There’s a bruise blooming on her cheekbone. Even past the confusion, he’s overwhelmed with the relief that she’s here, standing in front of him, whole and alive.

She reaches her hand out slowly, like he’s a stray cat that could be spooked at any moment. Her fingers latch onto his forearm, curling around it tight enough that her fingers dig into his flesh.

–that supposed to be what a demodog looks like? Dustin was really underselling it, I think I’d take Russian’s any day, aww Dingus was worried about me, wait wait wait, how do I know that he, did he sleep in that stupid outfit? where are his parents? why can I see–

Steve wrenches his arm free, ignoring the stinging of Robin’s fingernails scraping across his flesh. They stare at each other. Steve can feel himself breathing too fast. Wisps of Robin’s hair are sticking to her forehead with sweat. The door is still open.

“Dingus?”

“Good thing you’ve gotta breathe or I don’t think I’d ever get a word in,” Steve says without thought.

Robin brings her hand up to her mouth, eyes widening impossibly further. “Were you thinking about the demodogs?”

“Were you thinking that us being friends is weirder than the mind flayer?”

Robin drops her hand and smiles. “We’re friends?” she asks, voice chipper. “Wait, no! What is going on!”

They stare at each other some more. Robin looks manic, like she’s trying to pop her eyes out of her skull with the force of her stare. Steve, without looking away, reaches behind himself for the knob still pressed into his spin and slowly closes the door.

“Did you have a nightmare last night and throw up?” Robin nods. “Did your Dad have his arm around your shoulders?” Nod. “Well, shit.”

He finally turns away, stumbling back to the couch and gently settling down, leaving enough room for Robin beside him.

They settle like two, hunched quotations, knees settled together, hair brushing with how closely they’re eying each other.

“Anything?” Robin asks.

Steve hums, squinting his eyes with the focus of his concentration. Her eyes are blue, unlined but all but the barest remnants of smudges from her usual make-up. She looks a wreck. He’s pretty sure he loves her.

Are you excited right now?” he asks because he feels it bubbling up his throat, like someone’s just barely holding back a deluge of words, and it’s not him.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes up toward her head. “How are you not?” she demands, pulling her hands away from her knees to gesticulate in the scant air separating their bodies. “This is like superpower territory, Steve! We can read minds!”

Steve swallows around the excitement, feels his own warmth curl up in his chest at her joy. “So far only each others.”

Robin jolts, hands coming to clutch at the fabric across her chest, fist tight. “Oh,” she breathes. “Is that what you’re feeling?”

There’s something else clogging up his throat now. Not words. Tears, maybe. Steve looks down at his own bloody hands, trying to make words where only feelings exist, then remembers he doesn’t have to. He reaches out, snatches her hand, and lets himself feel.

“Why are you picturing us making Thanksgiving dinner together?” she asks, laughing even as tears bubble out of her eyes. Always a sympathetic crier, his own begin to well.

“We’re like, stuck together now, right?” He lets go of her hand, gets rid of the distracting feedback loop of two minds thinking around each other. “That like makes us–family?”

Robin sobs and launches herself into his arms. Unfortunately, the pressure on his ribs is violent enough to almost make him vomit again. Maybe he makes a noise of pain, or maybe she gets some sense of the way his vision is whiting out from pain through his thoughts, but she scrabbles backwards instantly, hands shuffling her further and further away until her back hits the armrest at the other side of the couch.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I just got caught up in the moment, and forgot you’re totally fucked, and dingus! Shouldn’t you be in the hospital? Because all I saw there was a white light, and that doesn’t mean you’re dying, does it? Did I kill you?”

Steve laughs but it comes out more as a cough as agony falls back into the bearable threshold of pain. “I’m fine, Robin,” he says, eyes squeezed closed as he eases himself back into a fully seated position. “I got checked out in the ambulance, same as you.”

Robin, uncharacteristically, doesn’t respond. When Steve opens his eyes, all signs of tears are gone from her face, replaced with a look that clearly shows how done with his bullshit he feels. “And they told you that you were fine?” she demands.

“This all just needs to heal on its own,” he says, gesturing from his face down his torso.

Robin scoots back over to poke his cheek with her finger. He can hear her thinking about the likelihood of him being full of shit, the pros and cons of kidnapping him via her Dad’s SUV. Steve slaps her finger away, but whatever she must’ve gleaned from his own mind satisfied her enough that she doesn’t make a move toward the door or the phone.

She eyes him up and down, gaze traveling down his bloody form, to the splotches he’s left on the couch, and the slowly-developing stains on the carpet, grimacing in disgust.

“Okay, Dingus,” she says, clapping her hands sharply enough to make his ears ring. “Game plan time. You need a shower and a change of clothes pronto. Then–have you eaten?”

“I’ll be in trouble if I don’t clean this up.” He’s too worn out to even bother gesturing at the carnage surrounding them, much less bending around his ribs to scrub.

A furrow forms between Robin’s eyebrows as she contemplates him, mouth pursed like she’s trying to solve complex algebra. Or no, she’smart enough for that to be a breeze. So more like she’s trying to figure out how to scoop his brain out and blow on it until it works better.

“Where are your cleaning supplies?” she asks.

“Robin–”

“No. You’re hurt, and I’m fine. Go take a shower.” Like she can sense him looking, her hand jumps up to cover the singular bruise on her cheekbone. “It’s not the same. Where are the cleaning supplies?”

Her words are so harsh, that he speaks before thinking: “down the hallway in the closet.”

She jumps up, walking with her usual frenetic energy as Steve tries and fails to will himself to get up and stop her. It’s only a few moments after he hears the closet door click open that she shouts, “go shower!”

He goes.

Steve has to peel his uniform off. Mud and puke and blood have dried and merged to his skin. Scabs open where he pulls until he can leave the whole thing crumpled into the smallest ball he can manage in the trash can, salvaging only his nametag as a keepsake, wondering idly if Robin will switch him.

The shower hurts, but he feels divinely clean as he bends over just enough to shuffle into clean sweatpants and an old Hawkins swim team shirt from sophomore year, washed and worn enough to be soft against his skin. He doesn’t put products in his hair, doesn’t even brush it, all remaining energy used in stumbling down the stairs to stop Robin from overworking herself needlessly.

The air smells like a janitor’s closet, enough concoctions mixed together on his Mother’s carpet to wage chemical warfare. Robin’s on her hands and knees, scrubbing ferociously with a scrub brush at the grout between tiles at the entryway. Steve steps around the couch, peering down at the carpet, off-color with cleaner instead of his various bodily fluids. The couch is similarly immaculate, velvety cushions rubbed roughly against the grain from Robin’s ruthless cleaning.

“I threw away your shoes,” Robin calls as she gathers up the cleaning supplies surrounding her and stumbles her way back toward the closet. “There was a concerning amount of blood pooled in the soles, Dingus. Ain’t no way that was all coming out.”

Steve looks around at his clean living room again. All this work, and all he can feel from Robin is pleased satisfaction. Steve feels like he’s going to cry.

“I threw away my uniform.”

Robin laughs. “It’s not like we’re gonna need them anymore.”

Steve pulls the nametag out of his pocket. The stupid anchor is flecked with blood but otherwise it’s pristine. He holds it out to Robin when she troops back into the room.

“You can be me,” he says.

Her eyes light up as she takes it and immediately affixes it onto the front of her shirt. She shuffles back to the side of the couch where she’d tucked her backpack and riffles through it, murmuring quietly enough that he can’t quite make it out. She gives a cute little Ah-ha! When she finds whatever she’s looking for before skipping back over to him, grin crooked it’s so big.

“We can trade.” And there, tucked in her palm is her own, slightly charred name tag. She pins it to his shirt, pricking him with the pointy end before finally settling it in place. “You can be Robin, and I can be Steve!”

It settles easy around his shoulders, like he really can take a step back. Be someone else. Breathe. “I’m Robin,” he murmurs.

She smacks his chest over the nametag, gentle enough to barely hurt.

“Well Robin, what’s for lunch?”

They eat sandwiches in front of the TV. Robin complains about his movie collection, even as she jumps up and down excitedly and puts in Grease. It’s comfortable, easy to forget who’s dead, and who’s injured, and how fucked up their brains are now. It’s between The Breakfast Club and Fast Times that Robin gasps, sitting bolt upright and slapping his thigh.

“Truth serum, Steve! It was truth serum!”

“What was?”

“They wanted to open our minds!”

Steve, up until this point, had thought that was obvious, didn’t realize that for once she was trailing just a bit behind him in the obvious revelations category. “Yeah, and they did.” Robin’s nodding like she can’t stop. He puts his palm flat on her head and holds it still. “Opened them so wide we swallowed each others.”

Steve can’t tell who’s thinking it, but suddenly he's picturing two brains in horrible sailor outfits and terrible mouths that hit a little too close to the demogorgon. One’s mouth is open wide enough to eat the other whole. Then they’re laughing, uproariously, like they’re watching the same funny little show, like the television hasn’t turned to static in front of them.

“Now we can’t keep any of the truths from each other,” Robin says at the same time she’s thinking about that embarrassing crush she’d had on her seventh grade teacher.

In a bid to even the playing field, Steve thinks about little Sally Perkins who he’d liked so much in fourth grade that he’d smashed a grasshopper into her hair and had to miss out on the rest of recess. She’d never talked to him again.

Robin laughs but still shuffles away so his fingers aren’t touching her scalp anymore. Her thoughts flit away, but her hazy contentment lingers.

Steve gets up to switch out the movies, brain buzzing away. “Okay so I feel what you feel, right?” he asks, not waiting for a response. “And I can hear what you’re thinking when we touch.”

“You can hear it?”

Steve starts up the movie and sits back in his place on the couch. Robin looks horrified by this. “You can’t?”

“No!” she shouts, forgetting herself enough to smack her hand into his shoulder, jostling his numerous injuries. Robin grimaces, “Sorry, it’s just, you can just hear what I’m thinking? You can’t like, see anything?”

“You can see things?” Steven demands.

“Holy shit!” Robin bounces up on her knees and just keeps doing it, like a kid excited to open presents on Christmas. “Do you know what this means?”

Steve looks over at her, eyebrow furrowed. “That you’re a–girl?”

“No!” Robin stops bouncing. “I mean, yeah. But no, Steve. What the fuck?”

“I just mean that’s like the only difference between us, right? What else could it be?”

He can feel amusement bubbling up in her stomach, but Robin just stares at him, like she’s too stunned to laugh. “I just meant that some smarty pants scientist should like study us. Because like, we’re proof that some people think differently right? Me all in words and you all in these fancy schmancy pictures! That has nothing to do with our genders, Harrington. That shit’s made up!”

Steve doesn’t know how he feels about being studied by scientists. He’d heard about mini Byers time with those Upside Down quacks and wasn’t sure he was interested in his own stay. It would be nice to have someone who knew what they were doing to help them navigate whatever minefield they’d found themselves in but not at the cost of Robin’s safety. But if they just need a smarty pants who think they know everything then–”Henderson’s smart.”

“You want to call your children?” Robin asks, laughing.

“Think about it!” he replies, slapping the couch. “The lab people are all sketchy, and I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to be locked up without sunlight for the next hundred years.”

“Okay, yeah but–”

“Your parents aren’t in the know, and I’m practically an orphan. Hopper died.” Steve cuts out, choked up over the thought just like he had been in the mall parking lot when he’d first been told. Robin squeezes his calf. “That takes Joyce out of the running since she's grieving and shit. That just leaves the kids!”

“What about Nan–”

“Things are still kind of weird with Nancy and Jonathan, Rob!” he says, running his fingers through his hair and pulling sharp enough to burn. “If we have to, sure, call her, but I don’t know if this counts as the kind of life or death scenario I would do that in.”

Robin sighs, folding over until her head’s on his thigh, stomach pressed into his calves. “Can we call him tomorrow?” she asks, voice muffled by the cotton of his sweatpants. “My head’s killing me and that kid is so shrill.”

Steve runs his fingers through her hair, coming it back from her face. His fingers come in contact with her forehead long enough to get a quick burst of–feels nice, I wonder if this is why all the girls liked him, or if it was all those rumors I heard about his mouth, eww eww gross don’t think about–before her thoughts cut out. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.

They settle in to keep vegetating, Steve slumping further into the arm rest, Robin turning her head and wrapping her arms around his calf. The quiet lasts for ten more minutes before Steve just has to ask, “What do you mean gender is made up?”

Robin cackles.

[ghcstao3]

ok more of this already because i’m so normal. anyway disregarding canon for the 66th hunger games because that’s where i’m putting ghost

(also only bullet points because i might write a whole thing)

cw for usual hunger games things

anyway some hcs/details mostly about ghost’s games (this is long so strap in):

- by this point, it isn’t unheard of for tributes to act unthreatening during the days leading to the games, to maybe have a chance at surprise attacks—which is a strategy simon takes. what is unheard of in recent years, however, is something like simon’s insistence on having no allies. on being a lone wolf. he does it because he always has been alone, in some sense, and he doesn’t trust these other tributes in any capacity to not turn on him.

- his mentor isn’t any help. vernon is nothing but a bitter old man who, in simon’s opinion, didn’t earn his victory. he knows that’s something horrible to say, but it’s true. not with the way he treats simon, and presumably the other previous tributes, too. simon may as well be going in blind.

- the shy, awkward boy act isn’t at all an act. simon’s never been a people person, his outfits all itch, and the feeling of eyes on him has him nervous. paranoid. the upside is that the capitol somehow finds it endearing, which means sponsors. the downside is that, because of the lack of insight into him as a person as a cause of his quiet nature, it leaves too much room for speculation. it’s part of the reason he becomes sought out after winning—the capitol sees a nice face, assumes things that aren’t true, and suddenly he’s stuck as nothing more than a trophy to be passed around.

- he only scores an 8 after evaluation—this is done with intent.

- his arena is a jungle (not unlike the comics.. hint), foliage too thick to navigate with decent speed, and full of muttation insects, reptiles, and amphibians. the trees are too thin to climb or use to hide, and nor are there any caves—essentially, staying on the ground is anyone’s only option. the cornucopia is a large grove, and after the first day, it rains for days straight, until the ninth day.

- simon runs for the cornucopia. he knows it’s stupid, but he also knows how to dodge blows courtesy of his father, so he’s able to grab supplies and get out alive, granted with a few mostly superficial cuts. he knew he needed knives from the start—his most familiar weapon.

- it takes two days before he makes his first kill. it’s too easy, when it’s a girl paralysed and slowly dying from a poison spreading through her, turning her veins an inky black and rotting her skin. simon’s first kill is mercy.

- his second is a career, the boy from 4. the career pack is together when he comes across them, but he finds them first. when the opportunity presents itself and the boy is just separated enough, simon silently appears and slits his throat before disappearing back into the foliage. the rest of the pack only notices they’re missing someone because the cannon fires. none of them ever find out simon had done it.

- stealth ends up his strategy, and it’s what gets him the nickname ghost. he acts like an apparition and is done his work before anyone is the wiser of his actions. he ends up killing 8 of 24 tributes.

- he doesn’t sleep almost the entirety of the games. haunted by his actions, because part of him knows all of it wasn’t necessary. some kills, sure, were to protect himself—but not all of them. some were just to get ahead of the game, and it plants a gnawing guilt in the pit of his stomach.

- simon almost dies when the girl from 7 tries to kill him in the rare time he’s drifted off. he wakes up to an unbearable heat around him, sweat beading off his skin and light behind his eyes and when he’s finally up, he’s burning. she’d lit a fire around himin the hopes it would kill him because she didn’t want the guilt of having actually done the action. he lives—escapes—but suffers burns on part of his face and body that all just contribute more to the nickname. he’d come back from the dead, they all say, but really, he just woke up in the nick of time. but because the capitol still wants him desirable after he wins, to use him, extensive measures and surgery are taken to visibly reverse the damage once the games are over.

- simon wins on the twelfth day using, fittingly, a butcher’s cleaver. he had picked it up around day six off another tribute, and uses it to kill the one other tribute—the boy from 5—after a fight that comes much closer to killing them both than anyone would’ve liked. eventually, though, simon turns out victor.

- his father barely acknowledges him when he comes back. simon returns to work for a bit, despite the insistence that he doesn’t have to, but he needs something to occupy his mind. but then killing cattle and other livestock rears up too much trauma, and he ends up quitting and isolating himself for a while afterwards—but only until president snow had decided to fix him up and sell him to the capitol.

- seven years after his game is when he’s introduced to johnny. immediately, he’s struck by the man as someone he could maybe, maybe eventually trust. johnny isn’t like the man that had made the current transaction for him, or anyone simon had been put with previously, so it’s… nice. for once, he isn’t used. not for his body, anyway.

- when simon thinks he’s seen the last of johnny after that visit, the man puts in another bid for him, one that’d last longer. only to talk, he says, and that this is really the only way he can get him to the capitol. it happens again and again and the most they ever do is kiss during their last visit before simon has to mentor another tribute for the 73rd games, because better him than vernon.

- the visits continue following—they also spend quite a bit of time together during simon’s mentoring, and johnny even helps with getting sponsors—and they fall into something of a relationship, though it’s kept a very well-hidden secret.

- their routine continues until the second rebellion starts up, but that’s another post (or a fic itself) >:)

[leclsrc]

prolonged eye contact with charles please! ++ an "almost kissed" type trope

intertwined – cl16

All seems lost after you fail to kiss the cute guy at George's party. Key word: seems.

auds here... i love uuu guys sorry bit mia i'm a bit sick but love u all always working on other reqs as we speak promise! title from this

There are still traces of orange in the purple sky when George introduces you to his good friend, Charles.

The party had somewhat simmered down, lunch leftovers being reheated for dinner in case anybody was staying that long. Faces here were unfamiliar, smiling and flushed with alcohol, topics like London and cars and taxes making conversation glide easy. But you’d still been quiet, your companion having left you to talk about something or other, leaving you backed into a far corner of the room examining pages of books and listening to the music.

So it’s George, one of the two hosts at this party, who asks if you’re doing alright and oh, didn’t you mention you liked piano, well this is Charles and he plays proper well, he does.

“Do you play for a living?” You ask, both of you walking to the house’s garden area. You lean against the wall there, sizing him up.

“No, I”—he tries to find the right wording—“piano is a hobby. I drive. Cars.” He’s a tad tall, with long fluffy hair and eyes that look a little tired, despite the deep green of them.

“Oh? Thanks for the clarification.” You reply curtly. “Almost thought you were going to say you drive a lorry.” 

He chuckles. “That’s how I know George.”

“What, lorry driving?” You both laugh, and it’s easy. It’s all easy. You tell him you own a gallery in Chelsea, you tell him your heels hurt so much it’s a wonder you paid so much money for them, he laughs, he asks some more. It’s so easy, in fact, that eventually George has to come in and dispel the conversation himself, and it’s only then that you realize the whole indoors area has been emptied; Carmen smiles sheepishly, holding a stack of dirtied bowls. 

He walks you to your car, which is parked far away from the house. You complain about the shit parking configuration in Stanley Gardens and he agrees even if he’s never here too long, or too often. The heels are a proper impediment to your walking, and you have to stop a few times, much to your chagrin.

At the third lamppost you stop at to adjust your ankle, just a few steps from your car, he offers to carry your shoes for you.

“Is it socially acceptable?” You stare at your feet and then at him, hiding a smile. “Walking barefoot in London?”

“Your car’s just there”—he points to your Lexus—“and it’s nearing midnight, I don’t think anyone will mind. If they do, run like hell, yes?” You laugh, easing yourself out of the shoes. The asphalt is cold and you’re already thinking of washing the dirt off, but it’s so much more comfortable.

Charles carries your coat and shoes, opens the door for you when you unlock it. You’re halfway inside, eyes meeting his from where he stands behind the door, smiling shyly. “Thanks. Did you—are you parked far? I can…”

“I could use the walk,” he says, smiling.

“Okay,” you whisper. He hands you your coat and shoes, and you lean closer to take them from him. You’re divided only by the car now, eyes stuck on the other’s. He leans closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. Closer, a bit closer—and then your phone rings, loud in the quiet evening.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, it’s—I have a boyfriend.” It leaves your mouth in a garbled, shameful utterance, and your face warms.

He shuts his eyes, stopping just shy of your face. “Right. Okay.”

—

“Did you guys even date?” Your friend Mila asks, amused.

“Christ, no. I don’t even know why I called Tom my boyfriend—plus, that whole thing ended like two months ago.” You make a right on the next street, eyes squinting as you find a place to park in the crowded street. 

“Right. ‘Cause you met that Charles guy at Carmen’s party.”

“Yeah, the one you left me alone at?” You click your tongue, laughing. “Well, yeah. But I didn’t even get his number at the time, and it—it seemed like a dead end thing.”

“He walked you to your car, held your shoes and the door, almost kissed you—that’s the most romantic guys ever get these days, isn’t it?”

“Sure. But that was two months ago.”

You snag a spot right in front of your gallery and turn off the car, unbuckling your seatmate and climbing out. You hope the conversation has died with the car ride—you really don’t wish to rehash a fling lost to bad timing. Unfortunately for you, Mila is already launching into the topic when you cross onto the sidewalk and greet your staff inside.

She pushes the glass entrance open. “Who’s to say fate won’t let it happen again?”

“Let what happen?” Your assistant, Greg, who is almost if not just as nosy as Mila, pipes up. Lucky you.

“Nothing, Greg. Back to work,” you say, at the same time Mila says: “She almost banged a race driver.”

“Mila!” You swat her arm, and she smiles, but eventually leaves it alone, spending an hour dicking around before leaving to go to her own office. 

The day descends into usual work: calls from clients, from art collectors, from regulars, from Sotheby’s or Tate. Visits are scattered throughout the afternoon, Greg taking the time to tour them around and offer what pieces are for sale; you’re content taking calls and emails, doing most of the behind-the-scenes work. “Potential buyer,” Greg announces, popping his head into your office door. “I’ll leave it to you.”

These types of customers are always entrusted to you, for the nitty gritty questions and negotiations. You nod, raking a hand through your hair and walking into the wide area of the gallery; there’s a man turned to a Cezanne piece, stance stoic and stature tall.

“That’s a lovely one,” you say as an introduction.

The man turns. He is also Charles. You genuinely think your heart skips a beat; his eyes widen in brief surprise before relaxing, and so do yours.

He asks if he’s right, if you’re you, the one at George’s party in Notting Hill a few months ago. You confirm his statement with a polite smile. A handshake is exchanged, a price discussed, conversation about where it goes made. You migrate to your office to maybe seal the deal, though by then the conversation has quickly grown casual.

“Had I known this was your gallery, I would’ve tried to avoid it,” he confesses. “I don’t want your boyfriend getting jealous.”

Your face is warm when you cough. “Right, uh—no boyfriend.”

You refuse to watch his smile, but you feel his eyes on you as you rifle through paperwork.

You continue with the business portion of the conversation anyway. “I’ll be in touch, see if we can level a price within the next month. But in the meantime keep this and… my card.” You slip a few documents into his hand, noticing the way his grip seems to linger, and he stands to signal his departure.

“I’ll get going,” he says, smiling. “Merci. For your number.”

You open the door for him, in a flirty repeat of the last time you saw each other. He exits, then turns, eyes boring into yours. “I’ll see you,” you say, seeking his affirmation, his accented English telling you what you want to hear.

“You will.” And he’s so near you again, his cologne is all you can smell. He bends down, eyes meeting your lips. “Soon.” Then, in a second of cologne and a smile, he’s leaving you unkissed, like you did him two months ago, holding your card in-between two hands as he drives into the orange sky, left still with traces of purple.

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Eight

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV, very brief and very vague smut

a/n: we've reached the end of this story. i love these two, very much. thank you for reading.

...........................................

Maybe there's a God above But, all I've ever learned from love Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you? And it's not a cry, that you hear at night It's not somebody, who's seen the light It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah as performed by Jeff Buckley

...........................................

The car is real. It is parked outside the house now. Sneering a chrome smile at him, taunting him. The sound of its engine in the mornings when she goes to the diner whispers the same thing everytime. Soon. 

One day after the perfect mess he made, he dropped her off at the diner and she informed him with all the warmth of a business associate that he need not come back to pick her up, because Sal would be giving her the keys to the car that is now parked outside the house, the car that is now hers. The car that is going to take her far away from him, any day now. 

They move around each other like ghosts. How fast fission breeds new rhythms and routines, never in the kitchen at the same time, nor the fields, fleeting passings in the evenings. He has taken on more night shifts to keep himself out of the house, to keep himself from doing something stupid, like knocking on her bedroom door and getting down on his knees. Only a few days, though it feels like a yawning beast of time has already blinked by.

She will tell him, won’t she? At least that. Actually, he’s not sure if she will. If he will come home one morning and the sheep will be calling a grievous sound into the thin air because their favorite has left, stuck with him once again. Warning, notice, if not for him, then at least for her flock. 

How quickly things soured, all their jagged pieces tearing and teething at each other. His mean, her mean, and the desolate monster it has made between them. He will let her leave, he must. Care has turned into a cage, and he must leave the door open, must let her step through to something else, something better. Because clearly, whatever this is, plainly no good. 

The mind is a cruel machine. The worst part of all of this, he has been dreaming of her. Scraps of visions, what he can remember. The perfect line of her clavicle, and how breath made the pools of shadows swell and bend against her skin. The way his hand curled around her thigh, the hinge of it. He wakes up wanting, warm and wretched, alone in the night. But the patrol shifts help with that, something about sleeping with the sun trying to pry through the blinds staving off the darkest of his thoughts. 

Sarah called the other day, asked how Dove was doing. Oh, you know, he said. Because he could not lie to his daughter, but he could not offer the truth either. The truth, neither of them are doing very well. Partial, parallel unraveling. The kitchen remains dormant. There are no trips to the grocery, to the library. Only what is needed for another day to pull over into another night and over again. He looks miserable because he is miserable. Glances he has stolen of her, peering out his bedroom window to watch her get into her car in the mornings, he sees that she has turned sharp again, drawn down and in around the edges. This pain, this sickness, is shared. 

He runs through all the ways it could never work while he sits in the slumbering cruiser on the side of the highway. That lull between spring and summer has arrived, all living things bracing and bending beneath inevitable change, quiet in their submission. Life raises its hackles and curls down low to the ground, silent sulk, waiting for new prey, new time. And in the silence, his thoughts grow and gristle.

No, it could not work. He thought that he could, but clearly he couldn’t. Couldn’t be careful enough around all the big and small hurts that trail after her. Because that’s what that was, that night of no, a hurting thing. A wounded, rejected thing. Easier to call it anger. And so was his, the next day, the car, the turn of her shoulder away from him so he could not see the first line of tears fall. 

And now it’s just a meanness, isn’t it? Anger that festers and flumes into something bitter and blistering. Easier to be mean about it. Sorry is so very difficult to swallow, after all. This silence, this sharp shuttering out, mean, the both of them digging their thumbs into the places it hurts the most and pretending to enjoy it with grimacing grins. Good for you, good for me, so there. Good for us.

Always, at some point in his shift, somewhere in the middle of the thick night, his thoughts turn small and young. We are born wanting, and we will always return to wanting. And he does, now, lets himself want all of it. Even the pain she caused him, he would take it happily, standing up and smiling. Something poetic could be said, something beautiful, but there is no need for the fuss or frill of it. Simply, he wants her. Urgently, he wants her to stay. 

Like all things, the wanting passes just as the night does. Eventually, his grip on the steering wheel unfurls and unfists. Eventually, the light begins to spread a pale blue out across all the ink of the plains. Morning starting to suggest itself, mercy. 

He blinks, bleary, a small protest from the engine when he inches the car back onto the road, time to return to the station, want still clearing from the fuzzy periphery of his mind. 

It does not scare or startle him, but it does give him pause. Coyotes, fur dunned and dull, matted tufts sticking up over their slinking bodies. They cross the road with no concern for the car, slow languorous placement of paws, the largest of them turning its jaded eyes into the headlights, perhaps a disillusioned sigh, before it continues on its path. Pups trail and trundle behind, nipping at mother’s tail, new energy, new life, and how dangerous, daunting, daring it can be. 

He does not go back to the station. He goes home. 

Still early, still sleeping, maybe. He does the thing he has been telling himself he shouldn’t. But shouldn’t is what got him here in the first place. Enough of needless shouldn’t. 

She is awake. Her hair still damp from a shower, darkening the blue shoulders of her uniform when she opens the door to her room. Her room, the guest room, whatever it is. Confusion is clear in her frown, the pull of her brow. She keeps the door halfway closed, a quiet understanding of distance needed.

“Are you leaving soon?” Shit, stupid, wrong words that got ahead of what he meant to say. And he just made this so much worse, her whole face pinching tight before slackening into something smaller, something sad. 

“I am. I’m sorry that I haven’t yet.” Sorry that she hasn’t left yet. Sorry that she didn’t get out sooner. And here he is, rubbing all that sorry in her face. 

“No.” All he can think, to quickly slip up his throat to, at the very least, keep her here with half of a closed door between them. Better than the alternative anyways.

“What?” 

“That’s not what I want, not at all.” It is selfish to make this about him, but it is all he can think to say, the only truth that seems to be offering itself up. Dove just looks tired, weary and worn, waiting for the catch. What she said, all those months ago. Always a catch, always waiting for it.

“Joel.” A sigh, but still smarting sweet because he hasn’t heard it from her in too long. 

“This isn’t working.” Going about this all wrong, he has finally realized. While he has been so afraid of no, of unwanted, he has failed to remember that she was taught a long time ago that wanting was not allowed, and that being wanted was an even worse impossibility. Both of them, lashing out against the same thing, though it’s each other that they leave bleeding.

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m going to try to speak plainly.” What he’s going to do is make her late for her shift if he doesn’t kick whatever courage there is whining in his chest up into his throat. But she shows no sign of rush, wide eyes and the smallest frown. 

“Okay.” Okay opens the door fully, though she doesn’t move in invitation, staying separated by the threshold. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” 

“Ever.” Added in the afterthought of silence, because he needs to make himself very clear. Soon, after all. 

“I’m not what you want, Joel.” Said with a scoff, a jerky wave of her hand like no, not even going to entertain it. But it’s enough for something soft to snap in him, hands reaching, but not touching, suspended want as he murmurs, or prays maybe, to her you are, you are, you are, Dove.  

“But I can’t keep you here. Not if you don’t want it.” Me, he meant to say me. But he thinks that she understands all the same, something slipping behind her eyes. 

“I shouldn’t.” Shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t want. A shameful confession that is said to the tips of her shoes more than it is to him. 

“I don’t fucking care.”

“You should.” 

“Just, please, tell me.” 

“I do, okay? Probably more than you do.” 

“That’s not true.”

“How can you just say that?”

“Because I know how much I do. And it’s everything.” And that’s it, he wants to say, that’s all that matters and nothing else and you do and I do. Case closed, finally fixed this thing, this lame, limping thing between them. If only it were that simple. 

“Do you really?” A leap, or more like a lurch, but pure relief when she lets him, two stuttering steps closer and one palm finding the space between her shoulder blades, the other the hilt of her spine, pulling her into him. His and hers, finding the other’s rhythm. Beat like this, body and blood like this. His mouth settles at the crown of her skull. Here, and nowhere else, not ever again, please. 

“Sometimes it makes me sick.” The truth, because there can be nothing else now. Yes, he is sick with it. Sick for her. 

“I want to be normal for you.” Muffled into the fabric of his shirt, and the unsaid after of it. I don’t think I can. Like sorry, like penance, her hands curling closer around his shoulders as she starts to shake. But what he can offer her, something still, something sure, his palms drawing her in even more, him breathing her breathing him.

“I’m not asking you for that, Dove.” No, asking for something much bigger, much more terrifying. Asking for all of it. 

…

Dove is only a little late to her shift. Joel drops her off, waits a few minutes to make sure there is no grief from Sal about it, not that he was expecting there to be. Replays to himself her explanation, what she told him on the way there.

“I didn’t get the car to leave, not really.”

“You didn’t?” 

“Before, I thought it would make things easier.” For him, he realizes, something she had thought of for him. Make things easier for him, not having to pick her up and drop her off and look bored at the library while she browsed. And no, he’s never going to forgive himself for this one. 

He doesn’t go back to the diner for lunch, but it’s not for spite or scorn. Agreed-upon space for both of them to think, offering an out for each other, one last opportunity to decide that this is actually a terrible idea. 

The sheep accept his presence and it feels like he finally got something right, even a laugh when Judy offers her head to him for a brisk rub beneath her chin. 

“She’s coming home, I think. I know you wouldn’t forgive me if she didn’t.” No response, she is a lamb, after all. But he’d like to think that her two hard blinks commend him, already plucking away through the grass toward her mother. 

When he does pick her up after her shift, her lips purse trying to pull back a smile as she walks around the front of the car. Hope lifts, winged and real in his chest. 

The day steals from the night this time of year. It won’t be dark out until much later. For now, the light is starting to bleed a little, orange syrup and haze filling and flooding the cab of the truck. Nothing is said, but staying is understood when she takes his hand in both of hers, and keeps it for herself, tucked in her lap the whole ride home. 

So much of their time together has been spent like this, driving toward and away from town, sometimes silent and sometimes not. A selfish part of him wishes she hadn’t gotten the car, wanting to keep her needing him in this way. But no, he reasons, there will be plenty of other time besides this. No need to be greedy about it. 

There is not much food in the kitchen, but there are always eggs. Two for him and two for her. They eat standing up, propped against the counter. And when he moves to wash the dishes in the sink, she catches his wrist. The dishes can wait until the morning.

The thing about Dove is she has always had a curious way of touching him. Literally curious, like she is surprised she is allowed to trace the pads of his fingertips with her own, spirals fitting together. Like she is testing the boundaries of him, finding all the soft places with her palms, spanning his sides and up along his chest, fingers flirting beneath the collar of his shirt, shivering down with it. But before this continues, he must make sure, must ward off that ghost for good. He takes her face in his hands, thumbs settling along the soft curve beneath her eyes, tracing some constant constellation, her cheeks rounding with it.

“I need to know that this is what you want.” 

“It is.” 

“I need you here. With me.”

“I am, Joel. I am.” This isn’t want, after all. Want isn’t big enough for whatever this is. Something deeper, something threaded in with all the sinew and stretch of bone, ligament, and beating tissue. This is need. Vital and visceral, and so very precarious. 

His need makes a foolish fumble out of the buttons of her dress, a laugh dancing beneath the brush of his knuckles, catching somewhere under her sternum when his eyes flicker up to hers. She rolls her lips back into her mouth, trying to tamp down any mirth or mocking, but a huff still slips out, smile threatening at the edges. How easy, how lovely, fitting the curve of his own against hers. That laugh turns into a sigh that he swallows. 

And it was never about letting or allowing, never about being big or strong enough to scare off all her specters. What has changed, he isn’t sure. But waiting, he has found, is often a solution in itself. Maybe just the mercy of enough time, enough space shared and understood. Brains finally catching up to bodies, deciding yes, now is good. 

Need makes animals stupid. A caught thing, captured and crumpled thing, will gnaw off its own limb in need of escape. A hungry, hungered thing will turn so desperate, so singular and silly in its need. It will take whatever sate it can get. Hands and skin and teeth and tongues. And in the kitchen no less, still hungry, still needing. Jawing up each other, and humming at the taste. Feast and fire and flood all in one. 

Her mouth settles sharp along the tendons in his neck, humming there as he curls over her to shrug her dress down and down into a pool around her feet. A little snarl, a little curl of her lip, preening when his palms squeeze her hips, coaxing her closer into his chest. She is far more schooled in the work she makes of his shirt, and then, missed this. Missed skin against skin and heart straining to press against heart. Missed the run of his fingers down her ribs, the quick catch at her waist. He only got it once before, a blink compared to this, but he has been missing it ever since, a sigh now that he has it again. Has her again. And Dove, still learning how she gets to have him.

“Can I?” A kiss to her brow, a smear of words whatever you want, Dove. Tentative at first, she presses her mouth to the hollow where his throat slips into clavicle, letting her nose run a line out to the edge of bone, to shoulder, enough sense to turn her a little bolder, fingers curling into the waist of his jeans, tugging. And it is not graceful, silly, stupid, needing bodies curling and caving into each other. His legs splay out long as he settles back against the cabinets below the sink, Dove furling into his lap, the perfect spread of her thighs at his hips. 

A lesson in the anatomy of need. Here is how. How a body can give and take everything it needs from another body. So simple, really. Open mouths and muscles slackening sweet and syrupy to make space for more, more, more. She keens when he turns his face into the curve of her breast, fingers curling in his hair, holding him there in the cradle of her heartbeat, his ears rushing with it. 

It is not pretty, it is not about making it perfect, or even right. It is a desperate seeking, it is relief from this need in the way they just manage to shrug his jeans and boxers down over his thighs, in the way she slips the faded cotton of her underwear to the side. Wet for him, wanting for him, he will have to sate the want to see some other time. For now, feeling, all sense and singe, spreading her open until her hips settle down against his. A broken, murmuring sound in the back of her throat, eyes scrunched shut. He brings his hand to her jaw, thumb stroking along the hinge as he calls to her, let me see, Dovey, please. Hello, lashes flutter first, and the slow slip open. Hello, looking at him, her forehead against his, her mouth resting open and panting against his. 

They move ugly, muscles jumping and jolting, sharp breaths that break and swell in their chests. Skin starts to stick, he holds her closer and chases down their pleasure, shared and searing. 

In the kitchen, she crashes with a cry of his name, her face hidden in the curve of his neck, mouth to pulse. 

In the kitchen, she whispers and wills him right over his own edge, her name, more sob than sound. 

In the kitchen, he would feed her his heart if he could. It’s hers anyways. 

…

Want is a child. But need is an animal. Need is base, bruising, battering. There is no escaping need. There is no lying about need. There is only offering it up, and hoping that someone will see it and decide yes, animal, come here, let me do something about your need, and you can do something about mine. 

Later, after they pick their clothes up off the kitchen floor, kind hands setting things back into place for each other, they slink outside to care for the flock, the sun starting to flirt back behind the mountains with a fierce blush. It’s then, surrounded by the low murmurings of sheep, that she whispers her own need to him, tucked into his side, her cheek pressed against his chest. 

He nods, says yes, okay. He can do that for her. And she will do the same for him. 

For now, all that matters is staying. Ghosts yet to be greeted and goaded out of their house. But for now, spring is rolling over to expose its soft, slumbering belly. Soon, summer will sink in, snarling and bright, a new list of chores and duties with every season. They will do it together. 

For now, the lambs are still lambs. Stumbling still around the edges, seeking out their mother even amidst her seeming exasperation, tired of their clinging, their closeness. Time yet to be had, getting older and bigger every day. But for now, they are young and soft, and nipping after each other in the field. 

For now, the feeling of her ribs expanding and contracting against his side is all the goodness he could want, or even need. Pain yet to be understood in all the places that her breath catches. But for now, she is looking at him and smiling, and saying something about the sheep that makes him laugh.

For now, it is enough. 

.............................................

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[cure-orchid]

So I know the show recently ended, but I ended up binging through TGAMM and loved it! The Ghost Friends are all mood and the Mollie ship is adorable. Then I learned about the Chairman Ollie arc for the scrapped third season and IT WOULD HAVE BEEN SO COOL TO SEE!

I ended up writing down how I would imagine the story arc going down, and I headcanon that several of the planned season 3 eps (minus the ones that would clash with the finale) happened between JVTHM and The End (Ollie knowing about the wraith memory loss and how he says it could have hinted that it already occurred.)

My Chairman Ollie plotline: It starts with what was outlined in the already written scripts, and Ollie keeps spending more and more time in the Ghost World rather than on Earth. He’s becoming a little more forgetful as the episodes pass and has noticeable headaches. Things like his parents having a Root Beer Bar or the plot of the latest Country Pumpkin movie seem to surprise him when he should already know about them.

He’s missed a few dates with Molly and slipping on schoolwork so she takes an episode trying to talk to him at school but he keeps getting pulled away to fix something as the Chairman. The episode would really drive in how his human memories are failing even when he reconnects with his body and there’s a whole musical number on how Molly feels he’s growing distant. She finally catches up to him in the end and he looks partway between normal and being an empty shell(his hair is even losing the swoop!). She asks him out for ice cream but then we get a wham line “Sure, but… who are you?” Molly’s heart literally breaks as she discovers Ollie has lost all memory of her. He excuses himself and leaves Molly crying with Scratch and Libby coming to console her.

Next episode the remaining Ghost Friends are trying to figure out what’s wrong with him when June comes to Molly’s house trying not to panic. Ollie’s shell came home yesterday but not his wraith and he’s still not back. Molly, Libby and Darryl go to the Chen’s while Scratch goes to the Ghost World to see what’s keeping him. He finds Ollie still obsessively trying to engoodify the Ghost World and his orange glow is much more faded. Worse, when Scratch calls him by his name he asks who Ollie is. Libby manages to discover a page in her pop-up book that was stuck to another and reveals wraiths can lose their memories the longer they spend away from their body and without the will to live they cannot fully rejoin the two halves. Scratch arrives and with all they know they make a plan. Molly, Scratch and the Chen’s go to the Ghost World while Darryl and Libby keep an eye on their bodies. They get to Ollie and he doesn’t recognize anyone but Scratch, but has no emotional attachment to him. Big musical number as they all try to help Ollie remember but it doesn’t work. Everyone is devastated and it seems like Ollie might be gone forever.

Molly doesn’t give up, she pulls down his hood and cups his face, (this is where the drawing is) telling Ollie that she loves him and gives him their first kiss. Her yellow sparks course through him and his orange glow regains it’s color… and he regains his memories. When they pull away, Olly says her name and he’s pulled into a group hug as he says everyone’s names. He leaves the robe and hurries back into his body. A few hours later it’s just him, Molly and Scratch when the ghost council arrives. I haven’t come up with what happens to the robe but Ollie does relinquish his title as chairman and Scratch pulls the council away. Now alone, Ollie didn’t get to say it back in the ghost world, but he loves Molly too. They have another kiss and lean their foreheads together afterwards… and then Scratch comes back complaining that they already sucked faces once today already.

Update 5/27: Yep, I’m turning this into a fanfic. I said I wouldn’t but I got the inspiration on how to do it! It’s called ‘Record of an Engoodifier’

Also bonus doodles:

[doombum]

How does your Michael feel about the idea of living forever

He struggled a lot at first. He never wanted to be immortal like William and he wasn't particularly scared of death in general. He had accepted his fate when entering the scooper room and waking up from that was not something he ever wished for. He saw immortality as a curse as soon as he realised he wouldn't be able to "die" forever.

The fact that he's stuck in the state he's in definitely doesn't help either. He never recovers from the rot and decomposition process. The remnant left in his body only keeps him permanently in the state he woke up and heals any new injury, but it doesn't heal anything else so he stays purple and full of holes. He's also developed, among other things, chronic pain as, somehow his pain receptors still work perfectly, and chronic fatigue because of how weak his body is. So all of that doesn't make his immortality something he can really enjoy even if he wanted to.

The fact that he was already really depressed beforehand and had wished for death before also didn't help. So, when he got his body back from Ennard, he thought about trying to find ways to kill himself properly, but the fact that Jeremy was there for him to help him through it made him reconsider. He did plan on going back to find a way after Jeremy died (he hoped it would be of old age, but it wasn't).

Though, after Jeremy dies too (in HW), he becomes a ghost and continues to stick around Mike, not planning on leaving until Mike can too. They do try to find solutions to help him move on but mostly, Mike has learned to come to terms with it and learned to accept his fate. At least he's not alone and the idea of Jeremy choosing to stay with him for the rest of eternity if necessary makes him feel all fuzzy inside (even if he wished they could have just grown old together, but what can you do?). Also, after they took in Cassie, and later Gregory, Mike found new reasons to keep on going instead of trying to find ways to die once and for all. (He doesn't like thinking of the idea of them dying of old age one day though, maybe him and Jeremy will go back to try to find ways to kill him when they get there)