#Madman's Drum

[100-art]

God's Man Wordless Novel Illustrations by Lynd Ward

[houseofwolvess]

i fucking love ii. oh my god. im sorry but he's genuinely so fucking cool and im losing it

[afroluent]

"Who beats the drum for the madman to dance is no better than the madman themselves.” African proverb and quote.

[moonsickwolf]

I am not a person!! I am a vessel for others enjoyment!!! It is why I scream and no one moves, it doesn't matter until I am useless to them. Then they come by the withering corpse to poke it until it dances to please them!!! I can't do it for myself I must do it for them, what other purpose is there? I can't live for myself, it is selfish. I am not made for love I am made to please, I was bred to please, I was taught to please.

Who cares for my tears and blood!! Watch them fall as I serve the king and their court! Limp bodies commit nothing and do no work, lift them up and force the spirit back. Work isn't done. I was born to please. Who am I if not the people's parade? Is eternal punishment the price of being alive? Will servitude make me redeemable enough for you?

Does my weeping entertain you enough? I've given everything to the stranger you think I should be, but I'll never be enough. I don't have enough to give. I can't make more. Please take my weak heart so I can't feel sorrow anymore, please take my broken mind so I can't think of violence anymore.

Will you forgive me.

I just want to be anything but a rabid dog. I need to be fixed, to be cured. Why do I bite if I was meant to serve?

[twovialsofamortentia]

studying with james makes him realise how much he likes it when you call him clever. 📜🕯️📕

🎧 sexy boy- air

warnings: smut MDNI, everyone is 18+ ,unprotected sex, semi-public sex (common room at 2am), james being submissive, praise, perv!james if you squint, me making up spells

—————————————————————————

James was sitting on the common room floor in front of the fire, leaning his back against the sofa. His hair was tousled, and he was still in his uniform, but his shirt was unbuttoned slightly and his tie was hanging loosely around his collar. He had a quill tip dangling from his lips and was twirling his wand over his fingers, muttering to himself as he was hunched over a textbook, scanning the pages quickly.

“James?” you asked, rubbing your eyes as you trudged out to the kitchen. “It’s 2 o clock, what are you doing out here?”

James turned around to see you emerging from the girls’ dorm in your pyjamas, and he smiled faintly at that. You were comfortable enough around him that your pyjamas didn’t matter, which he appreciated.

“I can’t sleep.” he admitted, shrugging as he set his quill down gently on the table, eyes drifting scarcely over the page he was just writing on as he spoke again. “I thought I might as well go back over this.”

“Madman.” you giggled, filling the tea kettle up with water. You took two cups from the cupboard and dropped a teabag into each one. “What is it that you’re doing?”

"Just trying to figure out this bloody Charms work that Flitwick wants by Friday," James said, running a hand through his messy hair. He watched you as you made the tea, his eyes lingering on the way you shuffled around without even thinking about it. “You can’t sleep either?"

“No.” was all you needed to say, and you didn’t dare tell James that the reason why you were up was because you’d had a pretty rattling dream about him in particular.

James tilted his head slightly as he observed you, his eyes studying your expression. He could tell that you were thinking about something, but he wasn't sure what it was.

"Nightmare?" he asked quietly, his voice a little softer than usual.

“Not this time, actually.” you replied, looking over at James as you filled each mug up with water. You were known for having vivid dreams, and on occasion, they were prophetic. It was a magical thing. Your mother had it, too. “Just a weird one.”

James raised an eyebrow as he heard you mention having weird dreams, his curiosity piqued. He shifted a little on the floor, patting the spot next to him.

"Come here," he said, gesturing for you to sit down beside him in front of the fireplace.

That made you smile. You liked James. He was a good friend, and he didn’t need a reason to be. You nodded, bringing over both cups of tea and setting them down on the table before sitting on the floor next to James.

“Come on then, if you’re studying.” you said, holding your hands out for James’ notes.

James chuckled softly as he handed over his notes, watching as you took them from him. He appreciated the way you were so willing to help him, even when you were up and about at an ungodly hour.

He leaned back against the sofa, watching the way the flickering of firelight illuminated your face and destroyed any illusions of tiredness that were lingering previously. It almost made you look as if you were glowing.

You took the notes, reading through them, deciphering what you could turn into a question. “What are the three things that can be enchanted will the spell movere avem?”

James drummed his fingers on his knee as he thought for a moment, trying to recall the answer.

"Okay, I know that’s the spell for enchanting things that have been transfigured from birds; because we were running around last week trying to catch a pigeon to use it for a quaffle." he laughed.

You giggled at that, nodding. James was always making you laugh, and he looked good doing it. Which was a thought that bad never entered your mind before. “Okay, so you enchant Quidditch balls with it, what else?”

James smirked at hearing your laugh, enjoying the sound of it. He thought for a moment longer, trying to remember the other two things.

"Uh... a birdcage, maybe?" he offered, but it came out sounding more like a question than an answer.

“Balls, brooms, and tree branches.” you gave James the answer, looking up at him over the paper. “Okay, let’s take a new angle.”

You set the paper down, turning to face him. Your hair was hanging loosely around your shoulders and the strap of your tank top was close to falling off your shoulder. “How would you light the fireplace and keep it burning using only magic?”

James' gaze was drawn to the strap of your tank top as it slipped down your shoulder, his eyes lingering on the exposed skin for a moment before flicking back up to meet yours.

"Well, that's easy," he said, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Chuck a log on the fire, light it, then just keep levitating the logs onto it. Like you do.”

“That’s good,” you said, looking up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “But you’re missing something.”

James' eyes flicked over your expression as he noticed it. He felt a swell of pride when you told him the answer he gave you was good, but he wasn’t sure what was absent from it. He was desperate to know, desperate to make it right so that he could do really good, already unintentionally seeking validation from you.

"Am I?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay so if you’re thinking about how I light the fire, there’s something else I do to the logs so that they burn well.” you explained, muttering a quick incantation to your wand and levitating a log onto the fire as you waited for James to answer.

"Drying them out, maybe?" he guessed, his eyes flickering over you as he tried to figure out what you were getting at.

“See, there you go, you did know it.” you replied sweetly, smiling matter of factly. “You’re doing good.”

James's expression softened when you spoke, because he was basking in the validation of you telling him he’d done a good job. That was one thing about James you didn’t know. He folded when pretty girls were telling him he’d done a good job.

“Yeah,” he answered, throat dry.

“Okay, so if you wanted to put the fire out?” you asked, setting your wand back down and sipping your cup of tea.

“Aguamenti?”

“It would, but it’s messy, and then you have to deal with the wet ashes.” you explained. “Come on, you’re clever enough to know this.”

James ran a hand through his hair, still trying to remember the answer. He was starting to get distracted by the thought of you calling him clever. That, and how much he enjoyed hearing you say it. How much he wanted to hear you say it while he was-

"Right, right," he said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "What's the answer, then? I feel like there's something obvious I'm missing."

“Aguamenti’s right if you want to put out a fire quickly, but if you want to do it without making a mess..” you turned towards the fire and rocked up onto your knees, holding your wand up to your mouth and whispering something, then blowing down the edge of your wand onto the fire, plunging the room into darkness.

With a quick Lumos, you could see again, the tip of your wand glowing. “Ta-da.”

“I need to pay more attention in Charms.” was all James said, gazing over at you from where he was leaning against the sofa.

“Don’t be silly.” you said, chucking another log on the fire and lighting it, so that you didn’t have to use your wand to illuminate the room anymore. “You’re perfectly clever, really. Clever enough to not need my help.”

“It’s not that I’m not clever, I just can’t ever remember how to do this bloody work.”

“Well, then use your clever brain and figure it out.” you teased. “Come on. What’s the spell for enchanting kitchen tools to move?”

James groaned inwardly as you challenged him again, but he couldn't help the way he felt when you told him to use his clever brain. Without knowing it, you were validating him in ways he’d never have expected from you. If he had been stood up, his knees would have buckled. He thanked the universe that he wasn’t.

"Um... Circumrota momentus," he answered, hoping that he was right.

“Yes, good!” you replied, proud smile spreading across your face. “That was a hard one, I did that on purpose, but that’s good. You’re doing well.” you praised, looking around the room and trying to think of another question.

James shut his eyes as soon as you looked away, willing himself to just be normal for once and keep it together. His breaths were shallowing every time you let him know how well he was doing, how good he was, how clever.

“Okay, quick-fire. Ready?” you asked, looking down at the page as you skimmed over it.

James nodded, knowing he had to regain at least some of his composure if he wanted to get away with this. You’d probably have freaked out if you knew what you were doing to him. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor, but to you it looked as if he was just getting comfortable.

“What’s the spell for getting seeds out of a tree that’s already grown?”

“Semina arboris?”

“That’s good.” you nodded. “Well done.”

James just nodded back. He didn’t have time to think about it before you were quizzing him again.

“How to make plants grow twice as fast?”

“Crescere velocious.”

“Good.” you praised, smiling as you looked up at James. “You are clever, aren’t you?”

James cleared his throat, because if he hadn’t have styled out a cough, right then, you’d have heard him breathing out a groan. It was the tone of your voice more than anything for him. Not quite patronising, but smooth and doting enough that it weakened him enough to knock the breath out of him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, looking over at you. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“It’s not like you to be so modest.” you teased, coming up onto your knees again as you spoke so that you could reach the fireplace, blowing gently into the flames to stoke them. You abandoned your magic and picked up a log, considering you were already there, setting it on the fire and watching it set alight as you continued. “Normally, you’re the first to tell everyone how fantastic you are. But I’m not lying when I say, you’re clever, James. You’re one of the smartest boys I know, anyway.”

James watched you, fascinated by how much the fire captivated your attention. He loved that you loved it, and he loved watching the flames reflected against your eyes as you smiled down into the fire.

What he loved most of all, however, was the way you praised him so effortlessly, whilst you were doing something else, and still making him so painfully hard that the blush in his cheeks had drained because the blood was needed elsewhere.

“Yeah.” was all James could manage, looking away, and he was just thankful it didn’t come out as a whine.

You sat back down, stretching your legs out this time, leaning your back against the coffee table so that you were facing James. You tilted your head as you watched him. “Let’s finish this Charms work. Since you’re doing so well it won’t take long.”

James' eyes were stuck on your legs for a moment before he tore his gaze away, trying to think about anything other than how you looked in the light of the fire; gazing over at him so innocently; telling him how well he was doing.

It wasn’t working.

“I don’t think I can…” James huffed, voice cracking as he said it.

“Oh dear.” you remarked. “Why not? You were doing so well!”

The thing about being a witch who had prophetic dreams was that when you knew your visions were about to come true, you sensed an inexplicable, hazy feeling that was similar to how you were feeling when you first saw an event in your sleep.

“Oh dear.” you repeated, softer this time. “James..”

“It’s nothing-” he groaned, running a hand over his face, the blush returning to his cheeks because you had cottoned on to what he was feeling.

What James hadn’t expected to come out of the situation was the smile that spread across your face. It was soft, and genuine, but there was a hint of something slightly more intense.

“Darling, you should have said.” you mused as you put your hands on the floor in front of you, either side of James’ hips, to steady yourself so that you could lean forward. Your faces were inches away from each other, and you looked down at James, who was slouching underneath you, head resting back against the sofa, lips slightly parted as he gazed up at you.

James felt his last shred of resolve snap like a twig. He breathed out a quiet little whine, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“I need-”

“I know.” you cooed, now letting the patronising tone back into your voice, still smiling pitifully down at James as you leaned down to kiss him.

James felt your lips touch his, and all rational thought left his head. He reached up to wrap an arm around your neck, pulling you closer to him until you lost your balance, falling into his lap.

You reached out to take James’ hands in your face, rolling your hips down against his in an attempt to create some friction.

James let out a quiet moan, his hands grabbing at your hips as he held you down against him. He pulled back from your lips and buried his face in the crook of your shoulder, pressing open mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

"Please," he breathed against your skin, his fingers digging into of your hips to pull you as close to him as physically possible. "I need you."

You nodded feverishly, then tilted your head to one side, leaning backwards in James’ arms as you felt his breath against your skin.

“I know,” you huffed. “It’s okay.”

You pulled your top off over your head and threw it away, then you slid your cold hands under James’ white shirt, which was oversized enough on him to come straight off over his head.

“Ah-!” he gasped at the feeling of your cold hands on his bare skin, eyes widening.

“I’m sorry, darling.” you hummed, pushing James’ shirt up over his head. “That’s it, there we go.” you said as you threw it away. “Well done.”

James shivered as he looked up at you, his lips parted slightly as he watched you. He was already breathing heavy and the combination of your touch with the sound of your praises was driving him up the wall.

You let James lay you out on the floor, relaxing your back against the rug after expecting the cold floor. You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched as James lifted your hips up with one hand and slid your pyjamas off with the other.

As soon as you were laid out on the rug, James was on you, his hands roaming over your body as he trailed kisses down your neck and chest.

"Need you, please,” he begged, his voice coming out sharp and whiny.

You nodded permissively, eyes trained on James’ hands as they unbuttoned his trousers. If the world was ending in that moment, you wouldn’t have dared to look away.

James kicked his trousers off hastily, not wanting to waste any more time. He positioned himself above you, holding himself up with one hand as he looked down at you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your eyes widened and you dropped your head back onto the floor as you felt James push slowly, carefully into you. You gritted your teeth, hand coming up to your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Oh, fuck-!” James whined, eyes squeezing shut as he leaned down to kiss your shoulder again, almost collapsing against you at the feeling.

“Fuck.” you echoed, feeling as if you relaxed any more you’d melt into the floor. “Fuck, that’s it.”

“Please,” James repeated, his hands gripping your waist tightly. “Please-” he was beginning to babble, unable to find the words he needed.

You knew what he wanted.

“I know, I know.” you breathed. “Feels so good, darling, feels amazing.”

James nodded in response, unable to form any words other than your name. He rolled his hips against yours, the feeling of being inside you making him lightheaded.

"Fuck,” you said again, lacing your fingers through James’ hair and tugging it gently. “You’re so pretty, so pretty, it feels so good.”

He was lost entirely to the sensation of you, his body responding to every touch, every move you made. James couldn't think straight; the only thing his mind was able to focus on was the way you felt around him, and the way your voice would break when he hit the right spot.

You reached up to kiss James deeply, then you used your legs to wrap around his back and pull him against you so you could roll over, straddling him.

“Fuck-!” James' eyes widened in surprise as you rolled him over, straddling him with effortless ease. He looked up at you, his gaze filled with lust and admiration. That made him whine softly underneath you, his head dropping back against the floor as you rocked your hips against his. He reached up to run his hands over your thighs, his touch filled with need.

You rested one hand on James’ stomach, steadying your balance as you rolled yourself against him, and then other came up to your own chest, kneading one of your tits, eyes shut.

“James, it feels so good, darling- doing so well.” you praised, desperation now seeping into your own voice.

James' breath caught in his throat as he watched you touch yourself. His eyes fixed on your hand as you palmed your chest, completely entranced by the way you moved against him.

You noticed, dragging your other hand down James’ stomach gently, and then up to your own body, pressing down where you needed it the most.

“Oh, fuck,” James whispered as he watched you, biting down on his bottom lip. “Please, I need- I’m-”

“It’s okay,” you reassured, taking James’s face in your hands, leaning forward to kiss him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

James let out a soft moan, his body shaking as your words and touch sent shivers down his spine. He was so close, so desperately close to the edge, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. He reached up to cup your face in his hands, his eyes drifting shut as he tried to hold himself back.

"Please, I can’t-" he whimpered, his voice cracking slightly. "I’m gonna-"

You felt yourself growing closer and closer to the same edge, and you nodded, your hand flying back to touch yourself against, only bringing yourself closer to snapping.

“Yes- fuck!, That’s it! James, don’t stop, darling, it feels so good, soso good, fuck!”

James felt like he was on fire when he lifted you off of him and came up your stomach, physically twitching as his hips stuttered forward. That made you shiver, and you came seconds later, leaning back on your left arm as your right was still slipping across your skin.

James folded his arms over his eyes, covering them as his chest heaved up and down, taking deep breaths. He whined a few more times as he continued to twitch, but after that he just laid there, completely spent.

You got your breath back sooner than that, reaching for your wand. “Novum textus.” you breathed, pulling a tissue from the end of your wand and using that to clean yourself up, still sat on top of James.

“I don’t think I can move.” he complained, dropping his head back onto the floor.

You smiled- a warm, soft smile. “Well, I’d be more than happy for you to stay down there.”

James couldn't help but smile back at you. He knew he should get up, but he was still feeling too boneless to move just yet.

He reached up to brush a strand of hair back from your face, his touch gentle. "I think I like it down here.”

[ghostbsuter]

Water drips down in the corner, the steady dop drop drop— does wonders for the bat.

Batman has been taken, tied up, and undressed of his utility belt. It takes him a second to figure out who took him, by the large but empty and run down warehouse, the sound of the shore not far away.

The docks. He shuffles, bound and comm off.

Then, the steel enforced door slams open and Joker enters.

"Batsy!" He calls, overjoyed. The man walks to the bound vigilante and crouches to his height.

"It's been so long, hasn't it been?"

The vigilante grunts. "Joker."

"Today will be different." He goes on, "today, we have," the crime Prince drums his fingers on Batman's thigh. "A guest!"

He freezes at that, Joker has a civilian.

(Oracle sends out the message, her voice firm, and the coords are shared to the rest of the clan in seconds as she looks at her monitor. Batman's red dot at the harbour bright.)

"I'm a guest now?" The voice of a child asks, it brings slight confusion that the boy wasn't tied nor harmed in any way.

It's relief that he seems okay, but the danger of standing next to the Joker has Batman wiggling in his restrains.

"Is that a promotion or demotion for son?"

A brief look of annoyance enters Joker before being smoothed out, the boy is dealing with a delicate time bomb. Uncomfortably close to the madman.

(He hurries in the process of breaking free.)

"My son! My blood!" Sings the clown, throwing his hands around the boy's shoulders and prancing around.

Which brings another question.

Son?

Cool lighting hits the boy's head and the tuffs of pink, blue and green become more obvious, hidden beneath black hair previously.

Joker and Harley have a child. A son.

He will visit harley later. The boy comes first.

"Dante! Danyal! Daniel?" Joker croons, shaking the boy. "What was it again?" He stops, turning his son toward him with a grin.

(Robin drops down behind him, hiding, katana ready to be swung.)

"Danny, actually," the child— Danny– shrugs off the hands and steps back. Unflinching from the judging stare, simply waving off the hands creeping to his throat.

"Danny," the name is tested, and the Prince of Crime hums to himself. "We can always replace it as Joker Jr! It fits you better than Danny."

(Red Robin and Spoiler get on position above them, ready to pounce from the construction pillars.)

"Yeah, I don't know about that." He chuckles nervous, catching Batman's eyes and—

His eyes alone scream of fear, scared– scared—!!

"We will get you an acid flower, a new suit as well, the hoodie looks horrible on you." The man notes, humming.

"I prefer hammers." Danny replies with tense shoulders.

Joker clicks his tongue, "You always went after your mother." he hisses, outright glaring at his son now. His hand tightened around the crowbar he'd gathered not long ago.

"I mean," he hesitates, eye trailing off the Joker and over his shoulder. "I did come out of her."

The sound of a loaded gun shatters the silence, and Joker is pulling Danny, switching their positions and pushing him right in front of the gun in Red Hood's hand.

"Always a coward, hiding behind others, aren't you." Danny stops himself from squealing. That's the Red Hood!

(Escrima sticks light up with electricity as Red Hood speaks.)

Joker is ticked off, party ruined and surrounded now that he looks around.

Oh well, he can get his son on his villain path another day.

Cackling, he evades the escrimas, dodging the wonder boy and evading the twin attacks from above.

He pulls out a trigger and presses the bright red Button.

"Have fun bats and birds!"

The warehouse is completely flooded with fear gas, scarecrow wouldn't be mad he sacrificed one of his warehouses, will he?

It's all blurry. In one moment, his view is shrouded, and he's coughing. In another, he gets picked up and brought outside, the Joker gone.

An oxygen mask is placed on him by a paramedic, being handed off to an ambulance that had been called.

Peeking around, he sees Red Hood (!) still lingering around. Danny catches his eye and with a wave, the man is walking towards him.

He simply crosses his arms and tilts his head, waiting.

"Could I get a picture?" Danny blurts out, flushing after and coughing, holding the oxygen mask in his lap.

Red Hood makes a show of his shoulder sagging before crouching down and leaning toward him.

Later, Danny will look at the picture with a boyish grin, crooked and charming.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

A continuation

[sister-lucifer]

can we get gross pervy dom toby content 🙏

Some Gross Pervy Dom Toby Content 

Toby Rogers x Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: NSFW 

Summary: There is really no plot to be summarized, Toby’s just a horndog and he chased you down. good fuckin luck  

Content/Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon elements, implied stalking, horror elements, Toby being creepy, Toby smells you and touches you in the weirdest manner you can possibly imagine, NSFW with minimal (mostly implied) plot, no real sex happens just fucked up shit, no seriously this is nasty as fuck i’m getting put on a list for this 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Just to avoid confusion, in my headcanon Toby has a stutter as well as but separate from his tourette’s; i’m writing his stutter, not his tics! thankies!

also READ THE FUCKING WARNINGS THIS ONE IS NASTY

Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun would fill you with less dread than staring up at the lanky boy who’s currently towering over you. 

You don’t have to look at him to know there’s a twisted smile filled with crooked, chipped teeth spread across his face, hazel eyes scrunched at the corners as he grins like a madman. You don’t want to look at him, really, but you can’t stop yourself before you’re slowly craning your neck to see. Slowly his face comes into view, and it’s even more unsettling than you could prepare for. 

His messy brown hair flicks up in all directions and partly obscures his eyes, and yet they seem to glow in the dim light of the sunset. One of his arms is above you, folded against the wall, while the other cages you into the corner. Besides his fingers drumming restlessly, he’s not moving, but his entire body is trembling with….excitement? His chest is heaving like he’s struggling to breathe, and the uncomfortable feeling of his warm exhale fanning over your face makes you shudder, and…oh god, is he drooling over you? Shit—

You press yourself hard against the wall, face burning hot against the cool air of the drafty abandoned building. Something tells you you shouldn’t take your eyes off of him for too long, but in your peripheral vision you can see through the broken windows. There’s nothing but trees in all directions, and the sky is rapidly darkening with each passing second. You’re watching any chance you had of escaping in the daylight slip from your fingers. Everything is becoming much too disorienting much too fast, thoughts racing and overlapping and screaming at you to do something, but you can’t. All at once you’re trying to figure out an escape plan, how to appease your captor for long enough to execute an escape plan, and how you even got here in the first place. 

The last thing you remember is running from him, the branches of the thicket grabbing at your pants and arms as if trying to hold you back. You had no choice but to run into the old hospital, but now you’re wishing you’d simply kept going. 

You must’ve moved too much for Toby’s liking, because he suddenly grabs onto your arm with a grip that feels strong enough to snap the bone in two. You yelp in pain, a second gloved hand quickly clamping over your mouth. The echo of your cry rings loud in your ears, and for a moment you wonder if it’ll ever go quiet again. 

“You…you…” Toby stutters, and your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. You aren’t sure what you were expecting to hear, but he just sounds so…normal, like any other nineteen year old boy, except if it were anyone else in any other scenario a mere couple of syllables wouldn’t strike such fear into you. 

“You ran a loooong t-time…” He scolds, but his grin doesn’t falter. He brings his hand away from your mouth to shake a finger at you, seemingly trusting you not to scream. 

Not like it would matter. You made him chase you pretty far in. 

In an instant his hands are on your waist, slipping under your shirt and eagerly grabbing at the soft flesh he finds beneath. You have to bite your tongue to hold back another yelp. 

“Oh, ooohh but it w-was worth it!” Toby slurs with a drawl, “I’ve f-finally fooouund yooouu, aha…” 

He sounds so proud of himself. Something about his tone is almost childish, deceivingly so. He truly thinks he’s done something amazing. 

Your heart skips a beat when he suddenly freezes, face going void of all emotion, and you wonder if you’ve truly angered him. If you did, would that be the mistake that ended it all? 

Fortunately, it seems he was just changing gears. You panic when you realize he’s leaning in towards you, but he moves past your face to practically bury his nose in your neck, taking a long and deep breath. He lets out a faint laugh as he breathes out, and it feels like a horrible sensation crawling down your spine. The only thing you can do is grab onto his arms, nails digging into the dirty and worn fabric of his hoodie. It’s practically caked with dried mud in some areas and you can feel the dry cracking beneath your hands. 

“I m-missed your…your s-smell…” Toby whispers. You’re confused for a moment, and it takes a few seconds for it all to set in. 

‘Missed?’ 

He’d…smelled you before? 

He ‘missed’ you… 

“I-I should have…should have visited m-more…I-I got ssso busy, b-but I didn’t forget you, I-I promise…” 

He keeps talking, but it starts to fade out. Only a few words matter, anyways. 

There’s an incredibly brief moment of clarity that flashes through your mind, a split second flicker of understanding that you hadn’t just been misplacing or losing things, that you weren’t imagining all those noises or shadows that you told yourself were childish things to be afraid of, and it nearly floods your brain before it disappears as quickly as it appeared. Maybe you purposefully pushed it out, at least for now. There was too much going on to process the past. If you were lucky enough to get out of this alive, you could reflect then. 

You’re frozen for a few moments as Toby’s idle hands begin to wander, as they always do. He’s at least considerate enough to feel you up through your clothes, but that doesn’t stop you from sucking in a harsh breath through your teeth when he roughly gropes your ass. It forces you to push yourself into him as you try to get away from the aggressive grip. You can feel him laugh with his chest pressed flush against yours. 

He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, and it’s become painfully obvious that he’s much stronger than he looks. You’d never expect someone so skinny to be able to manhandle you like this. 

He sways slowly from side to side as he holds you, one unsteady hand toying with your hair in a gesture that, on Toby’s end, seems as though it is meant to be sincere. 

“Th-There’s so much I want t-to do to y— to do with y-you…so little time…” He goes on muttering to himself over something or other, but you can’t understand him as he trails off. 

He seems preoccupied with his own thoughts, distracted enough that you begin to squirm. He doesn’t react, continuing to quietly rant about nothing while stroking your head. You struggle again, a bit bolder this time. Nothing. 

Maybe you actually had a chance, you just had to slip away. Hell, maybe you’d get lucky and run the right way on the first try; for all you know you’re only a mile away from a highway, that could be your lifeline. You just had to slip away— 

“Stop it! Stop doing that!” 

…Easier said than done, it seems. 

Hearing Toby yell, seemingly allowing a genuine flash of anger to overtake him as he slams you back against the wall, chills you to the core. He was unpredictable, bouncing back and forth between the extremes of whatever emotion he was feeling, making it impossible to plan around his potential actions. 

His hand splays out across your chest to keep you pinned to the wall. He’s applying much more pressure than he needs to, and he knows it. His smile twitches as you struggle to recover from having the wind knocked out of you. 

When he reaches back for his pocket, you expect him to pull out a weapon; maybe a knife, or even a small handgun you somehow hadn’t noticed. 

But no. He returns with something much smaller, and your brows furrow in confusion as you struggle to make out the shape among the shadows that have quickly taken over your space. 

“What’s t-the matter?” Toby asks, “Never seen a-a condom before?”

He snickers cruelly at the way your mouth hangs open in reply. 

“Whaaaat? I-I’m trying to be nice…don’t be a bitch.” 

“N…Nice?!” You choke out in reply, and this time Toby’s jaw drops. 

“Oh, it does speak!” He exclaims with genuine excitement. “Good, good…s-so good…” 

He holds the corner of the wrapper in his mouth so that his hand can be free to fumble with his belt. The sound of the buckle clanking as he slips it off makes your stomach flip. Your gaze flicks quickly back and forth from his pants back to his eyes, and he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You haven’t even seen him blink. 

His tongue runs over his glistening teeth as he prepares to speak again: 

“I h-hope you squeal for me, pretty thing…When we’re done here, I’m t-takin’ you with me…” 

[kvetchlandia]

William S Burroughs Allen Ginsberg on the Roof of His Apartment, E. 7th St, East Village, New York City 1953

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand and asshole holy! Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s an angel! The bum’s as holy as the seraphim! the madman is holy as you my soul are holy! The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy! Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cassady holy the unknown buggered and suffering beggars holy the hideous human angels! Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks of the grandfathers of Kansas! Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana hipsters peace peyote pipes & drums! Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the mysterious rivers of tears under the streets! Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the middleclass! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebellion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles! Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria & Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow Holy Istanbul! Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch! Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucinations holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the abyss! Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours! bodies! suffering! magnanimity! Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul!

-- Allen Ginsberg, "Footnote to Howl" Berkeley, 1955

[httpvomitello]

Can I request a bay turtles x reader pregnant where the reader gives birth and they expected one but she surprisingly gives birth to twins/triplets/quadruplets I'll let you decide and the turtle papa's reactions to coming into the room and seeing her have not one but multiple babies in her arms?🥰

Hello! Yes, of course. I hope you like it! ♡♡♡♡

Leo’s heart pounded like a drum as he paced outside the room, his shell brushing against the walls of the lair. He never imagined this moment would be happening here. You were supposed to be in a hospital, with doctors, nurses, and the best equipment to make sure everything went smoothly. But you knew that this unfortunately wouldn't be possible, the chances of a mutant baby being born were too high. How would you explain something like that?

Now, here he was, pacing like a madman while Donnie scrambled to help you through the delivery. His heart raced with every sound, every cry, every moment that passed. The tension in the air was thick, but all Leo could do was wait, caught between anxiety and overwhelming excitement.

“I should be in there with her.” Leo muttered under his breath, feeling useless. He’d faced hundreds of enemies, fought impossible battles, but nothing made him feel more helpless than not being able to take the pain away from you.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Donnie poked his head out. “Leo, you can come in now.”

Without a second thought, Leo rushed inside, his eyes immediately searching for you. You were lying on the makeshift bed Donnie had set up, your face glowing with exhaustion but also with a soft, tired smile. Leo’s breath caught in his throat when he saw what you held in your arms.

A baby. A tiny, wriggling little baby wrapped in a soft blanket.

“Is that…?” Leo’s voice cracked, and he stepped closer, his eyes wide with wonder.

You nodded, a weak smile pulling at your lips. “Meet your daughter.”

Leo’s heart swelled, the rush of love hitting him all at once. He reached out, carefully cradling the tiny baby in his large hands. She was so small, so delicate, and he was terrified of hurting her with his strength. But as she let out a soft coo, something inside Leo settled. This was his daughter.

His family.

“I… I can’t believe it,” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. “She’s perfect.”

But before Leo could fully process the magnitude of the moment, Donnie’s voice cut through the soft sounds of the newborn. “Uh… Leo? There’s something else.”

Leo blinked, glancing at Donnie, who had a small, almost amused smile on his face. “What do you mean ‘something else’?”

Donnie stepped forward, gently holding another baby.

Leo’s jaw dropped. “Wait… another one?”

You let out a tired laugh as you carefully held the second baby, this time a boy. “Surprise!”

Leo stood frozen for a moment, staring between the two babies. His brain was struggling to catch up. Twins? He wasn’t expecting twins. The idea of one baby was already overwhelming enough, but two?

Before he could even get a word out, Donnie cleared his throat again.

“Leo… there’s a third.”

Another boy.

The room seemed to freeze as Leo turned to look at Donnie. “A third?!” His voice cracked, his mind reeling. “Triplets?!”

You nodded, still smiling despite the exhaustion. “Yeah… seems like we’re a little outnumbered now.”

Leo’s legs felt weak as he sank down beside you, his hands shaking as he stared at the three babies now nestled in your arms. Three. He was prepared for one, but three?

“Triplets…” He breathed the word out, trying to let it sink in. “I—I don’t know what to say. I thought we were having one. I didn’t… I didn’t know…”

His voice trailed off, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all. But as he looked at you, the woman he loved more than anything, and the three tiny miracles in your arms, his heart swelled with pride, love, and a touch of panic.

“I don’t know how we’re going to handle this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Three babies? I thought I was ready for one, but this… this is…”

You reached out, placing a hand on his cheek. “We’ll figure it out, my love. We’ve got this.”

Leo took a deep breath, nodding as he gently touched each baby’s tiny hand. “I’ll protect all of you. I promise.” His voice was thick with emotion, his mind still spinning with the reality of what had just happened.

As the babies settled in your arms, Leo leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin. “I don’t know how you did this, but you’re incredible.”

You smiled weakly. “I had some help from your brother.”

Leo chuckled softly, the tension in his body finally starting to melt away. “Yeah… Donnie deserves a medal for this one.”

But as he looked back at his three newborn children, a new kind of fear crept in. “We’re going to need a bigger room… and more supplies… and—”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Leo, stop worrying. We’ll handle it. We’ve already handled worse.”

Leo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I never had three babies depending on me before.”

He gently took one of the babies into his arms, staring down at her tiny face. “But I promise… I’ll be the best dad I can be.”

With that, Leo sat down beside you, holding his daughter, and also looking at his other two boys. Leo never thought something like this was possible, but just looking at these little beings filled his heart with happiness. Being by your side, he felt like the most complete and happy mutant in the entire world.

“I love you.” he whispered, smiling.

[amyrahrose]

Content warning: Nanamixreader smut, penetration, missionary, dominant kento!, unprotected sex, pet names, talking her through it, <READER IS BLACK FEMALE CODED>

Author's note: Something that popped in my mind in the middle of the night and first time writing Kento. Slightly proofread, so not too much on me 😅. Honestly this was slightly rushed, so with that being said I do hope you guys still enjoy. And as always thanks for your support! 🤎 18 and under, GET TA STEPPIN!

Nanami likes to think of himself as a reasonable man.

A logical man.

A sensible man. 

But not when it comes to you, oh no. 

He’s a wild man. 

A senseless man. 

A feral man.

You, because of you everything that seems to make sense to Nanami vanishes into thin air. He doesn’t know how to act, how to think, how to speak whenever he’s in your presence. He only knows how to feel, oh and feel he does. 

When he’s holding you.

Caressing you.

 In you. 

Nanami loves it, borderline obsessed. Hell, he is obsessed.

“You like it when I fuck you like this princess? C’mon, tell Daddy how good it feels.” Nanami groans out. He’s ramming his dick in and out of you at an animalistic pace. Mentally recording the sounds of your moans, the squelching of your juices, and the feeling of your walls clamping around his dick whenever he sings praises to you. 

“So good daddy, don’t ever stop, please.” You whine out, tears streaming down your face. 

This. 

This is want makes Nanami’s rationality slip into oblivion. Watching you, studying you and your every move. Learning, perfecting, what it is that makes your brows furrow together in pleasure, what makes the blood rush to your clit and thumps like a drum, what has your whiny voice moaning out his name like a mantra. He’s forever mesmerized at your fucked-out state, the tears that cascade down your face, or the way your lips begin to bruise from how hard you bite down on them, relishing in the feel of his dick kissing your spot over and over again. 

He’s a madman.

“Never. I’ll never stop. This pussy is too good for that.” He whispers in your ear before sucking on the sensitive spot on your neck that’s always getting you to arch your back off the bed.

This is the Nanami you yearned for. Of course you love the level-headed Nanami, but the rough fucking, dirty talking Nanami was who you craved, who you needed to satisfy your hunger.

“Kento, I’m right there. I’m going to cum.” You moan loudly when he takes one of his fingers in between the two of you, pressing down on your clit, drawing figure 8’s on it. 

“Yea, you’re going to come for me babygirl?. Going to make a mess all over this dick? Do it, fucking do it. Let me feel it sweetheart.” Nanami begged, voice raspy and full of need. His relentlessness in drilling his dick deeper inside of you with the pressure of rubbing your clit caused the band in your stomach to snap, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave hitting the shore. 

“That’s it, such a good girl for daddy.” He groans, throwing his head back in pure bliss. Gritting his teeth together as he chased after his own release, the feel of your walls spasming around him was all it took to send him over the edge. 

“Daddy’s going to cum in this pussy, I’m going to fill you up and you’re going to take it like a good girl.” He mumbled dumbly as his dick twitched inside your heat. 

“Fuck.” He dragged out, burying his head into the crook of your neck while his dick was buried inside the depth of your pussy, his release tainting your walls with his thick ropes of cum, leaving no part untouched. 

With ragged breathing, Nanami slowly rose up from you, taking a moment to look over you. It was then that the sun began shining in from the windows, illuminating your deep, rich brown skin with such a glow, Nanami would argue with top scholars that you were a goddess. Your braids tousled around your head like a crown, the rise and fall of your breast trying to regulate your breathing, nipples still swollen as if he just finished teasing them, and the slick of your juices mixed with his cum oozing out of your pussy caused a deep growl to come from him.

“Legs back up, Daddy wants more.”

Nanami liked to think himself a sensible man.

But for you, Nanami loved to think himself a senseless man. 

© 2024 Amyrahrose. Please do not translate, copy, plagiarize, or repost (sharing links is fine 🤎) without my permission. You will only find my entries/content on tumblr!

[hannie-dul-set]

THREE'S A CROWD — [preview].

SYNOPSIS. three of your friends fight for your affection, totally not because they like you— but simply because they can’t stand the idea of you liking someone else.

PAIRINGS. jung sungchan, park wonbin, hong seunghan x female! reader. GENRE. college! au, rom-com, reverse harem, just a bunch of arrogant and silly little boys in denial, a collection of italicized oh moments in succession, featuring the rest of riize and nct. WARNINGS. swearing, explicit language, mild possessiveness, so much petty and childish behavior, drinking, breaking and entering, may add more in the full fic. WORD COUNT. preview: 3.2k | full fic: est. 15-18k.

RELEASE DATE. november to december. TAGLIST. send an ask/dm/reply to be added.

NOTE. i said i'd do it. so i did. i am. and i'm having so much fun writing another shitstorm of a harem so i hope you find this as fun as i do HAHAHHAHA. sick and tired of seeing nothing but smut under the riize x reader tag so here is my contribution to society. you're welcome.

preview under the cut.

THERE ARE CURRENTLY THREE HEADS IN THE MALE DORMITORY LOUNGE. One is Sungchan, tinkering with the foosball table by himself because the other two heads are refusing to play with him. Second is Wonbin laid comfortably on the couch, headphones on and using his lap as a drum set. Last is Seunghan, on the floor for some reason, and eyes trained intently on his phone with his thumbs tapping on the screen like a madman.

The number gets added when Sohee rushes in from the front door, a large McDonald’s paper bag in hand and four large cups of soda in the other. “Order’s here!” he announces. The three heads quickly pop up from their respective businesses and congregate to the dining corner of the room.

“Fuck,” Sungchan groans, following the scent of the warm, freshly cooked mcnuggets on the table. The other three are already seated and poking holes in their soda cups. Sungchan is still groaning like a zombie. The two open nugget boxes are enticing him. He won’t . He must not. “I can’t eat. I forgot I had dinner plans tonight.”

“With a girl?” Sohee asks. The number of nuggets is depleting by the second. If the rest of the guys come down, there will be none left for him.

“Yes,” Sungchan replies. He swallows hard. Wonbin takes the boot shaped chicken right before his very eyes. This is torture.

Seunghan scrunches his nose, mid-nugget. “Boo. You whore. It’s guys night. How can you do this to us?” 

“A few nuggets can’t hurt,” says Wonbin. He pokes the box closer to Sungchan. 

“You’re right. Move over.”

They snort at his flimsy conviction. Sungchan argues that he is simply experiencing the delicacies of both the east and the west tonight. You’re supposed to have Japanese with him tonight. There is nothing wrong with cross-cultural enjoyment. He is simply diversifying his palate.

“So, is it a date?” asks Seunghan.

“No. I’m just eating out with a friend.”

“Just the two of you?” 

Wonbin raises a brow with the question. Sungchan counts the numbers in his head. “Yeah.” If he eats another nugget, then that would make it five. Five can be counted with only one hand. That isn’t a lot. This is fine.

“Oh man,” Sohee snickers. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure that’s a date.”

“No way!” he defends, the fifth and final nugget stuffed in his mouth. Sungchan swallows before continuing, wiping his hand on the pile of tissue papers on the table. “It’s not a date. I mean, she did tell me that she has a little crush on me, but it’s not a date.”

The three don’t miss the slight curl of his lips— a bastard’s sly grin. It’s a date. It’s definitely a date. Seunghan gives him a hard smack on the back. “The girl has a crush on you, how is it not a date, you piece of shit?”

“Ow! Hey!” he glares at him. “It really isn’t! We even had a whole talk we’re keeping it strictly platonic. I’m not interested in her in that way and she knows that. I’m not doing anything wrong here!”

There’s both disappointment and judgment in Wonbin’s face. “Quit leading her on.”

Sungchan gasps. “I’m not!”

“Who is it anyway?” Sohee asks right before taking an obnoxious sip on his soda. “Maybe I know her.”

“Well, I doubt it,” he starts. “I’m pretty sure you guys don’t know her, but she’s—”

Your name stumbles out of Sungchan’s mouth. It falls quiet, save for Sungchan’s explanation that he met you through the soccer team’s captain, Nakamoto Yuta, and that he’s known you for around half a year now. You’re in different majors, but it turns out you have quite a lot of friends from his team, so you bump into each other a lot. Sungchan knew about your crush on him early into your acquaintanceship— which is why having dinner with you and just you isn’t, “and shouldn’t be that big of a deal! It’s not a date. Seriously.”

“Okay, it’s not a date,” Sohee relents. Sungchan nods proudly at his victory.

“Yes. It is not.”

“But you know what’s funny—” Sohee’s eyes move to Seunghan. “The girl you told me about has the same name. What a coincidence.”

Seunghan is sitting on the table like a mound of stone. He’s got a half-eaten nugget in his hands. He’s not putting it in his mouth. “That’s right,” he simply says. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. “That is pretty funny. What a coincidence.” Coincidence, Seunghan repeats in his head. Yes. It must be a coincidence. He nods to himself and throws the nugget remnants into his mouth, satisfied with that conclusion.

“What girl?” Wonbin rouses. Seunghan turns his head to him sharply.

“Oh,” he says. “A friend from highschool.”

“A friend that’s had feelings for him since highschool,” Sohee grins. “You said she was pretty. Why didn’t you two start dating?”

Is this the chicken’s fault? Why the heck does everything keep circling back to dating? “I don’t know. I’ve just never seen her in that light,” Seunghan explains. He doesn’t know why he’s getting riled up, but he is. “And just because someone confessed to you doesn’t mean they want to start dating. Dude, I feel like you’re the one that should go and find a date. Being single is getting to your head.”

Seunghan has been friends with you since eleventh grade, being classmates and all. You confessed to him early into grade twelve, and even though he didn’t return your feelings, it was never awkward because you never acted differently. In fact, sometimes he second guesses if it actually happened. Just a few days ago, he asked if you still like him to confirm. All you said was, “yeah, why?” and continued working on your assignment. That’s why sometimes he forgets. That’s why it’s not worth bringing up.

Until now, when your name suddenly keeps popping up. Wonbin utters the same. Seunghan and Sungchan’s head quickly snap towards him. “You guys aren’t talking about SM-ARTS Chairperson, right?”

SM-ARTS is an art organization in your university. It’s been a well known org since its foundation— half because of its achievements, half because of its stupid (smart) name. “That’s...yes, that is her.” Seunghan gets a bad feeling. A really bad fucking feeling, and it’s not just having too much unhealthy chicken nuggets from McDonald’s. “Why? Do you also know her?”

“Of course I do. I’m literally her Vice Chair,” Wonbin furrows his brows. This is strange. He’s been working with you since the beginning of the year and you’ve never mentioned a Jung Sungchan nor a Hong Seunghan before. What’s even stranger is their assertions that you have feelings for them. You. For them. It’s a ridiculous thought to entertain because, “she literally told me that he has a crush on me. What are you two talking about?”

Wonbin couldn’t get a more direct confession than yours. It’s typical for the rest of your org officers and members to tease the both of you— the snickers and hollers when you’d call him to discuss something in private, the teasing saying you two look good together. Hell, some of the kids even call you both mom and dad and it’s gone to the point where he’s told them off to quit it because you might be uncomfortable. But you’d always say, “it’s fine,” and “you didn’t mind,” with a sweet smile on your face. Now, he’s no stranger to those insinuations, and for the sake of your professional relationship, he needed your denial or agreement.

Turns out, you do have a crush on him.

So this has become very, very awkward.

“Maybe—” Sungchan stammers. “Maybe...maybe we’re each talking about a different person, maybe there’s actually three different— oh, hey. What are you doing here?”

Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

“Hey!” 

The sound of your voice bouncing around the male dormitory walls feel foreign and jarring, especially after the conversation that had just transpired. You set down your bag on their couch, walking up to them with a bright smile that doesn’t match their vibe at all.

There’s tension in the air. A very thick and palpable tension and the three are exchanging glances and looks as if to say, ‘Go on. Go say hi to her first if she’s the girl you’ve been talking about.’

But you beat them to it. “Wow. I didn’t think you three knew each other!” you exclaim, skipping over to the dining corner where you find yourself in the gap between Sungchan and Seunghan. The two flinch at the closeness of your presence. Wonbin tightens his jaw. “Anyway, is Shotaro around? I need to talk to him about our trip this weekend, but he’s not replying.”

“He’s in his room. Upstairs. Fourth floor.” 

It’s not a competition, but hearing how quickly the response falls out of Wonbin’s lips sure does makes it seem like it is. Sungchan has his mouth open, gives Wonbin a look, before closing it again. Seunghan never even got the chance, and Sohee is looking at the scene unfold like it’s a goddamned trashy movie.

“Great, thanks!” you beam. “Oh, and we’re still up for dinner tonight, right?”

They can’t go for another speed contest because the question is reserved for one person only— Sungchan, who seems to be caught off guard. “Yeah. Absolutely,” he manages to squeeze out. You smile.

“Sweet. Wonbin, have you prepared the documents I asked for tomorrow’s meeting?”

It’s like a question carousel. “I’ll send them later for you to review.”

“Perfect! Right, and Seunghan—” There goes another rotation. “Mind driving me to the reunion this Friday? Jaeha bailed on me at the last minute, that son of a bitch.”

Seunghan blinks at you, in a daze. “Sure.”

“Nice! And you—”

Your attention lands on the last person at the table. Sungchan, Wonbin, and Seunghan didn’t expect you to even entertain him. “Sohee,” their friend fills in, a little taken aback. You flash him a bright grin.

“Sohee! Nice to meet you! Love your necklace. Very chic.”

For some reason the smile on Sohee’s face is annoying to the other three boys. “Thanks!” he says. “Have a nugget before you go.” They didn’t think it was possible, but somehow your face glows even brighter and you lean down, still between Seunghan and Sungchan, to pick up a piece from the box. 

“Thought you guys would never offer. Thank you! I’ll see you around!”

With that you disappear up the stairs, and you take all the noise and the life in the room with you. It’s quiet. So quiet— almost like there’s a standoff. That is until Sohee clears his throat, still pink from the compliment you gave him, and says, “Well. Seems like she’s the same person.” 

No fucking shit, she’s the same person. They can’t keep making excuses anymore. 

Seunghan tries to play it off with a laugh. “I can’t believe you guys would lie and joke about her having a crush on you.” His laugh isn’t well taken by the other two. It spirals down to shit all too quickly.

“What do you mean ‘lie’?” Wonbin narrows his eyes.

Sungchan hollers in. “Yeah, if anything, you’re the one that’s lying! You and him both!”

“Why would I lie?!” Seunghan protests.

“I don’t know— maybe because you’re jealous that she likes me and not either of you?”

Before they can start throwing fists, Sohee interrupts by making himself the collective target. “Have you guys considered,” he starts, hands solemnly pressed together above the crumb littered table. “That she might have a tinge of feelings for all three of you? Not just one?”

They pause in consideration. It takes them five seconds to brush him off.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No way.”

“Why would she?”

Sohee sighs and gives up. He hears a set of footsteps rushing down and hopes it’s you, so that his three friends would finally quit it. It is you, and Sohee lifts up. Your timing is impeccable. He’s almost convinced you’ve been listening the whole time.

“Hey,” you greet them once again, flashing a smile once, before going off to retrieve your bag from the couch. The three quiet down instantaneously and have resigned to glaring at each other in seething silence. Seunghan isn’t very good at glaring at people, so he reorganizes his strategy instead.

“How’s the thing with Taro hyung?” he asks, twisting his chair to face you better. Sungchan and Wonbin give him a dirty look. That bastard. He’s even considering body language into play.

“Oh! The trip is canceled.” You sling your bag over your shoulder. “So my Sunday has been cleared. Do you guys want to make plans?”

Crap.

You just tossed them a bone.

Sohee is sure this isn’t gonna end pretty.

“Why don’t we go on a date?”

All eyes are wide. Their heads snap in the direction of Wonbin— the fast bastard. His expression is nonchalant, but his shaking knee from under the table says otherwise. “There’s a contemporary art exhibit opening downtown. Let’s check it out together,” This bitch, Sungchan’s expression seems to say. Seunghan’s disappointment seeps through the air.

“Like. A date, date?” you confirm, eyes batting expectantly, as if you have a barrier against the palpably sour and rotten mood flooding the room in ominous swirls.

“Yeah,” Wonbin confirms. He’s lucky you’re too far away to notice the sweat dripping down his neck. “Is...is that a problem? You said you liked me. Why don’t we give it a shot?”

All hell breaks loose the moment you entertain them with flustered cheeks and a shy smile.

“No! Don’t go!” Sungchan’s had it. He can’t take this anymore. “If there’s anyone you should be going out with, it should be me! You like me! Not them!”

Seunghan has left his seat and has scrambled over to you. Wonbin and Sungchan’s eyes widen. They aren’t letting him do this. They quickly follow suit but Seunghan already has a firm hold on your arms and is looking deep into your eyes. He’s put up an invisible barrier. Fuck, that sneaky bastard.

“Were you actually serious when you said that you had a crush on me since eleventh grade?” His voice cracks. If he’s trying to tap into your pity, then it’s definitely fucking working. “But why are these two saying you like them? What about us?! Am I nothing to y—”

Your index finger finds its way over Seunghan’s lips. Silence befalls. Your blank face settles into a sound smile.

“Well,” you pry Seunghan’s hands off you, still smiling pleasantly at all of them. What is this ominous feeling? Why doesn’t it seem like you’re actually smiling at them? “As far as I remember, none of you returned my confessions.”

It’s like a hammer hits all three of them at once.

“And I still like you Seunghan. We literally talked about it the other day.” You gave him a two word answer then brushed him off your essay. That was hardly a conversation. Seunghan feels wronged beyond words.

“How—how about me?”

You look over to Sungchan, who looks arguably like a kicked puppy. “What about you?”

“Well,” he clears his throat, a faint blush coating his ears. “Do you still, uh, have feelings for me too, or—”

“Sungchan, do you think I’d have kept asking you to have dinner alone with me every week if I didn’t like you?” He blinks. Beside him, Wonbin points a finger to himself. You let out a breath. “I’d be blind and tasteless if I wasn’t into you, Wonbin. Especially after working closely together since the beginning of the year. Why are you guys asking me this?”

Sohee has stopped liking all these ominous periods of silence because they’re signs that even more chaos is about to ensue. His three friends’ eyes look empty and hollow as they stare at you. Oh god, they’re far gone.

“So,” Wonbin starts.

“You like us,” Seunghan follows.

“Like all three of us,” Sungchan finishes. 

You give them a smile reminiscent of a kindergarten teacher feeling a swell of pride after her student finishes reciting the alphabet. Sohee feels sympathy pains for his friends. “Yup. I also have a crush on Johnny from med, but he’s graduating soon, so that’s a bummer. Oh! And our TA Jung Jaehyun! He has the face of a god!” Oh, dear. You stomp on them then finish it off with a spit on their faces. Sohee bites his lip, feeling both horrendously bad and curious as to how this shitshow will conclude. 

The three simmer in silence. You give them a raised brow.

“Why? Is there a problem?”

Oh, there’s a fucking problem, alright.

“Why are you guys looking at me like that? I did confess to all three of you saying I have a crush on you, but I never said I was in love with you.”

Well, damn.

Neither of them like you like that, but that shit hurt for no fucking reason.

“Don’t think too much of it, sillies! And I don’t get why you’re all so affected when you’re the ones who didn’t return my feelings.” 

Your laughter is poison and your smiling face is tearing them apart. You’re heartless. You’re a devil disguised as an angel. You’re from the deepest depths of hell and have come to earth for the sole reason of tooth-achingly sweet and strawberry scented torment. If they can fall to their knees right now, they would, but their pride is tattered enough already��� ripped to shreds by your unapologetic bluntness and honesty.

“Anyway, since I already have plans with the three of you within the week, Sungchan’s later this evening—” The man in question is pouting. He’s pouting very hard when your eyes skip over him, and zones into the person that’s been quiet this entire time. “Sohee! Wanna go bowling with me and my bio friends this Sunday?”

That was a bomb. A large and dangerous bomb. “Sure?” Sohee responds unknowingly. You give them one last sweet smile of torture before finally leaving.

“Great! Get my number from any of them. I have to go meet some people. Later! Thanks for the snack!”

With that, you leave them behind, but not without a trace of disaster. Once they’ve confirmed you’re gone and out, signaved by the tight shutting of the door, Sungchan, Wonbin, and Seunghan look at each other. Then at Sohee. Then back at the closed door once more.

It’s quiet again. They don’t need to talk to settle with three mutual conclusions.

One. Sohee isn’t getting shit after the emotional massacre they went through. He can go crawl and scavenger for your number elsewhere for all they care.

Two. There’s no doubt. They all know you and you all know them. This is something they can’t ignore anymore, so they have to figure out how to behave in case a run in like this happens again,

And three—

You like them. All three of them. At the same time. 

Their pride can’t stand the idea of sharing that affection. Absolutely not. Therefore three must drop down to one. Sungchan, Wonbin, and Seunghan are dead set on making sure that that one is going to be him.

THREE'S A CROWD. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[biblical-chronicles]

Plastered

_________________________________________

where Liam needs some help to find the courage on Valentine's Day.

_________________________________________

Liam sat slumped on his couch, flicking through channels on the TV without really watching anything. His mind kept circling back to you, the thought of confessing, the pressure building with every tick of the clock. It wasn’t like he’d never felt this way before—he’d been through the motions with women before—but this... this felt different. And fuck, he wasn’t ready for that. What if she doesn't feel the same? What if I make a tit of meself?

He sighed heavily and glanced at the clock again. It was mid-afternoon, and you’d mentioned you were staying in tonight. That was his window. He had a plan, he just had to make sure it went well. Nothing too grand—just a simple, honest conversation. Yeah, right. Simple.

Just as he was stewing in his thoughts, the door buzzer rang.

Liam groaned, his fingers drumming on the arm of the couch. “What now?” he muttered to himself, dragging his feet over to the door.

When he opened it, Noel breezed in, cigarette already hanging from his lips. “Alright, dickhead,” Noel greeted with his usual smirk, not waiting for an invitation. “Got them papers for you. You know, the ones you’ve probably forgotten about 'cause you’ve been too busy pacing around this dump of a flat like a fucking madman.”

Liam rolled his eyes, stepping aside. “I’m not pacing around, I’m thinkin’.”

“Wrong, you're not capable of that.” Noel threw himself onto the couch, throwing the documents onto the little coffee table.

“I’ll get to 'em later. I’ve got stuff to deal with today.”

Noel raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Liam. “Stuff? Like what? You finally gonna man up and tell her you fancy her, or what?”

Liam shot him a glare, but Noel was already grinning like he knew something Liam didn’t. "Nah," Liam muttered, scratching his head. "Not like that. Just... yeah. You know. Think I’m gonna swing by hers later, innit."

“Swing by?” Noel chuckled, eyes narrowing. “So you’re just gonna turn up at her gaff, all confident, all ‘Hey, I fancy ya’, and expect it to go smoothly, yeah?”

Liam frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

Noel laughed harder now. “Oh, you poor bastard. You’ve never been able to ask the bird out to lunch without getting all twitchy, let alone doin’ some grand confession on bloody Valentine’s Day.”

Liam bit his lip, already feeling the nerves creeping in. “I can do it, alright?”

Noel grinned, clearly loving how worked up Liam was getting. “You’re sure she’s even stayin’ in? She could be off out, mate. You’ve not even checked, have ya?”

Liam stared at him blankly. “I don’t—” he stammered, caught off guard. He hadn’t thought about that. “I mean… She said she was stayin’ in. Why would she suddenly change her plans?”

Noel’s smirk only grew wider. “Oh, who knows? Maybe someone actually asked her out. You ever think of that, Liam? She's not reserved for ya so plesse stop just stewin’ in here like a prat.”

Liam let out a grunt, clearly starting to get a bit frustrated. “I don’t need you to make me feel worse, alright?”

Noel laughed again, shaking his head as he stood up to leave. “Nah, mate. I’m just tellin’ ya how it is. But listen,” he added, turning back toward the door, “You really have to do this, she won't wait around forever for your nervous arse.”

Liam glared at him, his jaw clenching. “I’m not nervous.”

“Yeah, right,” Noel shot back, the playful glint still in his eyes. “You look like you'd benefit from a shot"

Liam blinked, his brain slowly processing what Noel had just said.

Noel grinned, mischief still dancing in his eyes. “Anyway, you better sort yourself out, yeah? You’ve got a date to ruin.” With that, he strolled out of the flat.

Liam stood there, processing it all for a second before returning to looking at the telly again, procrastinating any further planning.

Yet, as the evening crept closer, Liam’s nerves ramped up like mad. He had been fine, totally fine, but now, with the sun dipping below the horizon, the weight of what he was about to do hit him like a fucking train. His knee bounced restlessly as he sat on the couch, staring at the clock.

6:12 PM.

Shit. Less than an hour until he was meant to head over.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. His palms were clammy, his heart was hammering. He needed to get his shit together. What had Noel said? Right—have a shot. Just a little something to take the edge off. Sounded like solid advice.

So he did.

And then, because his stomach was still flipping and his brain was still screaming, he had another.

And then another.

And then… well, after the fourth one, things were starting to feel much easier.

By the time he glanced back at the clock, it was 6:54 PM.

His stomach dropped. “Oh, fuck.”

Scrambling to his feet, he nearly tripped over the coffee table as he grabbed his coat. He had no gift, no grand gesture, nothing. He had spent so much time spiraling over how to tell you that he’d forgotten to actually prepare anything. In a last-minute stroke of genius, he dashed outside, spotting a small patch of flowers behind someone's fence but close enough to reach.

“Ah, perfect.” he mumbled to himself, crouching down. They weren’t exactly the finest bouquet in the world, but they’d do. He yanked a few out of the ground, dirt and all, and—after wiping his hands sort of clean on his jeans—set off towards your place, swaying slightly as he walked.

When you opened the door, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of chaotic.

Liam stood there, swaying slightly, looking like he’d just been through something. His hair was sticking up in odd directions, his pupils were blown wide, and he smelled of booze. In his grip—barely—was a small, pathetic bundle of flowers, some of them missing petals, others still clinging to their roots.

You just stared at him for a second. “Liam?”

He opened his mouth, as if he had some grand declaration prepared, something sweeping and romantic, but all that came out was a strangled, “Oh, fuck, love, I’m so sorry.”

Your brows lifted. “For what?”

“For—” He gestured wildly at himself, the flowers, the whole tragic state of affairs he’d brought to your doorstep. “This! This whole—this whole fucking disaster! This is not how this was supposed to go, at all.”

Your lips twitched, but you managed to keep a straight face. “And how was it supposed to go?”

Liam let out a long, weary sigh, like he was personally disappointed in himself. “Well, not like this, obviously.” He rubbed a hand down his face before leveling you with a surprisingly serious look. “I had a plan, y’know.”

You just barely bit back a smile. “Did you now?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, swaying slightly with the movement. “I was gonna knock on your door all cool, say summat dead smooth, summat that’d make ya weak in the knees—‘cause let’s be real, I make ya weak in the knees, yeah?”

You let out a snort, and he pointed at you like he’d caught you in some kind of admission.

“Exactly,” he said. “But then—” He suddenly looked deeply betrayed. “Then Noel—”

He flung his arms out dramatically, like the mere mention of his brother’s name was enough to conjure bad luck. “He’s sittin’ in me flat, takin’ the piss, right? And I’m tellin’ him about tonight, proper serious, and he’s just laughin’ at me! Like I’m some kind of—I dunno—some kinda mug! And then he’s like, ‘Oh, just have a shot, mate,’ and I thought—yeah, alright, good shout.”

Your amusement only grew as he barreled forward with his confession.

“But then I kept havin’ ‘em,” Liam went on, his voice increasing in volume like he’d just realized the depth of his own mistake. “And then suddenly it’s, like, ten to seven, and I’m leggin’ it down the road, tryna find ya some flowers, and now—now—I’m here, stood in front of ya, absolutely fuckin’ wrecked, makin’ a right fool of meself.”

You couldn’t help it anymore—you laughed. Loudly.

Liam immediately froze, his face falling like you’d just punched him in the gut.

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, looking properly crushed. His eyes darted everywhere but you, like he was already planning his escape.

Before he could spiral any further, you reached out, grabbing the front of his coat and tugging him closer.

“Oh, Liam,” you murmured, still grinning. “C’mere.”

His eyes flickered to yours, completely dazed, and then, just as quickly, he stumbled forward, colliding into you. His nose brushed against yours as you pressed your lips to his, and for a second, he didn’t react—almost like his brain couldn’t process what was happening. But then, all at once, his hands gripped onto your waist, pulling you closer, like he had to make sure this was real. He kissed you back with everything he had, and somewhere in the midst of it, the sad little bouquet in his hands slipped from his fingers, landing on the doorstep with a soft thud.

When you finally pulled away, he blinked at you, still swaying slightly.

“… Does that mean you’ll be me Valentine?” he asked, his voice soft, full of hesitant hope.

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, smiling. “Of course, Liam.”

His face lit up, but then his brows furrowed, like something important had just dawned on him. “Wait—not just today, yeah? I mean it. I wanna be with ya—properly. Not just for Valentine’s, not just for now. Like… forever, or summat.”

You let out a snort. “Yeah, Liam, I’m not stupid. I know.”

That was all he needed. His lips crashed onto yours again, more urgent this time, like he was making up for all the time he’d wasted. His hands roamed—your waist, your back, anywhere he could get a grip—until finally, he pulled away with a sharp inhale.

You pressed your forehead against his, smiling as he blinked at you, still swaying slightly. His breath warm against your lips, and he looked just so pleased with himself.

You huffed a small laugh, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “Come on, let’s get you inside, yeah? Get you some water before you fall over.”

Liam’s brows furrowed like he was debating whether he should be offended or grateful. Eventually, he settled on grinning, throwing an arm around you as you guided him inside. “Yeah, alright, but only ‘cause ya asked so nicely.”

_________________________________________

happy valentines day to all you lot, hope you liked it !!

noel valentine's story here x

[nevertheless-moving]

Angsty Continuation of this Crack Szeth/Kaladin Time Travel AU:

"Sir, may I speak with you? It's a matter of some importance."

Dalinar looked up sharply, locking eyes with his Captain of the Guard.

Some of the clerks he had been meeting with had bristled, affronted as ever by what many saw as the unreasonably jumped up dark eyes. His intrusion into the room with barely a knock probably hadn't helped their opinion.

Dalinar ignored them for the moment, choosing instead to maintain eye contact. A chill ran down his spine.

Stormfather. When had the Captain started looking so…worn out? The man's gaze had always been strikingly intense, tired shadows kept at bay by a fiery rage. But now… Dalinar had perhaps seen that expression before, in a dying Chasmfiend. Embers of an unfathomably immense blaze, finally burning itself out. The heat it gave off still enough to scorch a man, but dying nevertheless.

He felt a twinge of guilt. Surely… he hadn't done that? Almight knows he asked a lot of the young man, too much perhaps. But storms… no, something must have happened. He had just seen the man, what, yesterday? Perhaps it had been a week since they had spoken more than in passing, but still. A week of overwork didn't burn through a person like that.

The Highprince cleared his throat. "I assume this has something to do with security?"

Captain Kaladin nodded firmly.

"Very well. Zaninel, Sherath, you're dismissed."

They left without a word, and barely a glare. Perhaps they had also caught something in the Captain's expression.

Kaladin closed the door behind him as he entered. He proceeded to the table, then all but collapsed into the chair across from the Highprince.

Dalinar raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

The darkeyed man rubbed a hand across his forehead, palm seeming to linger across the brands there. He started, sitting up.

"Sorry sir," he said hoarsely. "I forgot myself."

He pushed his weight forward as if to stand, but Dalinar waved him back.

"Its alright," he said. "I'm not one to make a soldier stand when hes clearly on his last chip."

The Captain sagged back.

"I apologize for the breach in decorum, I… last night…" He sighed, squaring his shoulder's and seeming to steel himself. "Well, sir, there's been vital matters I've been debating how to best present to your attention, but now one aspect has come to a head. Bridge four had… a visitor to our fire last night, scared the light out of my men. I've been trying to figure out what to do with him all night."

"A visitor?" Dalinar frowned. "This man is a security concern?"

Kaladin barked a humorless laugh. "It would be fair to say that, yes."

Dalinar waited for more of an explanation.

Kaladin sighed heavily. "I'd like to make a request sir."

"A request."

"That you not immediately put this man to death."

"Not…immediately?" Dalinar felt like an idiotic river spren, only able to mimic words/ But for the life of him, he had no idea where this conversation was going.

The captain nodded, drumming his fingers on the table. "I think he's of more value alive than dead, sir. And… I swore to try and help him regain some measure of his sanity. I can't do that if you kill him on sight."

"Kelek's Breath!" Dalinar said with some disbelief. "This madman if yours, he's truly so alarming, that you think I would do such a thing?"

Kaladin nodded, and Dalinar felt dread pool in his stomach.

"Who is this man?" he whispered.

"His name is Szeth."

"Szeth."

"Yes sir."

"That sounds like a Shin name."

"It is sir."

Dalanir stared down at the Captain, uncertain at what point he had stood up.

"Captain Stormblessed," he said with calm he didnt feel. "I can think of only one Shin man that I would desire to kill on sight."

Kaladin winced, then looked up locking those exhausted, burning eyes with his. "Yes."

"The assassin in white is here." Dalinar stated flatly.

"Yes."

The Highprince took a deep breath to steady himself. "The assassin who killed my brother?"

"Yes."

"The assassin who has been killing world leaders, throwing kingdoms into chaos."

"Yes."

Dalinar grabbed the lapels of Kaladin's jacket, towing him up with an enraged growl. He breathed heavily for a moment , attempting to restrain himself as he stared at that tired, dark expression.

"I trusted you," he hissed. "I trusted you with everything I had, everyone I loved, and you've been working with the Assassin in White."

Storms, did he feel tears in his eyes? Surely this betrayal couldn't hurt worse than Sadeas, but the dagger sharp pain in his sternum said otherwise. Had it all been a ruse? The tower, the retreat, Oathbringer…all one large, intricate lie to trick an old fool?

"No." The captain said firmly, meeting his unsaid questions with a steady, inarguable honesty.

"No, your maj — Sir. No, I have not been working with him. No, I had nothing to do with your brothers death — I was a child at the time, and Szeth and I hadn't even met. When we did first meet, I fought him. Then we fought again. I thought I killed him. I… I actually did kill him, from what i understand."

Kaladin Stormblessed's expression went very far away, but his words continued with that discordant lighteyed crispness he had had from that start.

"He was brought back by… a higher power. I'll explain what I can, but honestly, there's a lot a don't understand. He still very disturbed, but he is trying. He's taking another step along the journey, each day. Szeth is only a danger to himself now."

Stormblessed paused, then looked pained anew.

"Well…mostly. He's prepared to serve you, including as a killer. And…he's indicated that he's similarly willing to listen to my commands. He trusts me, sir. It…I realize this puts you in an uncomfortable position."

Dalinar felt his fingers unclench, and he lowered Stormblessed gently to his seat. There was no question in his mind if he could accept the Captain's word on this, he knew as instinctively as ever that this mans could be trusted.

Knew it more now than ever, seeing in those eyes a man who would rather break himself than break his oaths.

The pain of betrayal ebbed away, leaving a mess of emotions and thoughts in their wake.

Dalinar sat back heavily, rattling the maps and folios on the table.

"Storms!" He scrubbed a hand across his face. "You realize how mad this is, right?"

Kaladin laughed humorlessly. "Very much so."

"I —" Dalinar didn't know where to begin. "Where is he right now?"

"My office — my quarters in the Bridge Four Barrack."

"And he's under guard?"

"I have the Lopen and Rock switching off with him, but like I said, hes rather not a threat to anyone right."

"The Lop— wait, isn't Rock your cook's name?"

"Yessir. And you’ve probably seen Lopen before, he's hard to miss —small, loud, Herdassian."

"The one with one arm? You have a cook and a one armed man guarding the most dangerous man alive? Guarding a known shardbarer?" Dalinar found himself standing again, voice close to a shout. He forced himself back down.

Kaladin smiled weakly for some reason. "He gave me his shardblade, actually. As part of his surrender."

Dalinar glanced at Kaladin's hands, as if to find a shardblade he hadn't noticed.

The Captain opened his mouth, but Dalinar raised a hand. "…I'm not going to enjoy your answer on the location of that either, am I."

"Probably not, no."

Stormlight AU Masterlist

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE CHEONLIANG FAMILY HEADCANONS

After reading the latest lookism chapter, my heart hurts for Seongji 😭 However I'll still continue to be delusional and pretend he's still okay. That's better than the bitter reality

You got down from the bus as you sighed and fidgeted with your bagpack over your shoulder before you started walking towards your grandparents house. You were supposed to spend some time at your grandparents place in the Cheonliang village since your parents thought you were getting a tad bit spoiled and felt like you were getting too sheltered in life. You need to understand how life worked and how things were different at a village from the city so your parents and grandparents agreed for you to spend your summer vacation with your grandparents. As embarrassing as it was, it was your first time stepping foot in a village, you had no idea what to even expect. But you weren't too fond of the wet sticky mud beneath your feet when you walked. However you had no choice but to suck it up and deal with it as you made your way to your grandparents house

While you walked, you spotted a few men dressed in sleek white suits and carried a few weapons with them and had menacing looks on their faces as they passed by you. You couldn't help but wonder who they were but you felt that you could probably satisfy your curiosity later after you've had something to eat. You headed to your grandparents house where they greeted you with a warm smile and open arms. Your grandmother patted your head and kept piling more and more food on your plate ready to spoil with her cooking and your grandfather started going off on a rant on how city folk wouldn't understand the ways of the Cheonliang village as you slightly smiled at your grandfather's rant and continued to eat your food. Little did you know what lay in store for you in the evening

Cheonliang was a small village and word traveled fast that there was a newcomer in their village, you. A city girl. People stopped to stare at you when you went out for a walk in the evening and you were unaware of a little girl with Raven black hair watching you with her curious eyes as she followed you around secretly. You eventually realized someone was following you and you spotted the little girl as her messy unkempt raven hair flowed down her shoulders. You gave her a soft smile and waved at her as she shyly waved back towards you and blushed slightly. However before you were about to say anything else she ended up rushing off in the opposite direction like her life depended on it as you felt slightly confused at the interaction

As the sun went down, you started getting familiar with the skeletons and dark secrets the village had to hide. You walked past the Shaman's residence as you spotted a crowd of people gathered there and there surrounded around something. Your curiosity got the better of you and you went closer to the crowd to see what was going on and you were shocked to see a guy who looked maybe one or two years older than you, with polycoria tied and bound by ropes to his wrists and ankles as he knelt down on the ground. The Shaman who was a slightly old man and had a cunning smile on his face with malice glinting in his eyes danced around like a madman to the sound of drums beating in the background, as he called out to an Infant God to get rid of the 'curse' upon the monster that was present before the people as your heart almost stopped beating. The villagers regarded the guy as a monster because of his polycoria? What disgusted you even more was the fact that people started throwing stones and rocks and whatever they could find at the guy while the guy just endured it with a stoic look on his face, his head bent down. A stone hit his head and he didn't even react as your heart wrenched at the sight. You were sure you might not be able to sleep if you didn't try helping out the poor guy

You immediately interrupted the proceedings and yelled for the Shaman to stop and tried to stop the people from throwing and hurling the stones at the guy. What surprised you even more was seeing your grandparents there and they were actually supporting this madness, you couldn't believe your eyes. "Y/N, don't be silly...this is a tradition that happens all the time in the village, you're new here. Quiet down child and let the Shaman do his duty of getting rid of the monster's curse" said your grandmother as she bowed down before the Shaman and requested for him to excuse you since you were new to the village and you weren't familiar with the customs. The Shaman surveyed you with a calculating piercing gaze as the guy next to him with blonde hair and a muscular frame stared at you. The Shaman finally smirked at you and requested for you to have a little chat with him later so he could get to know you better while his eyes roamed around your body and drank in your features with a lecherous perverse grin on his face which you weren't aware of

A while later, you didn't spot the guy who was being subjected to the torture and you hoped he was doing better as you went to see the Shaman as he requested. You sat down in front of him and he handed you some tea as you took a few sips to be polite. For a while he kept the conversation flowing and made light hearted conversation with you while you were still unaware of his perverted dark intentions towards you. He introduced his son to you as well who was Taejin and you could feel the atmosphere get awkward when it was just you and the Shaman. The Shaman started edging closer to you little by little and got closer to you for your liking. His hand started touching your thigh and finally when he grabbed it and tried to pin you down that's when you realized you had to get the hell away from the residence

You ran as fast as your legs could take you, trying to ignore the men in the white suits chasing after you. You started panicking after you realized that they were Yakuza members from the Yamazaki clan and one of them ripped your shirt in half as he tried to grab you but you screeched and continued to run for your life. You reached a mountain and you felt slight relief as you realized they stopped chasing after you and tried your best to blend in the darkness of the night. You knelt down on the ground after you ensured you were alone and hugged yourself as you sobbed softly, shaken up from the events that occurred till now as tears flowed down your cheeks and your quiet soft sobs resonated through the area. You were lost in your own little world to realize a large looming figure coming out of the cave. You looked up to see a man with a strong and a broad muscular frame with Raven hair and a wolf cut as he had a slightly annoyed expression on his face and glared at you

However a few seconds later, his glare softened when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks and your almost half torn shirt as he strode over to you and silently surveyed you for a few seconds before his thumb slightly brushed against your cheeks to dry your tears. He sighed softly as he removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders and zipped it for you as you looked at him confused. As you asked him who he was, his lips curved upwards into a slight amused smirk. "You're obviously not from around here are you...you would have run away by now if you were" he said. The man then bought you to a small gathering of other people where there were five guys in the similar jacket red, white and black jackets with sunglasses. You recognized one of the guys who was being tortured by the Shaman a while ago, a chubby blonde haired girl with glasses in a white judo uniform and the girl you spotted earlier when you first arrived into the village as the man offered you to join them for dinner. When you politely refused, his eyes narrowed at you. "Don't be stupid...You're tired and I can see the exhaustion on your face. Sit" he said in a stern manner as you obeyed and sat down with the others

"You know... I didn't need your help back there" said the guy who you were familiar with as he huffed slightly and his voice dripped with sarcasm and mockery as he continued to stuff himself with Tanghulu. Before you could answer him, the blonde haired girl in the judo uniform smacked his head. "Zip it, she stood up for you. Don't be a whiny man child" said the girl. "I didn't ask her to, elephant, mind your damn business" retorted the guy as they both started bickering with each other. One of the guys leaned close to you with a friendly smile on his face

"Sorry about them they're always like that. That's Vinjin and Mary Kim. I'm Jaewoo, that's Woosuk, Taebong and Hyungjae. Our teacher is there, the one who's stirring the Tanghulu syrup, he's Seongji. The girl next to Vinjin is Kim Sujin" said Jaewoo to you as the others waved at you in greeting and smiled except for Vinjin who looked like he was scrutinizing your every movement underneath his shades. "Again with the disciple teacher introduction...I'm not a teacher you know" said Seongji as he sighed softly and continued to stir the mixture in front of him. "We respect you sir" said Taebong as the chatter around you continued

You told them about you being from the city and how this was your first time visiting the village and what happened to you so far since you've arrived. "That Shaman bastard...he's going too far, someone needs to beat that loser to a pulp and make him puke blood" said Vinjin as his jaw clenched in anger and his fists tightened. Seongji might have looked calm and collected from the outside but inside he was actually seething, he was a raging volcano ready to erupt and beat those people to a pulp for doing something that horrendous to you

He handed you a plate of food and you spent the night with your new friends. When you and Vinjin were alone, he looked at you for a few seconds. "Thanks for you know...your help...but don't help me next time" said Vinjin with a huff as he awkwardly coughed and a slight blush on his face as he looked away. You could see a scrape on his cheek dripping with blood slightly as you patched him with a bandaid. Despite him whining and complaining about how he didn't need sympathy from you, he leaned towards your touch and felt comforted and glad that someone at least cared for him though he'd rather take it to the grave than admit it out loud

You decided to stay with the Cheonliang family and you grew close to all of them quite fast. Seongji might be stoic and aloof at times but he cared for his students. He cared for you too. He soon realized he couldn't bear to see you getting hurt. The other day while you were chopping some vegetables, you accidentally cut your finger and he frowned slightly as he caressed your finger gently. You were now not allowed to touch sharp objects and don't even think about cutting anything else. The only reason he hasn't gone to beat that moron Shaman till now was because he was worried something would happen to you and his other students. He still remembers the day you softly cried and everytime he recalls that moment, it stings his heart more than he'd like to admit. You were a sheltered naive city girl, supposed to enjoy your vacation at your grandparents. Instead they were brainwashed like everyone else in the village by that conman of a Shaman and made your experience miserable. He finds your naivety endearing and your innocence adorable actually. It amuses him. However he has to ensure you're always with someone since he doesn't want you picking off some berry or a mushroom that you don't know the properties of just for the sake of it. He grew attached and fond of you and would hold you in his arms and comfort you whenever you have a bad dream, silently seething and waiting for the right day to arrive to attack and finish off that pest once and for all

Jaewoo, Wooseok, Taebong and Hyungjae were silly at times but they loved being with you. They'd sometimes tease you for your sheltered lifestyle but it gives them a sense of satisfaction that they're protecting you and they're proud that you could rely on them. Mary likes spending time with you too and would teach you a few judo moves too if you were up for it. She won't hesitate to smack Vinjin across the head if it's needed at times whenever he says something about you. Sujin used to be a bit shy around you but she's slowly warmed up towards you. You got to know her history with the Shaman and hugged her which she felt quite thankful for. She likes receiving hugs from you now and basks in the moment

They start getting possessive and obsessive when they feel like you're leaving them or if you're in danger. A few days later a few men from the Yamazaki clan found you and dragged you by your hair since you were now supposed to be the 'bride' of the Shaman's son Taejin. Seongji saw red and seethed in rage as he immediately dealt with them. How? By literally stabbing them in the arm or chest with his Tanghulu rod and beating them mercilessly to a pulp. He'll caress your head softly and run his fingers through your hair and pat your head to ease your worries. Then he'll ask the other students to get to safety, however they refuse since they're itching for a fight now. They were all equally mad and pissed off that the Shaman tried to resort to dirty tricks again

Vinjin was a ruthless monster as he pummeled and thrashed the men with his bare hands and went completely feral. He might be an egoistic jerk at times but deep down he does care for you. Even if he'd rather die to admit it. No way in hell would he ever allow something to happen to you. Mary was busy kicking them and using her judo skills against the members as the others were fighting too. Before someone else is about to grab you, Seongji stabs his hand with his Tanghulu rod and breaks his hand as he glared at him coldly. "Tell that conman of a Shaman to face me directly instead of sending his lapdogs" he said as he kicked the Yakuza guy in the chest while Vinjin started breaking their ribs and bones

After this incident you won't have a moment of privacy to yourself. Rightfully so, you're a naive sheltered innocent person. You need to be protected. Seongji will always assign someone to be keeping an eye out for you. They're all equally possessive and obsessive of you so don't even think of running from them. Seongji will just hoist you over his shoulders like a sack of flour and carry you back where Vinjin will yell at you for being a dumbass for leaving but he's just glad you didn't get too far. The others are quite concerned for you as well and are glad you didn't make it quite far and they'll just scold you and treat you like you're some kind of baby. You won't even be alone in the night because they'll all be keeping an eye on you even when you sleep. You don't need to go back your real family when you have them. The Cheonliang family is now your REAL family...

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The group investigates the case of a maniacal ghost inhabiting a long abandoned Texas farmhouse known as `Hell House'. They believe the ghost is the spirit of a deceased depression-era farmer who killed his family, but they soon realise it is something far more powerful.

Warnings: Cannon violence, mentions of suicide and sh within the cannon story, a guy being a little icky.

Credit: While I’ve had the idea for a certain part of this story for a while i’m still going to give credit to @arjwrites for it because she wrote something pretty darn similar, even more than just pretty darn so yes check their work out and stuff.

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred

Word Count: 11,341

Hell House

(Masterlist, Previous Ch, Next Ch, Outfit Board)

The Impala cruises down the interstate, yellows, and browns passing by as the hot Texas sun beams through the opened windows. Hair blowing back in the wind and tickling my skin, my sunglasses perched on my nose as I nod along to the Blue Öyster Cult song that played quietly on the radio. If Sam wasn’t peacefully sleeping, head leaning far back against his seat and mouth hanging open I’d ask Dean to make the song louder—it was a really good song though I prefer (Don’t Fear) The Reaper over Fire of Unknown Origin any day.

Dean stretches an arm back, leaning over the seat to grab hold of a stray plastic spoon left on the seat beside me. He places the spoon in Sam’s open mouth. He chuckles to himself as he thumbs through his pocket for his phone, flipping it open and taking a photo. I scuff and roll my eyes at the sight as my hand finds its way into my bag where I pull out my digital camera, “Do a pose,” I whisper to Dean. He checks the empty road in front of him, slowing the car significantly before half turning and spilling widely with a thumbs up, I try not to laugh as I take the picture. I nod to him in confirmation that I got it, he puts his attention back on the road, putting more pressure on the gas pedal, glimpsing at Sam to make sure he’s still asleep before his fingers find the knob on the radio and turn the music all the way up. “Fire of unknown origins…took my baby away!” he sings loudly.

Sam jerks awake, arms flailing around in panic as he spits out the spoon. Dean air drums along to the song, fingers hitting the steering wheel, grinning as Sam wipes his mouth of drool. He turns down the music, an unamused look on his face, “Ha ha, very funny.”

Dean chuckles, “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man we’re not kids anymore, Dean,” he complains, “We’re not going to start that crap up again.”

“Start what up?” Dean asks, feigning innocence.

“That prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates,” he clarifies, very annoyed with the little prank. But he was right, it did always escalate. I have heard many stories of the things they did and they were not pretty. As long as I didn’t get caught in the crossfire, they could go at it all they wanted, “But you’re never too old to do stupid things,” I add.

“Aw, what’s the matter Sammy, scared you’re going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?” Dean teases, grinning like a madman.

“Alright, just remember you started it,” Sam warns, smirking right back.

“Bring it on, baldy,” he taunted.

“Ok, but don’t make him bald again, that would be so tragic. Every guy with pretty hair gets a buzz cut and it’s like an angel lost its wings, it’s horrible,” I butt in.

“That’s the point,” Dean chuckles, probably reminiscing on the first time he did it to Sam and how much worse it would be now as an adult than when he was a kid. “Anyways where are we?” Sam asks, apparently not worried about the danger surrounding his hair.

“A few hours outside of Richardson,” he answers, “Gimme the lowdown again?”

Sam pulls out the file he created, printed papers neatly held in a manila folder, “Alright, about a month or two ago this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?” Dean asks.

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit,” he answers. I sigh, these kinds of spirits made for an incredibly annoying job, “Why are they always misogynistic? Literally, go kill anyone else! Or, spice it up and kill guys too.”

“Take that up with the spirit,” Dean says.

“Yeah, no thanks, I like living,” I retort with a smirk.

“Well, legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters,” Sam continues, “Anyway this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?” Dean asks, also getting back on track.

“Well, that’s the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains,” Sam elaborates.

“Do you think they were?” I question, it wouldn’t be the first time kids lied about this sort of thing as a prank or for attention and coverage, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But, on the other hand, if you're looking for something to happen in a known haunted location there’s a good chance you’ll get something. “Maybe, but I read a couple of the kid's first-hand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere,” he answers.

“They made the papers?” I ask, taken aback a little. Though it made sense for the case to likely make the papers, it would be surprising for accounts like that to be taken in main news articles, it’d be seen as a waste of time. “No,” Sam responds without making a sign he would elaborate.

“Where’d you read these accounts?” Dean pushes. Sam smiles, his cheeks just turning the slightest shade of pink, “Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local…” he drags before getting the rest out quickly, “paranormal websites. And I found one.”

I give him a questioning look, it’s hard to take those sites seriously, especially when it's hard to weed out the crazies from real accounts. But even more than that, in the case such sites are speaking the truth, then it was putting said people in danger they wouldn’t know how to solve, which meant a whole lot of stubborn and ignorant people. “And what’s it called?” Dean asks, smirking as if he knew where this would lead.

“HellHoundsLair.com,” Sam almost mumbles, obviously knowing how illegitimate and silly it sounds.

“Lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom’s basement,” Dean muses, and like any sane person I can’t help the laugh that escapes my chest. Sam, somehow, manages to just grin, “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn’t know a ghost if it bit ‘em in the persqueeter,” Dean adds.

“What’s a persqueeter?” I ask, the word slow and clumsy on my tongue. My eyes squint slightly as I try to figure it out. “It’s a—“ Sam cuts him off, “That’s not important right now,” he starts and I frown at not getting my answer, “Look. We let Dad take off. Which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don’t know where the hell he is, so in the meantime we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There’s no harm checking this thing out.”

“Alright,” Dean gives in, “So where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

Guy 1: “It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life, I swear to God.”

Guy 2: “From the moment we walked in, the walls were painted black.”

Guy 1: “Red.”

Girl: “I think it was blood.”

Guy 1: “All these freaky symbols.”

Guy 2: “Crosses and stars and…”

Guy 1: “Pentagons.”

Guy 2: “Pentacostals.”

Girl: “Whatever I had my eyes closed the whole time.”

Guy 1: “But I can damn sure tell you this much. No matter what anybody else says…”

Girl: “That poor girl.”

Guy 2: “With the black…”

Guy 1: “Blonde…”

Girl: “Red hair, just hanging there.”

Guy 1: “Kicking!”

Guy 2: “Without even moving!”

Girl: “She was real.”

Guy 1: “One hundred percent.”

Guy 2: “And kinda hot. Well, you know, in a dead sort of way.”

“Okay!” I exclaim, “And there’s the necrophilia!”

“And…how’d you find out about this place anyway?” Sam asks.

“Craig.”

“Craig.”

“Craig took us.”

I prop my sunglasses on top of my head, pushing some of my hair back from my face, as we walk into the record shop ‘Craig’ works. Considering each person's answer, and how they hardly matched up, I couldn’t even fathom what Craig would tell us. But in all fairness their responses, while…odd, did make sense considering there are about eight things that affect the observation of an eyewitness.

The bell above the door once more as it closes behind us. Whether Craig would be helpful didn’t take away from the beauty of this record shop, the stands filled to the brim with all sorts of vinyls neatly sorted into separate genres. “Fellas,” a spiky-haired brunette greets from behind the counter, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?” Sam asks as we move closer. “I am,” he confirms.

“Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News,” Dean begins, “I’m Dean, this is Sam and Y/N.”

“No way. Well, I’m a writer too. I write for my school’s lit magazine,” Craig informs.

“Well, good for you Morrissey,” Dean remarks a little rudely. I ignore his comment, hoping it won’t discourage him from speaking with us, “So, we’re writing an article on local hauntings and we heard you would be someone to talk to.”

“‘You mean the Hell House?” he asks.

“That’s the one,” Dean answers.

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story,” he admits and frankly he has a right to be suspicious. “Why don’t you tell us the story?” Sam suggests.

“Well, supposedly back in the ‘30s this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn’t have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end,”

“How?” Sam pushes.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quickly, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung ‘em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished he turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside,” he explains.

“Where’d you hear all this?” Dean asks the logical question.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it,” he answers, his expression dropping a little, “Ya gotta realize, I–I didn’t believe this for a second.”

“But now you do,” Sam finishes, giving him an understanding nod.

“I don’t know what the hell to think, man. You guys, I–I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don’t wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

******

Mud sloshes beneath my shoes as we walk up the muddy path to the dark-wooded house. It was a simple house with a rickety porch in the middle of nowhere. “Can’t say I blame the kid,” Sam comments.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal,” Dean jokes.

We soon split up, taking a little peek around the bleak property for anything at all. Sam and I meet up halfway and walk back to the front, meeting up with Dean and his EMF reader. “You got something there?” I ask, playfully nudging into him. He taps the reader, the EMF level not changing, “Yeah, the EMF’s no good.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Maybe you need another walkman to toy with,” I guess, only half teasing. His green eyes shoot to mine, “This baby’s foolproof, nothin’ wrong with it,” he defends.

“Mm,” I hum, “Then why is it ‘no good’ now?”

He gestures upwards, my eyes following the overhead power lines, “I think that thing’s still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing with all the readings.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Sam agrees.

“See!” he wiggles the EMF reader in front of my face, a wide smile curling on my lips, “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

I place a hand over his, pushing his hand and the reader down from my face, “Sorry! I just think your whole DIY thingy is adorable,” I laugh.

“It’s not adorable. It’s genius,” he defends.

“Fine, it’s adorably genius,” I correct, having a hard time keeping the stupid smile off my face.

“You two ready to go?” Sam asks. I turn towards him, his arms crossed over his chest, and his lips pursed together in that silly, sassy way he does it. I know what he’s insinuating by the way he says it and the way he’s impatiently waiting. But, I don’t want nor need him to bring that up again, let alone now, so I respond, “Born ready.” Before moving away from Dean and stepping up on the porch, my hand reaches for the doorknob.

I turn the knob and push the door open, letting more light crawl into the dark home. The sunlight creeps along the floor, stretching its arm as far as it can reach inside. The walls are a grayish-blue wallpaper littered with graffiti and the occasional hole, the windows are broken but the soft yellow glow of the sun still makes itself known through the plastic wrap covering it. There’s still some furniture left behind, an old red chaise sofa pushed to the wall, a fallen tree lying in front of it. Quite the house. But, it’s clear it was beautiful once, and in some odd way, perhaps it still is. “Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger here in his time,” Dean whistles.

“And after his time too. That reverse cross had been used by Satanists for centuries but this sigil of silver didn’t show up in San Francisco until the ‘60s,” Sam informs, pointing at a painted cross with a circle around it.

“That is exactly why you never get laid,” Dean comments, staring at his brother.

“That is a very weird thing to say,” I reply as Sam takes a photo of the sigil, “And that was a very fun fact.”

Dean shrugs, moving to another wall, “Than—“ Sam tries to say as his brother cuts him off, “Hey, what about this one, you seen this one before?” He gestures to a symbol of a cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “No,” he says simply.

“Me neither,” I shake my head.

“I have,” Dean informs, “Somewhere.” Sam reaches out to the symbol, rubbing it, he pulls his hand away and looks at his now fingers, “It’s paint. Seems pretty fresh too.”

“I don’t know. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but….the cops may be right about this one,” Dean says. And while Dean was quite the skeptic when it came to whether cases would actually be our sort of cases, for him to say that, to even possibly agree with the authority was big. “Yeah, maybe,” Sam mumbles.

Then, suddenly there’s a rustling or shuffling noise from the next room over. Immediately we move into action. Dean grabs a hold of my wrist and pushes me beside him as he takes position near the door, Sam taking the other side of the door. Our backs flat against the wall, Dean nods his head at his brother before they burst through the door. Immediately, they stumble back, shielding their eyes from bright lights and the shouts of…two guys. I move in after them, moving around Dean to be involved in the seemingly unthreatening situation.

Two short guys decked out in all sorts of gear stand before us. “Oh, cut. It’s just a coupla humans,” the one with black hair scuffs, wearing huge goggles on his head—maybe night vision, and a studio light in hand . The other guy holding a camera switches it off. “What are you guys doing here?” night vision questions, eyeing us. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean shoots right back.

Night vision laughs, “We belong here, we’re professionals?” he answers as if it should’ve been obvious. However, the only obvious thing here was how stupid they looked. “Professional what?” I ask, somewhat confused. Night Vision smirks, reaching into one of the many pockets on his beige vest before pulling out a white card, “Paranormal Investigators,” he identifies, handing me his little card. I take it from him, looking at him skeptically, “There you go, take a look at that, beautiful,” his eyes sweep over my frame slowly, stopping too long at one too many areas. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Dean grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Wow,” I say plainly, “Ed Zeddmore,” the night vision guy nods his head in confirmation “and Harry Spengler, so professional they have their own business cards for their website,” I throw a look at Sam and Dean, “HellhoundsLair.”

“You guys run that website?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Ed smiles confidently, practically beaming in his boast.

“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re huge fans,” Dean says sarcastically, a stupid grin on his lips.

“And ah, we know who you guys are too,” Ed claims, all high and mighty. Once more I’m confused by this dude. “Oh yeah?” Sam challenges, looking at him sharply.

“Amateurs,” Ed explains and immediately Dean walks away in lost interest, rummaging through cabinets instead of really listening. “Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills,” he continues. I cross my arms across my chest, “Right…” I drawl sarcastically, “‘Cause I just love a cheap thrill.”

“I can give you an…ex-expensive thrill,” Ed winks smoothly despite the words coming out awkward and choppy. His eyes drop to my breasts that peek out from my top, staring at them like they’re the only things in the room. I grimace, cringing as I unfold my arms in hopes it will help…it doesn’t, “Oh…that’s not, um…no…”

“Well, if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here,” Harry speaks up.

“Yeah, what have you got so far?” Dean asks, sauntering back over.

“Harry, why doncha tell ‘em about EMF?” Ed suggests proudly, chin raised.

“Well…” Harry says before Sam cuts him off, “EMF?” He tries to keep a smile off his face as he clearly tries to play dumb. These poor guys.

“Electromagnetic field?” Harry responds like we’re idiots, “Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector,” he turns around to rummage through his backpack before producing the gadget, “Like this bad boy right here.” He turns the box on, adjusting the antenna. A knowing smirk crawls on Dean’s face, we obviously know they won’t see anything, at least not anything accurate. “Woa. Whoa. It’s 2.8mg,” Harry announces, eyebrows shot up.

“2.8,” Ed exclaims, “It’s hot in here.”

I have to bite my lip to keep my laughter back. Dean whistles in admiration, Sam remarking a “Wow,” with a hint of irony.

“Huh. So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…” Dean asks.

“Once,” Ed declares, “We were, uh…we were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table…”

“By itself,” Harry finishes, emphasizing it with a firm head movement. “Well, we, we, we, we didn’t actually see it, we heard it,” Ed backtracks, stumbling on his words, “And something like that..it uh…it changes you.”

“Mm, I’m sure it does,” I play. They were total idiots, they’d be lucky if they don’t get themselves killed. Dean nods, his voice bored and unamused, “Yeah. I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work”

“Yeah, you should,” Ed replies, crossing his arms clumsily across his chest. With his back turned towards the naïve boys, Dean widens his eyes at us, nodding his head towards the door in front of him. “Oh but, um,” Ed stammers, looking at me, “If you wanna stay we can show you the real deal.”

Sam and Dean seem to pause in the doorway. I try to hide my shock and disinterest behind a tight-lipped smile, “Oh…no thanks…” I spin around, more than ready to leave. But, just outside the doorway, I pause, spinning back around to end it with, “Seek happiness in tranquility, and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries.” I smile even as confusion falls upon their faces and when I turn back to my boys a similar expression graces theirs.

Yet, only as we descend the steps of the old house do they break. “Did you just quote Frankenstein to them?” Sam asks, his brows twisted with confusion as a boyish smile pulls at his lips. I skip down the last step, “Maybe…”

I catch Dean's eyes rolling, he mumbles something beneath his breath before mumbling just a little louder, “This is why I’m the only one who gets laid.”

Sam and I move as one, walking down the stairs of the library. Dean approaches us, his eyes flicking over us. “Hey,” Sam nods to him. “Hey. What you got?” Dean asks as we hit the last step.

“Well we couldn’t find a Morechai but we did find a Martin Murdock who lived in the house in the ‘30s,” Sam explains, summarizing our findings.

“And, he did have kids but only two of them, both boys, and there’s nothing on him killing anyone,” I add. Our findings only supported the theory that this was nothing more than a story, maybe it wasn’t our kind of job.

“Huh,” Dean hums, most likely thinking the same thing.

“What about you?” Sam asks as we approach the Impala. Dean rounds the car, speaking over the top of it, “Well those kids didn’t really give us a clear description of that dead girl but I did hit up the police station. No matching missing persons. It’s like she never existed. Dude, come on, we did our digging, this one’s a bust alright. For all we know those HellHound boys made up the whole thing.”

“I really hate to agree and blame this on faulty witnesses and a scary story, but…we really do got nothing,” I nod. I don’t know what those kids saw, maybe it was some sort of prank or being scared and seeing something that wasn't there, either way the story was likely made up.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam surprisingly agrees. He’s usually the one to be stubborn on this and see it out, or just have a feeling that we should see it out. So, for him to agree was more than confirmation. “I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals,” Dean suggests, a smile on his lips. He gets into the car, and before I can round the car Sam grabs my forearm mouthing a ‘just wait.’ I give him a confused look, brows furrowing, but he leans down to peer into the car through the window and instantly I know this is a prank.

I roll my eyes but I too peer through the window, might as well see the outcome. He turns the key in the ignition, and immediately Latina pop music blasts from the car, loud enough to hear clearly from the safety of outside the car. He jumps, his fingers fumbling for the key in the ignition but instead, the windshield wipers turn on. He shouts something but all we can see is the moving of his lips, the music too loud. He quickly reaches for the volume dial, hitting it the music ceases, his shoulders drop a bit as he hits off the windshield wipers too.

Finally, I round the car as Sam bursts out in laughter. I get in and a moment later Sam’s opening his door and sitting. He licks his finger and draws an imaginary ‘1’ in the air, then points to himself. Fire might as well have ignited in Dean's green eyes as he gives his brother the dirtiest look, “That’s all you got? Weak. That is bush league,” he challenges.

The early morning sun breaks the horizon, painting the sky a soft orange. The lights of emergency vehicles spin in colors of red and blue, police officers move around, a filled body bag being rolled away on a stretcher. We missed something.

“What happened?” Dean questions another bystander, there’s a small group of people that watch the scene from behind the yellow caution tape. “A coupla cops say a girl hung herself in the house,” the man answers.

“Suicide?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. She was a straight-A student, with a full ride to UT too. It just don’t make sense,” he explains and he’s right it doesn’t make any sense. Of course, you don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors, but to come to this specific run-down house with haunting rumors to kill yourself is odd. For whatever reason the man walks away, maybe leaving the scene after realizing there was no point in being here anymore. “Whaddaya think?” Sam asks, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

“I think we’re wrong about this not being our kind of job,” I answer, we must have missed something.

******

Darkness cloaks us as well as the thick bushes we crouch behind. We wouldn't be hiding if it wasn’t for the cop car parked outside the old house and the two cops standing around. “I guess the cops don’t want anyone else screwing around there,” Sam comments. It makes sense for them not to want stupid teenagers coming around or another teen to kill themselves here, as horrible as it sounds.

“Yeah but we still gotta get in there,” Dean responds. It’s why we were here, after all, try to figure out what we missed. The cops had been around the place all day, nighttime was supposed to be a clearing. A cool breeze rustles the leaves softly and chills my body, a contrast to the heat earlier in the day, I pull my sweatshirt closer in an attempt to fight off the coolness.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean grumbles randomly. I turn my head to follow his line of sight, and just a couple of feet away are the two idiots from before. They approach, decked out in all sorts of gadgets, more than before which I hadn’t thought possible. They whisper to themselves and shush each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started laughing in the way you do when you're trying to be quiet, and yet everything is suddenly funny. “You gotta be kidding,” I mumble.

“I got an idea,” Dean says. He rises slightly, turning towards the cops. He cups his hands around his mouth, “Who ya gonna call!” he shouts. Ed and Harry look around frantically, muttering to themselves, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Hey! you!” one of the cops shouts, eyes locked on the two boys before him and his partner heading straight for them. “Freeze!” the cop warns. But one of the nerds yelps a “run!” and they turn around quickly before hauling it. “Get back here. Hey,” the cops shout before following them. Our laughs blend together despite trying to hold them back. But we use this opportunity to make a break for the house, our shoes hitting the ground hard.

Quickly we get inside and immediately Sam is taking the duffle bag off his back, jumping straight into action. Dean and I take out our flashlights that were hidden in the waistband of our pants and concealed by our jackets. The lights of our flashlights go on, illuminating the dark home just enough.

Sam breaks out the rifles, handing one to each of us. The rock salt is already locked and loaded. “Where have I seen that symbol before? It’s killing me!” Dean exclaims, his flashlight hovering over the symbol of the cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “Come on, we don’t have much time,” Sam urges. There’s no saying when the cops would stop their chase and if they’d come to check inside.

We move through the house quickly until we find the basement, moving down the stairs just as fast. Racks of shelves practically take up the whole basement, rows of them. Each one dusty and cornered with cobwebs, all kinds of glass jars filled with questionable liquids. “Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this,” Dean says, holding up a particular jar filled with a pale red liquid of some sort. There was no way of knowing what that liquid or any of them are without a lab and some testing, which naturally we don’t have. “What the hell would I do that for?” Sam shoots back.

“…I double dare you,” he grins. Sam just shakes his head, going back to looking around. A rustling noise draws our attention towards a cabinet but before we can investigate it a rat pokes its head out, squeaking before running away. “I hate rats,” Dean grumbles, lifting his feet up as the rat scurries away.

“You’d rather it was a ghost?” Sam questions, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yes,” Dean deadpans. I roll my eyes moving forward, “Do you think these jars are old pickled stuff or, like, bodily fluid stuff?” I ask, casting a glance over my shoulder at Dean. But before I can take another step, I’m yanked back suddenly, my breath catching as the belt loop of my shorts is sharply tugged. In an instant, my back slams against Dean's chest just as the shelves in front of me crash down with a deafening shatter. An axe buries itself in the spot where I had just been standing.

The sound of gunfire explodes in the room as Sam fires off two shots at the spirit of the old farmer, but it does nothing to stop him. Heart pounding, I whip my gun up, the weight familiar in my hand. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, aiming at the spirit now dangerously close. Mordechai goes up in a mist, disappearing, “What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam exclaims.

“This one apparently!” I shout, moving from Dean's hold as he urges us towards the stairs. But Mordechai appears again, he smashes his axe down, catching the shelves and bringing the jars crashing down on Dean, glass shattering all around him as he goes down with it. My heart pounds in my ears, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I raise my gun, steadying my hands before taking my shot, rock salt explodes from the gun, hitting its mark but still doing nothing to the spirit. The spirit instead turns and charges at Sam. Shot after shot reverberates through the room emanating from Sam’s gun, “Go! Get outta here!!” Sam yells.

I rush towards Dean, shotgun hanging at my side. The glass crunches beneath my shoes as I pull Dean up, dragging him by his forearms. He grunts as he gets to his feet and if we weren’t being chased by a farmer ghost right now I’d take the time to dust the glass from his jacket. Instead, I grab hold of his hand and drag him behind me as I bolt for the stairs.

The axe seems to come down somewhere else in the room, electrical whizzing noises following it, but I ignore it as we shuffle up the stairs and be-line to the front door. We bolt out the door, caution tape breaking as Dean breaks through it, nearly stumbling down the steps.

A camera is immediately pushed into our faces, the nerds of course behind it, “Get that damn thing outta my face,” Dean commands, an arm raised to block its view.

I lay on my stomach on Sam’s bed which I’m temporarily stealing to research. An arm beneath my chin props my head up, my legs kicking slowly in the air back and forth, as I try to find any info on my laptop sitting in front of me. Dean sits on his bed, sketching something on a little notebook as his brother sits at the table with his laptop researching too.

“What the hell is this symbol? It’s buggin’ the hell outta me,” Dean grumbled, hitting the book down to his leg, “This whole damn job’s buggin’ me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks.”

“It does,” Sam confirms.

“All right. Well, I mean, that explains why it went after you guys, but why me?” Dean questions. I roll my eyes at his sneakily placed joke, if the legend was right then it should’ve only gone after me, jokes aside. “Hilarious,” Sam responds, “The legend also says he hung himself but did you see those slit wrists?”

“Yeah,” Dean says but I certainly missed it, though I was busy trying not to get chopped by an axe. “What’s up with that? And the axe too,” Sam points out, “I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

“But this mook keeps changing,” Dean adds. Sam types away on his laptop, the keys satisfyingly clicking, “Exactly.”

“Maybe we got a different breed of ghost here,” I suggest, throwing the idea out there even though it’s unlikely. Sam shakes his head, “I’m telling ya, the way the story goes—“ I peer at him over my laptop at his sudden stopping, his face scrunched, “Wait a minute,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site,” he informs, “Listen to this. ‘They say Mordechai Murdock was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he’s imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

“A story changing over time makes sense, like a game of telephone. But a spirit that changes with it?… Can they do that?” I ask.

Dean suddenly sits straight up, eyes locked on his drawing of the symbol we saw. “I don’t know,” Sam answers, then huffs as he leans back in his seat with his arms crossed against his chest, “Where the hell is this going?”

“I don’t know but I think I might have just figured out where it all started,” Dean announces

******

The bell above the door dings as we enter the empty record store, the only person there being a bored Craig. Good thing he’s working today. “Hey, Craig? Remember us?” Dean begins an unamused smile on his face.

“Guys, look I’m really not in the mood to answer any of your questions okay?” he responds looking deflated.

“Oh don’t worry. We’re just here to buy an album, that’s all,” Dean reassures. He saunters over to the ‘rock’ section of records, flicking through them until he finds what he wants. He lifts it out and up. “You know, I couldn’t figure out what that symbol was and then I realized that it doesn’t mean anything,” Dean explains, directing his words to Sam and I as we approach the counter, “It’s the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult.” He turns his attention to Craig, pressing the album record of Club Ninja onto the counter, “Tell me Craig, you, uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people?” The boy in question's face drops, his eyes dropping to the album before landing on Dean again. “Now why ‘n’t you tell us about that house…without lying through your ass this time,” Dean orders.

Craig sighs, “Alright, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted,” he explains, “So we painted symbols on the walls, some from some albums, some from some of Dana’s theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we…we made up some story to go along with it. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but…now that girl’s dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

“Alright right,” Sam says softly, ending the conversation. We have our information now, or at least a direction. None of it’s real and yet, somehow, it’s very real.

******

“There you go,” the nice barista smiles, handing over our drinks. Dean takes two of the coffees while I take my latte, “Thank you so much,” I beam, placing a nice tip in the little plastic jar.

We make our way to an empty table. Sam immediately pulls out his laptop, wiggling around in his seat and fixing his jeans with a grimace on his face. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Dean asks, calling him out.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he denies in the least convincing way ever.

“Are you sure?” I ask, eyes sweeping over him, “You look really uncomfortable.” But he just nods his head even as he adjusts himself one more time, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“So, ahh, alright keep going,” Dean moves on, “What about these Tulpas?”

“Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air,” Sam explains.

“What? So, they manifested it?” I ask. I know manifestation and intention are powerful things but for a whole being to come from it sounds bizarre. “Wait, I guess that makes sense considering that just the belief and fear people have and or give off in reaction to a spirit gives it more power,” I think out loud, answering my question.

“So?” Dean counters.

“That was 20 monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do. I mean Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard,” Sam elaborates.

“Does the HellHound site actually have that many people looking at it?” I question, I mean people believe whatever they see. And it’s not like these things don’t exist, it’s just that Ed and Harry certainly weren’t finding it. “Unfortunately,” Sam quips. That many people would be impressive if not for the idiots that are behind it all. “Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he’s real?” Dean speculates.

“I dunno, maybe” his brother answers, shifting in his seat like he or it’s uncomfortable.

“People believe in Santa Claus, how come I’m not getting hooked up every Christmas?” Dean points out.

“Cuz you’re a bad person,” Sam deadpans, replying a little too fast, “And because of this,” he turns his laptop around to show us a photo of a complex symbol, “That’s a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was.”

“Man, what are the chances of that?” I mumble.

“Now that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass,” Sam continues, ignoring my comment, “So people are on the HellHounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai…I mean, I don’t know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.”

“It would explain why he keeps changing,” Dean replies. Sam grimaces, adjusting himself again, one too many times for it not to be concerning, “Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like Y/N said before, it's like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn’t work.”

“So what does work?” I ask, “If that’s even a thing here.”

“Why don’t we just, uh, get this spirit sigil thingie off the wall and off the website?” Dean suggests.

“Well, it’s not that simple. You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own,” Sam explains. In conclusion, stupid teenagers draw random symbols on a wall to scare others, somehow choose one that uses belief, it becomes a big legend, scary fake farmer kills people, and it’s our problem now. The chances of all that genuinely have to be so low. “Great,” Dean remarks, “How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

Sam itches around his hips and shuffles in his seat again, “Well it’s not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.” He clicks on a couple of things before a video of last night plays, “Since they’ve posted the video their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.” God, I wish we could just hit them in the face so hard.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, “I got an idea. Come on.”

“You do?” I ask though that little glint in his eye is enough proof. “Where we going?” Sam adds.

“We gotta find a copy store,” he answers. We rise to go, grabbing our to-go cups of drinks and Sam grabs his laptop before itching and wiggling, “Man, I think I’m allergic to our soap or something,” he complains. A stupid grin stretches on Dean's face, laughing as he walks away. “You did this?” Sam says through clenched teeth. And if Dean's confusion to laughter isn't an answer then I don’t know what is. “You’re a fucking jerk!”

“That is some evil shit,” I comment. I don’t even know when he had time to pull his prank but it definitely beat the car thing Sam had pulled. “Oh yeah,” Dean smiles, satisfied.

******

“I think Y/N should be the one to bait them,” Sam reasons as we walk towards the trailer. Dean has his whole plan which requires fake papers, a copy machine, and some lying. What more could you want? “Do I have to?” I ask, “They’re, like, all weird.” But really I mean creepy or gross.

“Yeah, I can do it,” Dean defends.

“That’s the point though, they’ll listen to her ‘cause she’s a girl and those two look like they haven’t interacted with one before two days ago,” Sam explains. I laugh shortly, “Ha, they definitely didn’t, at least not a real-life one,” I then exhale, “Alright fine I’ll do it.” It’s not even a big deal to begin with to be fair.

We approach their trailer, a little garden flamingo standing tilted in the grass and a couple of foldable lounge chairs sitting about. Dean pounds on the door, fist-hitting it repeatedly. A squeal comes from inside before someone calls out, “Who is it?”

“Come on out here guys, we hear you in there,” Dean responds.

“It’s them,” one of them whisper-shouts, too bad we can hear them. But there’s a click and the door opens up a crack, both their heads squeezing to stick out the door. “Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging,” Dean remarks, looking right over their head to peer into their trailer, “What a shock.”

“Guys, we need to talk,” Sam starts.

“Yeah, um, sorry guys. We’re ahh, a little busy right now,” Ed responds, adjusting his glasses.

“Okay, well, we’ll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website,” Dean says bluntly.

Ed laughs, almost like a bark, “Man, you know, these guys got us busted last night, spent the night in a holding cell—“

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people. And I get stage fright,” Harry adds in, eyes jumping around like he’s paranoid or anxious.

“Uh..thanks for sharing that with us…?” I respond, smiling awkwardly.

“Well, why should we trust you guys?” Ed asks, crossing his arms.

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw last night, what’s in the house. But now thanks to your website there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai,” Sam explains.

Dean adding, “That’s right. Which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Ed nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “Ed maybe he’s got a point, maybe…” Harry adds softly.

“Nope…” Ed decides and Harry’s demeanor does a full 180 as he says “No,” too.

“Right, so you have no morals,” I conclude, “If—no, not even if, when someone gets hurt their blood’s on your hands.”

“We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth,” Ed defends.

“Well, I have an obligation to kick both of your little asses right now–” Dean threatens through clenched teeth.

“Dean,” I cut him off, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder, “It’s not worth it, god knows you can give ‘em one hit and they’d be crying back to their mommies. Hell, I could tell them that thing about Mordechai and it wouldn’t matter, they just don't care.”

“We should just leave,” Sam adds.

“Whoa…whoa…” the idiots say, interest peaked.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean gives in. With that, we turn back around and begin to walk away, purposely moving slowly. “What you say about…?” Ed asks, trailing after us. “Wait…Wait.” We turn back to them, an unamused look on my face. “What thing about Mordechai you guys?” Harry asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“Don’t tell ‘em,” Dean warns me.

“Not even if they agree to shut down the website?” I ask.

“They’re not going to do it, you said so yourself,” Dean reasons. I sigh, shaking my head, “You’re right.”

“No wait!” Ed rushes out, “Wait. Don’t listen to him, okay? We’ll do it. We’ll do it.” Like fishes on a hook getting reeled in.

“It’s a secret, Y/N,” Sam reminds, his voice as serious as can be. I look up at the two nerds, their eyes sparkling with intrigue, if they were dogs I'm sure their tails would be flicking behind them, “It’s a pretty big deal, you know. It wasn’t easy to find, so we really have to have your word. You have to promise you’ll shut it all down.”

“Totally,” Ed says. I pause a moment, eyeing them as if I’m really considering it before nodding at Dean. He pulls out some folded papers from the inside of his leather jacket, handing it over to them. “That’s a death certificate from the ‘30s,” I explain, “We found it at the library and according to the coroner the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That’s right, he didn’t hang or cut himself,” Dean confirms, emphasizing our “find.”

“He shot himself?” Ed asks, a little skeptical as he looks up from the paper. “Yup, it’s all right there,” I answer, “With a .45 pistol. To this day they say he’s terrified of them.”

“Matter of fact they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, it’ll kill the sonuvabitch,” Dean adds. They snicker like school girls, the apples of their cheeks brightening with their smiles. Harry spins and bolts it to their trailer, Ed moves more slowly as he follows behind as if he’s trying to play it cool. “Harry,” he mumbles through his teeth, “Slow your roll buddy. They’re gonna know we’re excited.”

“Dude!” I exclaim, laughing a bit as Dean pops a stolen fry into his mouth, “You just finished your food, leave my fries alone.” But he shrugs with that charming smile on his lips, his arm resting on the booth's top, practically stretching out. The golden crisp of oil goodness is hardly missed with a sight like this. He turns his attention to the woodwork of an old goofy fisherman holding a big fish, a string dangling from it. He reaches up and pulls the cord, the fisherman’s mouth moving up and down as it laughs this obnoxious laugh. I myself try not to laugh as I sip on my soda.

Sam reaches up and pulls the cord again, the laughing stopping immediately, “If you pull that string one more time I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens, looking up from his laptop. In all fairness Dean had pulled the cord at least twice already since we’ve sat down, and yet, to me, it was funny every single time. The kind of stupid humor or even stupidly contagious laugh that made you want to snicker. The threatened man across us deadpans, staring at his brother as he slowly reaches up and pulls the cord again. The fisherman barely has time to laugh himself before Sam is pulling it to stop, glaring at Dean. It's like a standoff. Dean snickers, “Come on man, you need more laughter in your life. You know you’re way too tense,” he reasons.

Not having it, Sam gives him a dirty look. Clearly not amused nor having any desire to be amused. Dean sighs, seemingly giving up on his conquest, “They post it yet?”

Sam turns his screen towards me, an easier thing to do then all away around, as he angrily stabs at what’s left of his salad. My eyes scan the screen, immediately landing on the new post, “‘We’ve learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock had a fatal fear of firearms’” I read and I have to admit their choice of words is awfully intelligent sounding, “Hey, look at us, we’re reputable sources,” I point out.

“Reputable copying machine,” Dean corrects a shit-eating grin on his lips. They had fallen into his exact plan, of course they wouldn’t shut down the website regardless of what they promised (good thing it wasn’t a pinkie promise), and of course they would take any information like starving dogs and post it as soon as possible. ‘Obligation to their fans, the truth’ as he had said. “Alright. How long do we wait?” Dean asks.

“Long enough for the new story to spread, and the legend to change,” Sam answers, “I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker.” He picks up his beer bottle and holds it up to us, taking the small victory we gently clink our drinks together in a silent ‘cheers.’ “Sweet,” Dean grins, the light reflecting off of the glass beer bottle, gleaming at its base as it’s tilted up to his lips. I’ve never really understood why one would drink before a hunt, not that one bottle would do anything to him of all people, yet, when his lips are on the rim that sort of thing doesn’t seem to matter. Another interesting thing, drinking has never looked so attractive as it does on him. But perhaps that’s the bias you have when you like someone, somehow everything becomes attractive.

The bottle finally clanks to the table, his hand still wrapped around it. But when he lets the bottle go his palm sticks to it, fingers stretched out he shakes his hand around like the bottle will fall off. It doesn’t. Sam loses it, cracking up even more as Dean says, “You didn’t.”

A little tube of super glue is raised up, “Oh, I did!” he laughs, pulling the cord this time, the fisherman laughs again.

“All I’m saying is as stupid as they are, I do feel bad for them, one of these days they’re gonna wind up dead,” I reason, walking with Sam the short distance back to his motel room.

“Yeah…” he shrugs, “But it’d be on them, I mean they haven’t ran off yet, not even after seeing Mordechai.”

I hum, absorbing his words, “That’s true.” The door is open just a little, like it didn’t close fully behind him when he had left to come get me from my room down the hall. I push open the door, “Do yo—“ my words die in my throat replaced with a gasp as cold water dumps on me. A bucket thumps to the floor, just barely missing my head. My hair and clothes drip as I ball my fists at my side, shock from the sudden cold still rattling in my bones as I shake slightly. “Dean?!” I scold.

“That was not meant for you,” he replies, eyes wide as he sits up in his bed.

I got caught in a prank meant for Sam. But didn’t he know Sam was getting me and that there was a chance that I would walk in first instead of him, which is exactly what had happened???!! I exhale, trying to rid myself of any frustration or annoyance. “I’m so sorry Y/N,” he adds.

I laugh, moving a wet piece of hair behind my ear, “You are so getting it.” My shirt clings to my skin, shoulders bunched up from the feeling. Sam chuckles behind me, I turn slowly towards him and immediately he tries to cover it with a hand over his mouth, “Oh you too Sam, you’re not safe. His hand and face drops, “Why me? I didn’t do it?!”

“No, you're right,” I nod, “But you’re part of the reason it happened, your little prank war.” I look between both boys, “You’re both gonna get it, you Winchesters better watch out,” I threaten. I huff moving past Sam, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go change before I start stripping in front of you two.”

“I mean—“ Dean calls out and I can hear the grin on his face before I yell back, “Don’t even think about it!” I shuffle off down the hallway, and only back in the safety of my motel room do I fix my situation. I snap my fingers and instantly it’s like nothing ever happened. There’s no need to change when I can do something like that, but what I can do in the privacy of my own room is think of how to get them back and execute it.

******

Early night cloaks the sky, the sun just barley below the horizon as we head to the Impala. A comfortable silence envelopes us. I stop before opening the back door of the Impala, crouching down to re-tie my shoe as they get into their respective sides of the car. The doors seem to shut in sync.

One, two, three, four, five. The doors are being shoved open and they tumble from the car coughing and covering their noses. I stand with a smirk as the smell of rotten eggs escapes the car. “What the hell?!” Dean yells. Sam reaches back into the car, pushing the seat forward to find the source. He fishes out a puffed up square, he holds it by the corner, “Really?”

“Oh, wow, how’d those get there?” I ask, folding my hands in front of me. He gives me a dirty look before throwing the fart bomb to the side. “Real childish,” Dean remarks, holding up his own puffed up fart bomb. “Which part?” I ask, “The pranks or putting fart bombs beneath each of your seats?”

“The bombs, dumbass,” he replies, throwing the little puffed square at me. I laugh, as it hits me in the chest, kicking it away when it hits the floor, “Childish and yet still funny.”

“Yeah if you think gas chambers are funny,” he mumbles.

Our guns are drawn, eyes sharp, brain and body on high alert now that we’re back in the house. The cops had been outside like the night before, but instead of using the idiot ghost hunters as bait Dean had used the stolen fisherman from the diner that he somehow stole. Its current home is now somewhere deep in the woods, a mechanism set up so that it consistently laughs. They were drawn into the forest like pirates drawn to sirens, except what they’ll find is not an attractive mermaid but an obnoxious fisherman.

“I barely have any skin left on my palm,” Dean comments.

“I’m not touching that line with a ten foot pole,” Sam mumbles.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, usually people say that about something. Like ‘I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole’ but there was nothing brought up regarding touching something. “He’s tryna lead us into an inappropriate joke.” Sam explains. The gears slowly turn in my head, cogs rotating trying to figure out what joke, “Oh! You mean masterbation!”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, and if he hadn’t had both hands trained on his gun I'm sure he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose like a disappointed father.

“So you think old Mordechai’s home?” Dean asks as he move into another room, switching topics.

“I don’t know.”

“Me either,” a voice suddenly says from behind. I spin swiftly around, gun trained.

“WOAH! WOAH!” Ed yells, him and his buddy shuffling back with their hands raised. I scuff, lowering my gun. And of course they’re decked out in their goofy gear. “What did I tell you?!” I exclaim, looking at Sam.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” he asks the doofuses.

“We’re just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?” Ed answers.

“Look, the only time you’ll ever be written about is when your obituaries are in the local newspapers,” I spit, not caring how harsh my words are. But Ed doesn’t look defeated or deflated, instead his eyes seem to sparkle, “You are so hot,” he says softly. I drag a hand down my face, sighing, “What part about any of this are you not getting?”

“Why I don’t have your number yet,” he answers. I shake my head, walking away. This is just ridiculous now. “Alright, that’s enough there buddy,” Dean says, placing a firm hand on the guy's shoulder.

Then, the sharp noise of metal on metal comes from behind a door but inches from us. The door to the basement. As if in sync, thinking the same thing, our guns are immediately raised, body and mind back on high alert. “Oh crap,” Ed mumbles and with some shuffling and shoving each other they wind up crowding behind us. Or cowering, if you will. “Uh guys, you wanna…you wanna open that door for us?” Ed asks.

“Why don’t you?” Dean remarks unamused.

Suddenly, the door bursts, wooden shards exploding everywhere as Mordechai bursts through the door holding his axe. Screams and gunshots clash together, the dissonance cracking the atmosphere. I pull the trigger over and over, working at the mechanics of the gun until the cartridge is empty, until there’s nothing left to give. It’s no surprise when the old farmer wavers and disappears into mist with the amount of bullets shot between the three of us, but the real question is did it work?

Once more, we seem to share the same mind as we reload our guns quickly, shoving bullets into the chamber before splitting up. It’s all wordless, movements and thoughts that have been implanted into our mind long before there was even a comprehension of the fact. Every part of my being is on high alert, eyes scanning the room for the spirit. I clear the dusty shell of a room I walk into when I hear a squeal.

Immediately I spin right back around, rushing into the room I stood in only moments ago. I nearly bump into Sam as we meet back in the room only to find Harry on the floor with a shattered camera in front of him. “Hey!” Dean shouts as he enters the room from the opposite side of us, “Didn’t you guys post that B.S. story we gave you?”

“Of course we did,” Ed defends, helping his friend off the floor.

“You know, that didn’t sound all that convincing,” I quip, looking at the destroyed camera. There was no saving that thing and I don’t think any amount of insurance would help it. “But then our server crashed,” Harry corrects.

“So it didn’t take? Dean asks, eyes a little frantic.

“Ummm,” they hum in unison, the noise high pitched as their eyes jump around the room to look anywhere but the gruff man across from them. “So these, these guns don’t work?” Dean laughs darkly, running a hand down his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ed breathes.

“Great,” he murmurs, “Sam, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Harry declares, no longer concerned with documenting the truth—not that they could. “Yeah. Come on,” Ed agrees. Harry grabs hold of Ed before they run past Dean into the next room. And not even a moment later does girlish screams come from that room.

Yet despite how annoying they are, and all the trouble they’ve caused, Sam and I follow after them. Mordechai corners them against the front door, the boys cower against the door screaming “The power of Christ compels you,” over and over, louder and louder. “HEY! Come and get it you ugly son of a bitch,” Sam taunts. And for whatever reason Mordechai turns and goes after him instead. Sam leads the spirit away from the boys giving me the time to move to the idiots at the door.

I motion for them to move and quickly they shuffle away. I grip the door handle and give it a hard pull, maybe using just a little power to give me more help. The cool breeze blows in as I hold it open for them, the shuffles and grunts of fighting close by, “Go!” I command, pointing out the door. They shove each other as they stumble onto the small porch, Ed turns back before they reach the first step, “So, is your number still on—“

“NO!” I shout, slamming the door in his face. I spin around only to find Sam pressed against the wall with the axe against his throat, pushed higher and higher off the ground until his feet dangle. Immediately I lift my gun and shoot one, two, three, four, five times, glad that the angle I occupy is viewing them at their side. Mordechai disappears in a mist once more, Sam falls to the ground holding his neck as he coughs, but this time I know the spirit isn’t gone for good.

Unfortunately I don’t leave room to ask if he’s okay as I swing around the nearest walkway, “Dean?!” I call, I don’t know where he went off to and I don’t want Mordechai to take advantage of him being alone. “Right here, sweetheart,” he answers, appearing from the next room over. He holds a little metal can of something and when he splashes it around the room as he approaches me I know it must be some flammable liquid.

He nudges me forward, forcing me around before leading me with a hand on my lower back. I move away from his touch to help Sam up from the ground. “Mordechai can’t leave the house, we can’t kill him—we improvise,” Dean explains, shaking what’s left of the can of kerosene.

“Arson…yay,” I answer, watching as he dumps the rest of the liquid. Just then Mordechai appears at the far end of the room, axe raised, he charges at us, “Go, go, go!” Dean directs. I follow after Sam, running to the front door. I hear the flick of the lighter, the clinking of it falling, and the swoosh of flames going up.

We make it outside and down the short steps just as the building quickly ignites in flames. It spreads quickly in the old house, orange and yellow brightening the darkness as the flames lick at the rotting wood. “That’s your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” Sam exclaims, rubbing at his neck.

“Well nobody will go in anymore,” Dean reasons, “I mean look, Mordechai can’t haunt a house if there’s no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty but it works.”

“Well what if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?” Sam counters.

“Well—well then we’ll just have to come back,” Dean stammers, clearly not having thought of that.

The flames consume the entirety of the house, at least it seems that way. It won’t be long till it’s nothing but ashes. The only thing that’ll be remembered is the legends of a man who did not exist, that is if people care to remember at all. And all the while the real story of Martin Murdock and his boys will continue to be forgotten by this town and history. “Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just cuz’ people believed in them,” Sam ponders, the words swirling in the air and lingering like the smoke filling the sky.

“I’d rather not think of that one,” I mumble. Our ‘job’ was complicated enough, it didn’t need another layer. We didn’t need another thing to keep us up at night.

The boys had decided to make a stop to see Ed and Harry before leaving town. I’m not really sure why, I certainly would’ve gone on just fine without saying a farewell. But, atlast we sit at a picnic table in the trailer park, the boys in question walking over with very full grocery bags. “Man, I got the munchies right now,” Ed comments, talking to his friend. Then, his attention turns to us as they stop at the table, “Gentlemen. Gentlelady,” he nods, and I have the suspicion that if he were wearing a hat he would’ve tipped it at us.

“Hey guys,” Sam greets with a simple smile.

“Should we tell ‘em?” Harry asks Ed, stupid smiles on their faces.

“Hey, might as well, you know, they’re going to read about it in the trades,” Ed points out, chin raised.

“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask, looking up at them. I can’t imagine what they’re gonna say. “So, this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer,” Harry tells us, pride dripping in his voice.

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” Dean remarks, ripping a laugh from my lips before I can stop it.

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the morton picture rights. Maybe even have us write it,” Ed boasts, shoving the stuffed grocery bags into their stuffed car, their trailer hitched to the back. “And create the RPG,” Harry adds.

“The what?” Dean asks.

“Role playing game,” I answer. Dean's eyes turn to me, confusion written in his irises, “What?” I defend, “Can’t a girl know things?”

“You know the lingo,” Ed admires, hearts practically shining in his eyes, “Anyhoo, ahhh, excuse us, we’re off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great,” Sam says.

“Yeah. That’s awesome, best of luck to you,” Dean adds. And it’s that that makes me suspicious. It didn’t seem like he had said it sarcastically and from how irritated they had made him I doubt he would mean such a thing sincerely. It’s fishy. “Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about talent. Sheer unabashed talent,” Ed corrects, chest puffed out. I decide to keep my comments to myself, let them have their delusions.

They hop into the overfilled car and start pulling off, “See ya ‘round,” Ed says from out the window, “Call me!” he adds, finger gunning at me. I cringe but ultimately ignore it, I will not be calling him or thinking of them in any degree. “Wow,” Dean exhales, standing up.

“I have a confession to make,” Sam declares, standing up too, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’d you do?” I ask, laughing.

“I, uh…I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer,” he confesses, a smile trying to pull on the corner of his lips. I can’t help but laugh. It’s certainly a cruel prank and yet so deserved. Dean laughs too, “Yeah, well I’m the one who put the dead fish in their back seat.” Sam joins in on the laughing too, it’s kind of hard not to with the ridiculousness of it all. “My god, you guys are evil,” I smile.

When the laughing dies down Sam says, “Truce?”

“Yeah truce,” Dean agrees, “At least for the next 100 miles.”

[pegging-satan]

Hi gang I’m back on my Caleb x Zayne x Sylus college band au

I have decided to make Zayne a literature nerd instead of my original compsci idea (mostly because idk anything abt compsci and I’m too lazy to research but also doesn’t Zayne strike you as someone who would’ve done literature if he didn’t go to med school?) it just suits him better methinks.

And since I love and I mean ADORE Luke and Kieran SO much they’re also making an appearance as Sylus’ cute chaotic baby brothers! Same age difference, he’s 23, they’re 13, and Sylus is their doting older brother and pretty much their parental figure (they don’t have parents :( aww)

Anyways I’m thinking wholesome family dynamics with them WAAAAY later down the line because 1) slooooowwwwww burn 2) Sylus never tells anyone about his personal life, not even Caleb and Zayne despite how close they got but one day he does end up confiding in them and they’re like “Sylus you madman why didn’t you tell us before” and then after school hours they let the twins hang around for band practice and they all bond with each other

Ya know like Caleb teaching Luke how to play the drums or something, Kieran is glued to Zayne for some reason and Sylus just looks at them and he’s like “life is so much easier now, shit. Should’ve done this before” and he realises that sharing your woes does make the burden lighter and they’re all enjoying each other’s company so much too. Sylus gets a break from taking care of those two. Caleb and Zayne are more than happy to babysit them.

And Sylus, the man that he is…. A very overprotective older brother, if you mess with Luke and Kieran you should start running immediately. He’s usually calm smug and level headed until it comes to his babies. This facet of his personality is so very charming to Zayne and Caleb, who absolutely SWOON when they see him taking care of them.

One time some asshole tried messing with the boys. They all saw. Before Zayne and Caleb even processed what happened, Sylus was already there, knocked the guy out cold on the pavement, spat on him and turned away to check on Luke and Kieran who ran into his arms, and he hugged them patting their heads

Zayne and Caleb could only just watch in awe, a little scared, quite endeared and very turned on.

“Lord have mercy, did you see that?”

“Gods, holy shit, I did, I did”

They both speak, eyes glued on Sylus, who catches them staring so shamelessly. He’s completely oblivious to how hot that was. To him, it was just him being him. To them, it seemed like they just witnessed God himself descend from the heavens.

“What” he asks

“Nothing…”

“That was kinda…. Nevermind”

And I’m also thinking of like putting some tender moments in there with Sylus and Luke and Kieran as in idk maybe they have a nightmare or something and Sylus hears his bedroom door open slowly

“What’s the matter?” He asks getting up

“Bad dream?” They both nod. Wordlessly he lifts his blanket and they both crawl in on either side as he put his arms around them

“It’s ok, you’re with me, you’re safe” he says and gently pats their heads reassuringly. And they do feel safe with him. So they drift off soon enough.

SO CUTE AAAAAAAAAA