#WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE!? ITS COLD AND DRY OUT YOU SHOULD BE DEAD

[skitskatdacat63]

I want to go to sleep but there is a centipede that had been stock still above my bed for literally like 4 hours, what is he planning....

[luvingshidou]

WHO ARE YOU???

....its not like you every cared...

wild card!! kunigami rensuke x fem!! reader

ANGSTT

probably ooc

not proofread

Today was the day that you were finally going to meet Kunigami after not seeing him in what felt like decades. You were a small local café sitting down waiting for him, you already had a cup of tea but he would be here soon, right???. You were excited about meeting him. All you wanted to do was go up a hug him to death and give him millions of kisses all over his face. But even with all that excitement, you knew that kunigami would be different, he's text messages have been so dry, like there was a drone texting you and when you'd watch his newer matches he looked so tired, so drained, like he was more of a soccer drone the an actual human being. When he saw you, would he want to break up with you??? Would he even show up???

You can fondly remember the last day before he went to blue lock he took you out on beach date, and you can remember him kissing you at sunset, promising you that he would text you everyday, call you everyday and when he'd would come back to smother you in kisses and hug you to death, but now your not sure he'd even come to the café at all!!!

You continued to overthink when you suddenly felt a strong hand on your shoulder. "Y/N." Kunigami says he voice sounding emotionless and cold. Without another word, he sat down across from you. god, he looked so tired, so dead looking.

"Oh, Rensuke, ah— how are you???" You say, smiling at him, trying to mask your nervousness. Fuck, you couldn't lie but you felt a bit intimated by him, he was so closed off, you just which you knew what happened so you could help him!!!

"Fine." He responds, he sounds like he couldn't care less about this conversation or this 'date' if you could even call it that at this point. He was not making it easy to keep the conversation going.

"And how's your sisters???" You ask, hoping he would make it more akward than it already was. Thinking about it, know he didn't even hug you, fuck now you were overthinking even more.

"There good." He answers, not any hint of interest in his voice. "That's good!!" You respond, trying to be as nice as possible. You started to pour yourself some tea, trying your best not to worry, its gonna be fineeee.

"Y/N. I'm here cause I want to be clear with you." Kunigami starts speaking, his eyes boring into yours. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you wanted disappear, run away, you wanted to be anywhere but here. "I've thought about it, and we should break up. You're distracting me from my football, and I can't let that happen. I hope you understand." He says blanked face, still staring at you. You could feel yourself frowning, your eyes darting around the place, you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, you let out a measly "What??" You looked down at the table, staring at the cup of tea, trying not to start sob. You began wiping your tears, feeling like your heart has been trampled on. What a piece of shit.

"I have to go Y/N." Kunigami says, getting up. You had a gut feeling it was going to happen, but God did it hurt. "Rensuke— please, please don't leave me— I love you, —i need you, please." You plead, sobbing quietly, your breathing becoming slightly erratic. You knew it sounded pathetic and needy, but you'd do anything to keep this relationship going.

"Sorry." Kunigami murmurs and turns around quickly. "And don't keep chasing for me, I won't take up back." He stopped for a second and then began to walk away, not saying another word. He didn't even turn around and face you, didn't have to balls to make eye contact why you were pleading with him, your mascara running down your face. This Kunigami was a complete stranger to you, who even was he???

(sorry, I haven't posted for like 4 days. i have such a bad toothache that I've been crying 🤕🤕🤕)

[kinglazrus]

this isn't the beginning (but it's a start)

An AU where Portal Danny went missing his senior year of high school, and he's back home twenty years later.

Ch. 2 | Masterpost | Read on Ao3 | Cover art by @lil-yardstick | Glass figures by @what-even-is-sleep

Chapter One: Oblivion

It was always going to hurt.

Words: 2085 Warnings: mild gore

The star is dying. Tiny flares stretch into the darkness, fiery tongues lapping at the air until the thread of light tethering it to the whole breaks and the heat is lost forever as it dissipates. The star grows smaller with every burst. Dimmer. Colder.

It’s dying, and he might be dying with it, but that feels trivial in comparison. He dies every day.

It always starts in the burial ground, where he roams between the graves. Most of them are little more than mounds, gentle slopes in the grass where something is buried underneath. But others have been tended to so carefully, marked by stone with flowers laid upon them, as if to show there can still be life there.

It’s a nice sentiment, if a bit mistaken.

His memories are buried there, interred deep beneath the dirt and beyond his reach. Most are lost to him, and the few he knows, he knows only by the words carved upon their tombstones. They’re stories he’s been told, faces described, names repeated so many times they should be burned into his brain, but somehow manage to slip away from him again.

But he always wanders, and digs and digs and digs, until his nails are torn and his fingers bleed, and still there’s nothing. If there are any caskets here, he’s never seen them. He lays at the bottom of an empty grave, hands folded over his chest, mud clinging to his fingers as the damp seeps into his clothes and hair. He closes his eyes and wishes the dirt would pour over him. Sometimes it does, stinging his eyes, filling his mouth and nose. Pressing down on him until his ribs creak. And another piece of him dies as he goes stiff and cold.

But he doesn’t get to stay dead. When he wakes, he has to claw his way back up, remind himself who he is and why he’s here. And the next time he pitches forward into darkness, it happens all over again.

So, he’s used to dying.

Then why does this hurt?

It was always going to hurt.

A whimper pulls from his throat, and he holds the star even closer.

He could cradle it in his arms, before. Curl around it as he was enveloped in its light and warmth. Now, it’s caged between his palms, casting soft shadows that sink into the creases of his knuckles as he tries to hold the light in, but it just streams through his fingers while the space between his hands shrinks. Maybe he’s killing it faster. Squeezing the life out of it. Suffocating it. Or maybe, if he lets go, the cold surrounding them will rush in and snuff the star out. Or, without his hands to contain it, all the fire will burst out in one brilliant flash that leaves him blind and aching.

Another shudder ripples through him, and as his head bows toward his clasped hands, a drop rolls from his eye, carving a path down his cheek. It touches the corner of his mouth, seeping into the cracks of his dry skin. When he licks his lips, he tastes iron.

He mistook the blood for tears, at first. Tried to blink it away when he felt his eyes growing wet, and stared down at the polka dot napkin in his hand as his vision went fuzzy. Pretty pastel flecks—yellow, pink, blue, green—scattered like confetti across the paper, except where it was already smeared with red.

He pressed his thumb against the wet spot, wondering how it got there.

“Hey, put that back,” an older woman said. She stood just in front of him, not too close, but enough that he was backed into a corner between her, the wall, and the row of lockers beside him. Her frown deepened the wrinkles around her mouth as she took his hand in hers, raising it up to his face and pressing the napkin against his cheek, just below his eye. She held it there for a second, then squeezed his shoulder.

“Do you know what we did today?” she asked.

“I don’t...” It wasn’t meant to be an answer, but she took it as one. Rightly so. He wasn’t sure what he was doing right then, much less earlier in the day.

“What about the date?”

He blinked at her slowly.

“Okay.” She worried her lip, then ran her fluttering hands over her hair, which was pulled back into a tight bun. “Okay, hon. Go sit down.” She grabbed his shoulder once more and tugged him forward, nudging him toward a nearby doorway. “I’ll get your bag and be right back.”

She lingered another moment before heading down the hall, walking so briskly that each step kicked at her long, flowing skirt. She wasn’t quite running by the time she turned the corner, but it certainly wasn’t a walk.

He wondered what her name was.

Then he blinked, flinching in surprise when his eyelashes fluttered against a napkin pressed into his hand, and pulled it back.

Hm. Polka dots. Like confetti. Marred by two bright red stains. He started raising the napkin back to his face, because she had told him to keep it there.

Who?

He paused. That’s right. Or wasn’t right. He was alone.

That’s okay. Everything is fine.

His head throbbed. He crumpled the napkin in his fist and stumbled toward a nearby doorway. Everything spun as if balanced on a point between his eyes, and he could really use a moment to sit down. As he stepped through, the world tilted around him. His shoulder struck the door frame, and he would have pitched forward if not for the door itself, into which he stumbled as his knees went weak. He braced himself against it, leaning heavily on the doorknob while squeezing his eyes shut, and didn’t move until the world settled enough that he could look without feeling a swoop in his stomach.

Identical tables took up most of the room, their chairs poorly tucked, tops strewn with empty chip bags and paper cups. A few crumbs here and there, and some spilled juice that hadn’t dried yet. Along the wall beside him, a row of hooks overflowing with jackets and backpacks. On the far side of the room, a solitary desk accompanied by filing cabinets and a shelf crammed full of books.

One of the fluorescent lights above his head, the second from the left, flickered, clicking and buzzing as it flashed on and off. He stared at it until the stripes of light were burned on the back of his eyelids, and he tore his gaze away.

He looked to the tables again, to the crumbs and empty wrappers, and the crumpled napkin in his hand, and knew had forgotten.

The first shiver brought him to his knees.

It’s okay. It’s okay.

He gasped, clutching his shirt while tears poured from his eyes, but the drops that hit the tile beneath him were red. A howl filled his ears, keening and desperate and echoing all around him. Or maybe it was him. He could barely hear anything above the noise, but somehow a single shout broke through, and his head whipped up to see a woman in the doorway.

Oh, her.

The last thing he saw before the shadows rose up to meet him was the shape of his name on her lips, and then he was swallowed. Plummeting into the darkness and spat out here, before the dying star.

So it hurts.

Because he might be dying, too. Really dying.

He can’t remember what that feels like, but he imagines it’s something like this. With a heat building in his chest while his hands shake from a chill seeping even deeper. Trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as his tongue scrapes, like sandpaper, against the roof of his mouth, and every muscle in his body constricts until his head is bowed toward his knees in a mockery of confession.

He grasps his throat, fingers wrapped so tightly that he might have been choking himself.

“No.” It’s barely a word. A croak. A wheeze. The smallest moan pushed between his lips. Maybe it’s not a word at all, but he knows what he means to say as the iron blooms across his tongue. “Please.”

He can’t breathe. He doesn’t even need to, but now he can’t, choking as something wells in his throat. Guilt, maybe. How much has he pushed this mind away this past year? It’s not like he didn’t feel it. The pull. At first, just the brush of someone reaching out every couple weeks. Then a firm tug every few days. Then every day, as the gentleness gave way to desperation and pokes and prods that made him snap his teeth.

He wanted to answer. Wanted nothing more than to sink into this dream and see that familiar face. He’s sure he would be received with a smile, despite turning his back on it for so long. But he couldn’t. Not until he was ready. Did he even notice when it stopped reaching out? He tries, now, to recall the last time he felt that nudge against his mind.

How long ago was it? A few days, a week, a month. He can’t say. Time is such a difficult thing.

And now...and now...

He tries to reach back. Presses the star against his chest and wills the dream open, waits for the light streaming into the darkness to coalesce into the shape he knows so well. Instead, heat blooms in his chest, as if all the warmth the star lost has found a home behind his ribs. A spark catching and settings his organs on fire as it tries to burn him out.

So maybe he’s choking on his guilt, or it’s maybe just the mass squirming in his throat. He can’t feel it against his hand, but it’s there. Wriggling as it tries to dislodge itself. Scratching against the muscle. He imagines his throat splitting open and a fleshy mass spewing into the stars, squirming amongst the gore as it drifts into space. But no blood wells beneath his fingers.

He wouldn’t even care if it did.

He tries to gasp out, “Please, no, please,” but his chest squeezes and crushes the words before they can form.

No, that’s not quite right. It’s not a press in, but out, grinding the plea against his rib cage. A fullness, like when you eat too much and your stomach stretches to its limits, except the feeling rises from a place deeper within him. Where his heart used to be, where his core now resides beneath layers of ozone and ectoplasm that he moulded in a facsimile of flesh. A little too much swelling against the limits of this body and pulling his skin taut, something that should not be possible for a being who contains galaxies.

His mouth opens, though no sound falls out. He’s not even sure which of them he would be crying for, now, if anything but blood were pouring from his eyes.

Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go, please.

The stars around them blur. Not dying, just swallowed by the spots dancing at the edge of his vision. His eyes want to fall shut, but he refuses, afraid that if he even blinks, the star will disappear while he’s not watching.

It’s slipped from his grasp while he was thrashing and gritting his teeth. Flares burst off it in every direction as it shrinks smaller and smaller. He reaches toward it with one hand while the other clutches at his chest.

Stop this.

How?

Get it out.

The thing in his throat squirms and slips further down.

Get out!

Cracks spread along his chest. His skin burns as it splits open along old wounds, up his neck and across his jaw. He digs his fingers into the cracks, reaching inside his chest until he finds something soft and fleshy, and he squeezes.

Lightning rips through him, setting every nerve on fire, and his jaw snaps shut. A crack rings out as something in inside him gives. The sound echoes through his head. Blood oozes alongside the ectoplasm as he withdraws his hand, and the cracks along his skin seal once more. The heat rushes out of him, and though the throb in his chest is still there, it’s ebbed slightly, and he finally goes limp.

At the same moment, the star goes out.

—

Masterpost | Next chapter

[spacexseven]

Ngl god darling is better than darling with a god ability tbh

Also would nikolai try to kill god darling? And I wonder what dearest sigma would think, he's just so lovely

OH ALSO HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW XIAO THING? It's been around for a while and idk if I asked you about it but he's so pretty wth

not sure what xiao thing you're talking about but he's always so pretty i want to squish him

cw: yandere themes, bad end for nikolai :<

even with your years of watching people, you had yet to see someone like nikolai.

despite his claims that his motives were perfectly clear and that you should be able to understand him perfectly, he always seemed, to you, like a puzzle missing its final piece. what was that piece for him? was it the morality he lacked? when you asked him that, though, he told you that he liked to think he was a puzzle with too many pieces—sentience when everyone else lived like puppets, desire greater than any other, and so on. how could you complete an anomalous puzzle, with no real final picture?

"tell me," he once asked, voice uncharacteristically somber, eyes gazing down at his blood-streaked hands, "can a human become a god?"

it occurred to you then that nikolai was only trying to run from something. something that made him human, something he hated. you think back to the times when he told you he wanted to be free, wanted to stop feeling. was that the extra piece he couldn't get rid of?

still, he was kind to you. or at least as kind as he could be, between jovial, teasing comments and moments of unfiltered rage. he called you his friend, but he said that about fyodor too, and a few nights ago he was trying to convince you to kill him.

"can a god die?" at your questioning look, he added, "can you?"

"i'm not sure. i haven't gotten that close yet," you admitted "but i suppose for a god, being forgotten is as close to death as they can get."

"i won't forget you," he smiled, but the gesture was far from reassuring when his eyes glimmered with something bright.

you wondered if you had unintentionally sparked something in him. you even considered the possibility that you'd wake up the next morning to find him with a knife at your throat. if he was determined to kill fyodor to achieve what he thought was pure freedom, who's to say you won't be next? knowing nikolai, it was easier to believe that he was a monster, a creature of pure evil, bloodthirsty, and seeking to haunt. but things were never that simple. there were times when your heart ached for him, wondering why he had to go down this path. and those times, you truly felt useless, wondering if you couldn't do anything even in your position.

now, you wonder, if it was your sympathy that made you weak.

"it's not fair. i won't forget you," nikolai sighs, "even if anyone else will. but you'll live on even if i'm not here and you'll forget me."

you wish to tell him that you won't, but in your current position, bleeding out at a rapid pace from numerous wounds and head spinning, you can barely handle the pain, let alone move your dry lips. you remember that nearby you is fyodor's body, cold and long dead. it was almost cruel how the closest you'd ever felt to being human was when you were dying.

"hey, but you're a god!" he must have thrown his hands up, from your memory of him, but nikolai's voice grows shriller, though you can't tell if it's from excitement or panic, "you'll come back, like that thing you mentioned before? reincarnation! and you have...powers..." you could tell instinctively that he was looking over at fyodor's corpse.

you want to tell him that you aren't sure. you've never been much use, even as a god. you've always liked being a human more. maybe you will come back, but likely not, and you definitely can't save fyodor anymore. you don't think anyone can. but the words escape you as your vision goes black. the only thing accompanying your dying body was a warm hand on your cheek and nikolai's incoherent mumbling.

sigma, admittedly, was your favorite. you saw a little bit of yourself in him and his desire to find his purpose. but most of all, you liked his determination, his unwavering resolve. it was nice to see how he ran the casino so perfectly, and you thought his position complemented him well.

but unlike nikolai who was easy to sling an arm around and drag out or fyodor, who was always ready to listen to any word that came out of your mouth, sigma was a little harder to get to. he was always working, cleaning up after the other two's messes, and keeping his customers happy. always on the go, and it was getting harder and harder to catch him. the only times he seemed to be able to listen to you was when you caught him staring out the balcony at the world below the casino, only accompanied by the moonlight. he was always gentler then, softer, but more solemn. it was during one of those nights that he finally asked you something.

"so, you're really a god?"

you awkwardly shuffle, "yes. i know fyodor is a bit too enthusiastic about it, but i really can't do much anyway. i'm more like...the remnant of what i used to be."

"is this how the world looks like to you?" he asks, looing at the tiny blinking lights below.

"it's...overwhelming. the world is so big and full of life, and i've never felt like i was a part of it. i love being around people more than anything, but i'm always reminded that i'll never be like them."

sigma stiffens up, still not meeting your gaze, "you're looking for it too, right? to feel like you have your own place here..."

and then, for the first time since you met him, he smiles, "at least we have each other." you smile back, not realizing he took it a little too seriously.

despite your differences, you were just like sigma—maybe that was why he liked you so much. sigma knew all his customers by heart, slaving away to memorize each face and the mannerisms behind it, their likes and dislikes, just to design an ideal experience for them here. all he ever had was the sky casino, and he was aware of just how easily it could be taken away from him. because of this, it wasn't anything unusual to see sigma meticulously studying each of his guests, observing them closely, and noting down his thoughts. maybe that's why you never suspected anything when he stared at you for far too long, something other than a sense of duty burning behind his eyes, something unlike his usual concerns dominating his mind. maybe that was why you didn't mind his new interest in you, stepping in to drag you away from nikolai and boldly insisting to fyodor that he needed to talk to you.

if only you had said something then, you wouldn't have to face this situation; sigma on his knees, pleading for you to stay, to not follow fyodor out of the casino again. you might stay away for weeks, he insisted, and it wouldn't be safe. all he had was you, so please, don't leave with him. and looking at the pain in sigma's eyes, you already knew it wouldn't end well if you didn't comply.

[royalsunshinehotel]

Stones (Gawain x Reader)

A/N: Introspection from a Queen's Point of View

Cobblestones. It’s the first thing you think of when you wake that morning. 

There’s a lot more to it than that, but you rise anyway. 

He’s not here. 

The pathetic, dried-up words have been pounding in your head, dull, since your husband disappeared on the horizon with his troops. Of course he’s not here. He’s King. He has business. 

This leaves you, the Queen, to sit in your castle and ponder how, in two years of marriage, the only improvement you’d made was cobbling the streets your subjects walked upon. 

He’s not here. 

Later in the day, you planned to call upon Lady Essel, and your husband’s son Galahad. Perhaps the boy had cooled his temper since his father left. It’s not his fault he’s only nine. It’s not his fault he’s the eldest child, the heir to Camelot. It’s not your fault either. 

He’s not here. 

Gawain only wed you for access to your father’s coffers, and you had made peace with the fact that you would be decoration. 

It was a political match, until it wasn’t. Until one day, almost a year and a half ago, you’d crossed paths with your King in the courtyard, and he’d gotten the nerve to ask you about the weather. 

Fine day, is it not your Majesty? 

It’s snowing. 

And it would appear, you and your husband would become a “love match”, rare and elusive. Now if only this border dispute would stop. 

You hoped that it wouldn’t escalate, you hoped that the wealthier, more powerful kingdom wouldn’t press its luck, no one needed to die over a miscommunication. You wished for a lot of things. 

He should be here. 

Now this was just silly. You had to get up. You had to go talk to another live person. Moping in your loneliness was a luxury you did not have. Your people needed to see that you were unfazed by the absence of every man of fighting age. 

It’s fine. 

It’s not, you’re unnerved, Essel is unnerved, Galahad was a day away from having hair fall out. The people were surviving winter, unnerved. 

It’s too much. Something has to give - and it does. 

The next hours pass in something of a blur. 

Soldiers on the horizon coming home. 

Freezing wet cold against your skin. 

It doesn’t even matter. 

Not just any soldier - that one’s yours! 

You speculate, as your husband lays in your arms in the bath, long eyelashes closed. You speculate about how the people saw their Queen. 

He’s here. It doesn’t feel real. 

They saw their Queen running amongst her people, knock her husband off his horse, and drag him away to their rooms. Did they know? Did they understand what his being away did to you? 

They couldn’t, could they? 

Gawain groans as you bring your hands back to his hair, working in the soap. 

He’s here. 

You help him dry himself, and pull back the covers, safely depositing what's yours into your bed. You swear he says, “thank you,” but it was so soft, it could have been anything else. 

 He looks at you, moving his long arm, and patting next to him. His dark eyes look pitiful in the fading winter light, you’d give him whatever he wanted. For now, you ljust ay next to him. 

He moves, just a little, to be closer at your side. You’d swaddled him in the same manner you would a baby, when all he really wanted was your skin against his. 

Tomorrow. 

You muse, as Gawain begins to snore. You’d wake him tomorrow and show him how you missed him. 

He’d made you a bangle, when you first started ‘courting’, out of a fallen limb from a favorite tree he shared with you. 

You toy with the bracelet as the city goes quiet. It was everything to you. When you and your husband were dead and buried, would people even know what this silly bangle meant to you? Maybe it would just be firewood, something to get them through long and grueling winters. Maybe they’d toss your bracelet on to feed the flames. 

Would they wonder why it burns so warm?

[whorediaries-09]

are you death or paradise?

pairing- sirius black x auror!reader warning(s) - throwing up, hurt/comfort. a/n- god i should really stop breaking my own self lmao.

little train. series masterlist.

sirius found himself in the corner of his room, disgusted by what he'd done. he hated himself, and in the drunk haze, he slipped into a little bubble of deranged anger and despise. he found himself clenching onto a piece of parchment and a pen. he wanted the pain he felt to be shattered. so he decided to write it down, burning it into a flame.

'prongs, i hate it here, please take me with you. what if it didn't happen if i was made the secret keeper? if i changed anything would you still be alive, prongs? do you hate that i begged you to make peter the secret keeper? do you hate me prongs? am i to blame?'

the tears stained the parchment. he felt his body burn, and within the pocket of his t-shirt, he found a lighter. staring at the girl asleep on his bed, he burned it up. his arteries drowned with the poisonous pricks of his blood. his breathing differed and he shuddered as the cold air bit him.

he hooted to the little owl he had bought. it flocked onto his shoulder.

'can you find remus?' he slurred with half open eyes. 'please?' the owl stared at him with it's big amber eyes that reflected through its black feathers. as if it understood his words, it nodded before flapping its wings and flying off into the night.

*-

the owl had been nipping at remus' ear, trying to grab his attention. even to the owl, it seemed weird that the lanky male was up at the dead of night, drinking black coffee and reading the newspaper as if it was the beginning of the day.

remus didn't understand why the owl had been there. or how the owl had been there. or why the owl was there. remus had his flat in the most secluded-if not the most darkest alley he'd found. it was cheapest he could find, after all.

his eyes shimmied over the bold headline on the newspaper.

'sirius black freed, but has disappeared? what is the mystery behind the man?'

another obnoxious article by rita skeeter, remus thought. the news of his long lost friend was the hot gossip, and everybody was in the watch out to look for him. his face was printed onto the front pages on the paper for the last few days. the shift from the front page to somewhere in between, he supposed was a change.

he had also received sirius' letter. reluctantly, he had agreed. however, when he went to the three broomsticks to meet him, he had not showed up.

the owl nibbled his ear again before perching on his lap, prodding at the moving picture of sirius on the paper.

'are you sirius' owl?' remus asked. the owl turned his head, blinking and agreeing, as if he understood his words. with an earnest glowing fire in his eyes, the owl tried to speak to him with his eyes and hoots.

the amber glow of his eyes contrasting against the black feathers strangely reminded him of sirius. perhaps he'd gotten an owl just like himself...

*-

sirius found himself being jerked awake. his mouth was dry, lips wet with saliva as drool drooped all over himself from his open mouth. his body ached.

'padfoot, wake up!' remus said, holding up a pair of pants. 'please wear this pants, we have a guest!' he startled awake, his head thumping against his skull. he stared aimlessly at his bed, the sheets crinkled and dirty. his mind tried to make sense of the things that happened around him, but he couldn't ignore the feeling of ache that spread all throughout his body.

'fuck, moony, you're here,' he whispered. his gut churned as he tried to stand up, his vision dizzying. remus wrapped his hand around his shoulders telling him to sit down on the bed and handing him the boxers he held.

'wear them, then we'll talk.' he said, his voice harsh. sirius nodded slowly, lowering his head into his hands. he breathed slow, letting his head ache and gut churn. with slender movement, he slipped his legs, sliding the boxer up to his scarred narrow waist. slow and hot, he felt salty water accumulate into his mouth, the hangover getting the best of his sanity. he spilled out whatever he had consumed the last day, throwing up on the floor.

a soft, strangely familiar hand wrapped around his hair, pulling it up, simultaneously rubbing his back for comfort. he felt his gut bubble for the last time as he spilled out every bit of food consumed. with tear stricken eyes and a rumbling stomach, he stared at remus, who cleaned up the mess with a simple spell.

'you're okay,' the familiar voice whispered from behind his back. 'you'll be okay.' you said, a tad bit more stern as he whipped his head around to look for the source of your mouth.

'lupin, please help me get him up. he needs to freshen up. i don't know how many whiskeys he had last night, but he smells pretty booze-y.' remus merely hummed, helping you to carry sirius into the bathroom. you filled up the bath with warm water and the cherry flavored body wash kept beside.

sirius hazily took off his clothes, ignoring remus' pleas to not get rid of them in front of you. he was too far gone within his crumbled ruinations to care. he plopped himself into the bath.

'lupin, can you set the tea?' sirius' eyes opened droopily,

'how did you know i have tea?' he slurred, staring at your standing form. you rubbed the back of your head, sitting down on your knees beside him, sponge in hand. you rubbed the water on his back.

'you told me the other night,'

'i'll go and make the tea, actually,' remus said, awkwardly walking away. tenderly, you rubbed the age old scars on his back. they were healed, yet visible from the fading ink of the tattoos on his back. you rubbed agonizingly slowly as if the scars still hurt.

perhaps they didn't. but the chronicles behind them certainly did.

'are you looking at my scars?' he asked, twisting his head to stare into your eyes, catching you off guard. there was a glow in them you'd never seen before, a strange glow that felt so familiar to be within the curtain of his gray irises. a hue that belonged within him.

'maybe,' you said, continuing to rub the soap on his body. with slender, cold and wet fingers, he tucked your stray hairs behind your ears. as the sun rose, the golden light illuminated through his windows. it fell directly upon your features, enhancing your features.

he felt his heart soar. words stuck on his tongue as he watched you tenderly, bitterly wash him off. it was as if the lightening had struck again, and he was outside in the rain, his body and heart bleeding. as if he'd felt james' warm embrace again as he took him in. as if it was maa yet again cleaning him up, with papa vowing to never let him go.

but in his mind, he knew it wasn't james or maa or papa. he was in his doomed loophole of prison that burned him to the very core. perhaps he was escaping death, freeing himself from the cold hands of death. but where was he escaping? who was his paradise?

were you the paradise he was escaping to?

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original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series) - @urbansaint

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The Widow - Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?   

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader (eventual)

Warnings: grief, angst, fluff

Words: 2,450

A/N: I am so sorry for making so many of you cry or get emotional from the last chapter. Although I made myself cry writing it, but I never thought it would have the same impact on the readers *hugs*. This one shouldn’t be so bad 🫣💖

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

One Month Later

Grief is a funny thing; on the good days, you can function like a normal adult by eating and sleeping quite well. But on the bad days, you stay on the sofa just staring at the wall, wearing pyjamas that – like your hair – haven’t been washed in days, and you can’t remember the last time you ate because everything tastes like ash.

Today though, is a good day. You’ve eaten, showered, done the laundry, and now you’re washing the dishes from the lunch you had with John and Dean. One of those things on its own is a huge achievement, and the fact you did them all feels like it should be worth celebrating, but your sense of accomplishment is whipped away just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Have you thought any more about clearing out Sam’s things?” John speaks softly and carefully, like he’s dealing with a caged animal. But when he’s met with silence from you, he lets out a sigh. “Darlin’, it’s not healthy staying cooped up in the house all day surrounded by his things.”

“Dad���” Dean attempts to shut down the conversation.

“Look,” John continues, ignoring his eldest son’s plea. “I know you’re hurting, believe me, I do. And honestly, it’s gonna be like that for a long time. Maybe even always. I’m just trying to make it easier for you. All these things you’re doing,” John gestures around the open-plan living area of the home you shared with your late husband, “aren’t healthy.”

You don’t need this right now. This is a good day. So, you do what you always do when John brings it up; you walk away.

Dropping the plate back into the soapy water, you quickly dry your hands, pick up the basket filled with clean laundry from the kitchen table, and walk away. You know it’s childish, but his argument is one you don’t want to hear because you know he’s right. You know seeing Sam’s things everywhere doesn’t help. You know wearing clothes that still hold a little bit of his scent will only prolong your grief. And you know that calling his number to hear his voicemail message several times a day isn’t healthy. You’re just not ready to let go yet. And that’s something neither he nor Jody seems to understand.

“Dad, you need to drop this. She’s grieving,” you hear Dean say as you step into the hallway. “Do you want to push her away? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t leave her be!”

“I’m only trying to help, son,” John sounds defeated, and you pause to listen to what else they have to say about you. “She’s a good girl, Dean, and she’s choosing to waste away by locking herself in this damn house day after day!”

“Sam only died last month! Her husband has only been dead for six weeks,” Dean yells. “He’s barely cold in the ground, just let her grieve!” 

You smile softly at the way Dean always has your back. That’s why the days he comes to check in on you are your favourite. He listens and understands you – or at the very least, pretends to. He gets why you’re still holding on. He gets that it’s not as easy as putting your big girl panties on and getting back on the horse. You lost your husband. The love of your life. You don’t just get up, dust yourself off and walk away from that. And Dean seems to be the only one who understands, which surprises you because John lost Mary when he was around your age and you thought that might make him understand what you’re going through a little more.

You hear John sigh, and from the scratching sound, run his hand over his stubbled face. “I just hate seeing her hurting. In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her do anything other than smile, and now, I never see that smile. Some days, like today, that hurts more than the loss of my son.”

“I know, dad. I miss her smile too, but she’s going through a process, and she’ll take her own time to do it. What she needs is for us to be supportive and stop pushing her to move on before she’s ready.”

You smile again, grateful beyond words that Dean gets it. Gets you. He’s always been good at reading people and emotions. He knows you better than you know yourself. Better sometimes, than even Sam did.

You’ve heard enough and make your way upstairs to put the laundry away, taking the time to stop, breathe, and reset because today is a good day.

Deciding you’ve hidden away upstairs long enough, you make your way back down to your guests, but stop short when you see John standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“I gotta get going, darlin’. I’m sorry if I upset you, it wasn’t my intention. I’m worried about you and trying to help.” he steps towards you and places a kiss on your forehead.

“I know,” you smile softly. “And I appreciate it… Sometimes.” You smirk, and John chuckles.

“I’ll see you in a few days, alright? I’ve been putting this hunting trip with Bobby off for a couple of weeks and I’ve run out of excuses!” he chuckles again.

“It’ll do you good to get away. You work too hard, and you’ve been taking care of me too, you deserve a break.” John’s been getting the family business ready for Dean to take over for the past few weeks, and you have the suspicion he isn’t quite as ready for retirement from Winchester Auto Repair as he says he is.

“Alright, I’m going. Dean, take care of our girl. Y/N, take care of Dean,” he jokes, and you let out a bleat of laughter, the sound now so foreign to the men in your hallway that they grin like little kids on Christmas morning. With a hug and another kiss on your forehead, John heads out.

“I’m sorry about dad, sweetheart. When mom passed, he didn’t have a choice and had to keep going because of me and Sammy, you know? I think he thinks everyone should be able to do the same.”

“I get it, I really do. But I don’t have anything to fight for, and I feel like I’m barely treading water most days,” you chuckle sadly. “Jody says the same kinda things, you know?” You glance up at Dean and see he’s got his whole attention on you.

“Her latest is: ‘Honey, when are you gonna stop wearing his clothes? Surrounding yourself in his scent constantly is tricking your brain into thinking he’s coming home…’” You mimic Jody’s voice perfectly, albeit a little whinier than she really is, causing Dean to chuckle. “I know she’s right… and so is your dad, just don’t tell them I said that!” you point at Dean in warning, and he holds up his hands.

“Your secrets are safe with me, sweetheart. No one needs John Winchester knowing he’s right about anything,” Dean chuckles before asking the question you know is coming. “So, if you know they’re right, what’s holding you back?”

“Because some days it comforts me. Wearing his clothes, smelling him, seeing his stuff exactly where he left it, makes me feel like he’s still here. Like literally here, watching me,” you sweep your arms around you, “and that makes me feel safe and comforted and loved. And I’m not ready to give that up yet.”

“You said some days,” Dean brings up. And of course, he picks up on that.

“What?” You ask, in a bid to delay the inevitable.

“You said, ‘some days it comforts me’. Are there days it doesn’t?” 

“Me wearing his clothes, leaving his stuff around… it’s my choice. But sometimes I catch his scent when I’m not expecting it or find something in a drawer, and it hits me so hard, and I feel like I’m drowning in anger and grief and I–” your voice catches and you stop to take a deep, shaky breath. “Those are the days that kill me. The days I don’t move from the couch or even get out of bed. It’s like if I do these things – even though I know it’s not healthy – it feels better when it’s a choice I have and not forced on me.”

“So, it’s about controlling your grief?” Dean questions and it makes you stand a little straighter and give him your full attention. “They say the last stage of grief is acceptance, right?” He looks at you with a raised brow and you nod your head. “Sweetheart, I think you’re almost there, standing right at the line, but you’re not ready to cross it.”

“What are you, my therapist?” Your attempt at joking falls flat because you know he’s hitting the nail on the head.

“Hey, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I’m just trying to understand where you’re at and what’s stopping you from getting to the other side.” He stares at you intensely, and you can feel the heat rise from your neck. “Come on, sweetheart, help me out here. I just wanna figure out what’s going on in that pretty head of yours to see if I can help.”

“What if crossing that line means I’m forgetting him?” You mumble meekly.

“Y/N/N–” Dean starts but you cut him off, realising the need to say it out loud.

“If I clear out Sam’s things, get rid of all his clothes, put the photographs away, I’m removing every trace of him from this house. Our house. What if by doing that, and without seeing those reminders of him every day, it makes me forget him?”

“That’s never gonna happen, Y/N. Your relationship with Sam, your love for him and his for you, will always be a part of you,” Dean takes your hand and pulls you with him to the sofa and sits you down. Rather than take the seat next to you, he sits on the coffee table facing you. “I can tell by the look on your face you don’t believe me, so let me ask you a question.”

“Okay.” You’re dubious but agree anyway.

“Who was your first love? And I don’t mean Sam,” Dean states before you can try that argument. “I mean your first, first love. I’m talking like middle school and the first guy you thought you couldn’t live without.”

“Billy Richie.” It comes out of your mouth before your brain fully registers his question.

“What was Billy like?” Dean smirks, and you grin back at him, understanding where he’s going with this.

“He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a really cute smile. Oh! And he wore a leather jacket all the time, whatever the weather,” you giggled. “He sat next to me in Math class, he was always chewing gum and would wink at me every time he sat down.”

“Oh, Billy was a bit of a bad boy, huh?” Dean chuckles.

“Nah, he was a big teddy bear. He just looked the part.” You smile at the memories Billy Richie is stirring up. “He was my date to prom, and my first kiss.”

“And with that smile on your face, sweetheart, I’d say you remember him just as well now as you did fifteen years ago,” Dean holds your gaze, even gently pulling your chin towards him when you try to look away. “My point is that if you can remember bad boy Billy Richie so clearly after fifteen years, you’re gonna remember Sam even clearer in fifteen years because he was your husband.” Dean leans forward, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I get that you’re not ready to take that final step, and trust me, I have your back against anyone who tries to push you over that hurdle before you’re ready to make the jump. And when you do jump, I’ll be right here with you.” Dean smiles softly as he takes your hands in his. “But I do want you to think about doing one thing for me,” Dean’s voice is kind and gentle, and you know whatever he’s going to say to you is a suggestion rather than an order.

“I would really like you to think about going back to work. Seeing people, getting out of the house and having a distraction for a few hours a day will do you the world of good, sweetheart.” 

Dean stares at you with such intensity and all you can see is how much he cares about you. It’s clear that he thinks this is the best thing for you, and the more you think about it, the more you agree with him.

“You know what? I’ll think on it a little more, but I think you might be right,” your answer is not what Dean expects by the way he looks like he’s just won the lottery.

“Awesome,” Dean declares. “Now we’ve got that out of the way, The Lost Boys is on tonight. Wanna order pizza and watch it?” He grins at you, and you can’t help but smile at how boyish he looks when he does that.

“Dean, it’s Friday. Don’t cancel your plans with whichever girl is your flavour of the week to spend the night in with me,” you tease.

“I, uhm,” he rubs his hand over the back of his neck, “haven’t had those kinda plans since the night Sammy…” he doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. “Even if I did,” he continues, “One: you are much more important than some girl in a bar, and two: I’d much rather spend the night watching movies with you.”

“Dean–”

“I mean it,” he insists. “You’re not a burden or an inconvenience – I know that’s what’s running through your head, don’t even try to argue with me! So, are we watching this damn movie together or are you gonna make me go home and watch it by myself? All alone. On a Friday night.” Dean’s feigned grumpiness makes you laugh.

“Fine! I’ll order the pizza! But I don’t have any beer, so if you want some, you’ll have to go to the store.”

“On it!” Dean stands and leans over to press another kiss on your forehead, something that was second nature to all the Winchester men where you’re concerned, but you aren’t going to complain about the sweet gesture. “You need anything else?” he asks as he picks up his car keys.

“No, all good. Just… please promise me you’ll drive safe,” you beg, worrying at your bottom lip.

“Always, sweetheart. I promise.”

Next Chapter>>

@deans-spinster-witch @muchamusedaboutnothing @kazsrm67 @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @leigh70 @waynes-multiverse @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @chriszgirl92 @stoneyggirl2 @marilynnlew @ilovedean-spn2

[chaotickryptonitecomputer]

Alone and Broken

Ajak’s voice came out clear and firm “This is where I say goodbye. You are free to go. I want you to go out there and live a life for yourselves. Not as soldiers, not with the purpose you were given. Find your own purpose and one day when we see each other again, I want you to tell me what you found”

As everyone begins to leave, and I quickly follow Gilgamesh and Thena who are speaking in quiet tones, down the steps and into the forest. Walking deeper into the trees they both seem to have finish their conversation before turning to me. “You’re not coming with us (Y/N)” Thena’s voice is low and cold

“I’m not afraid of you Thena, I know who you are, I know who I fell in love with.”

Gilgamesh glances at Thena before gesturing to the side and walking off.

“I don't love you; it was nice while it lasted a warm body after a battle but now that the deviants are gone, I have no need for someone as weak as you.”

I strike my head in disbelief. “I don't believe you it was never about a warm body and I’m not going to let you push me away when you need someone the most.” I stepped towards Thena attempting to touch her arm only for it to be slapped away.

“Maybe I wasn't clear I don't want you you're a burden thinking about you following me around for the next 100 years makes me sick to my stomach. I never loved you I only used you.” Thena’s voice is cold, and her face twisted into a disgusted angry expression.

My blood runs cold I start to feel sick to my stomach. Thena turns and walks away without another word leaving me standing alone in forest.

Every day since then I have been alone, I would forever be grateful to Ajak for giving us our freedom, but I was alone. The last words me and Thena exchanged running through my mind on a loop. I have been in love with Thena for as long as I could remember and for a while, I thought she was as well. I was one of the eternals aggressively against her losing her memories despite the fact of her Mahd Wy’ry, but she used me. I was always just a background character in the eternals. My powers concerning the elements were never much help, Ajax always told me that my heart was my greatest power but now I can't help but disagree because here I am three thousand years in the future and yet I'm still alone. Not one of my so-called eternal friends has ever come to look for me, not even Ajax.

I’m brought back to present day with a sharp knock and the door of my cabin. I shake my head to get rid of the memories like brushing away cobwebs before standing. I take a few steps towards the door before pausing and remembering I live in the middle of the woods there's no civilization for two hundred miles out. I grab a knife from the table I’ve been seated at and make my way towards the door before speaking. “Who’s there?” my voice come out raspy and dry, like sandpaper against a wall.

“It’s Sersi…. from college.” The voice says a bit hesitant at the end “Everyone else is with here too, well except Ajax and Gilgamesh.”  

My mind raced as I stumbled back from the door, bumping into a table, then a chair as I tried to process this. Several thoughts swirled around my head as I stepped closer to the door. Why were they here? None of them care about me, they all disappeared never caring abut me. As these thoughts run through my mind, I start to get angry.

Twisting the doorknob, I tear the door open, nearly taking it from its hinges. “What do you want, I’m not quite in the mood for company.”

They all stand there, surprised at the venom in my voice. I glance around taking in the faces of Sersi Kingo, Makkari, Druig, Ikaris, Sprite, Phastos, and Thena. The air catches in my throat as the sight of Thena, and it's like no time has passed and I've just had my heart broken all over again. She attempts to meet my eyes but ignore her and everyone else in focus on Sersi.

“We need your help, Ajax and Gilgamesh were killed by deviants and...”

“Why should I help you?” I cut her off before she can finish. “Why should I care about two dead people who didn't care about me, as a matter of fact why should I care about any of you.” I scoff shaking my head.

Sersi flinches as if slapped and looks over her shoulder to the rest of the group for help. Kingo steps forward a wide smile on his face. “Come on (Y/N) you know we've missed your…”

“Missed me? Ha yeah right, I hate liars been three thousand years and now you miss me. More like you just remembered I existed I need more help on your little mission. Now Druig and Makkari I can understand, but the rest of you just didn’t care enough to check on me.” As I speak ice grows around my feet and wind starts to circle around me forcing them to step back from the door as I step forward.

“(Y/N).” Thena says her voice holding none of the chill it did when we last spoke.

As I force myself to meet her eyes all the feelings, I've tried to hold back seem to rush back filling my ears with a roar. “You don't get to speak to me ever again, or did you forget what the last thing was you said to me. Let me give you a little reminder ‘It was nice to have a warm body after battle, I have no need for someone so weak’. Or hey this was my favorite ‘Thinking about you following me around for the next one hundred years makes me sick to my stomach. I never loved you’.  

By the time I'm finished speaking there is a cyclone circling around me while my fingers start to spark with the beginnings of fire. Thena’s face is twisted as I repeat her words back to her the same ones that have been running through my head for hundreds of years. Then Ajax’s words which were always kind and soothing Appear in my mind ‘Your heart, your compassion is your greatest gift never lose the love you have for others.’

Shaking my head once more I finally speak again. “I'll help you but after I want you all to leave me alone. Since you were all so good at it before it shouldn't be that big of a problem. I refuse to be a second-rate person in anyone's life especially people I used to consider my family.” Glaring at them all before my eyes rest on Thena once more.

“Please don’t look at me with such hatred. I didn’t mean to hurt you I didn’t mean any of what I said I was trying to protect you. We can still fix this.” Thena’s voice cracks as she looks back at me with despair

“Maybe in another life but you made me miserable, and I still loved you. How could you have thought this wouldn't hurt me? This can’t  be fixed you've ruined what was between us for good now.”

[my-own-walker]

Come Back, Come Back To Haunt Me

note: part two of this post, since a few of you asked so nicely. i get wanting a happy ending :)

summary: after the argument at the party, kyle and Y/N talk (and make up??)

warnings: cursing, sadness, reader talking about death for some reason lol, talks of cheating, and maybe even fluff…

+++

Right about then, I wanted to be found dead in the woods near a stream roughly four months after my passing, and never have a legacy beyond being Jane Doe. Blinding rage made my thoughts turn wild, my whole existence in a tailspin.

I was so distraught and in pain, I couldn’t think straight. I saw no way to fix anything besides disappearing and never being seen again. The walk home from the party was long and exhausting. I was wracked with a striking feeling of detachment from reality.

My whole world was shattered in an instant. The moment I walked away, I knew I had sealed the deal that Kyle and I were through. But that wasn’t what I wanted. Not in the slightest.

The Earth was thrown off its axis. The streets felt tilted and my head was spinning. Was I too drunk? Or had the events of the night caused me to lose my mind?

Before I could even contemplate it, I heard a car horn behind me. I spun on my heel, jumping at the sudden noise. Squinting, I could make out Kyle in the driver's seat of his frat brother's car driving slowly toward me. It must have been the only car not blocked in by other cars at the party. He pulled up to the curb next to me and rolled the window down.

'Can you please get in, Y/N?' he pleaded.

'Why would I want to do that?' I spat back.

'Please, you've been drinking. It's cold. Come here.' he urged. I sighed demonstratively and got in the car. As much as I didn't want to be without him, I sure didn't want to be with him in that moment. He tossed his sweatshirt over onto my lap and I put it on. I was cold, after all. We drove in silence some time, Kyle navigating his way to the park near our shared apartment. He threw the car in park under a large elm tree.

'Can you just let me talk?' Kyle started. I kept my arms folded in front of me, not even turning to look at him. 'You need to understand that that meant nothing. That whole thing with the girl.'

'And you need to understand that I'm not just upset about that,' I retorted. 'This is deeper than that.'

'You're being crazy right now,' he muttered.

'I'm being crazy? Yeah? Is that how you plan to fix this?'

'I'm just saying, you're making this into something it's not,' he huffed. 'You're upset about that girl but now it's a big fucking issue about other things.'

'Kyle, you gave her more attention at a party than you've ever given me, and we've been dating for over a year,' I exclaimed. 'You get off on ignoring me in public or something!'

'Look, she meant nothing-'

'Kyle, you keep saying that. And it only means half as much when you say it over and over,' I cried. 'This isn't just about her.'

'Then what is it about? Making my night miserable? This is so stupid,' he whined.

I couldn’t take it anymore. He was acting dense on purpose. I got out of the car with a huff and began walking toward the park's grass, putting the hood of the sweatshirt Kyle gave me up over my head in the process.

‘Wait!’ Kyle called. ‘Y/N! Where are you going?’

I stomped over to what looked like a clear enough spot and flopped down onto my back, arms outstretched on either side of me. I could hear Kyle’s frantic footsteps drawing nearer to me.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, baffled, panting slightly from running over.

‘Laying down,’ I replied, simply. I was in fact, just laying down. I needed to feel the bugs in the grass make my skin itch. I wanted the tiny dry green blades to poke into me just enough to make me uncomfortable. I wanted to get just slightly wet from the dew that had already formed on the ground. I was willing nature to reclaim me. I wanted to feel something.

'Y/N, it's cold,' Kyle stated, flopping down next to me. 'We should go inside.'

'I don't care,' I replied apathetically. 'You refuse to hear me, so I'm done with the conversation. I'll lay here until I don't want to anymore. Hanging out where I don't belong is nothing new to me.'

'I hear you. I'm hearing you,' he replied.

'But you're not, because now I'm crazy. Leave me alone.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean that,' he said lowly.

'And yet you said it. Words and actions hurt,' I whispered. I stared up at the night sky with tears in my eyes. I could make out Orion's Belt and nothing else. I wasn't a much of a stargazer.

'I want to understand,' he spoke. His elbow brushed up against my fingertips as he adjusted his position in the grass. I shied away from the contact, still unwilling to even look at him. 'This grass is scratchy.'

'What you don't get is your tendency to abandon me in public social situations, Kyle. You don't even look at me at parties. And we go every fucking weekend, so it's a bit grating after time,' I explained.

'Like I said, I just figured you got it. You can hold your own.'

'Have you ever stopped and asked me if that was true? You just assume I'm fine, but clearly it's something that's hard for me,' I countered.

'I'm sorry. I just get wrapped up,' he answered.

'In nonsense. In talking to other girls, apparently. It just baffles me.'

'Y/N I love you. I'm an idiot, I think,' he murmured. 'I never thought to make sure you were okay.'

'Clearly,' I snarked. Kyle sat up and scooted closer to me so that his head hung just above mine.

'Now will ya look at me?' he smiled. I stifled my own show of emotion, preventing the corners of my mouth from curling upwards. Man, was he cute. 'I'm gonna make you look at me.' He followed my face with his as I moved it around, trying in vain to avoid eye contact. Eventually, he caught me. I couldn't help but giggle a bit. "Oh, look! And I got ya to smile,' he laughed.

I reached my hand up to his cheek and pushed it lightly. 'You're so annoying,' I smirked.

'I really am sorry. I'm just so self-centered at times,' he laughed sardonically. 'My mom always said that about me.'

'Oh hush,' I replied. 'You're a stupid boy, not self-centered. And anyways we're all a little self-centered at the end of the day.'

Kyle got up. He stood in front of me, in between my outstretched legs, and held out his hands to help me up. I rolled my eyes but didn't object, reaching up to be helped. He scooped me up with no issue, slinging me over his shoulder to carry me to the car. I cackled in amusement at his forcefulness. He placed me in the car carefully and circled around to get in the drivers seat.

'Let's go home,' he declared.

'But this is Ryan's car, right?' I asked.

'He can figure out another way home.'

+++

Semi-based on a real thing that has happened in my life recently LMAO. I love writing semi-toxic arguments 😈

[hwaightme]

Your fan, Jongho (part 2)

(part 1) (your fan ml)

⚽pairing: jongho x footballer!gn!reader ⚽summary: a bulletpoint-style drabble, continuation of part 1 ⚽wordcount: 2.5k ⚽warnings/tags: unedited, jongho is an undercover athlete, yeosang seizes opportunity, hongjoong is in on the secrets, sports, football, cute romance, secret relationship, seriously in love, overall wholesome vibes (lmk if anything isn't here) ⚽a/n: thank you so much everyone for waiting for this one <3 enjoy and please reblog, comment leave a like! lmk if you would like a new moodboard for this part, or anything at all <3

"Where are you going, Jongho?"

"Gym"

"Bro it is literally midnight and we just filmed two stages. Two! You are actually going to be dead tomorrow if you go."

"No pain, no gain. See you later, I'll be quick."

Jongho's behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

One moment he was stonefaced and would barely speak, and the other he would do an entire live belting love songs at the top of his voice.

And there were his disappearances to the gym, which he was now claiming acted as his alone time that no one should interrupt. To be frank, even if the members wanted to they would not be able to, seeing as Jongho was secretive of its location.

Hongjoong had a couple ideas as to what it could be, but chose to not share it with the others out of respect for the maknae. If he wanted to keep things on the down low, he should have the right.

But as a responsible hyung and captain, Hongjoong felt it to be his duty to pull him aside. This had started a few months ago, but recently had become noticeable. He chose to ambush Jongho when he was sure the younger would not be able to escape.

Other members were still getting ready for a photoshoot, while Jongho and Hongjoong had some time at their liberty to lounge around.

"Hey, Jongho, can I talk to you for a minute? Outside."

Jongho's blood ran cold at the sudden change in tone. What did Hongjoong want to talk about? Mustering his best impression of a confident and self-assured man who was totally not hiding anything, he followed the older man outside of the changing room and into a more private seating area.

"Okay, so, I don't mean to pry but excuse me what the heck?"

Well that was unexpected. Jongho's eyes widened.

"Wh-what do you mean, hyung?" He cursed at himself; what was that uncharacteristic stutter? Who was he right now? He felt his throat go dry.

"You know exactly what I mean, Jongho. What's up with you? And don't tell me that it is nothing, I have eyes and a brain."

Jongho desperately wanted to make some snide remark in return, but knew better than that. In Hongjoong's eyes he could read desperation and it was almost as if he already knew everything, but just wanted to hear Jongho admit it.

A silence weighed down on the pair, and to the maknae it was as heavy as the world.

For the majority of his life, he prided himself on being the type of guy who was not afraid of anything. If there was a challenge, he was ready to face it head on even if others told him that it was a lost cause.

For him, that was an opportunity.

Mature, dependent. Both mentally and physically strong. Even though he was an idol, he had the mental resolve and drive of an Olympian.

And this exact mindset was why he was confident that he could give you his heart.

Truth be told, you had his heart since a pretty long time ago anyways, just not romantically.

But that came to change when you and him started "hanging out", initially just as two people who admired one another's work, and then as two people who were undeniably infatuated.

The champion mindset also helped both of you plan ahead and form date strategies that were specially designed to fool press, had they ever gotten on your tail.

From unexpected route changes to even sometimes timing your dates, you and Jongho had taken a very tactical approach. As if you were training for a competition. So much so that maybe that was what made Jongho start behaving that way in general.

Which did work then it came to more distant friends and colleagues, but... not the other members of ATEEZ. And especially not Hongjoong. Jongho should have known better. Now he had to come clean.

So he began. Began by recounting the time that he received his first message from you after the his silly escapade with the note stuffed in his group's album.

"Okay bonus points for promoting us. But she was already a fan of ours, no? What if she had the album?"

"It was a risk I was willing to take."

"Anyways, that was off-topic. Do go on, I have yet to hear any details about why you are mystery man as of late."

So Jongho explained how you two had the bright idea of organising your dates at various gyms during times when the only types of people who could be there would be true gym bros or staff. Hongjoong had to admit, it was definitely the most careful approach he had heard in a while. Some other members' past attempts had been comical.

Jongho brushed over and not to mention the fact that you had been at one of their recent music show performances, though you did have a good covery story since you were with with two fellow team mates who were fans of some of the other groups that performed.

But what no one was aware of was how both you and Jongho disappeared for a solid quarter of an hour just to meet - luckily he knew the venue like the back of his hand at this point, so there were enough places to choose from.

After reiterating that both him and you were placing security and reputation above all else and were approaching every rendezvous with the seriousness of an investor risking his entire stock, he diverged.

He wanted to appeal to Hongjoong's emotions, something which he rarely did... to anyone really. It was more likely that he would approach someone and throw a couple of playful punches than drown in some 'feels'.

Hongjoong was so taken aback that he was almost disgusted, but nevertheless sat through Jongho's monologue on how "you know you go compose music and come back at random times, or you spend hours modifying clothing or shoes or something and that time is never enough. Well that is how it is with Y/N."

"Believe me, I am still very much career focused, and, I'll have you know, so is she, but even though..." he paused, unsure if he could even use the pronoun in the way that his mind wanted to, but decided to go with it

"we are in different worlds... different playing fields," he chuckled, "we are one in the same when it comes to values, principles and what we want overall."

"And what about when you go on tour, keep in mind, that the only reason why you were able to meet was because we did not have any schedules abroad yet. The next half a year is going to be crazy if you want to keep this up." Hongjoong countered, leaning against the wall behind him and giving his friend a once over.

He could not catch a single trace of the nervous wreck that had initially followed him into the room. Before him stood a man with intent, one who had is heart set and mind clear. And that was evident from Jongho's answer.

"Oh we have that planned out. If you want to hear the details, I'd be happy to explain." When he received a nod in confirmation, he proudly elaborated on how you two had spent an entire evening, two weeks ago, comparing schedules and down to the possible hours available, wrote out contact times and rest breaks in your phones.

"Damn, isn't that like... overwhelming?" Hongjoong felt tired just from hearing that.

"But it works, so it is worth it." Jongho stood his ground.

All this conversation really did was confirm that he indeed was serious about you, and was not going to let go any time soon, if ever.

Hongjoong had no choice but to give his blessing to the maknae, not before scolding him and telling him to be a bit more chill with the others and for him to keep that military energy to his relationship.

Mission success. He was free. And most importantly, free to love.

Once the captain was out of the room, and Jongho himself was heading out, he took his phone from his pocket to shoot you a quick text divulging the details of what just happened, and to wish you luck for the coming stressful period of trying out for the national team.

He grinned to himself when he opened the conversation with you. Both of you had saved each other as "PT 🏋🏻‍♀️" and took the liberty to choose the strangest photographs that both obscured identity and had the power to start a laughing fit.

His photo of you was a blurry shot of you mid freestyle routine, contorted like a forest goblin and reaching after the football like it was "your precioussss"

Oh gosh he was in love with this.

To be fair the photo that you had of him was equally as flattering, and on top of that your collection need not be 'homemade', as you had eagle-eyed memelord fans on your side to give you bullying content (all in good fun of course, you could never attack this teddy bear who you had completely fallen for)

His entire focus on the screen, he barely noticed a wild Yeosang, totally still, with a smug face.

"Oh hey, Yeosang, didn't see you there. What brings you out here?"

"Room got too loud. Mingi is singing something that sounds like death metal, Woo has reached the stage where he is laughing so hard no sound is coming out and 'joong and 'hwa look like lost parents."

"I see. So the usual." Jongho looked off to the side awkwardly, while Yeosang held his gaze level and was unfazed.

"You are down bad, bro." A short phrase, but one that shot through the maknae, making him gasp and nearly burst out laughing. So he heard everything. Of course he did.

"Any chance of making you keep this quiet?"

"I'll give you exactly one way to bribe me, and then I'll take this with me to the grave if you want."

"What is it?"

"Fried chicken. Any time I ask. For a month."

"Done deal."

"Pleasure doing business with you. Now let's go, we've been doing whatever for long enough."

And that was how Jongho managed to arrange for your relationship to be kept entirely secret for the next year and a half.

You had qualified for the national team, and ATEEZ was making it big. He was cheering for you, and you were cheering for him.

Though the time you could spend together fluctuated and was constantly adapting, neither of you were ever deterred by it, taking it day by day, being open and highly responsible when it came to your relationship. You two were the constant.

Slowly but surely, Jongho's reputation as an idol sports ace came to an ever higher prominence, as in a couple of variety shows he showed off his impressive coordination when doing some football tricks, power when during a match against another team he completed owned the game as a forward (how could he perform in any other way he was your boyfriend, for goodness' sake)

Hongjoong and Yeosang were totally not grinning like Cheshire cats, having the knowledge that they did. After any time Jongho presented his newly improved skills in a show, Yeosang would approach him to give him a pat on the back, in the style of "you did your girl proud"

Now, after the 1.5 year mark, right about the time when you two began to discuss the potential for making the relationship even more serious, together you decided to approach management to see how you could proceed.

Frankly, neither your agent nor any other staff could care less - pop off kid, you go be a power couple, so long as you make it to practice at 5AM and be a beast out on the pitch. You had not been worried about how that discussion was to go, so it went smoothly.

Jongho, on the other hand, was cracking. He had heard far too many stories of fellow idols being cancelled, getting into scandals or being fired all for just... being in love? And the last thing he wanted was to lose you.

You agreed to accompany him and be there if he needed it.

Though it was a long conversation, the boss was astounded at Jongho being the member to approach him with such a situation. His tactics had to be commended.

Upon hearing that you were waiting outside of the office, you were invited in at the speed of light, only to find out that, as luck would have it, the boss was a supporter of your team.

Your heart light, Jongho's face adorned by a gummy smile and the boss getting an autograph (which you were hesitant to give because you knew you needed to improve and grow, but the boss insisted, saying "an ever brighter future is ahead of you") - you two walked through the building, hand in hand, straight into a practice room where the rest of ATEEZ was gathered.

Jongho had asked Hongjoong beforehand to gather the members just in case, and if things did not work out just make it a legit practice and let him fight his management. But fortunately, things went as best as they could.

And now he could relish in the rest of the members' shock as they saw you walk through the door, HANDS LOCKED WITH THEIR PRECIOUS MAKNAE

OH HE IS A MAN ISN'T HE

THE MAN EVEN

After the initial wave of shouting, louder even than the stadiums where you had played, all of you settled down in a circle, mainly to interrogate Jongho and to inquire into your entire life.

The members took a liking to you, realising how you had full understanding of their profession, had total respect of any boundaries, and at the same time, was kind hearted and humorous.

And then you produced small gifts for each of the members out of your bag, and hereby, you gained full approval.

On any other day Jongho would probably punch the living daylights out of Mingi, San and Wooyoung teasing him about "when the wedding was" and call Seonghwa a sentimental mother. But he was too happy to care.

Yunho was happily chatting away with you, while Yeosang was busy unpacking his present.

Jongho caught eyes with Hongjoong, who was sitting to his right and was attempting to quieten the more 'enthusiastic' members down, and reciprocated a warm smile, appreciating the quick thumbs up.

He squeezed your hand, knowing that he was always going to be on your team. Cheering you on.

[ahollowgrave]

Grave (noun): 1. An excavation for the interment of a corpse. 2. A place of burial. // what to do. what to do.

(TW: Suggestion of being buried alive.)

Your vows have led you to a wide assortment of graves.

i. A stately mausoleum rises above you with Nald’thal’s scales proudly displayed on the door. The door that is ajar. Incense wafts from the opening. The earth before it is greatly disturbed from foot traffic, flowers litter the ground along with gil. You make a note -- a well-loved soul has recently departed.

Only --

A moth as black as midnight alights on your shoulder and you feel a red-hot rage that brings a tingle to your fingertips. You weren’t done. Beneath all that rage is a current of, what else, sadness.

And beneath that, even fainter, a growing pool of pride for family and the care they showed here.

“Hello, friend. Would you like to talk awhile?”

ii. You walked past it four times before you found it. A simple cross a little ways off the road, lost in the tall grass and the flowers. It is a pretty spot, you decide. The name has long since worn away. A small moth clings to the cross’s point and when you reach for it, it responds. For a moment you are overwhelmed by a deep well of loneliness but you plant your feet and the waters recede.

“Hello, friend. Why don’t you come with us?”

Į̸̛̼͙͓̻͋͂͗̋̄͐̕͘͝i̵͇̗̣͐̓͆͂̋̍i̶̦͎̱̺̝̳̇.̷̨͙̟̦̘̫͙͕̓̾͝ You cannot breathe. You cannot breathe. You cannot breathe.

Something sits heavy on your chest, dead weight, something clammy, dead weight, your wiggling fingers feel only dirt.

You d̵͓̩͈͚͒̑̀̄͂̍̕͠o̷̧͔͎͔͂̆̀͝ ̵̡̨̖̞̠̗̩͇̦̬̊n̵̪̰̱̹̊̈́͝ö̷̢̥̩̤̱́̿̋̈́̓̇͠t̷̛̙̲̦̪̓͊̓͑͋̃͝ breathe.

ɨɨɨ.

iv. As soon as you cross into the abandoned inn your blood begins to sing. The living have long left this place but It Remembers. Oh! How It misses the rhythm of stomping feet, the calls of drunkards and mercenaries, the sound of a bard plying their trade. It misses the many vermin that lived within it for they have gone, too. It only has the things that crawl in the dirt and the filth to keep it company. It wants more.

You are overwhelmed by the Inn’s longing.

You back out the door before It can drown you.

You’ll have to come back for this one.

v. Tucked into a little bend of a little ice-cold creek is a little shrine. Bits of tattered paper are stuck to it and chimes missing half their parts give a valiant effort in sounding. You stamp a little spot in the snow so you have a level working field. From your bag you unroll a bit of cloth, collecting the bits of the chimes that tumble free of it. You begin piecing it back together, with a needle and fishing line, reciting prayers you have only just been taught.

Your fingers shake, although you do not feel the cold.

It takes a long time. Each piece needs to be hung from the exact right length of wire so that it sounds as it should. A wrong sound might recall the wrong thing. Or, worse, upset that which you seek to aid.

When you are done you rehang the chimes, you leave your own prayer written on crisp new paper, and you light your own stick of incense.

A moth of rosey pinks and brilliant yellows crawls over the top of the shrine, its wings flapping as if new. When you reach for it, it responds and creeps into your palm.

“Hello, friend. You’ve been here a while, haven’t you?”

v̴̭͐ͅî̶̡̨̡͙͇͓̹̤̭͒͒́̒͛.̴̜̗̲̥̻̰̦̿͝ You crawl out of the dirt like a worm during a rainstorm, desperate for air that you no longer need but have never lived without. The arms around you are not holding you but they are deadweight and they cling to you like static.

You haven’t made a sound.

Your fingers are dirty and bloody and you are missing a few nails but they work well, still, as they dig into the dry and sparse grass around your grave.

You pull. And pull. And pull.

It is some time before you remember that you have legs and then you begin to kick, as well. Bracing against the bodies buried with you and feeling bile rise in your throat. They are -- rotted.

You can feel it where their skin touches yours.

Y̸̢͍̯̳͕̻͑ơ̴̧͕͉͐̽̈́̓̔̈͛́ů̷͎̣̯̦̥͑̆̈́͐̋̄͋͘̚'̶̘̰͚̠̺̟͖̞̌̍͌̈́͐̉̈́̇͗͠r̵̛̯̻͍͈̭̬̻̼̤͒̈́͘ȩ̷̦̱̖̦̼͉̈́̓̾̅̾̄͜ ̴̻̳̲͈̱̪̓̂͑̀̑̅̈́̉͜͠r̸̘̣̈́͊͊̏̓̕͠ọ̵̢͍̯̝̣̫̎̅͒̈́̿̀t̸̤̤͒̈́̈́̃͠͠t̷͎̟̣̞̙͚̭̋͋͠ę̵̯̝̘̯̤̗̺̃̔͐̂̀̽͛̕̕͝ͅd̷̟͇́̂.̴͇̜̮̜̻̪̦̝͓̀͒

vi. ----------------------------------------------------------------------

[apoptoses]

Pairing: armand/daniel

First sentence: Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house.

Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house. He would lie in bed, face buried in the pillow, stretching his legs beneath the sheets until Armand unceremoniously tugged the blankets off him.

There was none of that now.

Just the narrow confines of the coffin, lined in padded satin. As a mortal Daniel might have panicked in the tight, dark box with its impossibly heavy lid. But the death sleep released him slowly; awareness first coming to him in the sensation of his dead feet pointing and touching the bottom of the coffin. And then creeping into his limbs, wrapped around a weight that lay heavy on his chest. His dead lungs, which inhaled the dry, stuffy air trapped inside the coffin. His brain- wakefulness came upon that slowly as well, and then all at once as if a curtain had been pulled back and let in the rush of sounds and thoughts that filled the Night Island.

Somewhere in these crypts beneath the Villa was Lestat, Louis. Marius. Jesse and Maharet. Khayman. Daniel couldn't hear their thoughts but he could feel their presence in the way one feels the presence of an animal in the dark woods, invisible but very much there.

"You sleep late, lover. The sun has been down for nearly an hour now," Armand said.

Daniel squeezed his eyes tight. Then opened them and took in Armand's pale face. Even the darkness it seemed to glow, thanks to his vampire sight. He lifted his hand from Armand's bare shoulder (bare? ah, yes, they'd ended up sneaking into the coffin together bare well before dawn last night, he remembered, the little blood he had in him rushing to his cheeks) and tucked an auburn curl behind Armand's ear.

"And yet you're still in here with me, so you must not have anything to complain about," Daniel said, words slurred with sleep.

There was hardly room for the two of them in the coffin; Armand had no choice but to lie atop him, chest to chest, face tucked into Daniel's shoulder. But then they both liked that- Armand for the intimacy, Daniel for the way it left him unable to focus on anything but the sensation of silky smooth skin against his.

It was comforting. Grounding. A gentle way to start the night before the fascination with the sights and sounds of Miami overtook him and had him awash in the surrealism of it all. How hilarious it was that the staff who had known him as the disgruntled man who slept in the massive bedroom upstairs saw him now only at night, with no idea of how or why he'd changed!

"What's so funny, Daniel?" Armand murmured into his neck.

"Everything. Waking up in a coffin with you. Having everyone in the house," Daniel said. "Thinking about how I should get breakfast but now breakfast is an entire human life. It's surreal."

Armand kissed at his throat, right above his carotid. In life that kind of kiss had made him shudder, but in death- it was a full body experience, like an electric spark had passed through Armand's lips and gone shooting through his veins.

"It'll be less surreal when you've fed."

Armand sat up, pushing open the lid with his shoulders first, and then, once he had the space to dis-entangle himself from Daniel's arms, his hands. There was a light on in the room, a lamp in the corner on a timer that ensured they rose to bedroom awash in its incandescent glow. Armand's auburn hair seemed to shimmer like molten bronze as he tossed it back over his shoulder.

"Come, lover. We'll find you someone to feed from," Armand said and held out his hand to help Daniel up.

No more coffee, no more blankets. No more greasy breakfasts of bacon and scrambled eggs. Just a bed for the dead, and the metallic rush of blood over his tongue.

And Armand, forever his beacon beckoning him into the night.

Daniel took his hand (so cold! so bizarrely like marble that compressed and reformed itself beneath his palm!) and climbed out of the coffin, eager for the hunt.

[whump-card]

Forged Divinity Chapter 29: Phineas Makes a Threat (THE END)

2049 words

CW: past institutionalized slavery, religious themes, returning to an abuser, downer ending, caretaker whump

Previous, Masterlist

~~~

Enjolras wished more than anything that Clary hadn’t said Phineas’ name in front of Leannan. The way he’d lit up made Enjolras feel ill, and he’d insisted on coming along to the radio tower, his tears drying withing minutes.

The tower was a spindly construction on the east end of the island. A little hut at the base held all the interfaces, wired up to antennae perched at the top of the tower.

Enjolras sat at the mic, headphones on, while Clary hovered behind her. Leannan had been convinced to wait outside. For the moment Enjolras was just sitting, her eyes closed, mentally preparing to speak with Phineas.

Leannan had asked on the way over if he could speak with Phineas. She’d told him she wasn’t sure. She sure as hell didn’t want to let them talk to each other, but she needed to respect Leannan’s autonomy, too.

It would depend on what Phineas wanted.

“You’re recording this, right?” She glanced over her shoulder at Clary. They nodded. Having stalled as long as she could, Enjolras switched the mic on.

“Phineas. It’s Enjolras. What do you want.”

“Enja!” She could hear them grinning, as compressed and crackly as the audio was. “Are you alone?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I want to discuss the matter of your Iowan. Or should I say, Iowans.”

Enjolras blood ran cold. Phineas shouldn’t know about the enclave of Iowans, couldn’t know…

“What are you talking about?” she asked, keeping her voice even.

“Don’t play dumb, Enja. I know La Libera has all those supposedly-dead Iowans within its borders somewhere. Leannan told me all about it.”

Enjolras’ tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her guts twisted around in a panic. Of all the people to learn the secret, why did it have to be Phineas?

“I ask again, Phineas. What do you want?” she forced out.

“Here’s the deal.” Phineas was never one to beat around the bush long. “Give Leannan back to me, or I tell everyone who will listen that you’ve got the missing Iowans.”

Enjolras breathed. This was bad, for sure – but it wasn’t impossibly bad. La Libera’s borders were well defended. Anyone who wanted to take the Iowans for themselves would have to be extremely determined.

Then, she remembered, this was Phineas she was dealing with.

“I’ll give you a while to think about it,” Phineas interrupted her thoughts, “I’ll call again at three. I hope I can have Leannan back by supper. Roger?”

“Roger.”

Enjolras waited a minute, hoping against hope that Phineas would add something else, some caveat, some way out of this, but they were done talking. She turned off the mic and took off the headphones, feeling numb.

“So what did they say?” Clary asked grimly.

Enjolras couldn’t answer. She was too preoccupied with what to tell Leannan. She couldn’t tell him – chances were, he’d be all for running straight back to Phineas. But she couldn’t keep it a secret, either. Leannan’s future and the future of the entirety of La Libera hinged on this decision.

But as she remembered his face on the way over, nearly vibrating with excitement about merely second-hand contact with Phineas, she knew she couldn’t tell him. She looked up at Clary.

“I want a meeting with all the adults on the island – and we can’t tell Leannan.”

~~~

It had been a miscommunication – it wasn’t Phineas, after all.

Leannan tried to hide his disappointment when Enjolras told him, but he ended up crying again.

Enjolras let him go back to his room. He was better off there. Less disappointed, less disappointing.

He must have slept, because a knock on the door woke him.

“Come in!” he called, sitting up.

It was Aisling, Clary, and Mohammad. They all looked somber, and nervous.

“There’s something you need to know,” Aisling said.

~~~

“Has anyone seen Leannan?” Enjolras asked, walking into the common room of the Longhouse, “He’s not in his room.”

Jeanette’s fingers lifted from the piano keys, halting their music.

“He didn’t say goodbye to you?” she asked.

“Goodbye? What…”

Jeanette turned and looked at Enjolras sadly, evidence of tears on her face.

“I tried to talk him out of it, I really did.”

~~~

Mohammad and Leannan walked together through La Libera’s city. Leannan couldn’t help but marvel. So many homes and buildings were completely intact from the old days. New structures were beautifully engineered masonry. Nearly every home had a garden – some just grew flowers. People sat on rocking chairs on porches. Children played in the street. Neighbors chatted.

It was so much more evidence that he didn’t belong here – and that this place didn’t deserve a war.

He’d packed a backpack, and Mohammad had given him some decent walking boots and a broad-rimmed hat. He wouldn’t be a burden on Phineas, not this time.

It took an hour to reach the city border. There was farmland beyond, but it wasn’t as tightly guarded. Mohammad flashed a badge and they were let through the checkpoint with no hassle.

Then, there was Phineas.

They stood in the middle of the road, watching Leannan approach, with a big grin on their face that made Leannan’s heart swell. They had their big boots, their big backpack, and their sniper rifle, cutting a familiar silhouette.

“Phineas!” Leannan broke into a run, flinging himself into Phineas’ arms, his hat flying off. Phineas hugged him tightly, pressing their face into his neck and breathing deeply.

“Hej, bebino,” they said softly. Then they pulled their head back and kissed him, like how real lovers kiss – a gentle parting of the lips, an exploratory tongue – and Leannan relished every second of it, his blood pounding with excitement.

It almost made up for not saying goodbye to anyone except Jeanette.

“Phineas,” he reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, “Give me a minute?”

Phineas smiled at him. “Sure.”

Leannan went back to Mohammad, who was watching them uneasily. Leannan unclasped the necklace from around his neck and held it out.

“Can you give this to Shannon for me? And tell her I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But that I’ll be okay. Actually, you can tell everyone that.”

Mohammad hesitantly took the necklace.

“I know this was your decision, but no one’s going to be happy about it. Your sister might actually kill me.”

“This is where I belong,” Leannan said, “This is who I belong with.”

“Leannan,” Mohammad looked pained, “Please come back with me. Please come home?”

Leannan shook his head.

“It’s not my home.”

“You done?” Phineas sauntered over and threw an arm around Leannan’s shoulders.

Mohammad opened and closed his mouth, like he wanted to say more, but only nodded.

“Good luck, Leannan.”

Leannan nodded back.

“Thanks.”

Mohammad slowly turned and walked back to the checkpoint. Phineas pulled Leannan around and started walking the two of them away from the city, keeping their arm around Leannan’s shoulders.

“Real jerk move, Phineas!” Leannan leaned hard into indignation to stifle his sorrow, “You didn’t have to threaten a war, I would’ve come with you anyway.” He wasn’t entirely sure if that was true, but it felt good to say.

“Didn’t like your family?” Phineas asked.

“They didn’t really like me,” Leannan said quietly.

“I know the feeling.” Phineas gave him a squeeze before dropping their arm. Leannan immediately missed the warm weight.

“Where are we going?” he asked, picking up his hat as they passed.

“Wherever we like,” Phineas replied.

“Oh, no,” Leannan said warningly, “I’m not living on the road with you! You better have a place where we can actually live figured out.”

Phineas laughed brightly, and Leannan’s heart sang.

“We’ll figure something out,” they said, and Leannan found himself satisfied with that noncommittal answer. They walked in silence for a while, putting some distance between them and the city.

“I learned that Enjolras is your sister,” Leannan said.

“Mhm,” Phineas grunted.

“How come you two don’t get along?”

“Long story.”

Leannan smiled at them.

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Pounding footsteps, behind them.

“PHINEAS!”

The two of them whirled around at the shout to see Enjolras coming to a halt on the road behind them, her chest heaving with labored breaths, aiming a crossbow at Phineas. Leannan stepped in front of Phineas at the same time as Phineas stepped behind him.

“Let him go!” Enjolras snarled.

“Enjolras!” Leannan pleaded, “This is what I want! You have to let me leave with Phineas!”

“Phineas is abusive, Leannan!” Enjolras yelled, “They’ll only hurt you!”

“That’s not true!” Leannan raised his voice to match, “Phineas takes care of me!”

“Oh, like they took care of you the night I visited? Or when they burned Donda Island to the ground?” Enjolras countered.

“That was different! Phineas didn’t know back then!”

“Know what?”

“That I’m human! Things will be different now!” Leannan spun around, grabbing Phineas’ shoulders, “I learned it, it’s true, I’m really a human, so things will be different now, between us, right?”

Phineas smiled serenely at him. “Of course.”

“See?” Leannan faced Enjolras again, “Things will be different!”

“Leannan,” Enjolras gaped at him, shaking her head, “How can you be so goddamn stupid?”

Leannan froze, her words cutting him to the bone.

“Enjolras, I…”

“Hey!” Phineas’ voice rang out, “Don’t talk to him like that.”

Leannan couldn’t help but smile, thrilled to be defended.

“Get away from him, Phineas!” Enjolras ordered, taking a threatening step forward.

“Or what?” Phineas taunted, “You gonna shoot him? You can’t have him, so no one can?” Phineas wrapped their arms around Leannan, but before Leannan could enjoy the hug Phineas pressed their hunting knife to his cheek.

“Good idea,” Phineas said slowly, “If I can’t have him, no one can.”

Enjolras lowered her crossbow immediately.

“Phineas, don’t.”

“Turn and walk away, then!” Phineas said.

Leannan knew Phineas was bluffing – what else could they possibly be doing? But it was clear Enjolras believed it.

“Just go, Enjolras!” he called to her, “Leave us alone!”

“Do as he says, Enja,” Phineas added.

Enjolras stared at them with a fiery mix of helplessness and anger.

“Phineas, please,” she begged, “Just let Leannan go. Let him be with his family.”

“It sounds like his family wasn’t really a good fit for him,” Phineas said, “I guess we have that in common.”

Enjolras’ burning eyes darted from Leannan, to Phineas, and back.

“Your sister loves you,” she said, “Everybody there loves you.”

“Phineas loves me,” Leannan retorted.

Enjolras’ eyes widened a little. She turned away slightly, looking out over the farm fields lining the road.

“Leannan…”

As soon as she was looking away, Phineas moved.

The hunting knife thunked into Enjolras’ ribs, and she stumbled back a step. Her hand flew to the wound, and she stared down at it, mouth open.

“Enjolras!” Leannan started forward, but Phineas grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Let’s go!” they shouted.

“But Enjolras!”

“She’ll survive,” Phineas said, dragging Leannan along, “She always survives.”

Leannan looked over his shoulder, watching Enjolras fall to her knees in the dust, growing ever smaller as Phineas pulled him away.

“Phineas, please!” Leannan begged, “She’s your sister, you can’t want her to die!”

“She won’t die,” Phineas scoffed, “If she leaves the knife in, and is careful, she’ll be able to walk back to the checkpoint. She’ll make it, she always does.”

Leannan had no choice but to follow Phineas’ bruisingly tight lead, constantly glancing back at Enjolras.

She’d brought him to his family. She’d done her best to make him feel welcome, even if it hadn’t worked.

He’d have never met Peter or Rory or Lena without her.

He huffed a sob of relief when she slowly stood and started walking back towards the city.

Phineas didn’t let go of his arm until well after Enjolras was out of sight. Leannan didn’t speak for bit, rubbing his arm as they walked.

“Phineas,” he finally piped up, “Maybe we should go back and make sure…”

Phineas whirled on him, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“Did I ask for your fuckin’ opinion?” they growled.

“No, Phineas!” said Leannan.

“That’s right. Shut up and walk.”

They released him and strode ahead.

Leannan straightened his shirt. Assured himself that things would be different.

Then he shut up and walked.

END

~~~

Previous, Masterlist

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @thecyrulik

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Read the prequel on Ao3 HERE. Start at chapter one HERE. Updates Tuesdays.

~~~Chapter 5: Please Be Functional~~~

Maul steps off the boarding ramp into a world of inky black. Not darkness, but absence. Dry pebbles crunch under his boots, but when he looks down he sees only himself. 

At a distance something small disturbs the unseen ground, skittering and sliding through the grit. Some little animal or another, many-limbed from the sound of it, chittering as it flees from him. 

From… 

While he’d been distracted by the creature, the dark horizon had lightened a shade and resolved into shapes. Odd, angular formations of rock far in the distance. Behind their sharp planes, a color appears- dim yellow. Maul blinks and suddenly there is a sky above his head, as though it had been there the whole time and he could only now see it. 

Dirty atmosphere and yellow light, a field of lifeless rock. But no, there had been an animal just now, it-

Something slams into the back of Maul’s shoulder. He whirls, snarling, and sees a stone hit the ground. It rolls to a slow stop by his foot. There’s no ship behind him. He’s alone in the dusty wasteland. 

“Welcome to Tosste.” 

Maul whirls again. Nothing moves. There’s not even a breeze to whistle between the sparse boulders. Only the voice of his Master. 

He reaches out with the force- seeing, feeling, knowing. It is present everywhere, even in barren places, even in dead winds and dry rocks. 

“What do you see?” 

He isn’t stupid, he isn’t a child anymore. He’s learned his lessons, he understands. 

Maul does not voice the answer Sidious seeks aloud, but he knows his Master hears him nonetheless.

Weapons. I see weapons.  

Warm laughter echoes across the landscape, everywhere at once. Crouched in the grit, senses expanded far beyond himself, Maul can feel every pebble around him. Ready. 

Unseen, another rock smashes into his arm. 

“To live without leaving a mark is a terrible thing,” his Master drawls. “To die forgotten is even worse."

“Rrrgh!” Maul redoubles his efforts, gathering the force to himself, feeling the pebbles, the dust, the lines of fossils trapped within the rock beneath his feet. The ghosts of a world long dead. But underneath it all, he feels emptiness, an icy void, its chill creeping up into everything.

His Master continues as if Maul hadn’t interrupted. “It is… irresponsible.” 

His fingers are going numb. A stone flies toward his head and he fails to bat it away, his arm moving too slowly to stop it from cracking into his horns. He should have felt it sooner, why couldn’t he feel-? 

“The creatures that once roamed this now dead ocean, they lacked imagination. Ultimately, that is why they all perished. They failed to see… potential."

“No!” he screams. “It is you who failed to see! With your teachings I survived! I survived! You-!” 

The next rock slams squarely into his lower back, then another hits the side of his knee, his left arm. He can’t feel them coming. No matter how deeply Maul attunes himself to the landscape, the force is silent in the face of his Master’s will. He’ll never feel them coming. 

“You have been… replaced.”

Cold climbs into Maul’s bones and roots him in place, and it’s all he can do to lift his arms—bare and skinny. His hands are small, with a child’s stubby fingers and soft claws, filed flat. He shields his head and roars, his voice cracking apart into nothing but a thin hiss. 

“Not fast enough.” 

The next rock flies straight for his face. 

Maul gasps awake, jolting upright from a slouch over a reading desk.

His eyes itch, and his neck aches. His left leg is awash with the cold-fire burn of nerve pain, and he wants to run off through the gravethorn forest and kill something to make the energy vibrating in his bones go away.

He has been over this fucking library enough times to have it memorized.

Manic energy crests and Maul snarls at it, at the books, at everything. At the irony that once upon a time the entire room and all its knowledge would have been forbidden to him, simply because he was born with the audacity to have a dick. Not that he got to keep said appendage. Oh no, even that he will have to recreate if he ever wants more than the strange human prosthetic the mandalorians inflicted on him along with his fourth set of legs. 

A stone candleholder, the candle propped inside long burned down to a puddle, rattles across the desk, spilling wax. He snarls again and hurls it across the room with the force, listens to it bounce off the wall and roll to a stop on the floor.

‘Turn around.’

He does. From sitting hunched at the table to standing with his back to it, faster than his conscious mind can process. For an achingly clear instant his discomfort -tetchy nerves and exhaustion and frustration- is burned away in a bitter chill. A cold-snap reset of reality.

Then his thoughts catch up to the moment. It is the force damned voices again, come to bother him in his distraction. 

‘I suspect that every creature that ever lived on Tosste did not think much about rocks either.’

He wants to light everything in sight on fire.

Maul turns from his former master's voice, making distance between himself and all the remaining books and scrolls of the nightsisters, knowing that he needs to be further from precious, flammable things. Immediately. 

He kicks the candleholder aside on his way out the door.

Seeking a balm for his temper, Maul heads to the temple's hot springs, born up from deep water with old magicks. Perhaps the heat of them would match his energy, and curate it, buffer it so he could think.

‘I had hoped that you would be smarter,’ Sidious whispers from nowhere.

'I will soak myself and rest,’ Maul thinks, forcibly placid, shaky with rage, ‘then on the 'morrow I shall contact Vos and see if-'

W                   

   h  e   r           A                                             ?

        e              r r  rr                Y   o            u?

                               r   r e                 o  ou

"Rrraaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

The sith howls in abundant, caustic fury and turns for the sanctum. He slams claws that have begun to overgrow into the solid rock of the temple wall, and reinforces them with his hate .

The timing! Of these attacks! Is!

Maul's nails leave a trail of gouges all the way there. Who is left to chastise him for defacing the temple? No one. Who is left to forbid him from knowledge because his flesh does not match his talent? No one. Who is left? Only. Him. He is alone but he is free, and he is determined to find whoever or whatever is responsible for these assaults.

‘What do you see?’ his master’s voice asks again with deceptive calm.

The circles of ichor are already lit, their protections triggered even before he could reach them. Latent magicks help push away the tendrils, warding him automatically simply because he is there, and in need of their aid.

Something soft at the bottom of his chest catches and aches. How distinct that feels from everything else, like… like the memory of blue eyes and cinnamon oil and petrichor. Mother.

But a memory is not a feeling.That does not make sense, he is missing something. 

Or something is missing from him.

Maul growls and shoves that mystery down into the frustrating bramble of all his other useless emotions, so much fuel for his rage, and takes his place at the center of the wards. The strings are slippery today, plying and sweet, almost deceptively gentle. He refuses them all the same, not fooled by the lie.

‘I’ll ask you again.’

It has been five days, and he has noticed no specific pattern to the threat. Sometimes the break between is measured in minutes. Other times he has hours before it comes again. 

Either way, he has been sleeping in this room.

Either way, he has not been able to trace the source. 

Maul watches as the walls start up their firework flicker, runes burning bright and fading out. He made both a holo-recording and a physical diagram of the entire wardset on the second day, just in case any of the marks failed from overuse. So far they have held. The Nightmother's wards remain strong, even in her absence.

Runelight fades, and Maul sneers in triumph at the threads’ retreat. Fucking good riddance.

Now, he will go to the pools. 

‘What do you see?’

With a veneer of calm he rises to leave, still ignoring the voices of the past, pausing briefly to touch the delicate curl of a long and winding rune. Just the vitality in his fingers is enough to make the ichor infused in it glow softly. Maul stares at it a moment before exiting and heading for his original destination.

He wends his way through the empty halls of the nightsisters’ undercity, led onward by a draft of cool night air blowing in between distant carbon-scored pillars and the remains of titanic statues. 

Far to the city’s edge a series of springs lie sprawled against the wall of the cavern. The heartspring sits high at the back and literally boils with heat, too hot to enter. A curling scent of sulfur and magnesium wafts around on air currents thick with steam. The heart and its immediate children sit tucked away in an overhang made of the same stone and gnarled roots as the temple. 

There are dozens of options further away, relatively cooler and brackish, but it is to those higher pools he goes, shedding clothing in a trail, leaving himself bare to the elements.

A waft of heated air curls past him, pricking at the synthskin recently grafted around his hips. The flesh is tender and raw in its newness, delivering an uncomfortable amount of sensation compared to the bare metal of his outer thighs or the nerveless mesh around his knees and ankles. He can feel the airflow there now, the tickle of condensation and the heat rising off the water. Maul has reclaimed these for himself.

Any discomfort is ignored as he continues past carved shelves above and below the waterline. Higher to sit and cool off. Lower to recline in the water. Maul bypasses these options and dumps himself in the deep end, letting the weight of his metal half pull him down, down, down…

At the very bottom he purposefully lets go, roaring a gout of muted bubbles, feeding his fury into the world, letting it run rampant. The waters geyser up, splash away, turning a slow trickle from pool to pool into white, frothy rapids.

The remaining water crashes down, leaving his basin at a fraction of its previous depth. Maul breathes deeply, and spends more than a few moments centering his mind. Long curtains of glimmering navy kelp hang limp down the sides of the pool, dripping, alive with waterbugs large and small. A vividly yellow crab goes scuttling across the bottom toward it, kicking up a trail of sandy murk as it races for cover.

‘What do you see?’

The sith lays down right where he is, and lets the water rise around him. 

-

[Would you like to be on a taglist for the weekly updates? Tag us, comment, or DM and we will add you. :D ]

@ghostpeppercalamari

[ebaeschnbliah]

A little way beyond the battle-field they made their camp under a spreading tree ...

... it looked like a chestnut, and yet it still bore many broad brown leaves of a former year, like dry hands with long splayed fingers; they rattled mournfully in the night-breeze.

Gimli shivered. They had brought only one blanket apiece. 'Let us light a fire,' he said. 'I care no longer for the danger. Let the Orcs come as thick as summer-moths round a candle!'

'If those unhappy hobbits are astray in the woods, it might draw them hither,' said Legolas.

'And it might draw other things, neither Orc nor Hobbit,' said Aragorn. 'We are near to the mountain-marches of the traitor Saruman. Also we are on the very edge of Fangorn, and it is perilous to touch the trees of that wood, it is said.'

'But the Rohirrim made a great burning here yesterday,' said Gimli, 'and they felled trees for the fire, as can be seen. Yet they passed the night after safely here, when their labour was ended.'

'They were many,' said Aragorn, 'and they do not heed the wrath of Fangorn, for they come here seldom, and they do not go under the trees. But our paths are likely to lead us into the very forest itself. So have a care! Cut no living wood!'

'There is no need,' said Gimli. 'The Riders have left chip and bough enough, and there is dead wood lying in plenty.' He went off to gather fuel, and busied himself with building and kindling a fire; but Aragorn sat silent with his back to the great tree, deep in thought; and Legolas stood alone in the open, looking towards the profound shadow of the wood, leaning forward, as one who listens to voices calling from a distance.

When the Dwarf had a small bright blaze going, the three companions drew close to it and sat together, shrouding the light with their hooded forms. Legolas looked up at the boughs of the tree reaching out above them.

'Look!' he said. 'The tree is glad of the fire!'

It may have been that the dancing shadows tricked their eyes, but certainly to each of the companions the boughs appeared to be bending this way and that so as to come above the flames, while the upper branches were stooping down; the brown leaves now stood out stiff, and rubbed together like many cold cracked hands taking comfort in the warmth.

There was a silence, for suddenly the dark and unknown forest, so near at hand, made itself felt as a great brooding presence, full of secret purpose. After a while Legolas spoke again.

'Celeborn warned us not to go far into Fangorn,' he said. 'Do you know why, Aragorn? What are the fables of the forest that Boromir had heard?'

'I have heard many tales in Gondor and elsewhere,' said Aragorn, 'but if it were not for the words of Celeborn I should deem them only fables that Men have made as true knowledge fades. I had thought of asking you what was the truth of the matter. And if an Elf of the Wood does not know, how shall a Man answer?'

'You have journeyed further than I,' said Legolas. 'I have heard nothing of this in my own land, save only songs that tell how the Onodrim, that Men call Ents, dwelt there long ago; for Fangorn is old, old even as the Elves would reckon it.'

'Yes, it is old,' said Aragorn, 'as old as the forest by the Barrow-downs, and it is far greater. Elrond says that the two are akin, the last strongholds of the mighty woods of the Elder Days, in which the Firstborn roamed while Men still slept. Yet Fangorn holds some secret of its own. What it is I do not know.'

'And I do not wish to know,' said Gimli. 'Let nothing that dwells in Fangorn be troubled on my account!'

They now drew lots for the watches, and the lot for the first watch fell to Gimli. The others lay down. Almost at once sleep laid hold on them. 'Gimli!' said Aragorn drowsily. 'Remember, it is perilous to cut bough or twig from a living tree in Fangorn. But do not stray far in search of dead wood. Let the fire die rather! Call me at need!'

With that he fell asleep. Legolas already lay motionless, his fair hands folded upon his breast, his eyes unclosed, blending living night and deep dream, as is the way with Elves. Gimli sat hunched by the fire, running his thumb thoughtfully along the edge of his axe. The tree rustled. There was no other sound.

Suddenly Gimli looked up, and there just on the edge of the fire-light stood an old bent man, leaning on a staff, and wrapped in a great cloak; his wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his eyes. Gimli sprang up, too amazed for the moment to cry out, though at once the thought flashed into his mind that Saruman had caught them. Both Aragorn and Legolas, roused by his sudden movement, sat up and stared. The old man did not speak or make, sign.

'Well, father, what can we do for you?' said Aragorn, leaping to his feet. 'Come and be warm, if you are cold!' He strode forward, but the old man was gone. There was no trace of him to be found near at hand, and they did not dare to wander far. The moon had set and the night was very dark.

Suddenly Legolas gave a cry. 'The horses! The horses!'

The horses were gone. They had dragged their pickets and disappeared. For some time the three companions stood still and silent, troubled by this new stroke of ill fortune. They were under the eaves of Fangorn, and endless leagues lay between them and the Men of Rohan, their only friends in this wide and dangerous land. As they stood, it seemed to them that they heard, far off in the night. the sound of horses whinnying and neighing. Then all was quiet again, except for the cold rustle of the wind.

'Well, they are gone,' said Aragorn at last. 'We cannot find them or catch them; so that if they do not return of their own will, we must do without. We started on our feet, and we have those still.'

'Feet!' said Gimli. 'But we cannot eat them as well as walk on them ' He threw some fuel on the fire and slumped down beside it.

'Only a few hours ago you were unwilling to sit on a horse of Rohan,' laughed Legolas. 'You will make a rider yet.'

'It seems unlikely that I shall have the chance,' said Gimli.

'If you wish to know what I think,' he began again after a while 'I think it was Saruman. Who else? Remember the words of Éomer: he walks about like an old man hooded and cloaked. Those were the words. He has gone off with our horses, or scared them away, and here we are. There is more trouble coming to us, mark my words!'

'I mark them,' said Aragorn. 'But I marked also that this old man had a hat not a hood. Still I do not doubt that you guess right, and that we are in peril here, by night or day. Yet in the meantime there is nothing that we can do but rest, while we may. I will watch for a while now, Gimli. I have more need of thought than of sleep.'

The night passed slowly. Legolas followed Aragorn, and Gimli followed Legolas, and their watches wore away. But nothing happened. The old man did not appear again, and the horses did not return.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers,  The Riders of Rohan

[dragonfruitflamb3]

HhhhhhhHHi!! Here's the first ever intro for the Siren x human story that I hath dubbed "Clipped Wings and Cut Tails"

(It's the Toaster and Dove story ^v^)

---

I trudge through the wet sand, it cakes up along my sneakers and the bottom of my pajama pants.

“I hate summer I hate stupid cryptid camp I hate bonfires I hate how dumb I feel I hate hate HATE this whole place I hate this-”

A snapping noise shakes me away from my complaints.

Carefully looking around, I try to find what even made that noise. I’m alone on the beach, it’s basically midnight so there’s no light for anyone to see me, much less follow me, and I haven’t spoken in a voice louder than a whisper for over an hour. So all things considered, I should be beside myself after hearing the legends of what’s out here. But I’m not.

Instead, I start sprinting towards the cave where I found the wire trap earlier today while on a hike with the other campers. My heart aches at the thought of some innocent fox with its neck caught in that wire.

The sand under my feet crunches in painful sounding ways, the way it shifts almost begs me to trip. I manage to make it all the way to the dark, wet cave from earlier today and grab onto the entryway, almost sliding over from stopping too quickly, and my heart flips.

It’s no fox, that’s for sure.

Inside the metal snare is something much larger than anything I was expecting. A singular moonbeam is bursting through the wall of the cave, casting deeper shadows upon everything around it. Glittering scales become visible for moments as the animal writhes within the trap and reaches towards the light. The sand under it is stained dark. The color is hard to make out in the chaotic scramble, but my best guess is a shade of dusty red.

I step closer, trying to figure out what kind of thing got stuck in this trap, so big and so close to the water. The noises it makes remind me of when someone gets their leg stuck in a painful position, annoyed with anxiety creeping into the edges. I almost fear that someone got their wrist stuck in the wire before I got around to disarming it and feel mad at myself for not doing something sooner.

That feeling disappears the instant the moonlight shines across that thing’s face. Smooth, ashy skin framing big, bright red eyes, widened with fear as its slit pupils dart around.

Then, they finally land upon me.

The flailing and grunting stops as a low growl rumbles out of the beast. I gulp, backing away. I fumble and feel around my person, my breath catches as I find nothing to use as a weapon and instead my palm lands on the oversized bell I had gotten earlier today at that stupid trinkets shop.

The creature tilts its head as I roll the bell around in my hand. I sigh and keep my distance as I hear the trapped beast intake a long, slow breath.

“Someone is an idiot.~” It sings, soft and charming. I tense up, the cold metal of the bell in my palm the only thing keeping me grounded. The creature, the monster, ensnared is no doubt a siren. Only those demons have that sort of horrid yet perfect voice. Not to mention the giant fish tail being a dead giveaway.

Fear floods into my heart. Had all those rumors been true? Has this thing really been eating townsfolk?

I try to speak, try to curse at myself or beg it to silence itself, but I can’t. My mouth is dry as I step closer to the scaled devil and the bell chimes in my hand.

“Such a coward, such a fool” It cackles, continuing on with its enchanting voice, “This trap, you should open it…”

It puffs up its chest as it sings and, against my will, my body moves. I step closer, my legs trembling as my mouth goes dry.

“...Are you supposed to be rhyming?” I mumble, lowering myself onto my knees. A beat of silence goes by.

“..W…What..?” It hisses, the soothing pattern of the lyrics lost. I close my fingers tighter around the bell, it digs ever so slightly into my skin.

“Idiot and ‘it’ don’t rhyme...” I whisper.

It… might be right, though. Why am I stupid arguing with a mass of teeth, muscles, and claws??? I think to myself, staring at the sticky sand under my knees. Another moment passes before the creature hisses and raises itself up further. I thought it was sitting up before, but I was definitely wrong. From a few feet away it looked about human sized, but close up, even in the darkness, I can tell this thing’s stature is far too large to be human. Its silhouette is thin and lanky, but its tail thick and its fins ripped in an odd pattern. Something about it seems unhealthy, but I guess I don’t really have a frame of reference of how sea life looks.

I try to keep my breath steady despite its sudden closeness, noticing the small details in its fishy appendage.

The tail isn’t a solid color. Instead, it’s an inky gradient that fades into a light underbelly, with navy blue, almost black, that's only broken up by three crisp cyan stripes spread along the length of its tail. For some strange reason, the pattern reminds me of a freeze-frame of the ocean.

“...yes they doo…” The siren growls, reminding me, ‘oh yeah! YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE.’

“Nuh uh.” I try not to flinch after whispering my feeble attempt at surviving.

God, I’m stupid.

The creature lets out a melodic trill and the sand underneath it shifts.

Can’t stop now, though.

“if you’d have said something like…” I pause for a moment then clear my throat, ”‘you’re an idiot, you see, you should… free me’ then that woulda worked better.”

I look up at the siren’s face, realizing It’s much, much, much too close for any definition of the word ‘comfort’. It squints, almost as if it's offended and amused at the same time. I feel its gaze move along my face and its grip on my wrists tighten…

I do not remember it grabbing me. I scrunch up my face and squint back at it.

I’m dying anyway, might as well get a good look at its ugly mug.

Its skin has a soft blue tint and oddly enough, looks to not actually be skin. A different texture, at the very least. Not quite the thick scales it has on its tail, but not something soft like skin. Smooth would be a more accurate word. It has a mass of thick, charcoal-colored fins sprouting from the top of its head and seems to trail all the way down its neck. It's not easy to see how far down they go, though, because the fins are sticking to the side of the siren’s face because of the lack of water.

Its “mouth” almost seems to split its face in two, a thin line stretches from ear to ear, although it even seems to be lacking ears and instead having long, stretching fins like a bat’s wings. Something about the pattern makes me wonder if this monster can unhinge its jaw, like a snake.

Guess I’ll get to find out eventually…

Yet aside from the line, which seems to be a mimicry pattern to trick predators (if this thing even has any) into thinking its mouth is bigger than it really is, it looks like it has a regular, vaguely human sort of mouth. Above that, there’s nature’s attempt at an aquatic-humanoid nose. Looks more like an alien than a human, in all honesty. Further above that are eyes. Round, wide, and a blood soaked red. Eerie enough that it feels like this beast should be featured in windows around October but there’s a weird sort of allure in them.

Underneath its bright red eyes are dark patterns, slightly different depending on the eye, that are reminiscent of someone getting paint splattered on their face or sloppily slapped on eye-makeup. It doesn’t look like the blackness is on the scales either, it looks more like actual paint, crusted and wiped across the monster’s face. The fins frame the siren’s face almost perfectly, leading anyone’s gaze to the eyes, like some basic anglerfish trap.

The fish creature growls. Reminding me, once more, of the danger I’m in.

“You’re going to open the trap. After that, I’ll rip off your head. You moronic sap.” The smooth voice covers up the terrifying words. It lets go of my wrists and allows me to lean towards where the wire has dug itself into its tail. It seems smug that its song is finally being effective.

In reaching out to the wire, I drop the bell. It makes a faint ringing sound. Quiet, but bright. It’s just enough to send the fog out of my brain. The wire is fraying, probably from the beast’s struggle, and looks like it’s about to snap at any moment.

While the siren hasn’t realized how fragile the trap is, I snatch the bell back up off the ground and scratch it against the snapping metal. It finally comes apart but I quickly slide the wire through the small hole in the bell. I frantically try to knot it closed, but with a small chime the metal looks to stitch itself back together.

The blue creature hisses and glares when it notices I’m not actually helping it. It twitches its tail and makes the bell chime. The metal looks like it digs in deeper in a crooked way.

The siren cries out and writhes once more, gripping onto the back of my shirt and yanking me away from its tail and now-deepened wound. With every movement, the bell lets out a little ring. It keeps its claws on me, tearing slightly at my shirt without actually digging any further.

Bringing me up to its seething face, it growls. The sound echoes out of its chest and I have to suppress a shudder.

“Ssstupid…” it starts, its mouth twisting in pain after. It looks down at its tail and the little bell pressed against it. “What did you do…?”

“I put a… a bell on your ta… tail!..” My voice lacks breath and confidence. Everything sways and I resist the urge to gag.

“That sshhhhouldn’t do anything… a ball of metal has no power over pure, ssseething power…”

“..It’s uh. Supposed to be a luck bell.” I mumble, my thoughts feeling thick, “it brings good luck. Or make the bad stuff go away. I dunno.” My breath feels heavy. The siren snorts in my face and I feel the slight rips lengthening on the back of my shirt.

“...Is that sssso?” It whispers.

A moment passes where the only sound is the waves crashing down outside and my own heaving breath.

“How common… for a human to be calling me ‘bad ssstuff’...” The siren voice comes out in a hoarse growl.

I feel how my hands shake as I continue getting my breath back. The blue beast just stays sitting there, every twitch of its tail makes the bell ring out and the creature hisses every time.

This… is totally terrifying. I can't deny that I've always wanted to meet monsters, but I would have sorta preferred it to be within a safer context.

“W… What…” I breathe out, testing my luck, “What should I call you, then..?”

I close my eyes, trying to lean back. The obnoxious silence returns. It fills the air until it’s unbearable and I force my eyes open and my gaze back onto the creature.

“...What’s your name?” I ask.

The siren’s twitching continues, but its eyes go wide, the cat-like pupils following suit. It immediately feels like everything just got a whole lot more awkward. (To be fair I did just try and talk to this thing like a regular person but I’ve read too many stories and books to not at least try.)

It pries its claws off my back, snorting and pushing itself away from me.

…Good to know that politeness can be helpful sometimes I guess??

The siren hisses in the same way a kitten would at a toy.

“Youuu have no right to be asssking me that…” It growls, sitting up taller and stretching out its tail. I blink in surprise as I scoot across the sand, further away from danger.

“...Alright then. Um.” I stumble to my feet, still slowly moving back. The siren’s gaze travels up and down my body, glaring as I keep walking. It opens its mouth and I assume it tries to sing again. Instead, it only squeaks before choking out words.

“I…. You!! Are not allowed to essscape! I will… You are prey, I will eat you!” It digs into the sand, pulling itself closer to me with its claws. It crawls more into the moonlight, I can see it pretty clearly despite not being all that close now. Its face is darker than before, but only under its eyes and along the fins on its head.

…hm. No, darker isn’t the right term, exactly… Flushed, maybe? There’s a bit of a red tint visible in the white shine of the moon.

“I can come back.” I say, raising my voice just a little, making sure the siren can still hear me. It slouches a little, like it’s afraid to be seen, and its mouth twists up with what I hope isn’t just hunger.

“...Humans are ssstupid. Why would you return?” It hisses, squinting.

“Because your, um, your tail.” I stand safely in the open mouth of the cave. I could turn and run so easily right now, it looks like this fish can’t move that effectively on land.

But I won’t, not yet.

I’ve gotta sow the seeds, you know?

The siren’s eyes go wide again, the tint on its cheeks getting darker. It snarls and glares again

“You are ssstupid! Of course you sshhhould return… you need to pay back your debt to a sssiren. Return… tomorrow, sshhhortly before the moon rises.” It growls and makes its voice deeper as it talks. I nod, my heart slowly swelling in my chest.

“Tomorrow. At dusk.” I keep my expression as solemn as possible. As an awkward goodbye, I bow to the monster, not sure how it would like to be treated, before walking further backwards. Once I can no longer see the soft red shine from the siren’s eyes, I turn and bolt across the beach, headed towards safety.

As terrified as I should be right now, I’m ecstatic. The monster summer romance has FINALLY begun! And here I was thinking this summer was gonna be a waste.

I giggle the whole way back to the dorms, not able to dampen the bubbly feeling inside me.