#Writing: Splashes and Slashes

[wonder-in-wings]

Splash and Slash

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Darkling Lake PARTIES: Parker and Teagan SUMMARY: While out searching for specimens, Parker finds an unglamoured Teagan at Darkling Lake. He decides her tail is a worthy addition to his collection. CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug manipulation [sedatives], medical blood, parental death [mentioned]

The sun was gone for the day, the moon having since taken its place; the perfect time as Parker went on one of his patrols. He covered a minimal amount of space every week, or so he tried to - when he wasn’t busy interacting with the fools of the town or entertaining the questions of children and bored patrons of the museum, he was either in his familiar bunker, at his flat or in the Pines. The Pines had become one of his favored spots as a whole even though it somewhat surprised him seeing as how there was a swamp that was more reminiscent of the bayous Parker grew up in. The Pines, as he noticed relatively soon in his arrival to Wicked’s Rest, wasn’t just a place for the shapeshifters to frequent; he’d met more than one nymph in those woods and had been gifted with some more additions to his collection. This evening, after intensely studying one of the maps he’d picked up some time ago, he noticed there was a lake. Darkling Lake, as it was formally called and for some bizarre reason Parker opted to visit it again that night. It was a large body of water, larger than he had time for in one night so after setting the layout on a graph to make it easier for him, he carefully made his way to one of the farther-reaching corners. The main reason why he went was because when he’d been there before, he saw something out of his peripheral vision and though he was too far away to be able to discern what it was for sure, he knew that it wasn’t a human. Tonight, as he approached the edge of the lake, he kept close to the brush and he dropped to a crouch as his blue eyes carefully scanned the environment, trying to catch another glimpse of the non-human creature he saw before. Parker was prepared for an altercation this time, as well - around his waist was a hardy utility belt with a few pouches and a line of thin straps that looked almost like a bandolier but instead of holding bullets, his waist was lined with several long, thin daggers, no more than a few inches in length and with the sharpness of a needle. Indeed, the handles were peculiar too, seeming to have thumb rests on the ends, also reminiscent of a hypodermic needle. Or a turkey baster, as his brother would call his creations. 

Whatever. He crouched, watching the lake, feeling the comfort of his spiked knuckles clasped to a belt loop and hanging casually from his jeans as he waited for something. Anything. _______

The water lapped against the shore in rhythm, the lake making its own music as the day passed on. Like a ticking clock, the beat was insistent and precise, something Teagan found comfort in whenever she waded idly in Darkling. She hummed to herself, her tail swishing back and forth as she laid on her back to stare at the night sky. The stars’ light danced, and Teagan liked to imagine they liked the way the moon moved the waves. Like it was creating a song they could bear witness to every night.

“Hmm…” Vala snorted, trying to get the nymph’s attention. “What is it, beaut? I’m relaxing a bit. Don’t mess with a good time and get me tampin’,” Teagan teased the kelpie, rolling onto her stomach and swimming toward her friend. The creature dropped a severed arm, sending Teagan into giggles and chortles. “Nice one! I’ll add it to the collection.” Vala replied with a snort, disappearing into the distance a moment later. 

Teagan made quick work of the limb, placing it neatly next to several skeletons of those who dared dirty the lake. Disrespectful lot, they were. No matter. They were taken care of and Teagan resurfaced with a grin. All was quiet, which meant she’d get to head out soon to see Arden. They were supposed to watch some movie about a lost fish in the sea. It sounded strange for a fish to be lost, but if Arden liked it, then Teagan had no issue being a tad confused. _______   Nothing seemed abnormal. Perhaps he needed to shift his perspective slightly. Slowly, quietly, Parker altered his trajectory, remaining as quiet as he could in the underbrush even though he was more suited for the marshy mud of the swamp - forests weren’t his strong suit, all things considered. And normally he would’ve opted to simply explore elsewhere but he had a strange intuition about this location that night. And there it was, the sign Parker had been looking for as he switched locations. After an indeterminate amount of time, he caught movement, the surface breaking ever-so-slightly and he turned his head sharply where his eyes fell upon the creature. It was amphibious in nature, pale as it waded through the water with an unnatural smoothness, not unlike a jaguar in the rivers of the Amazon. It didn’t appear to be a shifter, or if it was, then it was unknown to him but the longer his eyes remained fixated on it, the more he could feel something rippling under his skin. Perhaps it was psychosomatic. Regardless, his eyes slowly swept over the creature before they settled on an object of his instant fascination: the long, beautiful tail that the creature possessed. While Parker was instantly drawn to fae wings of any kind, he realized over the recent months that he could appreciate beauty in other forms, whether it was a chunk of pyrite from an oread or even the horns of an unruly spriggan. He was still unaccustomed to obtaining these magnificent, unusual wonders. He had to have that tail. His brain honed in on it, watching it with enamored obsession. Parker stood and carefully, very slowly walked out onto the lakeshore, approaching the creature wordlessly at first. The closer he got, the more the rippling feeling pulsed under his skin and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a nix and he inhaled sharply through his nose with the sensation. “Lovely night for a swim.” He called to the fae. _______

The crushing of wet earth perked Teagan’s ears. She tensed, hands twitching with the urge to attack without much more prompting. Her body trembled under the tension, and she turned slowly to face the man who spoke. Eyes were wide, and despite having claws that could easily tear, Teagan hovered her hand over the blade in her thigh holster.

“Yes.” The nix offered a curt nod, not bothering to glamour herself in case the man was a warden. No use in giving away her disguise. “I wouldn’t come in if I were you, though. I like to swim alone.” Teagan began to wade backwards, giving herself some distance in case the man had other plans. There was a look in his eyes that unsettled her. It was far worse than a look of murderous intention. She couldn’t place exactly what it was, but her body screamed at her to run or tear, and she had sworn to try to be better.

“Please go now, lad. I’m trying to enjoy my time.” _______ The presumed nymph called back, dissuading the Warden from joining her. Non-aggressive but reminiscent of an animal that should’ve been left alone. But he couldn’t. The switch was turned on in his head and Parker’s mind was consumed with little else. His brain was already buzzing with thoughts on how he could artfully arrange the tail, how to turn and model and shape it to look as aesthetically pleasing as possible. “I know better than to get into the water with you, nix.” He said carefully but not shyly as he took a few more rather confident steps towards her. “I want your tail.” All these years later and he never knew how to ask in a more effective, gentle way. He’d tried asking gently before, a long while ago, but it never proved effective; for some reason, all the fae whose wings he’d added to his collection seemed attached to them, even if they didn’t actually do anything. They were vestigial and only a couple of them could hover for a few seconds and even then it didn’t look satisfying. A tail wasn’t vestigial though, Parker thought to himself. He inhaled softly, reached down to pull his feet out of his shoes though he kept his blue eyes on the nymph studiously. “I can make it quick and painless but unfortunately I can’t leave without it.” His voice took a different tone to it and indeed, his expression changed slightly as he looked at her. “The way you move in the water, the way it sways behind you. It’s beautiful, it’s graceful and perfect in form and function.” He took a few more steps, closing the gap between them but staying on the shore. “It’s mesmerizing. I need to immortalize it.” _______

This man was no regular hunter. He had something far worse than a murder in mind, and the cold fear of what that entailed made Teagan’s throat constrict. She felt her body tremble at the look in his eye, her palms growing clammy. She could feel the sensation despite being engulfed in water. 

“No.” There was no room for anything else, and Teagan wouldn’t allow there to be. She sank her body further, until only her eyes were above the water. Danger was in front of her, granting her to toss whatever notion of trying to the wind. She wasn’t looking for a fight that time. Instead, it found her.

“Stay back.” A hiss as she faked out a lunge. Her eyes were full of fire and her teeth were bared for the man to take as a warning. They gleamed in the moonlight reflecting off the water, and Teagan forced her jaw not to tremble under the weight of her terror. Of the way it unsettled her to be seen as an object to maim and preserve. “What right you got, eh? It’s my body, boyo. I’ll cut you apart if you try it.” _______

The nymph lunged and Parker’s quick reflexes, the ones he’d been trained arduously in for over four decades, allowed him to respond quickly by taking a deft step back though it didn’t scare him off. He was light on his feet, he had to be when he lived in the bayou. In fact, he was reminded of his days going after gators in the swamp, treading lightly, maintaining eye contact as they hissed and stood their ground. They were efficient training, though they hit their ceiling in that they didn’t have the luxuries that fae did with their thumbs, long limbs and ability to run. …though gators could be plenty fast in their own right on land. “Fae are so pretentious.” Parker responded, passion not leaving his tone but instead taking a backseat to his clinical delivery. “You live these long lives and care about so little while you enjoy your passions, your deals, promises. Manipulating others with the way you speak.” He didn’t dare turn his back to the nymph, taking careful side steps as one of his hands went to the utility belt that glittered with the metals that hung off it. Even after everything Fae had done to him, to his family, to innocent people, Parker still had his own personal values. “I don’t want to fight.” He said, not dishonestly. “You have so many other things.” This was potentially a lie; Parker knew that fae had proclivities for forming collections of their own, whether it was names, secrets, or physical trinkets. They didn’t ask for most of the stuff they acquired and they hoarded it selfishly. He honestly didn’t know if this nix did but unlike fae, he could afford to lie. “I won’t ask again.” As he spoke now, he inched forward and he hadn’t realized that not once had he blinked since starting his counterpoint argument. “But I’m not leaving without it. I’d prefer for it to be an easy transaction.” He also completely failed to acknowledge that this wasn’t what people did, fae or no. He didn’t have the ability to say that he could leave her in peace, walking away empty-handed. _______

Terror began to mount over with every sway of the water, heart leaping harshly into the fae’s throat as the man pressed on with his speech. Teagan was weighed down by dread, try as she might to force herself to don her confidence once more. She was more than capable of protecting herself, having killed plenty of hunters in the past. Hunter or not, her tail would remain where it belonged.

“We’re pretentious?” Teagan scoffed, rolling her eyes and chuckling at the way she made the man take a step back. She was getting a feel for his reaction time. It was a little too good. She’d have to improvise. But first, Teagan wanted to bite back with her words. “You’re the one putting us on this pedestal, mun. Glorifying us. Immortalizing us. If we’re pretentious, then you’re a lowly peasant trying to get a taste of what true magnificence is. ‘Sides. You didn’t even ask.” Lying was so damned human. 

Teagan glared at the stranger, fear beginning to wane as anger quickly replaced it. He was in for a rude awakening, of that she could promise. “You gonny come in and try to get it then?” A taunt, a knowing smirk tugging Teagan’s lips as she waded even further into the lake. “Think you’ll find that it ain’t so easy. Ever heard of my body, my choice? Or are ya just like every other man?” Her smirk turned devious. “Looks like you’re gonna leave without it, cythrauluffer.” _______ The fear that Parker could almost feel emanating from the nix was dissipating, as it usually did around this part of the altercation. It was almost rhythmic at this point - he would ask without asking, usually get either a swift or gradual rebuttal, then as they talked and he made multiple attempts to get out of this with minimal damage to either of them, they got emboldened and made the first move. Then Parker was prompted to act in self-defense. It was a gambit of sorts, an explanation that he had come up with over the years to warrant being able to tell the truth as he explained the curiosities and treasures he’d accumulated. She accused him of not asking, which he indeed hadn’t and at this point in his life, he was unsure if he could even ask - of course they were going to say ‘no’ anyway so he long since abandoned that line of literal questioning. There was the occasional fae who didn’t know the rules and he was able to manipulate them to get what he wanted the way he wanted… But most of them reacted the way the nymph before him did. She went further out into the water and while Parker rather fearlessly approached her to the point that his socks were starting to get wet as the shore lapped the rocks and dirt, he stopped shortly. He was a strong swimmer, he wasn’t going to deny it but he also knew that no matter how good he was, he wouldn’t have been able to overpower her in her literal element. However, he just couldn’t keep his eyes off the tail. It was an addiction. He never realized it and still didn’t even now; the pull of obtaining something he’d never seen before, something he could already visualize its form and positioning, seeing it on his table as he carefully worked with it and around it. “Not a preferable outcome.” Parker sighed and he sounded almost disappointed as he finally tore his eyes from her figure and he addressed the numerous things on his belt. He wished he could’ve caught her outside the lake but he had to be improvisational. Unfortunately, he wasn’t equipped to his fullest loadout as Parker recalled the wrist-mounted crossbow that sat on his desk at home, half-assembled as he attempted to customize it for further utility. Perhaps he’d have to meet her in the water, anyway. He just needed to get one of his specialized daggers into her before the tide would turn in his favor. Sighing and still standing next to the lake, he started to take off his socks and roll his pants up. _______

Whether the man was a hunter or not was still unknown, but if he was, he was a little too callous and reckless. For Teagan to think that about a hunter? Now that was saying something. Any respectable warden, (and the nix didn’t, ever) would’ve known better than to charge into a fae’s natural habitat. Being quite literally in their element could and would prove fatal. 

A mistake he would not be able to make again because he’d be dead. 

“You takin’ what’s mine isn’t preferable either, mun.” Wading in a circle, Teagan taunted the man with her tail, whipping it back and forth above the surface. Like a hypnotist lulling their target into a headspace of their choosing. For Teagan, it was heedless and rash, and by the looks of how he perused his belt, she wasn’t sure what route he’d take. There was no way in hell she was going to risk much more than time, and there wasn’t much left.

Teagan had a ravenous look in her eye, arms widening open to beckon the lake to work in her favor. It roared to life, a large wave rising just over eight feet. The water slammed into the nymph’s opponent, her miscalculation sending her in a swirl toward him. “Iesu mawr!” Teagan hissed as she was thrown straight into the man. On split-second whim, she took a deep breath and urged the water to continue to thrash, sending them both tumbling into the lake.  _______

Perhaps Parker shouldn’t have been so forward with his request, as she now seemed to use the knowledge to her advantage as she moved her tail, taunting him, pulling him in and for a moment, it seemed to work as the neurons in his brain were stroked by the beauty of its movement. How he longed to gather it in his hands, to sculpt it into something mesmerizing for himself. Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how one perceived it), Parker was already closer to the water than he should’ve been by the time the nymph utilized her resonance with her element and he was rapidly greeted with a massive wave that crashed into him… along with her. Their bodies collided though not for long enough and the churning water sucked him in, pushing him under the surface. As he was being turned around in the undertow and having taken a quick, but deep improvisational breath himself, Parker curled his legs into him, turning himself into a temporary protective ball as he pulled one of his specialized knives out. The lakewater was impenetrably dark and he was effectively blind as he was rolled in the water. However, his step of pulling one of his daggers from its spot carefully to avoid losing anything else under the waves had been successfully completed and in another stroke of luck he could see just enough of her in his field of view that he lurched his arm forward, plunging the dagger into… some part of her body, he couldn’t tell what. His other hand moved as quickly as it could, pressing down on the end of the hilt and injecting the body with a special tranquilizer. Of course, it wasn’t a perfected art - every body was different - but he released the dagger, now abandoning that goal in favor of trying to surface. _______

The way the man’s eyes glazed over with desire made the nymph’s stomach twist with disgust. She was appalled by his menacing expression, his greed mounting over into something desperate and chaotic. It was brief and he quickly became calculated again, but watching it happen in real-time practically gave Teagan whiplash. 

Back off!

Teagan’s mind screamed, her mouth opening and closing to relay the message. There was no sound, not to whoever that man was. He was only met with bubbling water and thrashing limbs. When Teagan finally managed to get her fins in place, she whipped around, at the ready.

Unlike her opponent, the nix could move easily and see clearly in the lake. It was her element, after all. 

With a smile, she bolted forward, claws prepared to sink into flesh. Teagan didn’t mind if it would burn her, she welcomed it like it was family. In a way, it was. At the very least, it had been the most consistent thing in her life; good or bad. So when she didn’t quite make purchase onto the man’s skin, and was instead met with a sensation she was all too familiar with. Iron. She gasped to herself, realizing something was off. Her limbs began to almost immediately grow too heavy to use, not a sensation she was accustomed to. 

Panic began to stretch Teagan’s chest tightly, her instinct to kick herself away and remove the…needle? Dagger? She wasn’t quite sure. Did it still have liquid in the—oh no. The edges of Teagan’s vision rippled with black, eyes growing too heavy to keep open. She felt cold and prickly, textured in a way that left her feeling unsettled and terrified. But that didn’t last very long. In a matter of seconds, Teagan was consumed with darkness.  _______ Fully prepared for something to make contact with him as he attempted to surface, Parker tried to manipulate his blood to turn him into a last-ditch effort weapon against whatever she would do to him but he couldn’t push it; he was already doing too many things at once and that would’ve sent him into exhaustion quickly. Contrary to his initial belief, however, he had remained unscathed and indeed, his dagger seemed to have hit its mark because the water, no longer controlled by a vehement force of nature like the nix, eased around him. Parker surfaced briefly, looking around to see where he was in relation to the shore. Not too terribly far and he took in another deep breath before he dived. Now that the water was calmer, it allowed him to utilize his own skill in swimming and while he still knew he would never be able to keep up with a creature like a nix or a nereid, his human abilities were still impressive by their standards, or so he liked to think. He couldn’t see effectively so he used broad movements with his arms, searching blindly in the murky depths until they felt a limb. Instinctively grabbing it firmly but not violently, he gathered her in one of his arms and hauled the two of them up where they breached the surface. Breathing deeply and more steadily now, using the techniques he’d learned from those decades in the bayou, Parker pulled her to the shore. He needed to work quickly; the tranquilizers were effective but ephemeral - his longer-lasting tranquilizers were soaked through now, useless as they sat in his pouches. It was fine, it had to be fine unless he could dose her again with another dagger but he only had three more left and he was too far from the Bunker; he’d need to do this now. First, he placed the nix on her side, very gently laying her tail out behind her and almost wasting time with how he looked over it fondly before he left her as she was, going over to his boots for a moment. Secondly, Parker checked his utility belt where he was relieved to learn that his spiked knuckles remained on the clasp in the midst of the roiling water, as did the rest of his daggers and– Perfect. He pulled a new knife from a holster that was on one of his legs, looking similar to an enlarged scalpel in design. Notably, this one wasn’t iron; he wanted the things he collected to be intact, not mottled more than necessary for a single individual performing an impromptu amputation in the middle of nowhere. This was a learning opportunity on multiple fronts. Parker would need to be better prepared in the future but for now he went back over to the nymph, dropped to a crouch and carefully turned the tail over before he made a rather precise incision at the base of her lower back. _______

There were no images, no chorus of noise that welcomed a person so heavy into unconsciousness. There was only a void, thoughts too diluted and muffled to truly reach. Teagan was no longer able to struggle or fight back, body limp and useless against whatever had been injected into her. Even worse, she was useless against the blade that began to slice into her. 

By the time Teagan had seen a hint of a light, it felt like it had been hours, but that couldn’t be the case. She could hear the dull sounds of strain behind her. Oh Fates. Her eyes attempted to shoot open, lids working against the fuzzy and heavy weight that enveloped them. “Mm…G-g…!” Teagan had attempted to say ‘Get off,’ but nothing was quite obeying her yet. She couldn’t even feel the way her skin had been cleanly cut, which was a horror in itself. 

How far had he gotten?

There was no use thinking about the possibilities. He’d had to have been taking his time considering the care he gave to not injure the nix horribly. Lest he ruin what he had his eyes set on, the fae supposed. It was disgusting and the way he had looked at her like a specimen meant for display made Teagan nauseous. He was worse than a hunter. He was a collector. She had to stop him, even if it was just for that night.

Using what little control she had, the nix twisted and dug her claws into the man’s shoulder. She latched on briefly, the rather large scalpel he had a grip on jolting upwards and slicing Teagan on her middle back. Whatever, she thought, continuing to slash. She just needed to get away and live to see another day. This man would be back, and Teagan would be ready next time. There were things to live for now. She couldn’t risk herself by succumbing to her rage, falling into old habits. No matter how her mind screamed to pursue vengeance. Her anger wasn’t worth her life. Or her tail. 

Teagan stood on wobbly legs, the man’s blood burning her hand as it dripped from her claws. “D-don’t come any closer.” She hissed, backing away with her claws tensed and ready as she took an offensive stance. Her visage was tired but captured with rage, the evils of Teagan’s past glimmering in her eyes while her head was tilted down from the weight. She was glowering, no longer willing to be the victim. _______

He was moving slower than he’d have liked, than he needed to to get results. In fact, Parker was moving so slowly that he was still creating an incision wide enough to insert his traditional iron blade to cauterize the wound, intending to separate it from the tail when she stirred back into lucidity. In a fluid motion, her claws punctured his shoulder. He exhaled sharply from the pain and the surge that shot down his arm made him lose control as it tensed up, sending the scalpel smoothly up the nymph’s back. Though he couldn’t control his arm at that juncture, he could manipulate his blood as it rippled beneath the skin, the iron moving in on where her claws were embedded in his flesh - his last-ditch weapon. She didn’t let go and he dropped the scalpel, wrenching his arm from her as he got to his feet. The motion was with strength but it was careless as Parker’s blood sprayed the wet earth beneath them. First, he pressed his other hand against the fresh wound, his nostrils flaring as he felt the lasting sting of her claws in his flesh. His blue eyes looked into hers, his expression narrowed and seeing her emotions dancing in them like an animal. Then they flickered to her stance, her frame, noting the way her legs shook as she was still affected by the tranquilizers. Then they rested on what he could see of her tail, the way it carelessly oozed blood and a flash of anger overcame his features. …No, he went up; he didn’t cut her tail, he lacerated her back. Parker wasn’t even using iron, so she could recover anyway. The anger on his face, while dissipating and making way for more of the narrow-eyed fascination and obsession, was still present somewhat, however. And he could use fluid motions, too. Removing his hand from the injured shoulder, it went down and brushed against his soaking jeans, fingers looping around the spiked iron knuckles that swayed to his side. He yanked a clenched fist back up and there was a snap as the clasp was disconnected. “You don’t control me, nix.” Then it was his turn to lunge and he rushed towards her, drawing his bloody fist back, aiming for the same shoulder she had. The clavicle, ideally to make a break in the bone. Parker wasn’t the type to turn to violence but as the pulse in his other arm reminded him, he didn’t start this.  _______

There was a deranged look in the man’s eye, his desire flowing straight into crazed anger at what he was denied. He’d done this countless times, so much so that he believed he had every right. That was the most terrifying part of the whole thing. How many had he hurt before he fixated on the nix before him? Teagan’s stomach twisted with nausea like a knife, and her heart soon followed suit. He had to be stopped. 

“Fuck you!” She screamed, grief for her cousins that fell victim to that evil man consuming her chest. The woman Teagan had been trying to leave behind washed over her, ignoring the way pain continued to pulse on her skin. “You don’t control me, and you cannot have any part of me!” Rushing forward as the man did, the two of them clashed in a ferocious flurry of fury. 

The way he’d gone straight for her clavicle felt a little like he was attempting balance, an eye for an eye. Teagan couldn’t help but notice that, having revered Fate and balance her whole life. This stranger could never work as Fate did. She was unbiased, not caring about setting things right or wrong, only ensuring all was as it should be. 

It wasn’t this. It wasn’t white-hot pain flaring from what felt like a break to her collarbone. Teagan screamed, her strength waning as the agony from holding her opponent away from her caused something akin to a crunch. The fight had to end or she’d be finding herself dead or…mutilated. Or both. 

Fates, she wanted Arden. 

In a last ditch effort, Teagan brought her knees to her chest, digging her feet into the man’s stomach as she sank her claws in a final time. She dragged her hands down, hoping to leave her mark just before she sent her opponent flying with a kick. Rising to her feet and holding her shoulder, Teagan hissed, “Looks like you get nothing, boyo.” With a final glower, she retreated into the lake, going too far for him to reach her again.  _______ How similar they were sometimes. How both of them assumed control, how they both loved to hoard their treasures and use words to their advantage. And how Parker would never admit any of this, the thoughts not even going through his head as his eyes simultaneously seemed to illuminate with keen observation yet darken with malintent as he lunged forward.

She met him halfway, which was perfect all things considered - her rushing to him meant that Parker didn’t have to attempt to go through any limbs that would be raised in self-defense. Her body hit his own and he advanced on her. While she might’ve been stronger in the water, she wasn’t in the water, as well as coming off the effects of his custom sedatives and he was taller than her. She pushed him, he pushed back but most importantly, his arm that was wound back was faster as it shot out like a bullet for her shoulder

The sound of her bone breaking in the otherwise-still night air was enough of an indicator for Parker that the spiked knuckles hit their target and while he felt one of his eyes twitch as she pressed against the fresh holes in his shoulder but he knew it wasn’t going to last for long so he endured it; he could, he would and he always will. He kept the blood spinning in his veins, pushing it to the surface just under his skin in case.

He pulled back his fist and part of Parker wanted to get another jab in, a show of dominance, control, and for a moment the nymph’s visage was replaced by the one that murdered his father and critically injured his brother. However, one blink later and that fae was gone, one into another and he didn’t have time to react when he gasped as she brought her feet up, her talons piercing his abdomen, her claws in his skin once more and for another moment they were frozen in place. His eyes widened with surprise and yet, he didn’t didn’t yell but before he knew it, she had kicked him back and he was propelled back, flying some odd feet in the air before hitting the ground and sliding back.

Coughing out an exhale as he collided roughly with the ground, Parker scrambled to face her once more but the nix was already partially in the water, holding her shoulder and shooting him a venomous glare before she submerged herself into the lake and leaving him with the remnants of what she said echoing in his aching skull.

He got nothing. He lost.

Or so she said. Now that she was gone his breathing got more shaky as Parker furrowed his brow, gritting his teeth tightly to deal with the pain of her rending his flesh. He got to his feet slowly, pulling his hand away from his abdomen as his blood shined in the moonlight. Nothing he couldn’t recover from. He gingerly walked over to his boots and gathered them up along with the rest of his materials that weren’t lost to the lake before casting one more intense blue-eyed gaze to the rippling surface of the lake before disappearing into the thick trees once more.

She said he got nothing but he left with the one thing more important than her tail.

He knew what she was and where she lived.

[hoseoksluna]

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance. 

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either. 

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death. 

Work was hell, to say the least. 

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it. 

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked. 

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore. 

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office. 

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor. 

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin. 

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service. 

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond. 

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him. 

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance. 

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you. 

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it. 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Why do you sound so sad?” 

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.” 

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?” 

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.” 

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him. 

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno. 

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing. 

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand. 

You spill, completely. 

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you. 

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.” 

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech. 

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast. 

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair. 

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness. 

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves. 

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders. 

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?” 

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him. 

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.” 

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.” 

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.” 

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within. 

You’ve become them, all over again. 

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.” 

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?” 

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.” 

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you. 

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling. 

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?” 

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.” 

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him. 

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.” 

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy. 

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers. 

Holds your hand. 

Doesn’t let go. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[littlereddream]

ok so that zombie apocalypse au with jason was absolutely insanely amazing. i love how you wrote the rationale behind staying with him. would you ever consider writing more on the time jason kisses reader the first time (the one after they’d been attacked by a horde? if not, totally fine! have a cool day

Thank you!! So glad you asked because I’ve been wanting to write more about this au lol

This fully escaped me and ended up being longer than the original. Included is the missing scene from Jason kissing the reader for the first time and (I know you didn’t ask for this but I can’t help myself) their second kiss.

Enjoy!

(The original)

Under Heavy Rot

Missing scenes

Zombie apocalypse au typical gore (though more than Under Heavy Rot), gn reader

It was like digging for iron and finding gold instead. The corner store, such a short walk away from Jason’s house, was like a piece of trapped, untapped history. Every shelf was untouched, fully stocked as if the employees had made it their very last duty to fill up the space with supplies.

It’s not all perfect, of course. All of the dairy products are well past their expiration date, leaving you to grab powdered milk instead. The power’s out, and likely has been since the very beginning of it all, so most of the refrigerated or frozen products are out of the question.

Still, candy bars and canned food are nothing to scoff at.

After confirming that you’ve busied yourself with shoving non perishables into your backpack, Jason goes off to secure the store’s outside.

It doesn’t take long to fill up your backpack, and you zip it shut before slinging it over your shoulders. At that point, you almost leave. You’ve done what you and Jason came to do, so what’s left?

Just exploring the chance that the store might have a bag of those chips you used to love. Jason’s not around to lecture you for taking unnecessary risks, so you make your way over to the back. You’ll take your chances.

Every little movement has the old tile creaking under your feet, until one step prompts a quiet splash. Your gaze flicks down to your shoe, finding a puddle of sticky, nearly black blood. It sticks to the bottom of your boot when you raise it, thick and gooey.

Your hand flies to your knife, drawing it out of its sheath. Walker blood. It’s too coagulated to be anything else, too dark to be from anything other than the dead. The puddle smears forward, creating a trail through the aisle before turning past your view into the next.

Slowly, weapon raised, you move forward to follow the bloody path. You hardly make it two steps until a shrill snarl is your only warning before a hand grabs your shoulder.

You whirl around, knife angled to slash, but the blade can only uselessly cut across the walker’s chest. There’s no reaction from it, entirely undeterred from your attempt. You step back, distancing yourself as best you can while trying to form a plan. It’s just one. You’ve taken down countless walkers before, why’s this any different?

Another groan, this time from right behind you. You look back and, fuck, there’s two, blocking the other end of the aisle. Okay. Sacrifices, sacrifices.

Turning back to the one, you grip your knife tight and rush forward at it’s feet, diving between it’s legs to get behind before twisting around to slash the back of it’s knees. The action costs you your knife, getting stuck in the flesh mid movement, but it’s fine. It’s enough to buy you time, let you find out where you’d gotten yourself.

To the very back, with three walkers gaining on you and a singular clear path to the exit the next aisle over. You don’t make it. They’re faster than you’d predicted, recovering too quickly for your plan to fall into any sort of action. Too close, too close.

The two steps back you do take have your shoulders pressing into a shelf, securing your fate.

Or not. You could’ve sworn that the walkers in front of you didn’t have those holes in their head two seconds ago. They fall, one by one until they’re nothing but piles of previously reanimated flesh in front of you.

Behind them? Jason, slowly lowering his gun to rush over to you. His brows are knitted together, frown tight on his face, and you can only stare at him as his hands come up to cup both sides of your jaw. He tilts your face in his hands, checking you for injuries.

Jason repeats your name quietly, mumbled like he needs it to breathe. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Did you get bit? Scratched? What happened? I thought…” he trails off.

“I’m okay, Jay. They didn’t hurt me. You got them,” you reassure, hands coming up to rest over his.

He’s close, enough for you to see the sweaty glow of his skin, the scuffs of dirt on his cheeks. You don’t think there’s ever been anyone so beautiful.

“You’re okay,” Jason repeats, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself.

You nod, sweeping your thumbs in little circles over the back of his hands. Jason doesn’t waste another second. You aren’t ready for it, you don’t think he was either. Between one second and the next, he has his lips pressed to yours.

It’s soft, sweet in a way you wouldn’t have expected from the same man who almost killed you during your first meeting. Though maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. He’s also the same man who changed the bandages on your wound as if you’re broken glass, bound to shatter entirely if he pressed a little too hard.

He holds your face in his hands like the world around you doesn’t exist. There aren’t dead walkers sprawled around your feet. You aren’t standing in a crappy, abandoned corner store. This isn’t about to end the second he pulls away.

But it does, and the second his lips leave yours, the real world falls back into place. You don’t think you’ve ever hated it more.

Jason breaks it abruptly, but doesn’t fully pull away. His forehead remains touching yours, eyes squeezed tight like he’s preparing himself to force his next words out.

“I’m sorry. It…you know. Adrenaline. It won’t happen again, promise.”

Jason’s hands drop down to his sides, and now even the warmth from your kiss is gone. The real world is cold, and all you can do is shiver.

But if he wants to pretend it was a mistake, then you’ll let him. At this point, you doubt there’s much you wouldn’t do for him.

The realization hits you like a bucket of cold water. You really, really don’t want to leave him. Judging by everything that’s happened, he doesn’t want you to either.

There’s nothing for you to say, not that he gives you any time to speak. He’s already grabbing more canned food to shove into his own backpack.

“I think we have everything. We’re probably good to head back. Need anything else?” He asks.

You need him to kiss you again.

“No. Let’s go.”

With a curt nod from him, you leave the corner store, your favorite chips forgotten.

Two weeks later, you learn that Jason Todd is a liar. A no good, handsome, filthy little liar. And sure, maybe it’s you that gave him the perfect grounds to break his promise, but still. A liar.

It’s not like you’re not grateful. If Jason hadn’t gone back on his promise, then you wouldn’t be sandwiched between him and the kitchen counter.

You’d gotten tired of watching him look away anytime you caught him staring, of seeing how he’d never allow himself to touch you for more than a second when pulling you out of danger.

Your exhaustion, well paired with the event of him wearing his stupidly fitting leather jacket around you, was the perfect recipe for you to damn the consequences and just kiss him.

You’d started with so much confidence. You thought you understood what he kissed like, thought you’d be the one to overwhelm him when you grabbed him by the collars of his jacket.

“I really want to kiss you right now. Can I?” You’d whispered, like you’d disturb the air around you if you were just that little bit louder.

He’d nodded stupidly, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

You’d overwhelm him, you’d thought.

You’ve never been so wrong.

Within seconds of your lips meeting his, Jason doesn’t waste another moment before backing you up into the counter. This Jason is different than the one from the corner store, who was so sweet and gentle. This Jason kisses like he’s trying to steal the air from inside your lungs, more starved than the dead outside.

Your brain feels blank, all confidence gone along with any memory of what to do while kissing somebody. He doesn’t even give you a second to think, broad hands squeezing your hips like you’d even try to move away. What the hell, what the hell.

Jason pulls away to give you a total of two seconds to breathe, then he’s back, bringing a hand up wrap around one of your wrists, still resting on his chest. What is he- oh. With his hand guiding one of your arms to wrap around his neck, you manage to have just enough brain capacity left to bring the other arm up too.

You aren’t sure how long you kiss. What you do know is that even after your lips part for the final time, the real world isn’t even close to coming back. Your brain’s too fuzzy, head resting against his chest while his arms wrap around your waist, slowly swaying the both of you to a melody that only he knows.

You know that if you look up now, you’ll see the wide smile that he hasn’t been able to force down since you’ve stopped kissing, despite his best efforts.

Leaving. Right. As if. As far as you were concerned, the only way either of you would ever leave is with the other following right behind.

And it’s perfect.

[jasmines-library]

Hey Jasmine, sry idk if ur taking requests of not but I was wondering if I could do a supernatural fic where the boys take their sister out to hunt some werewolves but their sister gets scratched and has a bad cut and has a panic attack, it’s up to the boys to calm her down and get her stitched up…

Caught Off guard.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•

hey hey hi! thanks for the request anon! I actually have something fairly (?) similar here! but i wanted to write this for you too. sorry its a little short.

Word Count: 733

Warnings: Blood. stitches. panic attack.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The wound was deep. And it hurt like a bitch. That was for certain. Three, ragged gashes splashed across your torso from just below your ribs to your belly button. Your blood seeped from it like paint, staining the fabric of your shirt and beading across the smooth expanse of your skin. 

The werewolf had caught you off guard. You and your two brothers Sam and Dean had been hunting the pack for just short of a week now and you had managed to take them down without much of a problem once you found them. However, werewolves were clever. And this one had decided to play smart.  It had caught you just as you were about to leave, it had jumped out from its hiding spot at the last second, slashing at you in the process. You screamed, the sound ripping from your lips as your flesh tore open. Your brothers were on the creature quickly. But not quick enough to stop the damage from happening. 

Your wound burnt. Skin searing with an immeasurable pain as you looked down at it, fingers moving to touch it only to come away tainted with blood. And then Sam was in front of you. His slender fingers resting on your cheek, tilting it to look up at him. 

“Hey. hey. Look at me.” Sam said. His voice broke through the haze you hadn’t even realised you were in as he tried to coax you into following his instructions. Despite the panic he was feeling internally, his face betrayed nothing. His eyes were soft and calming as he tried to soothe you. “Breathe,” he told you. 

You hadn’t even noticed until now, too hyper fixated on the wound, that you were hyperventilating. Your chest was heaving, a rasp sounding in the back of your throat as you struggled to suck in air with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The all too familiar feelings of a panic attack hit you full force.

“Calm down.” Sam told you gently. “You’re okay. You’re alright. Breathe.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady your breathing. 

“That's it, Sweetheart. Good.” Dean’s hand was on your shoulder. The other one reached to pull your hand away from your wound, placing it on his chest to urge you to follow his breathing. The feeling of his heart beat beneath his shirt was grounding. Slow as steady. 

Another breath. Another second trying to slow your breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest which caused a disturbance in your wound, only adding to your pain. 

“Good girl.” Sam said softly as your breathing slowed. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze, trying to hide the grimace as he looked at your wounds. Red raw and still oozing blood. “....she’s going to need stitches.”

Your breath hitched, but Sam squeezed your hand. “It’ll be over quickly, princess. Okay?”

You bit your lip, swallowing thickly before nodding hesitantly. Dean moved quickly, grabbing the first aid kit from Baby before sanitising the needle and threading it before handing it to Sam, who has a steadier hand. Dean’s hand replaced Sam’s gripping yours tightly as Sam reddied the needle, positioning it over your skin.

“I’ll be gentle as I can, ok kiddo?”

You nodded, trying to look anywhere but Sam and the needle in his hand.

“It’ll be a quick pinch, okay sweetheart?” Dean reassured me. “You can squeeze my hand as much as you need. Okay?”

“.....okay.”

After taking a breath, Sam pushed the needle into your skin to make the first stitch. His fingers moved with swift precision, determined to get this over as quick as possible and keep it as painless for you as he could. You couldn't help the small whimper that slipped out of your lips as you gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

He squeezed your hand back reassuringly. “That’s it kid. Just a little more.”

Sam worked nimbly, closing the wounds with a  few stitches before covering them with a gauze pad and bandages just in case. When he was done, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, allowing you to take a breath.

“All done sweetheart. It’s all done. It’s over.”

You shuddered a sigh, relaxing back into Dean a little bit who gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. 

“You did good kid. So good.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

[aphroditesmoon]

lacrymosa [part 2]

clarisse la rue x fem!hecatecabin!reader [boarding school au]

PART 1

summary: you were sent to a prestigious boarding school to be rid from your father as a burden, but when strange things begins to happen upon your arrival, you wonder what truly lies behind the school walls. And as you attract attention from an infamous student, your plans to lie low is disrupted for the semester.

warnings: nightmares, a lil argument, enemies to lovers in a way.

a/n: under a special request, Olivia's name has been CHANGED to Tella, i hopenyou guys don't find the change too weird! And thank you for the love for this series so far, I hope u all can be patient with me writing every part in my own time🩷

wc: 6k

taglist: @bbybubbles @asvterias @kyuupidwrites @lyzsaphrodite @priyajoyy @yourmom-25s-blog

Something was not right. The thunderstorm outside felt unreal, the lightning struck again, and you only saw white slashing in front of you through the glass. 

“Get away from the window, sweetheart.” A female voice you’ve never heard of, advised you. You turn around at the same time you felt her hand grip your shoulder. 

“Mama?” You’ve seen her before. Of course you had. In pictures, and albums. But you’ve never heard her speak. She pulls you back onto the velvet chair that sat in the middle of the living room. Everything was unrecognizable. She and the place both was. 

“What did I tell you about standing too close to the window? It’s already cool enough here- Oh, see? Your fingers are freezing.” True to her words, your fingers were pruning up. 

Your mother’s hands loosened from your arm as she walked back into the kitchen. “I’m making some hot cocoa, do you want some?” 

You didn’t respond, too busy examining your surroundings. The structure of the building gave you a sense of deja vu. And the view outside, even through the rain and storms, brought out a sinking feeling in your chest. 

You walked back towards the window and saw a glimpse of yourself and flinched back. You’re a child. 

It registered to you then that it was all a dream. And more fear erupted from your chest. Were you supposed to be this aware in dreams? It’s never happened before. And yet as you eye the pavement outside being splashed with water whilst your mother called for you from the kitchen, you knew it couldn’t be real. 

This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream. 

You pinched yourself, and still found yourself unmoving. 

There is a statue outside on the grounds. A tall white something, you can't tell. But even in the fog and drizzle, it stands magnificent in all it's glory.

The third time your mother called for you, you turned towards her. 

Her face glitches as she nears you with a mug in hand. A colorless mug, changing colors the same way her face changes too. You took a step back, frightened. But as your mother cocks her head to the side in question, your feet halts in its place.

“What did I tell you about the window, darling?” 

“Mama?” you asked again, against your own resistance.  Your mother smiled and moved closer. She wore a necklace with a circular shaped object that laid on her chest. It had rubies on it’s edge, and a triangle cut out in the middle, like a button you could push. It stood out like your mothers dark black eyes that bore no reflection. 

“What did I tell you about standing too close to the window, sweetheart?” She asked again, stoically despite her toothy smile.

She glitched again, and for a moment, you thought her face had cracks all over it, filled with red burning glow that looked like lava. 

Your hand itched to touch her, to pull her by her collar and scream, you are not my mother. To hug her, to cry in her chest and ask her why she left you. 

But instead, you just stood there and hear her calling out for your name again.

The last call clashed with the sound of a thunder, and you felt yourself jump as your shooked out of your nightmare.

The earth below you felt like it had broken into two.

It was raining. It was actually fucking raining.

And for some reason, you looked up to the sky and felt rain water pouring down your whole entire body as lightning struck again from the clouds.

You were standing outside your school building at god knows what hour, in the rain.

“What the hell are you doing?” A thunderous voice shouted from behind you.

You twist your neck to look back, and found the last person you wanted to see in this kind of situation. “Clarisse.” You breathed out with tired eyes. 

She stands under the roof of the dorm building, far from you, but close enough to be able to hear her yelling.

Clarisse sprinted towards you from your left with an umbrella that wasn't really standing a chance with the heaviness of the wind and water. Immediately,  she pulled you under the pathetic excuse of a shelter and stared at you in disbelief, open mouthed and weirded out.

“Are you insane?” She bellowed out, somehow loud enough to hear.  “I- I don't know what happened.” You shouted back.

“What do you mean?” She was beginning to pull you by your arm towards your dorm building, the two of you skipping quickly until you're finally in safety. 

“I just woke up and I'm here.” Clarise took the umbrella and harshly flapped it to her side and tried wringing the water out from it. “You sleepwalked?” She asks as she's squeezing the umbrella.

“Yeah.” She then placed the umbrella against the walls of the ground floor, along with the other umbrellas placed there for emergency before taking you by the hand again towards the elevator. 

“This has got to be the craziest case of sleepwalking, you could've had hypothermia.” She says it like it's your fault. You almost snapped back at her to say that she shouldn't be awake at this time too, but had the sense to keep your mouth shut. “It's never happened before.” You say instead.

“What never happened? Sleepwalking, or sleepwalking out of a building?” 

“Both.” She nodded with an ‘ah’. 

The elevator dings open, and her hand slips away from yours as she enters it before you.

“What were you doing awake anyways?” You finally ask her.

“I went down to use the water dispenser to fill up my bottle, then I saw a crazy girl in short shorts in the middle of a storm.”

Your cheeks heated up when you remembered that you were still in a tank top and shorts. A city girl's definition of pajamas.

“Thanks.” You muttered awkwardly, she acknowledges it with another nod.

Once the elevator stops at her level, she exits it and stops in her tracks when she realizes you weren't following her. “Come on.”

“I'm on level 20.” You say dumbly.

“I know, I've seen your dorm. You should come change at my place, unless you want to have to explain to your roommates why you're soaked at 3am.” You considered her proposal quickly and steps out before the doors could close.

“What about your roommates?” You asks.

“Don't have any.” She responds, clicking her tongue. 

“Seriously?” She hums positively. “Legacy students have solo rooms.” 

The walk towards her room was silent. You let your eyes wander through the red coloured halls and the decorations hung on them. She was an Ares girl, that one is obvious. 

There are shields and trophies inside glass boxes along the way to the corridor, and you could assume that the Ares dorm kids are known for their competitiveness, alongside their ferocity. 

Once you reach the end of a corridor, she unlocks the singular door that exists in this corner of the level and shoos you inside, following you right after.

Her room was unexpectedly neat, not that you let yourself really look around. 

But it was difficult not to notice the air conditioner along with her much-larger-than-yours closet. 

She passes you a new and folded towel for you to dry your hair and body while she searches for something to wear. 

“Do you want to take a shower first?” She asks whilst rummaging through her closet. “No, it's fine.” It would be too suspicious if you skipped a shower a few hours after your friends woke up.

“Suit yourself.” She answers before handing over to you a thick Princeton sweater with long sleevss and cuffs with a pair of long cotton trousers.

Clarisse had the decency to turn around as you changed and only turned back around once you were done. “Just give me the towel.” She says. “It's laundry day tomorrow anyways.”

You stand near her bedside table after that, eyeing the small picture frame that sat there in solidarity. There was a picture of her, much younger than she is now, and an older woman with her hands around her shoulder.

“Is that your mom?” You asked. Clarisse walked over and shoved the frame down on the table, a CLACK noise following the action. “Someone's chatty.” She noted. But you thought you heard a slight tremble.

“Right, sorry. I should go now.” You feel whatever friendliness that managed to slip through the cracks ofnyour interaction with her, begin to dissolve. 

It was easy to be reminded of who Clarisse La Rue actually was.

“What's the rush, I'm sure the rain water have woken you up quite well.” She replies, sitting down on her bed. “Look, I appreciate the help. But if my roommates wake up and they see that I'm gone, they-” 

“They'll think you're using the bathroom.” She cuts you off. “For 20 minutes?” Clarisse shrugs. “Some people have issues.”

You sighed at her answer and felt your feet beginning to hurt from standing up for too long without shoes outside the school. You're tired and easily irritated after what just happened, and her push and pull behavior isn't helping.

“I don't know why you want me to stay, I'm tired, you're tired. And it's almost 4am.” You throw your arms up in exasperation. “I just wanna go back to sleep and act like this never happened.”

“You know, I'm just trying to make sure you're alright. Because despite your objection, that did happen. And that's not normal. So a thank you would suffice.” Her demeanor had changed into frustration, she was not someone who takes rejection well.

“I already thanked you. And I don't need a free counseling session from a bully- who by the way, ripped a drawing out of my sketchbook.” Clarisse's head jerked back at your words. She stood up to properly face you before you could run out of her room.

“Oh that's it, isn't it? I'm such a terrible person and your moral righteousness can't stand it, and yet you dedicated a whole page to my face.” You could no longer tell what she was feeling from her tone of voice. Was she amused or defensive?

“That book isn't yours to see, let alone to take.” You snapped back. 

“It has my face on it, of course it's mine to take.” she scoffed, folding her arms together.

“Oh wow, I wonder what else you assume is yours to take with that kind of pretentiousness.” You retorted, laughing dryly at her face. 

The smugness disappeared, and for a second, you felt proud.

“You know, for someone I can easily make life living hell for, you're starting to get way too daring. It's not cute anymore.” Clarisse's feet stepped closer to you, until your noses were inches away from each other. 

There is fear in crossing the point where you can never go back when it comes to her anger. But you have never been the kind of girl to lay back and take a kick from anyone else.

You're also not the type of girl to think that you owe anyone anything for some common decency.

“I’m so genuinely curious Clarisse, who do you think you are? You're just another girl in this place, like the rest of us. Legacy student or not.” 

An unhumourous smile paints her face as she shakes her head at you. “You have no idea who I am. And at this point, I'm starting to think that I should've just left you in the rain to freeze and die.” 

“I would've woken up and left anyway, even if you weren't there.” As upset as you are with her, that part specifically caused you guilt to say aloud. She was obnoxious, but she did help you. 

“Oh sure, miss tortured artist galloping in the thunderstorm-” 

“I wasn't gallop- you know what?” It felt like the 100th time you were telling her off. “I'm actually leaving this time. So, thank you, for helping me, and thank you for your narcissism.” 

You gripped the door handle tightly and spared her no glance as you pull it open and walked out away from her. You wanted to slam the door on her face but thought twice when you remembered that it's 4am and someone could've heard you.

You tiptoed your way back into the elevator and up to level 20. The dorm room was unlocked, unsurprisingly so.

The dark room's only source of light is the bright moon glowing numbly through the closed curtains behind Harper's bed. The rain have subsided, all the nightmarish lighting qnd thunder have stopped.

You gently climbed up onto your bed, eager to get under the covers. You could see the shadows of your friends from where you lay. Their silhouette giving you a peace of mind. 

If either of them had heard of what just happened to you, they would panic. It's been 2 days, and yet they care for you so easily.

You rub your feet together, trying to diffuse the coldness away.

Tonight, whatever that had happened, felt unreal. But tomorrow all will be well. It had to be. 

-

You had not slept a wink for the rest of the hours before your alarm went off.

There were times where you almost dozed off, but for some reason it felt like your tired body was unable to fully shut down and let go of the main control.

You know that sleepiness was evident in your face, but your roommates said nothing of it as they rose up, preparing to rush for the bathroom before the other girls could.

"Did you change clothes last night?" Harper asks absentmindedly. She pulls her hair up into a bun and grabbed her towel from the spinning chair by her table. 

You looked down at the sweatshirt and back up at her. "Oh-uh, yeah. I got cold last night, with the rain and all." 

"I figured. I just know the chill out there is gonna be crazy today." The both of them left after that for their shower and secured you a booth to get in to after they were done. Thankfully, there was a bit of hot water left for you to indulge in.

It was exactly what you needed after the horrifics you've experienced through a few hours before.

You had spent the hours before getting up, going over the dream you had. It was rare for you to remember your nightmares, let alone be aware that you were dreaming while you're doing it.

You could also remember small details like the glass window with the giant statue, your mother's necklace and the way her face appeared and disappeared. You've never been a superstitious person, but was there a possibility that dreams like that meant something? Or was it just another lucid dream?

You'd thought that you'd feel comforted, seeing your mother that way, and the way she fussed over you. But all you felt was a strong distinction. An awareness that she was not real, and that she'd never be.

There were 2 other girls in the bathroom with you when you were done showering. One was using the sink on your left, and another was still cleaning themselves up.

You forced the freezing water all over your face, trying to refresh yourself and hopefully make your face look less beated. Looking into the mirror felt like a challenge. The dream still haunts you even now. You almost expect a child to stare back from the glass. And god, how you feel like a child right now, out of place and confused.

After a few more splashes, you wiped the droplets off with your towel and clenched your toes as you walked back to your dorm.

The girls were halfway done getting ready when you entered. Their bags were stacked by the door on the way out. "You're a bit slow today." Tella noted as she struggles to keep her hair up without the strands falling out.

"Couldn't really sleep last night." You told them as you began putting on your plaited skirt. The zip had completely fallen off as you tried to pull it up. You swore aloud and had to restrain yourself from banging your head on your table. Everything was going wrong today. From the 3am sleepwalking to your stupid skirt dysfunction.

"What? What is it?" Harper asked in response to your outburst.

"My zip fell off." You mumbled in annoyance. Her head tilted towards you in concern. "I have a safety pin, I think it'd work. Do you want it?"

"Yes please." You answer. She pulls out a tiny box of safety pins from her drawer and hands you one to use. "Thanks."

"Don't sweat it." Harper was the first to finish. She helped Tella fix her ponytail for the 5th time, slapping her hand away when she tried to tighten it herself. 

Once the three of you were all done, you left together, locking the dorm doors and going down through the full elevator.

You had stuffed Clarisse's still clean clothes inside your school bag when they were showering. You planned to return it to her owner, and let that be the last time you'll ever owe Clarisse La Rue anything. 

The girls had probably assumed your behavior had something to do with homesickness, as they went on without question. You were grateful for the lack of conversation. The last thing you wanted to do today was talk. 

You had questions bugging your mind and the need to isolate yourself. It's what you always do whenever you're feeling disturbed and overwhelmed, you black out from the rest of the world.

Carefully walking down the school halls to your locker, you half expected people to stare at you differently, afraid that someone else might've seen you from last night, but everyone minded their business, and so uou did too. 

You were pulling out your books from the locker when you hear Tella turning around to greet someone, taking a step further away from you and Harper. You twist your neck to meet the mystery man who's in conversation with your friend.

Sharing a look with Harper, she only shook her head nonchalantly before leaning closer to you. "That's Luke Castellan." She whispered.

The name was recognised quickly, old conversations with Tella being brought back in memory. "That's the guy she likes?"

Harper nodded. "Well, does he like her back?"

Harper shrugged. "They compared hand sizes, so I think so. But who knows with boys." You made a face at her and nodded warily. "As long as she's happy." You tell her. It wasn't that Luke was unattractive, it's that he sounded so much like a regular teenage boy that you have grown to have an automatic dislike for. 

It wasn't his fault that the species of his sex have failed in their entirety. 

Harper was about to say something else when Tella suddenly called for you and had gotten closer. "This is our new roommate I was talking about." She says to Luke, gesturing to you.

Up close, you could see that he has a scar on his cheek. He also had dark curls and brown eyes that seemed to fit the whole american sweetheart vibes that Tella was obviously into.

"Hey." You greeted him without any animosity. He smiled and returned the greeting, giving you a small wave. "How do you like it here so far?" He asks.

"Well, it's only been 2 days but I think it's alright." You answer dishonestly. Obviously you weren't going to tell him that this place has conjured some deeply problematic things from inside of you like sleepwalking and attracting assholes. 

His grin doesn't falter as he takes in your words. "Not exactly an exciting place, is it? At least you're in good company." You forced out a tight smile for him. God only knows just how exciting it's been for you, and it hasn't even been a week. 

You thought of cutting to the chase by telling him it's nice knowing him and walking off before your eyes landed on a girl walking past the lot of you.

Clarisse La Rue kept her eyes straight ahead as she headed for the classroom at the back. Her clothes are still in your bag that's sat on the floor. You picked it up and slung it over your shoulder and excused yourself from all three of them, making Luke and Tella move to the side to give you space. “I gotta go.”

"See you in recess." Tella called out. You raise your arm and give her a thumbs up and keep walking down the same path Clarisse did.

What a coincidence that you two are on the same class today? History is an interesting subject, one you're fully prepared to enjoy. But the thought of being anywhere close to the curly haired girl, makes your stomach feel like they're tied in knots.

You managed to chase after her before she was seated on her desk. And the class was thankfully still half empty since the bell hadn't rang yet. Your mind is racked on how you're supposed to just pass her a plastic of her clothes in the most subtle way possible. 

But of course, your mouth had a mind of its own when you impulsively shouted out her name.

Clarisse had just dropped her own bag down against her table when she heard your call. She instantly turned around to face you. "New girl." She addressed you. 

She widens her eyes in question. You push the plastic bag in your arms into her chest, and your fingers brush as she takes it from you to examine it. "Oh, this." 

"Thank you for the clothes." You say monotonously. Neither of you looked pleased to see each other, but what's unexpected still, is that she also didn't look like she wanted to kill you like she did last night. 

Clarisse waved it off and crouched down to keep the plastic inside her own bag.

You stood there waiting until she was gone and stood back up to see you. Something is supposed to be said in a moment like this, but none of you did.

And so with a small nod to enclose the interaction, you spun on your heels to egt to your table. Your feet was locked in place when you felt her hands on your shoulder. 

You looked at her with raised brows in expectation.

"This is yours." She says, passing you a folded A4 paper. Your first thought was that this was your drawing that she took. But you hadn't used the kind of paper she was giving. You took the paper suspiciously. “What's this?” You asked.

She only says: “You'll see,” with a shrug.

The moment her grip was lifted from your shoulder,  you walked and sat yourself at your desk, and tried your hardest not to turn around. 

The bell had just begun to ring outside of the class, and other students were filling into the small space. 

Whatever it was, you'd look at it later. For now, it's folded four times more and stuffed into your pencil case. 

-

When one grows up, constantly having to take care of themselves without adult supervision or emotional support, they are also forced to belittle and diminish their own fears in an attempt to rise over their struggles to survive in a hostile environment.

And so you’ve had to learn to do things such as walking home from school alone and risking unwanted attention from men and how to hide a knife under your knuckles for prevention purposes. 

And yet as you overcame these fears one by one, only two you had found impossible to fight. And that is your fear of moths and butterflies, and your fear of heights. 

And yet, standing up here on the roof, arms placed against the railing and looking down, all you could think of is how beautiful the view was from up here. You could see the closed area of the school from above here. Green grass filled the large space that is guarded behind white walls and a large sign that said ‘NO ENTRY.’ 

The railing shook slightly, making you jerk back. The cringing noise it made hurts your ear as it vibrates. Taking a few steps back, you figured it’s safer to watch from a distance. 

You cocked your head down again, taking one last glance down and tried to memorize the image of the flowery laced garden. Your friends would be looking for you now, you thought..

Your feet moved you to the closed door that awaits for your exits, and yet, as your hand wraps against the holder, the heaviness of it suddenly becomes unbearable. You wiped your hands on your skirt and tried to open the door again, but it wouldn’t budge. 

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath. There wasn’t even a lock on this thing. Or was there? You couldn’t remember. You completely let go of the door and sprinted back towards the railing. Was there anyone that could help you? 

No, of course not. The area was prohibited for anyone to cross. The same grasses and dying flowers watching you from underneath. 

The railing shook again as you scanned the place thoroughly. This time it jerks so harshly that the left side of it completely pulls away from its metal and threatens to fall off. You jumped back just in time to not fall off, but your heart drops so strongly that it feels like you’ve already fallen. 

You consider trying to pull back the railing and somehow pressing it back on it’s screw, but the damage was unfixable when you observed it in closer view. You think back to your main problem, escaping this place. 

There was no other choice than to simply try pulling the door harder, and to scream for help.

You give all of your strength into pulling. “Help!” You shouted. “I'm stuck on the roof! Hello?”

The door felt like it shook a little, your cramped fingers kept on pulling until you were sure it really was opening. You paused for a minute to squeeze your fingers inside your palms.

“One last try.” You breathed out. Your hands give your best tug while your feet stay on the ground, unmoving. You hear a creak and your heart almost bursts out of hope.

Consistently pulling still, you could actually see the edges of the door sliding through, opening slowly. One, two three- 

It opens widely with a slam, you're pushed back until your back hits the ground. Getting back up onto your knees, you rose up and aimed for the door. But the emptiness on the other side of the door held you back.

You gasped loudly. There was no staircase on your opposite. There was no concrete or flat ground for you to land your feet on. Only air and steepness. It was like a never ending hole to fall into, the kind of hole you imagined Alice had jumped inside of to arrive in wonderland.

Panic washed all over you. And as you're pacing around at the roof, you hear someone calling your name. It was help, somebody had arrived to help. The shouting was faint,  but you heard it clearly anyways. You returned to the railing and searched for any spot of people, but no one wasn't there.

You hear the voice again, calling your name. It's getting louder,  but you're not sure where it's coming from.  You yell back on the top of your lungs.  “I'm here!” And the response became more vivid.

“Miss?” You hear it like it's behind you.

You snapped your head to your back, nothing. 

“Wake up.” The voice insisted. “I'm not dreaming.” You pushed. “This isn't a dream.” 

“Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.” The shouting was shrilling, your ears could be bleeding and you'd believe it.

“Wake up.” It screamed into your ear as you knelt down on the ground, covering your ears with both hands.

“Wake up!” You felt hands shaking your back. Your head looks up in a state of disorientation. 

“Miss?” It was your biology teacher, bending down to meet your eyes,  skeptically watching you.

“Everyone left, sweetheart.” She says, pointing at all the empty tables in the classroom. You hate that pet name. It always sounds so mocking.

This was the last class you had for today, the lack of sleep must've caught up with you. You straightened your back and apologized to Ms. Rhodes for keeping her waiting. She only shook her head and tells you to take care before leaving the classroom.

You looked around the class and tried to remind yourself that whatever you had seen in your mind, was just a dream. It wasn't real. And yet it felt like it, just like the dream you had last night. And in both dreams, you had been aware of the surroundings in ways you shouldn't be.

You wiped your hands over your face and yawned quietly. The clock above the board shows that it's already past 6pm. You cracked your knuckles together and lifted your bag onto your shoulders. If you're quick, you could still make it to the dorm showers before 7.

You stopped by your locker to stack your books inside of it. The hallway is empty, you're not sure how long you fell asleep, but everyone else seems to dread being inside this building more than they needed to.

You think of the vividness of the school landscape from your dream. The place had a staircase that led to the rooftop by the janitor's closet at the back. A small voice encourages you to try and retrace the steps in your dream, just to see how different iit was compared to real life. 

But instead of going up the stairs, you notice the space behind it, and ducked your head down underneath instead. 

There is a closed door a few steps away from the roof entrance staircase. It was a glass door covered with black plastic and a No Entry sign plastered on it. Those words ring a bell in your head.

You pushed it open gently and was pleased to see that it wasn't even locked. Whoever's trying to guard this place from students obviously isn't very good at their job.

The door opened up just enough for you to slide yourself inside. You weren't surprised to see a room of forests hidden inside.

This must be the garden. It wasn't quite like you dreamed it, but it was accurate enough.  It's smaller than expected,  and it's much more empty than I envisioned. 

You circle the place, paying attention to the roots and veins that have crawled up the walls, stepping your feet on the overgrown weeds and leaves. 

You flinched when you hear the leaves ruffles and turn to see the invader. Your shock immediately subsided and morphed into irritation when you saw her.

“Are you following me?” You ask in disbelief. 

Clarisse frowned and denies it. “No? I was-?” She takes the time to think of an excuse until eventually she just sighs and shook her head. “Yes, okay maybe I did follow you here- but only because this is forbidden ground.”

“And you're so good at obeying rules?” You sarcastically question, earning an eye roll. “No, really though, what are you doing here?” 

“I had a dream about the garden.” Clarisse waved her hands in confusion and frowned deeper. “Okay…that’s great?” You gave up trying to explain to her and focused back on your surrounding.

You tilted your head up at the sky, almost expecting to see the roof and a broken railing, but there is tinted dark glass coves the school roof for the safety of the mids, you thought.}, so all you saw staring back down is a closed building.

“You know, there you used to be a weeping angel here.” Clarisse spoke suddenly. “Hm?”

“A statue. Right in the middle.” She clarifies.

“Did they remove it because of Samara?” You asked. Clarisse's eyes widen and she looks you up and down with her hands on her hips. “Who told you about Samara?” 

“My roommates.” 

“Of course they did. Can't keep their mouth shut for shit.” Clarise scoffed. You feel overprotective over your friends, knowing them to have good intentions. “Don't talk about them like that.” 

Clarisse ignores your warnings and instead moves like she's about to leave. “We should go. The teachers like to do a 360 before locking shit up.” She walks out without waiting. And despite your annoyance, you followed her still.

The two of you quietly walked side by side until you're out of school grounds and entered the dorm building together.  There were some girls hanging out on the water fountain and near the elevator, but they paid no mind to either of you.

Clarisse's head is aimed straight ahead, and you consider it the longest she's gone without saying something stupid to you. 

Once the elevator stops at her level, she gives you one last glance, her fierce eyes boring deep into yours for that split second. You thought you saw a shadow of a smile ghosting over her face, but before you could confirm, the door closes, and you're on your way to the Hecate level. 

After unlocking the door of your dorm, you threw your bag onto the ground and basically swung yourself on your bed, making Harper jump while she's putting on her skincare. “You look like shit.” She tells you.

You snorted and rolled over until you're facing the ceiling. “I feel like it.”

She hummed casually and went on with her business. 

You lifted your head up slightly to see Tella, but she's nowhere to be found.

“Where's Tella?” You asks Harper. “Showering.” She responds. “I don't know what's taking her so long, but you'll probably see her when you go to the bathroom.”

You nodded in understanding and began to undress yourself from the school clothes, putting them on the side for washing later. 

You then started pulling out your notebooks that had homework in it and stacked it on your desk. Only after you pulled your pencil case out, you remembered about the piece of paper Clarisse had given you.

Curiously, you basically snatched it from inside your case, and unfold the paper from its small size into a large white A4 again. 

Inside was the ugliest cartoonish image you’ve ever seen in your whole life.

It's a drawing. A badly drawn girl, half up only, with hair that supposedly, looks like yours. And a nose that didn't have the right proportions for the face size. 

You smiled at the image subconsciously. You're sure Clarissebhad given this to you as some sort of trade, her picture for her, and your picture for you. It could even mean a truce between you two. 

But instead of stressing over what deeper meaning does her doodles really have, you folded it back and kept it by your night lamp.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Harper asks, you meet her eyes through the mirror. “Nothing, I just remembered something funny.” You lied. She squints her eyes really hard as if she’s trying to read through you for any lies but then gives up after a few seconds of it.  

Your smile disappeared as soon as it came, you picked your towel up and acted as if nothing happened and made your way to the bathroom. 

What is your stance towards Clarisse? Inconclusive. She’s there behind every ostracizing event that has occurred to you so far. And you wonder just how big of a part does she really play into all of this. Her gaze still burns in the back of your mind, it’s almost impossible to escape her even when she’s not centered around any of the issues. 

Should you let things play out in her way or should you keep fighting her off, stubborn to break the cycle of a moth to a flame,

[sadsimp]

Dancing

I haven’t seen much of Sol and I saw we were able to write fanfics, so why not start!! I love Sol and the other characters so much, this game is amazing 😩 I will be writing more <3 Also I’m sorry if this is ooc T^T

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re going to get sick y’know.”

His voice makes its way through the rain to my ears. He’s under his umbrella, well my umbrella actually, as he watches me from a short distance. He insisted on holding it for me while he walked me home from our meet up. 

I stop my dancing for a moment and smile at him. He’s always worried about me, always fretting over what I’m doing.  It was sweet in a way, sometimes.

“Aww c’mon Sol! Loose up! A little rain never hurt anyone!” I laugh and go back to slashing in the puddles and twirling around. I’m soaked to the bone, my clothes stick to my body along with my hair on my face. 

He sighs, shaking his head at my goofiness. “You’re going to get sick.” He repeats and starts to walk towards me, trying to avoid getting his shoes too wet and soaked like mine. 

I jump into a big puddle, water flying everywhere and Sol backs away quickly to avoid it. I laugh loudly at his reaction, to which he pouts and resumes walking closer. 

I decide to not splash him again and let him get closer, taking in his concerned expression. It’s dark out, and his orange eyes practically shine through the rain droplets. He stands in front of me closely and holds the umbrella over my head. “I don’t want you sick…” He tells me quietly and glances away.

I grin at him and try to fix my hair, wiping the strands from my forehead. “At least I’d have you to take care of me if I do, right?” I reply playfully. His face heats up, his eyes widen as a blush spreads across his cheeks. I giggle at his flushed expression. 

He mumbles something under his breath softly. I tilt my head in curiosity. “What’d you say?” I ask with a small smile and he frantically shakes his head. “Nothing..” He responds, his orange eyes meeting mine. “Let’s get you home..” He shifts slightly as if to see if I’ll follow him. I sigh playfully, “Ookaay…fine!” I giggle and wrap my arms around one of his arms. “Buzzkill.” I tease and he smiles at me as we step up on the sidewalk and walk to my house. 

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Let Me Lean On You

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You have a bad habit of putting yourself in harm’s way, enraging John to no end. But can you survive a wound like this? Or will everything you hate to love about John Price never see the light of day?

Word Count: 13.3K (yes this is a novel; yes this is longer than any English paper I’ve ever written)

Warnings: blood, wounds, heavy on the gore, swearing, violence, suggestive, angst, fluff, enemies-to-lovers type of relationship but you’re both down bad

A/N: This is heavily story-motivated (I’ve found out I can’t write anything not gigantically plot-oriented; I’m so sorry). I’ve taken that into account as this probably won’t do as well as I expect due to that fact. Nonetheless to those who interact -- thank you and enjoy! P.s. as always this is barely edited.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The blood was gushing too fast, pouring out of the wound like the gaping hole was nothing more than a faucet with the double handles thrown all the way on. 

“Fuck,” You whimper, grasping pointlessly at the bullet wound in your abdomen with shaking fingers and sputtering breath. The blood slips out from under your fingers, cascading down the gear on your right thigh and splattering to the ground. Everything on that side of your body side was stained a vicious shade of red; sticky, heated, and pulsing.

All of it had gone wrong so quickly – Graves, Shadow Company, Alejandro Vargas, and Los Vaqueros. 

“I should have seen it. Graves was never to be trusted,” You gasp out as you force yourself onwards, all but dragging your body through the dense forest to try and find shelter in the nearby city, “But Shepherd? Fuck me. I worked for that man for damn near five years and turns out he’s a traitor? Well…that’s what I get for trusting a bald guy, I guess.” Moaning out a curse, you rip open the medical pouch on your vest with vibrating fingers, the white stitched cross taunting you as you get it bloody. Your other hand clenches over the hole in your side as if that alone would stop you from dying, fingers slipping as more death splatters to the ground.

The rain was the worst part. A storm at night was terrible already, but here the rain created a shield of delirium as you hobbled on, with nothing to be seen beside the trees and rocks a few feet ahead of you. Even face-planting would serve as a death sentence for you. Who knew if you would be able to get up again? 

Your black athletic shirt was sticking to you on the parts that your vest didn’t, and your cargo pants had come unstuffed from your black boots. Over your back, your modified SP-X 80 Sniper Rifle was ten times heavier than it should be, the barrel hitting the back of your numb knee at your uneven and sloppy pace. But you were far too stubborn to stop now. And pissed.

Tearing out a plastic-covered wrap of gauze and a rag from your pouch, you paused near a large bolder, panting like a dog as your lungs gasp for air. You tilt your head back as you drag the side of your shirt up, hearing the wet thump of a river of blood splashing into the flooded grass. Your skull connects with the chilled rock behind you as a wet cough in your throat bursts out into the sky. 

“Okay,” You give yourself false confidence, moving to grasp the gauze with the side of your clattering teeth and grabbing the rag with both hands; you twist it to resemble a torpedo in shape. Looking down at yourself you have to suppress the bile building in your throat, coughing once more and feeling dark phlegm fly past your quivering lips, “Okay, okay, okay…I can do this. I can do it.” 

Before you can stop yourself you twist the rag and shove it into your open wound, letting lose a wail of agony that’s thankfully covered by a slash of lightning over the black sky. Shoving it deeper, you feel it inside of your skin, moving like a parasite as your fingers splay over your skin. You grit your teeth and drop the gauze to the ground as the acidic feel of vomit rushes past your lips; with cracking knees you bend forward and release your guts into the grass, hacking until there's nothing left but regret and a vile taste on your tongue. Tears track down your cheeks as you breathe out a sobbing breath.

Through gritted teeth and blurry vision, you feel the rag peaking all the way through the entry and the exit points, and hope that the actions you’ve taken will buy you time to find Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost – if they were even still alive, that is.

“I swear,” You snatch the gauze from the ground, happy for the protective bag over the wrappings, as you sniffle with slurred words, ripping open the plastic with your teeth, “This is bullshit! If Price and Gaz are having a good time right now I’m telling Laswell to go pound sand the next time she tells me to go out in the field with these two. The Captain already gets on my nerves, but if I get to skip the part of hiking in the Mexican wilderness while I’m bleeding out– ” 

A twig snaps off into the trees. 

You immediately halt wrapping the gauze around your middle, securing the rag in place as it already begins to stain red. At your right thigh, your fingers brush the Basilisk Revolver as it lays dormant; heavy and cold to the touch as rain slides off its side. Your pulse, if possible, increases. 

The only twigs I saw back there were large ones – and any animals in the area would have run from the Shadows popping off shots back on the road, Your body’s already moving, not focusing on the pain in your side as you tie off the gauze with such a tight knot it forces a grunted profanity from deep in your chest. You decide to keep the Basilisk in its holster, for now, instead favoring the combat knife at your shoulder and blinking away the rainwater and bitter tears from your eyelashes. 

Not impressed, A deep raspy voice echoes in your brain before your grunt and force it down.

You unclip the clasp on the knife’s leather sheath before drawing the black metal, bringing it to your side; weaving behind rocks and trees as the light of the city in the distance gets larger. Behind you, you leave the noise of muffled voices with a nervous swallow. A gunshot would bring much-unwanted attention, and for all you knew you were all alone out here. You were being hunted. 

Well, good for you that you always worked better alone anyways. 

“I need to get to the city, try to radio the boys, and find a quick way out,” You grunt, wanting to itch the wound at your side as the rag pulls at the inside of your skin, making you feel unnaturally stuffed like a turkey. The skin around the fabric was undoubtedly bruising quickly, and already you could feel the pain pulsing like a bad headache leaving the skin hot and sweaty despite the cool rain and chilled winds. You just hoped you wouldn’t get an infection from this later, “If I’m lucky the radio signal will fix itself when I’m closer. If not I’ll need to slice a few necks and hope they have ear pieces I can snatch along the way.” 

You had a bad habit of talking to yourself – as Price had pointed out on multiple occasions. Dodging a downturned tree, the houses in the distance begin to take shape, their colorful paint like a beacon dragging you in. 

Captain John Price, You grumble before stifling a whimper at a spike of pain in your side, stumbling before you right yourself, or should I call him ‘ Captain Pain-in-my-Fucking-Ass?’ He acts like I can’t do my damn job – like I’m not one of the highest-ranking CIA Agents in the damn USA. Thinks he can handsomely swagger his way into a room and act like I’ll take his bullshit with a grin and a nod. 

Your free hand connects with a stucco wall of a house on the outskirts of the city of Las Almas, the exterior painted a warm orange which was now stained with your crimson handprint. Sucking in a deep breath, you lick your lips and peak around the corner, conscious of the black void of the forest at your side.

Immediately your eyes land on the bodies. 

Left to lie like useless sacks they’re sprawled in the street, limbs twisted and bent in grotesque displays as if it was an old renaissance painting. As a chill travels down your spine, you can’t help but call comparison to the grim artwork of Peter Paul Rubens's The Massacre of the Innocents. You never thought that a quick trip after a mission to a Canadian art museum would prompt a callback quite like this; in fact, you had prayed you’d never see anything like that painting in real life. But here they were, people, innocent people, of all ages gunned down en masse, with some visibly clutching onto loved ones; shielding children from the relentless downpour of bullets that now take home in their flesh. The small rivers running into the storm drains ran red with blood. 

“Shadows did this?” You breathe out, voice small under the downpour as you blank at the sight ahead of you. The lightning strikes in answer, leaving a deep rumble in its wake. Or maybe that was just the enraged snarl that played off your lips, echoing into the streets like a rabid dog. A thought strikes you between fiery thoughts and clenched fists.

This just happened, Swallowing the mucus and blood in your throat, you shake your head from side to side to dispel your running thoughts, revenge later. I need to find the others. 

Taking the nearest corner you stalk your way through alleyways, breaking into houses when needed when you heard shouting nearby, and carefully maneuvered your feet around more corpses. 

“This is a fucking war crime,” You whisper, gripping your knife a little tighter and snarling as you spy two more dead bodies in the home you were now in; one was a woman in her late thirties, clutching another no older than ten, who in turn holds a blood-crusted tiger stuffed animal to her chest. Like a grim pack of Russian Dolls, one after the other, “Graves’ll hang for this. I’ll see to it myself if they make me. Shepherd too.” 

You rip your eyes away before you have the chance to cry and go back to rummaging through a kitchen cupboard, finding a few spools of fishing net and a fabric needle in a spare parts drawer. Stashing them in your medical pocket, you reason with yourself that if worse comes to worst you’ll be forced to cauterize and stitch the gaping wound in your side by yourself. But not yet. 

Find the boys.

Gripping the radio connected just above your breast, you press down on the button, sending out a signal through a blind channel. The static accompanies you for a moment as you catch your breath leaning on the kitchen wall and leaving a small sprinkling of blood behind.

Licking your tense lips, you utter, “This is Bravo 7-2 ‘Goldfinch’ reaching out over the Blind. Is anyone there? Over.” You release the button waiting impatiently as the seconds drag on. 

Again your press down, “Ghost? Soap? Do you copy?” 

Nothing. 

Clenching your jaw another wave of pain travels up your feet, you wrench down on the button with a contorted face and snarl, “I swear to fucking high heaven, boys, if you don’t answer this goddamn radio I’m going to find your corpses myself and chuck them over a cliff–”

“Christ, Goldfinch, we get the bloody picture. Now stop your yammering and tell us where you are.”

“Oh, tell you where I am,” You grumble although a relieved sigh falls from your lips at the familiar Manchester drawl that belongs to your Lieutenant Ghost. You feel yourself deflate against the wall with a grunt, “We have Mr. Bossy over here. Where’s the ‘Please?’”

“Goldfinch–”

“Well, I can say it’s a pleasure to hear that American voice of yours, Ma’am. Good to know you’ll be joining us on our late-night getaway from the Shadows.” 

There’s Sargent MacTavish, You huff out a breath in amusement.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Soap.” Pushing yourself off the wall with clenched eyelids, you take a step out into the open space of the dining room, “But the attempt was admirable—!” 

A force slams you to the ground, finger releasing the radio abruptly as you let out a strangled grunt. Bracing your head for the blow to the floor you manage to twist yourself and land on your back, taking the brunt of the tackle to your spine and not your damned side. Not that it hurt any less. It was easier said than done, as even the sensation of hands on your thigh, trying to pry your Basilisk from its holster was sending spikes of pain radiating like a burning pike through your veins. Like hands were prying apart your skin with blunt nails.

You bring your knee up and twist your shoulders as the shrouded outline of someone on top of you slams to the side with a curse. Wrenching yourself up, you grab harshly onto the Shadow’s opposite shoulder and batter the man to the ground, effectively switching positions and barring him from grabbing anything before your knife finds home in his right eye. You hear the orb pop with a spray of fluid that washes your face as you force the blade deeper, listening to the now gasped pleas from the talking corpse under you. He grasps at your arms, trying to pry off your iron grip before you send the knife all the way to the hilt with a strangled yowl. 

The man goes limp, and his arms fall from you with a thump. 

Groaning your get to your feet and yank at your blade, placing a boot over the man's face and pulling until you hear the sweet clunk of metal separating from soft, pliable, flesh. 

“God, man,” You glare down at the black-clad Shadow Company member, “did you really have to tackle me?” Grabbing at your side, you grunt at the feeling of blood through the gauze, before pulling your hand away to look at the damage, “That hurt like a bitch.” 

It was only then you heard the yelling voices over the radio, calling your name.

“Yeah, yeah,” You press the button and effectively shut the boys up, standing dumbly in the torn-apart dining room and putting more weight on your non-injured side, “I’m fine. Shadow got the jump on me. Took care of it.” 

Grimacing, you lightly flutter your eyebrows as the world spins for a second. Soap speaks first.

“Warn us next time, Lass,” He whispers, “Bout gave us a heart attack out here. Thought we lost you for a moment.” 

In typical Ghost fashion, he only grunts his concern.

“Thanks, Soap, I’ll be sure to take that into consideration. I’ll call out ‘Soccer’ next time for a heads-up.”

“Oh, you are devious, Ma’am.”

“Any injuries, Goldfinch?” 

You clean the remnants of flesh off the edge of your knife on your wet sleeve, stalking up the stairs of the house to case the place for other hidden Shadows. You didn’t bother checking the dead one – if he was desperate enough to attack you with his bare fists he lost his group and ran out of ammo a long time ago. That was probably Ghost’s fault if you had to guess.

“Pretty bad one in my lower abdomen,” You admit, pausing on a creaky step and peeling your ears to listen for any nose. When there wasn’t any, you continued up, “Stuffed a rag in it and wrapped it, so I’ll be good for at least a half-an-hour if I’m lucky. Ten minutes if not.” 

“Bloody hell, Goldfinch, just now?” The words are drawn out in solidarity.

“Nah, back near the highway. And what can I say, Ghost, I don’t make a fuss. Does hurt like you’re getting your intestines removed though – wouldn't recommend.”

“How in the hell do you know what that feels like?”

“Trade secret, now, shh!” You get to a closed door at the end of a halfway and press your ear to the woodgrain, feeling water drip down your neck and from your nose to plunk against the floor. But you can’t help but flush at Soap’s next comment.

“I can see why Price likes her so much, L.t.” 

That gives you pause, your pain momentarily forgotten in the shock. 

L-Likes?! Your mind seems to come to a screeching halt, and you feel your eyes widen, horrified, The hell does he mean the Captain likes me? Price can’t stand the sight of me! 

You briefly think back on the last mission you had gone on with the Captain and Sergeant Garrick with a tight chest – an intel Op. in the suburbs of Amsterdam. 

The goal was simple and the plan was perfect; you and Laswell would link up with Captain Price and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick in Amsterdam where the pair was tracking an AQ cell on the docks and figure out this missile fiasco. Ideally, the private plane you and your fellow Agent had gotten on would have flown faster – at least you would think it would until the knowledge that the ETA was upwards of two hours punched you in your gut. 

You had scowled as you wiped down your rifle's inner workings with a rag, the bits and pieces you had added onto the weapon yourself taking up most of your time when cleaning. Picking up the larger scope with an annoyed hitch to your breath you had turned to Laswell as she gave orders to Price over the radio. 

“Two hours? Laswell, I could have taught myself to fly and gotten us there faster.” Your superior had sent you a glance, lips twitching up.

“Still impatient, I see.” 

“Rookie coming along?” That was the first time you had heard the Captain’s voice in a long time, and immediately you had picked up on the prodding question hidden under the first. 

Who the hell are you dragging into my operation? Or even, Do I look like I have time to babysit?

Had he forgotten you so soon?

“Quite the opposite – Goldfinch is joining us.” 

You could hear a pin drop. 

“I’m freezing my ass off in a river right now, Laswell, but if I had the time I’d try and wrap my head around what you just said. Can’t say I’d find an ending that has nobody scratching their heads.”

You bring the scope to your eye, looking through the glass to make sure it’s as clear as it can be. Satisfied, you lower it and send a glance to the phone on the tiny table with growing rage and sarcasm, “I’m flattered, Captain.”

“Don’t be, Muppet. I’m guessing you still have a habit of running off-script – creating more problems than necessary that I have to clean up? I’d expect nothing less from a woman like you…you ROG?” You feel yourself bristle, heat rising to your face at the jab. Sure you had a hard-set conscious, but only good things came out of you running off on your own when placed with others. 

Playing nice was never part of your job description, nor, in some special cases, was respect. You played by different rules than normal soldiers.

Laswell shifts in her seat but doesn’t tell you to stop when a low growl enters the cockpit. You place the cleaned scope onto the table carefully and narrow your eyes.

“Ironic, coming from a man who consistently disobeys orders like there’s no tomorrow. I can’t count how many headaches you’ve given Laswell since I’ve been by her side. And, Hell, at least I manage to get the job done without leaving a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth,” You lean closer to the phone with curled lips, “You, ROG, Captain?” 

From there it had been narrowed glances and snide remarks when you and Price finally met face-to-face on the landing strip. Eyes heated with anger. Gaz had been pleasant, at least, and it was good to see the man again, you admit, but John was…well he was something.

Something handsome to put it plainly, and that fact drove you crazy.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to the older man’s physicality – not even the time of your first meeting years prior. He had biceps that were nearly the size of your head, and shoulders that spanned doorways all tight under a form-fitting shirt. Tall, with large muscular thighs that led up to a tapered waist you felt yourself getting nasty thoughts about all under those damningly tight black cargo pants. Fuck, the things he could do to you without even speaking. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination as you’d quickly snapped your gaze away before you started to drool.

Shit, you had thought when you stepped off the plane and saw the familiar face, the strong jaw under Price’s brunette hair with a funny bucket hat on his head. Small blue eyes that filtered over your frame and left you only slightly taken aback by the growing heat in your body when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his pelvis jerking, I forgot he was so goddamned attractive. Maybe I should have waited to insult him until later.

The attraction had dissipated the second he had opened his mouth, however. 

“So here’s the Goldfinch, eh?” John had muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and moving his legs to shoulder length under him, “I’ve re-read your file. I can say,” He sucks in a slow breath, lips falling into a line, “not very impressed.”

Not very impressed.

Laswell grunts under her breath at your side, sighing lightly, “Not now, John.”

“What?” He chuckles humorlessly, body tense, “Can’t blame a Captain for re-learning who he’s bloody letting tag along on a mission – particularly one who made his life hell in Serbia and nearly cost the team the mission because of her stubbornness. Not to mention an entire bloody city. Why is she here, Laswell? I don’t have time to babysit Muppets.” He snarls and glares at you all through the sentence, making your spine crawl with genuine unease. The jagged scar that sits between your ribs had burned in remembrance.

You hadn't bothered stopping in front of Price on that landing strip, you didn’t even bother replying to him. Your eyes gain a hard sheen, even as your lungs sputtered with a very real panic. You’re sure he noticed the hitch in your breathing, though, and you saw something flash in his eyes before it was gone in the next instant.

Sashaying past all you do is call over your shoulder as you go to get ready for the mission – to go listen in on a Cartel and AQ meeting in an hour. You answer the Captain before Laswell has the chance.

“At least I know where to draw the line in the sand, Price.” You caught his dagger-like eyes over your shoulder, noticing Gaz shuffle at John’s side: cautious. Poor kid, he was getting dragged into all the drama.

You had never seen John’s eyes so blatantly full of distrust before. Blue laced with a deep gray that reminds you of a raging storm over an ocean. Lightning flashed every time he blinked. Cold. Calculated. They hadn’t always looked at you like that.

You told yourself a long time ago that you were nothing but a spent bullet to the older man, not worth the effort to pick up or care about. 

You just need to wipe your hands of it. There was no changing his opinion of you…But why did you even care?

Even when you saved his life later that day at the café – putting a bullet through a Cartel member before he could blow Price’s chest out – all thwarted by a quick draw of your revolver, all the Captain had done was growl at you after the Basilisk was back at your hip. He had gripped your shoulder with a heavy hand that leaked molten heat. You hated the way your cheeks had flushed when you felt his hot breath on your forehead, the caress of his hard hip against yours.

“Stay out of my way, Finch,” he uttered before shoving past you to pick up the unconscious body of the target. Gaz had rushed forward to help and had spared you a sorry glance but nothing more. 

It was like nothing you had experienced before, but he left behind a burning need to be recognized that made your chest sputter when he dismissed you. 

Not impressed.

But that had been it. The next second you were shipped out with Ghost and Soap on account of your disapproval from the Captain and Laswell’s ability to see a dumpster fire beginning to smoke. Cutting the losses. Then you were hunting down Hassan in Mexico with adrenaline singing sweetly in your veins. You had been all too happy to be out of John’s seemingly never wavering sight. But still, you felt his eyes on the back of your neck, heavy and weighted with disgust. Everywhere you went and every bullet you fired you could hear his voice – not impressed. 

Bullshit. His words shouldn't hurt this much. So, why do they? Why can’t I just let it go?

Back in the present, you shake your head to dispel the guilt of the broken and confusing relationship. You didn’t want any more enemies, least of all ones who in the right circumstances could be unbeatable allies. John was honorable, strong, and loyal, but just as stubborn as you, and that alone left a bad feeling in your stomach that nothing would ever change.

You swore you hated him but was that even true? How can you hate someone but still want their hands on your skin? Roaming under your clothes and gripping just the right places to make you squirm? Laying gentle kisses to your lips and whispering promises? Holding you to their chest...?

You draw your ear back from the door – not hearing anything inside that would make you suspect Shadows in the interior. 

Grabbing the knob you twist and let it slowly open on its own, knife drawn and held firmly in front of you. 

The shine of the street lights from outside cascades over the floor in muted colors, the many rugs muffling your footfalls as you move in; straining your ears above the raging weather. When nothing caught your attention outright, your hand moves to the radio as you turn and stare at the empty doorway.

“I’m just going to ignore whatever the hell you just said, Soap,” You huff, bringing your other hand grasping the knife closer to your abdomen wound, brushing it with your fingers before flinching, “Where are we meeting up? No offense, boys, but I’m in a bit of a hurry over here. We need to get out of dodge before the Shadows regroup and do a final sweep.”

“Church,” Ghost’s voice wafts out just as your eyes lock on children's toys littering the floor, a large pile of stuffed animals just to your left smashed into the corner, “near the center of the city. There are directions on every street sign. How far out are you, Goldfinch?”

“Not too distant I hope, we’re running out of time,” You hear Soap grunt over the line, obviously learning the ups and downs of Guerilla Warfare firsthand.

“I’m a good way in, but I'll have to check the street signs to know for certain how far and let you know.”

“Copy. Be cautious.” 

You were about to leave when a lion stuffed animal bounced into your path, its dark eyes like voids against its tan coloring and flowing mane. A chilled breeze wafts in from under the window, bringing goosebumps up the length of your wet arms as your finger twitches. Freezing, your head filters over to the plushie corner with stilled breath. But even if you already knew what you were going to find, the pain of it didn’t hurt any less. 

A young girl was huddled under the pile, gazing out with brown eyes that matched her lion, securely hidden under a multitude of her toys. 

Someone placed her there, You think, noticing the signs of a rush in the way the rug was slightly up-turned at the corner, the closet across the room hastily half-closed in panic. 

The bodies in the living room tell you what the story was. With glossy eyes, you quickly sheathe your knife before kneeling. Your mind was made before you thought about it – you had to get the child out of here.

Almost got him killed in Serbia. 

“Erm,” Your voice makes her flinch, burrowing deeper. You suddenly wished you had taken the time to learn Spanish on the plane ride over, and perhaps known how to properly show someone you’re not a threat, “Eh…¿H-Hablas inglés?... Shit is that right?” Murmuring the last comment to yourself, your head tilts to the floor. 

“¿Jilguero?” A thin voice murmurs out. 

“I guess that's a no, huh,” You chuckle softly, swallowing down a groan when the motion tightens your chest. Your eyes flicker closed for a second before your breath comes out in deep pants. 

Tiny feet hit the hardwood, and when you open your eyes a child no older than ten is standing in front of you, clutching the lion plush in one of her hands and clothed in a blue nightgown that brushes the floor. You blink carefully, and her dark eyes blink back. 

“Jilguero,” She points with a tanned finger to your chest, and her soft face smiles. 

“I-I don’t…” You sigh, itching the back of your head with a hand before licking your lips, “I don’t understand, I’m sorry. But we have to leave, okay, we have to go.” Emphasizing with the hope she subconsciously knows what you’re saying, you place your shaking hands to your knees and stifle a whimper with a bite to your lip. Forcing your weight down, you stumble to your feet and grip your hair in a tight fist. 

When the spinning stops, you drop your bloodied fingers and force a smile onto your flushed face. 

The girl walks slowly to your side and latches into a strap on your thigh, looking up at you with a hesitant twist of her lips. Nodding, you hope whatever strength you have left that you can guide this girl to the church and get her out of this city until everything dies down. Already, a burning hatred for Graves gains fuel, sending sharp spikes of adrenaline into the backs of your eyes and the base of your skull. 

I’m gonna rip him apart with my bare hands. 

Grabbing your combat knife, you keep a hand on the back of the girl’s head to guide her forward, but keep her carefully behind your thigh. If anything were to go wrong, you would be sure your body would take the brunt of it.

“Goldfinch, any updates?”

“You bleed out yet, Ma’am?”

You descend the stairs of the home and make a beeline for the back entrance, dodging the bloody massacre in other parts of the house. The girl follows silently but sends a wide-eyed glance up at your radio as her long brown hair swishes.

“I’m here,” You breathe, “found a kid.” 

Steering the conversation away from your currently bled-through gauze the silence on the other end is strangling you. 

“Do you think that’s smart?” Ghost knows what you’re doing, he’s not stupid, and Soap catches on not a second later.

“You’re taking it with you?!”

“Did you really just call a child an ‘it’ Soap? Come on now.” You open the back door slowly, peaking your head out, and see only an empty, flooded, cobblestone street. Abandoned cars and trash litter the city, “If I leave her here she dies. I don’t know if Price told you, but I draw the line at leaving innocents behind. I’m sure he mentioned Serbia at some point.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, Goldfinch.”

You cut the line, looking down with a moment of contemplation at the girl with your lips pulled thin. But your chest beat with a surety that was deeply ingrained since childhood – what drove you into the life you lead now. 

“Alright,” You whisper, “Here we go, Kid, keep close.” 

She blinks, doe eyes wide as she tightens her hold on the plushie against her chest.

Hell, she doesn’t even know what’s going on. She doesn’t know…Fuck.

As you both step outside, your boots stomp where her bare feet slap, water splattering both of your heads as the rain still pours. The girl brings on hand to her head, trying to wipe away the racing droplets that fly down her cheeks. Stifling a laugh, you tilt your head and smirk. 

Turing into the night, your side steadily burns more with every step you take, skin ripping as the rag drips a trail of crimson that’s wiped away by the storm not a second later. 

“Jilguero,” The girl whispers, and with a tight face, you turn your gaze down. She points to your face and brings a finger to her lips, making little ‘shoosh’ noises that make your chest feel lighter.

“Yeah, Kid,” You mutter, “Jilguero.”

Playing copycat you bring the knife to your lips and shoosh before turning your attention back to the road, pulling forward into a back alleyway with iron wrought bars at the top of the walls. Light flows through the openings like a cage, making kaleidoscope images over your face. 

The darkness spreads, and all you hear is the labored breathing of your sputtering lungs; tiny feet pattering at your side. But in your mind, there’s a brand like a curse and a voice that never leaves. 

Not impressed. 

The scar on your chest burns.

–

You never make it to the church. 

Quickly picking up the girl, you duck behind an abandoned car as she yelps into your hold, dropping her stuffed animal. Shadows flooded the path ahead, leaking into the road from ransacked houses in groups. By now the rain had slowed – it was still coming down hard, of course, but it was just shy to the point of being safe to speak openly. Looking down, you place a finger to your lips, and a tanned finger mocks the action from the child at your side.

“--Found the three yet?” A shadow calls, and you tune in with a cocked eyebrow, eyes narrowed as your grip on your knife tightens.

“Nah, but I’ve heard comms are going silent from all different sections of the city. They’re out here somewhere. Cornered just like animals in a trap. We’ll flush ‘em out, then we go home and get our paychecks.”

A laugh.

“Yeah!” The previous Shadow yells out into the night, and you flinch slightly lower to the ground with a grimace, “You hear that?! We're gonna find you, Fuckers!” 

“Jamie, shut the hell up!” Jovial slaps to shoulders echo, and you don’t repress the growl that builds in you, anger shimmering as you glare holes into the ground. Mistake.

“Aye, what was that?”

“Shit, you heard that too?”

Fuck. 

Grabbing once more onto the girl’s arm you’re just about to make a reckless run for it when a small tapping catches your attention. You snap your head to a small window level with the ground, no bigger than a bookshelf cubby installed in the side of a dead house. Inside you see the scared face of a middle-aged man, dark-haired and sun-kissed skin, a beard over his cheeks. 

He waves a hand wildly and cracks the window open, eyes wide and snapping from you to the street. 

“¡Dése prisa! ¡Dése prisa!” Hesitating only a moment, you and the girl dart forward. Letting her shimmy her way inside first, you frantically look behind you as you place your free hand above the window; hearing footsteps splashing closer with a pounding heart. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” You mutter, knees pressing into the ground. When the girl’s blue nightgown fully disappears, you swing your rifle over your head and shove it into the opening. Feeling hands grasp it not a moment later and yank it inside, you sheathe your knife and dive in feet first, body slamming to the ground with a grunt and a cloud of dust. Your vision gets blurry as you lay there, trying to get air into your lungs, nearly dry-heaving from the pain radiating through all of your nerves.

The window snaps shut. 

“Get up,” A gruff voice ruffles your feathers as the back dots in your vision peel back, your survival instincts forcing unconsciousness away. Shit, you really needed a Medic, this was bad, “I said, get up!”

Panting, you drag yourself half-up with an arm, the other gripping the dripping gauze at your side. Blood hit the floor and your head feels like it's floating. 

You feel your throat flex, turning your gaze to the same large middle-aged man that now holds your rifle against his shoulder, familiar gold-plated barrel now level with your pounding head. 

“You fire that, you’re as good as dead.” 

“I’ll take my chances,” The man wears a blood-stained white shirt and jeans. Around his neck a silver locket glints.

Your heart skips a beat as you grunt in answer, and you turn your head to look for the girl. Feeling your eyes widen when you find her in the hold of an older woman, who looks at you as she presses the confused girl’s head into her breast. 

There’s a group here of at least fifteen people, huddled with fearful eyes. Most are women and children, but a few men watch you with distrustful eyes. 

In the older woman’s grip, the girl pulls back and eyes the man holding your rifle. She points at you as you blink in delirium.

“¡Jilguero!” Your arm buckles, but with a wet cough you catch yourself before you hit the ground as your radio sizzles to life.

“Goldfinch, you copy? Haven’t heard from you in a while, Ma’am,” Your breath sputters in your chest as Soap’s voice filters out, but you don’t answer right away. 

The man’s grip shakes the gun, but he keeps sending glances from you back to the girl. With a clenching of his jaw, he lowers the rifle.

“The only reason,” He growls, “you are here is because of her,” He looks at the child before walking over to you. Holding out a calloused hand as a peace offering, he continues, “If she wasn’t I would have let that Hijos de puta put a bullet in your head.” 

“Goldfinch,” Ghost now weighs in, “report. Now.” 

“I suggest you get that, Jilguero,” The many people around your two shuffle nervously, and your thoughts run.

How long before more Shadows break down the basement door of his place and find these people? 

“What do I call you?” You ask the man, slapping your hand into his own and allowing him to pull you up with a choking breath. 

“Just call me Manuel. Here,” He jerks his arm forward awkwardly, holding out your gun. It didn’t take an expert to know he had no clue how to handle the thing, “This is yours, I believe.”

“Word of advice, Manuel,” You send a slow smile his way before you grab and swing the weapon over your shoulders, “If you’re serious about using it, click the safety off next time.”

“Erm…”

You press the button on the radio as you look out the window, seeing a large group of flashlights descend into the darkness down further in the street. The Shadows were leaving.

“This is Goldfinch,” You flinch, fixing the weight on your legs, “No need to worry, boys.”

“That’s our job. Be lucky you have such enthusiastic partners whispering into your ear… You could have had Price barking orders instead.”

“Soap, never bring up the Captain. I can feel his hatred over the line just at the mention of his name.”

“Hatred? Is that what you think it is?”

“Both of you,” Ghost interrupts, and you have to hide a relieved sigh, “Shut the hell up.”

“Ah, you’re no fun, L.t.”

“Never said I was, Johnny.”

With that, you released the button and sank against the wall – utterly spent for the time being. Fisting at the wrappings around your middle, you draw them back just enough to peak at the damage to your side. Sucking in a deep breath sparks needles all along your ribs, but it’s all you can do to try and process the utter havoc that’s left of your flesh. The rag had helped stop the bleeding, but it had also made your flesh rip out in a way reminiscent of lightning, slowly making the wound bigger inch by inch.

It was drowned all the way through with crimson, and so too was the gauze. The sickly thick liquid you had felt when you were hobbling along in the streets hadn’t been rainwater. You had probably lost more blood than was good for you, by the way your limbs started to go numb and your fingers shook with shock. 

“That doesn’t look good,” Manuel comments, having kept a close eye on you during your conversation. 

“Yeah, doesn’t feel good, either.” Whimpering, you move the gauze and take the ends of the rag one at a time and ring them out, listening to the splatters of blood as they make slick pools on the floor. The pink skin of your insides is visible as your prod and pry. At least you know the bullet never hit anything important – you’d be dead by now. That didn’t make your dark thoughts take a break, though.

Trying to distract yourself and catch your breath, you send a glance around the room, looking at everyone present until you land on a flushed-faced Manuel. You weakly smirk, telling yourself not to scream as your legs nearly give out from under you.

“Don’t suppose you have a doctor in this room with you, huh?”

“Unfortunately not. I-I’m sorry,” You laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. Your eyes are glossy before you take a deep breath through the weight on your chest.

“No worries. Hey,” You try and straighten up, nearly doubling before you force yourself straight, “which way to the church? I have to meet up with my boys, and I, uh,” Chuckling as you stumble back into a wall you clutch your side numbly, “I just have to meet up with my boys.”

“You have a way out of the city?” Manuel perks up, taking a few steps closer to grab you by the shoulders. You flinch, but let him, watching his eyes fill with false hope.

“No,” His expression falls, “But if I make it there, I may find one. Ghost and Soap are some of the best men I’ve worked with. When we all get our brain cells clacking together, a plan’s sure to form.”

Probably not a good one, You keep the last portion to yourself with a grimace. 

Manuel turns his head away before squeezing your shoulders and releasing you. You watch him look around the room, taking in terrified faces and tear-stained cheeks as the dark walls swallow the area. The man looks back as you struggle to keep upright, one arm behind you and hand splayed against the wall. 

“You won’t make it there with that,” Manuel points to your side and shakes his head, “No way. Not a chance.” 

“You want me to drag you all with me?” You raise an eyebrow, pushing off the wall and focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, stumbling to the basement door, “No. One was alright, but more than three is suicide. Everyone is–”

“--Safer here?” Manuel rushes after you, going to halt a few feet in front of the door with his arms out. He looked pitifully desperate, “Can you say that with certainty?” 

You growl, shoving past him and side-stepping limbs on the floor that skirt out of your way, “No, but you have more of a chance.”

“Goldfinch, change of plans,” Your eyes widen at the breathy-toned Manchester accent entering the room, “Church is compromised – Shadows have the place torn up. Make for the Market. And no need to fret over Johnny, the bastards’ with me.” 

“Shit,” You bring your hands to your head, running them over your hair and leaving streaks of blood in the strands before you grab the radio. You take a deep breath, “Copy.” 

Saying the words so calmly feels like a betrayal of your emotions. You were anything but undisturbed. Swallowing the blood and mucus in your throat, you hesitantly turn your head to Manuel, side-eyeing him.

He smiles smartly, “The Market’s one mile up the road.”

“...I want everyone up and ready to go in two minutes. Move it.” 

Hobbling to the door, you place your hand on the smooth texture as Manuel rushes to rouse the others. Taking a glance behind you, the girl stays close to the older woman who held her prior, clutching an apron that she wears. Your chest tightens as she stares at you.

Someone she knows, You think to yourself, good. They’ll look after her better than I could.

Two minutes come and go, and soon the small group is all standing holding meager belongings and family members to their chests. 

“Alright,” You mutter, nodding, “You know how to shoot?” Looking at Manuel, you grab the Basilisk on your thigh, flipping it to hold into the barrel and point the grip at the blank-faced man, “It’s a revolver, so it has one helluva kickback on it – only holds five rounds too. If you have to shoot, make it count.” 

“I-I’ve only shot a pistol before.”

“Well, then I hope you learn quickly. Safety’s off.”

Handing him the gun carefully, you swing your rifle over your shoulder and check the number of rounds you have left. Doing mental math as you shoulder the basement door open, you slowly ascend a set of stairs and end on the amount of twenty-five. 

Your jaw clenches.

Graves had turned before you could re-stock in Alejandro’s facility, leaving you with the bare minimum. 

Behind you, the group moves with muttered exhalations, whispering to each other fearfully. God, you could hear their heartbeats pounding in their chests without even looking; but it wasn’t like yours wasn’t beating just as fast. 

Almost got him killed in Serbia. 

“Shut up,” You growl to yourself, “Not now.” Leading them over the landing, your boots connecting with the hardwood floors; heading towards the front door as the world tilted. Bright colors shot across your vision like passing racecars.

“Easy there,” Manuel’s presence is heavy behind you, steady. You shuffle forward with a shake of your head. 

The Market, You do a head count behind you as you grab the front door handle, I just need to make it to the Market. 

Creaking the door open, you hold your rifle tighter as you stick your head out. 

Empty. 

“You stay on my ass, you hear me?” Throwing the inquiry over your shoulder you leave the house with your weapon scanning the streets, knowing that a Shadow could pounce from any angle. You had people to protect now; there was no bullshitting this.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Jilguero.”

“Very funny. Look, can’t you see me blushing.” Behind you, a nervous chuckle bounces off the dead houses, making an uneasy tremor wrack your spine. Keeping the conversation going, you wave the rest of the people over into an alleyway, watching them scurry to you and Manuel.

“‘Jilguero’ is Goldfinch in Spanish, I’m guessing?” 

“You would be right, take the next left, but I can’t help but tell you that’s not much of a name,” The man whispers as you hear your feet splash in a puddle, taking a corner, “What do you call yourself – besides Goldfinch of course?”

You take the next left as directed, “Nothing.” 

You make it to the market without having to fire a single bullet, though your knife has a few more stains to add to its sheen by the time everyone is staggering to a halt in the alleyway. Holding your hand up behind you to make them stop, you motion to the empty house to your left with two fingers and hear Manuel whispering in Spanish to help the civilians understand. 

When they all safely make it inside, you and Manuel wait as the pitter-patter of rain hits your heads, dripping down your cheeks and chin. Swallowing, you look out over the empty stalls and businesses and grip your rifle, but the Shadows are nowhere to be seen in the reflections of windows or heard on the wind. A red pickup truck sits near an overturned booth, and you blink at it in contemplation.

Bright white street lights illuminate the city, creating dark spots over the cobblestone. Bringing a hand to your radio, your gun sits under your armpit, parallel to your chest as Manuel shifts nervously behind you. You hear his quick breaths and frown.

“Ghost, Soap, I’m in an alleyway just outside the Market. Where are you?”

“Copy,” Soap responds first, only a moment after an unsteady silence weighs on your shoulders, “We’re nearly there.” 

“Copy,” You hesitate, “When you get here there’s a problem we need to address.”

“Anything deadly?”

“Heh,” Chuckling, your face twists in pain, “maybe.”

“We’ll get there as soon as we can, Goldfinch. Take it easy.” On the other end, the Sergeant was panting – running you realize. They must have really gotten into trouble leaving the Church, “Don’t want our favorite American kicking the bucket.”

“Favorite – I’m flattered.”

“Laswell takes a close second.”

“Less flattered.” 

Soap’s laughter cuts out when the sound of running feet from across the Market draws your attention away from the small device. Snapping your hands to your rifle, you steady your stance with half-lidded eyes, though you still feel your hands shake. 

Blood loss is one hell of a problem when you’re being hunted like an animal. 

Across the road, two men rush out into the light, large frames creating more moving shadows as their steps bounce off the buildings. 

“That’s them,” You turn to Manuel and nod your head, “Don’t shoot ‘em.”

The man lowers the Basilisk to his side. 

Bringing your fingers to your lips, you feel your lungs sputter as you let out a thin whistle, impersonating a bird call. 

Ghost’s masked face and Soaps tense one snap to you with their guns raised. Instincts still sharp as a blade despite the overwhelming circumstances they were in. Immediately the two noticed your disheveled form and shared a quick glance. 

They rush over with pounding feet. 

“Hells Bells, Goldfinch,” Soap grabs your shoulder with one hand, the other still clutching his gun with tight fingers as you stare at him blankly. He got over to you so fast you feel like you blacked out for a second, “You never told us it was this bad.”

Ghost grunts as he eyes Manuel, pointedly glaring at the revolver in his grip with untrustworthy eyes. He comments to you, “Can you keep going?”

“Always, Sir.” You respond immediately, a wavering smirk coming to your face. Letting Soap help you stand to your full height, you suck in greedy breaths, “But we have a bigger problem.”

The Scot scoffs, looking you over, “Bigger than a damn hole in your side?”

“Yes,” Nodding to the house where the group all huddle, you see their heads peaking out from under the window. The child’s little hands grip the windowsill like a kid on Christmas, trying to sneak the last cookie away, “namely a group of CIVs.” 

Manuel takes a step forward, and you feel Soap's arm on your bicep tighten. He slightly moves to put you behind him, his shoulder bumping into your field of view. He had noticed the man before – they both had – but seeing your Basilisk in his hands had made them overlook his presence for a moment. If you had given the man your revolver, you trusted him with it, and seeing if you were alright took priority.

“Easy,” You mutter, “He’s with me.”

“The group is mostly women and children,” Manuel pleads, “If the men from before come back, they’ll all be killed. I have to get them out of the city, tonight.” 

“That’s not our problem.” Ghost’s voice is cold and logical. He won’t endanger his squad’s lives, “You’re not our mission, and you’ve done fine so far.” They’ve all been put through the wringer, and dragging along others will attract attention that no one wants. It was more about saving his squad’s hide than the other way around.

But that’s a death sentence for the innocents who are watching from behind the window, eyes wide with fear. You made your decision the second you dragged them out into the street. They were your responsibility now.

“That’s nearly what she said,” The local man points to you and Ghost takes a step forward threateningly. In any other situation, the response from your boys would have been heartwarming.

“I’m not…leaving them here.” You force out from numb lips and feel more than see Soap whip his head down to you. 

“Your joking! Lass, you can barely walk by yourself!”

“We don’t need another Serbia on our hands, Goldfinch. You’re coming with us.” Laughing, you shake your head at the Manchester man.

“Next time you see Price, tell him he was right, yeah? He’ll know what I mean.”

“Goldfinch,” Ghost thumps over to you, gargantuan body making you seem even tinier, “I don’t think you’re understanding me: that’s a fucking order, soldier.”

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I only take orders from Laswell?” You chuckle, shaking off Soap's increasingly tight grip; like he could drag you away into the night without you clocking him in the jaw. Your head turns to the red pickup with intent.

“Hotwire the truck – get the hell out of the city.” 

“Bullshit. No way in hell are we leaving you here for the Shadows.” Soap spits, taking a step back from you and shaking his head so hard his wet mohawk sprays more water into your face, “I won’t stand for it. We leave here together, or not at all.”

“Graves’ll tear you to pieces if he finds you here,” Ghost stares you down with those unblinking eyes before looking to the tuck in the Market, “not to mention you’re wounded. You won’t last on your own, and with a group of CIVs to keep under check your chance of survival drops to zero.”

“Alejandro said he had a safehouse, yes?” You begin, not finding any other option for yourself to make them understand, “you know the way by road, Ghost, but he also explained a way through the mountains. It’s long, but it leads to the same place. I know the way. I can lead the people through it; get them to safety. I doubt the Shadows will follow beyond city limits – that's not their orders, and Graves is a little shit about that kind of stuff.”

A beat of silence. Soap clenches his hands and gnashes his teeth. He would be more difficult to persuade about this than Ghost. Too loyal to people; cares too much.

It’s not a bad quality to have, You say to yourself, but it clouds your judgment. Makes you…sloppy.

Something clicks in your head, but you don’t have the time to think about it before Ghost is answering you with a grave tone.

“That adds nearly half a day of hard hiking, Goldie…You sure you’re up for that?”

“You can’t seriously be considering this, L.t.!” Soap yells, voice bouncing over the rain, “She’ll die!”

“Better it means something, eh?” As his face drops, you send the Scot a small smile, “Soap…I can’t leave these people to die here. Never been able to, and I won’t start now. You can fight me on this, but you know it won’t end well for you.”

Manuel lets out a snort a few feet away but quickly shuts up when Ghost sends a glare his way.

You watch with guilt in your chest as the bear of a man’s shoulders deflate, eyes turning into that of a kicked puppy. Looking to the side, he grunts.

“...Let me look at the gunshot wound.” Soap gives in, knowing he can’t change your mind, and swings his weapon over his shoulders before ripping open his medical pouch, “No way am I letting you go without trying my best to patch you up.”

Pulling back the gauze and the remains of your shirt, you hike your vest up so he can get a better look as his fingers poke at the skin. The wound festers with sickness, puckered flesh-like lips around the sagging rag it clings to. You don’t even want to look at it, and judging by Soap's quick breath in, he doesn’t either. Ghost burns holes into the side of your face. 

The Scot’s finger prod at the rag, eliciting a snarl in turn from your mouth.

“Ask a girl out first before you go lifting her shirt up?” 

He doesn't miss a beat.

“I’ll leave Price for that – if the man ever gets his shite together that is. You both deserve each other.”

“Stubborn bastards,” Ghost agrees, leaning back to look into the Market impatiently, “Make it quick Johnny.”

You feel your face heat to an unexplainable level, disbelief pulsing in your veins. All of these comments about Price – Price this, Price that. God, what were these boys trying to do here?

Ask me out? What the fuck is this man on? How many times do I have to tell him how much Price hates me before it takes hold?

But you stay quiet, holding your tongue as the Scot gets to work.

Soap can’t do much to help without making you immediately bleed out in front of him. They have no intense medic experience, no good equipment, and no hope of making the wound disappear into thin air like a magician: though you have no doubt Soap would have tried if it meant it would make you better. 

All he does is apply an antibacterial solution and re-dress the wound, getting his gloves all bloody in the process as they drip crimson down into the street. As he packs more gauze around the rag to suck up more blood and try to stop the bleeding, you force back the nausea in your throat. 

“Not a chance you have any Advil in that pack of yours, Suds?” Soap sends a serious look up at you, now going to string a long tourniquet around your waist. He ties it tight.

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“Damn, knew I was unlucky today, ” You pant.

Ghost steps forward, hands still gripping his gun, “Johnny,” He whispers, “We’ve got to go. Shadows on the move, I can hear ‘em coming.”

“Go,” You mutter, grabbing his hands in your own and forcing them away. Grabbing the rifle you had put aside, you take a few steps back from the boys who had just gone through hell to get back together and make it out. The only problem was they were now one member short, “I’ll get these people out of here and we’ll meet at the safe house in a day’s time max.”

“We better see you there, Goldie,” Ghost grumbles, “I never gave you permission to die on me.” He turns first, jogging his way to the pickup as shouts pick up on the other side of the city. 

“Yes, Sir,” You snort, nearly feeling your legs give you before you right yourself. Soap stands still, watching with guilt-ridden eyes. He reaches into his medical pouch and produces a single white stick. You tilt your head.

“Adrenaline shot,�� He explains, walking over to you and slipping it into one of your front pouches. He swallows thickly, “I better see you there, Goldfinch.”

You smile lightly, eyes crinkling despite the hopelessness of his tone, “Get Alejandro back in the meantime, yeah? He still has to play guitar for me at some point.” 

—

Price has never felt like this before. His chest sputters, heart palpitating in his breast harshly. He knew how to respond to any situation imaginable – a gunshot, a stab wound, his comrades falling around him like flies and how to push on through it. But this…? Why did he feel like this now?

Where the hell is that damn woman, He feels his lips turn into a harsh frown as he enters the armory of the safe house, multiple racks of weapons and armored trucks passing in the corners of his eyes like phantoms.

It’s been two days since anyone had seen or heard from you, and in the meantime, Soap, Ghost, and Rodolfo had broken out the Mexican Special Forces from their overtaken HQ, and Price and Gaz had come in to assist. But still, there was no Goldfinch. 

The Captain could tell the tension in his shoulders had gotten worse. When he hadn’t seen you with the boys breaking into Alejandro’s HQ to free the men…

It was like his heart had stopped working properly since.

“Ghost, Soap!” John calls, voice authoritative as it echoes off the wooden walls. Many of the Vaqueros in the room turn to look, backs unconsciously straightening at the Captains intimidating presence. The named men look up from the large brainstorming table they were hunched over. Alejandro and Rodolfo stand next to them while Gaz trails behind Price swiftly, watching the older man with concern, “Anything on Goldfinch?”

Soap glances at Ghost.

“Nothing, Sir.”

“Negative,” Ghost continues, straightening his spine, “I checked about a mile down the path – there’s no sign. Nothing from the radio either.”

Alejandro speaks up, his face twisting down into a frown as Price and Gaz make it to the table, “The mountains are difficult terrain – radio antennas can’t get a signal out through it. That’s why I hesitated to tell you the way when we first met,” He clenches his hands over the table, looking down at the map set over the wood, “Taking that path…It’s not something most of my men would ever dare to do.”

“And taking it injured – nonetheless with the wound that Soap described,” Rodolfo takes a glance at John, shaking his head with a hesitant look in his brown eyes, “It’s not promising, Captain.”

“The girl’s strong,” Soap grunts, tilting his head in denial as his jaw clenches, “Goldfinch is alive. We just have to wait–”

“We don’t have the time to wait, MacTavish,” Price interjects, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his legs shoulder-width apart, looking down at the map with hidden emotions. The mission came first…right? 

Then why did John feel so fuckin’ bad about his decision?

“Graves’ll be vulnerable because of the prison break – on high alert, but that type of thinking always makes people like him sloppy. We have the advantage right now,” Price sighs, lowering his voice to no more than a grunt, as the bucket hat on his head tilts forward, “and I’d rather not lose it.”

A tense silence settles before Gaz speaks up.

“Are…you sure that’s best, Sir?” The man asks, “Goldfinch is one of us. We can’t just leave without her.”

“She made her choice, Sergeant, eh?” Price mutters, eyes snapping from one marked-out path on the paper as if he could find your body between the folds and red ‘x’s’ or if you’d magically appear from the fibers popping up with that damned happy-go-lucky smile that made him want to smash his lips against yours. 

Price stills at the thought, hands tightening over the flesh of his arms.

Anyone could see John was pushed against a wall with this. 

Graves, or you. The mission, or…you.

He’d never have brought you into this if it had been his choice – tried to shove you away from it with all his power already. But all he had done was force you right into the middle of this shitshow with all of your infuriating goodness. John wouldn’t have bothered to drag civilians into this; his mode of thinking was the needs of the many over the few, as you had pointed out to him in Serbia with such an outburst that the man was half convinced you would give yourself a heart attack. You were just so different from him.

That’s why you love her, A voice hisses in the back of his head.

I’d known she’d do something like this - put her damn life on the line like it meant nothing, Price clenched his teeth, and I sent her away anyways. I should have been here…fuckin' hell.

“We take back Alejandro’s HQ in two days,” John relents only slightly, cursing the hope in his chest singing that you would show up. You had to. Everyone at the table perks at the comment, not previously having any ideas of how to persuade the mission-focused man to relent in his choices. 

Soap has a large smile blossom over his face, and he and Rodolfo share a mischievous look; Ghost shakes his head at the pair and their insurance of getting involved in whatever Goldfinch and the Captain had going on. 

But it was incredibly confusing to everybody, to say the least. 

Even some of the Vaqueros you had been friendly with looked at each other with smiles on their faces. None had wanted you to be presumed dead.

Price continues, “But I can’t do more than—”

“Alejandro!” A yell shatters the Safehouse, and soon one of the Colonel’s men comes springing into the room. 

Everyone’s hands are on their weapons in an instant, bodies tense and ready to strike.

“Shit, is it Shadows?!” Gaz asks, but the individual rushes past and grabs Alejandro by the arm.

“¡Es Jilguero! ¡Ella está aquí! ¡Ella tiene sobrevivientes de Las Almas con ella! ¡Venga, rápido, coronel!” 

“Jilguero?” Price asks with a hard voice, partially already knowing but not wanting to be disappointed, “What does that–”

“It’s her!” The man says, rushing past the others as everyone else immediately begins sprinting out of the room, talk of Shadows and strategy thrown to the side without a second thought. 

It was you. Impossibly, it was you.

John doesn’t think as he rushes past everyone, adrenaline pumping from his heart down to his feet. He can’t seem to think about anything else besides you – your face, hair, body – and feels his stomach roll with an unidentified emotion. All that mattered was you, and he hated himself for it.

She’s back. She’s alive.

Price reaches the front door faster than anyone else, the packs on his vest weighing him down, and the gun over his shoulders jolts with every heavy step that slams to the dirt floor. He slams it open with a shoulder, feet skidding over the ground. 

—

You don’t know where the pain stops and you begin. Stumbling forward you hear the happy cries of the people who had come into your care meeting the warm afternoon air, stirring the leaves and bushes. 

“The safe house is just ahead, Jilguero,” Manuel keeps you upright with a hand around your waist, your arm over his firm shoulders. No doubt he was covered in your blood from head to toe – he’d been the sole thing keeping you on your feet for half the day.

You’d been forced to cauterize your bullet wound yesterday, and, admittingly, it was a shotty job. Your hands had been too shaky to hold your combat knife steady, leaving long sections of your side burned and blistered that weren’t even connected to the source of your problems. 

But it had stopped the bleeding for a while, at least. Manuel had to stitch you up, using the fishing line and needle you had stuffed into your medical pouch when this nightmare had begun. That too was suspect to improvement, but the man had done the best he could while panicking over your unconscious, flesh sizzling, body. All things considered for his first time stitching skin, he had done better than expected.

The sutures had ripped open on the last stretch of the hike.

“‘Bout time,” You wheeze, forcing your feet to carry your forward. The amount of sweat, blood, and dirt that was caked over your body made you want to gag, but no one else was any better. You suck in weak, gasping, breaths.

“Let me walk,” Gasping, you begin moving away from Manuel the closer the outline of trees becomes. 

“Whoa, careful there,” He says, but lets you go. Manuel stays close, watching you limp to the treeline on unsteady legs, “Stubborn.” The man mutters under his lips.

“Heard that,” You snort painfully, slowly making your way into the open with one hand over your side, trying to keep the bleeding to a minimum. 

When you enter the safe house’s clearing, your eyes squint against the light, turning your head away sharply. 

“Goldfinch!” Gaz’s voice reaches you first, making you flinch from how loud it was. Lifting your head, you blink away the dots and lock onto the multitude of people all gobsmacked on the lawn. You raise an eyebrow glancing for a moment at the various civilians being embraced by Vaqueros. 

Many were crying.

Family members? You ask yourself, watching with a small smile before looking back to the task at hand.

“Hell, you really brought out the welcoming comity, didn’t you? Miss me that much, boys?”

Soap points at you, beginning to make his way over, “You’re a damned day late, Ma’am! You should get written up for all the worry–”

Price places a heavy hand on the Scot’s shoulder, stopping him with a small skid across the earth.

Oh, fuck, You curse. 

You hadn’t even noticed the Captain, too focused on getting somewhere to rest, and finally, put the burning behind your eyes to bed. God, did your side ache something awful.

“C-captain,” You laugh breathlessly, voice cracking and eyes nervously filtering about. Manuel leaves your side to go greet a Vaquero who claps him on the shoulder lovingly, “Good to see you, Sir.”

Silence. 

He’s pissed.

Price takes a deep breath, and you see his chest inflate as he stares you down with those narrowed blue eyes that you love to hate. His body is partially vibrating with rage.

Not Impressed. 

Nearly got him killed in Serbia.

“Price…I–” You’re cut off with a sharp bark.

“You disobeyed orders!” The enraged man begins, face becoming a deep red under his beard. You watch with tense shoulders as John begins stalking over, his feet so heavy on the dirt they create puffs under his feet. Everyone halts to listen, too afraid to intervene, “Ran off without the security of your squad! Put your life in danger and yourself above the mission!” 

Your head sags, chin falling to your chest as you stare hard at the ground. Price’s shadow gets closer, his voice not falling as that authoritative tone rips into your self-confidence.

“Nearly got yourself killed! What do you think would have happened if you died? Who’s fault would that have been, Goldfinch? Oh, right, your sorry Muppet self!” 

His body heat leaked into you as you took the words he spits at you, British accent becoming even more prominent as his rage rises to new heights. You’d never seen him this angry before. Against your will, glossiness coats the sheen of your eyes, collecting in your tear ducts. You could feel John’s ragged breath on the top of your head, rustling your hair. He was breathing so heavily you would have thought he had just run a marathon.

He’s so warm, dizzy, and more exhausted than you had ever felt before, you take a deep breath. It was getting harder and harder to stand every second. But you were so done with this cat and mouse game, Price, please, hold me. I’m tired. 

You don’t know where the thought comes from, but this one you don’t try to fight. 

“Is there anything you have to say for yourself, Agent?” John growls, and you look to see his hands clenched at his side. Shaking. 

You don’t look at his face, content with watching his heart beat wildly in his chest, a small smirk growing on your lips. Maybe you’d just cracked the code for all of his attitudes, his supposed hatred.

Maybe he loved to hate you just the same as you did him.

Your head falls forward, hitting on his chest just above his heart. You feel more than see his chest still in shock as your forehead angles itself above the bulkiness of his pouches. 

“You can yell at me all you want, John,” You whisper, “but let me lean on you, first. You’re warm.” 

Price’s body jolts like you electrocuted him, but after a minute of steady breathing and feeling his eyes boring into the side of your pain-screwed face, an all-encompassing hand makes its way to your head. Finally. It presses into you, pushing your body just a little closer to the man who, up until this moment, had never understood. But, apparently, he didn’t understand you, either. 

That was probably because both of you were stubborn bastards. 

John’s breath tickles your ears as he tilts his head to the side, knocking it against yours as you feel that stupid hat hitting your scalp. You release a gentle sigh, letting the tension leak out of you as whispered conversations flow all around. But here, at this moment, all you think about is John. About the way his hand fit so perfectly at the back of your head, his thumb moving up and down in soothing motions that leave your eyes fluttering shut in safety. His other gravitated to your waist, carefully whispering over the bandages of your injury. Checking the wrappings and running calloused fingers over the bulk of the stitches.

Was this what you had been missing this entire time?

“Stay awake for me, sweetheart,” He mutters, anger turning into something else as John’s lips caress against your skin so sweetly it leaves you with tears tracking down your cheeks; muffled inhalations of sobbing breaths stuck in your throat, “You’re alright, now. I’ve got you.” 

“Don’t let go,” You sniffle, body shaking despite your best efforts. The hand on the back of your head travels to your cheek, wiping away the rouge tears as his callouses scratch your skin perfectly. 

Your eyes open slowly, locking immediately on deep ocean blue, with lighting striking every time eyelids closed delicately. You hadn’t seen those eyes so softly meeting yours since before Serbia. 

“Never,” John whispers, thumb once more rubbing over your flushed cheeks, so close you could move an inch and your lips would connect. “Never again.” 

All you do is smile, feeling the heat in the air become thicker the more you feel John's breath over your lips, his gaze flickering down before snapping back to your shimmering eyes once more.

But, unfortunately, there is a time and a place.

“Fuckin' finally!” Soap’s voice shatters the calm moment, rising above the chirping birds and jerking the two of you out of whatever was sparking, “Ghost you owe me a fifty!”

“Johnny, do me a favor and shut up, would you?”

Laughter bounces, but all you do is close your eyes once more, pulling away to nuzzle your face into John’s neck. Your arms stay limp at your sides.

“Think you can walk for me, Finch?” He asks lowly, pressing his lips to the side of your head and making your face turn into a bonfire as he leaves a kiss behind.

It was a promise – we’ll talk later. 

Your pride rears its head inside your breast for a moment. 

“Y-yeah,” You stutter, head pounding when you force your eyelids open to see the path ahead of you.

Price grunts.

“Stubborn,” Suddenly hands are gently moving you up into a hold, arms settling under your knees and over your shoulders. When he lifts you so effortlessly, you can’t help the gasp that escapes you. Your rifle sits uncomfortably along your back, but you don’t complain, because John had somehow managed to lift you without aggravating your wound further,. But of course he had – this was Captain John Price, “We’ll have to work on that, Agent.”

“No more than I’ll have to with you, Captain. You’ve got it worse than me.”

“Hm, you’re probably right.” Blinking at him, your eyes crease in confusion, but he only smirks, white teeth flashing. 

Scrunching your nose, you put your head under his chin, forcing his head up with a grunt. 

You grumble, “Tell Manuel to give my Basilisk back, would you?” 

John walks through the threshold of the safe house, nodding to the others to tell them he can handle it as Gaz sends a smirk and a tweaked eyebrow his way. Price won’t even try to decipher that. The rest give you soft glances that you miss, and Alejandro knows he’ll have to thank you personally later for everything you did for Las Almas and its people. But he knows that right now there’s something special going on. He’ll wait.

The Captain chuckles at your comment, even if he doesn’t know who the hell ‘Manuel’ is, “Well, it’s your gun, isn’t it? Why don’t you tell him, eh?”

But all he felt was the sensation of your sleeping body slotted under his head, lips touching his Adam’s Apple and making him shiver as soft breaths fall. John pulled you impossibly closer.

Making his way to the corner, he carefully rested your body on an empty cot and waved over a Vaqueros with medical supplies and ample training. 

As the Medic worked on you – lifting up your shirt to see the mangled remains of your side and the botched sutures – Price sucked in a quiet breath and watched with his arms folded over his chest. 

In his head, he was telling himself to not reach out to you, let the Medic work, but when your unconscious face twisted in pain he didn’t hesitate. He snatched your hand with your own and watched the wrinkles in your forehead soften as his thumb rubbed the length of the back of your hand.

Pride blossomed in his chest. He could fix this mess he made; you both made.

He smiled.

“You impressed me, Goldfinch. Always have.”

—

Serbia: August 15th, 1700 Hrs. – 

You swore if you lived, you would love John Price for the rest of your life. 

“What in the bloody hell were you thinking, Muppet!?” The Captain screamed at you as he hand a tight compression to your chest, blood leaking from his fingertips and pooling on the ground, leaving your combat vest in tatters. 

If you hadn’t been prioritizing those damned civilians this never would have happened. A knife to the chest is never a good thing, and John was sure that you were going to die under him as he screamed at you in anger and fear; eyes glossy.

An imposter in the crowd, a liar, and the second you had checked to see if the man was alright, he had struck. 

John had seen you go down and immediately put a bullet through the man’s skull with an enraged yell. He watched you hit the ground like you meant nothing.

“I told you to run! Goldfinch, I fucking told you to run!” Blood shot from your mouth, splashing Price’s face in a spray of gore. Your eyes were fluttering.

No, no, no. Not like this.

“You never listen! Fuck!” Damn you for making him fall in love with you. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. Always running into danger, going where he can’t follow, you gave him a heart attack every time you were away from his side.

“Keep your bloody eyes open, Goldfinch! Keep them on me…! Fuckin' hell…where's the damn Medic!?”

John Price swore to himself that, if you lived through this, he would hate you for the rest of his life. 

[lilac-5ky]

Summers with Toji(x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Today has to be one of the hottest days of the year and I’m literally dying in bed with my limbs sprawled like a starfish, but I got this random urge to write about my pookie so here I am.

Warning: Sexual content, mentions of oral (m.receiving), food kink, a ton of fluff, and not proofread at all cause I did this on phone.

Summertime!Toji who can’t stand the heat, his coping mechanism being to fill your entire fridge with popsicles and keep the AC on at full speed until the electricity bill comes and asks you to split it 70/30 in his favor.

Summertime!Toji who is forced to endure the heat after you hide all the remote controllers in the house and tell him to just open a damn window if he’s feeling that hot.

Summertime!Toji who watches you contently lick away your ice cream in front of the tv and thinks it’s an invitation for him to slide down his shorts and put his dick near your mouth.

Summertime!Toji who grins as he tells you it’s your duty to help him cool off when your tongue skills got him all hot and bothered in the first place.

Summertime!Toji who feels your icy mouth working wonders around his cock, the freeze causing his thick thighs to clench whenever he feels his tip touch the back of your throat.

Summertime!Toji who finishes your ice cream while you shoot him daggers, your nose nuzzling the unkempt hair of his base and his heavy balls slapping your jaw with each thrust,

Summertime!Toji who licks the ice cream as if it’s your pussy, giving you a taste of your own medicine when you claim you didn’t suck it like a porn star to entice him, as he accused you.

Summertime!Toji who only shares when your mouth goes hot from the work out, yanking you from the hair and forcing you to deep throat the stick before shoving his dick back in.

Summertime!Toji who asks you what your favorite flavor is and makes a mental note to buy a pint or two of your favorites to smear all over your tits and his cock head.

Summertime!Toji who cums so much you can barely keep it in your mouth, hot ropes of his creamy cum meshing with the vanilla cream dribbling down your slack jaw.

Summertime!Toji who keeps coming up with ways to deal with the heat, getting you to join him in the shower only to fuck you under the cold water.

Summertime!Toji who slaps your ass when he catches you pad around the house in your skimpiest outfits.

Summertime!Toji who gets grumpy when you suggest so much as a weekend to the beach but obliges anyway for his favorite girl.

Summertime!Toji who has every female eye staring at his back when all he wears is a pair of old fashioned swimming trunks that don’t quite hide the glory of his sculpted body and sun-kissed skin.

Summertime!Toji who pisses you off when he tries to get yourselves cheaper recliners by smiling sweetly at the part time slash teenager slash certified bimbo.

Summertime!Toji who hunts you down around the beach because you refuse to talk to him and eventually cages you in his arms, lifting your body off the sand to tickle you until you are begging for a truce.

Summertime!Toji who, after the incident, finds the best secluded spots where it’s just you and him, and the countless waves.

Summertime!Toji who tugs your top off whenever he is given the chance, keeping it in his pocket after he puts sunscreen on your back, and forces you to run after him into the water.

Summertime!Toji who loves it when you tangle your limbs around him like a little sea monkey, and press your plush tits against his hard muscles while he swims for the both of you.

Summertime!Toji who is susceptible to splash wars and impromptu kisses as you try to peel off his frown.

Summertime!Toji who swears your smile is brighter than the scorching sun above.

Summertime!Toji who bitches like an old man when he still finds grains of sand in his flip flops hours after you’ve left the beach.

Summertime!Toji who tried to build a fire so you can cook your own food, but buys you yakiniku after his 16th failed attempt.

Summertime!Toji who promises that next summer he’ll have money for something better than a cheap motel by the highway, knowing next year will be crappier than the last one.

Summertime!Toji who stubbornly cuddles you even at the highest temperatures.

Summertime!Toji who swears summer is his least favorite season of the year, but learned to treasure his every summery with you.

[vaguesxrrow]

Hey, I already sent one request, so here's a second (your choice which you write first!)

Can I request a Dean Winchester x werewolf! Reader who can actually control when they turn? Like they could choose to turn to benefit a case whenever they want

The only downside of a full moon is that they turn like other werewolves, but atp reader is more annoyed than anything cuz they keep accidently ruining shirt with the claws or be unable to eat a regular midnight snack bc of the teeth

HII <33 i started with this one, because you definitely got me hooked on writing for dean and now im going through a phase LMAO

dean winchester / werewolf!reader

a/n: do i rmb what werewolves from spn are like? no. did that stop me? also no. (resilience, guys!!)

cws: swearing, mild violence, injury, and blood

wc: 982

tags: gender neutral reader, humour, a splash of sabriel, reader during their full moon shift is me on my period minus the pain and crying

"y'know, babe, this would be a really great time for you to wolf out," dean muttered, turning off the safety on his gun. both of you were hiding behind a stack of barrels, trying to avoid getting your asses handed to you again. your lower back was still sore from when you had been caught by surprise by a demon, and had been flung across the room like a rag doll.

you rolled your eyes at dean's suggestion, even as your pupils changed colour to a dark amber.

dean grinned at the sight, clapping you on the shoulder in glee. "hell yeah."

you bared your fangs at him.

"woah, my bad," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "save the rage for the demons we got coming."

"then let's go," you growled, fingers elongating into claws.

dean looked at you in awe as you stepped out, the slashing of flesh sounding immediately. "can't believe i'm dating them," he whispered. usually, it would be too quiet for you to hear, but now with your enhanced hearing, it was as if he was saying it right next to your ear. you smiled fondly as the first demon advanced.

dean joined you in taking down the remaining attackers, shooting the ones you couldn't take. soon enough, black smoke filled the air and the host bodies went limp, falling to the floor as the demons deserted them.

you shifted back, sharp claws and teeth retracting with minor pain. turning back and forth was easier now - you supposed it helped a great deal that you could actually control it, unlike the other werewolves you knew. practise made perfect, and you’d had many opportunities to practise, namely when saving dean (and sam) from getting killed. of course, you still shifted against your will every full moon, although even then you still had an impressive hold on your wolf.

"you good?" dean asked you, holding out a hand. you allowed him to tuck you underneath his arm as you made the walk back to the impala. you didn't miss the way his critical gaze scanned your body, looking for any injuries.

"back is killing me, but i'm fine,” you responded. “you?"

"busted lip that hurts like a motherfucker, but nothing worse."

"mm." you smiled. "does it hurt too much to give me a kiss?"

"never." he leaned in to give you a chaste peck, chuckling when he pulled away. "uh, you got a little blood-"

you licked it away, toothy grin emerging at dean's expression. "werewolf. i don't mind a little blood." you winked.

he shrugged in acceptance. "okay. hot."

you shoved him away, both of you laughing.

⌦ ----

as the sun set and the moon peeked over the horizon, you groaned, falling dramatically against the sofa cushions. sam and dean were already sat on the couch, fight club on the tv paused at the first frame, and they shot you sympathetic yet amused looks.

"i hate full moons," you complained, reaching for a piece of popcorn. "in a few hours, i won't even be able to eat this."

sam huffed. "honestly, i'm just glad that's the biggest of our problems whenever you shift. at least you don't go psycho on us."

you looked at him reproachfully, flashing your puppy dog eyes. "but popcorn."

he threw a piece at you.

"i'll feed you when you come looking for a midnight snack," dean supplied helpfully. you looked at him lovingly and 'aww'ed, blowing a kiss. he mimed catching it and pressed it to his lips, winking playfully.

sam fake gagged, standing up. "okay, this couple stuff is getting to me. call me when you actually start the movie!"

"as if you aren't as bad with gabriel!" dean yelled after him. you cackled as sam flipped the two of you off.

⌦ ---

you stumbled down the stairs, wincing as your claws scraped against the wood of the railing, undoubtedly leaving marks. your shirt was torn - a recurring accident that happened every full moon. you cursed aloud upon realising you had worn your most comfortable sleep shirt to bed.

once you reached your desired destination - your beloved kitchen - you stared reproachfully at the fridge, which was notably harder to open with your elongated nails.

"don't punch our fridge," a voice said sleepily.

you nearly jumped dean, arms raised, before realising it was him. "jesus effing christ," you hissed. "don't sneak up on me during full moons like that!"

dean merely yawned in response, opening the fridge door for you. he grabbed out various items, listing them as he went. "what're we feeling tonight? snickers, gummies.. aw, c'mon, sammy put pretzels in the fridge again?"

you snatched the pack of gummy bears from his hand, a single claw going right through the packet so it hung lamely from your finger. you sighed, sounding long-suffering and completely done. dean snorted, taking the bag back from you and ripping it properly.

"open," he instructed, throwing a gummy into your mouth. "loving the edgy, emo look, by the way." he gestured to your torn shirt.

"shut up, dean, you know this happens every time," you grumbled, chewing your snack more aggressively. suddenly, a fang pierced your lip, a small jolt of pain going through your body. "ow, shit." you brought your hand to your mouth.

"what happened?" dean asked in concern.

you showed him the blood on your fingers incredulously. "i split my lip with my fangs! are you kidding me right now?"

he visibly relaxed, relieved it wasn't serious. "more for me, i guess." he shrugged, obnoxiously chewing a piece. "mm, this is so good."

scowling, you dabbed the cut with your T-shirt, which was already ruined, so it didn’t matter. a smirk appeared on your face as you swatted dean, attempting to steal the bag from him. "dean, when i catch you-"

he dodged, fleeing to the living room. "nope!"

"oh, fucking hell-"

[weirdagnes]

Since i can’t pour energy into writing a whole fic/drawing stuff yet, I’m gonna dump some headcanons I have on Mishuggy.

(Long post ahead)

Shanks only bathes in the sea so its smell became his trademark scent. Buggy loves the seawater scent on him. He can never bathe in the sea anymore, so it brings him comfort when he cuddles with Shanks bc it’s the closest he can get to being in contact with the sea without feeling weak. Every time they meet, Shanks makes sure to bathe in the sea first before meeting Buggy so cuddle time will last longer.

One of Mihawk’s stims is running his hand through Buggy’s hair.

Mihawk is a night person, Shanks is an insomniac, Buggy is a morning person. Mihawk often joins Shanks when he can’t sleep, some wine and talking. Sometimes they’d be quiet and admire a sleeping Buggy.

Buggy’s voice gets low and rough often when his social battery is drained or he’s not in his stage persona (which is a very rare occurrence). Mihawk finds this incredibly attractive.

Shanks absolutely adores Buggy’s voice cracks.

Shanks is the best kisser, Mihawk is the most awkward/timid, Buggy has the most kissable lips (Shanks loves it when his lipstick leaves stains) but because of his nose, he’s the most awkward to kiss (if you’re not a professional Buggy-kisser like Shanks!)

Mihawk may not prefer lips-to-lips kissing, but he does love kissing other parts of the body like the hands, the shoulder, etc.

Buggy’s lowkey attentive to Mihawk’s infodumps on different kinds of blades, its uses and history. He’s fond of blades as well but more on short blades like daggers and machetes. He loses his mind seeing how cool Mihawk’s cross pendant knife is, and couldn’t resist showing off to him the hidden knives and explosives in his body (Mihawk wonders how he has not killed himself yet by accident).

Mihawk kinda cringes on Buggy’s habit of licking knives. He asks how has he not cut his tongue yet, Buggy is like “Hawky are u fr” then he chops off his tongue and Mihawk is horrified but quickly felt stupid remembering Buggy had devil fruit powers.

Buggy loves cherries and other sweet fruits. Hates pineapple way before he ate the Chop Chop fruit, and his distaste for it increased after eating it.

Shanks likes fish and Mihawk likes vegetable dishes (borderline vegan at this point).

Buggy loves warm colors (reds, oranges, yellows, gold). It just so happens that Mihawk and Shanks are associated with red and yellow.

Even though Mihawk and Buggy are complete opposites of a spectrum, they surprisingly get along well in terms of hobby. They both like to read, for one. Mihawk will mention a book in one of his infodumps and Buggy will be like “Oh yeah I love that one chapter where…” They both like art as well; Mihawk drew and painted in his free time when he was living in the castle, preferring still objects, dead sceneries, and chiaroscuro lightings.

Other than performance art (acting and acrobatics), Buggy is into cartography and drawing landscapes with oil pastels, but he often does maps more. When he does draw landscapes, the subject are often places where he has strong fondness/feelings of (his circus tent, Loguetown, the sea, etc). He uses small paper mediums and tucks them away. He only got to try painting when Mihawk offered. They had fun and created abstract - Buggy splashes paint spotaneously and generously, Mihawk feels the waste of paint but eventually lets loose (Buggy’s encouragement) and tried stroking the paintbrush like he wields his sword (when the canvas was slashed, they considered it a finished artwork).

Buggy and Mihawk also likes shiny things. Buggy loves treasure-finding more as an activity sure, but opening a chest full of shiny gems and trinkets is also what makes it enjoyable. He’s fond of jeweled earrings and rings but would rather keep them in a chest than wear them daily. Mihawk’s fondness for shiny things began with blades, but it also extended to shining gold colors. He’s not fond of gold for wealth purposes, he just likes shiny things.

Mihawk hates swimming whereas Shanks and Buggy love it (Buggy loves it more, but can’t do it anymore after eating his devil fruit). Mihawk hates getting wet for a long period of time + swimming is a strenuous activity, but he only learns it bc it’s a necessity for survival esp he travels by sea (and also bc there was one time where he almost drowned and its one of his most embarrassing memories. He was glad he travelled alone bc he’ll die of embarrassment forever if anyone lived to see that)

Shanks is a generous gift-giver. He isn’t materialistic himself, but the moment either Buggy or Mihawk express a passing comment about a rare wine he wanted to try someday or a map he wants to get his hands on - you got it. Shanks WILL find a way.

Whenever they go out together, Mihawk cringes at their fashion tastes. Shanks is more of a “this shirt is 10yrs old but hey its still usable” kind of guy. Buggy wears the most eyestrain clown outfits ever that will make you wonder “how did i end up with this guy”. In Shanks and Buggy’s head, they think Mihawk is an edgelord with his dark outfits on every occasion. Despite all this though, they find each other handsome.

[okay-j-hannah]

A Merchant Sailor

Pirates of the Caribbean : Fic

Will Turner x Reader

Word Count: 3061

Warnings: Swarthy pirates fighting each other... Will being lied to... Will also being a sweetheart 

Request: “This is me absolutely begging and foaming at the mouth for you to write a Will Turner x reader. I’m fine with fluff or smut lmao. I have a couple ideas if you also want to write multiple (or blend them into 1), you totally don’t have to though. Being Jacks sister but also constantly making berth at Port Royale when you were younger, results in a close friendship between you and a certain Mr. Will Turner. The killer is, you always told Will your brother was a merchant and that you would accompany him on his trips. In reality, you were always off doing pirate things with Jack. Consequently, the day Jack broke into Mr. Brown’s smithery, you later arrived with Will. This resulted in a 2 on 1 fight (or maybe not) with a lot of confused looks being shared between Jack and yourself. Plus Will defending your honor” @gingerdissapointment

A/N: Pretending to be a merchant, you befriend Will Turner as you keep your pirating a secret, until your brother forces you to reveal the truth

Her sword clashed terribly with the swarthy pirates of the East Atlantic, fighting over hidden treasure beneath the sandy shores of a neutral island. She kicked up the dry sand, silencing the battle cry of the enemy.

He spit and scratched at his eyes as (Y/N) jabbed the sword into his stomach, shoving him aside. Whipping around the beach, Jack pranced away from a group of opposing pirates. She rolled her eyes at his wailing.

“For the love…” she ran after her brother, realizing that with the crew winning the battle, the other pirates were running for Jack. In his hands lay the key to the gold.

She waved off Cotton’s parrot and threw a dagger at Marty, the blade sticking into the sand, to give him a chance to cut the ropes around his wrists. Ahead was Jack and a quartet of pirates splashing along the shore.

The erratic steps of their captain sent seawater cascading onto his pursuers. The noise was enough cover for (Y/N) to pull another dagger from her many pockets and throw it at the furthest pirate. It sunk into the back of the assailants neck, sending him splashing into the sandy water.

The remaining three didn’t notice the bigger splash as they continued their cries of pursuit. (Y/N) was gaining on them, searching for another object to throw at them, silently thanking her brother for his distracting, wild methods of escape.

She spotted a mound of rock creeping out of the ocean and as they neared it, she grasped a pockmarked rock from the thick, muddy sand. Grunting from the momentum, she swung her arm wide and launched the weathered stone at the next pirate. She successfully cracked the top of his skull, forcing him to fall froward into the sea and salt.

The thunk of his unconscious body alerted his crewmate, a bare chested man with sunburnt skin. He seemed momentarily confused to see a much younger girl running at him.

It was enough of a distraction that he didn’t react to the elbow she rammed into him. With the speed of her steps it was the right amount of force to throw him from his feet. She slashed her sword across his legs as she tumbled forward, hopefully keeping him incapacitated and unable to follow further.

Adrenaline coursed past the burning of her muscles as she screamed at her brother, “I swear to God you will be carrying me back to the ship after I save your pitchy drunken arse!”

She reached the last assailant, tackling him into the salty shore. Her cry of accusation spoke through Jack’s panic, making him peek behind his shoulder and then stop altogether, completely perplexed as to why all four pirates chasing him just moments before were all in the seawater.

But a second longer he realized it was his little sister rolling around with the final pirate, splashing wet sand and salty water all around them.

“Oh,” Jack gasped, winded from his erratic run, “The cursed stowaway decides to be helpful.”

“Bastard,” she growled, finally pummeling the hilt of her sword against the pirates temple. “I was never a stowaway.”

Jack made a disgusted face as the pirate’s flailing limbs stilled against the shore. “You disturb me.”

“Likewise,” she breathed heavy, rising to her feet completely soaked and flecked with sand. “Do you run like that on purpose?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He pushed past her, extracting the old rusty key needed for the hidden treasure of the island.

She wobbled on her shaky legs, “You look like you’re running on hot coals, prancing on your tiptoes like that.”

They followed their footsteps quickly being washed away by the frothy waves. They passed over the rocky pockmarked mound and after pausing in her bickering with her brother, found something half submerged in the water.

Saltwater seeping into her boots, she crouched and extracted a massive opalescent seashell. It glimmered in a rainbow of colors with the sunlight warming the face of it. It was peach and coral and lavender and seafoam and crystal blue.

It made her chapped lips smile at finding another relic of the ocean for her best friend.

During the many adventures of Jack Sparrow and his stubborn little sister, they managed a few trips to the provenance of Port Royal. There (Y/N) had befriended a young blacksmith apprentice.

At the age of thirteen she was mastering the art of pickpocketing and stealing small objects from markets and stores. On her way to swipe a few daggers from the outside barrel, Will Turner had come out with grease stained hands and a soot covered face.

She quickly dropped the blades back in the barrel.

Will looked her up and down, a young lad of her similar age. “Can I help you?” He eyed the hand she hid behind her back.

“Just… looking for a gift,” she cleared her throat, “For my brother.”

“You want to give him a sword?” Will rubbed his dirty hands along his apprentice apron, “Is he a part of the Navy?”

She blinked a few times, “He’s a merchant. We sail to different ports to sell our goods.”

The answer seemed to put him more at ease. He believed her. “I could see where a sword might be helpful. There are less friendly types along distant shores – pirates and the like.”

She nodded slowly.

There was a pause before he continued, “I’m William Turner.” He seemed bashful to extend his grimy hand.

She gave a shy smile, weeks at sea with a motely crew and her pirate brother made her yearn for friends and company. She slowly accepted his hand, “I’m (Y/N).”

“And your surname?”

“Just (Y/N),” she smiled.

He smiled back, “It’s not proper to call a lady by her first name.”

She almost gawked – it was the most manners she’d seen in years, “I have no other name.”

“Your family name?” he asked, a little line appearing between his brows. “What of your brother?”

“We were orphaned at a young age,” she shrugged, “There was no record of our full titles.”

Will nodded solemnly, “I’m sorry.”

She looked towards the ground, “I’ll tell my brother of your smithery. Perhaps we’ll visit again.”

A desire to give her more of a reason to see him again, Will extracted a freshly polished sword from the wall. “Here, use this for your gift.”

“But I haven’t any money,” she said quietly.

“Then I’m gifting it to you,” he grinned, “I’m learning to make swords, I’ll just make another to replace this one.”

She laughed, “Thank you, Mr. Turner. I should do well to return the favor in the future.”

He passed over the hilt, “I look forward to our next meeting, Miss…” He seemed to struggle for a moment, “Miss. (Y/N).”

Five years had passed since that initial meeting and at reaching adolescence, (Y/N) was excitedly walking the streets of Port Royal to find the smithery. Over the years she had developed the habit of collecting trinkets and objects of her travels to show Will.

He still believed her to be a merchant, learning the trade from her honorable elder brother. And he found himself looking hopefully towards the white sails of the docks more than once to see her briny steps.

He longed for her visits, growing accustomed to her witty banter, wild stories, and lovely smile. And in the meantime, he practiced the art of black smithery and fashioned her intricate and deadly weapons, hoping to be of help as she sold them at the next port.

In reality (Y/N) was using these gifted weapons in her adventures pillaging islands and seeking treasure with her pirate crew.

To make herself feel somewhat better about all the lying, she sought to gift bits of all the gold and treasure she found to Will. He always got so excited to see things from beyond the shores of Port Royal.

“Mr. Turner,” she said orderly, “The coals have gone cold. What are you doing dallying about?”

Will turned from his workshop table, smile already on his clean shaven face. The summer had been kind to him, growing a couple inches and broadening his shoulders since the last time they met.

“Miss. (Y/N),” he said quietly, as if relieved she had come back at all. It was easy to imagine horrors befalling her while at sea, “You can’t imagine how good it is to see you.”

They hugged each other, (Y/N) laughing and Will grinning. He apologized for getting soot on her cheek, attempting to rub it away, “I’m so sorry.”

“Not at all,” she waved his fingers away, not wishing to have him feel how flushed the action made her.

He seemed in a similar state as a pink color flooded high on his cheekbones. “You’ve brought me more souvenirs?” he said as he spotted the bundle under her arm.

“Yes,” she said eagerly, “You’ll never believe what I found.” She went to the workshop table and laid out a roll of leathery animal skin, a few jagged shark teeth, and the opalescent seashell she found on her last adventure.

“Did you trade for some shark?” he laughed, touching the dried, scaly shark skin.

(Y/N) smiled, remembering the time she killed the reef shark while circling the coral shoreline of a tiny island. She was alone in a paddleboat and saw the opportunity to stick her sword through the predators skull.

“Yes, I’d say it was a rather lucky trade. Can’t you use this skin to make sword handles?”

He nodded, “That I can.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye, shy in how much he wanted to look. He never knew how long it would be between visits and while she was there he wanted to soak up every second.

“How long are you here?” he asked, hopefully.

(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek, “Three days.”

Will sighed, nodding to himself, “Well then, we’ll just have to make the most of the next three days.” He untied his apron and made sure the furnace was cut off from heating more fuel.

“What is there to do that we haven’t already done?” she laughed, remembering days of captaining sailboats, sword fighting in the square, climbing palm trees, and catching crabs.

Will seemed undeterred by the question, “There’s plenty to do. We haven’t swum in the pools by the cove. We haven’t gone for tea in town. We haven’t ever attended the Governor’s Ball before.”

“The Governor’s Ball,” she scoffed, “Please, Will – a merchant has no place at a ball.” A pirate has no place near the highest powers of the British garrison.

“Don’t worry, I know people in town. We can find you a dress and I can teach you anything you’re worried about.” He returned to her side and took her hands, “Let me take you dancing.”

She looked at him in wonder, “You’d take me dress shopping?”

He smiled and gave a quiet nod, “I figured we’re not kids anymore, (Y/N). We could… we could go to a ball together.”

She squeezed his hands a bit tighter, “All right,” she smiled, “All right, but only if we can still go hunting for coconuts and go horseback riding through the town.”

“Whatever you want,” he grinned, “I’d go pirating just to spend another day with you.”

She froze, still with a smile on her face, “Would you really?”

He shrugged, “Maybe.”

~~~

A few years later and (Y/N) had found herself back in Port Royal and scouring the streets for her idiot brother.

After a long time coming mutiny from Barbossa, Jack was left stranded with nothing but a pistol. (Y/N) having fought and spit and destroyed half the Black Pearl to keep the mutiny from happening, she was left to the brig.

As skillful as she was, (Y/N) was out of the prison within a day, finding her way to a paddleboat and rowing for the remote island Jack was on. She was soon picked up by a real merchant boat that passed rumors of a peculiar wily man telling stories of roped sea turtles.

It led her to the nearest ports to where she learned Jack had stolen a sailboat that was headed to Port Royal.

And there she was in search of the pirate, hoping she could stop him before he did anything terribly stupid.

She spotted a curious number of redcoats marching in the streets. She tried to keep them from her mind as she nodded to some of the shopkeepers that recognized her from previous visits.

That was until she noticed a heavily scarfed man sneaking into the smithery, beads and all. She groaned, running for the shop.

“Jack,” she whispered, closing the wooden door behind her with a click of the lock. “What the devil are you doing here?”

He was hanging by the cogs of the donkey operated machine, accomplishing his goal of breaking his chained wrists apart.

“(Y/N)?” he said, “How did you find me?” He peered over his shoulder as if to see the army it must’ve taken to track him down to Port Royal.

She rolled her eyes, “After years pirating with me you still doubt my capabilities. I wasn’t about to stay on the Pearl with Barbossa and his stupid monkey.”

“I’ve found myself in a bit of a problem,” he said, brandishing the cuffs on his wrists.

“I can see that,” she cursed, hands on her hips, “You’ve got the entire British army knocking down every door.”

Speaking of which, someone was coming through the front.

“Damn,” (Y/N) whispered, feeling her brother drag her into a hiding place.

It was Will coming home, no doubt, from dropping off another well forged sword. He settled into the shop, inspecting his tools when he came upon a hat.

A pirate hat.

(Y/N) glared at her brother and bared her teeth, “You piss poor excuse for a pirate.”

Jack leapt from his hiding place, sword in hand to take back what was his. He directed the blade at Will’s chest.

“You’re the one they’re hunting,” Will said. “The pirate.”

“You seem somewhat familiar – have I threatened you before?”

(Y/N) smacked her face with a hand, scrounging for the nearest sword, which wasn’t hard considering they were in a blacksmith. She watched carefully as Will and Jack shared a few feints and parries with their swords.

She was impressed to see that Will had continued to practice his swordplay.

It wasn’t until a hurling sword stuck itself in the door that (Y/N) made her appearance.

“Will, stop!” she cried, brandishing her weapon, “Please, leave him alone.”

“(Y/N)?” he questioned, focus momentarily off his target, “When did you get to Port Royal?”

Jack had extracted his own sword, “Come along, dearest. It’s best we leave.”

Will flipped his head between the pair of them, “Excuse me?”

“I’m really sorry about this, Will.” She swallowed hard, sidestepping towards the window as Jack did the same, “But we need to go.”

“You and…?” he frowned, “The pirate?”

“My brother.”

Stunned, Will almost missed the attack coming from Jack. He swooped to the furnace and pulled out a red hot sword, blocking the incoming blow.

(Y/N) screamed, “Jack! Leave him alone!”

The pair of them struck and danced and parried around the forge – Will angrier than (Y/N) had ever seen him.

“How do you know (Y/N)?” he demanded.

Jack made a face as he blocked another blade, “How do you know (Y/N)?”

“He’s my brother, Will,” she cried, stomping her way to where she might join the swordfight. “I lied about him being a merchant.”

“A merchant,” Jack grimaced, “Could’ve done better with the lying, love.”

“(Y/N) is not a liar,” Will gained a few steps with his hard hitting blows, “She is an honest woman and a fair fighter.”

Her sword came between them, directing Will’s into the ground, “I’m sorry, Will.”

He was breathing heavy, bewildered, “But he’s a pirate.”

Jack pointed his sword in (Y/N)’s direction, exasperated, “SHE’S a pirate!”

Will gave him a scathing glare before completely disregarding his weapon and tackling Jack to the ground. They rolled around the hay and dirt as (Y/N) shouted at them.

“This is not how to handle a misunderstanding, Will! Jack, pull yourself together with what little dignity you have left. For God’s sake…” She planted herself between the brawling pair and shoved Jack to the side, keeping him from launching a counterattack.

“What is he so hellbent on protecting your name for?” Jack wheezed, using one of his many scarves to dab at his neck.

Will was boiling, “(Y/N) is an honorable woman and I won’t have you slander her name with titles like pirate. She is respectable and good and not at all capable of what you’re suggesting.” He looked towards (Y/N), “I refuse to think of the most important person to me as a criminal.”

(Y/N)’s mouth fell open, “Will…”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, mate,” Jack said, twirling his sword around, “But she’s my sister. And by association – a pirate.”

Will let his arms hang limp at his sides, staring at (Y/N)’s feet – unable to meet her eyes. “Is that true?”

“I knew I wouldn’t be welcome if I told you what I really was,” she grimaced, “I didn’t plan on us becoming friends.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, “All those gifts you gave me…”

“Listen, Will…” she didn’t dare take a step forward, “I know you’re mad. But I never lied about anything else. I never pretended around you. This is me, pirate or not. You know me. And this is not how I would’ve told you, but for the sake of me not getting hanged today – could you please let us go.”

Will looked deep in an inner turmoil, fists clenching as he fought over her words. Jack was still trying to yank out the sword pinning the door closed.

“I haven’t forgiven you…” he muttered, letting out a great sigh, “But there’s a path out back you can take for the docks.”

(Y/N) nodded, “Thank you.” She placed a hand on his arm while on her way out. “I’ll come find you tonight.”

He clenched his jaw, but finally looked at her, “Just come back safe.”

Her heart beat a little harder, a little warmer, “I will.”

~~~

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[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 20 thoughts

oh man! i really loved this episode. no aliens, no overarching plot, just some silly shenanigans and yeah, some murder, but in a far more lighthearted fashion than in other cases. filler episodes i love you soooo much <3

from the beginning, i thought the prompt sounded really good... shoutout to people who work in sideshows and other touring entertainment industries, y’all are real for that 

we open with some kids laughing under a full moon… nothing could be scarier… except SOMEONE WATCHING THEM!

and whoever it is, they are approaching the pool with feet out. where are their parents to safeguard them from stranger danger, i ask into my screen!

OH he is the dad!! what was once scary has now turned heartwarming. he splashes about in the pool with them and says they need to get ready for bed. aww. 

BUT NOW SOMEONE IS WATCHING HIM IN THE POOL!! NOOO the heartwarming session HAS BEEN CANCELLED... is he being EATEN???

(as he is killed, the camera shows a van with the words “alligator man” on it... at first i'm thinking that the alligator man was the creature who just Ate this guy, but turns out the father WAS alligator man, so named for his skin condition. rest in peace mister alligator, the world is a worse place for ur loss)

and now the agents are looking into his murder :(

(also, in the opening credits, we see that one of the guest stars is named “the enigma”... I’ll have to look into their work)

mulder says there have been a lot of murders in this fashion over the last 28 years, and they have been going all over the country!!! it seems to involve some sort of round bite mark. must be time to go investigate.

they roll up the the alligator man's funeral. honestly it is sad! and we see that the widow slash mother of the kids is a bearded lady and she is absolutely serving but this is a very sorrow-filled moment for them all

and interrupting the moment in which his community remembers the warmth he brought to their town, his casket starts moving… and someone emerges from the ground… and stabs himself in the chest with a spike???? HUH???

so the deceased was an escape artist but was forced into the sideshow circuit because of his skin condition… scully says she didn’t know sideshows were still a thing… which is honestly fair because it is a very vintage sort of entertainment. and they have a Not So Great history.

BUT if the people who live in this town in the summer are all traveling performers.. and if they have been touring for years... and the murders go on for years… hmm, it seems things are starting to add up

mulder notices a drawing of a creature on the menu of the restaurant they are sitting in, and he asks who drew it. why, the sheriff says, it's the artist named hepcat, of course! cut to him tending to his freaky mermaid. he describes his scary maze business as “a tabernacle of terror” 

mulder asks what the drawing on the menu was, and i was thinking, hmm, looks like the fiji mermaid, and hepcat says it is the fiji mermaid, and mulder doesn't seem to recognize it?? i assume this is one of those situations where he acts like he doesn't know what is going on to get more information because i feel like that is Exactly the sort of thing he has read about at length. like i had him pegged as a guy who could write a dissertation on the subject at the drop of a hat. so i think he's lying but narrative wise it isn't fully revealed. 

scully: “what’s the fiji mermaid?” hepcat: “it’s the fiji mermaid!” <- thanks this clears up a lot <3

mulder is acting surprised to hear that the top half of the fiji mermaid was a monkey, which i again assume to be an act? but he says that the tracks at the murder look monkey-ish. so perhaps there is a correlation...? between the very active murder case and that time PT barnum sewed a monkey and a fish together? hey, the dots aren't connecting for me, but i don't work for the fbi so what do i know

they go to get a place to stay and the guy operating the rental place, a kind and verbose fellow with dwarfism named mr. nutt, gives them their keys. and mulder asks if had worked in the circus, (and since everyone they have met so far has in fact done so, i feel that this was a fair question, but maybe i also deserved what follows), and mr. nutt really lays into him about making judgements, and maybe some people with dwarfism want to manage hotels...

and as all of this goes down scully just observes. wow. she let him flounder. lmao.

the man carrying their bags is named lanny, and he has a conjoined twin sort of situation, it's not entirely clear- but he says mr. nutt got him to work there because he believed it was undignified to work in the circus. hmm.

back to hepcat at his studio… listening to some groovy music... and something crawls in his window… looking like the fiji mermaid. and it BITES him.

next morning. mulder going for a jog. in a sweatshirt and sweatpants in florida heat. what in the hell was he thinking??? let’s analyze that while a man chomping a fish emerges from the river. we receive no real clarification on what is going on in either of their minds.

scully in bed. alerted to a murder by lanny. still in a robe. we get a shot of her chest and also lanny's brother that felt mutually uncomfortable. SMH no rest for her!

okay, examining the scene of the murder. mulder notices some blood on a little window and WHY DID HE TOUCH THE BLOOD NASTY!!!! NASTY!!!

they deduce that to fit in the window, the suspect would have to be a contortionist…. and they walk out to see a contortionist. it’s the spike guy that so disrespectfully ruined the funeral!!

he puts a nail up his nose in front them. and mulder pulls the nail out. probably to get some blood. not an easy watch still.

we learn here that the guy with the puzzle tattoos who was eating the fish in the river earlier is called “The Conundrum”, and the spike guy slash contortionist is dr. blockhead

dr. blockhead gives the conundrum a bunch of crickets and he gulps them up; then he offers crickets to the agents and scully TAKES one, says thanks, eats it, and leaves LMAOOO????? never let them guess your next move....

mulder is staring at her trying to figure out if he is in love with a woman that just ate a cricket and if this is something she does regularly and JUST KIDDING!!! she didn't eat it silly!!! she "reveals" the lil cricket behind mulder’s ear awww... her uncle was a magician <3

(he also does a lil slight of hand trick and pulls out the bloody nail, saying "everyone's uncle was an amateur magician", which i am sure they can bond over at a later date)

scully goes to a museum that says "freaks free, everyone else leave a donation" and she puts in some money… publicly declared non-freak 

this guy at the museum is touching her. don’t care for that. but I like that he knows lots of random information. and he won’t show his whole face, we as the audience only see him through mirrors. very cool framing device.

he says he will take her back and show her something of barnum’s for another $5 and sworn secrecy. good luck bucko; last time she was told to keep a secret (affair baby) the SECOND she was reunited with mulder the tea had been spilled LMAOOO. he hands her a paper featuring jim jim the dog faced boy, who, dare i say it, seems to be a king.

he leads her into the back rooms… scary. but her trench coat is serving though

okay, deep in the back is a trunk. and it’s empty and opens an exit door. NOOO she was scammed! it’s all part of the hustle. 

(well, that is what i THOUGHT, at least, until she realizes it leads to the sheriff's house, and things are adding up...)

mulder sees something crawling about. it’s the guy who owns the rental space, mr. nutt, under scully's trailer! he asks why he is under there and mr. nutt says he is NOT being creepy. mulder flirts with the man and he runs away LMAO... weaponized bisexuality 

agents are in the trailer having a nerd off and it’s not clear who is winning and there is romantic tension. sheriff hamilton used to be jim jim the dog faced boy???? what a reveal!!!

we are watching them watch the sheriff dig a hole during a full moon. average agent bonding activities. he buried something in the ground and goes inside. 

they are in his yard digging up what he was just digging and mulder has taken his earlier roasting to heart and says “we’re being highly discriminatory here” and clarifies that’s no reason to suspect him of being a werewolf and it’s like well. i don’t know that we both thought he was a werewolf. they pause to consider the moral weight of their actions then keep going.

uh oh! sheriff catches them!!! not a good look being caught digging something up. “We’re exhuming… your potato” is the best line that usually quick-tongued mulder could come up with, which had me losing my MIND and i proceeded to write a very long keysmash to express my amusement

“may I ask why?” (she starts monologing about serial killers taking positions in law enforcement and needing to monitor him as as suspect, and it’s convincing) (he cuts in: “we found out you used to be a dog-faced boy” STOP THIS IS SOOOO FUNNY) and she looks soooooo guilty!!

he doesn’t deny it and says he started balding on his head which put him out of a job. fair enough, gotta pay the bills.

next genius dialogue exchange: “that doesn’t explain the potato” “I got some warts on my hand” “...that doesn’t quite explain the potato” 

(i kept having to pause in rapid succession to write these lines down because i was laughing SO hard)

has anyone thought that maybe a man wants to bury a potato in his yard in peace…. like that’s how we get more potatoes…

“to get rid of warts you rub a sliced potato on your hand and bury it under a full moon” <- new life hack just dropped!!

nooooooo the conundrum is chasing the dog… dog escaped. everyone is pleased. he brings a check to mr. nutt and it’s rent!! king of paying his bills on time. but dog is still barking... NOOOOO MERMAID ATTACK ON MR. NUTT!!!

someone with bloody hands bursts into scully’s room and she must have her gun right by her pillow, and she gets it so fast, but it’s just lanny, saying he found mr. nutt dead... they truly hate to see a hard working entrepreneur in the field of hospitality winning 

the pin at the scene looked like something from dr. blockhead, so they go to his house to investigate and he is full of hooks. i made a noise like whAUUUWAUUHWAUH and mulder is looking intensely at what's going on there. blockhead goes on some cultural appropriation bs. um sir this is weird timing bur you are under arrest.

he gets out of the handcuffs- contortionist and escape artist! but the sheriff catches him by the hooks. what a KING! shoutout to this sheriff, formerly jim jim the dog faced boy, can we add him to the team? skinner are you hiring?  

just as our agents apprehend their suspect, we see that the mermaid creature is in the room with lanny!!! but... he isn't hurt?

OMG the twin inside him IS THE MERMAID??

lanny confesses to this when he asks how it would be possible to turn his "brother" in without turning himself in...and he thinks the mermaid fellow hates him and is looking for another brother which is so SAD but he says he’ll come back

is anyone concerned about the twin crawling out of lanny? well, mulder knows he isn't the man in charge here: “scully, you’re the medical expert… I believe you” yessir it's good to remember that!

the mermaid brother appears to have run off into the "tabernacle of terror" and mulder trying to hold a little evil mermaid at gunpoint is SO comical

their asses are lost in the maze!!! scully pulls a gun on a rubber skeleton that fell from the ceiling!

she's trapped in a mirror room to serve infinite looks in all directions, and it looks like mermaid baby is caught... she fires.. but it hits the mirror!! baby mermaid brother escaped!!!

at this moment, mulder slides through a trapdoor... and it was SO funny pls tell me there's a gif set of that somewhere because i need it...

baby on the loose... bad news!!! conundrum is being eaten by the baby twin…. but what if he eats him FIRST, i ask myself, and received an answer in the form of baby being gone and conundrum rubbing his stomach!!!! yassss!!! diva down!!!

the next morning, while everyone is searching for mermaid brother, we learn lanny died that evening of a condition related to alcoholism. we learn this while dr. blockhead and the conundrum are getting ready to leave.

and dr. blockhead's going on about the future, and how nature needs freaks, and in the 21st century everyone will look perfect… "just like him" (points to Mulder majestically posing by a trailer) LMAOOOOOO “imagine going through your whole life looking like that!!!” <- yeah it must be really hard....... /s

at last, conundrum and blockhead are taking off into the great unknown... scully points out he doesn't look too good…. CONUNDRUM TALKS???? “probably something I ate", he says. LMAOOO his voice is sooo normal 😭😭😭

this episode had me laughing. we really had it all: exhuming a potato, scully's valiant attempts at lying, mulder hitting on a guy, lessons in ableism and judgement, a man who eats crickets and fish, flirting over case details, a dog, scully doing magic, mulder running in the florida heat dressed like it was a new england winter. truly i have nothing that could be added.

and did i have a secret evil mermaid twin on my list of probably monsters of the week? no, i cannot say that i did! was it the most compelling or scary of creatures? not really! but i was filled with whimsy. cannibalism saved the day. an excellent episode, and a perfect contrast to earlier in the season when scully was literally About To Die and i was crying a lot over the whole thing. ah, the duality of TV shows!

[sunandsstars]

ONE OF THE PEOPLE

CHAPTER 1

Recom!Miles Quaritch x Metkayina!Reader

Summary: When Miles gets saved by a Metkayinan, he realises eventually they aren’t all so bad. But when his mission comes back to him, is it worth leaving it all behind?

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of wounds/death, Alien racism

Word count: 2k A/N: This is my first fanfic on here please be kind! There may be spelling errors (i am currently writing this at 3am) so if you see any please point some out and i will change them. But omg i am so exited for this to be read, I have so many ideas for this story and many others!! :>

It was brutal, the pain, searing through his abdomen and spreading across the torso in pulses. Blood dripped down the large blue hand keeping pressure on the wound. Colonel Miles Quaritch, former human, now recombinant, soured through the sky on his banshee away from the battle him and his men took part in and towards Bridgehead for safety. He needed to heal up and gather more forces as soon as possible.

‘Jake Sully got away again’. He seethed, sucking his teeth. ‘When I heal up, I’ll come back and kill his whole fucking family’.

It was a promise he made to himself ever since Jake joined the Na’vi all those years ago during the war, he was a traitor to human kind and a threat to the RDA, the raids where getting worse and no progress has been made because of it. Now, he has been brought back to life in the form of what he hated most, and he will do well to keep his former promise. He was stronger, faster, and a hell of a lot taller. If anyone can get the job done, it’s him.

The wind started to pick up and rain gradually drizzled down from the sky, his banshee screeched in alarm not used to flying in stormy conditions like this. The two of them were still travelling over the sea and Miles didn’t know when they would arrive back to base, hopefully it wont be too long. The sky turned darker and the bioluminescent glow of the plants in the water created a beautiful light to guide his way back to the jungle, but the impending storm made him grit his teeth and fly faster, not stopping to take in the view. Pandora’s as beautiful as it is dangerous.

‘’Ardmore’s gonna kick my ass’’ Quaritch groaned out. The whole reason he was brought back to life was for this stupid mission and now he’s on the verge of death and his whole squad is wiped out, he wonders if anyone has made it out alive from all that and his mind flashes to Spider. Best not to dwell. Luckily he was far enough away from the wreckage to be captured by any of those hostiles, the last thing he needs is one of those things coming after him.

Famous last words.

Suddenly the creature he was sat on squawked and started to sway violently, Quaritch gripped on until his knuckles paled ‘’WHAT THE FUCK’’. A giant net came crashing into them, capturing both and squeezing them uncomfortably tight together. The net fell through the sky and into the ocean with a massive splash, the recom felt himself and his banshee panic through the bond, the animals shouting deafening his ears. They were under the water and sinking fast, the rocks on the sides of the netting pulling them down.

They needed to get out of here.

He quickly grabbed the seal knife that was strapped to his thigh and and started to cut the seaweed that trapped them, luckily it didn’t take a huge amount of effort and the blade sliced through the plant with ease. With the last slash of the weapon an opening was made and his flying companion wriggled out and swam towards the surface disoriented and in desperate need for air.

‘Fuck’ the recom however, got caught onto the netting and the bond with the ikran broke. The makeshift netting turned and twisted with every move the man made and air was running out quickly. 

He lost the opening to the netting in his effort to untangle himself and went to cut more of the seaweed when his chest tightened and he chocked out. A few bubbles flew to the surface and more followed hastily as Quaritch was forced to breath, desperate for air. His heart raced and his vision created patches of darkness.

As his brain fogged, his sight of the ocean became black and he stopped his struggling, sinking slowly to the sea bed. 

‘Eywa give me strength’ lips locked together in a hurry and quick puffs of breath where given into ones mouth. A woman was pushing down onto his chest, hoping and praying to her deity he wasn’t dead. ‘It was an accident, I did not mean to harm him’ she panicked and locked their lips again, hoping to save his life. She was merely hunting outside the reef alone, just her and her tsurak, taking time for herself and her thoughts when she caught sight of something flying nearby. Thinking it may as well be caught as food, a net was unleashed and captured the creature. She only just saw the Na’vi as they were sinking into the waters.

The man suddenly opened his eyes and inhaled sharply coughing up whatever liquid he inhaled while he was drowning. ‘’oh thank you great mother! You are alright!’’ she helped him sit up and patted his back to ease his pain. As the stranger was regaining his breath she took the time to examine his interesting attire, he was wearing a chest piece unlike anything she’s ever seen, most men back at the village wear toe guards which protect the heart, not whatever this is. The man also has long cloth wrapped around his legs which ended above his feet, ‘is it not hard to move in those?’.  A hand suddenly grasped her arm and threw her to the ground underneath a hard body, she squeaked as she was turned to her stomach and a knee was pushed into her lower back and her hands were bound behind her body by a larger one. 

‘’Now just what do you think you’re doing huh?’’ He growled out, the words not making any sense to the woman underneath him, she just saved his life and this is how he thanks her?. ___ wriggled and tried hard to escape, not understanding what he was saying to her and unaware of the horrible insults thrown into her face. 

‘’let me go! I do not understand what you are saying!’’ She begged, the pressure on her lower back increasing tenfold and causing pain. She winced and stopped, unable to move more as the knee pushed further into her.

‘’where..am i?’’ He spoke, his accent strong and evident in his words, although his speaking was that of a babies, slow and unsure. The woman’s ears twitched as she made out what he said, turning her head in the sand of the small island she took them too she shouted, ‘’you are near my home, I have taken you to an island after saving you, now please let me go!’’. Quaritch didn’t know why he bothered to ask, he can’t understand a fucking word, he did however understand she wanted to be let go.

Like hell he’ll do that.

A sharp spike of pain hit his abdomen and he doubled over and was forced to let go of the Na’vi who scrambled out from under his body and kneeled facing him on her feet, glaring with a hand on the knife at her hip just in case he tried to reprimand her again. But was surprised to see his face scrunched up in pain with his own hand against his stomach. Her eyes widened as she finally took notice of his wounds ‘how did I not spot this sooner?!’. Instantly standing up and calling to her tsurak who was nearby she grabbed the guys shoulder and pulled him to try and stand him up ‘’I will take you back to Al’mete, I will get you help, come’’.

But he merely turned around and hissed, mouth wide open and pearly fangs on clear display for her to see as a warning, on instinct she hissed back at the threat display. Not taking no for an answer, she pulled him again and pointed to his bleeding wound when he started to growl ‘’come, you are hurt’’. She tried again with concern in her blue eyes. Quaritch realised that she wanted to take him away to aid him, with her greener hand pointing to his gash and her other one pulling his arm it was becoming obvious. He was too weak to fight properly and had no idea where his stupid ikran went off to, he was lost and alone to fend for himself so he figured he has no choice and got up to follow, hunched over and breath raggedy. ‘I’m gonna regret this’.

The native woman walked into the water and he hesitated figuring she might pull him under when they got deep enough and that this was some sort of trap, she will kill him then feed his body to the rest of her so called clan, ‘it’s what savages do’ and that’s when he saw the huge alligator-like creature in the water, it solidified his choice to stay the hell away. ‘’hell the fuck no’’. Quaritch went to grab his knife at his side but instead found nothing, forgetting that it’s sunk to the bottom of the ocean. He swore, and got into a fighting stance preparing to get attacked, remembering when his banshee almost got his head bit off because of Jake and his skimwing, ___ merely blinked at him, wondering why he wanted to fight her so badly. 

‘’come’’ she beckoned him over, making tsaheylu in preparation to leave, ‘’do not be difficult’’ she glared. The blue recoms head started pounding, he’s losing a lot of blood by now. Grabbing his hand she gently pulled him over seeing as he was struggling and sat him down behind where she would be kneeled, ‘’you are very strange you know…hold on to me’’.

‘’get the hell off me!’’ His weak thrashing ceased as the tsurak took of at great speeds above the water so he could breath. Miles’s head started to spin with the bumping of the waves and he fell unconscious quickly, leaning into the woman’s back as she held his thigh, steadying him until they returned to her village.

‘’why did you save this man?! He is of the sky! DEMON LOOK AT THESE HANDS!’’ The Tsahìk was immensely angry as she held up Quaritch’s arm showing off the five fingers, why must her daughter be as kind as she is a good warrior, she swore it would be her own downfall. But whatever feelings she may feel towards the skyperson in the marui is pushed aside as he is heeled by her hands by the desperate pleas of her kin. There must be a reason why he is here, she has seen the stars change that day a year ago and knew the humans have returned, but the Metkayina remain unaffected as they are reef people away from the forest and the dangers of aliens.

So why? why is he here?

‘’I am sorry mother! I did not know!’’ ___ ears where downturned in shame, she brought a skyperson to their home but she held no regret to saving his life. How was she supposed to know what the humans looked like anyhow? She has never came across one before, and the man in the murui looked Na’vi to her.

As the Tsahìk Nätsa finished patching all his wounds she stood from her kneeling position and turned around, tail cutting the air in anger. ‘’you will tell your father of what you have done, I will not defend you’’ her words are sharp.

‘That is fair’ ___ nodded and watched as her mother strolled out to put her things away. She turned towards the man laying on the floor and sighed ‘what have I got myself into’.

[topguncortez]

Two At Once - J. Seresin & B. Bradshaw 

pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader x Bradley "Rooster Bradshaw warnings: smutty, slash pairing (Hangster), dom/sub dynamic, brat taming dynamic, teasing, allusions of sex word count: 800 prompt request: “How do you feel about two at once?” note: I may or may not be tempted to write more about this dynamical pairing. . .

They had been teasing you all night. You knew that Bradley probably told Jake about your proposition. One night, after one too many vodka cranberries, you told Bradley that you often dreamed about being shared between him and Jake. Bradley raised his eyebrows in suspicion while you just giggled drunkenly and leaned against his shoulder. You didn’t think that he was going to remember it, or take it to heart, but he did. For weeks Bradley had subtly dropped hints about it. Most of the time it was while he was balls deep inside of you. 

‘You think he can fuck you like this?’ 

‘You thinking of him or me right now, sweetheart?’ 

‘Were you dreaming of him or me?’ 

You were holding on to your beer bottle with a vice grip as you watched Jake and Bradley interact. Bradley was wearing jeans and his famous combo of white tank top and unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. He knew that it drove you insane, and wore it for a reason. Jake was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that was tight on his arms and chest. The two of them were awfully close as they played a game of pool. You could see the subtle touches and glances they shared, all trying to tease you. None of the other members of the dagger squad questioned it. 

Most knew of Jake and Bradley’s past. At one point in time, before Bradley met you, he and Jake were fuck buddies. It wasn’t uncommon to see them leaving the Hard Deck together, or walking out of one anothers rooms. You could sometimes cut the sexual tension with a knife between the two of them. You felt a tingle between your legs as you watched Bradley drag his ass over Jake’s crotch. The final straw for you was when you watched Jake lean in and whisper something in Bradley’s ear. 

You slammed your beer bottle down on the counter, catching all the eyes of the dagger squad, and most importantly Jake and Bradley’s. You clenched your jaw and stormed to the bathroom. 

“I think we pissed her off,” Jake said. 

“Nah, she’s just being bratty,” Bradley said, eyes pointed in the direction in which you went, “Come on, I know a way to really get her.” Jake smirked as Bradley grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway towards the bathroom. 

You let out a shaky breath as you splashed some cold water on your face. You weren’t quite sure what you were feeling. Part of you felt jealous that Bradley was ignoring you and flirting with Hangman the whole night. You knew of their past and part of you sometimes wondered if Bradley was doing things behind your back. He assured you time and time again, you were the only one who had his heart and the only one he laid next to in bed. 

The other part of you felt incredibly turned on, watching Bradley and Jake together. You knew that they were a good team, they were a part of the legendary Dagger Squad. Every touch, every look, every word that was shared between Bradley and Jake had a shiver going down your spine and making your panties damp. You were sure that Bradley could see your arousal under your skirt as you crossed your legs and squeezed them together. 

“Get yourself together,” You said to reflection. You let out a sigh and fixed your hair, before opening up the door, “No!” You shouted being met with the sight of Bradley and Jake making out in the dark hallway. Bradley pulled away from Jake, a smirk on his face but it quickly dropped seeing your face. 

“Baby,” Bradley said, reaching out for you. 

“No!” You stopped your foot, and crossed your arms over your chest, “You told him, didn’t you. Bradley! I told you that in-” 

“Is she whining?” Jake asked Bradley, as if you weren’t even there. 

“I think she is,” Bradley answered. 

“I’m right here!” You snapped your fingers. 

“Oh and now she’s snapping at us,” Bradley pointed out, “Damn sweetheart, you are just racking up the punishments right now.” Your chest heaved up and down as Bradley walked towards you, backing you against the wall. He placed a hand beside your head, pinning you to the wall, “You know better than to act like a brat. You sat there the whole night, pouting and rubbing your thighs together like a spoiled, horny, brat.” 

“If it wasn’t for Bradley telling me to leave you be, I would’ve had you bent over and crying already,” Jake said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his broad chest. You gulped and looked up at Bradley. His brown eyes were looking at you, and ran a finger down your face. 

“How do you feel about two at once?” Bradley asked, and you looked up at him with wide, lust filled eyes. You looked at Jake, who’s green eyes were hungrily looking you up and down. Then you looked back at Bradley and nodded, “No, I need words. Do you want us both to fuck you at the same time?” 

“Yes,” You answered. Bradley looked over his shoulder and Jake, who had a smirk on his face. 

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” 

[onpointedfeetandbrokendreams]

Day 5 - DBDA Week

Day 5 of Dead Boy Detectives Appreciation Week: 10th-16th June by @dbdcentral

Prompt: Dreams

Relationships: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne&Niko Sasaki

Tags:  Alternative Universe - Inception (sort of)

TW: Mentions of canon-typical violence

--

As far as the eye could see, the corridor never seemed to end. It kept going, and going, the same sickening green light, the same splashes of blood and broken doll pieces scattered on the floor. It was dizzying. Edwin wasn’t sure if it was actually expanding before him or if he was running in circles, but he couldn’t stop to take notes, or to leave a mark behind to orient himself. He just had to keep going and going, as fast as he could, as quiet as he could. The raw terror the sound of the creature produced enough to make adrenaline pump in his body and make his muscles strain harder, his breathing shorter.

Then he rounded a corner and before he could understand what was happening, the creature was on him, slashing his head from forehead to chin. He couldn’t see, the eerie light was reddened by the drops of blood covering his eye.

He collapsed on the floor, crying, he didn’t even have the energy left to scream. He knew the creature wouldn’t kill him immediately, it wanted to play, wanted the chase to last.

“Edwin, is that you?”

A far-away voice brought him back to the present, he raised his eyes and immediately the tears returned, mixing with the dirt and blood on his face. How he wished Charles had never had to see him like that.

“What are you doing here, Charles?” He asked between sobs.

“I came to rescue you,” Charles replied easily, like it was the most obvious truth of the universe. In a way, it was. Edwin had been hoping that he would come and dreaded it at the same time. It took him seventy years to escape the first time, seventy years of being chased by the creature, torn apart and eaten. He couldn’t bear the thought of Charles having to go through the same because of him.

“Please leave, I’ll distract it…” He whispered, even knowing his plea would fall on deaf ears.

“Mate, there is no way I’m leaving this place without you.”

Charles was towering over his still crouched form now, offering his hand for him to take and help him up. He extended his own hand, but just a moment before their fingers could so much as brush against each other, the creature was on them, and everything went black.

–

When he opened his eyes, Edwin was not in the corridor anymore. There was no trace of the creature, no sound of dolls giggling or screaming from behind him. He took in the place and realised he was in his office. The desk was in its usual place, and it was covered in books and notes in his own hand-writing. The second thing he noticed was that there was also no sign of Charles.

“Hey Edwin, what do you think of the Museum Haunting for our next case? The History Museum is my third favourite public building to visit.”

He knew that voice. His eyes started to fill with tears for a very different reason, as he ran into Niko’s arms.

“Niko! What are you doing here? Also, what Museum Haunting?”

Niko returned the hug, then she took a step back and gave him a quizzical look. “What do you mean? I work here. Is everything okay?”

Edwin’s head was spinning so hard he was barely able to find his voice to ask:

“Where is Charles?”

“Who?” Niko asked, still looking at him in confusion.

Despite technically not needing to breathe, Edwin was gasping for air, because no, absolutely, this could not be happening. 

He saw Niko’s hand reach out to him and caress his arm to comfort him, but he could feel it even less than he normally would. He imagined that was the feeling astronauts had in Space when they had no gravity to keep them anchored. It was an even worse kind of nightmare than Hell.

Then, an idea hit him. Sudden, like lighting. Nightmare.

He focused on how he had died in Hell and reappeared here and he remembered reading a book about this. He fumbled drunkenly towards the bookshelf on the other corner of the office, sending an apologetic look at Niko for slipping away from her.

He turned the pages, but it seemed like nothing on those books was where it was supposed to be. The information was wrong, different, the bookmarks on completely useless places. The books looked like his own, but they were not the same.

After an eternity, or maybe a couple of hours, he finally found what he was looking for. At some point, Niko had renounced trying to talk to him and went outside. Scanning the words on the page, he finally dared to stop and take a proper breath.

“Dream Worlds,” he said, to no one in particular. “When you die in the dream, you are transported back to another dream, or you wake up.”

He didn’t remember how he had managed to fall asleep, he had always thought that it was not something available to ghosts.

There was only one problem: this was not Hell, he was already dead in this World.

He scrambled his brain, trying to figure out what it could mean for a ghost to die in the dream, because their energy could be consumed, but it sounded a bit different from ‘dying’. In the end, he could think only of one thing. The one he had run away from for more than thirty years.

“Niko?” He called, phasing through the wall to the apartment on the other side.

She was laying on her bed, studying the architectural plan of the museum. For a moment, Edwin smiled, looking at the image in front of him with fondness, and longing. He would have liked to show Niko their office, and maybe work cases with her in London.

Niko put down her pen and turned to him, to let him know she was listening.

“I’m sorry, I needed a moment. I am ready for the museum haunting now.”

She beamed, explaining everything she had learned as she led the way out of the building.

The case was simple enough, especially because Edwin had solved it before. A ghost from the Great War with a cursed mask. He caressed the purple volume in his hand and cast a caging spell for the ghost, then set the mask on fire to destroy it. When the blue light came, Niko started yelling at him to run, to hide, she tried desperately to grab his hand and drag him away, but saying a soft “sorry Niko”, he made his arm incorporeal to her, and waited.

“Edwin Payne,” Death’s voice called him. She didn’t seem surprised. “I see you are finally ready to go back to your Afterlife.”

“Yes,” he lied. It still made him shiver to say the words, even if he knew he was not actually going back to Hell.

He heard Niko yell “No!!” as he took Death’s hand, and he couldn’t help the pang of regret at saying goodbye to her. But this was not real, an existence without Charles could not be real.

–

Edwin’s eyes opened on the most beautiful view he had ever seen in his life, and in his death. A phantom flutter on his chest reminded him of the heart that once used to beat there.

“Mate, finally you’re awake! I was so worried, you just collapsed, you’ve been out for days.” Charles said, offering him a hand to help him up. The sense of deja vu sent a new wave of fear through his entire body. He remembered the moment in his vision of Hell, when their fingers were about to touch before the creature ate them both.

Seeing him remain still, Charles moved both of his hands to Edwin’s shoulders and let them slide behind his back to encapsulate him in a hug, and pull him up towards his chest.

Edwin melted into it. “You’re real?” He asked, the smile threatening to split his lips.

“Of course I am real, what happened?” 

There would be time to explain everything later, and to understand. For now, he just let the feeling of Charles’ embrace encompass him, washing away every moment of fear and torture. He didn’t even care if it was the real world or not.

[heartfullofleeches]

What if a contestant made co host cry?

(Tw: light injury, horror elements)

"Ah!"

You clutch your pulsating hand, water splashing over your blouse as you drop the bottle you held. It was half time during one of Host's shows and as reward for making it so far, and the kindness of your heart, you brought the contestant a spare water while Host was off taking care of other business. Annoyed by the lack of answers to their own questions and the unfortunate dismissal of a fellow contestant, they had slashed at you with pen used for writing their answers.

You skin glows bright red; the pen's point unable to pierce your flesh as you got away just in time, but there was still a decent scratch. You can feel tears blurring your vision as you look at contestant. If they hasn't been bolted to their spot you surely would've been seriously injured or dead by now.

"Get back here! I swear to God I'll fucking-"

The dim stage lights take a sudden boost in saturation. Music begins to play in the background, signaling the start of the next round and Host's return. With the blink of an eye, the tall man is sitting back in the chair behind a desk across the floor. He stands up, greeting the crows to roaring applause.

"And we're back, folks! Let's see what our lovely constant has been up to while we were gone!"

All cameras pan to the scene on the other side of the room. The constant staring at the screens around them like a dear in headlights, and you on the verge of tears. The stagelights grow even brighter, cameras honing in on your tear eyes. Host always feared something like this would happen. You've been such a good little helper than he thought giving you a little freedom and shutting off his eyes on stage would do no harm. It's impossible for him to give that space when there's forces around that could bring you harm. And now that the worse possible scenario has played out - he's pissed.

Host casually walks over, stagelights overhead popping without a sound with each step that he takes. A black substance leaks from their heads, dripping down the walls like dark sludge. He gently pushes you aside as he steps between you and the constant.

"Y/n. Go ask one of the stage hands to patch your hand. I'll be with you in a minute."

"But-"

"Now."

You leave without another word. Host places his hands behind his back; everlasting smile never leaving his face. In fact, it grows - spreading more and more until he's sporting a genuine tooth grin and not the mockery he normally wore. His mouth opens wide as he laughs; shoulders rocking from the force of his manic giggles. The sound deafening to the constant's ears. They try to cover them, but find themselves unable to move.

Host's laugher comes to an abrupt stop. He straightens himself as what's left of his eyes stare down at the trembling individual.

"I'm not sure what game shows you've seen, but we try to keep a family friendly air to things and the number one rule for us all is that we never hurt out special guest."

The constant magically finds their voice. "Don't fuck with me. I know the rest are dead!"

Host snickers. "Not you, silly. Our lovely co-host. We strive to make this environment a safe haven for them, and we can't have anyone who'd spoil their fun around, now can we?"

The previous quiet crowd whispers in agreement. Somewhere off in the distance, a buzzer rings. It rattles through the constant's teeth.

Host makes a noise of disproval, snapping his fingers. "Oh, so sorry. It seems like you've broken the most important ryle of our game, and therefore you must face a punishment round. Such a shame."

Everytime he opens his mouth, the constant can feel their head throb. The ooze from the broken lights starts to pool around them. They panic as it slowly seeps through the legs of their pains and onto their skin, microscopic barbs hooking into their flesh. Host's smile grows at the sight of their struggles.

"Fortunately for you, I'm a very forgiving man. If you manage to survive long enough and write a written apology for our co-host, we may forgive you and allow things to return to normal. As for where the punishment comes in, I'd say it's a rather easy one. Enjoy having your flesh slowly peeling from your muscles from the waist up until you can finish your task."