#because it seems like they're disappearing from the tags

[se7ens-oc-heaven]

And now, time for some oc writing!! Specifically, a self-contained piece for my SwSh oc Rex. I think of this as a sort of brief, non-chronological "timeline" piece for him, showing out-of-context snapshots to sort of give a sense of his main drive in the Legendkeepers story. Hopefully you'll all enjoy, this is my first time doing a format like this but I hope it isn't too confusing!

Context: Rex is my oc who follows the Shield storyline, becoming a champion of Galar and exploring the story and events in the Crown Tundra afterwards. His best friend, Ritsu, is a "Faller" who went missing when they were children, and never came back. This follows Rex and how he handles this disappearance as he gets older.

•••

Rex was eleven years old when he first heard the news that his best friend was reported missing. He was worried, of course. He loved his friend dearly. But, in the way you do when you're eleven, he also felt a sureness of how the world worked in a way that didn't always turn out the way it by all rights should have. 

"Yeah, mum and dad have been losing their minds over it. You'd think the world was ending over here, never mind how Ritsu’s parents have been handling things," Rex said rather blithely to Hop, his neighbor and longtime friend. Ritsu's longtime friend. Hop, perched on the stone wall next to Rex, tilted his head at him, confused. 

"They said Ritsu's gone though, right? That sounds awful serious to me," he countered, concern lacing his expression. Hop, by this point, had gathered the nature of the situation well before Rex did. Rex shrugged, swinging his feet aimlessly, heels battering the old stone wall beneath him. 

"I dunno. I mean, it can't be that bad. His parents are always making a fuss if Ritsu misses so much as snack time, and you know he's aces at building super secret bases. He prolly just made a new one and didn't tell them," Rex explained, hopping off the wall with a muted 'oof'. 

"Hey, maybe next time we go visit, we should ask him if we can sleep over in it! I bet it's so cool no one would ever wanna leave, and that's why no one's seen him yet!" He added excitedly. Hop nodded, eyes brightening, the enthusiasm infectious. 

"Yeah, that'd be awesome!" 

•••

Rex was ten years old when his parents were ready to let him take on his first Pokemon. Rex had been eagerly waiting for the day. Bursting with excitement when they told him the good news. But he asked, as politely as he'd ever asked anything, that he wait a year before getting one. 

"Rex, dear, this is all you've ever talked about for so long! I don't mind, but why the change of heart?" His mother inquired, surprised. 

"I was thinking I want to wait until Ritsu can get his, so we can get ours together and they can be bestest buds just like we are!" Rex beamed. His parents exchanged fond, if somewhat anxious glances. 

"I don't have a problem with it," his dad chimed in. 

"But... Ritsu may not even want a pokemon. You know how he gets around them," he added carefully, watching his son for his response. Rex, unphased, shook his head. 

"It'll be fine! He'd feel loads better if he had one looking out for him, I know he would! And so'd his parents! I bet if they quit nagging him so much they'd all learn pokemon can be really cool too!" 

"Rex! That's no way to speak about them!" His mother scolded him with a huff. Rex merely gave a cheeky shrug. 

"It's true though!" 

•••

Rex was fifteen years old when he decided to take on the gym challenge. His parents protested his decision, but he didn't care. He was tired of them getting on his case all the time anymore. Always the same thing, nag nag nag. Ever since Ritsu had disappeared, both his mum and dad had gone insane about keeping track of Rex, holding him accountable at all times. Rex was fed up with it. 

"Ready to go, Miki?" He whispered to his Charmander, sitting on the bedroom sill next to him. Miki wagged her tail, the embers flickering in a mesmerizing fashion in the early dawn light. 

"Char!" She squeaked eagerly. Rex shushed her, brushing a fingertip down her nose gently as a tactile reminder. He grinned down at the charmander in her little red bow. 

"Alright. Let's go then, before we wake mum and dad," he murmured, gesturing with a free arm. Miki took the cue, hopping onto his shoulders, clinging for all she was worth. Rex took a final look down the wall, and - judging it clear - hauled himself down the side, keeping a solid hold on the windowsill now above him. He felt around for good footholds, inching his way down. Normally he'd have no qualms about just dropping right down into the bush below, full force. But he had to be quiet. 

Miki whimpered slightly as Rex slid a little, missing what he thought had been a good ledge. She clung tighter as he fumbled around, adjusting his handholds once he felt his legs were stable. Rex took another look down. Should be good enough, right? 

"Hold on, Miki," he whispered, and with a push he launched himself off the wall, landing on his feet below just in front of the bush. The momentum carried him into a kneel, and he rammed his knees down into the grass with a pained grunt. Oh, he'd be feeling that one later. But that was later, and this was now. And right now, he had to go meet with Hop. 

"Whew.... Alright," Rex muttered to himself, shaking off the lingering pain from his graceless landing. 

"Let's go!" 

It would be several hours before his parents discovered what happened. Rex would be long gone for Wedgehurst by then, and fresh off of what would be his first of many legendary encounters.  

•••

Rex was sixteen years old as he stared down death for the first real time. As he placed himself between Leon and Hop, the latter crying for the former to wake up, pull himself together, Death stared down at the scene before it with a blank apathy. Rex glowered up at the unfeeling hand just waiting to scoop them all up within its chilling grasp. He didn't care what it thought it was, it was out of line! 

The creature - Eternatus, presumably - thundered a hollow, alien cry, and Rex readied his pokeballs. It'd have to kill him and his team before it could get to Hop and Leon. 

•••

Rex was still sixteen years old as he tackled the chairman to the floor of the power plant. He'd never cared much for the man and his glib manner of speaking, but it had never been personal. Before now, that is. 

Now? He wanted nothing more dearly than to make the older man pay for what he did. For endangering his pokemon. For endangering Leon. For endangering Hop, and nearly putting him through another loss. For nearly putting Rex through another loss. 

Well. Rex almost wanted nothing more dearly than to make the older man pay.  

Rex was sixteen years old as the other adults hauled him off of the beaten and battered chairman, voices blending together into a thick stew of concern and shock, worry and admonishment. 

Rex was sixteen years old as he was escorted from the Hammerlocke gym, into a throng of cameras and microphones pushing and shoving greedily towards him, ready to feed. 

Rex was sixteen years old as articles scrutinizing him flew off the press and as news reporters used his name as they would that of a storm in the daily weather report. 

Rex was sixteen years old, a hero of Galar. A public figure.

Rex was sixteen years old when he became the Champion.

Rex was sixteen years old. 

•••

Rex was twelve years old, nearly thirteen, when he attended his best friend's funeral. He didn't understand why. Ritsu was still missing. Not dead. 

According to the adults, it was because there were no leads, no sign of Ritsu anywhere at any point, and so they had to assume the worst. Well, then the adults hadn't looked hard enough! That wasn't Ritsu's fault if they were bollocks at searches. They shouldn't have been giving up on him just for that. 

Rex stood amid a mass of black, holding his baby charmander close to his chest. That shouldn't be out, someone had scolded, put it back in its pokeball. 

No, Rex had said, standing firm. Miki has just as much right to be here as anyone. She wasn't hurting anything.

The adults continued to shoot him looks for the orange bundle in his black-clad arms. He let them. 

Miki had been there for him through all of this. She didn't deserve to be cooped up in some ball just because the others thought she was lesser. 

At least Hop understood. Over half of the times that Rex had looked up to see a disapproving glare sent his way, he also saw Hop giving them a hard stare of his own, inching himself in the middle of the line of sight. Rex would give an appreciative smile and Hop would hit him with a small grin of his own. 

"You don't have to handle this alone", it seemed to say. 

•••

Rex was sixteen years old as he stood next to his best friend Hop, in the midst of a panicked evacuation from the Darkest Day heralding the end of the world.

“Aaaagh, shit. How are we going to find Leon in this mess?” Hop bounced on the balls of his feet anxiously, trying to crane his neck to see past the people flooding out of the building. 

“Stay calm. If there’s one thing I’ve learned researching about Ritsu, it’s-”

“Oh, drop it about Ritsu for one damned second!” Hop swore. Rex faltered, startled. Around them, alarms blared and a cacophony of voices swarmed in all directions around them. 

Rex stared back at Hop, brows furrowed in a question he was too speechless to ask. Hop waved his arm in a sweeping motion towards everything. 

“Now’s not the time! Just look at this! We have to focus on the now, on saving my brother!”

Rex found himself protesting without fully meaning to.

“Well, yeah, obviously. I wasn’t saying otherwise. I was jus-”

“No, I know! But it’s not the same! It’s not! The same!” Hop interrupted, voice raising.

 “My bro’s still alive! Ritsu’s dead! He’s been dead, and I’ve let it go all this time that you keep blithering on about bringing him back or whatever, but now’s not the time!”

Rex fell still. Hop glared him down for a moment before it was clear no one was going to make a move otherwise. 

“Ugh, screw this! I’m going to go find Leon! Or the chairman. Or. Something!” Hop scoffed, whirling on his heel and running off into the amorphous cloud of people.

Rex hesitated. 

He had to go help too. 

His feet felt welded to the floor. 

Rex was sixteen years old as he stood, lost and alone in a crowd of people fleeing the end of the world. 

•••

Rex was sixteen, going on seventeen years old, as the wind blustered around him, stealing his heat from his bones. He paid it little mind, all attention trained on the pokemon before him, its absurdly large head bobbing around in front of him. Chief Peony likewise bobbed in the air, suspended with telekinesis Rex had wagered, expression almost peaceful as words were spoken through him. 

"I am Calyrex. I am the one known as the King of Bountiful Harvests. I have borrowed this man's body in order to thank you in person...so to speak."

The wind was surely stealing Peony's heat away. He hoped the chief could hold out a little longer. 

•••

“Hold out just a little bit longer, Ritsu.”

Rex was eleven years old, nearly twelve, as he muttered this into his palm. He sat sullenly in his room, staring out the window, grounded for the third time that month for trying to take a train - and then ultimately, a plane - to Hoenn all by himself. 

He was tired of waiting for the adults to get off their arses and find his friend! It was obvious he needed to take matters into his own hands! Not that his parents listened to a word he’d say. What would they know? 

Dejectedly, he flipped through the pages of a worn comic book issue with one hand, disinterested in the panels and words he’d read over a dozen times by now. Only one speech bubble happened to catch his eye by chance as the pages scattered past, a shout bubble belonging to a desperate hero.

“Hold out a little bit longer.”

It was a phrase used often enough, especially in his favorite comics. Seriously enough. Ritsu was fine, Rex knew he was. But it felt appropriate, somehow, to apply it to the situation. 

Hold out a little bit longer. 

Rex was eleven years old, nearly twelve, when a knock on the door distracted him from a troubling line of thinking. 

•••

“Hold on there, Rex,” Rex’s mum had laughed gaily, keying the number into the rotom phone. Rex, twelve years old, sat shoulder to shoulder with Hop, bouncing his knee in impatience as the egg before him glowed gently. 

“But dad’s going to miss it!” Rex whined. 

“He’ll still get to meet the baby pokemon that’s come out of it,” Leon reassured over the speaker. Rex had insisted everyone be present, even if it meant Hop called his brother while Rex’s mum tried - and failed - to reach his dad. 

“It’s supposed to be a charmander, right?” Hop asked his brother. 

“Could be.” 

Rex startled from his pout, and his head whipped to the phone in Hop’s lap. 

“You said it was an egg from your charizard, guaranteed!”

“I mean, who can really tell with eggs?” Leon laughed. Rex had just about wound up a retort when a telltale crack sound snapped in front of him. All eyes trained on the source. 

The egg was hatching. 

Everyone watched, spellbound, as the egg broke open in a blaze of light. A little orange lizard sprawled out from the broken shell, stretching with a tiny squeak of effort, before large aquamarine eyes turned up curiously towards Rex. 

“Hullo there,” Rex whispered, leaning closer to the tiny charmander. 

“Want to be my friend?”

•••

Rex was twenty five years old as he stood, uncertainly, in Eterna forest, an aged flute clutched in both hands. Beside him, Miki, his charizard and most faithful companion, leaned down to huff at the instrument. Rex chuckled, and stroked at her muzzle soothingly. 

“Yeah, I hear ya. ‘S now or never, huh?” 

At his other side, Calyrex nodded sagely. 

“It’s time, Rex,” they confirmed. Rex took a deep breath in. And out. Then, holding the time flute up to his lips, he began to play. 

The trio heard a noise akin to if glitter were a sound, and a delighted laugh chimed across the forest. Rex opened his eyes to see Celebi, hovering in front of him expectantly. 

“Calyrex?” Rex prompted, still nervous. Calyrex nodded. 

“Celebi is ready,” they affirmed. Rex nodded, a smile starting to spread across his lips as it sank in. 

He’d done it. 

He’d finally be bringing Ritsu home. 

Rex was twenty-five years old as he looked Celebi in the eye and said,

“Let’s do it, then. Take me back to Hisui.”

[cherrygirlfriend]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° postcards under the bed

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: how dean became a part of reader's little family. tags/warnings: fluff, fwb, reader has custody of her 5yo niece wc: 1k a/n; your girl was craving fluff!!!

dean winchester masterlist ♡

when you and dean first started going out, you knew that he was always traveling and never really stayed in one spot for too long, which was more than fine with you; you were too busy working and taking care of your niece for a proper relationship, anyway.

so, whenever the man came back to kansas and you managed to get a babysitter, the two of you would get tangled up in your bedsheets for a night. until things started changing.

what started as dean calling you up when he was back in town slowly turned into him texting you when he was gone, asking you how you were doing and telling you he couldn't wait to see you, coming over as soon as he was back in kansas.

what started as dean coming straight to your place and almost immediately taking you to bed slowly turned into pots and pans clanging in the kitchen as he cooked you dinner while you simply watched him with a glass of wine on your hand, the man telling you all about whatever monster him and his brother had been hunting while he made you his so-called specialty.

what started as dean leaving before you had even woken up slowly turned into waking up to his snores, spending lazy mornings tangled in each other's arms while the two of you talked about everything and nothing in hushed voices, exchanging small, nearly feather-light kisses.

he started bringing you postcards from all the places they'd travel to, the back of them filled with chicken scratches about what they were hunting, and although he always gave them to you in person, he made sure to write your name on the lines meant for your address with what was dean's attempt at cursive, the shoe box under your bed soon filled with postcards from different places.

neither of you called it what it was; when sam queried dean about where he'd disappear off to the moment they got back from their cases he'd mumble something about 'going to see someone', and when your friends wondered who was the guy picking you up from your girls' night in the black impala you'd just shrug and grin before making your way outside, straight into the arms of the man leaning against the car.

"i'm gonna have to cancel tonight." you said into your phone, using your shoulder to hold it up to your ear as you used your hands to decorate a bunch of cupcakes.

"what? aw, come on." dean's voice rang out, "i got popcorn and sour patch kids, and you finally agreed to watch terminator with me. are you bailing on me because of that? because if you really want to, we can watch one of your chick-flicks. again."

you let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, a small smile now lingering on your lips, "it's not that. my sitter has a fever and had to cancel. so instead of our planned explicit date night i'm gonna be playing board games with aurora."

"ah, damn." dean sighed on the other line, "i really wanted to see you, sammy and i are probably gonna be back on the road tomorrow, we found some vamps up in duluth."

"i'm sorry." you say with your lips turned down in a slight frown, "let's take a raincheck, 'kay? i should go get rory, i finished decorating our cupcakes."

"oh? what cupcakes did you make?"

"red velvet. they're her favorite."

dean let out a small chuckle before humming, "hey, i was thinking... if it's not a girls-only night... maybe i could join you."

"really?" you raised your brows, "you wanna spend the evening playing monopoly with me and my niece rather than, i don't know, go to some bar and spend the evening with some hot chick?"

"i mean, you do have cupcakes. and board games are no fun with just two people."

you hummed, your lips pursed as you thought about his suggestion for a moment, before swallowing, "yeah. you can join."

after that evening, it seemed like things changed all over again.

dean no longer texted to ask you how you were, or to tell you how much he wanted to see you. he no longer cooked for you while you got to relax. you no longer woke up next to him. you didn't receive postcards addressed to you.

instead, he'd call you, checking in on you and aurora, saying how much he couldn't wait to see both of you again. he cooked for you while you were busy coloring with your niece. by the time you woke up, led zeppelin was blasting in the kitchen and the entire house smelled of pancakes, and when you got up, you'd see aurora dancing clumsily while dean was making pancakes. and the postcards were no longer addressed to you, but to you and aurora, and instead of ending up hidden under your bed, they were displayed on the fridge, until you no longer had enough magnets.

you were laid on dean's chest, your fingers drawing slight patterns on his skin, until his own hand came to stop you, bringing your hand to his warm lips, pressing a kiss on it.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked against your skin, and you looked up at him, wondering if you should tell dean what you were really thinking about or just brush him off. but the look in his eyes was reassuring, almost pleading you to tell him what was on your mind.

you took a deep breath before locking eyes with him, chewing on your lower lip, slightly anxious about what he was going to think.

"i don't think i can live without you."

dean's eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he let out a soft chuckle, the feeling of his breath on your hand causing shivers to run down your spine. he let go of your hand and moved his hand to your cheek, and you almost automatically brought your face closer to his.

"that's good, sweetheart, because i don't think i can live without you, either."

[bluemoonbun]

what if there was a yandere batfam x villain!mom!reader. More specifically, I'm thinking of this (Fem reader);

Reader is a (technically) small threat. They're well known, but they mostly go after the rich and police. Unfortunately, that describes everyone in/closely involved with the Batfamily. Attempts at capture are futile, however, since they seem to rival Bruce in contingency plans.

Eventually, Jason steps up to bat and tries to catch them. However, there's one thing that Jason picked up from Bruce; his type is crime.

You and Jason have Batman-and-Catwoman-esque chases throughout Gotham, Jason blaming your escape on you being too crafty while denying any help. You see Jason's scars and admit that you have a pretty bad one on your side, eventually showing it to him when you feel comfortable taking your clothes off. Jason has had to hide more hickeys, bite marks, and scratches on his back than anyone would hazard to guess.

One day, however, you disappear. The Batfam is relieved that you've finally stopped your reign of terror over Gotham, but Jason is worried.

The Batfam all go out for ice cream a few months later for something unrelated, when Jason catches sight of something familiar.

A scar winding up someone's side. A scar he's seen before. A scar that's stretched due to a bump.

Dick walks into his back when Jason freezes. Judging by the size, you've been pregnant for about as long as you've been off of the streets. So that's where you've been...

Why didn't you tell him? Did you think he didn't love you enough? Did he not show you enough times that he loved you? Did you think that it wouldn't work because he was working with Batman? He wasn't that close with him! He'd help you find a nice apartment in Crime Alley, or, hell, you could move in with him! He wasn't sure how good of a dad he'd be, but he'd try! Isn't that what parenting is about?

Oh god, he hasn't been around for so much of your pregnancy already. He needs to talk to you!

"...Jason. Earth to Jason Todd? Hello?" Dick says, waving his hand through the thoughts swirling in front of his eyes. Jason starts slightly as he remembers where he was. Damian begins walking towards you. Or rather, the ice cream store you were in front of.

While you were out of earshot, he saw as you looked at Damian. You smiled, probably asking where his parents are, because he gestured behind him. He watched as your smile fell into shock as your eyes landed on him, hand instinctively going to your stomach before you glanced at a nearby alleyway before looking back at him.

He took the hint. Now you're facing each other, unasked and uncountable questions floating between the both of you. Jason, however, asked the worst question possible in that moment.

"Is it mine?"

The slap was warranted, honestly.

The next few questions come more easily. You're around 24 weeks along, you've been living alone for the most part, you've obviously taken time off to avoid any injuries/toxic exposure to the baby, etc. Eventually, he asks why you never told him, and the reason was twofold. On one hand, telling him would've required doing some sort of crime for the batfamily to follow and him being the one that caught you, which you had known was debateable since he mentioned how Bruce and the Robins offered to tag along. On the other, the chance of everything crashing and burning because of this was too great. You were too willing to accept that it was truly just like what Batman and Catwoman had, something fun and fleeting but nothing deeper than that. You weren't going to risk your child because you felt loved.

Jason takes your hands and tells you his full legal name. At first you're confused, but he tells you more. He tells you how long he's been a vigilante, where he lives, even the code to his apartment. He doesn't see any of this as fleeting. This, to him, was a relationship that just needed a full push to become a "proper" one.

He places his hands and yours on your stomach.

"My name is Jason Peter Todd, I'm the vigilante Red Hood, son of Bruce Wayne, and... I'm gonna be a dad if you'll let me."

You smile and hug him, unable to talk around the lump in your throat.

"Jason...? What the fuck are you doing?" says Dick.

He turns around and realizes that the entire batfamily had heard him.

"So, she's pregnant with your child?" Damian glances around, trying to get another look at your belly.

"Of everyone I thought would get a villain pregnant... you weren't high on that list." Barbara chimes in.

"I'm gonna be a grandfather?" Bruce asks

---

So yeah, gist of it is that Jason gets Reader pregnant, Reader gets some information that Batman uses to justify keeping you in the manor, along with the half truth of "keeping appearances", since the tabloids would eat you alive if they caught evidence of a member of the Wayne family being a deadbeat dad, and over time, the family becomes more and more suffocating until your baby is born, in which they somehow make themselves a nuisance in child rearing.

Asks are welcome!

[rockatanskette]

One of the running themes in "humans are space orcs" circles is the idea that humans will bond with anything. I can think of plenty of stories of humans making friends with wild animals, alligators, predators, creatures that aliens would immediately recognize as too dangerous for contact. But I was reading a story about two orangutans released back into the wild today and there's a certain element to that story I haven't seen so often: humans will bond with animals regardless of whether the bond is reciprocal.

For every story of a human making friends with some unlikely creature, there are dozens of stories of conservation specialists tranquilizing animals, tending to their wounds or illness, and releasing them because they're too dangerous to handle consciously. Stories of tagging birds of prey and timber wolves and Siberian tigers. Fat Bear Week? Any of those bears would rip your face off without hesitation. But they're round and fluffy and intimidating and beautiful and we love them even though they hate us. We make an effort to protect our monsters, because we love our monsters.

Imagine an alien planet that's experiencing ecological degradation. Their flora is dying, and they can't figure out why. And, offhandedly, in a diplomatic mission, an allied planet mentions that humans have successfully reversed similar devastation on Earth. So they reach out and Earth sends some experts to check it out. And what do they suggest? Reintroducing an apex predator that used to be a scourge against alien settlements. The species still exists in other regions of the planet, but it is slowly disappearing outside of its native habitat.

The aliens are askance. They've told bedtime stories to their young of these creatures: how they tear apart their prey, how they've eaten their organs and rip apart their homes. Some suggest that it's a trick—that the humans are trying to prompt them into destroying themselves.

But there are many alien cultures on this planet, with many different stories and some of them agree. The world watches in anticipation as the humans help their predators. They seek them out, these fearless otherworlders, putting them to sleep and tending their wounds. They keep track of the beasts, not to harm them, but to protect them.

At first the doomsayers' prophecy seems to come true. The predators devour prey animals like a feast, like a slaughter to people who have never been so close to the circle of life. But then, slowly, not over months but over years, comes change. The prey no longer eat the leaves and buds of every tree; some are left to bloom and fall. The refuse rots in the dirt, and the floods cease as the soil grows thick with compost and rotted bone, thick enough to hold water. The shapes of rivers change to protect their surroundings from the rain. The pollinators rebound.

Decades later, other cities and nations begin to accept this human myth of "conservation." Champions arise, alien champions, now, who go into the depths of the wilderness and the seas to protect those predators from the apathy of time.

Not all of them make it. This is something else the humans teach. Sometimes the tranquilizers are not enough. Sometimes the timing is wrong. Sometimes accidents happen. And when they do, the aliens look to humans for an answer for why they should protect these creatures who have killed those they love?

"Because they knew the risks," the humans say. "Because they would be the first to speak to save them. Because they taught you to see the beauty in the wild and you must not close your eyes."

So, despite themselves, they don't.

[sanguineterrain]

a bloody vow | jason todd

Summary: After the racy encounter with your knight, you seem to lose all progress made in your relationship. You hardly talk, and you're lonelier than ever. But after a house break-in has you running to Jason for help, you're forced to face each other, blood and all.

Pairing: knight!Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: violence! Jason kills a man. reader and jason's house is broken into and the thief attacks the reader (but they're okay.) mentions of self-flagellation, religious guilt. reader feels very lonely without their big strong knight :( the eroticism of killing for another person. codependence. partial nudity. probably not the healthiest relationship but whatevs. Jason would do anything for them what more could you want?

the divider

Everything's changed since the morning that you found Jason with the whip.

He won't even eat with you anymore.

He accepts whatever you make and thanks you quietly, then eats his supper in the shed. He didn’t say much before—now you're lucky if you get more than a word from him.

He's also taken to punishing himself regularly. Jason does it far away, so he won't wake you. But you've seen his back and the welts peeking beneath his tunic and the spots of blood. You also see fresh injuries from his training, injuries that could be avoided if he was more careful. You've tried to offer him a salve to heal his back. He always refuses, flinching like a kicked dog if you get too close.

You fear that you'd pushed Jason too far that morning. You replay it in your mind, wondering what exactly had possessed you to act in such a vulgar manner. Exposing yourself to him like that after spying on him earlier—what were you thinking?

You weren't, is the truth. It seems all rational thought leaves your brain when you're around him.

It's truly like living with a ghost. Your feelings are jumbled, caught in a maelstrom of guilt and fear and desire. More than anything, you're unbearably lonely. You'd feared a harsh hand when you first were deposited into Jason's bed. You never imagined that there could be a worse fate than being wanted: being ignored.

So, it's been three weeks of this new routine. Jason has been disappearing at night to the pub. Not that he told you that—you know this because of the incessant gossip that flies around the market. It's not hard to decipher who the 'hulking knight' is when people stare at you.

You try not to think about what Jason gets up to. You really have no right to be angry if he finds someone to warm his bed. You're lucky he hasn't thrown you into the sea after your insolence.

Routine is all that keeps you sane. You do the washing and cooking without complaint. Jason still leaves you money to go to the market, and sometimes you save a couple of coins to buy books. You keep the books under a floorboard in your room. He never asks you for change.

You don't know if this routine will be enough, though. You wish Jason would just throw you out and be done with it. You're certainly not performing the duties that the king expected of you when he brought you here. Jason can hardly look at you, much less touch you.

You eat alone tonight. By the time you wash up and are ready for bed, it's late. Jason still isn't home.

Not unusual these days. You get into bed and blow out the candle. Maybe you won't wake in the morning. Then you'll both be free.

A crash jerks you out of slumber.

You're awake immediately, fumbling under your bed for the small dagger you'd secretly purchased when you first came.

Your first thought is that Jason came home drunk. But if he’s come home drunk in the past, you've never heard him, and it's always as quiet in the morning as it was the night before.

A chilling second thought hits you as the floor creaks outside your door.

Someone's broken in.

You quietly get to your feet, dagger in hand. If Jason were home, he would be here already, dealing with the problem. As it is, you're alone and completely vulnerable without your knight.

Your door splinters open. You stumble backwards.

"Wha' have we here?" A lantern shines in your face. "Look a' this. Pretty thing like you shouldn't be left alone."

You bolt for the front door.

“Oh, no no, you don’t.”

The intruder darts after you and stops you before you can open the door. He hauls you backwards and throws you against the dying fireplace. You land on your ribs and the wind is knocked out of you.

"Too big of a house for a little mouse like you,” the man says with a greasy sneer. 

You turn and lunge at him. You catch him off guard enough to stab his shoulder with the dagger. He howls in pain and shoves you off. Your head hits the wall, and for a moment, you fear you’ll vomit. But you don’t, so you stand.

"You bitch!" he shouts. "I'll fuckin' kill ya for that!"

That's all the motivation you need to run.

You’re aching all over, head pounding. Your legs are cold, being that you're only in a nightgown. You might be bleeding. But you keep running.

You run all the way into town, which feels like miles at this time of night, bruised as you are. It’s easy to find the pub, and it doesn’t even occur to you that you’re not allowed inside. All that’s on your mind is Jason. Find Jason.

You pound your fists on the door of the pub, crying.

"Jason, Jason!" you shout. “Help me, please! Please!”

The door opens. You stumble in, almost tripping on the uneven wood. Men stare at you as you enter.

"Jason!" you yell.

A knight you don't recognize stares down at you, blocking your path. You stumble back, grabbing the wall for support.

"Out," he snarls. 

"Please," you beg. "Please, I need my husb—"

He's shoved aside suddenly, ale sloshing over his mug. He growls in protest, but someone drags him away by the back of his tunic. 

Relief floods you at the familiar face who takes his place. Jason.

He's obviously shocked to see you here, eyes roving over you. His shirt is unbuttoned, a thin fresh cut on his cheek. He says your name. Every inhibition you’ve felt over the last month disappears.

"What—"

You throw yourself into his arms, weeping. Jason catches you, cradling the back of your head. You're surrounded by him, the rest of the world blocked out. He smells like the strong yellow soap you make in large chunks because it’s cheaper than purchasing it at the market. He smells like the home you share.

"What is it? Where do you hurt?" he asks quietly, shielding you from all the pairs of eyes. He rubs your back, bent over you. You cling to his neck, shaking with the memory of tonight.

"A man b-broke in," you say, and Jason's grip tightens. "He said–he said he w-would...k-kill…"

You trail off. Jason pets you, breathing even on your neck.

You know that you hardly have any rights, that the men here would sooner see you die than step into danger for you. Perhaps that includes Jason too. Perhaps it's too late. 

"I understand," Jason says into your ear. He doesn’t waver despite how you tremble. "It's alright. I won't let him hurt you again. I'm... I'm so sorry for leaving you alone."

He exhales, long and slow. You feel him begin to pull away. You panic, digging your nails into his arms. Jason quickly soothes you. He doesn’t chastise you for clawing him. 

"It’s alright. I'm going to handle this, and then we'll go home," he says. "Roy."

A redheaded knight approaches. You slowly turn your head. He smiles gently at you.

"Your Highness," he says, bowing deeply, and you feel a little lighter.

"Roy's going to take you home while I handle the thief," Jason says. "I promise that I'll be fast, alright?"

"You promise you won't leave?" you ask. “You’ll come home right away?”

Jason takes your hand, stroking your knuckles. "I swear. May God strike me down if I don't return."

“Oi, man, get your little harlot out of—”

Jason stands, rising and towering over the angry drunk. He’s immediately cowed under Jason’s gaze.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason says, even and deadly. The man leaves in a huff.

"I'm sorry for causing trouble," you whisper, cheeks still wet.

"You haven't," is all he says, before leading you outside.

You have an audience, which is absolutely humiliating, but neither Jason nor Roy pays them any mind, so you don’t either. 

Roy helps you onto his horse, and in the time that that takes, Jason is already headed back to the house by the time you and Roy start off. You realize then that you trust Jason. You've never met this Sir Roy in your life—Jason's never even mentioned having friends. But you trust that you will get home safely. 

“Jason won’t let him get away,” Roy says. You believe him.

The ride is short. You don’t know if you’ll manage to go back to sleep without Jason there, but the least you can do is host Roy, perhaps. You’re bone-tired, but you ought to be hospitable, shouldn’t you?

But as you get closer to the cottage, you hear voices in the woods. Jason’s horse is out front. You dismount without Roy's help and take off running. He calls after you. You ignore him.

You don't go through the house, not ready to face the destruction your intruder left in his wake. Instead, you go around and follow the stream into the woods. The voices get louder. When you get to the clearing by the shed, you stop.

The lantern has been knocked onto its side, flames flickering. But you can very clearly make out Jason in the dark. His shadow cuts a frightening figure that dances across the trees. Moonlight flickers through the canopy, illuminating him and the other figure. Your attacker.

Your attacker, who’s discovering that he picked the wrong house to rob.

Jason's got him pressed against a tree. Blood drips from the man's head and face. You stay a few yards away, behind a tree. The bark dully bites into your hand. You’re torn on whether you should make yourself known or not. Stop this or not.

"You touched them," Jason says, and does something with his sword that draws out a strangled groan from the attacker. The metal shines with fresh blood.

"I am worse than you," he continues. "I lost sight of my duty. My reason for living. Everything I do is for the star-crossed beauty my king captured for me. It's all I can do to pay penance for my sins. And you come into my house and dare to lay a hand on what is mine?"

The breath leaves you in a punch. You're cold with sweat, but something tugs at your gut. Something frightening. Something that tells you to stay hidden.

"I am worse," Jason says. "Because a good man would show you mercy and let you be hanged for your crimes."

"That fuckin' bitch deserved it," the intruder spits.

Here, Jason loses his composure. Here, he twists his sword.

"I will tear you apart," he says, voice a snarl.

And Jason does exactly that. It's bloody and gory. You feel sick a few times. You can't see everything in the fractured light, but you can hear it all. Bones crack, the man screams, but Jason doesn't relent. He drives his sword deeper and deeper. Blood gurgles from the attacker's mouth.

You watch on, feeling quite like you had the day you saw Jason fucking his fist.

The body drops with a thud as Jason lets him go. You imagine a sword slick with blood. You imagine Jason covered in it.

The realization is dizzying. You are an executioner, and Jason is your axe.

You don't know what you're more horrified by: the fact that it took you this long to look away or that you don't mind the stench of fresh blood.

Jason takes two steps and picks up the lantern. He sees you. He stops.

"He's dead," you say dumbly.

Jason swallows, face otherwise blank. "You... you were not meant to see that."

"I didn't." But you did.

He knows you did.

"Roy should've taken you inside," Jason says.

You can't understand why shame draws the lines of his shoulders. 

"I didn't want to go inside," you say. "Not without you."

Jason inhales sharply. Then he looks away. "I shouldn't have... I pray that you'll forgive me, but I understand if you don't."

Jason is covered in more than a little blood. Red spatters his cheek, though it looks black in the shadows.

He's slick with blood. You wonder if he'll bathe in the river. If you might help him.

You step forward. Jason is still. He watches you steadily as you approach.

You pull down the sleeve of your nightgown and reach for Jason's face. He flinches. You hush him.

"It's alright," you whisper.

He lets you touch his cheek. His eyelids flutter as you wipe the blood from his face. Then you hold his cheeks with both hands. Jason shudders.

"You can touch me," you say.

Immediately, Jason shakes his head, hands curling into fists at his side.

"No. I'm unclean. You shouldn’t touch me either, you’ll—you’re—”

"I don't mind." Your thumbs trace the contours of his face for a moment, feeling the hard line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his full bottom lip. He lets you, eyes locked on yours.

Then, you pull up your nightgown, revealing your bare thighs, your underwear, your belly. Jason’s chest heaves. He immediately looks away. But you’re quick. You guide Jason's hand with your other hand. He stains your flesh with blood. You picture the sticky, bloody handprint he'll leave on your waist. That frightening feeling returns. 

Jason's hand is hot on your skin. He exhales shakily. 

"I'm sorry," he says again, cupping your waist. His fingers gently knead your skin as if he's testing if you're real. It tickles, but you don't move, fearing Jason will pull away at the slightest jerk.

"Don't sleep in the shed anymore," you say.

"Alright."

"Eat supper with me."

"Okay."

You draw Jason closer. Blood smears your clothed chest. His thighs warm your exposed legs. You will not let him punish himself in the morning. You will sleep on his chest if that’s what it takes. Only you are allowed to draw blood from him. 

"Are you mine?" you ask.

Jason's answer is instant.

"Yes."

[11cupids-tarot11]

18+ What has your future spouse been dreaming about lately?

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Pile 1- The Hermit, Ten of Wands, Knight of Coins, Ten of Cups, Knight of Coins, and The Sun.

Oracle cards- "Let there be closeness between you, but always give each other space. Love never claims, it simply allows and gives."

"It is important right now to take a step back and spend some time alone. Instead of placing your focus on another, now is the time to give to yourself."

Okay, so right away I feel lots of sexual energy from your person 🙈 like they're gonna be very sexual towards you and have a high sex drive I feel like. I think they really like your back side, I feel like doggy style is one of their favorite positions lol this person has a few favorites I'm hearing 😀 lmao. This is someone who is going to make you blush a lot, like they're very flirty and physical touch might be their love language. I'm seeing someone who just can't keep their hands to themselves, they're gonna always be holding you, all over your body even while having sex or even if you two are just cuddling on the couch.

This person wants to get you alllll alone lol I just heard "all to myself". You could know this person? This person seems to want to plan a day with just you two lol I heard "gemme a hug" so see, this person wants to hug you as soon as they see you! Lol they're very handsy.

This could be someone you haven't seen in awhile, for some.

They're working on their finances right now! Like just piled in it lol, they want to work really hard to impress you! Take you out on nice fancy dates! They want to wine and dine you. They could dream and fantasize about taking a vacation with you, like disappear on everyone and just get away for awhile with just you two ;) they want to deepen y'all connection I heard within this time, not only sexually but emotionally as well, like real emotional support like a partner would. They want to know everything about you, they're that type. They want to lay in bed all day just listening to you talk. Real sweet energy! Your person might be more of a smooth talker than a dirty talker. I feel like just the way he makes you feel alone will turn you on vs him having to talk to you like some kind of porn star to get you turned on, so you'll probably find this person hot a lot 🤣 like you'll always just want to drag them off somewhere yk? LMAO I'm blushing, I think you're both going to be equally attracted and enamored with the other! Y'all's energy is so sexual together it's too much for me. Like I feel like if they're a freak in the bed you're also a freak in the bed! Y'all will match each other's energy lol cute! You two will be a freaking adorable couple.

I feel like this person fantasizes about the day they can court you basically loll. I never use the word court that is all them 🤣 they really want to show up to you like the Knight of Coins, like someone who is very stable and strong and just good enough for you basically lol. You might be really hot because they really really want to impress you pile 1 lmao!

I think they fantasize about seeing you naked! They can't wait to? They think you have a nice ass lol. I feel like this person is always smirking! Random lol.

Okay so with the Knight of Coins this person wants to dedicate himself to you >< awww so if he has any flaws that you don't like this person will for sure pull himself together! I'm talking about if this person smokes everyday and if you talk to them about it, they'll work so hard to quit for you! I feel like you're this person's muse! Not only that but I feel like this person fantasizes about being committed to you! They might dream about what it's like to be married to you often!

I feel like this person might have a tougher exterior! So this is why this person loves being around you! They can let down their guard and be themselves and they love that! They can be as affectionate as they want and you two never get sick of each other, that's because you two will work hard on balancing everything out in your lives together! Like work and play, you'll manage work and also have time for them! You guys will be able to spend moments away from each other and not miss the other because of how balanced you guys are, but when you see each other you're all lovey dovey once again still! How sweet omg!! 😭

Okay, I hope you guys liked this reading! Talk soon Angelz🪽💕

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Pile 2- Justice, Ten of Wands, Ace of Swords, Knight of Wands, Ten of Wands, Nine of Cups.

Oracle cards- "Deep in your heart, you already know they answer. Do what feels right."

"Sacred Union- Honor and treasure your relationship, for it is truly sacred."

Ooo lots of air energy. I feel like your person has facial hair, he's very masculine in bed, he likes it when you ride him in his dreams lol. He really really wants you to ride him 🤣 okay anyways let's read your cards now!

There's something about the hair here lol, for some the masculine has darker hair and the feminine has lighter hair and for others the masculine has lighter hair while the feminine has darker hair. Take it how it resonates!

First card out being Justice and I heard something about an orgasm, your person really wants to see you orgasm I hear. Like they want you riding them on top so they can feel it all over their body when you're done. You're person is really intense like sheesh. This person might be older or maybe more experienced in bed than you are, they'll teach you a lot of things so if you're into being submissive they really want you to be their student!

This person is very horny I feel like, I think they're really touch deprived and have "blue balls" they say? 🤣 You're person is making me laugh and blush like crazy they'll always surprise you with the things they'll say!

This person really likes to channel messages directly to you, they probably talk to you a lot. They'll love talking to you! They're so open about their fantasies with you it's crazy! They'll be very direct for sure, they won't beat around the bush. If they're horny they'll probably just flirt with you very directly and let you know they want to fuck you. This person feels very fresh and original actually, very different energy than I usually channel.

So yeah with the ten of wands I feel like your person is very tired right now and just wants to relax with you! This person fantasizes about more so letting you take the lead to make them feel good in bed, like they might fantasize about coming home to you and you're already in bed waiting to please them and help them relax after a long day at work. I don't think your person lets you take the lead often in bed, just when he really wants to relax! His fantasy 😇

This person fantasizes about you bringing them to a climax! 🤣 Riding them till they come basically. I feel like they self pleasure to this idea a lot too lol. I feel like this is more of a secretive dream of theirs too, like people could view them as a very masculine person in bed so when they let you take control it's because they really trust you with that vulnerable side of theirs. Funny because every card that flipped over in the beginning would hide away in my deck again and I'd have to go fishing to see which cards flipped over 🤣 they're shy about telling you this lol.

I feel like this person can't wait to show off their size to you as well, they think it's impressive! ;)

I feel like this person might fantasize about you two doing it in public places? There's an energy or a situation playing out in my head like two people having sex but very sneaky in unusual places while having to watch your back and keep a lookout lol.

With the Knight of Wands I feel like this is someone you might know already for a few, a specific message for someone that this could be someone you've been intimate with before and after they really wanted to pursue some sort of relationship after! It's like they got addicted to you after having you lol.

This person could fantasize about getting you pregnant? They could have a pregnancy kink I'm getting or might even want to get you pregnant to kind of trap you 😵‍💫 express boundaries please if you're not interested in having kids because this person will literally get you pregnant on purpose lol. I feel like they imagine what it would be like to have a family with you, they really want to see you as the mother of their kids! I think they see you as very nurturing so they think you'd make a good mom rather if you want kids or not.

I hope you enjoyed this reading!! Love youuu 🩷

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Pile 3- Six of Wands, Eight of Swords, Two of Cups, King of Wands, Queen of Wands, Ten of Pentacles

Oracle cards- "Healing- Imagine yourself and your beloved surrounded by light. Feel your relationship being healed this very moment."

"Manifesting Miracles- Your dream is soon to become reality. Trust your heart and continue to follow its guidance."

Hi pile 3 😊

So right away I picked up this is someone you could've had a relationship with before and it just didn't work out, I see you missing this person though! Maybe they've recently been on your mind or you've been wanting to reach out to them, but haven't! A specific message for a few.

So I feel like this is a relationship you've been trying to manifest, but I see some difficulties and uncertainty around the relationship and your Oracle cards make me feel like Spirit is saying to keep hope alive about this relationship! I feel like you guys are separated right now for healing purposes, maybe you both have things that you still need to work on within before you can work on the relationship.

With the Eight of Swords I feel like this person really wants to be immersed in you. I feel like this person is big on oral. They fantasize about you two being in a loving and committed relationship, one that's very unproblematic and full of love.

With the Two of Cups I feel like you two will be in union soon, I don't think this is goodbye for you two and I feel like that's the whole purpose of your reading today! Maybe this person fantasizes about coming back into your life, they could even have dreams about texting you and when they wake up they realize they've dreamed it all. I feel like this person tries to actually not think about you lol. These feel more like wishes than daydreams!

I feel like this person prefers to be more dominant in the bedroom lol they like it when you're submissive and give all power to them. They want to make you feel good, I feel like they dream about fucking you and you're just laying there taking it a lot of the time like "dick drunk" lmao.

So yeah I feel like this person is going to really find out what you like, they like bringing your body so much pleasure and I think this person will Intuitively know what you want. They fantasize about you giving them head but also can't wait for the day they can return the favor, I feel like they really want a sexual relationship with you that's very naked and carefree in a way. Like this person will be all up in your business 😭

With the Ten of Pentacles I think this person day dreams about pampering you, they could like to work for your attention/to feel like you're theirs. They might like to buy you lots of things just because you're their girl I'm hearing! You might notice this person buys you gold jewelry a lot or maybe they've already bought you something gold if you know this person.

That's all I'm getting for this pile, I was really hoping for all of the piles to reach the same lengths but I feel like this pile in particular doesn't have much to say 😭

I hope you enjoyed this reading!! Talk soon!!♡

Channeled songs- XO by Enhypen.

[dynamic-power]

This wasn't going to be more than a little one-off. But due to popular demand, here's a part two. 😄

Back to the Past part 2

CW: Brief panic attack

Part 1

"I... uh. What?"

Eddie, because Steve is certain now that this is, in fact, Eddie Munson, frowns a little. "Memories," he says, firmly but not unkindly. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh." Steve's brain is racing, but not with anything particularly helpful.

He and Robin are going to the high school again to help with relief efforts. There's a strange guy named Argyle staying in Steve's guest room. He's taking Dustin to meet Wayne Munson soon. They have been given permission to recover whatever they can from the Munson trailer. Dustin wants to help because Eddie is-

Eddie is-

Eddie is sitting right in front of him, watching him with those big, dark eyes. He's being so patient, waiting for Steve to finish whatever processing he needs to do, but honestly, the only thing that truly catches Steve off-guard is the fact that Eddie is-

"You're alive."

Eddie's frown deepens for a moment before he seems to understand what Steve is saying. Once he does, though, he grins, wide and happy and contagious, just like Steve remembers.

"Yeah, Stevie, I'm alive."

"You're old."

Eddie collapses back against his pillow and bursts into laughter. Deep, belly-shaking laughter that has Steve biting back a smile.

When he catches his breath again, Eddie looks up at him with shining eyes. "Of course the two things you focus on are our wedding photos and my age."

"You aren't freaking out."

"Neither are you," Eddie counters, and he's right.

Strangely enough, Steve isn't panicking. Actually, in the last few moments with Eddie and the comfort of warm blankets and his warmer laughter, Steve's breathing had evened out again.

"What's going on? You don't seem surprised."

Eddie sighs and lifts his arms, crossing them behind his head. He shifts, putting a little more distance between their bodies. Steve wonders if he's done that on purpose.

Then Eddie's feet wiggle under the covers, trying not to kick the sleeping cat as he shuffles the heavy comforter down his body. Steve's eyes immediately drift down as his torso, and the scars, come into view.

They're horrific; slashes and starbursts and a whole chunk missing from his side just below his ribcage -

And suddenly Steve is there, in the Upside Down. His hands are covered in blood, Eddie's blood, and he can't breathe without tasting the stench of death and decay on the back of his tongue and his heart rate spikes as he darkness starts to tunnel his vision.

But Eddie, alive and smiling and laughing Eddie, is there, gripping his arm firmly and talking to him.

"Stevie, focus on me. Come on, love, I know you can do it. Focus on my voice and breathe with me." A large hand falls onto his chest, warm against his naked skin, and he does what Eddie tells him.

He focuses on Eddie's voice and his toucb and breathes with him until the darkness fades and he finds himself in an unfamiliar bedroom again.

"Good job, Steve. Now, can you count with me?"

Counting. Steve can do that. He knows he can, and he does until his breathing calms again. He's sweaty, and the cool air of the bedroom stings his skin. One of them has tossed away the covers, and the cat has disappeared, and he's sitting half naked in bed with Eddie Munson. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but the lingering panic and adrenaline only let him cry, and so he does, leaning against the familiar stranger beside him.

-----

Part 3

Tag list-

@clumsiluni @l0st-strawberry @aol19 @newtstabber

Lmk if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list 💜

[neteyamssock]

🧸ྀི 𝓲 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾

ྀི 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: neteyam x fem!metkayina!reader

ྀི 𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: neteyam wants to know why you dislike him so much.

ྀི 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧: 2k

ྀི 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦: misunderstanding, sfw, miscommunication, etc.

➻ a/n: wrote this while eating breakfast and its unedited. i hate it lmao.

text divider credits to @/cafekitsune

MASTERLIST

“She's so loud, does she think everyone is deaf?”

Neteyam watches you kick Ao’nung as you whine about your stolen prey, going as far as throwing stones into his direction. Frankly speaking, Neteyam finds you extremely immature and childish, even more so than Tuk.

Lo’ak snickered on his side, tossing a piece of shattered shell in the water and watched it disappear. “You’re the only one that kept complaining about her, bro. People here don't seem to mind.”

Neteyam sneered, picking up a shell beside and observing it as he spoke. “I’m sure they're just putting up with her because they cannot get rid of her.”

Lo’ak looked at his brother with amusement. Neteyam’s one sided beef with you is something none of the family expected, but he finds it interesting to see how his brother crumbles into self doubt when someone finally doesn't look at him like a god. “you’re just saying that because she doesn't like you like everybody else. you’re not used to being disregarded.”

He said it in a joking tone, but it only fanned the flames inside Neteyam. That is in fact one of the reasons why he came to dislike you very much aside from the fact that you're polar opposites. It was because right from the start, you never once showed any cordiality with him.

When the Sullys came into awa’atlu, as Tsireya and Ao’nung’s paternal cousin, you also tagged along in helping them learn the way of the water. At first, Neteyam finds you extremely interesting, like a breath of fresh air, but as time goes by and your treatment of him never changes, he also begins to resent you for it.

He’s not used to it. Just like Lo’ak said. All his life, he had done everything to please his family and the Omatikaya People, and even when they came to Awa’atlu, he had done his best in making everyone like him.

You're just one tough rock that he cannot crack no matter what he does. Smiles don't cut it. Fishes don't do it either. Pretty shells collected are a lot more mediocre than yours. He totally cannot figure you out. You seem to dislike him very much, going as far as pretending he doesn't exist. He was unprepared for it, a total disregard from someone he wanted to be close to from the very start.

“If I were you bro? I would talk to her about it and clear shit up rather than sulking everyday.” Lo’ak patted Neteyam’s shoulder as he stood up, ready to meet Tsireya half way as she walked back to the shore.

“what is there to talk about anyway?” Neteyam grumbled to himself, flicking the shells away in annoyance. Lo’ak just shrugged and walked away, totally enjoying seeing his perfect brother in dilemma.

The oldest sully once again looked at you as you play with Tuk and Kiri, seeing how happy you were with his sisters. Deep inside, he also knew why everyone loves you. Despite your loud mouth, you are always sincere. You always mean what you speak, and people appreciate your honesty and straightforwardness, well except for neteyam.

your questionable behavior directed towards him is getting on his nerves. he's at the end of his patience with you, but his self control is holding him back from erupting and asking what the hell is wrong with you.

days passed and the day for the bonfire communal feast arrived. neteyam had heard from his siblings that you and Tsireya are to dance and sing to eywa in celebration for the excellent results of the hunt done yesterday.

neteyam had never heard you sing, nor seen you dance. he never thought you could do those things, but based on his siblings' words, you're quite good and proficient. Tuk says your voice reminds her of eywa's gentle guidance, and your body as the ocean waves.

it's just another reminder that he never really knew you, that you built a wall around you to solely keep him out. that you could be free in front of his siblings but would be hard as a rock in front of him. how can you be so cruel?

"there's never gonna be any progress if you just sulk and sulk and sulk everyday. you have to understand that not everyone is obligated to like you."

neteyam glanced at his sister, bitterness in his tongue. "yea, real helpful sister."

"whatever," kiri rolled her eyes and focused on the kava in her hand, paying no attention to the distraught neteyam beside her.

when the tempo of the music changed and the people parted to reveal you and tsireya in the middle, neteyam felt his breath stolen away by your beauty. you are stunning, that he knew from the very start. he never expected to see you even more beautiful. you make him go crazy inside and he didn't even know why. no matter how you ignore him, he cannot do the same to you. you're always clouding his mind, making him sleepless every eclipse.

neteyam knew that he's being obvious by not taking his eyes off you the entire performance, he knew that his mother are looking at him every time his breath hitch like he couldn't breath, he knew that kiri is laughing at him, but he just cannot stop looking at you.

so when the time to dance with other members of the clan came, he didn't hesitate to stand up and walk towards you in hopes that he'd catch you and ask you for at least one dance.

"can i ask for a dance?" he asked, breathless and hopeful as he looked towards you.

he saw you hesitate, and his newfound confidence shattered. his lips trembled until you took his hand and murmured. "...just once."

Tsireya looked at Neteyam’s yearning look directed at you and giggled to herself. Lo’ak also saw his face and snickered. “he totally has a crush on her! he’s just mad she doesn't pay attention to him.”

The younger metkayina girl’s eyes widened. Then, she quickly accepted it. It's not like she hadn't noticed that tension between you and Neteyam. She thought both of you will figure it out yourselves that's why she didn't interfere at all, but turns out both of you are dense enough that you're still not confronting each other about what you feel.

She looked at you and decided to finally help you out. Turning to her beloved, she said. “Sister does not dislike Neteyam. She's just like that to everyone she likes.”

It was Lo’ak’s turn to be wide-eyed. “No shit? Really?! I mean she never gave him a good look y'know? Totally acting like he doesn't exist…”

Tsireya pulled Lo’ak to sit with her in the sand. “Sister does not know how to deal with her feelings properly. When we were children, she once liked a boy from another clan that visited awa’atlu. He played with us all the time and really liked sister. But since she didn't know what to do, she accidentally made him cry before he and his family were about to leave. When the eclipse came, she cried so hard that it became everyone's favorite story to talk about during communal feasts.”

Lo’ak laughed but then slowly turned melancholic. Somehow, he relates to you. Often misunderstood because you cannot express yourself correctly, and it drives you to keep your thoughts on your own even more. “That’s sad… my brother… My brother is not really the one to pursue feelings. Back in the forest most of the girls our age liked him, some he was interested in, but really didn't bother doing something for it. He’s too busy taking care of us and training to be a good warrior. I don't know if he and your sister can even work it out at this point,”

Tsireya hummed, looking at you and to Neteyam every few seconds, before an idea formed in her mind. “I know exactly what to do!”

Lo’ak looked at his beloved’s bright face and can only pray for his brother’s well-being.

sitting down after dancing with neteyam, you friend immediately sat beside you with a grin. "how does it feel to dance with your beloved?"

you rolled your eyes despite the racing of your heart. you cannot admit that you almost sang in joy when neteyam asked for a dance. you didn't even know what happened during the dance as you just gone blank. he might have thought you were uninterested as he left right after the first dance finished. although you felt at loss, you acted like nothing and continued dancing with others.

seeing you like this, your friend teased you even further. “why don't you just go and proclaim your intentions, hmm? that you want to mate with ne—”

you covered your friend's mouth, scared that someone might hear. "be quiet will you! what if someone hear?"

your friend shrugged, "then you'd probably be forced to confront your feelings and then there would be celebration for your uni---"

"impossible," you cut her off. "we are never possible right from the very beginning. he's from the forest, i'm from the ocean."

"so what? you are both na'vi and obviously liked each other."

you sneered. like you? impossible. why would someone as perfect as neteyam like you?

he's the most perfect na'vi you have ever seen. a skilled warrior, with kind and loyal heart, and would do everything for his beloved family. he's the son of Toruk Makto, admired and well-liked. you? you're just a daughter of a warrior, a niece to the olo-eyktan of the metkayina. you have no real status, no great skills like neteyam.

you do not deserve him. "eywa knows that's not true, sister. eywa knows."

Walking into the lush greeneries of the island, you wonder where your friends are. Tsireya said she wanted everyone to gather in your secret place and play the demon’s game Truth or Dare. Although you detest sky demons, it didn't diminish your curiosity for their creations.

So against your better judgment, you still came when the eclipse started. Thankfully, you know your way in quite well and didn't get lost in your trek to the heart of the island.

As you went further, you began to notice the lack of noise your friends usually make. Lo’ak should be laughing boisterously by now, Tuk screaming, and Kiri wandering around. But no matter how you strain your ears, you don't hear any familiar noises.

So when you reached the hut where you and your friends planned to stay, you were shocked to see only Neteyam inside, seemingly waiting for everyone to show up.

Your feet froze and you cannot stop your heart from racing, hammering against your chest making you gasp for breath. Your heavy breathing was quickly noticed by Neteyam who was also surprised to see you.

The gears in your head turned and you already knew what your friends were doing. It must be Tsireya, who always can see through you and your thoughts. She must’ve conspired with everyone to deceive you and Neteyam.

Without thinking things through, you turned around and walked back to where you came from, but before you could even take a few steps, a hand forcefully held you back.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home.”

“But shouldn't we wait for the others?”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled your arm out of his grip. “Don’t you understand? They set us up for their own amusement. Now, if you can please let me go. I can't be alone with you right now. I swear to Eywa I will feed that girl to an akula—”

“Why can’t you be alone with me? Do you hate me that much?!”

“What’s your problem?!” You glared at him when he pulled you again, his fingers digging into your shoulder.

“No, what is YOUR problem?!” He looked at you sharply, trying to mask the hurt he felt inside when he heard your words. He had always known you don't like him, but to hear you imply yourself definitely hurts the most. Shaking his head, he continued. “Y’know what? Perhaps this is the time we finally talk. So tell me now, ocean girl! What the hell is your problem with me!”

You let out an unbelievable huff, feeling ridiculous as you shouted back. “Me?! It’s you always shooting daggers at me every time we meet! Why is that my fault?!”

“Because you treat me like shit!”

Both you and Neteyam froze with his outburst. He looked rather regretful for allowing himself to be vulnerable, especially in front of you. His self control is crumbling away.

“I do not treat you like shit! Don’t make things up!”

“Oh yeah, right! Maybe you don't treat me like shit because you treat me like I don’t exist! Don’t act like you don't ignore me all the time, as if it's a great burden for you to even pay me any attention. I’m tired of your shit! So tell me, what is your problem, ocean girl, so we can finally end this farce!”

With mouth agape, you stared wide-eyed at Neteyam. You have never seen him this angry before. Most of the time he’s mellow and polite, always greeting you every time you hang out with his siblings. It's only recently that he had somehow changed, always glaring at you, shooting daggers at you every time you passed by.

You tried to explain but you cannot find the right words. Looking at you like this, it only solidified Neteyam’s belief. The hurt in his eyes was palpable, so he looked away. He can't let you see him so affected by you. His pride is the only thing he can cling to right now, as you have stripped away everything from him.

“What? Couldn't speak? Did I hit the mark, ocean girl?

You gasp, chest heaving so fast as your heart rammed against your ribs. You cannot look into his eyes, too afraid to let him see the feelings you are trying so hard to avoid. “...I-I don’t dislike you, I-I—”

“Liar! You can't even look me in the eye! Tell me the truth!”

“I-I don't want to!”

“Well guess what, you cannot leave this island without telling the truth. Tell me, and I’ll let you go.” His tone has mellowed, a hint of begging in his voice. His grip on your shoulder was tight, it was hurting you but you cannot ignore the voice in your head that urges you to just tell everything and end this ridiculous argument.

“tell me, how can make you like me?"

your heart skipped a beat, processing his words. like him? you already like him so much that it hurts. how can he ask you that?

seeing you silenced, Neteyam’s chest constricted. His eyes stung, but he tried so hard to never let you notice. He cannot crumble in front of you. He doesn't want you to have the satisfaction. He wanted to hear you say that you hate him. That you detest him. That you cannot stand the thought of being with him. So it would destroy him silently, and he can finally rebuild himself piece by piece.

“Tell me!”

“I hate you because I love you!”

“Bull—”

Neteyam paused, eyes wide as he looked at you in disbelief. Your tears finally fell like waterfall as your knees gave away and you sobbed into the ground. You finally said it. The reason why you cannot sleep at night. The reason you tried so hard to avoid Neteyam in fear that he’ll see through you, that he’d be disgusted with your feelings with him. You tried to mask your love as dislike to protect your heart, because you know if you give in you’d just be shattered. You know well how this would end. He would never be yours.

“I-I hate you so much, Neteyam! For making me feel this w-way! I hate you for changing my life and making me c-confused! I hate you for making me fall for you!”

“W-What—”

You stood up without waiting for his reply. With all your strength, you ran away from Neteyam. You didn't care if your feet were hurting, and when you bumped into someone you didn't look at who it was. All you wanted was to leave this place and never see Neteyam again.

Lo’ak looked at your disappearing back and patted his brother's shoulder. Neteyam was still standing like a statue, in shock, staring at the direction you had escaped to.

“Cat’s finally out of the bag, huh. Took you guys long enough. Congrats bro, you finally confessed to your cru—”

Before Lo’ak could even finish his words, Neteyam took off like his tail’s on fire, running after you with a huge triumphant grin on his face. Tsireya and Lo’ak looked at each other and laughed, proud of their successful plan.

“Looks like I won this bet. Kiri better pays up!”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Impossible Things

Prompt Day 2: Fireplace | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Temporary Canon Character Death | Tags: Post S4, Resurrection, Fix-It, Platonic Stobin, Pre-Steddie, The Party

Steve lights his fourth fire in three days. Stokes it, trying to get it really going, hotter, quicker.

"It's not even cold, dingus," Robin complains, and she's not wrong. If he's gonna have a fire burning all the goddamn time, he might have to run the air conditioning, year-round.

But he feels crazy. He keeps seeing things in the fireplace. Things that don't feel real, or right. Or maybe they feel too real and right. Maybe this house is haunted. A fire ghost? Is that a thing?

Robin sits next to him, and he watches the flames dance, making familiar shapes, faces. Impossible things. 

"Dingus, are you listening to me?"

He wasn't. Not at all.

"No, sorry."

"What are you gawking at?" Robin asks.

"A ghost," Steve says.

"A what?" Robin laughs, turning her head to see if he's kidding. He's not. Not really.

"A fire ghost?"

She cackles, but he's serious.

"Do you not see that?" Steve asks, because maybe he is crazy. But the flames in this fireplace take shapes, he's sure of it.

Robin watches the fire as intently as Steve is, then she says, "Holy shit."

The air is sucked out of his lungs.

"You see him?" Steve asks. 

"Eddie? Hell yes, I see him," she says, getting down on her hands and knees in front of the fire.

Steve follows. 

The fire dances, crackles and pops, flames flaring up. Embers floating. As if it knows they know, now.

"Eddie!" she shouts, "Are you haunting Steve's fireplace?"

There's no answer, but that doesn't stop Robin. Her wheels are already turning.

"How'd he get in there? How do we get him out of there? Is he a phoenix? Is he gonna rise from the ashes? We should call Dustin!" Robin rattles off, quicker and quicker by the thought.

Dustin is exasperated when he arrives, having flown halfway across the country. 

Steve's tired, eyes heavy. He's kept the fire burning, scared that Eddie might disappear if he lets it go out. That hasn't happened before, but he feels like now that they've acknowledged what they're seeing, that maybe they've interrupted, changed, the magic. 

Or whatever this is.

Maybe it's not Eddie at all.

"Are you sure you two aren't suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning? You did have the chimney inspected and cleaned before using this old thing, right?"

Well, no. Steve didn't. He didn't even know that was a thing. Whoops.

But he has CO detectors, and they aren't screaming at them, so it's probably not that.

"Just look, Henderson," Steve says, and Dustin squats between them. He doesn't react, and Steve is concerned that maybe they have somehow built up this shared delusion. 

"Oh shit," Henderson finally says, and Steve sags. 

"See? I told you, you little asshole. Eddie's in the fireplace."

"Well, excuse me for thinking that sounded crazy, Steve," Dustin snaps back, immediately rushing towards the phone. Calls are made. The weirdness has resurfaced in a totally unexpected way, and it's time to get the band back together.

It'd be helpful if Eddie could talk to them, but that doesn't seem to be an option. If he could run his mouth, Steve's certain he would be, incessantly.

They try witchcraft. Not that any of them especially believe in witchcraft, but they bought books, and are trying to spell him out of the fire.

It doesn't work. Nothing happens, nothing changes.

El lost her powers in the final showdown, and hasn't ever regained them. She stares at Eddie, face so close Steve's worried she's gonna lose her eyebrows, but she can't communicate or change things for him.

"Munson, Munson, Munson!" Mike yells, and they all look at him. He shrugs, "What? I thought he might be like Beetlejuice."

They all sigh. 

"We could burn something. Of his. See if that frees him," Joyce says, and they all turn to look at her. 

"What do we even have of his? It's been a decade?" Dustin questions. 

And they all look at each other. Steve has something, but there's no fucking way he's throwing it into a fire.

"Steve, you still have the battle vest, right?" Robin questions, and Steve wants to kill her. 

"We're not burning that on a hunch. What if that's what's tying him here, huh? Then what?"

Dustin runs up the stairs, and Steve gives chase. 

"We can try one pin, right?" Dustin argues, unbuttoning the Accept button from the vest, and Steve can concede to that. He's sure it's not gonna change shit.

"Fine," he snaps, but yanks the vest back into his own hands. 

Dustin stands in front of the fireplace, "Here goes nothing."

He tosses it in, and the fire flares so hot, Steve shields his face, pretty scared they may burn his house down.

But it settles, and Eddie is clearer. Like his image has been sharpened.

"That worked, right?" Dustin says. 

And they all kind of look at each other, like, yeah. It worked. 

Steve hands over the W.A.S.P pin.

After, Eddie looks even more solid.

"He's getting corporeal!" Dustin says.

"He's being punished?" Steve asks, brows furrowed.

"Jesus Christ," Dustin says, and well, excuse him. "Just do it, Steve."

Steve wants to bring the vest to his face, wants to hug it close, say goodbye, but feels too fucking weird about it with all these eyes on him. 

Instead, he squats down.

"This better fucking work, Eddie," he whispers, laying the denim on the logs, and the immediate flaming knocks him back onto his ass, but he hasn't been burned. 

It's a raging inferno in there, somehow contained, and they wait, frozen. 

Finally, Eddie steps out of the fireplace, looking exactly as he did the day he died, ten years ago.

Still sassy.

"Jesus H. Christ, do you know how many things I've haunted of yours, Harrington?"

"Uh…"

"The toaster. The mirror. That stray cat."

"I told you that cat was special!" Steve screams at Robin, "And you said no!"

The bickering, the blame, starts. But Eddie's here.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🔥

Notes: If there's one truth in Stranger Things, it's that Joyce Byers is never wrong and they should always listen to her.

[knapptapp]

Elevator- JamesPotter x GN!Reader

WC: 950

You are stuck in a muggle elevator with James Potter, Who wont stop flirting with you

Tags: Fluff, angst(?), Sarcastic reader, Slytherin reader, Flirty James Potter, Insecure reader

A/N: Wrote this from a prompt, trying to dip my toes into the Marauders fandom not a fully fleshed out fic or anything. A little experiment

“This might be a bad time to mention it, but I really like your perfume.”

“Oh shut up,” You said with a scowl as you once again pushed the emergency button.

Professor Corbyn had thought it a wonderful idea to assign the seventh year class a lengthy list of ‘muggle activities’ to complete. She had also thought up the brillant of idea of assigning partners randomly. Though you had your doubts about the “randomness”.

Still, it was a project worth a good chunk of your grade. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't blow it off. Which is how you ended up stuck in an elevator with James fucking Potter. James who thought your perfume was of utmost importance at the moment.

“No seriously, it's quite lovely.”

You ignored him and pressed the call button. A moment passed…..Nothing. Great, not even the phone was working.

“Where did you get it? From Diagon alley or-”

“Can you be useful for once?” You interrupted.

James pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on, “Can you apparate?”

“No.” You admitted begrudgingly. Getting your license was on your to do list, there just hadn't been enough time. You were really starting to regret not putting it up higher on your list. You fanned yourself with your hand.

“Someone will come for us eventually.” James said with a shrug. He seemed completely care free and not at all worried about the situation at hand.

“Yeah. If we don't die from heatstroke before then.” You settled against the wall opposite of him and slid down till you were seated. It was just a tad bit cooler down on the floor.

“I know how you could cool off.” James said with a smirk. Just in case you hadn't understood his comment, he lifted just the hem of his shirt to reveal a sliver of tanned skin. You quickly looked away, but not before you caught a glimpse of a dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Oh fuck off.”

James copied you and slid down to the floor. Instead of sitting with his legs tucked up to his chest like yours, he instead stretched them all the way out. The elevator was tiny and James’ legs were long, the sides of his red converse knocked against your thighs. Cloth shopping had been another part of the project.

“Have I told you your shoes are ugly?”

“Many times,” James responded unphased, “You just don't like them because they're red.”

“Horrible color.”

“I think you'd look really nice in red. Got one shade specifically in mind actually.”

“Yeah, no” You fidgeted with the fraying sleeve of your dark green jumper. House pride was taken very seriously in Hogwarts. Wearing gryffindor red was an act of betrayal.

“You would,” He insisted, “I even have a jumper that would look perfect on you! Says ‘Potter’ right across the back.”

“Careful now James, I might think you're hitting on me.”

“Did it take you this long to notice?”

You knocked his foot away with your palm. James allowed it before he returned it back to tapping against your thigh. He was such a tease. He had been on this since you two got assigned partners.

“Ha Ha very funny,” You replied dryly.

He tapped his foot rhythmically against your leg, you tried your best to ignore it. The elevator was completely silent. The music had cut off when the elevator had come to a sudden stop with a metallic screech. There was nothing but the sounds of James and your breathing.

Your whole body was on edge. You couldn't help but keep anticipating the worst. Any movement made you feel like the elevator would go crashing to the ground below, You were stuck on the seventh floor and you had heard one to many horror stories.

“I'm bored,” James said, “We should do something.”

“Like what?”

“Why don't we play a game of truth or dare?” suggested James.

“Truth or dare? Seriously?”

“What else do you have in mind?” he replied smugly.

“Fine, let's play.” you agreed reluctantly.

“Okay, I'll start. Truth or dare?” James challenged.

You sat for a moment, mulling over your choices. There weren't many dare options while stuck in an elevator, but everyone and their mothers knew James Potter was a master prankster. He could probably come up with something within a second. Hell, he probably already had fifty dares planned out. Better to play it safe then.

“Truth.”

“Okay..” James pretended to think for a moment, he stroked his chin and gazed up at the roof dramatically, “Why don't you like me?”

Oh. Straight into it. You looked away from him uncomfortably. The thing was, you didn't not like him. Honestly, it was the opposite. But you couldn't let him know that. You would never hear the end of it.

“I don't not like you…You're just loud…” You said carefully.

“I think i’m quite charming honestly,” James smirked.

“Yeah, you think that.” You said with an eye roll

“You don't think I am?” James tilted his head to the side, one loose curl fell in front of his eyes. God damn it. Yes, you wanted to say. I've thought that you are charming since fourth year. But of course, you don't say any of it.

“Not at all.”

“You're forgetting the rules of the game again.” He teased. He leaned forward, only a couple inches closer than before, but still all too close.

“I’m not lying.” You attempted to sound confident and self assured but you couldn't manage to bring your voice above a whisper.

The gods must have heard your prayers because the phone on the wall rang. James and you stared at each other for a moment. He finally pulled his eyes away from you and stood up to answer the phone. You and your feelings were safe for another day.

[simpjaes]

how about jealousbf!heeseung who takes you to the empty soundproof vocal rooms and stuffs you full with no mercy after you looked at jay a little too much while they were doing their dance practice

tags: front man heeseung, wannabe groupie reader, he's not her bf !! non idol au, they're just in a band !!

wc: 1k

looking at jay was never an issue until heeseung was looking at you.

who would blame you though? it's not your fault Sunghoon always brought you to band practices. it's not your fault that Heeseung never really paid attention to you before they managed to finesse their way onto a label.

then again, it's not like you knew that Heeseung was always looking. You always seemed to share a gaze between him and everyone else too, so it wasn't really a competitive thing until he noticed you consistently looking at jay more and more.

Hah, always the fucking guitar players too. What do they have that he doesn't? Aside from skilled fingers?

Arguably, Heeseung's fingers are quite skilled too. Just because he's the front man doesn't mean he can't fuck like a guitarist.

So, well, it all really started when you didn't show up. It's rare that you don't, honestly, and all the members seem to miss you when you're not there but man.

Jay sure is a fucking asshole.

"I think she wants me." He joked that one day, nudging Sunghoon and watching them both nod in confirmation that yeah, it's probably true.

"I could take her into one of the soundproof rooms, none of you would even know." he said on that same day, giving Heeseung the idea to do it first.

After all, it's not like he hasn't seen you disappear into sticky bathrooms or dingy band van's at several small town shows with other bands and their members. Why would he be any different? Why would Jay be any different?

Exactly. You're a wannabe groupie and Heeseung is far too willing to feed into your fantasy of fucking a rock star now rather than later.

Jay likes the chase. Heeseung likes the hunt.

And so, that next "practice?" Of course you showed up. Bright eyes, slutty outfit, doe eyes blinking in awe at a bunch of guys who haven't even debuted past a burned CD with shit sound quality? Heeseung approaches you.

Being the front man and all, it's not hard to get you alone as the members take their time doing their own work on the new song. Heeseung's vocals were all finished, and Jay was too wrapped up in his guitar solo recording to notice you eye fucking him again.

"Welcome back, we missed you last time." Heeseung starts in a sweet voice, opening his arms out for a hug.

You kind of quirk your brow at him because, well, you've known the dude for like two years by this point but never has he done more than an awkward side hug while covered in sweat and the scent of musk and alcohol after a show or a hard practice session.

"Oh?" You question, surprised by the grip he holds on you.

"Wanna come with me somewhere?" He asks again, even though the question felt more like a demand in the way he immediately starts dragging you away from the recording studio and into the hallway.

You don't really say much, being more of a go-with-the-flow person than anything. You just shrug, following him into what you obviously know is one of the sound proof rooms they've used previously to practice the noise music.

Working out the kinks of a song doesn't always sound so good, yknow? Nobody really wants to hear that shit til it's ready either.

And it's not like you're stupid or anything. You know what this is, when he steps inside and closes the door behind you. In fact, you're entirely down for it despite not really knowing why the band's front man suddenly wants to be alone with you.

"Hah," Heeseung smirks, watching you already start to slip your shirt off. "I knew it."

You just kind of look at him.

"Well, what else would I expect after being dragged in here?" You ask, pausing your movements and allowing your shirt to fall back into place against your waist.

"I don't know?" He laughs back, rolling his eyes at you briefly before boxing you up against the wall. "Jay?"

You smirk.

"Honestly? Yeah. We've been eye fucking each other for ages." You laugh, brushing Jay off entirely. "Didn't expect you to be the one to come after me."

"Well, if you would have stopped staring at his fingers for thirty seconds maybe you would have noticed it."

"What can I say? He moves fast."

"And you think I would? You've seen what I can do with my tongue, right?"

You pause, noting all those instances during shows where he definitely treated his tongue like some sort of mating ritual. Licking up his microphone, flicking it between his fingers, even going as far as flattening it at multiple city girls that seemed to want a bad boy for the night.

"Don't think I have, actually." You roll your eyes playfully, blinking at him innocently. "Care to elaborate?"

Man, he elaborated.

Without another word, actually. Which was a bit of a shock to you, considering he likes to rasp those vocals all night through song and shrieks. Ah, the sounds are so much different vibrating when his tongue is buried into you, moving faster than you'd have expected.

What's worse? You never really noticed how pretty his vocals could sound until he was muttering out words of degradation towards you. He went in raw, explaining that it's his right. That he should be the first to feel your pussy squeeze him dry. Whispers questions of how many other men have been in you like this. Asking if you've always been this breathless for them. Asking why you're not screaming loud enough for Jay to hear, even through the soundproof room.

In reality, your throat is dry from allowing yourself to be loud for him. Rasping and panting confirmations of his filthy words, only to feel him plunge into you harder, harder, harder. Like a mantra of a song he only wishes he could write.

The proof of having you before Jay could, the proof of fucking you better than anyone else could.

By the end of it all, to Heeseung? Doesn't really matter if every other member of his band has a turn with you know. He's only gonna ask what his dick tastes like. He's only gonna ask if they fucked you cross eyed too. Because he knows the answer will be no.

Why?

Because you keep coming back for more. Up until Jay takes note, mentioning a month later to Sunghoon, right there in front of everyone,

"What's gotten into her? She practically ignores me."

And of course Heeseung smirked, giving him the answer he probably didn't want to hear.

"Me."

[amaranthhiding]

The unforgiving waves pushed him further under, arms and legs flailing wildly. In his panic, he made the mistake of trying to breathe. To scream. All it got him was a mouthful of water and a burning in his lungs.

DeanCas Horrorfest presents:

A Word in the Mists

Author: Hiding Amaranth Artist: lamiasage Rating: M Word Count: ~23,000 Tags&Warnings: pre-relationship Dean/Castiel, Dean & Jo, Canon-Adjacent AU, Case Fic, Monster Hunt, Mystery, Ship at Sea Setting, Isolated from the Outside World, Sarcasm, Angst, Canon-Level Depictions of Blood and Violence, Minor Character Deaths (not TFW), Brief Hints of Suicidal Thoughts, Fear of Drowning, I can't use more tags because I don't want to spoil the surprise

Summary: Mist as far as the eye can see. A gloomy ocean that seems to swallow up the sunlight like broken dreams. An old, rusty ship that creaks with every inch of movement. And a crew that could compete in an award for grumpiest people alive.

Dean really hates pretty much everything about this case, and would love nothing more than to call it quits and turn this ship around—if there wasn't the little issue of the disappearance of thousands of people across ten different ships on the open sea.

Saving lives is what he does… though he has to question if he isn't doing more harm than good when the disappearances begin on his own ship—and he still hasn't even figured out what kind of monster they're dealing with.

Preview: Nothingness devoured the horizon. Dean glanced back over his shoulder, but the wafts of mist were too thick to see anything beyond the ship's railing. A chill crept over his skin at the realization that he couldn't even make out the other end of the ship itself. The chain of friendly, orange lights hung across the deck didn't stand a chance, its brightness swallowed up effortlessly by the blanket of fog. It was a mirror to the way this blasted mission seemed to soak all happiness out of him.

Maybe coming up here had been a mistake. He'd hoped the fresh air would help him clear his head—that it could ease some of the tension that had stubbornly settled in his shoulders ever since he'd set foot on the Fate's Whisper. Instead, all he'd achieved by stepping out on the deck was that the tight knot of worry somewhere deep in his chest solidified.

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest!

The Apocalypse is nigh, and the Prophecy is false.

[pretzel-box]

Hi Chea!!! First of all, I read some of ur fics, and I absolutely loved it. You did such a great job :D

Second, I wanna make a fic request because why not lol. It's my first time doing this, so I'm a lil nervous ishdudjudos

Can I pls get a fic where reader gets ill (like probably a cold or whatever) because of them constantly entering bodies of water and by the time they reach Sebastian, they're wet and miserable as hell so Sebastian just decides to keep them in his shop to rest and recover lmao

(Sorry if this ask is a mouth full aishdidhhd)

Tags: GN!Reader, Can be read as Established Relationship, Reader has a cold probably, comfort, slight fluff.

Words: 1,1k

Authors Note: Sorry for the wait! ÓwÒ It took me a while to gather my creative brain cells. I actually edited this story twice, so if there are any weird words or logic mistakes then I overlooked something!

It had started as a small, nagging tickle in your throat—a little cough here, a sniffle there. Nothing serious, you told yourself. But days passed, and that tickle had grown into something worse. Yet, despite it, you kept going, pushing through the feverish haze that had begun to creep in. After all, the job wasn’t going to finish itself. Each day, you found yourself wading through rooms, water, and debris, trudging through wet halls to retrieve all assets and the crystal that were needed, drenched to the bone in cold, murky water.

You told yourself that once you were done, you’d rest. But for now, you have to keep moving. And so you did. Rest means death and death isn't something you aimed at for now. So it either meant pushing through or giving up.

By the time you reached Sebastian’s shop, the combination of the relentless water and your refusal to take care of yourself had finally caught up with you. The cold had settled deep into your bones, and your wet diving suit clung to your skin, sticking uncomfortably as you stumbled inside his little store. The warmth of the room hit you like a wave, making your head swim, and you stopped just inside the door, breathing heavily.

Sebastian, stood in front of a table and sorted through papers, glanced up the moment you entered. His usual sarcastic smile froze as his gaze took in your appearance.

You looked a mess—soaked, shivering, and pale, with dark circles under your eyes and a slight flush on your cheeks from the fever you were clearly running. Water dripped from your hair, forming a small puddle on the floor beneath you. For a moment, he just stared at you, incredulous.

“Are you serious?” Sebastian’s voice broke the silence, his usual dry tone tinged with something close to concern. “You look like death warmed up in a microwave. I don't sell coffins here yet.

You tried to muster a reply, maybe something sarcastic, but all that came out was a hoarse cough. The effort left you feeling even more drained than before. Sebastian’s expression softened as he sighed, slithering over to you with a quick glance at the water-soaked floor.

“Come on,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You're staying here. There’s no way I’m letting you go back out like this.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue—not that you would, honestly. The idea of staying in Sebastian’s warm, quiet shop was far more appealing than going back out into the cold, miserable hallways. You let him guide you through the cluttered aisles, past shelves filled with oddities and relics, to a back room that you had only seen in passing.

It was cozy, with a pile of blankets by the barely functioning heater and a couple of scattered books on a nearby table. Sebastian, ever practical despite his tendency to tease, pointed to the pile of blankets. “Sit. Don’t move.”

You collapsed into the pile, grateful for the soft fabrics that seemed to envelop you. The warmth of the heater seeped into your cold, aching limbs, and you closed your eyes for a moment, just trying to shake off the chill that had settled deep into your bones.

Sebastian disappeared for a moment, only to return with a towel, some dry clothes, and a steaming cup of whatever liquid he had in the cup. He tossed the towel onto your lap and then held out the cup, raising an eyebrow when you blinked up at him, surprised.

“I’m not going to sit here and watch you shiver to death,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might’ve been a smile. “Drink up, and then get changed. I’ll turn around if you’re shy.”

You snorted at that, though it turned into another cough. “I think I’m too tired to care.”

Still, his comment brought a bit of warmth to your chest. Sebastian wasn’t always the most outwardly affectionate person, but he had his moments. You took the cup from his hands, wrapping your fingers around it and letting the heat sink into your cold palms.

The tea-like liquid was soothing as it slid down your throat, easing some of the tightness that had built up. Meanwhile, Sebastian busied himself by pulling a blanket from a nearby chest and draping it over your shoulders, creating a little nest of warmth around you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked quietly as he settled onto the edge of a nearby table, watching you closely. “You’re not exactly subtle when you're sick.”

“I thought I could handle it,” you mumbled, tugging the blanket closer. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

Sebastian gave you a look that clearly said, *Are you kidding me?*

“You’re soaked and half-dead, and you thought that wasn’t worth mentioning?” he asked, crossing his arms. “I think that qualifies as a situation where bothering me is okay.”

You sighed, leaning back into the blankets. The heater running softly in the background, the sound oddly comforting as the warmth of the tea and the room finally started to loosen the tightness in your chest.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I’m just… tired.”

“I’d imagine so,” Sebastian replied, his voice softer now, less teasing. “But next time, just tell me. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You met his eyes, feeling a mix of gratitude and exhaustion wash over you. “Thanks.”

He nodded, brushing it off with a wave of his hand, though you could tell he was relieved that you were finally letting him help. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sentimental on me. Just rest, alright?”

You smiled faintly, shifting in the pile to get more comfortable. The heater, the warmth, the steady presence of Sebastian nearby—it all worked to lull you into a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in days.

As you started to drift off, you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on you,” Sebastian murmured. “Just sleep.”

For once, you didn’t fight it. You let yourself relax, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been gnawing at you for so long. And as you fell into a much-needed sleep, you knew you were safe. You were warm, you were cared for—and for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel so alone.

When you woke up later, the room was dim, and the heater had cooled down a bit. Sebastian was still there, sitting in a nearby corner, flipping through a file. He glanced up when he noticed you stirring.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his tone casual, though there was an underlying note of concern.

You nodded, your throat still a little sore, but the rest of you felt… better. Lighter, maybe. “Yeah. A bit.”

“Good.” He closed the book and stood up, stretching. “You’re staying here until you’re completely better. I’m not letting you back out there until I’m sure you won’t collapse in a puddle somewhere.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had felt oddly comforting. “Deal.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you truly meant it.

[starberry-cupcake]

*doing a recap as I suffer listening to my football/soccer team go through it in another tab, I'd wait but I want to finish day one of nona today because Things are happening tomorrow*

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag for those catching this recap loose in the wild

also, I don't wanna put this person out there like that, so I'm not sharing url, but I want to apologize personally to them for not starting these recaps from the beginning (I didn't know this was going to happen)

and also please don't let me deter you from reading these books if I'm unfunny, I can't live with that burden

please read them anyway

I was telling @lady-harrowhark how I feel I'm embarrassing her in front of fandom famous people and now I feel I'm embarrassing all of you, I'm so sorry

CHAPTER 6 (sixth house skull babeeeyyyyyy)

people are having trouble with the economy, employment and political strife

so, we're not doing a lot better in the future, is what I'm hearing

this is not the sci fi future I'd like to see, folks

some people are like "at least with the houses people knew who had to pay them"

I think we've all lived in situations where we had to hear someone say something like this

camilla asks nona if she would want to leave to the idyllic farming fairy tale pyrrha imagines they could run away into

(not that it doesn't sound nice, but that's so unlikely pyrrha, I mean, come on)

nona says she doesn't because she loves it there

which means nothing, because nona loves everything

the bar isn't super high here

after a bath and reading the advice column (?) nona asks camilla to tell her the story of how they met her

(kinda wild that this part coincided with penalty kicks in the game, not that I'm live blogging the match, just thought I'd take you on a full experience here)

(we won, but my blood pressure was put to the test and now I can come back to re capping properly)

(I'm still not used to the paperback thing and I'm live-reading rather than finishing a chapter and doing a recap as I used to)

(still haven't found my footing here)

so, there's a lot of info here but, at the same time, not enough info, you get me?

isn't that just the tlt experience, though???

isn't that what we love????

crafting theories and getting tangled with the red yarn???

we're all connected with the red thread of conspiracy

camilla and palmolive were trying to communicate and they knew "she" was in trouble

which refers to nona, but I assume it's not nona yet, I assume they're talking about...harrow??

camilla says that "she" disappeared but they found "her" and pyrrha and "she" was hurt

pyrrha helped them escape, but they lost ships and people and "something very important"

is that gideon's body?????? is that "something very important" gideon's body???????

DON'T LOSE GIDEON'S BODY, PLEASE!!!

WE NEED THAT!!!

WE'RE NOT DONE WITH THAT!!!

so, camolive and pyrrha asked to be able to keep "her" and we suffer interceded for them at that time

and then palmolive convinced "the Oversight Body" and the sixth house to evacuate

I don't know what the "oversight body" is

if they lost gideon's body, that's definitely an oversight

palmolive chose 16 people to talk to BOE

I'm sure one of them was his mom, she was cool, I liked her

I didn't realize that was his mom reading the story until someone pointed it out, though

I embarrassed myself there

ANYWAY

THEN nona woke up

after they lived together for a while, the light in the sky appeared and, according to camilla, BOE betrayed them

or wasn't able to protect them anymore

they're fucked, is the overall important thing to take from it

idk if this is why coronabeer and palmolive aren't in speaking terms right now

they mention the sixth house people being lost, or at least nona asks if she can help find them if she remembers who she is

also, awake me up inside seems to have been we suffer's boss

so she has beef with pyrrha

according to camilla, it's because pyrrha was best friends with the person who killed her

idk if camilla and/or we suffer know the whole thing about pyrrha and og!gideon being intimate with commander wakey wakey, though

also, incredibly important

this is essential information

kevin is good at origami

we love kevin

JOHN 5:20

we've established in the first one that these are bible verses

the previous one (20:8) was about the empty tomb

for the record, it was: "Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed."

this one is: "For the Father loves the Son and shows him all he does. Yes, and he will show him even greater works than these, so that you will be amazed."

dr reverend emperor john asshat is still talking (to harrow???)

of course he's still talking, he loves the sound of his own voice

he's telling her about how he got where he got with his lyctor buddies

apparently, his cryogenics plan was cancelled in both senses of the word

it was stopped from continuing to run

and it got into the press, so people started panicking about the end of the world and everything was going to shit

important to note that C and N were dating, and I guess this is Cassiopeia and Nigella? because Cyrus is also a C but since Nigella is Cassiopeia's cav, I'm gonna go for that option

good for them, we love cassiopeia

she had ceramics and was sixth house

also, augustine is being dramatic, but what else is new

they also were collecting bodies to test on and weren't able to cremate them anymore because of the experiments made on them

for personal family and country history reasons, I'm not gonna make jokes about that one

but it was something to note from the conversation that seems to be important for later

now, here it gets complicated

because dr reverend emperor john keeps drop naming people

or drop letter-ing?

and naming planets in our system

pyrrha was a cop, apparently

very evident in her behavior

and then he says that, because of the press, he wasn't going to be allowed to work again

and also says: "I sure as hell wouldn't be allowed to work on anything else to do with you"

in the last one, he said "Harrowhark" when interacting, so I took it this could be harrow's soul or whatever

but that doesn't add up with this????

because then he starts talking about this "you" being sick and not telling them, so I'm starting to wonder if this is ice cube barbie aka annabell lee aka AL aka The Body

so, dr john goes on some breakthrough spree and mercygirl says he's probably on coke (among other things)

and he says "coke zero"

I'm a coke zero girlie and you're not welcome here, mr man

you're not like me

he has some bodies which are his "favorites"

and when the Powers That Be shut them down and cut the electricity from them

(because they were using 3% of the country's electricity)

(fuck them tbh)

all the bodies collapsed, except from the ones he had "touched" and "loved"

ALLEGEDLY

ALSO, he again calls her "Harrow"

which ??????????????????????????????????????????

how is this harrow and also whoever was sick back then, who I thought was ice cube barbie????????

what's happening????????????????????

the chapter ends with the word "incorrupti"

which is either a typo or something's going on there

could be either, could be both

AND THAT'S IT FOR DAY 1!!!! we're moving ahead!!!!

[pricetagged]

sacrum

It's not denial, and it's not grief. How can it be when you're not dead? Or: Simon visits your tomb. It wouldn't be the first time he got grave dirt under his fingernails.

2.7k words. GN reader.

Warnings: death; grief; unhealthy coping methods; denial; mild gore and horror; references to ghost's past (being buried alive); implied character death; unhealthy thoughts; grave digging (simon literally tries to dig you up).; unedited.

Look after yourselves please. Read the tags and skip if necessary 💖

_____________

He is overwhelmed with the smell of rot.

That sickly, sweet scent of decay. Vegetation and plant matter transmuting into sticky, pulpy mulch, life rendered into dirt. It's the white lilies that bother him specifically. They're resting there, creamy white petals blooming open and speckled with dustings of heady, brown pollen. It's like looking at his own pale, wan face dusted with pockmarks and freckles, a grotesque mirror image. Beauty and rage. He looks at them and they look back, open and pretty and sweet where he is not.

And they reek. In this place of dirt, in this place of twigs and soil and peaty, earthy humus how did they spray their perfume? An altogether too syrupy, cloying bouquet that stagnates around you, settles at his feat like dense, soupy fog.

He knew that you hated them - funeral flowers, you called them- and he scoffs, toeing at one of the drooping, lurid white petals until it wilts underfoot. Lachrymose, it seems to weep great fat droplets of dew or oil or whatever it is that cries out wet with a wave of pungent redolence. You hated them, and it's so fucking stupid that they're here now because you aren't dead.

He'd nearly bitten Johnny's head off when he asked about your favourite flowers, the sergeant's voice pitched low and thick like he'd half-swallowed the words before they'd even come out. 'Dinnae want to get her something she wouldnae like, but my ma always said that carnations were fittin' for-' the rest of the words seemed to whither, choked like weeds under the weight of his glare. He wasn't quite sure what he said next, only remembering the stricken, glassy look in Soaps eyes and then the weight of his Captain's hand on his shoulder hauling him out for some air. He'd shrugged that off, too. Roughly. Circled around to face him like a dog in a pit. His teeth ached, itched to bite, clamp down and shake and tear, but even mad dogs know not to bite the hand that feeds them. Instead, he'd bristled, hackles raised high as he shoulder-checked Gaz on his way back inside.

Heard them whisper, too, as he passed, hushed and soft like they were all too aware of his pricked ears and quivering, hungry jaw. Mandated compassionate leave, numbers for bereavement counsellors. Denial. Grief. It's a load of shit.

Holding back the words feels like throwing grit on the fire; it's a battle, suppressing the heat and the rage but feeling it pop and spark and simmer beneath the surface. It's not denial and it's not grief. How can it be when you're not dead? He'd crumpled the order of service program, all crisp white parchment and serif-fonted verses. He'd held it so tightly in his shaking hand that it tore and cracked, card-type rendered to clay under his heavy fingerprints. He held it like that, thought about ripping or tossing it but your face looked back at him from the front page.

Smiling. Beautiful. Flat.

True, it wasn't you, but how could he ever damage something made in your image?

It was that pamphlet that led him here, now. He hadn't attended the service, hadn't wanted anything to do with that absolute farce. Had ignored the phone calls, the knocks on the door. You were not dead, and he was not alive. True to his callsign, he existed in some hazy, temporal space. Sustained on rollie cigarettes and tepid tea. It gave his hands something to do, thumbing at filters and glossy, thin paper in lieu of something worse. In lieu of his darker vices. In lieu of disappearing altogether into The Ghost. Faceless form. Nameless, too. But even smoke and shadows move, and he found himself turned Orpheus, drifting past the souls and shades of the departed until-

Until he's face-to-face with those lilies and that little patch of moss on the corner of your grave. Just a little speck of green against black marble. Typical of you, to bring life into desolate spaces. For you to furnish something soft and verdant where others see only hard, cold, dark. You'd burrowed deep into his driftwood body, a little seed that cared not for his splinters and hollowness. He'd been shaped, fractured, by salt and pressure. Twisted into some gnarled, dead branch but maybe that was the beauty of it. Maybe that was a portent, a sign, that he could be useful to you. That you could climb on, cling on and let him pull you up. That you were nestled inside, marrow deep in the mulchy, spongey hollows of his bones. Not hard enough or weathered enough by yourself. No sun-bleached, ossein outer shell of your own.

No matter.

The soil was strangely warm, piled high, and packed tight above where you lay. He dug his hands in, scarred, meaty paws chasing the warmth that surely was coming from you. It was wrong, actually, to say that it was strange. Anywhere that housed you would be warm. He was. His lungs were burning, squeezing at him, oxygen burning like bourbon as it whistled down his throat and smouldered in his belly. His face was cold, though, mouth and nose numb and something wet leaking and pooling down at his chin where he's tugged down his mask. Confusion titled his head, eyes closed towards the sky, neck arched in the closest he'd come to prayer in years. It wasn't raining, but something was dripping down his face.

He'd knelt like this before, put loved ones into the earth and stood stoic under the pitiful gazes and awkward, pinched smiles of acquaintances and strangers. Unbidden, the words from Tommy's - god, Tommy, Joseph, Beth - funeral echoed through his mind. The body that is sown is perishable, it is raised imperishable.

He'd done it.

Walked in shadow steps across the Mexican border leaking blood and viscera, yes, but undead. It is raised in glory, it is sown in weakness. He'd clawed his way out once. Dragged his weak, struggling body to the surface to draw gasping, ash-tainted breaths and haunt the earth again. He'd help you do the same. You need him to.

Soft thing. You needed him to help you claw at the rich, grave dirt above your body, great scooping handfuls until his hands were stained with it. It was keeping you down there all compressed and boxed in, and he just knows you'd hate it. Hate being from him, hate being alone and in the dark listening only to the writhing of worms and the footfalls from above. You'd always cry a little when he was deployed, resigned and beautiful as you sniffled your farewells. Not goodbyes, superstition or hope preventing you from ever uttering words so final. So severe.

It's not goodbye if I'll see you later!

He swatted hard at his ear, his temples, fingers puppeted by paroxysm as the rich, peaty marl below him turned to dust and loam. Just for a second. Just for a whisper, the air he was breathing was thin and acrid and tasted like sand. He squeezed his eyes shut, screwed so tight that phosphenes danced behind the lids. One breath. Another. He could feel the soil caking and cracking on his skin, smell the heady, peaty turf and he was back.

The last enemy that will be destroyed is death. There was no Vernon here. No Manuel Roba, no Zaragoza Cartel. Just you, the dirt, and the foolish reaper that thought it could keep you from him.

After all those years grave dirt lingered beneath his fingers. It slotted in, filled in the groves of his knuckles and nailbeds like the tide returning to rockpools and crags along the shore. His body was made for this, forged by this, hewn from rock and dirt and left to shamble in the shape of a man. It's why he was numb to it, why stones crumbled to pumice dust as he clawed ever deeper. It was easy to ignore the jagged little pits of sediment that dug under his nails, stabbing until he dripped red from the quick. Watering your grave, he gave an offering of blood, sweat, and tears. You must have accepted this tribute, been satisfied in this champion for your soul because he felt something tugging at his chest. Deep, behind muscle and fat and gristle his heart sped up. Pounding so hard it nearly hit his ribs. He could feel it, see it when he closed his eyes. His red string connected to yours, all twisted and threadbare and fraying where it bored down into the earth, but still there. Still vibrant and raw and red.

And so close.

It was different digging down. When he'd first been reborn, he'd had company. There was him, and a lump of festering meat. A sack of bones moldering beside him in the casket. Dead and useless. Until it wasn't. Until he'd nearly passed out twice, arm shaking and stomach seizing as he raised his broken fingers to what used to be its face. There was no air, just lungs heavy with copper and carbon. He'd been hysterically lucid, thankful that that sick fucks had at least broken his nose before they tossed him in the pit. Probably severed his olfactory nerves but it was a blessing, really, not to smell the putrid, festering thing that was oozing over his fingers as he scratched and gouged until he hit bone. He had enough of his senses to kick at the boards above him, contorting around the hollow spots in the hope that the pressure of the dirt wouldn't do him in. Not killed by fucking soil, not when the bastards who wanted him dead had already tried and failed with greater means.

Digging up was like drowning. Like being dragged away by a current, water pressing and squeezing at your head until your ears popped and your eyes bulged.

It was fighting the urge to breathe, body struggling and kicking so hard against a nature that didn't care. Cruelty from indifference. Lactic acid burning and cramping through muscles that you couldn’t stop moving. Stop moving and you're dead for real. Digging up was rage and hope, something fiery and heavy pulsing under the skin. He remembered some poem he had to memorise back at the state comprehensive. Hope is the thing with feathers. He was shit at English, never cared for it. But he remembered that because it was so bloody trite. He'd told the teacher, first time he'd ever volunteered an answer in her class, and she screwed her nose up at him. Sent him out for cheek. Only it wasn’t cheek. Hope was the worm wriggling around in his guts. The stupid parasite that fed off his fear and made him wonder if he could be purged of it. Those same maggots writhed in his guts, wriggling and squirming as he kicked and pulled up. And up. And up.

Digging down, though. Digging down was harder. He wasn't getting dragged down by the current; no, he was sloshing great bucketfuls of water behind him, wondering why the ocean wasn't yet drained. It was frustrating, endless. Some kind of wank Greek tragedy where he'd been cursed to repeat the same task, over and over again. To have what he wanted, just out of reach, the finishing line set and reset at someone else's whim. Tantalus, Orpheus, Prometheus. He knew what they'd done to offend the Gods, but what about him? What bargain had Shepard and Price struck to have him back? To have him stalk and hunt under their flags, their causes. Would you disappear forever, trapped in the caves of the underworld if he tried to look at you one last time?

His body wasn’t his anymore, hadn't been for a while. Not since Mexico, and maybe even before that. He was more ghoul than man then. Some kind of shambling hellhound they set loose and tasked to kill. But his body wasn't theirs either, not anymore. He'd folded you inside himself so carefully. Made a home for his heart and yours in the cradle of his ribs until he wasn't sure where yours began and his ended. He gave his body in service to you. His heart, his mind, the gristle of his ugly mug - all those chunks of meat were yours. What use was he, then, if he couldn't protect you?

Six-foot-something and 200lbs of weapon rendered flesh, and you're damned bloody right he'd use it to reach you.

Except, something was broken. Salt stung at his eyes; whether perspiration or tears he wasn't entirely sure. Because there were tears, he could admit that now. He could admit that to the magpies watching him from the cracked, weather-worn tombstones littered around. He could admit that in the thick silence - heh, quiet as the grave - settling eerily as dusk fell like a blanket.

'Fuck.'

Regret punched him in the liver, bent and stooped him under his face was buried in the upturned earth below his hands. The first word he'd said to you since his last mission and it was 'fuck'. He didn't even say it properly, just gasped it out as he crumpled in on himself like wet tissue. Voice all damp and cracking like even that one word didn't want to come out. Soul of a poet, him.

You knew he wasn't a man of many words, though. You'd forgive him.

He was tired now. Exertion drank from him, stripped him down to his crypt-cold bones. He didn't think ghosts got tired, but here he was shaking and kneeling in the hollow of your grave like a starving mutt. Pawing and pawing at you until his nails cracked and his fingers bled. It was sapping out of him, now, candle in his chest flickering lower as he got closer and closer to where you were waiting for him. His face was wet, the wind stinging at bitter trails that swelled over his pallid cheeks. Blinking sluggishly, he licked at his cracked lips. Apprehension lingered there, danced along the seam for a second.

Whatever he finds down there, whatever state you are in he will join. You will rise together or rot together, there is no other way this can go.

His breaths catch in his ribs, jumping too quickly past his diaphragm but not quite strong enough to breach. Instead, they flutter downwards. Or something does, something sets his fingers to shake as they brush against polished wood slick with condensation. It's so cold, you must be so fucking cold in there. It sounds hollow, too, knock reverberating like a church bell from where his clumsy, swollen knuckles bump across the lid.

A person cannot enter the realm of the dead more than once. Not while they're alive. So this is it.

And he's so tired, thoughts turning sluggish and foggy as he folds his body over yours. There's just that panel of wood separating you now. The closest you've been to each other in weeks. Christ, he's given so much of himself already. So much, from such a young age. He's not sure he could even go on without giving, without a mission. But he swore to you, swore just before he left that this was the last one. Told you that he'd speak to Price, ask for family leave or an active service break or something so that you and he -

so that -

so-

Fuck, he couldn't quite catch the thought before it slipped away. Couldn't quite get his eyes to open, either. Just feathery lashes fluttering against his cheekbones until he gave in. Until he let them drift shut.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to fall asleep here. Just you and him, together. He could picture it; your head must be somewhere just below his. You'd probably tucked a hand under your cheek, angled slightly to the right so that he could reach out and touch you from his left. His hand slid across the slick, dirt speckled board, tapping out the syllables of your name with his fingertips. Curled around each other, forever, in the cold, dark earth.

________________

Sorry, I hurt our boy 😢 Not really confident in doing Simon's PoV - I always write from reader's perspective but, uhh, not really possible here. Just had to get the idea out bc it's been rolling around in here, gathering dust. Maybe it's been done before? Idk.

Some biblical, wuthering heights, and Greek myth references. And no shade to emily dickinson; that's ghost's opinion, not mine!

Knight ghost part ii will be out this week (finally lol, yay). Then some of the other stuff I've banged on about.

[legalmente-loca]

Always His Eyes

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: You always saw his eyes as something glorious. But something is missing now that he is gone.

Word Count: 1,368

Tags/Warnings: angst, violence, blood, death.

Your ears were ringing. That was the first thing you felt.

What had happened? Am I dead? Is this heaven?

Lilith had tried to kill you along with Sam, you even saw a glowing light and you closed your eyes because it hurt the sight.

But you didn't feel... Dead.

You opened your eyes and the first thing you saw was Dean's feet a few feet away. You were lying on your side, your head hurt, but little by little you were more aware. You shook your head and felt a hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly.

“Hey, are you okay?” You heard Sam's voice next to you.

But your vision was focused on Dean, his body still. You propped yourself up on one elbow and simply watched him. What happened playing over and over in your mind, like a recording you don't want to let go.

"Dean?" You barely heard your own voice, so low and strange that you thought you had thought of that name.

Sam heard it anyway, and made his attention move to his brother's body. He slowly got up and walked towards him. Meanwhile, you continued to stare at his body, as if you were hoping (no, wishing... Yes, definitely wishing) that he would move.

But that was impossible after the attack he had suffered by the hellhounds.

You stood up slowly, being able to see more of his body, but decided to keep your distance. You really didn't want to admit it, admit that he... That he...

He...

“Sam?” You whispered his name when you saw him kneel next to him. “Sam, tell me he’s okay.” You heard him cry softly, saying Dean's name.

Only at that moment did you decide to approach the opposite side where Sam was, falling to your knees while you saw how his brother lay limp in his arms. Dean's chest was torn, his own blood splattered across his face. A truly horrible scene to watch, a scene that made you squint your eyes and focus solely on his.

"Dean…” You shook your head, feeling a tear run down your cheek as you slowly extended a hand towards him. “No…” You even stopped breathing normally.

You entered the office without bothering to knock on the door. Likewise, you could barely carry the coffees in both hands. What did it matter if you didn't announce yourself before? But as soon as you looked up, you noticed that your boss wasn´t alone, but in the company of two young men about your age.

“Oh, excuse me, I'll be back another time.”

But your boss's voice made you stop your movements.

“She´s my assistant.” He said, standing up and calling your name. “Dear, they're from the FBI, they're coming for the disappearances.”

Both guys stood up from their seats and the first thing you noticed was the height of both of them, one taller than the other, but that din´t detract from the other. You looked between the two of them with a slight smile. They were both attractive, you had to admit, dressed in their suits and with almost angelic faces.

"Hi." The taller of the two said, looking at you with a friendly smile on his face.

You waved back and your gaze moved to the man next to him, his green eyes probably being the first thing that caught your attention. But the freckles near them made you tilt your head in attention.

"Hi." He stretched out his hand to shake yours, but you hesitated, diverting your attention to the cardboard in your hands that was keeping the coffee cups afloat. He seemed to notice that your hands were full. “Lemme help you with that.” He said before pulling the cardboard off of you, your fingers brushing together, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel electricity run through your body.

He passed the coffees to his partner (who almost dropped them due to the unexpected movement) without even taking his eyes off you. He extended his hand to you again and you smiled at the charm that seemed to emanate naturally from him.

"Hi." You shook his hand.

"Hi." He repeated softer this time.

You think you got lost in his eyes...

“Please don't…” You sobbed over his corpse, leaning over him slightly as you brushed his cheek with your hand, afraid to feel the skin of an uninhabited body.

“So, vampires, werewolves, Chupacabras... do all of that exist?” You walked next to him, your hands inside your jacket while the lights of the ambulance were meters away from both of you.

You had a wound on your cheek that professionals had already taken care of, although of course you had to lie to them about how you got it. Surely they would have sent you to a special hospital if you told them that you got it when a Wendigo kidnapped you along with a hunter of supernatural creatures who wears jeans to the forest.

“Pretty much yes.”

“Even Bigfoot?”

“Well, we haven't crossed paths with him yet, but I'm ready.” He responded with amusement, stopping walking to turn to look at you.

You laughed and your gaze met his, stopping walking too. Hell, his eyes could be brighter under the moonlight. Incredible, but possible.

“Okay, smart boy, for most of us college was enough,” you shrugged, your shoulder aching slightly at the movement and you wondered when your body would feel like new again, “well, for those who went and didn't have than being a secretary.”

“It's more something you are born with than something you can decide.”

You nodded your head slowly and watched him. It must have been a lonely lifestyle and you even wondered if at any point in his life he thought about doing something other than a hunter who put his life in danger on every hunt, but you didn't dare ask him, believing it to be invasive. Instead, you sighed and swayed on the spot, adopting a more timid attitude as you briefly lowered your gaze to your feet before returning it to his eyes.

“I don't know how I could thank you.” A flirtatious smile made its way onto his face and you looked at him in disbelief, but you couldn't hide your own smile. “And you had to ruin the moment.”

"Yeah!"

You shook your head in amusement and bit your bottom lip. You didn't know where your shyness had come from since Dean had actually been flirting with you at all times since you met him, sometimes being more subtle than others.

He tilted his head and brought a hand to your lips, pulling your lip out from between your teeth with his thumb. Your entire attention was on him. Suddenly, the lights of the ambulance no longer blinded one side of your face and, instead, made his shine.

And those eyes... Always his eyes...

He brushed away a strand of hair covering your eye and stroked his thumb over the bandage the paramedics had placed over your wound, so gently it felt like a feather brushing your face.

And at no time did you dare to look away from his eyes.

You ran your fingers through his hair as you whispered his name once more, your hands shaking and your chest hurting like it had never hurt before. Your tears fell on him and you just wished it was like in the movies, and that your pain would bring him back. This wasn't supposed to happen, you were supposed to find a solution and Dean would be saved. You had tried everything in one year. So much effort to prevent what you now knew was inevitable.

You looked into his eyes and had to blink because tears blurred your vision. Those eyes no longer shone. They no longer shone with the moonlight that was currently coming in through the window. They were empty, not even looking at anything in particular. They were simply two spheres without a soul to guide them. And they seemed like the most horrible thing you had ever seen in your life.

You understood that his eyes were only beautiful because they had his life inside them.

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