#can anybody hear me its so dark and cold

[lonniemachin]

more art of mayday with her #real uncle ben or i blow this website sky high

[pikslasrce]

alienating my mutuals and followers by periodically refusing to blog abt anything other than a 2009 album nobody cares about

[northsoulss]

2.30am - alessia russo

(a/n : recycled this from one of my older fics lol)

tossing and turning, alessia rolls around, trying so hard to get comfortable before realising she is wide awake. she shakes her head, hoping its just a momentary thing before closing her eyes again, forcing herself to fall asleep.

we all know how that will go. it doesn’t work and alessia finds herself frustrated, wishing so badly she could sleep as soundly as you.

she peels her eyes open, finding it difficult to adjust to the darkness that surrounded her. she turned over to see your back facing her, small movements of your head, and the rising and falling of your chest was telling that you were in deep sleep.

alessia's lips quirked upwards, hand reaching out to caress your cheekbone, the only part of your face peeking out of the blanket. you sighed contently from her touch, sinking further into the blanket, shielding your face entirely from her.

she giggled silently, giving you a light peck on the top of your hair before moving to the edge of the bed, feet lying flat on the cold floor. “what time is it,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to make herself fully awake.

looking over to the clock that was on the bedside table, it read ‘2.30am’ with a red glow. she was lucky she was off the next day, if not she would rather knock herself out with the closest object on your desk.

creeping her way to the kitchen, she flailed her hands, moving them haphazardly to try to find the light switch. when she turns it on, she wishes she never stepped one foot out of the bed. she could be cuddling up with you right now, but instead, she decides that baking would be a better option.

“shit, it's so bright.” she grimaces, rubbing her eyes once more, trying to get rid of the fuzzies in her line of sight.

she walks to the kitchen island and squats down to get a tray, still unsure of what to make to pass time. unfortunately, she got distracted, thinking about what she would do on her off day, causing her fingers to slip, making the tray crash loudly.

“fuck.” the harsh metallic ringing caused her to freeze like a deer in headlights. she quickly picks it up and sets it on the countertop, and freezes again when she hears the bedroom door creak open.

you creep out of your room groggy as fuck, armed with your physics textbook, fully expecting to see masked men with bags full of your items; but instead, you see alessia with her hand pressed firmly onto the kitchen countertop, a sheepish grin on her face.

“what the hell are you doing? it's late.” grumbling, you clumsily make your way to her, taking her hand and trying to drag her back into the room. instead, she stays rooted to the ground, a pleading look in her eyes.

“what?” you question, knowing fully that she wants to do something, but since she woke you up, a little bit of teasing ain’t gonna hurt anybody.

“let’s bake?” she waves the tray in the air enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. you caved despite how your warm bed was calling for you, wordlessly reaching up to take the flour from one of the cabinets.

“alright, what are we making?” she lights up even more, like the human version of the sun. she breaks out in a huge smile before pulling you to her and squeezing you in a bear hug.

“thank you, baby! also, we are making choco chip cookies.” she presses multiple pecks to your lips, muttering another quick thank you before taking all the necessary items to bake with.

“can you pass me the chocolate chips?” you stretch out your hand without looking at alessia, only to feel her chin on your palm instead, a cheeky grin plastered on her lips. you couldn’t help the amused smile that crept onto your face — she was just so cute, you wanted to squeeze her face.

you gave in to your cuteness aggression and squished her cheeks together, earning a grunt from her.

“okay, okay. have your choco chips.” she hands you the packet before going back to mixing the cookie batter, a love-sick expression creeping on her face the moment she had her back turned to you.

the night went on with the cookies nearly getting burnt, nearly burning your hand taking out the cookies from the oven, and spilling flour nearly all over the kitchen that alessia promised she would clean the day after.

you both collapse onto the couch with a glass of milk in hand and freshly baked cookies on a plate at the coffee table. “thank you.” you hear from her, turning to your right to look at alessia, her eyes curved and dimples showing.

“what for?” she pretends to think before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss, rubbing small circles on your knee. she pulls away too quickly, kissing your forehead and stuffing a cookie into your mouth which you gladly accept.

“for everything.”

©️northsoulss 2023, all rights reserved.

[danger-bird]

"Obedience suits you, sparrow."

Ok,ok... listen....hear me out....... This story has been buzzing, festering in my hippocampus since yesteday, and now that I had time I slammed it out on a keyboard. It IS my OC-incert, so it's not technically an Ais x gn!reader, but I did avoid names in case a few crazy eyes, possession and a light sprinkle of amnesia is no biggie... Have fun, okie byee❤️ *scampers off , hides in their cave*

“Obedience suits you, Sparrow.”

Their small talk turned into a teasing banter quickly enough. They’ve been having a sneaking suspicion his worrying about them “almost dying again, running into a Soulless, or another roughneck”, is just him finding excuses to spend more time together. Not that they mind - even with his escorts, the walks always end too quickly.

They bark out a laugh as they turn a corner, slipping into the twisting backstreets behind the Wick. The night is cold, moonless - there are very few people outside, walking around the city.

“Since when? Either way, blind obedience is no fun - I thought you liked a challenge.”

It would be pitch black if not for the light seeping through the windows of the houses lining the narrow alleys. It’s dark – but not dark enough to miss the smirk stretching over his face.

“I do. Making it a challenge, then?”

“Do you want me to make it a challenge?” - they tease and peer up at his face, waiting for a reaction. His expression shifts somehow, but they can’t quite place in what way. He looks at them quietly, not saying anything, so they shift their gaze ahead and shake their head with an exhale, a light smile on their lips.

“Sparrows have been given wings to fly, Ais. I’ll never give you obedience like this.”

He gives a weak smile that drops immediately. His expression is unreadable. They hurry a few steps forward, trying to avoid his unnerving gaze.

He slows down, feeling his thoughts rippling at the edges, unfurling like a loose-knit cloth. His consciousness gradually sinks backwards as he quickly loses sensation in his skin, his hands, his face. The realization hits a moment too late.

Numbly, he can feel another presence emerging forward - a looming darkness casting an impenetrable shadow over his mind, wrapping its sticky tendrils around hazy thoughts, a horrible dread reaching forward…

In an instant, a sharp pain splits through his head, his awareness violently yanked forward like being pulled out of water. A low chime reverberates through his mind, overwhelming his senses… and keeping only his thoughts in focus, drowning out any other to barely a whisper.

“You can’t just take someone’s free will. You certainly can’t have mine. You can earn loyalty, my friendship… but that’s not the way to do it.”

They turn back to look at him, eyes radiating an unnatural shimmer: the color of blazing hot sunlight beaming off of molten gold. In the dim alleyway, their glow is bright enough to cast a light over their face, making their solemn expression that much more unsettling. Any other voices are now nothing more than a muffled babble. Their quiet, serene voice is stretching and twisting, almost splitting in two as it barely coalesces into an audible sound. Despite that, their words ring loud and crystal-clear in his head.

“A good heart means nothing without conviction… and a heart without conviction cannot be helped by anybody. Until your heart finds the conviction to seek out its own goodness, don’t come looking for mine.”

They turn around and take a few steps forward, stopping right before turning a corner and speaking quietly, still facing the street ahead.

“…Loyalty is not the same as obedience. It’ll do you good to learn the difference.”

They disappear behind the corner of a building without so much as looking back. The alley suddenly feels cold again, a drift whistling through the narrow streets between buildings and pouring onto the main street ahead. The dim light from a lone lamppost on the corner shivers before flickering out completely.

.

.

.

When they enter the Wet Wick, their head is swimming, unable to remember what happened after the alarming sense of unease washed over them back there. Mind still hazy, they drag themselves to the bar when Leander calls them over, Kuras keeping an eye on them as they approach.

[chaussetteblanche]

just like the wind - VII

summary: the Fellowship begin their journey in Moria word count: 1'623 warnings: none

“We now have but one choice.” Gandalf voices your thoughts, words echoing in the mines hauntingly. Frightened and agitated faces are revealed as he lights the orb atop his staff, basking everyone in white light. “We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.”

After your eyes have adjusted to the cool light, you look up to see Legolas as the owner of the hand you’d been holding. You untangle yourselves with small, shy smiles. Your stomach does something strange, but you blame it on the mines. Silence reigns, and even the smallest of sounds can be heard. You hear every intake of breath clearly.  “Quietly now,” continues Gandalf, “It is a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed.” The wizard starts walking and the rest of the Fellowship follows in silence. Frodo hands you back your cloak with a small smile, thanking you for having lent it to him. You return the smile, grateful to be able to find some warmth once again. 

You find yourself next to Aragorn as you walk, following behind everyone else. You pull your cloak around you, shivering slightly in your wet clothes. 

“I thought you had drowned,” Strider admits quietly, eyes trained on the path ahead of you. You swallow, unsure of what to say. “It was Legolas,” he continues, “He said you could still be saved. We dived in immediately. The water was freezing, and I thought that if you hadn’t drowned, then maybe you’d succumbed to hypothermia. You were still as Legolas carried you into the mines and white as snow. By the Valar, Alice, I was so scared.” He coughs after his voice breaks.

You aren’t certain as to why he is telling you this and you ponder your words before speaking.

“Thank you, my friend,” you breathe. “I would have hoped that the first time Legolas held me would be more romantic, but it is the way of things, I guess.” You try to lighten the atmosphere with a joke. There was no use in dwelling on the past, it could not change the present or the future.

“Alice, I am being serious.”

“So am I, I would have wanted a candle, maybe-“

“You could have died!” he hisses, grabbing your elbow to make you look at him. You stop in your tracks. In the dimly lit hall, you can barely make out the fear shining in his eyes. You know he worries about you, as you do him. But this look is new for the both of you. The two of you had never been faced with near death like this before.

“Aragorn,” you speak softly. “You could have died as well. So could have Legolas, or anybody else. This is what we signed up for. We knew the risks before joining the Fellowship. Today, it happened to be me. Tomorrow, it may be someone else. This is something we must be prepared for at all times. We cannot dwell on what may or may not have happened.” You place your hand on his shoulder. “There is nothing I would have done differently, you know this. Thank you for saving my life.”

He nods and starts walking again.

“You would have done the same for me.” True. “But I wasn’t alone, Legolas played his part.” You squeeze his shoulder. Feeling he needs to be alone with his thoughts for a while, you quicken your face until you join Legolas’ side.

Legolas picks up on your shivering in an instant, frowning in concern. “My lady, you’re freezing,” he notes as he unfastens his cloak and drapes it around your shoulders. You look up at him with slightly wide eyes as his warmth and scent envelops you. You decide that your new favorite trees are pine trees. “You must be too, you dived into the lake as well.” You go to give him his cloak back, but he stops you. “I do not feel the cold as you do.” You drop your gaze to the ground as you walk. Being a half-elf had its perks, many of them. It also had its downsides, which painfully reminded you of your human genes. 

“Thank you,” you speak earnestly. “You are most welcome.” “I do not mean just for this, also for saving my life and for everything else too.” His eyes trail over your face and you feel the tips of your ears burn. “It has been my pleasure, my Lady.” “I think it is time you would call me by my name.” Your shy gaze meets his surprised dark orbs with a smile.  “Only if you promise to call me by mine.” “I promise, Legolas.” You like the feel of his name on your lips.  “Then I shall call you by your name, Alice,” he smiles. Your name rolls off his tongue easily, enchantingly. You want to hear him say it again immediately.

The Fellowship enters a large cavern. You watch attentively as the wizards rests his hand upon a rock with dark, silver veins running through it. 

“The wealth of Moria was not in gold, or jewels,” he explains, “but in Mithril.” He tilts his staff down towards the pit behind you. You all turn to look down, faces illuminated by the light emanating from the depths. A vast rock wall drops deep, down below, illuminating row upon row of ladders and scaffolding, old and dilapidated, disappearing into the mining shafts below. Merry leans forward slightly to look closer, but Pippin puts a warning hand against his chest. You gaze down until the light disappear, surprised by such beauty and handicraft in the Dwarf world. You’d heard of Mithril, of course, but had never wondered how it was extracted or produced.

“Bilbo had a shirt of Mithril rings that Thorin Oakenshield gave him,” Gandalf remembers.

“Oh, that was a kingly gift,” muses Gimli, impressed. You do not know what relation Dwarves in general have to Mithril, you only know it is extremely precious and rare.

“Yes!” agrees Gandalf, “I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire.” You see Frodo send him a bewildered side-eye and bite back a smile.

You resume your walk and climb up some incredibly steep steps on the side of another cavern. Vaguely, you wonder how Dwarves and their little legs were able to move up such steep stairs. You send Gimli a look and find him doing alright. You slip and nearly lose your footing when a warm hand presses against your lower back. You send Legolas a thankful smile over your shoulder as you press on. Pippin slips too but is caught by Merry. 

The flight of stairs leads to a crossroads in the mine. The doorways loom before you, tall and imposing. Gandalf glances between them, looking puzzles. 

“I have no memory of this place,” he admits quietly. He takes his hat off with a frustrated huff. You send him a disbelieving look, panting slightly from the stairs. Aragorn catches your eye, and you share a glance. Sighing, you sit down on a large stone. The rest of the party follows your lead, taking the chance to rest. Legolas sits beside you, stretching out his legs. Pippin and Merry start bickering. They stop when Frodo stands to look down into the cavern below you. Seeing a small figure leaping from stone to stone in the dark, he startles. 

“There’s something down there!” he cries to Gandalf. 

“Gollum,” the wizard states casually.

“Gollum?” Frodo’s eyes are wide as he gasps.

“He’s being following us for three days, now,” you speak, impressed Frodo hadn’t noticed. You figured everyone knew, even though no one had mentioned it. By the lack of surprised features around you, only the Hobbits had not noticed.

“He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dûr?”

“Escaped? Or was set loose? And now the Ring has drawn him here. He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself. Sméagol’s life is a sad story,” Gandalf sighs. “Yes, Sméagol he was once called. Before the Ring found him, before it drove him mad.”

“It’s a pity Bilbo didn’t kill him when he had the chance!” Frodo spits. Gandalf sends the Hobbit a sharp glance. But before he can say anything, you sit up, shaking your head.

“Pity? Frodo, it was pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand.” Your brows furrow in frustration at the Hobbit’s ignorance. You force yourself to stay calm. “Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them?” Frodo looks down at his feet silently. You soften your tone: “Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. Even the very wise cannot see all ends.”

“My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or for ill,” says Gandalf. “Before this is over, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many.” 

You lean your head back against the wall against, your shoulder touching Legolas’. Closing your eyes, you listen to Aragorn and Boromir’s quiet conversation. A few moments later, Gandalf looks at one of the doorways with a newfound hope.

“Oh, it’s that way!” he exclaims. You smile in relief as you get to your feet.

“He’s remembered!” rejoices Merry. The Fellowship begins its descent of the dark staircase behind the doorway. Gandalf puts his hat back on.

“No, but the air doesn’t smell so foul down here.” The wizard rests a hand on Merry’s shoulder: “When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose.”

[bolton-buried]

I had the strangest dream while I was in the Strid. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t get it out of my head.

I don’t believe in prophetic dreams, but I’m writing it down anyway. Maybe this will help me fall asleep.

I’m in an empty space, a plane of plain white that goes on forever, so I pick a direction and begin to walk. Then jog. Then run through the emptiness, looking for its edge. Then I fall forward through it, tumbling head over heels into the ground that should have been there until

I land in darkness. A single bulb above my head flickering out, and suddenly I don’t know if my eyes are opened or closed. I reach forward across the cold stones of the floor, crawling with the fear of something being in the dark with me. Then I feel it

An insect—or something with skittering legs crawling on my skin. Then another. And another. The lights come back on just in time for me to see hundreds of centipedes and cockroaches crawling over me. I try brushing them off, but they keep coming. So I dig into the wall with my fingernails, pulling myself through the dirt so tightly that the bugs cannot follow. I dig upwards

And emerge in a trench, ankle-deep in blood and surrounded by men, shaking and shouting and firing across the field. A grenade falls in front of me, and I stumble backwards into a pool of blood before hearing it go off. When I stand

The walls are metal and sterile other than the blood filling the room to my waist. Cuts of meat in shapes I still can’t recognize hang from hooks—but there’s a staircase leading downwards. I follow it down, and open the door into

A hospital hallway. I hear the telltale sound of heart monitors beeping and slowing down, then stopping. The nurses all look at me like I am being mourned already. I try to shout that I’m not dead, but they silently hand me a clipboard. I won’t read it. I bolt to the door

And emerge in an empty street. It is London—I can feel it, but without the crowds. Without anybody. My feet echo on the ground as I start to run again. Desperate to find someone, anyone but the mannequins in every window, I run to

The Magnus Institute. But it’s wrong. The two windows in the front are round—the panes tinted green and the building itself looking at me with the same eyes as Elias Bouchard. Once one of them winks, I turn and run

But the mannequins from the windows are now in the street, all frozen in place as if they are real people and not plastic and rubber. Then their heads start to turn to me along a seam in the neck. They begin a jittery, stuttering walk towards me from all directions, so I pull up a manhole cover and drop to

A bunker. There’s a television, boxy like they were in the 60s. Numbers flash in the static between images of a world in ruins. There’s enough food in the bunker to last me for years, I know, but the TV won’t turn off, won’t stop showing me that nothing remains of the world I know. I open a hatch that should lead deeper into the bunker, but instead step into

A sewer, full of brightly-colored iridescent fluid, and in every direction the tunnels split and split and split in an infinite pattern. I begin to run down them, and think I could be running forever, lost in the glowing colors and endless patterns, when the tunnels let out

In front of my childhood home. I’d know it anywhere, all my memories, packed away in neat little boxes ready to come with me through the rest of my life. But then the building is ablaze. Photos of my youth, everything I’ve ever loved gone in an instant. I want to save it, but someone stands in the doorway

My father, holding a rifle. He starts charging at me and I run, stumbling over branches and roots in the small wood. A shot rings in my ears louder than his accusatory screams, then I stumble

Into white string, laid out between the trees. In my scramble to move forward, all I do is twist myself into the threads, helplessly trapped in a way I’m only just now seeing. Then a hand reaches from below with a pair of scissors. It cuts the thread and I fall

Into a river, flowing swiftly. I close my eyes, no longer afraid; no longer in need of fear. The current pulling me along is a guiding hand, the water a frigid embrace that says it will hold me as tight as it needs to keep the other horrors at bay. I do the closest thing I can to embracing it back, and take a deep breath in.

[1-800-cr33py]

Hi! I recently dive deep into the rabbit hole of your amazing works! I'm impressed by your dedication and work!

Lately, A strong wave of nostalgia washed over my mind and I was wondering if you could write another prompt about HABIT, a darker one. I want to leave further details as a free choice, as that the final result..would be something you never tried before while writing about him.

I don't know how much this is making sense, but...I'm happy you're bearing with me! Thank you so much for your time and understanding! Take care of yourself, your health, eat well, drink well, sleep well! With the best regards and admiration,

-Yours.

a/n: oh my I love getting asks like this ^^! If darker is what you want, then who am I to deny? Something I haven’t written is certainly a broad spectrum but I’ll do my best to deliver! Best wishes to this anon! If this is shorter than wanted I do apologize I’ve been in a mental rut for a while now. a/n #2: this was a harder write for me, seeing as I put my own experiences. If you or anybody you love is experiencing any domestic abuse/suicidal thoughts or actions, please seek immediate help.

TW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, heavy violence, blood, gore, abuse, If you are not within the right mental frame do consume media like this please do not click read more. I wish you all the best.

His cackle could be the only thing heard despite the distance between the two of you. You’d been running for what seemed like hours, with thick globs of blood burning your eyes, whether it belonged to you wasn’t your main focus. It was some sick game, a game in which you played into like a willful pawn. You thought, that in some way he could love you again if you stayed, if you kept your mouth shut about this. About all of this. The murder, the torture, the sickening shit that lingered within his mind. These type of things were something only a mind as sick as his could concoct, you swear it. It started off slow, it really did. The sudden roughness, the manhandling when it wasn’t called for, then that morphed into the cutting. You can still recall the first time feeling the cold steel of his knife glide across your skin, and it cut so easily, like butter. He, Evan, HABIT- whatever its name was, would tend to them, kissing your tears that spilled from your misty eyes away. He made an effort to praise you then, to congratulate you on making him “so fucking proud”. ‘What a load of bullshit’ you’d think to yourself. Trees and fallen limbs only served to hinder your progress, but the fleeting chance of escaping this monster proved more tempting. This wasn’t your fault, you knew that, no one deserves to go through something like this, but the pit in your stomach told you that you should’ve left when it started, should’ve seen the warning signs. You’re nearing the edges of the forest now, better hurry.

Gasps for air could be heard throughout the house, it echoed down the empty halls that were devoid of anything attached to its previous owner. The only light was pouring from the bathroom, where you and your capture were. His grip upon your hair was tight, leaving your scalp burning. Snot and tears poured down your face as he dunk your head into the water-filled tub, your hands pushing the edge in an attempt to find some kind of leverage against the man above you. Just as your lungs began to burn, you were pulled from the water once more, a sickening cackle permeated from the brunette above. His eyes were dark, lined with malice and hate. Habit muttered something, but in your current state you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You pleaded, begged him to let you go for what seemed like hours now, and all you got in return was a swift plunge into the water once more. Globs of snot rolled from your nose as your lungs begged for oxygen. With your vision hazy, brain reduced to mush as Habit shook your head. You wish you could hear the shouts escaping your once lover’s mouth, but your mind wouldn’t allow it. Dissociation had become your haven during times like this. It was the only way you knew how to survive. Habit threw your head down, scalp burning with the sudden release of his grip. You wanted to thank whatever higher being there was, but you learned long ago that no loving god would allow anyone to experience this. No merciful deity would hear someone so clearly in desperation and despair crying and turn a blind eye to this!

You’d lay awake that night, your bedding cold and a stark reminder of what was once the perfect image of domesticity between the two of you. Habit didn’t sleep much anymore, leaving the bedroom the one place you were truly ever alone. One, two, three, four you’d count the indents within the popcorn ceiling, doing something, anything to keep your mind away from the burn that still lingered within your lungs. Why? Why why why did it have to be you. You did everything right that you could think to do, so why? This existential limbo you’d find yourself trapped in, this cycle of abuse. Why? You knew the answer. You knew it like the back of your hand. You, ever so hopeful you, held onto hope that somewhere between those layers and pools of hate, hope that Evan was still there. Hope that your once doting and happy lover would suddenly form at your feet and kiss the bruises and burns away. Turning to gaze out of the dusty window, pale light spilling into room.

Still.

Everything was so still.

Your hand toyed with the damp hem of your shirt, frayed thread getting caught between your broken nails. You should be crying, running towards said window and finding your own escape; yet you couldn’t. Couldn’t bring your shaky legs to that window. Not when…you didn’t know why actually. The sinking feeling that Evan was never coming back was beginning to cement itself within you. The knowing that this, this cycle was your new reality began to emerge as you turned your head back to the ceiling.

This was it.

There was no light at the end your tunnel, not without the grace of dying to achieve it.

You sighed, and with shaking legs threw your body over the side of the cold bed. There’d been a bottle of pills on your bedside unknown of their usage. He put them there to taunt you, you were sure. He called you weak, stupid for believing he’d ever give a fuck about a useless meat sack like you. You cringed, remembering how demeaning it was to feel his spit land on your face, how degrading. With a trembling hand, you reached for the orange bottle. A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. All fear, anxiety, and anger melted away as you opened the bottle.

This was you taking back control.

This was your last chance to save yourself before everything you loved and held dear about your person. This was escape.

You made solace as you held down vomit, every instinct telling you to run to that bathroom and throw your stomach up. You fought, like you always did. This was your running to that window.

This was escape.

[herosplatling-replica]

Cold Glares, Cold Shoulders

General - Post-Possession Arc, 2,220 Words

The Guardian of the Ebony Backwoods is looking for pain meds. Edega is looking for a fledgling who doesn't want to be found.

[ Author's Note: I ended up writing this the other day, and felt like sharing it since it was directly stemming from the art I did of GEB threatening edega, ahah!! many thanks to @sirwow for both the concept and for letting me have Wally cameo in this, it's a lot of fun thinking about GEB's dynamic with the rest of the hospital! ]

The Guardian was taking a stroll around the hospital grounds when it heard it: the rising voice of Doctor Edega, and the sound of rushing footsteps.

What could be happening at this hour?

The Guardian stuck its clawed hands in its pockets, leaning out into the ward to listen for the noise. It sounded like an argument. They weren’t sure what about, but anything involving that man with the clipboard meant it wasn’t good.

Making up its mind, GEB strode down the hallway. She could barely catch the glimpse of a blur making its way into one of the closet nests – a blur of yellow and blue.

Oh. Wally…

The young intern had made his displeasure known to the Guardian, and had a tendency to refuse any help it tried to give him. GEB had no idea how to alleviate the situation – and to make matters worse, it was now saddled with this dragging feeling Jay had told it was called ‘guilt’. It was rather annoyed with the whole idea of the emotion.

There would be no going into the nest to comfort the fledgling, then. GEB craned its head, listening for Edega’s voice. It seemed like he was coming this way – in search of Wally, no doubt.

GEB huffed quietly, taking up a guard post of sorts next to the closet door. It didn’t like Edega, especially not after the lecture the man had given the Vessel after the possession catalyst incident. If he had to blame anybody for what had happened, the doctor could’ve at least pointed the finger at the Guardian, no?

It made itself comfortable, leaning its back against the wall of the hallway. The Guardian spread its dark wings around itself loosely in a clear defensive stance. The footsteps got louder, almost stomping in anger as the doctor turned the corner and met her piercing gaze.

In an instant, the man with the clipboard’s march came to a halt. Doctor Gabriel Edega’s eyebrows raised, before the man put his arms behind his back.

“...The Guardian of the Ebony Backwoods, I presume?” he asked finally, strolling up to GEB. She glared at him in response, but nodded. “Hm. It’s rather unfortunate we meet at last at a time like this.”

“Pardon?” GEB ground out in response, raising an eyebrow.

“I needed to speak to a subordinate – but that isn’t important anymore.” Without missing a beat, Edega pulled the clipboard back up, flipping to an empty page to take notes. “I presume Doctor Birde isn’t present with us when you are… at the wheel?”

“Hmph.” GEB turned its nose up at him, but decided to humor the doctor regardless. If it could give Wally time to recover, that was fine. “We do not always see what the other sees. There are times when I must rest, and when The Vessel is asleep. So to answer your question… currently, no. The Vessel is resting, and cannot hear you.”

Doctor Gabriel made a thoughtful hum at that, and wrote what it said down. “And… the ‘Vessel’ is what you call your host.”

“Yes,” The Guardian sighed out, pulling one of its clawed hands out to examine the talons. “I had assumed Doctor River already told you all of this, given the questions he had for me.”

“It’s still good to confirm these things,” Edega said. He paused for a moment, tapping the pen to his chin. “What are the limits to what you know of each other, between the Guardian and the Vessel?”

“I know everything about her,” GEB drawled out, checking the sharpness of its nails, “and she knows sparse about me. Only what I have told her.”

“Can you give me an example?” Edega huffed.

“…Hm… An example.” It pretended to think on it for a moment, before lifting itself from the wall to loom over Edega with her wings. “Oh, yes. I can think of many examples.”

Gabriel stared up at her, his eyes widening for a moment.

“I know you accused My Vessel for the injuries sustained by the interns. I am aware of how you have worked the interns to the bone. I know that you are making children work here. I know you have a cat.” It squinted at Edega, not missing the twitch of irritation in his eyebrows. GEB grinned, flaring its wings behind her head in a threat display. “I know a lot of things about you. And you, like The Vessel, know very little about me.”

GEB stepped back at once, tucking its wings to its sides as it leaned against the wall again. “Now, does that suffice for a good example?”

Gabriel grumbled something under his breath, before nodding. “Is the aloof manner you, or Doctor Birde?”

“I cannot possibly understand what you mean,” GEB murmured, shutting its eyes. “If you refer to the protective nature, that is Me. You have seen what it looks like when I am not present. It is rather obvious which one is at the wheel, no?”

That gave Edega pause, before he scribbled something down, reading aloud, “Paranormal entity’s personality is huffy and confrontational… subject not keen on sharing details about itself.”

“I would use ‘defensive’ over ‘confrontational’, Gabriel.” GEB huffed out, leaning its head against the wall. It tried not to laugh at the glare Edega gave her. “Now, I should remind you that I, the Guardian, surface when the Vessel is in pain. Would you happen to have migraine medicine on you?”

The doctor sighed, checking his pockets. “...I do not appear to have aspirin on hand, no.”

“Would you be a dear and find some for me? I was on the way to ask Doctor River and found you instead. My head’s spinning.”

The look on Edega’s face soured, but he tucked his clipboard under his arm and nodded. “I will get some aspirin for you. Hopefully that will… make you a little more open to talk. Stay here.”

GEB huffed again, but made no gesture to move. At that, Edega stalked down the hallway in the direction of his office.

The Guardian tucked its arms into itself, sighing as it watched Edega leave. For a moment its gaze drifted back to the closet door, before shaking its head and staying put. The fledgling wouldn’t want an interruption, even if it’s to tell him the coast is clear…

Regardless, GEB tapped its claws on the wall idly, as if to signal that it was alright to come out. There was no response, so it let out a quiet sigh as it waited for Edega to return. If the Guardian were to leave now, that would risk the discovery of their nest – and by extension, Wally’s hiding spot. The Guardian couldn’t have that happen, regardless of whether Wally was in there or not.

It drummed its claws for a second longer and, when nothing happened in the closet that it could pick up on, crossed its arms again. Any minute now, that man would return, and she’d have to put up with him.

There was a gentle stirring in the back of their mind as Jay awoke, blinking at their collective surroundings before metaphorically turning over in bed, pulling the covers back over.

Why are we in the hall with fluorescent lights, the Vessel whined groggily. It hurts.

I am aware, GEB huffed internally, but one of the fledglings needs Us here to distract Edega.

Huh? Edega? That got the Vessel to lift herself up a bit more, as if one was hovering over GEB’s shoulder to spectate. What’s going on? Everything okay?

We need to just stand guard.

GEB’s head wings flicked up at the sound of footsteps returning in their direction. Here he comes.

Don’t say anything stupid, Jay mumbled in their head as she got comfortable.

No promises.

“Unfortunately I could not find aspirin,” Edega’s voice drawled out, “but I did find some extra strength acetaminophen. Will that suffice?” The doctor rounded the corner, holding out what clearly looked like a used bottle of Tylenol.

“Tch.” GEB frowned, resting its chin on a clawed hand. “Did the budget cuts extend to the pharmacy as well?”

What did I JUST say, Guardian? Jay sighed.

“Pardon?” Edega raised an eyebrow, but the twitch in it told GEB that it had struck well.

“It seems like standard practice for a hospital to have a pharmacy, no? Or does this one not have a pharmacy? I would think that it would be required to have a pharmacist on-hand to work on getting the patients their medication so they may swiftly recover.”

When Edega didn’t respond, GEB turned its nose up at him. “There is no need. I will ask Doctor River instead, given how you failed to find anything.”

“Just because you’re unsatisfied doesn’t mean you can just-”

“Oh?” GEB tilted its head, flaring its wings out again. “To use the word ‘unsatisfied’ would imply you have some. Do you mean to say there IS aspirin, but you opted not to find it? Almost as if it was on purpose?”

That shut him up fast. GEB couldn’t help but grin widely, narrowing its eyes at Edega. “Perhaps you can get away with neglectful care with the other patients, but not with Me. I know how this hospital is run. While I do not have the clearance to get such things on my own, I know where they’re kept. This opened bottle could have something other than acetaminophen in it, and you know the risk associated with that, should complications arise. Am I wrong?”

Gabriel’s face paled at the Guardian’s words, and it chuckled at the display.

“That’s what I thought. You could probably get away with negligence on someone who didn’t know what these pills look like, but I have Jay’s memories of working here to go off of.” It leaned in at Edega, pulling one of its hands out of its crossed arms to wave its claws at him. “Now, get out of my sight. I tire of you. Off you go.”

He was furious – of that, GEB was certain. Yet Gabriel didn’t say anything more, and took his leave. Surely now he wouldn’t bother her again while she was at the front?

You totally got him, Jay admitted, but he’s absolutely going to take it out on me later.

Nonsense. He knows now that I see what you see, he knows he must be careful with what he says around you now.

If you say so, Jay sighed. Now if you’re done, I’m gonna go back to sleep til the aspirin kicks in.

I am. He will not bother us again anytime soon, I don’t think. I will speak to Doctor River to get the pain medication, so please rest.

Cool, Jay murmured in their headspace, retreating to the back once more. Guardian hummed thoughtfully to itself as Jay settled back down, falling asleep.

…Maybe I should go now. Surely Wally would not want me to-

Right then, the door to the nest creaked open a crack and the young intern’s brown and blonde hair poked out of the closet. Wally’s eye met GEB’s gaze, and for a second both of them froze in their tracks.

Go.

Go, you don’t want to make him feel threatened.

Move.

The Guardian tried to, but found her feet were stuck as if sinking into wet concrete. Its wings tucked back, trying to make itself look a bit smaller – it had just been threatening Edega, after all.

Wally simply watched for a second, his eyes flicking around the hallway to see if it was safe.

“He should be gone now,” GEB finally spoke up, and managed to wrench herself out of the freeze response as she spun on her heel. “Sorry to bother you,” she managed to say before setting off in a brisk walk down the hall.

If Wally had a response, GEB was too busy trying to settle its racing heart to hear it. It still felt guilty, and there was this crushing feeling of regret every time that it locked eyes with the young intern – a reminder of how it had failed by pushing the Vessel’s body too far.

…I can… try to remedy this some other time. The nausea from the migraine is starting to get to me…

As it made its way down the hall to River’s office, a small orange foam dart caught GEB’s eye, discarded on the floor. Is this what started the fight? Then again, Wally had a habit of regularly shooting foam darts around the hospital. It was likely left from long before Edega began to look for the intern.

The Guardian stopped in its tracks, staring at the foam dart for a second before finally making up their mind. They’d return it – just, not personally. If Wally knew GEB was the one taking them back, there was a chance he’d take offense to it, so something more lowkey would be ideal.

It sighed to itself as it plucked the orange dart off of the floor, briefly turning it in its claws before stowing it away in one of their coat pockets.

It won’t even begin to make things up, but…

It’s a start, right?

With that, the Guardian continued on its walk, trying to shrug off the cold sting it felt piercing its heart.

[osleeplessflowero]

L.O.VE And Justice

a somewhat satirical bad sanses reader insert fic

Chapter One: Nice To Meet You

Ao3 Link < Fic Masterpost < Next Chapter >

Content Warning: Violence

A dark, empty void.. 

There’s no hint of light anywhere. Only the darkness that surrounds you, threatening to swallow you whole. You hear echoes of voices calling out to you, before fading into silence. 

You feel weak..cold, too. As you fall further and further.. 

Your arms are extended in front of you, as if you were reaching for someone. But no one is there.

Your vision is blurry. You’re so tired.. you can hardly move. 

A light comes into your view as your eyes slowly squeeze shut..

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP- 

Ah yes..your alarm clock ruins your dreaming yet again. You feel around a bit, your vision still blurry from tiredness, until you finally find it, lightly hitting it to make it stop beeping. Such an annoying sound..at least it does its job. 

You sit up, yawning and rubbing your eyes with your hands, getting up and going down the hall towards the kitchen to make breakfast.

“Oh, I almost forgot-” You mutter, walking back into your room, grabbing a hairclip off of your nightstand and carrying it with you back to the kitchen. There’s a gem on it shaped like a heart, or rather a SOUL, your soul to be more specific. 

This gem is your most valuable belonging, being that it is directly linked with your Soul, and if something were to happen to it you would be in grave danger. 

You walk into the kitchen, quickly making and eating breakfast, then go into the bathroom to shower and fix your hair. 

It’s time for work..yaaay.

You change into your work clothes, exiting your house and getting in your car, playing one of your favorite albums and lip synching to the lyrics of the first song you hear. You wave at a small monster child that’s smiling at you from the back seat of the car next to you. They wave back excitedly.

It’s been quite a few years since monsters returned to the surface, after their ambassador Frisk freed them. A child did all of that on their own! Quite impressive, really. 

At first a few humans were uneased by the presence of monsters, but the more they interacted, the more peaceful and casual things became. Nowadays there’s countless monster-human friendships and other relationships, and everyone gets along pretty well. 

A peaceful life in a peaceful town with kind people..well, they’re kind most of the time. 

“WATCH IT, YA HEATHEN- ANYBODY TEACH YOU HOW TO DRIVE? CAUSE THEY DID A POOR DAMN JOB!” An older man shouts from the window of a car in front of you, looking back at you.

You roll down your window a bit more and shout back. “WHY DON’T YOU TRY DRIVING AT A NORMAL PACE FOR ONCE, GEORGE-”

“DON’T YOU TALK TO ME ABOUT MY DRIVING!”

“I’LL TALK TO YOU ANY WAY I WANT TO- God every day with this- EITHER MOVE OR GO FASTER YOU OLD SNAIL-”

“SOMEONE OUGHT TO TEACH YOU SOME MANNERS, RESPECT YOUR ELDERS!”

One of these days you’re going to snap on this man and it won’t be pleasant. Unfortunately, this is an everyday occurrence.. He’d better not make you late for work. 

A few minutes pass by and you finally reach your workplace, walking inside quickly. Don’t be late, don’t be late, don’t be late!

You sprint for the elevator, thankfully making it inside with some of your coworkers. 

Made it.. 

You lean on the wall, distancing yourself from the others to let out a sigh.

The other people in the elevator chat with one another, and you simply stay to yourself scrolling on your phone, not really in the mood to talk so early. 

Same old news, same old gossip.. Not much goes on around here. It’s so boring..

You step out of the elevator after the others, making your way to your desk and sitting down, staring blankly at a monitor in front of you. 

Times like these make you remember your highschool days.. 

After you were given your gift, you were able to use your magic to help those who needed you most, stopping injuries before they happen, or fighting off some delinquents, or rescuing someone from a high platform- those were the days..every day was interesting, something new was always there to be found around the corner. You were a hero!

But as you got older the troubles around you seemed to lessen and lessen to the point where you weren’t needed to help. 

You are grateful people are safe and can handle themselves, but at the same time that leaves you with nothing to do! You wanna have opportunities to get back out there in the field, using your magic for the greater good. ..Despite how selfish that may be.

But you’re stuck in here..with a shitty, boring office job, and magic you can’t use. If only there were some conveniently timed chaos..

You stare out a window, waiting, but ultimately nothing happens. 

“Damn..no comedic timing.” You mutter to yourself, turning back to the monitor and switching tabs. 

Minutes pass incredibly slowly as you work, typing out information to send to higher-ups. The usual stuff..nothing too exciting or out of the ordinary.

This is all the day will bring..

The same thing, over and over and o- 

Windows are heard shattering nearby. 

You stand abruptly as the door to the room you’re in is completely destroyed from some kind of blast. 

No way.

No fucking way. 

This is it! Your chance! There was (delayed) comedic timing after all!

Now now, this is no time to celebrate. Now is the time to think of what to do next.

You quickly move to a safe hiding place. 

“alright, everyone!” A skeleton monster steps forward, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. His eyesockets are empty, a strange black substance staining his face. There’s a bright red target on his shirt. He seems like bad news..

“here’s how this is gonna go down. you can run, hide, whatever. but in the end, you’re still gonna die. if you decide to fight back, well.. give us a good show.” He smiles with malice as he glances around the room, sending a chill down your spine. Definitely a monster with high LV.. You need to be careful with how you approach this scenario.

“let’s just get this over with, killer.. i’m sure nightmare wants to head back soon.” Another skeleton stands in the doorway behind him, leaning against the side of it. He’s wearing a blue hoodie like the other’s, except his hood is up. You can’t really make out his face too well from your current position. He seems to have a more tired demeanor. 

“yeah yeah, i know. wait, where’s horror? he was supposed to come along for this one-” 

“you know him. he hates working with us, remember?” 

“yeah, that's true.” 

While the two of them talk, you take this opportunity to crawl into the next room over where thankfully no one else is.

“Justice, Give Me Strength!”

The hairclip on your head glows a brighter shade of yellow, its magic beginning to surround your body. You allow it to consume you, lifting you off of the ground for a moment. The magic swirls around and forms into your now updated costume, having mixes of yellow in it. A hood forms on your back. The rest of it, well..we’ll leave that up for interpretation. 

You land on the ground, hugging yourself. 

"I missed you, old friend. I wish the moment I could’ve felt you again wasn’t during a crisis.” You mumble quietly before lifting your hood up and sneaking back into the other room.

People are freaking out, running around and dodging attacks that come their way. 

“Get to safety!” You call out as people make their way outside.

“now ain’t this interesting..” The skeleton with the target over his shirt turns to you, twirling his knife around in his hand. “got ourselves a wannabe hero.” His grin stretches menacingly as he stares you down. 

“Leave this town- attacking innocent people is unforgivable and unjust.” 

“like hell are we just gonna listen to you.” 

“i’m gonna make sure horror’s okay. you got this?”

“go on ahead.” 

The hooded skeleton leaves. 

The other skeleton turns back to you, throwing a sharp bone and killing a civilian who tried to run out of their hiding spot. He didn’t even look away. He just kept what you can assume to be eye contact with you, considering there are no lights in his eyes.

A chill goes down your spine.

“if you want me to leave.. why don’tcha make me?”

He points his knife in your direction. A silent threat. 

You hold up your hand, imitating a gun with it. 

“If that’s what it takes, then so be it.” 

His grin widens as he looks at you, just waiting for you to make a move so he can attack and get this over with. 

A yellow light emerges from your index and middle fingertips in the shape of a small sphere, before it surrounds your hand. Once it does that, it takes its form into a physical object: an actual gun. 

It has little heart shaped symbols on the sides, the trigger being a bright shade of yellow to match your overall color scheme. 

You point it at him, right between his eyesockets. 

“Let’s dance, skeleton.”

He charges at you with his knife held high, and you shoot. But the moment your heart shaped projectile is about to reach him, he..disappears? 

“What-” Was all you could let out as he knocked you to the side with the handle of his knife, dealing a small blow to your HP. 

How the hell did he hit you that hard? 

You get up, pointing your gun and shooting at him again. He immediately jumps out of the way, seeming to phase in and out of existence with each shot. How is he pulling that off?

You watch from the corner of your eye as everyone makes it outside, before jumping out of the way of a knife slash. 

Figure out a solution..anything..something that could work-

That’s it!

You aim your gun again and focus, shooting and waiting for him to phase out, before shooting the knife out of his hands the moment he reappears. 

“fuck-”

You shoot at him again as he holds out his hand to summon his knife back to him, not giving him an opportunity to think. 

“you fought like this before or something? seems you’ve got experience-” He finally pulls his knife back to himself, slashing at you. You lean back to avoid his strikes, which results in the glass of the window behind you to shatter, falling onto the ground below. It’s a really long drop.. 

“Something like that. I’m used to getting rid of punks like you-” You shoot at him again. Maaaybe you should try adding some new weapons to your arsenal for scenarios like this..If that's possible-

“huh, if that’s the case.. why haven’t you already gotten rid of me, then?” 

He slashes his knife towards you, you jumping out of the way. You shoot at him again, him dodging before sending a bone your way and catching you off guard. You fall out of the space where the window was, holding onto the ledge with your free hand and holding up your gun with the other. 

He stands over you, his foot just beside your hand. 

“a shame we couldn’t fight longer. but i’ve got business to attend to, so let’s cut this short, kay?” 

You shoot at him again abruptly, hoping to catch him off guard, and he slightly shifts to the right. COME ON-

“maybe i’ll meet you in another timeline. see ya!” He grins and waves before kicking your hand off the ledge, resulting in you falling.

Gotta think of something, gotta think of something, THINK OF SOMETHING YOU’RE GONNA DI-

.

.

.

Someone stands on the street below, bashing the heads of civilians in with a massive thigh bone. 

He has a grimace on his skull, a large crack visible on the left of it. His coat slightly sways in the breeze, large blood stains visible on his sweater beneath it. A bright red eyelight glows, visible at even a distance. 

“why’d i hafta get stuck killin’ these humans- of all the places i have to go. i fuckin’ hate this job." 

He swings the bone around again, killing someone else. 

“humans and their cozy lives on the surface with these other monsters who didn’t hafta go through a lick of suffering- must be NICE-” 

Another hit as he puts the thigh bone over his left shoulder, stepping over a few bodies and walking ahead. 

Civilians cower and flee at the sight of the large skeleton and the corpses below him, screaming out as they run to other locations. Too bad that won’t save ‘em..

A faint scream is heard from above. 

He raises his head, confused at just what that sound i-

BONK!

Something heavy lands on top of him, causing both him and the foreign object to tumble to the ground.

“Ah fuck- I think I might’ve broke something- ow-”

“what the fuck-"  

You sit up, looking down at the skeleton on the ground beneath you. This skeleton has a large crack in his skull. That must be painful.. He has a single, bright red eyelight that takes up most of his socket. He..doesn’t look too friendly..probably working with those other skeletons from before.

“Uh..hiya, sorry for the sudden introduction, haha-”

He immediately raises the thigh bone in his hand, you jumping off of him out of the way just in time. 

“great.. another one to deal with. and this one’s chatty.” His grimace stretches further. 

You hold out your gun, the cape of your costume flowing out behind you.

“So, you workin’ with those two dorks back there?” 

“don’t associate me with them.” He stands.

“Strike a nerve?” You shoot at him, and sure enough, he dodges in the same way “Killer” did. Do all skeleton monsters have this ability? You’d never met one personally before so all of this is pretty new to you. You hope this isn’t something you’ll have to get used to..

He charges at you, thigh bone raised. You take note of the fact that there are no bones in the ground around here..maybe he doesn’t want to use magic and relies on that thigh bone. It could be to your advantage..it’s a heavy weapon. Heaviness means slowness, right? At least, it should.

You shoot at him, jumping over some broken glass. Little yellow heart shaped projectiles going everywhere but at their intended target. 

He raises the bone and swings it at you, only barely missing. 

You move back out of instinct before tripping over some office supplies that fell out of the window from earlier, falling onto your back with a thud. 

He looms over you, his bright red eyelight burning. He swings the bone again as you crawl backwards, shooting at him with one hand and moving with the other. 

During this time, you decide to [CHECK] him. 

High LV..Only 1HP? You’d kill him with a single shot! That must be why he’s learned to be so good at dodging. One hit and he’s down for the count. 

He holds the bone up to shield himself against the bullets before slowly walking towards you, taking his time. 

You move quickly away, trying to find something.. anything to distract him long enough to get away and think of a plan so you don’t actually have to kill him. Come on..come on-

“bad aim? that’s a shame. that’ll get’cha killed.”

“Sorry, but dying isn’t really on my schedule for today.”

He raises the bone again, preparing to strike. You back up a little more and find..a stack of paper? Well, you did just fall out of an office building. It’d have to do. You tear the plastic off of the stack.

You wait until he’s looking, then throw the papers at his face, getting up and running off, hiding behind a nearby building.

“what the fuck- paper? Seriously?”

“yo horrorrrr- did you get ‘em?” Killer jumps down from above, landing right beside Horror. He scowls at the shorter skeleton, holding the thigh bone above his shoulder.

“they threw a fuckin’ paper stack at me and ran off.”

“huh?-- so that means they got away..looks like we’ve got a game of cat and mouse.” He grins, spinning his knife around.

“or, and just hear me out..we could actually do what we were sent here for and carry out the mission properly.”

“you’re no fun, dust- we’ve gotta have a little bit of spice.” 

“What the fuck is taking you all so long? I expected you to be done by now.” 

You peek from your hiding spot, looking over the new skeleton in the area. 

He’s tall, (though to be fair, all of them are taller than you.) A black and green inky sort of substance covering his bones. He appears to be melting in a way, though the substance never seems to fall off of him.. There are tentacles emerging from his back, wriggling around in different directions. From his body language you can assume he’s a bit annoyed right now. 

“oh- heeeey, boss- we were just working actually-” Killer points fingerguns at him. 

“It seems to me like you’re doing a whole lot of NOTHING.” 

“would be doing something if that stupid human would quit screwin’ around.”

“A human is what you’re having problems with? Haven’t you killed several versions of that child? Why is this scenario any different?”

“they have a justice soul, boss. which means they have a gun, and dodging is a biiit of a pain in the ass.” 

‘Boss’ lets out a hum of acknowledgement. “Whatever, let’s just get out of here. We’ve spread enough panic through the area and standing around is wasting time. It oozed with positivity before..he’s been here.”

“you got it!” Killer gives him a thumbs up. Dust simply averts his eyes, Horror glares at the ground. 

“This would’ve been easier if you actually worked as a team, you know.”

“like hell am i working with THEM.”

“rude!”

“well, i don’t blame him for not liking us.”

“He- e- e- ey- Are you- ou idiots done in here? I’ve got business to ta-ake care o-of in this universe and I doubt you want to be in here when it ha-a-appens.”  [Hey, are you idiots done in here? I've got business to take care of in this universe and I doubt you want to be in here when it happens.]

A more colorful skeleton appears from a white, pixelated portal. What’s up with all of them showing up? How many are there?!

His voice has a sort of glitchy effect, causing his words to slightly distort. His bones are black, his face having dark blue marks over it. His eyesockets are red, eyelights being yellow and blue. His teeth are also yellow. You can’t really see his body from where you’re standing, plus the fact that it’s mostly obscured by the portal, but you can see that he’s wearing a dark blue scarf over what looks like a suit jacket of some kind that’s over a red sweater. 

“Yeah yeah, we’re leaving. Wasn’t much to find in this universe anyway. What’s important is that his influence is gone..”

“Then hurry u-u-up and get out-t-t, Nightmare. I’ve got shit to do.” He shoos them away with his hands. ‘Nightmare’ opens up a portal, shoving the other three inside. 

You start to lower your weapon, but accidentally pull the trigger, sending a projectile right towards him.

He just stops, holding out his hand and..catching the bullet between his fingers. He turns to you, bright green eyelight focused. It looks as if he’s staring right through your soul, sending a chill down your spine. 

And then..he crushes it, letting the bright yellow pieces hit the ground before entering the portal himself. 

You stare forwards in shock, closing your mouth since it was wide open. He just- broke it- just like that- without even giving it another THOUGHT- 

Well..no time to worry about them right now, they’re gone and that’s what matters. It’s time to clean up the damages and find any injured.. 

What did that one skeleton mean about “business to take care of”?...

“Please- someone get me out from here-” 

You immediately run towards the civilian shouting for help. You’ll dwell on all that later. Something tells you this won’t be the last you see of them..you need to make sure they won’t kill anybody else. 

The rest of your afternoon is dedicated to helping those who need it and making sure that damages are repaired safely. As soon as you get home, you de-transform and walk into your room, collapsing face first onto your bed and removing your hairclip. You trace your hand over the heart shape, staring at it.

What a day… You hope that tomorrow won’t be as exhausting. 

[egipci]

Vertigo, 1999

(for @wincestwednesdays)

What they have in common is they're loud, and they talk too much. That's what Dad used to say. Nine out of ten hunters have no fucking idea what they’re doing. You put four of them in a room together and you get twelve tall tales and intel that’ll set you back three days. Not that he spent much time with any one of them. There was a time, back in the beginning, he'd take on a job with a guy, say, someone Bobby knew, or he'd just run into a random dude on the scene, and they'd try to crack it together, talk theories, or they'd do interviews, bad-cop-good-cop, that sort of thing, and right in the middle of it, no matter how it was going, he'd turn to that other guy and suddenly remember he hated all of them. He'd tell me about that stuff. That's why he roped me in soon as he could. He didn't like anybody else. I don’t know how he stayed friends with Pastor Jim as long as he did. There was a fight once after Jim offered to take his confession, but they got over it eventually. Sometimes I wonder what the two of them would say about your praying. I still can’t do it. I couldn’t do it the first time you died, and I can’t do it now. I try to meditate, for Lisa. She says you can think of anything or nothing at all. So I close my eyes and I think about Wyoming that one winter.

There were hunters there too, and they warned us. You were in the car, and I was with Dad in a convenience store on the edge of Indian country. We were questioning the cashier. Mostly Dad was doing the talking. It was a two-stall restroom kind of joint and he'd backed me up against the sink and put his hands under my shirt so I was still in that warm stupid daze I could never tell you about. He was asking about the missing girls, if any of them had stopped by before they'd disappeared, and these two guys who knew him from somewhere came up. Right away he couldn’t stand them. They asked what we were there for. You could tell they were really freaked. They said there was something out there. A god, maybe. They could feel its strength and nothing else. Of course Dad didn't believe them, and that was all that mattered. 

Anyway, here is the part I keep replaying: he's walking ahead of us and it’s getting dark fast. It hasn't snowed yet but it's cold enough he let me wear his jacket. You and I are about the same height, so I got my arm around your shoulder, your neck in the crook of my elbow, and I'm dragging you along, and you're squirming and being a bitch, so we're lagging way behind, and I'm saying stupid shit to make you laugh, trying to make you feel better, and you’re trying hard not to crack up. Then you elbow me in the gut and you stop walking, so I stop, and I turn to look at you. The trees are humming around us, all the way down to their roots. At least that’s the sense I had. We never found anything out there, so I never brought it up again. I never asked you. But the way you looked at me. You said my name, and you looked into my eyes then at the bottom half of my face, and when we finally set up camp you slept outside the tent. I slept with my head sticking out so you wouldn’t be alone. Something bit you first and then bit me. That night we stayed up staring at the sky. What I wouldn’t give to feel us so small again, to hear you naming the constellations.

[peonierose]

Once (4/5)

**This story takes place before it was revealed that Addison would come back/is alive **

Book: The Nanny Affair & Open Heart Crossover / AU

Characters involved: Sam Dalton (M!MC), Ethan Ramsey (M!MC) and Robin Flores (M!MC)

Part IV of V / Miniseries

Words: 4,000+

Rating: Mature

TW: Cancer, character death, mental illness

Summary: It’s the day of Addis funeral. Thankfully Sam isn’t alone he has his friends and family to be there for him.

A/N: This is in honor of my friend Mira who died from ovarian cancer. May you rest in peace 💜

A/N part 2: @annieruok94 Thank you for proofreading 💚

Music Inspiration: You can check out some songs I posted for @moodmusicmonday Here’s a complete list for all the songs of all chapters 🥰

Part IV

The evening before Addie's funeral started with heavy rain, pelting mercilessly on the windows of our apartment in New York.

Then I correct myself. It's now my apartment, not ours, since Addie…is gone. I lean my head against the cold glass and just breathe out through my nose.

I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance as lightning illuminates the otherwise dark room with white and purple light.

I lift my head and look up.

With my hand in my pocket, I stared outside at the skyscrapers rising high in the air. City lights glow from down below.

I saw my reflection staring back at me in the glass of the window. Looking tired and forlorn. I feel like a piece of me died with Addie. We might’ve had our ups and downs but I love her. No matter what happened.

God, I miss her so damn much.

I look down at the glass of scotch I poured earlier. Losing count of how many drinks I’ve had tonight. Not giving two fucks if I’m hungover the next day. At least it’ll numb my pain for a little while.

I’m swirling the scotch in my hands that I poured myself a while ago. The ice cubes have already melted inside. Watering down the taste of the scotch.

I take a sip, as it smoothly runs down my throat burning its way down.

“Getting shit-faced. Is that how you’re spending your days now, Sam?“

I hear an angry voice. That voice belongs to my non-biological brother Robin. A pain-in-the-ass if you ask me.

Unbothered by his presence I take another sip and keep staring outside.

He comes to a stop next to me. I don’t even look at him. Just continue looking outside. Not seeing anything.

“Anybody home?“ He taunts me.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

“What do you want?“ I ask not caring how I sound.

“Oh, so he speaks? That’s nice,“ he says sarcastically.

I roll my eyes at that. Robin has never been very subtle. I always admired that about him in a way. He’s passionate and doesn’t hold back when it comes to the people he loves.

“Again what do you want?“ I just want him gone and to be left alone. So that I can finish my drink in peace.

That’s when my drink is yanked out of my hand.

“The hell, Rob?“ I glare at him. My voice is dangerously low. But he either ignores that or doesn’t care. I’d say it’s a bit of both.

“What is wrong with you? Addi died and all you seem to care about is getting shit-faced?“ He almost shouts at me. His fists clenched at his sides, anger rolling off of him in waves.

“Do I look drunk to you? No? Then kindly fuck off.“

I’m holding out my hand for him to pass me my glass.

He just scoffs.

“You know what? No. I’m not just going to leave you here. So that you can wallow in misery,“ he pauses for a second, before continuing.

I raise my eyebrows at him. Not care why he’s here. I love him, but right now? I want to get drunk. Not having a heart-to-heart.

Robin continues unperturbed.

“As for why I’m here. Mom called me. Since you don’t know what a phone is these days and how it works. She asked me to check in on you. You ghosted everyone. Our parents are worried. So are Mickey and Mason. Remember? Your kids? Whose mom died?“ He punches the bridge of his nose and breathes out a deep sigh.

My breath hitches at the mention of my boys. But I don't want to talk to Robin, because once I start? I won’t be able to finish. Because I know I’ll break down and weep like a little baby.

So I school my features.

“Our parents? You mean my parents? We're not blood-related, Robin.“

I know that was a low blow. But I just want him gone. If there is no other way than hurting him so that he leaves? So be it.

He inhales sharply at my words. But then a look of understanding and softness enters his espresso-colored eyes.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Sam. You’re trying to hurt me with words so that I’ll leave. Nice try,“ he just looks at me.

“Who says I was lying?“ I raise an eyebrow and bite my inner cheek.

“Really? What would Addi say if she could see you now? Drinking? Being an ass? Pushing family away? That’s not you Sam!“ He sighs.

“I’m not in the mood for a fight.“

I say in response.

He shakes his head at me.

“Color me surprised. I thought for sure, that’s where you were going with your little insults. But what do I know? I’m your not-brother who still gives a damn about you. Even though you act like a complete asshole right now,“ he says.

“Just because I don’t react the way you want me to, doesn’t mean you can just come in here and belittle me. I love Addi. Not one minute goes by that I don’t miss her. The hardest part was to know she won’t make it. Do you know what that’s like?“

My voice is rising. And Robin sighs in turn.

“No, I don’t know. But don’t shut us out, Sam. We all love and care about you and the twins. Let us help. Let us carry some of the burden for you. You’re not alone,“ he places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I don’t instantly shake it off.

Seeming to consider his words carefully.

“Look, Sam. Nobody is trying to make this harder on you than it already is. We’re all just trying to process this and find a way to move on. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you. Everything you’ve been going through since Addi was diagnosed with cancer. We all loved Addi. And now she’s…gone,“ he sighs at the last word.

I let my head fall overcome with suppressed emotions.

“I was trying to numb the pain. That’s why I was drinking. I was halfway there when you barged in.“

I chuckle but it sounds bitter and sad.

“You could’ve at least offered me a drink. No one should drink alone. Come on.“

Robin attempts a smile, that’s more of a half-smirk. But a small smile creeps into the corner of my mouth and stays there.

He pats my back and I look at my brother. Who is a friend whom I’ve been a dick to, just because I needed to lash out at someone.

Because I’m angry, sad, frustrated and just so fucking tired. As if all these months of pain are pouring out on me. Like heavy rain.

This little cloud of swirling emotions is spinning through me and I don’t know what to do. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should let my family help and carry some of the burden.

I sigh again. So much for thinking that drinking was a good start.

Maybe a vacation or going someplace that doesn’t remind me of Addi would be better instead.

Just to relax and spend time with my boys who are grieving but don’t understand what the fuck is happening because they’re too young.

As Robin and I sit down he looks at me, as if he knows exactly what’s going on inside my head.

“Let’s get drunk,“ he waggled his eyebrows and moved into the living room to find the bottle of scotch I opened earlier. Or was it yesterday? I laugh silently. Not even knowing where yesterday went.

“Aren’t we a little too old for hangovers?“

“Speak for yourself, old man! I don’t have hangovers,“ he gets himself a glass from the cabinet and pours each of us a drink. I watch as the amber-colored liquid fills our glasses.

Clinking our glasses together. We both take a sip.

“This is some good stuff.“ Robin whistles.

I shrug.

“Did you really expect me to get drunk on some cheap liquor? Who do you take me for?“

“God you’re such a snob. But at least I know where to find the good stuff if I ever need a stiff drink,“ he smiles to himself.

We drink in silence. Consumed by our private thoughts.

Robin clears his throat. I look up. He wets his lips looking away. He’s nervous about something.

“Just say it.“

“I heard Addis' parents are coming to the funeral. You never really talk about them. Is there bad blood between you guys?“

He almost whispers the question, as if he’s afraid of how I would take the question.

I take another gulp before answering.

“Not bad blood in and of itself. We just never got along, that’s all.“

Not willing to say more. Robin doesn’t seem convinced.

“There’s got to be more to the story,“ he pushes.

I put my glass on the table immediately, missing its weight in my hands. I lean back in the chair.

“There’s not much to tell. Ever since Addie introduced us there’s been tension. Why? I don’t know. I‘d guess they thought I wasn’t good enough for their daughter.“

“What? You? Not good enough for their daughter? What gives?“ He asked.

“All I know is they come from old money and they probably had someone else in mind for Addie. But she went and married me. Which pissed them off. We never had a peaceful dinner together. One that didn’t end in an argument. They never visited us or gave a damn about Addie. And when Mickey and Mason were born…“

Thinking back to that day. Holding them both in my arms. Those tiny and fragile little humans. My heart is swelling with love.

I knew then and there that I would always love them. Never be their cause for doubt. Yes, I might be strict sometimes. But only because I love them and don’t want to lose them. Like I lost Addi. I take another sip from my drink.

Those boys? They are the most precious gift of all time.

Seeing their smiles every day and being excited about those god-awful experiments? Addie always encouraged them in that regard. I’m smiling to myself lost in thought.

I haven’t noticed the silence that was stretching for far too long.

When Robin’s voice brought me back.

“What’s that smile for?“ He points in my direction with his glass.

“I was thinking of the day when Mickey and Mason were born. And how happy I felt while I was holding them. Being scared of what to do, you know? Then they opened their eyes and just looked at me. It was love at first sight. Holding your child in your arms, it’s incomparable,“ smiling fondly at those memories.

“I’ll take your word for it brother,“ he sips from his drink while glancing down at his watch. He notices my stare.

“Hot date?“ I ask curiously.

He almost chokes on his sip.

“Yeah, right.“

I smirk.

“Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch?“

“No. I’m just busy.“ That is all he says.

I arch an eyebrow at that explanation.

“Right. Of course.“

He sighs loudly.

“Don’t be smug, okay?“

I hold up my hands, smiling.

“I’m just looking for something different. So far I haven’t found it,“ he looks into his glass as if it was holding all the answers.

He gets up from his seat and puts down the glass.

“I should be going. I am busy.“

It looks like he wants to say more. Opening and closing his mouth.

He continues in a soft voice. One I don’t hear often.

“Don’t push the people who care about you away. You don’t have to go through it alone. We’re all here for you. Whatever you need. Just don’t shut us out. Please. The twins can’t lose another person. Neither can we. We love you Sam,“ he smiles softly.

About to leave, when I get up and give him a tight hug.

He didn't expect it and stood still for a moment. Then he relaxes and returns the hug.

“Thank you.“ I whisper.

“I’m sorry about earlier…You are my brother, even if not by blood. Family don’t end with blood.“

He takes a step back and just stares at me.

“Are you quoting Bobby Singer from Supernatural?“ he asks, grinning at me.

I smack him on the arm.

“Don’t make me feel weird about this.“ I say.

He throws his head back and laughs out loud.

“Oh my god. Samuel Alexander Dalton. You watch Supernatural?“

I scoff embarrassed.

“So what? A lot of people do. There’s no shame in that. And why are you giving me shit for that? I know Addie got you hooked on it too,“ I flushed beet red.

“What are you talking about?“ He’s trying to deflect the question.

“What am I talking about? When you both had the flu and were sick for almost a week you sat down and watched seasons 1 through 11. Nobody was allowed to talk or say anything about Sam or Dean. Also, Addie told me that you made some friends online and discussed the episodes with others.“

His cheeks are flaming red and he’s trying to flee.

“Okay, I admit it. I love the show. It has great dialogue and Dean and Sam are hilarious. Happy?“

He throws up his hands in the air and asks impatiently.

“Very.“ I smile.

He rolls his eyes at that.

“Oh and Rob?“ I can’t help saying one last thing, as he’s waiting for the elevator to take him downstairs.

“Yeah?“ He turns around expectantly.

I laugh delightedly.

“SupernaturalFan_67? Does that name sound familiar to you?“ I ask jokingly.

“How…do…you…When…What?“ He stammers.

Tapping his foot impatiently on the marble floor as he’s waiting for the elevator.

He’s clicking the elevator button several times for good measure.

“You left your laptop open when you visited that one time, and Addi saw it and showed it to me. We just couldn’t resist.“

I bite my lip to not burst out laughing when I see the dirty look he gives me.

“That’s why those weird comments appeared. You two made those,“ he points an accusing finger at me.

He sighs.

”I thought I was being hacked. Damn, you’re such a dick, Sam,“ he says as he gets into the elevator.

I wink at him and he rolls his eyes but smiles.

He’s mumbling something under his breath which makes me laugh even harder.

Even after the doors close I’m still laughing.

When I sit down again to enjoy the rest of my remaining drink. I see an old record peeking out from the table.

When I lean forward to see which one it is. I see it’s one of Addie's favorites.

Linda Ronstadt - Long, Long time.

Ah. That woman? Such a gifted singer. We’ve always loved to dance to her songs. Whenever we had some alone time.

With some new vigor, I put the record on and the first tunes of the song play out.

»Love will abide«

»Take things in stride«

»Sounds like good advice«

»But there's no one at my side«

»And time washes clean love's wounds unseen«

»That's what someone told me«

»But I don't know what it means«

»'Cause I've done everything I know«

»To try and make you mine«

»And I think I'm gonna love you«

»For a long long time«

»Caught in my fears«

»Blinking back the tears«

»I can't say you hurt me«

»When you never let me near«

»And I never drew one response from you«

»All the while you fell all over girls you never knew«

»'Cause I've done everything I know«

»To try and make you mine«

»And I think it's gonna hurt me«

»For a long long time«

»Wait for the day you'll go away«

»Knowing that you warned me«

»Of the price, I'd have to pay«

»And life's full of flaws«

»Who knows the cause?«

»Living in the memory of a love that never was«

»'Cause I've done everything I know«

»To try and change your mind«

»And I think I'm gonna miss you«

»For a long long time«

Letting the music and lyrics wash over me. Healing some of the fissures that have opened up. Somehow I feel closer to her with every passing note.

Making me smile even though Addie’s no longer here. But her memory will always stay in my heart, and in the crinkle around my eyes.

Telling the story of how we shared a bond and a love for each other that can’t just be broken. The memories we made? They will never fade.

I fell asleep to the sounds of Linda’s song - Long, Long time.

The Next Day…

The funeral happened in a blur. I don’t even know how. It felt as if I was wading through water.

Not seeing anyone or noticing anything. The boys are with my parents. I asked them if they could watch them.

I don’t want them to be exposed to any gossip. There are some at any funeral.

At least at Addis's funeral I can try and control the narrative a little.

They’re going through enough, they don’t need to hear people talk shit about Addie.

I move through the crowd in the living room and smile politely as I make my way toward the table with drinks.

“I’m not a big fan of people either. I hate making small talk. It’s completely unnecessary. Either say what you have to say or shut up.“

A deep voice rumbles next to me, as I’m trying to pick my poison from the array of alcohol.

I turn around slightly, and my eyes widen in shock at seeing Dr. Ramsey standing next to me.

In an all-black tuxedo, a golden square pocket peaking out.

I gape like a fish with my mouth hanging open.

“Surprised to see me? Yeah me too.“

Ethan replies, already nursing a drink. Though when I look down it looks just like plain water.

I look up and raise a questioning eyebrow.

“Dr. Ramsey I haven’t expected to see you. Least of all at my wife’s funeral.“

I’m still staring at him like I’m seeing him for the first time.

He winces at that.

“Just call me Ethan.“

I exhale.

“Alright, Ethan. But then you should call me Sam. Mr. Dalton sounds…“

A corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk.

“Old?“

Now it’s my turn to wince.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Though I feel old today.“ My shoulders droop.

He pats my shoulder encouragingly.

“I know what you mean.“

I nod in thanks.

“Thank you for coming. We’re literal strangers, apart from seeing each other at the hospital that one time….I….mean you didn’t have to come out here. But I appreciate it nonetheless.“ I smile at him.

He nods in the direction of the library. Which is closed off to visitors. Family only.

“Of course. So should we escape the crowd? I think I was promised a drink. Shall we?“ He asked me.

I slowly nod in agreement and lead the way to my family's study.

Once inside I softly close the door. I don’t want anyone overhearing a private conversation. And then later gossiping about it. I’ve had enough of those already.

What is it with certain people who find joy in other people’s misery? I will never understand that.

“They’re worse than the interns.“ Ethan comments.

I look at him in confusion.

He smiles.

“You were mumbling about people gossiping,“ he says.

I close my eyes for a brief second and draw in a long breath. Letting my head fall on the leather couch and just letting the cold fabric cool down the fire in my blood.

“I guess I’m just wondering about how it can bring people joy to gossip. At a funeral, no less. We’re here to mourn Addi and say goodbye. Not to spread rumors and talk bad behind someone’s back, who can’t even defend herself anymore.“

Getting frustrated and angry, I’m trying to rain my emotions in, since I don’t want to explode. Then people would have something to talk about.

I shudder. I don’t even want to think about that. The reactions about my outburst would be awful. My parents would never shut up about it.

Ethan’s voice brings me back to the here and now.

“You know, people will always talk. No matter what you do. I work at a hospital, where gossip spreads like wildfire. Trust me. I’m still amazed I haven’t gone and thrown someone out the window.“

He grunts as he leans into another one of the leather armchairs. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

I laughed for the first time today, and I’ve got to admit it feels freeing. Not being judged for smiling or laughing, because it’s “inappropriate“. Fuck them.

Addi wouldn’t mind if I laughed today. She’d welcome it.

She’d say ”If someone laughed at some lame joke I made? Yeah, I’d call that a win. Funerals shouldn’t feel like a goodbye. They should feel like a celebration of the person who’s now in a better place.“

She’d be right. So screw them. How do they know how I feel? I grin.

I get up and turn to the glass cabinet in front of me. I get two glasses out and pour each of us a drink.

Ethan takes a sip while I watch his reaction.

“Not bad Dalton. Not bad,“ he takes another sip, this time a bigger one.

“Not bad? I’d hope this was better than not bad. But I’ll take it.“

We sit in silence. But it’s not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. I lean my head back again and just close my eyes. My glass dangles from my fingers.

Ethan clears his throat slightly.

“So I take it from us drinking at…“

I hear the rustling of fabric, and then “…11 in the morning that we both needed a hit?“

I open my eyes and put my glass down.

“You can say that again. This whole day has been a nightmare.“

I rub my eyes.

“Care to elaborate?“ he asks.

“I don’t know where to start…“ I drift off.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“At the beginning would be good.“ I laugh despite myself.

“Yeah I guess so.“

I draw in a breath, readying myself.

“Addi was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a few months back. I still don’t understand how it could’ve gotten to stage 4 without us not noticing anything. It didn’t make any sense. That’s when the fighting started. She…just wasn’t taking care of herself. I tried cutting back at work. So that I could be there for her and the kids, but all it did was make her angrier. She said she doesn’t need a babysitter. She stopped listening to her doctors. She didn’t spend as much time with the kids anymore. I’m not trying to paint her as a bad mom or person. It’s just…“ I trail off.

“You were worried about her,“ he says matter of factly.

“Yeah. Of course, I was.“

I take another sip, the burning sensation a welcoming feeling.

“What about her parents? I didn’t see them.“ He inquires.

“They weren’t really on speaking terms. They barely visited. Mickey and Mason didn’t like spending much time with them. One time Mason said how they always looked down on them. I mean they’re little kids for god's sake.

He nods in understanding. He’s about to say something, when we both hear the door opening and Robin appears in the doorframe. Looking from me to Ethan he just sighs, shakes his head, closes the door, and takes a seat.

“So what are we drinking to today, Sam?“ He asks no one in particular. And then looks in Ethan's direction.

“You’re new,“ he eyes him suspiciously.

“Nice to meet you too. And I was new 36 years ago. Thank you.“ Ethan mutters sarcastically.

Robin looks at me.

“Where did you find him? Is he your new drinking buddy? I thought that was my job?“ He pouts a little. Which makes him look ridiculous.

“I didn’t find him. He’s a doctor at Edenbrook hospital in Boston,“ I reply to his question.

“You still haven’t answered my question,“ he replies.

Ethan and I share a look. He points between us.

“What’s that look for?“ He asks.

“Ethan was there the day Addi died,“ I explained slowly to Robin.

I can see a mix of emotions in Robin's eyes. With a heavy sigh, he plops himself onto the leather sofa. Crossing his legs.

“I guess that warrants an excuse for a drink, pour me one would you?“ Robin asks and I can’t resist teasing a little bit.

“What am I your servant?“ I say.

Robin laughs at me and says.

“You’d make a nice one,“ and holds his hand out for a drink, but I’ll humor him for today. I get up and get him a drink.

We all hang onto our own thoughts and drink late into the night in my family's study.

I’m glad I have my brother by my side and my new friend or as Robin called him “my drinking buddy“.

I smile as we keep talking and exchanging jabs at each other‘s expense. All in good fun of course.

Life doesn’t seem so bad when you have friends and you’ve won a new drinking buddy over.

The smile is still in place as we go home. I ask Robin and Ethan if they want to stay at my parent's place. There are enough rooms to go around.

They both agree and we all head upstairs to catch some sleep.

Because tomorrow is a fresh start into a better day, with my family by my side.

[sassmill]

Absolutely nobody asked for this, but since it’s nearly October and I listen to these year round: here are some Halloween-y spooky musicals that aren’t Sweeney Todd or Addams Family or Beetlejuice. Lots of murder inbound, folks. The spectrum ranges from “this piece of art is integral to my soul” to “this is campy and fun and I sing it in my car a lot.”

1) Get Jack

To sum it up with lyrics, “he’s still most wanted, but we’ve been forgotten.” The Canonical Five women murdered by Jack the Ripper tell their stories (and then rise as specters from Hell to bring him down). Some serious guitar shredding and rock vocals on tracks like “Left Handed Wives” and “Agony in Red,” and hard-hitting emotional lyrics and performances on tracks like “Blood in Whitechapel” and “Forever Erased.” Plus, a cheeky narrator who may or may not be the Devil. Strikes the perfect balance between earned rage and overdue grieving for these victims that have been largely pushed by the wayside in the history books because of their gender and occupation—like the women of Six, they’re flipping the narrative to reclaim their own identities and agency in the story. These five women were more than just names in a rhyme.

2) Angelmakers: Songs for Female Serial Killers

This song cycle tells you its concept first thing—everyone deserves one song. Even those that have been condemned. Especially them. An examination of “feminine rage and radical empathy,” it makes no excuses for each of these eight women—these serial killers—but it dissects their lives and asks the audience to ponder: how has this world broken you down? How much have you held in? How often have you said sorry? How much have you sacrificed for peace of mind, and how much would you give to make the world bear the full brunt of your pain? It’s more than a concert or a song cycle, it is an elegy—a ritual, an offering for women we know and women we have been. We begin by acknowledging the rage we carry, the effort it takes to temper it, in “Stick the Key In.” We bear witness to the pain that the world has wrought in these women, we recognize that their circumstances are similar to so many others in the seven wildly cathartic punk rock devotionals—and I do feel that that is exactly what they are, because each song is “for” one of these women. And we end the cycle with a psalm of sorts, for all of us: “Will to Live.” It is explicitly unapologetic in the grace it grants these women, and in engaging with their trauma we can allow ourselves as women some grace as well: our pain is real, and our rage reverberates through the centuries because of this will to live despite those that try to break us because of how they’ve been broken. It gives you permission to hurt so that you can start to heal. If you listen to this one, make an evening out of it and listen to it all the way through—complete the cycle.

3)LIZZIE

Anybody who really knows me knows how close this show is to my heart. It takes the 1892 Borden ax murders and holds up a magnifying glass to the women at the center of it. Though the full history involves many, many players, this two act rock musical presents the story to us through just four: Lizzie and Emma, spinster sisters struggling under their father’s iron fist and their stepmother’s cold hearted scheming; Bridget, the family’s young Irish maid who sees and hears everything; and Alice, a neighbor and confidant who must weigh her desire to support the woman she loves against her conscience when she witnesses deceit. This work is a masterpiece of tension. In the days leading up to the murders, you can feel the stifling presence of the father and stepmother bearing down on all four women—and they aren’t physically present in the show at all. The women each play their own role in the drama they unfold—Bridget is our Greek chorus, Emma is puppet master, Alice is a light in the darkness, and Lizzie is the eye of the storm. Honestly, The Village Voice perfectly summed it up: “Lush tunes which retch sex, rage, dyke heat, misanthropy, and incest… Surreal glee and gallows humor… Finally, a rock musical you’d wanna mosh to.”

IMPORTANT: trigger warning for implications of sexual assault.

4) Lizzie Borden

Yes, there are two musicals about her. There’s also an opera by Jack Beeson and an Agnes DeMille ballet scored by Morton Gould, but that’s not why we’re here. As far as my suggestions on this list go, this 1998 treatment of the Borden murders is probably the most stylistically conventional for musical theatre (tying with Witches of Eastwick)—the weaving of dialogue with song, patter, and breadth of leitmotif call to mind Sondheim. Unlike LIZZIE, this show presents the full cast of characters involved in that fateful day and its aftermath in an inventive nonlinear fashion, splitting Lizzie into her younger self at some of its most chilling moments. The score is gorgeous, and I cannot properly stress how marvelously the leitmotifs pan out in the second act. Strikes a good balance between comedic, petty drama and the panic behind life altering tragedy—I guarantee you’ll be humming “Buttons” for at least a week after your heart stops pounding from the anxiety that builds with every measure of “So Easily.” Again, IMPORTANT: trigger warning for implied sexual assault.

5) Nevermore: the Imaginary Life and Mysterious Death of Edgar Allan Poe

Haunting and ominously playful, the show’s traveling acting troupe starts at Poe’s birth and follows his tragedies and triumphs up until the opening moments of the show—a framing device that I will always love, and it’s played off here deliciously. I don’t have a whole essay to write on this one and I have no idea how biographically accurate it is to his life, but I love listening through it on long drives—a lot of underscored dialogue, which I just happen to enjoy while driving. Maybe because I like podcasts. I don’t know. It doesn’t really warrant a trigger warning, but I can’t NOT mention that it does include his marriage to his 13 year old cousin—the dynamic portrayed is avuncular if anything, nothing predatory or unnerving, but. Yeah. Child cousin bride. Do with this what you will.

6) Ghost Quartet

Dave Malloy, my sweet, sweet baboo. I love this show so much. I talked about this show in the process portion of my thesis. And it’s really impossible to summarize the plot because it is stories inside of stories and it’s best listened to many, many times in the wind and rain. There are two sisters, an astronomer, and a bear. A soldier. A driver, a victim, a pusher, a photographer. The Fall of the House of Usher. Sheherazade, Dunyazad, and Shah Zaman. Thelonious Monk. Any kind of dead person, reincarnation, a classic murder ballad, and lots of whiskey. It’s intensely weird and equally wonderful. If you listen to the live recording from the McKittrick Hotel, dialogue is included! Better yet, Dave Malloy actually made the full production directed by Annie Tippe available to watch on his YouTube channel at the start of the pandemic.

7) The Witches of Eastwick

As far as I am concerned, John Updike doesn’t exist and the only versions of this story that matter are the movie and this musical. Three witches in a small Rhode Island town learn to be authentically themselves and enjoy their lives through some ill-advised fraternization with the devil himself (the egrets be damned). Local prophet has some tummy trouble. The “I want” songs are delicious and it is a personal goal of mine to perform “Words, Words, Words” without actually biting my tongue in the last verse. “Dirty Laundry” has all the petty 1960s housewife drama you could ask for. “I Wish I May” is a charming trio about fulfilling the dreams we had as children. “Dance with the Devil” is a straight banger. “Another Night at Darryl’s” is a lusty romp. Just, like, do yourself a favor and listen to this musical it’s so fun. John Updike stays in the penalty box for all eternity, though. I am never getting those hours of my life back.

8 ) Rebecca das Musical

Okay I KNOW that this one is literally in German but hear me out—the lovely fanbase have made so many YouTube videos of the soundtrack with English subtitles if you don’t speak German (I’m… getting there). The Daphne du Maurier novel is perfect, the Hitchcock film is perfect, and this musical is perfect. Even before I knew enough German to comprehend any of the words, I knew the storyline well enough that the music itself (it’s so expressive I swoon) made characters and plot points clear. Gothic romance that is incredibly questionable, murder, ambiguity, repressed lesbianism, scandal, a protagonist that literally doesn’t have a name—what’s not to love? Mrs. Danvers steals the show as is her god-given right, and if nothing else you should listen to the demo recording of the English language version of the title song “Rebecca” from the vanished Broadway production (whose death was just as tragic and mysterious as Rebecca de Winter’s). It’s unhinged and incredibly sapphic; everything Mrs. Danvers ought to be (Kristin Scott Thomas, I’m so sorry they gave you that sad excuse of a script you deserved so much better. When it was first released I said I liked the 2020 Netflix Rebecca but in retrospect… no). I don’t think I’m really capable of intelligent thought at this point in the list (it is now 1:26 am) but just know that I love this musical and it is helping me learn German. Why am I learning German? So I can listen to this musical. Why I am listening to this musical? So I can learn German. And the snake consumes its own tail. And I should probably go to sleep.

[touyastearss]

Quid Pro Quo (Professor! Zeke x Student!Reader)

WARNING: age gap, professor-student relationship (reader is legal), manipulation, noncon, typical blackmail situation, smut, oral, humiliation

///

“This isn't good enough. See me in my office later, Y/N.”

A familiar shade of red stains the page as your essay is handed back to you. There's crosses thrown across the page and entire paragraphs circled in bright red, small, with barely legible notes scrawled beside them. You can't read them, but you don't need to. You know what they say. What they mean.

Your heart thumps against your chest. You want to cry.

— —

You wait until late in the evening. The last thing you’d want is for anybody to stumble across the two of you. The grounds are silent, save for the rustling of the leaves in the trees as you walk towards the old building, and there are few lights to guide your way. But you know the route by now.

The oak door gets bigger and bigger until it looms over you, rooting you to the ground as you allow yourself a minute, like every other time, to prepare. To leave, to argue, to run. But the cold of the wind pulls you from your trance. You have no choice.

You don’t knock. He’s expecting you. He doesn’t even look up when you enter, silent at his desk, the scratching of his pen the only noise in the room as he writes. His jacket is off, hanging from the back of his chair, and his dark tie hangs loose around his neck. It’s a complete contrast to his put-together looks throughout the day; pristine, perfectly ironed suits and a smile. Now the top buttons of his shirt are loose, and you can see the dip of his broad chest as he leans over his desk.

You clear your throat, stepping forward into the room a little further.

“Sir.”

He looks up at you, finally, nonchalant as ever as he watches you close the door. He leans back against his chest, watching you through the rim of his round glasses. They glint as he speaks.

“Y/N. Can I help you?”

You don’t know why he does it. Why he makes you come here, makes you stand before him and grovel at his feet, all while he acts oblivious. It’s so unnerving, so sick.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back into his seat and reaching into his pocket. The cigarette he pulls out is the same expensive brand he always smokes. He places it between his lips, balancing it as he watches you, expectantly. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“I’d like to speak to you about my grade.”

You don’t miss the flicker of amusement in his eyes as you speak, but it’s gone quickly with a puff of his cigarette, the smoke clouding round his face. He waits a moment, like he always does, and then speaks.

“I’m afraid the grades you’ve received are non-negotiable. I can’t give out any special treatment, Y/N. You know this.”

He waits, silently. You want to cry. His gaze hardens for a split second and you know you’re keeping him waiting too long for his liking. He enjoys a game, but he gets bored quickly.

“Please.”

He doesn’t speak.

You hate him. You hate him so much. You hate your parents for making you attend university. You hate chance for its unfair ways. You hate the way he touches you. You hate yourself for letting him.

“Please, Sir.” Your voice breaks, a singular tear trickling down your face as you avert your gaze from his face. There’s no smile, just a cruel, satisfied smirk at the way your body recoils from him as the words pass your lips.

You refuse to look as you hear him stand from his desk, watching as he leather Oxfords get closer until they're right in front of you, and you can smell the lit cigarette.

“Don’t cry, Y/N,” he cooes, voice soft and quiet in the silence of his office. His rough fingers come to rest on your chin, turning your head to face him with mock gentleness. “Pretty girls shouldn’t cry.”

He’s so close. You feel trapped. You’re drowning in a mixture of his cologne and smoke, a smell you’ve scrubbed from your skin countless times before. His thumb strokes your skin gently, and his touch sparks goosebumps on your skin. He lets out a soft hum, as if he’s so horrifically torn by the decision he’s about to make.

“You're putting me in a difficult situation here, Y/N.”

He waits a second.

“But maybe I can make an exception for you."

One more.

"You’ll just have to do me a favour in return."

He speaks like it’s the most gracious thing. Like he’s some saint. Like he's not bullied you into this corner countless times before. Like he won't do it again. You want to scream. Instead you meet his eyes, ignoring the soft smirk that forms on his lips.

Your line comes out weak, hopeless.

“I’ll do anything.”

— —

He likes to take it slow at first. You don't know whether the drag of his hands across your skin is for your enjoyment or his. You could take a lucky guess. The minutes he spends touching your skin set you on edge, eyes flickering to the door as images of the two of you being caught flood your brain. The risk is high, it makes you sick. He loves it.

He likes to tell you that what he's doing is for the best. That he's so much older than you, that he’s so much smarter. Surely only a Professor could know what was best for their student? He whispers praise and filth into your skin and tells you that you’re so good for him. That you listen so well. Like a good student. A good girl.

He likes it when you're beneath him. When you stare up at him with teary eyes and a helpless look on your face as he sits you on his desk. He parts your legs forcefully to step between them, guiding your head towards him. You don’t want to react to the feel of his rough palms travelling between the material of your skirt to the top of your thighs, but you can’t help but gasp as they enter you, curling and prodding at your walls.

He likes your skirt to stay on. The way it falls across your skin when he fucks into you, the material creasing beneath his grip on your thighs. The wood of his desk bruises your stomach with every thrust forwards, his thick fingers gripping your tits through the material of your shirt. You leave with bruises that never seem to fade.

He likes your reflection in the mirror that he fucks you in front of. Likes the way your nervous expression morphs into pleasure as he has his way with you. The way fear flickers across your eyes every now and then as you come back to your senses, the way it’s gone with the light pressure of his thumb on your clit. Your body shakes in his hold and he can only admire how perfect you look as you take his cock. So cute.

When you’re on the floor, knees pressing uncomfortably into the hard oak panels as his cock pounds into your throat. Your nails dig into his thighs and your whines are silenced as you gag around him. His own grunts are always loud, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan as he releases into your throat, pulling out just in time to taint your skin.

He likes you to say thank you, afterwards. To pick yourself up and ignore the shake in your legs as he places a light kiss on your forehead. To leave without a word.

And to return, as always, the next time.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.v // Coming Back Down

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There’s something in his blood. It’s in chest, in his shoulders. In the cold creeping down the back of his neck, the way his hands urge to shake but haven’t at all, tonight.

There’s something in Renee, something dark and violent, something subdued and held back, but it just tasted its first hint of release.

And it’s not that he’s never been in fights before, not that he hasn’t smashed things up and attempted to let it out. He’s seen this kind of stuff online. He’s seen much, much worse things than this. Murders and accidents, guts and death; bodies turned into mush you’d only guess was human if you knew as much in advance.

He has tasted blood in his mouth before. He has felt this morbid rush before. He has caused pain—

This just hits different.

Conrad is barely conscious when Renee pulleys him down. He lets out a groan on the descent, tilts onto his side, and lays sprawled there for a minute, arms still over his head. Dazed eyes blink, but although they never settle on anything specific, his breathing picks up when Renee crouches down beside him.

Renee unties the gag first, throws it vaguely in the direction of a bin by the desk, as Conrad swallows away the lingering discomfort. Starting by the base of his thumbs, deep bruises form a series of lines that circle Conrad’s wrists, going as high as the backs of his hands. They haven’t fully formed yet, but if this is what his hands look like now, they will. His arms are slack when Renee opens the cuffs, one after the other. He doesn’t try to move once he’s free, either. Just lies there.

Renee taps him on the shoulder. “Anybody home?” he mutters. He doesn’t get an answer, but doesn’t really expect to. So he lets out an exasperated sigh, stands up to roll his shoulders. “I’m not carrying him down the stairs, man” he tells Davin.

At that, Conrad lets out a small, hoarse sound. Painstakingly, he manages to roll onto his stomach and pull his legs up under him. As he pushes himself up to kneeling, he lets out a breath, draws it out, a whistle for every inch his shoulders lower. His hands lay palms up in his lap, and his eyes are closed, brows furrowed. It looks like he’s praying, but his mouth is twisted in a mix of pain and relief.

In a way, it’s obscene. But there’s that feeling again. Almost like the urge to laugh.

“Just give me a minute,” Davin mutters, only half paying attention. His head is tilted towards the screen, fingers occasionally dancing across the keyboard.

“Bite?” Renee asks.

Davin glances up. At first, he doesn’t look like he understands what Renee means, but then he smirks, with that same, knowing smugness he had so many times while they were discussing this. Turns back to the screen without a word.

Renee chuckles.

And so it starts.

He leaves the aftermath behind, relieved to be out of the heat of the spotlights. Saunters down the stairs and feels unstoppable for each step he takes. Like he’s been reborn. He hasn’t changed, but things are different, now, he can feel it, and he wants more. Knows he won’t be able to sleep naturally until he has felt this new... something again. A drawer in his room holds a hidden bottom an old friend made for him back in high school. He rummages through its disorganized contents, flipping over zip-lock bag after zip-lock bag until he finally finds what he’s looking for. He jams it into his pocket and is almost by the kitchen when he hears shuffling from upstairs.

Renee stops where he is, ears perked. Waits for a second.

“…hit me,” a voice mutters.

“He did,” comes the response.

Conrad’s voice is raw, hoarse. It’ll probably be gone come tomorrow, Renee muses.

“Y-you just… sat there.”

“I did,” Davin says. There’s a small groan, and the shuffling stops momentarily. “I thought,” Conrad croaks, “I k-kinda thought you’d… tell him to, to stop.” His voice breaks on the last syllable, barely audible from where Renee is standing. He imagines what the guy’s facial expression looks like – brows knitted, bottom lip quivering, wide eyes conveying either a plea for humanity or the incredulity that none is to be found.

Silence for a beat. Then, Davin’s voice, coated in faux curiosity. “What gave you that impression?”

Renee covers his mouth with his hand to stop himself from exclaiming. Weird how a man so keen on leniency dropped the pretense at such an opportune moment. A long play for a mindfuck? Probably. It’s strange and convoluted, but god is it also kind of satisfying to see. This is the guy Renee imagined Davin to be, all those hours they spent in the past couple months, buried to their necks in the programmer’s notes, talking about it. The man behind the strings, who knew when to give and when to pull. Davin, the brain, to compliment Renee, the body. Conrad doesn’t answer Davin’s rhetorical question, and Renee grows tired of waiting to hear the guy break down again. So he leaves the hallway, navigating the dark house on memory, until he’s at the sliding glass door in the living room area, and he steps out onto the backyard deck.

The sudden shift from the clammy, hot air of the stage upstairs to the icy freshness of the night sends a series of violent shivers through him, and he shakes his head and limbs as they wash over. He walks back and forth on the deck until he has adjusted enough to the change in temperature to be able to control his fine motor skills. Then he dumps down in one of the lounge chairs overlooking the yard, retrieving the zip-lock back and the old cigar case where he keeps papers and filters. Lays both on his thigh and rubs extra warmth into his hands for good measure. After packing it tightly, he rolls it up with practiced ease. The taset of the cigarette paper’s glue is bitter on his tongue, but he welcomes it. The clink of his lighter’s opening mechanism, the first few, failed attempts at getting a spark to catch – it’s all as it should be, he thinks, but even that irony is half-hearted; he means it too much to find it genuinely funny.

He leans back into the lounge chair after the first drag, eyes trailing across the lawn. The night is quiet and cold. A lazy, giddy feeling blooms in his chest, a dawning sense that his body is becoming lighter. Smoke from his nose in a drawn out sigh, coiling around his face before it gradually drifts off and dissipates into thin air.

He feels pretty good.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[quantumcola]

!! WAERNING !!

CATERGORY 7 WITNESS PREGANT WITH DARKNESS TRIPLETS EVENT.

...? huh? whats going on here... its.. slaying..?

....

hello..?? can anybody hear me..? it's so dark and cold in here.........

[bacotri]

Ink on the Wall, Pt. 2

The dripping stops, and the figure, now fully formed, stands before me. A cacophony of hums embraces me as her head is held up high. Little by little, her gaze locks on mine; an icy and melancholic stare.

"I have to let you go," I said. "I can't stay there forever."

"There? But you're here, aren't you? You shouldn't deny the floor on which you stand," the ink said. "Else you will fall with it too."

As her voice rang inside my head, the tiles beneath me fall. I grabbed him, on instinct, his voice now echoes and vibrates inside me. It is like the first breath I took after the coma, the final gasps and murmurs from the room I'm in.

The hospital bed feels so calming. In its sheets, I felt her warmth. Surely, if I am not in such a cold, dark place, the shadow that I left behind must have looked so harsh. I want to stay like this forever.

I screamed. I have to scream; the shadow is all over me. In whichever form the ink now retains, I can see a glimpse of his smile, his wonderful and beautiful smile. I have to find an anchor to everything. I am no longer in the hospital. I am home.

The ink pulls me close; I can hear his breath reverberate through her chest. I haven't even moved the boxes in my living room. Was anybody ever here at all? How strange, as I wake up it feels like a week has turned into mere seconds.

"Nothing ever changes if nobody touches them," said my sister, emerging from my room. "Inertia is a hell of a thing."

"You weren't there," I said.

"No, but you didn't allow me to be there with you," she said.

"I don't want you to have anything to do with them."

"Why not?”

“Because you’re a separate thing…”

The sky above me laughed as stars began to fall. I glanced at the stain, now no longer visible, on the wall. The ink that was never there. Now the flesh before me, how should I know if her smile is real or not.

Suddenly, I got reminded of my best friend, Yan. How he told me that he would have loved me if I were somebody else. That I have the face, the body, and the skin of someone he loved but I wasn't them.

I asked if he was disappointed in me after he tasted how I tasted and felt nothing of that person. He didn't answer, yet he hugged me for the last time. Yan is no longer alive, I think. The last time I found him, he sold his house to someone. I couldn't find him in the town's registry.

A part of me wanted to know why his voice is acquitted into the ink's plea for me to reach out. Has he ever loved me, or is it that I was in love with him?

I should’ve remembered his face, but all I see is blotches of ink. All I could see is his arms and hips all over me. He left the country, sets off to be somewhere else. I shouldn’t feel this guilty.

But whenever I see the ink splatter on his wall like this, I got reminded of him often. He and my sister. How perfect life was for the two of them.

“What was it, the reason why he left?” I asked my sister.

Silence answered me because not even her shadow knows the answer. I mean, what is the reason why anybody left at all. If they have the answer they won’t leave.