#dear god is this ALLOWED?????? IS THIS ALLOWED?

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Demeter's Walking Days

Demeter sits in the ruins of herself, legs buckled, head bent low as if for executioner's blade. The earth gapes and it is a wound that should have bled. The crack in the soft soil should have wept ash and billowed smog, choking rivers and blotting out sun. Hecate, who stands between heaven and earth and does not balk, points. She need not. Her daughter’s last cry splinters through Demeter’s head, mind’s eye summoning all.

The thunder crack of hooves and eyes widening in fear. The other daughters bolting, skinny legs flashing and soles of their feet licking the earth. Flowers scattered. Golden tuft of hair disappearing beneath. Daylight bleaching over emptied fields and ravished earth.

Demeter wraps her arms around her belly and lets out a low braying moan. A breeze rustles the tall grasses, and the sun warms her cheeks. “Why?” she rasps. Unfairness is an eating thing, drilling down, down, down into the soft meat of the body.

“Why?” Tears stain Demeter’s cheeks and the crack in the earth remains dull and quiet. Salt wets her lips and the feelings stretch into an unbroken ocean. Oh, but she knew why. She could hear his voice before she even stepped foot into the court of the gods. Before she went to beg.

Because she was beautiful, her brother says, echoing forward and back, because she was there.

Demeter swallows her heart hand over fist, swallowing and swallowing. She stands.

-------------------

Before Demeter walks the earth under barren days. Before the rivers splinter white. Before the soil hardens, unsoft enough for even corpses–why should they get to bury their sons and daughters when she would not? She makes her petition.

“You know our brother,” Zeus addresses the air above her head and all who could listen, “a King in his own right and the only one of our thrones without a bride.” Zeus gives a wry little smile that lights the clouds. Deep and sonorous, his chuckle shakes through her ankle bones. “He’s complained enough, don’t you think? He has to be alone with his gruesome little kingdom while the rest of us fritter about.”

Demeter holds herself perfectly still and the court drones around her. “I did not know.”

“No, no, it was I who promised her,” the father says, despite how little that word meant. “We are lucky to have created such a beautiful daughter.”

“I am her mother.”–how little that word meant as well–“She is only a child.”

He rubs his whiskered face with one hand. “Is this not how girls become women?”

Demeter swallows. “My daughter, she will wither. No sunlight, no fields, no love. You, all of you, you know her. She’ll waste into a shadow of herself.” Silence spread like infection. Demeter’s voice rose, frantic. “She’s not eaten yet, I’m sure! Please, let me go to her, see her, kiss her tender cheek and stroke her hair–”

“You know as well as I there are far worse husbands than rich and patient Hades,” Zeus rumbles through his mighty chest. “Dear heart, you must have known you couldn’t hold onto her forever. You’re wiser than that.”

Demeter clenches her jaw and the Goddess of marriage, who hates her so, speaks. 

“She’ll make a fine bride.” Hera’s voice is smooth and melodic. “And will learn to make her bed where she finds it.”

Demeter’s gaze cuts across the throne room. “How do you know?”

Hera scoffs. “Don’t be naive.”

Demeter looks between their divine figures. The flame in her belly burns low, growing with every breath. Golden head dipped into the dark. Scattered flowers. Voice swallowed. Demeter’s long hair falls around her face. “I can’t allow it.”

“What does that mean?” the Messenger asks, not unkindly.

“You have misplaced your loyalties,” Zeus says, still laughing, tall above the clouds.

“You’ve misplaced your sense of ownership,” Hera tuts. “How many go to Hades willingly?”

Demeter snarls for the first time. “Not my daughter.”

Hera, cruelly, hating them all, laughs. Her lips curl back. “Yes. Her.”

“Hush! This is Hades. Hades!” Zeus raises his voice. “She’ll be taken care of.”

Demeter sets her jaw. “She was crying out for me.”

“Dear heart, I understand you must be feeling lonely now . . .”

The rushing in her ears replaces all murmurs of court. Demeter focuses on Zeus and Zeus alone. He, who loves the mortals more. “If you do this, if you won’t give her back,” Demeter gnashes her teeth, “I will take what you care about in turn.”

They protest. They call out her name. They offer her comforts and consolations and promises. The drumbeat in her ears drowns out all sound. Demeter puts down her sickle.

---------------

The nymph's howl in one voice, their rivers menaced to a standstill and trees unclothed piece by piece. The crunch of leaves as the crunch of bone under Demeter’s step. Helios grows dim. He, who watched fair Persephone gathering flowers and witnessed the silent one pilfer her away, did nothing. And he knew, even more so, Demeter carries a double-headed axe.

Snow falls like shooting stars bent for dying and the clouds transform the land into themselves, harvest buried and buried and buried again. Sunken eyes and wizened bodies. Hands dyed blue and given to tremors.

At first, they try to appease their hollow bellies. Wine into the fire. Slaves at the altar. Blood and beast and prayer. Demeter is not listening. Not to the people, crying out, and nymphs sobbing at the roots of their trees.

One by one, by hearth and forge and stone, they ask her to lift the curse. Could she not hear them in her own fields? It was not they that stole the girl. Did she not have her own divine purpose? And had she not known? Her daughter was beautiful after all, and she was there.

Hermes comes on lighted step, and begs her last of all.

“She’s already gone. Let her go,” he says, not unkindly.

“I did not know,” Demeter answers.

“You misuse your purpose.”

“If my daughter must live in lands of gloom and death, then so must all.”

“Let her go,” the people cry. “Where does this end?”

“I will freeze the world over,” answers Demeter. Hermes leaves to find a different, more listening ear.

---------------

Demeter strokes her tender face and kisses her lovely cheeks. She is taller, heavier, more womanly. Persephone weeps in her mother’s arms. She hadn’t meant to eat. She clings to her mother’s skirts. She hadn’t meant for any of it.

“I know, I know.” Demeter rubs her daughter’s back and bursts with it—alive and breathing, this girl of hers.

“I’m sorry mother.”

“It was not you.”

Persephone wipes her damp cheeks. “You sent so many down to us . . .”

Demeter sets her jaw. “It was not you.”

After Demeter carries her daughter home and sets the sun to rights. After she beds down the frost and unbreaks the rivers, teaches buds to push and birds to roost home, they do not speak of the six seeds. The half a year of hunger—that damnation of Persephone. The girl and the mother embrace as if not but a day has passed instead of the invention of ugly hurting mourning.

“Did he honor you?” Demeter deigns to ask.

She buries her face in her arms. “He will make a godly husband.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“There are worse ones. Far worse.”

“Did you ask to return to me?”

Persephone rises and blinks the tears from her eyes. “Of course. Of course, mother. I would not stay. I,” she swallows, “I love you so.”

“And he?” Demeter asks, petting her hair. Persephone opens and closes her mouth as if drowning. “Could you love him?”

Persephone wipes her cheeks with the meat of her palm. The question collapses around itself. Persephone cannot answer and year after year, she never can, and Demeter forgoes herself for the robes of despair.

---------------

How many times? How many lives lived? In Demeter’s walking days, she goes to the mouth of a cave. Black birds peck at the ground, eyes like liquid ink, and warm air leaks from the earth. A man sits, slumped inside, shrouded. He watches waves crash against a gray shoreline.

The crows peck at the ends of Demeter’s cloak—a trailing gown always scattering the tender seeds of next year. She has already begun to forget.

“You. You came back once,” she says through the fog of her own memory. The man’s lips pull apart like an opening wound.

“He is aware.” He has a warm voice, too big for his large body.

“You know the way. You’ve walked the path.”

His eyes glint from under his hood, bright as tiny suns, too sad for such a large life. “It’s not for you,” says the hero, shooing away crows. “What use would the deathless ones have for such a path?”

“He takes her,” she mumbles.

“What did you expect?”

Demeter’s hand clenches around her golden axe. “Step aside. I’ll visit him myself. At last.”

“The Hospitable One has no fight with you, lady,” he wheezes and gathers the shroud around his bulk.

“He will.”

“He is a fair lord.”

“Does a fair man need a strong grip and a chariot?” Demeter let her chin fall to her chest.

“You would have never let her go.”

“She was a child.” Demeter’s gaze unfocuses, remembering and forgetting. Her own failure sours on her tongue. “She was crying out for me.”

The hero shrugs his vast shoulders. “She’s not the only one—just the one that gets to come back. Is that not enough?”

“No.” Demeter passes the ghost, strayed far from his home and given the leeway of heroes of old or a man so full of life it buoyed him above. She side-steps the phantom and his gaze returns to the sea. She goes to the crack in the earth.

Gloom thick as cobwebs covers the way. Demeter steps into the dark and the dark pushes back. She grits her teeth, and it clings to her, tugs like thorns, pushes back and back until her skin stretches like long rays of sun. But she is a goddess. The sun burns at her back and the crows peck at her cloak. She forces her way through, leaving hair and cloth and flesh behind. Golden ichor trails after her in the dark.

The road narrows and stones pierce the soles of Demeter’s feet through her fine shoes. Muffled voices whisper at the edges of the dark. Fog gathers along the path, ghastly and unlit and forever narrowing. Demeter walks until her head pounds and the way forks—one into the caves and the other into ever-distant black hills.

Ahead, always ahead, a figure turns and pulls down her hood. Her face is the color of bony moonlight, and she wears her crown of thorny branches. A dog bays at her heels and at the crossroads, she holds up her lantern.

“I heard you might be wandering. Do you know where you are?” Hecate goes to Demeter, pushing back Demeter’s tangled hair and rubbing her bare shoulder. “You don’t belong here.”

“I can hear her.” Demeter looks everywhere the girl is not. Voice swallowed. Flowers scattered. Demeter gnashes her teeth. Because she was beautiful. “I can hear him.”

Hecate gentles her. “You can’t be here.”

“But I am.”

“It will cost you. Keep costing.”

Demeter laughs, a throaty sound of puking dogs. “Pay me then. Bribe me. Make me an offer of something worth having that I don’t already make.”

“Have you forgotten? She’ll return to you. Have patience.”

Demeter shakes her head over and over again. Her voice is diminished in the cold and the black and the blood leaks freely from her ankles. “You too?”

She kisses her cheek. “I heard you were wandering.”

A goddess of magic and doorways, Hecate takes her by the hand and turns Demeter. Her shivering is violent, violent enough to come apart, and Hecate’s grip is firm. They walk. There is slim light ahead and the ghosts are murmuring, forgetting more than they will ever remember. The goddesses take the higher path, hand and hand, and the fire drains from Demeter’s belly.

She holds her pounding head. “He’s here, isn’t he? He sent you.”

Hecate rubs her shoulder. “Knowing will not soothe you.”

“Or worse.” Demeter pulls away. “He thinks me impotent.”

“He thinks you lost. They all do.”

Demeter’s eyes flash in the dark. “And you? Hecate.”

Hecate peers over one shoulder and then the other. Her dog sniffs the air. The way is much as it was, dank and unlit and forever narrowing. The other goddess presses a cold metal ball into Demeter’s palm and folds her fingers around it one by one. She whispers an old woman’s whisper, gossip from the funeral pyre. “It can take generations.”

Demeter nods. She clenches her fist around the blunt metal. They walk and the dark shifts from inky blacks to browns to greys. A sliver of brightness breaches the wall, and Demeter jerks her fist up.

“Wait,” Hecate hisses but Demeter goes to the light.

She holds up her gift to the crack and squints. A silver whistle the size of her thumb twinkles between her fingertips. An etching of a wheel is pressed into the belly and time leaks out from inside, the tug of the fates.

She brings the whistle to her lips.

Hecate puts a hand up. “You don’t have to–”

No sound comes out. The ball is missing from inside and Demeter’s eyes water. She breaks from Hecate and runs from the road of the dead, dripping ichor, cursing the games they play. The earth gives her up, splitting like ripe fruit, and Demeter is pushed into a field of sunlight and frost. Her daughter is not there. And she breaks the world.

---------------

She forgets, in her walking days, and the same months play out in the rise and fall of lungs. The light will die along with Demeter’s hope and the gods will turn away. Demeter stalks the land, torch in hand, looking for the girl they cannot save and she will not let go. Remembering is for the muses and the bards and when Demeter runs into a group of mortals, they cower back, and she tilts her head.

“Where are you going, mother?” asks the bravest one, shivering.

Demeter searches her person. “Here,” she says and to her surprise, holds up a silver whistle. It is only in the pale light of the moon that she recognizes how the mortals huddle together with their bags bulging. They are fleeing something, she thinks, and they point her to the mountain. She thanks them in kind.

Between the naked trunks, a set of tracks is stitched into the land. Beams of steel and wood form a single unerring road. She would love that, wouldn’t she? The thought pushes Demeter to move. Iron spikes pierce the soil, and the wooden beams form a path that does not curve. Demeter follows the unbroken way, clutching the whistle, and listening. Smoke billows in the distance and a whistle like a hunting horn, leading her further into the night.

Glimmering like a fish scale in the water, a station waits on the side of the tracks. The building lies in the deep shadow of a mountain and windows glow faintly blue against the dark. A wheel is carved above the doorway and a large clock ticks from inside. Mortals and gods cover their faces and bustle in and out of the front door.

The night is still and unwatched. Demeter tilts her head back, inhales the frigid air that hits like puncture wounds, and climbs the steps. Passing mortals study her face and hurry in the other direction. The minor gods give her a wide berth and take their leave a few steps after. The station at the edge of the track empties.

A large desk takes up the middle of a room caged by bookcases and filing cabinets. An old god sits, rarely alone, always forgoing rest and carrying on. Her head bows beneath the clock and a train conductor’s whistle hangs from her neck. The scratch of pen against paper fills the room and they are alone.

Demeter tosses the whistle down at Nemesis’s feet. Nemesis frowns, a private motion, and raises her head. She wears a conductor's hat and holds a new kind of pen and new kind of parchment, like many times before, Demeter finds her silly. She has little appreciation for the other side of memory, the continuing. A goddess stuck in her own gyres staring down a goddess wearing man’s hat and man’s jacket and man’s unending problems.

Nemesis opens her ledger and trails her finger down a list of the dead propped up against a ledger of deeds. She glances up, eyes like silver coins at the bottom of a well. She clears her throat.

“You aren’t here for me, are you?” Her tone is clipped, professional.

Demeter opens her arms, mourning shrouds spread like wings. “Has it been long enough?” Nemesis narrows her gaze. “How much longer must I wait for your services?”

Nemesis folds her hands. “I don’t set the terms.”

Demeter darkens, rising to her full height above the smaller goddess. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I do. Spare my house your cold fronts,” Nemesis says, who was born immune to grief. “I am a busy woman.”

“We have much in common.” Demeter takes a seat across from her.

Nemesis scribbles calculations on the side of her ledger. “What punishment would you see fit for the lord of the dead? We can send him more subjects he takes little joy from. Deprive him of wealth he has little to do with.”

“Fair Hades, generous Hades.” Demeter’s lips peel back. “They have been charitable. Granted him room enough to fall.”

Nemesis snaps her book shut. “Be at peace, goddess. You forget your daughter will return soon.”

“That’s all you have to say? Betrayal and violation and the goddess of vengeance—”

“You have been injured.” Nemesis stands and a train shouts in the distance, a long baleful cry. “You carried out your own justice.”

“You are not my brother’s creature.” She exhales a long breath. “You need not be.”

Nemesis looks out the window to the shadow of the mountain. “I am a busy woman.”

“Here. An offering.” Demeter reaches into her pockets. “For your books.” She scatters hay seeds and wheat stalks and bits of golden pods. They clatter in waves across the open pages, landing on the scrawls of her endless notes.

Nemesis’s eyes glint, cold and implacable. A bird crows and Demeter gives a small smile. They’ll come soon, harvest always does, to pull apart the worms and seeds and work of yesteryear. To undo the seams of books and words and let the eating begin. A new world still bends to the rules of the old.

“He is not here,” Demeter whispers furtively and Nemesis sighs. She pushes herself away from the desk.

“Stand.” Nemesis, who was born immune to grief and carries on, rises. “Walk.” Nemesis, without looking back, leads her through the stacks. They pass the mountain outside. Behind the many cases, is a tucked-away door, boxy and dark and opening inward. Demeter has to duck her head to enter.

The furniture within is covered in sheets and surrounded by stacks of scrolls, weaponry, and animal pelts. Demeter sniffs the air, and the dust is thick and generational. She steps to the side and Nemesis goes to her knees.

A train whistle sounds once more and Demeter’s heart thrums. She feels a foreign thrill and pumps her hand in the air. “We’ll master the first injustice.”

“Hardly!” Nemesis throws her arms up in turn. The room is lit by scattered brass lamps, a bridle on the wall, and sword on the floor and the scraps of good bedding in the corner. Demeter privately thinks it sad. Nemesis rifles through her piles.

“We might slay him,” Demeter offers, eyeing the sword.

“Yes. Your daughter will make a perfect sole hostess of the dead, solitary lord of all she touches and rich beyond means.” Demeter frowns and rocks on her heels. Nemesis lets out a tiny laugh. “You cannot undo it.”

She adjusts her mourning cloak. “You’re wrong.”

“I have heard that before.” She laughs again.

“You’re wrong,” she repeats, louder, and Demeter adjusts her sleeves. “She’ll go where she pleases at the very least. She can grant herself that.”

“Will she come back to you then, my lady? Is that where she’s going?” Nemesis pauses. “Do you know where this leads?”

She begins to fold Nemesis’s stray bedding. “I do remember. I have taken . . . steps.” Nemesis nods, shifting a scale aside and digging up molded books. “I have not been idle over these long years. Grown food more richly than ever before, more of it, hardier. Would that not be fit for a dream? To tempt him. Tempt her with fruits rich enough to topple the halls of gloom.”

Nemesis shakes her head. “Sounds like you have little use for me.”

Demeter wrinkles her nose. “You see better than me. Then almost all of us.”

“Flattery will not change my nature nor make it true.” Nemesis dusts off a box no bigger than a hare and lifts it high. She turns over a box of metal and wires, over and over in her hands.

“They made this. It won’t turn things back but may make a difference.” She holds it out, and the same sense rushes from inside: fate, blowing her cool breath.

Demeter finishes making the bed and turns in a circle. “Have you eaten?” she asks all at once.

Nemesis blinks and looks at the window, the mountain, and back. Demeter turns on her heels and waves. “Come. Before the sun rises.”

Nemesis carries her metal box to the other room. The kitchen is smaller than the bedroom and poorly stocked, but Demeter works her small miracle. Bread and wine and grapes. They dine and talk and have little use for past feuds as they are old goddesses and know how to carry on. The wine is good, and time is late.

Nemesis only offers again, once, only once, her box of metal and wires, of lightning and glass and mortals. Demeter stands, paces, and faces the door. The other goddess checks her watch. “You are the one that came to me, mistress.”

Demeter stares down at her own hands, her feet, over her shoulder, awash in bile in the back of her throat. “Would you also have me let this go? You. Of all of them.”

Nemesis folds her hands in her lap, never hurried, never squeamish about the ugliness or beauty in a heart. She waits.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say,” Demeter swallows around the fist in her throat. “Say I’m like them, like any of them. Say you’ll have me too.”

Nemesis crosses the room, a head shorter than the Lady of the Golden Blade, and darker. “You were wronged.” The Implacable one lifts herself up. Her hat crooks backward and her breath smells of cold iron and rain. “Perhaps it is too early. But what is early to you? Here. Take it.”

Nemesis kisses the Mistress, hard on the lips and Demeter breathes in what there is to take. She cradles her small frame and pushes her down to the sad bedding newly made. A small goddess, always carrying on, and another filled with need that towers over cities and topples over fields. Demeter begins anew.

---------------

They cannot say why Demeter walks or why she wakes, and the years spill past. On one twilight, Demeter’s feet carry her over ravished lands. The fields are caked in frost and frozen blood and small metal apples that are prone to burning. She passes a city opened like a ribcage, and an orchard she once knew.

Hot cider, she thinks in her own deadness, hot cider for the long night. There is a low brown building among the rubble and a note of perfume in the air. She follows the scent all the way to the door. The men inside are not soldiers, leftover grandfathers and teens with bum knees and cowards with better lies, all greet her as fellows.

“Good evening, Mother,” says a man with his jacket undone. “They have taken the last of the meat, but the drinks are strong, and we have a good lady upstairs. Come, get warm.”

Demeter nods at the drunk men, far too many, stuffed into this tiny post office. They cheer and watch the skies, singing about morning—and who knew what morning meant! The space is dim and the perfume strong and Demeter climbs the stairs away from the men’s unwatchable merriment.

A woman lounges on top of a stack of burlap sacks. She is resplendent in nurse’s white; and wears her hair loose and long. Aphrodite is in her prime, reclining as only a goddess can, and flips through crusting yellow letters. She beams at Demeter.

“Look at you, lone little dove!” Aphrodite cries and sets down the letter. “What a pleasure it is for you to stop by.”

Demeter furrows her brow, jostled from the depths of herself. “Are you occupied?” Her mind sparks. Buildings smolder outside, the trees blackened, and skies red. Demeter takes a step back, looking above and below. “Are we alone here? Is he coming?”

“You’re safe with me.” Aphrodite’s smile stretches wide. “You know, the others speak so ill of you when you’re in this way. They have no imaginations. I like you better in your blacks.”

Demeter stalks the edge of the burlap sacks. “I cannot say I like you better in pinks or whites, good lady.”

“See? Delightful.” She smiles even wider into something painful looking.

Demeter goes to the window and inhales.

“Do you know where we are?” Aphrodite asks, kicking her feet up.

“They used to grow apples here,” Demeter murmurs, running a hand down her long face. “You forget what they can do to themselves.”

“Must we talk of work? Tell me of your new lovers.” Aphrodite tosses her thick hair aside and squeals. Demeter needn’t answer. “You’re so predictable, really! The little grim goddess. But that's why I like this version of you best.”

“You shouldn’t.” The men howl a song from down below. Demeter presents her own dim smile. “But maybe you’re predictable too. Is he really not here?”

Aphrodite’s smile falters and she smooths out the note in her hand. “Aren’t they all? My husband is even in the skies if you listen.”

Demeter hums in return. All here. . . She takes out a little box given to her by the vengeance goddess.

“Do you know this?”

“Oh! Do I know it!” Aphrodite scrambles down from her perch. “I love it. I adore it. I am on fire just thinking of it. They invented it for me if you think about it.” She takes the device in her hand and turns it over and over.

“Help me,” Demeter begs, only just. “I do not know how I’ll ever be whole again, you must know.”

Aphrodite smiles, warmly, manic light in her eyes. “You are a testament to the best of us. Come. Let us kiss and make merry. We can invite the little goddess too, if you like, however dull she is. Or any of them, Themis, Dike, if you care for the likes of whatever justice gods come next.”

Demeter, for not the first time, and as much as she can bear it, stares out the window. “I do not think they are awake. Only you and War may even survive such a long night.”

“You are so dramatic in your walking days, kiss me, kiss me next and let winter end or last forever this time.”

Demeter shook her head. “How do I work this? Nemesis said I might.”

“Nemesis is quite busy right now. Quiet busy when she isn’t being devoured for it. Are you really still looking for this girl of yours? So single-minded. Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

Demeter meets her gaze. “Don’t you?”

“I know better than anyone,” says the goddess in her prime. “I am needed.”

Demeter snorts at that and Aphrodite scowls, both thinking the same thought: the mortals could live without the other, but not without her. Aphrodite relents when the sun begins to set, so early, so soon, and she must slip out the back. Aphrodite holds up the camera.

“Click, click,” she says, a bit like a child and Demeter loves her for it. She shows her how to aim the lens and press the button down. “That’s all, click, click. You’ll see.”

Demeter cradles the camera, and she must walk, and the skies must burn, and Aphrodite must slip out the back, carrying several letters with her. Letters that maybe, just maybe, will be delivered. Aren’t the dates off? they ask, nothing else made it out. Oh, but the mail system is unpredictable. These last ones must have made it out. Don’t think too hard, they must all carry on.

---------------

A young mortal man meets a mother and daughter. They live in a farmhouse that spans a small neighborhood. Endless parlors and bedrooms and closets, and the two seem to occupy two rooms—living room to kitchen to living room and back again. His lover does not bother to knock and hurries them to the living space. The walls are painted yellow as dawn and the carpets are a thick cream color. A girl lounges on the couch. She wears a tank top, blonde hair piled on her head, and phone on her lap. The young man wonders what she could possibly be looking at.

“Hello, dear!” His lover strides forward. Nicholas gives a weak wave from behind. “Good to see you again.”

The girl looks up from her phone. Her expression is endlessly blank, and Nicholas must shrink down to the size of two pins. They had met before, back when he was touring and being shown off as a prize and he would like to say he hated it. The girl sticks out her bottom lip.

“Mom!” Persephone’s voice splits the air. “Your appointment is here. He brought a guest.”

“Does she know me?” Nicholas mumbles to his lover and Apollo squeezes his shoulder.

“It’s been a season,” Apollo says in answer. “I’ll be right back, love. Won’t be a moment once I finish up.”

Which is a lie because his lover is never done. He leaves him. Nicholas goes to the edge of the room, eyeing the golden-haired, golden-eyed girl. He had been surprised at her features when they first met, rough-hewn, prominent, clifflike cheeks and sturdy nose, beautiful and strange. Her eyes are the most unnerving part. Their golden color feels natural, yet they are so deep-set in her face to the point of shadow. Most of all, she is young, and younger when she looks up.

“Mom!” she shouts again. “The guest.”

“Send him to the kitchen, dear!” a matronly voice calls, and Persephone groans and throws her head back, ponytail flopping.

“It’s your house. He’s your guest!” She lurches to her feet in the same breath.

Nicholas puts his hands up, face heating. “It’s fine, really. No need to get up. We’ll only be stopping by a moment,” he says, though he knows he’s lying.

“Come on.”

The little goddess takes him to the kitchen and fills up a tall glass of water.

“Here,” she says, and he has to stop himself from staring.

“Thanks,” he says, holding the glass but not taking a sip. “Do you two live alone?”

Persephone raises an eyebrow, stuffing both hands under her arms. “The farm hands . . .” she mumbles and turns away from him. “But we’re not here year round. Mom can’t stand an empty house.”

Her golden eyes blaze against his cheeks and Nicholas realizes too late, she’s expecting conversation.

“Mine too,” he says, chuckling awkwardly. “My mom’s an empty nester and she says she can’t bring herself to turn my room into a home gym even though I’ve been touring for like, what? Almost a decade now.”

He has no idea if this makes sense to her. He’s met Persephone before, but she was different then, even more golden, laughing.

She chews on her bottom lip. “We have a home gym, but I hate using it. I’m a runner, and I dunno, I feel like it doesn’t count if I’m not doing it outside? But my mom hates that too.”

“Sure.” He watches the way she slow-blinks like a person, like she’s forgotten she’s something else as well. He rotates the cool glass in his hand. “Is your dad around?” he asks, because he’s curious and never met the man, thundering and awful as he might be.

“Of course not.” Persephone leans in conspiratorially. “She hates him.” She snorts. “Aaaaand his wife hates her even more.”

He joins her in a small laugh and speaks into the glass. “I can only imagine what she thinks of your husband.”

Persephone’s face goes blank and impassive. She turns and leaves him there. 

Nicholas will spend two weeks in the farmhouse, their errand never done, and wonder at the golden-haired girl and the mother. Demeter plies him with more food than he can eat and has him play songs with “no curse words.” They share meals and jokes and even watch TV. The harvest goddess is taller than he could imagine and has long wavy salt-and-pepper hair. Her lined-eyes crease when she smiles, which is a lot.

During their tucked-away moments in the guest room at the end of the day, his lover feeds him bits of story. How the girl will fall soon, like she always does, and after that long silence, she will run. She will run like it’s the first time and the only time. They’ll wonder if she really means it, but it won’t matter because Persephone cannot answer.

Nicholas, though, is young and mortal and raised to be cherished. And oh, this goddess has long salt-and-pepper hair that falls down her back in bushels. She wears it in twin long braids sometimes along with gardening boots covered in mud and it makes Nicholas want to cry. His own mother would never turn his room into a gym.

Nicholas cannot help himself. When he digs out a camera in one of her long hallways, in one of her deep closets, he dusts it off and brings it to her for inspection.

“Do you want me to develop these?” he asks, and Demeter squeezes his shoulder.

“Only if you want to, honey. I know you must be getting bored. I’ll bother Apollo to take you on a proper date with less old ladies present, I swear.” She chuckles.

He smiles. “No, you’ve been the perfect host. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The mortal develops the photos and before Persephone falls and Demeter walks the earth, before the gods avert their eyes from another long season, he hands her a stack of photos. He must have seen them, must have known, but the images disappear like water through a sieve the second they leave his hand. He never will know what the goddess sees in those pictures, only that she stops smiling.

It’s summer then, perfect summer, and Demeter’s head falls forward like a ragdoll. 

“Is this true?” Her lips tremble and she brings the photos to her chest. She doesn’t wait for him to answer. Demeter crosses her own neighborhood-length farmhouse where she and her daughter orbit each other in two rooms. Persephone is in her chair. Demeter enters, cradling the photos. “He takes you.”

Persephone glances up from her phone. She blinks. “Who?” 

“It’s never going to be over.” Demeter shuts her eyes against the world. She remembers, and how she remembers. Tears fall in long dull streaks and a braying moan escapes Demeter’s body. “You never come back.”

Persephone leaps to her feet. “Mom, I’m right here.”

“No!” Demeter snaps, backing away one wobbling step after the other. Her back hits the wall and she takes tiny panicked breaths.

“What have you done?” Apollo asks the mortal, though he need not. Nicholas’s mind is thrashing against itself. What was it he saw? Demeter turns from her daughter. She’ll goes to find her two-headed ax and don black. Persephone’s voice cannot reach her. When Demeter bends her head to Apollo’s ear, she hisses.

“I have another errand for you.”

His sun, this sun too and all of them, watching and unmoved when Persephone is taken. The same song played in different notes. Time spins forward on an axis of freezing and burning and growing, and Demeter is given the knife of memory to plunge down into herself. The unheard plea to let her stay. The answering of many gods that this is how it goes.

It would be her, of course. The mother at the side of a casket that she is unallowed to close, because shouldn’t she know better? Time lurches forward. Soon, summer, perfect summer, begins to hurt. Temperatures rise. Oceans boil. Demeter burns the world.

FIN

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[fruitiesss]

two's company || bob reynolds

a oneshot in which bob can't sleep and asks for help <3

pairing: bob reynolds x reader

tags: fluff, nightmares, mentions of the void, past drug abuse, if i missed any please lmk a/n: atp i'm pulling this out of my ass i have no motivation. (send asks pls) enjoy :(

word count: 690

The soft hum of the tv filled the emptiness of the room, drowning out the sound of the city that never sleeps just outside the window. Bob's head rested on the plush blue pillow that he'd turned over about 50 times that night in an attempt to find a comfortable position. His heavy gaze settled on the smooth of the ceiling as his hands gripped the edge of the duvet.

He was never going to sleep like this.

With an exasperated sigh, he threw the cover off and sat up, feeling around in the darkness for his slippers and shirt before trudging through his room into the hallway of the tower. He hadn't been able to sleep since he'd turned the whole of New York into shadows and plummeted into his personal hell. The Void calls out to him when he's most vulnerable. Bob shook his head as he snapped out of his thoughts and continued to walk, he'd exited his room and moved down the hallway, standing on the other side of another door. For a moment he hesitated, his hand held up as he was about to knock. He was reconsidering waking you up again for something as small as this. He was selfish for even thinking you'd help him out again. That was until he heard shuffling behind the door. Without thinking, his knuckles rapped on the hardwood and he held his breath as your quiet footsteps made their way to the door.

You answered the door to a reluctant apologetic smile as Bob stood in the doorway, his index finger scratching at the skin around his thumbnail.

"Can I," He started, cut off by your hand wrapping around his arm and tugging him inside, shutting the door gently so you wouldn't disturb the others. Escorting him to your bed, Bob allowed his body to be maneuvered onto your soft mattress as he started to apologise for waking you up.

You shushed him, hands resting on his cheeks as you stood in front of him, thumbs rubbing in a soothing motion. "I was awake anyway. Just tell me what's going on, okay?"

Bob let out a heavy sigh and let himself rest in your hands, his shoulders falling in relaxation. "My brain is too loud." He sighed, eyes meeting yours once again. "I'm just itching for something to distract me, really."

"Oh, dear. You need to get some rest." You uttered and sat beside him, arm wrapping around his middle to pull him closer. He seemed to recoil at your sudden touch, only melting into it when he knew what you were doing.

"Lay with me?" Oh god, those puppy eyes would be your undoing. Bob followed you as you lay down on your bed, head positioned on your pillow. You were well aware of Bob's past struggles as well as his current ones but those wouldn't stop you from holding him as close as you can.

It was times like these, dead in the night, when Bob would crave that high he once felt. Everything has been numb since then, like he'd been living under water, until he met you. You brought that feeling of ecstasy back in the best way possible and it was much healthier than anything he could ever take. His face now buried in the junction between your shoulder and neck, eyes shut and hand on your waist as he breathed in time with you.

"Thank you." He whispered breathlessly, relief filling his voice, no longer shaky and unsure but relaxed and content. Your hands threaded through his soft hair, playing with it mindlessly as you zoned out. You replied with a hum of acknowledgement as your own eyes shut alongside his. You'd take any version of him like this, void, sentry, broken, whole - all of it was him, and you'd take nothing else.

Bob's eyes opened to the warm light pooling through the blinds on your window, his tiredness sated for the first time in what must have been days. They scanned the room before settling back on your sleeping face and he realised that this is where he belonged.

[zvmbitegirl]

OUTSIDE | wc : 3900+

princess reader x knight sevika! PART ONE!

before u read! nothing happens between reader and sevika.. oops , readers a bit spoiled/kinda a brat..!!! left on a cliffhanger reader is in early twenties!

“mother, its too.. tight!” you wheezed as your mother tightened the laces of the corset that hugged your ribs. Small pants exited your mouth as you tried to breathe through the pain (nothing was helping unfortunately)

“we can’t have it too loose, can we, dear?” She hummed. Tying the white lace into a bow. “I do not understand why you must.. throw a fit every morning.” Your mother complained. Already annoyed with your antics today. A sigh left your mouth. Mentally preparing yourself for the earful you were about to receive.

Luckily for you, you managed to tune her grating voice out.

All you could focus on today was the people you saw, the way they were allowed to be theirselves, wearing whatever clothes they preferred. Bet they didn’t have to wear a tight corset everyday! your mother never allowed you to go outside alone. It was a mystery why, but you gave up asking since she never gave a full answer.

You would give your life up for a day like that. No corset, nobody bossing you around.. Freedom. That’s what you desired.

“Are you even listening to me?!” Your mother exclaimed, making you quickly snap out your thoughts. Giving your mother a nervous smile as you took in her furious expression.

today was gonna be tough.

Fidgeting with your fingers, pinching and pulling at the gloves, careful enough to not make a tear. Taking deep breaths — trying to calm down your racing heart. You’ve never done this before, never sneaked out before. You’ve always been a good girl.

Bunching up the white gown tightly in your hands. Taking a few deep breaths before quickly walking down the long hallway filled with picture frames of your relatives you never got the chance of meeting since they passed — but their eyes.. it felt as if they were judging you for doing such a reckless thing! You refused to stop though, this was the only chance you got at seeing the world.

You weren’t going out for too long! Maybe just an hour. An hour of being in the sun. Seeing the real world. Seeing the beauty it had to offer!

Staring up at the heavy doors standing tall in front of you. With a sigh, you began pulling at the doors. As soon as you were tugging on them, the doors scraped across the castles floor loudly. You cringed on the inside, immediately stopping yourself and began praying to the lord. Hoping nobody heard.

You only got the door open to a pinch where the sunlight shined through. You squeezed through the little crack. (which tore your dress a bit) Hiding behind one of the pillars, peeking your head out making sure the knights guarding the castle weren’t around. After seeing you were in the clear, you took in the scenery. The trees, the smell of pollen, the green, freshly cut grass, the gorgeous lake near the castle. The gate — keeping you away from the world.

Scoffing to yourself, you walked towards the gate. The dirt got on the rim of your gown, the squishy mud under your shoes making you groan in disgust, your eyes focused the gate. Obviously it was locked. Right. Only the knights (and your mother of course) had the key. Ugh!

“My lady, you shouldnt be out here.“ a stern voice spoke out to you. Their eyes piercing through the back of your skull. A shiver ran down your spine, you could feel your muscles tensing up.

‘god damn it.’

You already knew who it was by their voice. It was the rookie. Sevika. The new knight, someone you never cared too much about. She wasn’t very important to you before.

..but maybe she can be useful to you now?

Gathering all the courage in your body, turning around and facing the woman. Trying to sound stern. “Hey! You!” You called. Sevikas shoulders slumped before walking up to your direction. Her heavy metal armor clanking as she approached you. “Return back to the castl-” she began but you interrupted her.

“Open the gate for me. Now.” You demanded the woman. Craning your neck up to meet her eyes. That was useless — you couldn’t see her face due to the helmet covering her face. You could hear her sigh quietly. “No can do.” She told you. “Your mother wants you inside. Please. Return back to the castle.” Sevika added. You could hear the annoyance in her ‘please’. Making you more frustrated.

“No, you listen to me. I’m the princess.” You yelled at her. Sevika only stared at you. Half bewildered by the way you were acting. Her eyes flicked down to your gown, staring at the dirt that definitely wasn’t wasn’t gonna come out with just a few washes. Sevika stared at you for a few seconds which felt like hours. The only things breaking the silence was the leaves rustling. “Your dress is ruined.” She stated the obvious. Taking your hand before you could reply to her statement, walking you back towards the castle. Her thumb rubbing circles around your knuckle in hopes of you being quiet.

Your heart began speeding up. Beating so hard, it felt as if it was gonna fall out. Your eyes flicked on the nature for the last time before it grew smaller as you got tugged deeper into the castle.

You hoped sevika would keep her mouth shut about you sneaking out .. she didn’t. Your mother was furious with you, obviously. Keeping a close eye on you (also commanding sevika to watch over you too.)

It was so annoying. Sevika took her job a little too seriously. She stayed inside the castle for the rest of the day, just to watch you. No matter how much times you begged her to leave you alone. She didn’t budge.

“I’m gonna be in my room for the rest of the day, okay? Promise.” You lied through your teeth. Giving the knight a smile but it didn’t work. “Your promises mean nothing to me. Ma’am.” That smile of yours quickly dropped. A frown forming instead. Turning around and retreating back to your room.

You faced your body length mirror, trying to carefully untie the lace wrapped into a bow on your corset.

Luckily, your mother didn’t notice your dirty gown (or the small tear). It wasn’t too bad! But someone like your mother? She’d have a heart attack. you don’t know how she didn’t see it, but you kept your mouth shut about it.

At least sevika didn’t tell her. you owe her at least that.

Taking a deep breath. Relaxing in your bloomers before putting your robe on. A sigh of relief left your body. finally. Something loose on your body and not tight like that awful corset.

second times the charm.

The window was high! you had to get on top of your bed before climbing through it. Pushing through it. You went head first, like a fool. Making you fall down. Slamming hard into the ground. Mud got all over you! You could taste it in your mouth..

Gagging loudly in disgust. Spitting it out. You regret not wearing shoes.. or a helmet for that matter. You could feel your head throbbing. Oh dear .. what if you had a concussion?! oh no! this was a huge mistake.. a foolish thing to do. You’d do anything to climb back into your warm bed.

but it was too late. can only go forward now.

Standing up, making a mental note to take a LONG bath in the morning. Going back over to the gate, wrapping your hands around the cold black bars. Pushing yourself up with all your strength.

“Get off. You’re making a fool out of yourself.” Her voice surprised you. making you yelp and quickly let go of the bars. turning around, taking in the sight of the knight walking up to you.

“Why are you out here? Do you not trust—” you began, but sevika was quick to interrupt you. Your eyes squinting at her.

“You’re a mess.”

you couldn’t even defend yourself. It was true. You were a mess. Embarrassment filled your body, you were a princess for gods sake.. and you were acting like this. A brat.

Her hand reached out to take yours, you had no choice but to let her. But your feet didn’t move an inch. Your eyes focused on the ground before looking up at her. Sevika was confused, but she didn’t dare drag you — you’d yell at her. Not that she cared, she just didn’t want your mother waking.

You stared at the helmet she wore — you couldn’t see even a fraction of her face, making your brows pinch, creating a wrinkle in between. “Take that off.” you ordered, half expecting her to not follow your orders. You were surprised as she mumbled to herself before pulling off her helmet.

you could feel your heart rate spike up like it did before.

sevika was a sight to take in. And you did exactly that. Not saying a word. Only admiring the tall woman.

“something on my face?” she grinned down at you . you could see the gap in between her two front teeth.

“no.”

sevikas brows quickly raised before chuckling quietly to herself. a deep rumble. you wanted to lay your head on her chest.. and fall asleep to her laugh—

“lets get you back inside and cleaned up, hm?”

[voiceforjesus]

Today's Prayer

Dear God, I would like to take a minute, not to ask for anything, but to thank You for Your infinite mercy that allows me to live another day and glorify Your holy name. I am forever grateful for the love of our heavenly Father, for Your goodness, and for granting me and my family the gift of life. Thank You for taking care of my life, my home, and my loved ones. Bless us today. Amen.

[lyinginmeadow]

Summer days I Dad!Azriel x Mom!reader

Word count: 1,4k Summary: You and your family enjoy a nice day at the beach A/N: Seasonal depression is gone, so this is a fluffy little blurb. I'm finally writing for acotar again, yey.

Vacation was hard to come by in Velaris, so your family gladly took it when the opportunity arose. Adriata was incredibly beautiful, and the sunshine gave you all the serotonin you needed. After a good amount of reassurance from Varian, Tarquin let you stay at his beach house. Even Cassian was welcomed, sort of. From what you had heard, he wasn't allowed to drink a single drop of alcohol and had to periodically get tested. It was hilarious.

You knew you were under a watchful eye, but the sea made it all worth it. It was so much warmer than what you were used to. Since Night was much colder, especially in Velaris, surrounded by the mountains. The beach was beaming with life as your two little boys played with their father and his shadows in the shallow water. Your heart was swelling at the sight of them smiling and laughing.

''The things I would give to the Mother to bed him. I mean, do you see his body?'' Your fae ears picked up a female's hushed voice. ''Same, dear. Only the Gods know what he could do with those shadows of his.'' Another female replied, smitten with your mate. ''Maybe he is available.'' You rolled your eyes, slightly agitated. Not only was Azriel yours, and these types of conversations were a common recurrence, but you found it highly disgusting to be suggesting something like that while your mate was playing with your two children. Signing, you mindlessly rubbed your growing belly. Thankfully, revenge sometimes finds you naturally.

''Momma!'' Your oldest, Evren, yelled as he ran to you, fully drenched in salty water with his brother and father right behind him. ''Did you see how we built the castle?'' He asked full of excitement and anticipation. ''Yes, it looks stunning, honey. When are we moving in?'' You smiled down at him, ruffing his hair as he laughed, telling you how silly you were for wanting to live in a sand castle. ''Daddy's shadows helped, too.'' Added Rhyo, your younger son, as he came nearer, hand in hand with your mate. ''Hey there, momma.'' Az purred, letting go of Rhyo to lean down and peck your lips. ''EWW!'' Screamed both of your children, earning a laugh from both of you.

''Hush, the two of you, or there will be no story during bedtime.'' Az threatened them jokingly, and as always, it worked. You looked behind you at the females who were all but drooling over your mate just moments ago, only to see them packing and shooting daggers your way. You smiled sweetly, returning your attention to your family.

''You two going to water with us now, sunshine?'' Az asked as he rubbed your swollen belly. ''Only if you help me stand up.'' He just laughed, offering his scarred hands and lifting you with ease. ''I love you, you know that?'' He whispered, not letting go of your hands. Man, was he good at his spying. ''I love you, too.'' You kissed him again, but this time the shadows prohibited the boys from seeing. ''Hey!'' They both squealed, but the shadows disappeared shortly after letting them see just your cheeky grins. ''Wanna show me the castle up close?'' You smiled at them as they nodded, racing towards the water without looking back. You followed close by, wrapping your arms around your mate's waist, slowly letting them drop lower.

''Let's keep it family-friendly here, okay? You know Targuin loves sending us rubies.'' Called Feyre, who suddenly appeared with Rhys and Nyx behind you. ''Nyxie, come see the castle we built!'' Yelled your little ones with glee, making Nyx disappear from beside his parents. Literally, leaving smoke behind him as he reappeared next to Rhyo, who was laughing at his ability. ''At least we wouldn't have to worry about a gift for Amren.'' You laughed while hugging your pregnant sister. ''I still can't believe our timing.'' She shook her head and then glared back at Rhys, who was laughing, probably sending a mental remark her way.

''Me either. I wish I could help you with discomfort, but my hands are tied. Madja says I shouldn't use powers, and Az wholeheartedly agrees, saying that we have been through this already.'' You rolled your eyes, but even if you didn't like it, you agreed with them. Being a healer, you understood the risks of fae pregnancies. Your first gave the two of you quite a scare. But you never complained since it gave you your firstborn, Evren. Ever so serious, as his father often was, you loved him dearly.

''Rhys is unbearable with protectiveness, too. I am shocked he agreed to go to this beach. But I get it, you know how our first went.'' You nodded, not wanting to relive the dread that seized you during your sister's first birth. Keeping her alive when your powers were just developing was harder than anything you had ever experienced. ''I think this time it could be a little baby girl.'' Feyre beamed, changing the topic to something positive. ''You and me both.'' You answered with a smile on your face. You loved having boys, but an image of a little girl with pigtails, running around, never left your dreams.

''If you wanted more children, you should have asked. I would gladly let you keep mine.'' Answered a female with a smirk dancing on her face. ''Nesta, for the last time, stop giving out our child to other beings.'' Called Cassian, earning laughter from our group. 

''It's good to see you made it in good spirits.'' Smiled Rhys when he greeted them. The males instantly formed a group looking after the children so they wouldn't get into trouble. Much like their fathers, they seemed to possess a magnet when it came to these things.

''You're both glowing, but Gods, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes in this heat.'' Said Nesta as she hugged you and Feyre.

''It's killing me, but Az is thankfully occupying the boys so I can rest a bit more.'' You smile, looking at Azriel with a fond smile. You were still smitten, even after all those years. You still couldn't get used to the idea that what felt like many years was nothing in a lifetime of fae. ''I still can't believe we are about to have another child.''

''Neither can I. But can you blame us? Everything is uncharacteristically quiet. And peaceful.'' Added Feyre while watching her mate chuckling at something Cass said.

''Well, you won't see me having another anytime soon. One is a handful. I am convinced she inherited everything from Cassian. Little spawn of Hel.'' Nesta shook her head, but all three of us knew she adored her child. She gave her everything our mother never even attempted to. She may be strict, but that never stopped her from being a good mother, even if she'd worried she wouldn't be enough.

''You know, I thought that people in Adriata are way happier due to the sunshine and everything, but we passed a couple of females in a particularly bad mood.'' Feyre shook her head, making you chuckle. ''I feel like I am to blame for that.'' You admitted trying to at least hide the smirk forming on your lips.

''Excuse me, you? You do realize that is my expertise.'' Said Nesta in disbelief. ''I need details. Spill.'' She continued.

''Well, it was not exactly my fault. One would think that after being mated and having faelings, they would stop drooling over him. But no, and in front of the children at that. It's disgusting.'' You shared, shaking your head in disdain.

''I feel you. I may be a High Lady, but some people still don't get the hint.'' Feyre gave you a sympathetic look. 

''Honestly, why are they even bothering with some old grandpas when we are in the picture?'' Said Nesta quite loudly. ''I heard that!'' Called Cassian back. ''You were supposed to!'' Replied the oldest of the Archeron sisters, earning laughter from all of us.

These days were your favorite. Being surrounded by your family was always what fuelled you, making you happy. Smiling, you looked at your mate, who was always there to return your gaze. Feeling the love he sent down the bond made your heart flutter. After so many hardships, this is what you needed.

Thank you so much for reading this little piece 🤍

[spectrechosts]

Better Off Together - Chapter 6

Masterpost

Lunaeris is having a bad time.

They can clear a cave chamber of foes, she can check for traps, Ryse can check for traps, and none of that protects them from an ooze hiding in a crevice in the ceiling until some unfortunate victim happens to stand under it.

That unfortunate victim, of course, being her.

Obviously it didn't kill her; Kallie pulled her out of the gelatinous mass and she blasted it to pieces. But it had killed someone, and partially digested them, and she had been... engulfed in it all. It's not enough that it's disgusting either; the awful mixture of viscera and slime clings to her. She can't escape the horrible texture of it, oily and viscous and sticky.

It's in her hair, and her eyes, and her nose, and her everything. The rotten muck thoroughly permeates all of her senses, and she wants to cry and also incinerate her own skin so she can be sure she's clean.

A piece of what she's fairly certain used to be a face slowly sloughs off her, and she chokes back a sob.

"Oh dear, ohhh Princess, don't cry, um-"

Kallie frets over her, wanting to help but unsure how.

"Listen," she says, "why don't we head into the collapsible cabin and run you a bath? Won't that be nice?"

Lunaeris grumbles.

"I'm- I'm an adventurer." She asserts, glumly. "I can't run away to my safe little house whenever a slime touches me. I will... wash in the river."

Kallixenia grimaces.

"We're not really near any river, princess." She says.

"An inn, then."

"Princess..." She rumbles softly. "It's one thing to not make use of your resources because you like to camp outside. It's another entirely to make yourself miserable out of some misguided need to prove yourself. No one doubts your dedication, and right now I think you'll be much more comfortable letting yourself be a princess."

"I don't feel like a princess." Lunaeris mumbles. She feels gross. She feels like a literal pile of garbage.

She feels like she's covered in awful corpse goop.

"Well, I'll just have to treat you like one until you do." Says Kallixenia, smiling softly. "May I grab the door to the cabin from your bag?"

Lunaeris nods, and Kallixenia sets the magical door down and herds her through it once it grows to proper size. The rest of the party waves at her hesitantly, grimacing at her misfortune.

"We'll make camp outside, okay?" Asks Lagakh, and Lunaeris weakly agrees as the door closes and vanishes.

Kallixenia, gods bless her, is much better at keeping focused on solving the problem than Lunaeris is right now.

"I'm dripping on the floor-"

"I'll clean it later, Princess."

"My clothes will need-"

"I know, Princess. I'll take care of them."

Lunaeris is far too distracted by all the awful sensations she finds herself trapped with to protest against Kallie's insistence on taking care of everything for her, nor her pointed repetition of her title. She allows herself to be stripped and sat in the cabin's magical bathtub.

Runes etched into the wall summon warm water forth from the aether, pouring into the tub and down a drain where, after some length, all that passes through simply ceases to exist. Kallixenia fills a bucket with soap and water and pours it out over her, rinsing the less stubborn bits of ooze away. She repeats this until it seems everything that will come off easily has, and then gets to work removing the... more solid pieces of the ooze's previous victim, that Lunaeris doesn't want floating around in the bath with her. It's an undertaking, but eventually enough has been washed away that they can fill the bath and let her soak in the soapy water without feeling as if she is just stewing in further muck.

"...Thank you." She grumbles, sitting in a mass of bubbles. "I think I can handle it from here."

"Nonsense, Princess." Kallixenia hums, rolling up her sleeves. And then more softly: "Let me take care of you, okay?"

".....Fine."

And so, while Lunaeris works at scrubbing the most persistently sticky layer of slime from her body, Kallixenia helps. She works her fingers through Lunaeris' long hair, teasing out clotted blood and congealed slime. Shampoos and conditions it, washes until it's a gleaming snow white once again.

That finished, she moves on to Lunaeris' back, thoroughly scrubs the places she can't easily reach herself. They continue for some time, emptying and refilling the tub as the water dirties, until Lunaeris finally feels clean once more.

She lounges in the warm water, free of slime, while Kallie gently rubs her ears with soap-slicked fingers.

"I think those are clean, don't you?" Lunaeris sighs blissfully.

"Maybe so, Princess." Kallixenia replies, not stopping.

Lunaeris giggles, her breath catching as Kallie presses into a particularly sensitive spot.

"You cannot be serious right now." She says. "Kallie, I was covered in corpse goop!"

"Yes, and you were very upset, and I told you I intended to take care of you; treat you like a princess." Kallixenia purrs.

"I- You- corpse goop, Kallie. You don't need to-"

"I may not need to, but aren't I supposed to do things because I want to?"

"Oh, you're horrible, using my words against me." Lunaeris complains, as Kallie's fingers find another good spot and she shudders. "Awful paladin."

"Mm." Kallie hums, smiling smugly. "Some say I'm something of a heretic. Shall we move this to the bedroom?"

"Let's."

Lunaeris gets out of the bath and dries herself with a quick blast of heat, and is promptly scooped into Kallixenia's arms.

"Eeep!" She squeals, giggling.

"Relax, Princess. I have you."

How in the hells is she meant to relax, being treated like this? Kallixenia deposits her sideways on their bed and kneels between her legs, and her heart races with anticipation.

"Kallie-"

"Shhh. I know what you need." Says the knight, as she begins slowly kissing her way up the inside of Lunaeris' thigh.

Not relaxing at all! She doesn't- She can't-

She likes to be in charge. And she trusts Kallie to take the lead, but it's so... overwhelming.

Kallixenia is slow, and gentle, and thorough, as she laps at her pussy with her stupid thick tongue. Her iron grip holds Lunaeris steady, keeping her from squirming either into or away from her, completely robbing her of the slightest bit of control.

Cruel, cruel paladin! Treating her this way!

Her traitorous body doesn't share in her outrage- it never does, stupid thing making her twitch and shudder and go weak in the legs even when she's trying to be dominant, reducing her to just barking shrill orders to feel as though she still holds the reins. And right now she can't even do that, because Kallie wants to take care of her, so all she can do is vent her need in breathy whines.

It's not fair, it's not fair that Kallie can make her feel this way so damned easily, make her feel so vulnerable and yet so cared for.

"You make such sweet sounds, Princess." Kallixenia murmurs in adoration. Her eyes have fluttered nearly closed, she looks so at peace, worshipping her. Lunaeris whimpers, her knight's words lancing straight to her heart.

Horrible awful bastard oaf paladin whyyyy is she so fucking sensitive? Even Kallie's slow pace can't make up for it. Every lick, every kiss- hells, every warm breath across her folds sends sparks through her body, threatening to ignite the powder keg at her core.

Kallie must sense her struggle; she takes a hand off Lunaeris' thigh and places it in her hand, rubbing soft circles into her palm. It helps, a bit; squeezing her knight's hand Lunaeris doesn't feel quite as if she might unravel at any moment.

Until she looks down at Kallie again, meets her big soft oafish eyes, now looking up at her like she's the only thing in the world that matters.

"So beautiful, Princess." She breathes, reverent, and that's-

She- Kallie can't just say things like that, not when she's-

She can't-

She squeals and bucks into Kallie's mouth as much as the remaining hand holding her down will allow, twisting and clawing at the bedsheets as a sudden climax tears through her. She shudders and cries out as Kallie continues just gently lavishing her pussy with attention.

"K-Kallie- Fuck, Kallie!" She pants, her knight slowing to a stop as her orgasm ebbs. Kallie trails gentle kisses up her body; making her squeak embarrassingly when she reaches her nipple, her neck, her ear no no no wait sensitive-

Kallixenia laughs at her, low and pleased with herself as she watches Lunaeris squirm, the jerk. Then she relents; rolls over onto the bed and pulls Lunaeris into her chest, strokes her hair lovingly while placing kisses atop her head.

"There you go, beloved." She says softly. "Don't you feel like a princess now?"

Lunaeris nuzzles further into her knight's chest. "Maybe. Too early to tell." She grumbles, face red. "Need more kisses."

"Of course, my princess."

~~~

Like my work? Consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[waynes-multiverse]

I don't know what to say other than I loved this fucking part even more! 😭🥹🩵🩷

And dear God, teenage Dean surely needed his own goddamn warning! Here's the amount of times I wanted to spray him with water 😂👇

The whole situation bites. Sucks. He should be out there helping find whatever killed his mom, but they say they know better. That he needs an education. And if he doesn’t play house with Sam and Bobby? Then he loses the car, and he’s not losing the car.

Of course they got him with the threat of the car. For adult Dean this was already horror, but for a teenage boy? The horror! Extinction-level dread! 😆

The "Nobody puts Baby in a crusher" line also had me dead 🤣

The dweebs, Sammy’s crowd

God, his descriptions of the high school kids are glorious 😂 The judgment and disdain is unreal. But poor Dean, I feel bad he never got to fit in and be the high school jock with all the cheerleader arm candy he was truly born to be with that face and charm 😝 (But on the other hand, that surely made his heart a little bigger and kinder 💚)

Still, he can’t. John threw the last ‘64 he rented in the trash.

Whyyyyyy?????

Her name tag says her first name’s Beverly, but they just met and it’s too soon for a first-name basis, and a grin tugs at Dean’s mouth. “Whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” he says. He can’t help himself. Not when a group of pretty cheerleaders stand right behind him, giggling and shaking their pom-poms. It’s a crime they’re allowed to wear such short skirts to school, but at least them being up close makes his day somewhat better. 

Yes, my point above exactly 😆

And just like you nailed kid!Dean's personality, you're also nailing the unashamed cockiness of teen!Dean's and the vulnerability underneath both. This whole story is so wonderful, Beth! 😭

His nose tingles under the weight of it, but it means little.

Hmmm, his nose tingled, you say? I wonder why... 🤓

It’s like she’s never seen a dude in a leather jacket before. Never seen a car as cool as his.

God, you're an idiot 😆🙈 Can Bobby smack him over the head, please?

And I can't believe this whole thing went on for a week lmao

He wants to roll his eyes, and he almost does, but he knows doing so will stop him from getting any further with this girl, and he’s worked so hard to get her here.

Seriously, someone smack this boy... I can't with him 😂 I hope reader blows some sense back into that horny brain lmfao

Not him. Nope. The music they all listen to is trash, and he is not going to surround himself with it on a Friday night just to get some action. His hand’ll do just fine with the memories of her tit.

DEAN!!! MY GOD 🤣🤣🤣

“Did John give ya a curfew I should know about?” his ‘uncle’ says across from him. Bottle of beer in his hand.

Oh, so we have graduated to the defiant air quotes around "uncle", huh? I love the development of this compared to kid!Dean. Such a nice and clever touch! 🤓

Algebra ain’t going to help him gank no ghost.

Bless him. At least he pretty lol

How the hell does he know that? Unless…Sammy. That’s the last time he picks him up from school. Kid can ride his bike, rain or shine.

I can't quote this whole goddamn fic, but his inner monologue has me just rolling and grinning throughout with these little things 😂🩵

And I love that he dug out the old bike again! It's nostalgia within the nostalgia 😍

Huh. It’s been a while. He wonders what happened to you? Did you skip town? Do you go to school with him now, and he just hasn’t run into you yet?  Maybe you’re at the party? One of Melinda’s friends, though you would’ve said something if he knew them, and none of their names match yours.

I don't know why, but I teared up a little. My heart keeps warning me of something, and it may be the feeling that reader got a little hurt when she watched him fool around with all these cheerleaders during the week. I bet she had a different vision of the sweet boy she once knew 🥲

You blink. Those eyes. Those brows.  “You’re—” “Hi Dean,” you say with a thin smile, and then, as if his recognition fuels you, that confident tone he’s just remembered, the one that once took his juice box, has you adding, “Took you long enough.”

Aaaaah that ending!!! I need to know what happens next! Don't do this to me!

And God, my heart hurts for reader somehow, and I might be waaayyyy overshooting here and she's actually completely fine and amused about it. But I have a feeling Dean not recognizing her instantly like she recognized him and having his head up short skirts instead might have hurt a little 😭 As in "clearly you didn't find me attractive enough to notice" and I wanna hug her and tell her it's hormones and boys are fucking lame and stupid at this age. Oh the pain I will suffer till Part 3... *sighs dramatically with an eye roll like a teenager and drags her feet back to her room, slamming the door shut*

IF YOU LEAVE

Chapter 2: Left of Center

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

In the spring of 1988, Dean meets the girl of his dreams. He just doesn't know it yet. 3.5k words

Tags: Dean as a teenager (he’s a bit of a dirtbag), Bobby trying to parent, language, flirting, 80s & 90s pop culture references

Mood-board by @chevroletdean for #chevroletdean’s 500 😘

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

March, 1997

Being back at Bobby’s is exactly as Dean remembers it. Either the Sioux Falls house is stuck in some time loop or the objects and dust littered throughout the rooms are stuck with glue or something else. Anything’s plausible.

Even the liquor bottles and trash don’t appear to have moved over the last nine years, though he knows that’s not true. He was here two weeks ago when John arranged all this. He saw both men drink from the bottle of Jack still on the kitchen table as they discussed his life and future.

The whole situation bites. Sucks. He should be out there helping find whatever killed his mom, but they say they know better. That he needs an education. And if he doesn’t play house with Sam and Bobby? Then he loses the car, and he’s not losing the car.

It’s extortion. The threat, insulting. Nobody puts Baby in a crusher. 

Besides, John already handed over the keys on his birthday. She’s been in his name ever since. That’s two whole months, give or take, and there’s just gotta be some hoodoo superstition against giving someone something, then taking it back, right?

He pulls her into the carpark, furthest as he can away from all the Civics and Bugs taking up the asphalt. Shifts her into P. Cuts the engine, and that’s when he first hears the trills, grunts and hoots from his soon-to-be peers. 

Just great. This place is a zoo. No wait, zoo animals are better behaved. Hell, he’d prefer a haunted, crazy-house 

There’s the jocks with their green and gold sports-team jackets. The cheerleaders, matching them, but with hot, perky tits, and gloss, not so bad. The dweebs, Sammy’s crowd, and the loner kids paving their own way at the back of the pack, heads down in books and Game Boys. They make the stoners look alive, and, no; you know what, they might actually be alright. He’d rather be playing a bit of Zelda right about now, too. 

Still, he can’t. John threw the last ‘64 he rented in the trash. Luckily, they skipped that town soon after and he didn’t have to pay for the late fees. Like he would’ve. 

With a heavy sigh, his fingers grip the lip of his backpack, dragging it out of the car with him, flinging the weight of his text-books over his shoulder, pulling the muscle.

“Dude, that your ride?” someone asks, but he ignores them, and elbows tucked in at his side, pushes through the horde or hormones and sweat to the office, well away from whoever that was.

It’s best to just get this over with.

“Name?” the admin assistant, Mrs Heady, asks down her rectangle glasses. 

Her name tag says her first name’s Beverly, but they just met and it’s too soon for a first-name basis, and a grin tugs at Dean’s mouth. “Whatever you want it to be, sweetheart,” he says.

He can’t help himself. Not when a group of pretty cheerleaders stand right behind him, giggling and shaking their pom-poms. It’s a crime they’re allowed to wear such short skirts to school, but at least them being up close makes his day somewhat better. 

Luckily, this time, he’s learned something from John. How to conceal his…gun, because the girls giggle louder and it goes straight there.

He turns around and winks at the blonde closest to him. 

She blushes. Turns in turn to her friends and shakes with laughter. Lips glossy and pursed and eyes fixed on him as she whispers something to the girl with the ringlets. He wags his brows at her.

“Hi,” he mouths, but the third girl pushes them to the corner next to some trophies covered in dust, and—

“Son. I need your name.” Mrs Heady snaps him out of his trance with a poke from something he only feels on instinct from his jacket, shifting ‘round his ribs. 

His reflexes are too sharp, though, and now more eyes are on him and the way he holds the ruler she had hidden behind her desk in his hands. Vice-like grip, looking like a prayer over the self defence it’s meant to be.

“Winchester,” he gives, and lets go of the damned thing to hold his arms by his sides. He shrinks into his jacket. Shoulders droop, chin dips. “Dean.” He clears his throat. 

More giggles in the background retrieve his smirk. 

“Dean,” she says, then repeats, again, and again as she flicks through her files only to find his name on top in the end, anyway. “Here we are. Mrs Truman’s homeroom. B - twelve. You’ve got music up first.”

She hands him a timetable. He glances over it. Math, biology, English. Just great. Two months of this. 

He scrunches the paper and shoves it into his backpack so he can round up the ladies. “So,” he takes a couple of steps closer and loops his arm over the girl with the ringlets’ shoulders. “Care to show a guy around the school?”

Dean’s cheek still rings where cheerleader two slapped him. He nurses it in his left hand as he opens the door with his right, stepping into his homeroom with a little more apprehension than he cares to admit. 

It’s musky here. As dusty as the trophies in the office, only full of more kids, all staring at him as he walks over to the teacher, also looking him up and down. 

Okay, it’s not so different. He definitely shrinks a few more inches, and gives himself a once over, checking he’s still wearing his clothes. 

He is. So is the same blonde cheerleader sitting in the front row. Her smile, much sweeter than it was before. Her lashes batting against freckle dusted cheeks as quick as she had to have been to beat him here.

“You must be Winchester,” Mrs Truman says, and Dean brings his attention back to her with a click of his jaw. 

“Yeah.” 

“Transferred from Colorado?”

“That’s what it says.” He wrote it yesterday morning after a sharp smack from Bobby’s hand to his shoulder.  

He knows he deserved it. Sammy was only asking about John, who pissed off the second he dropped them off, leaving him to deal with the paperwork. Both of theirs.

Just as Mrs Heady had done, Truman sees him through her glasses, only she’s looking further up on account of the height difference, even without a desk. Her greying curls shake as she points to the back of the class. “Take your seat Dean.”

He winks at blondie and proceeds down the canyon of desks and the backpacks at their owners’ feet to the sole remaining seat. It creaks as he slings his weight into it. Groans as he stretches his legs out. His sneaker taps the chair in front. Peachy. 

Most eyes revert to the blackboard at the front, but one girl’s gaze lingers longer than the rest. Her brows furrowed in concentration before he raises his at her. 

It’s not flirtatious. More of a ‘what’re you looking at,’ kind of vibe, and really, what is she looking at? He’s got nothing on his face, though he wipes it just to make sure. Palm covering the smirk from her attention, scratching over the stubble on his chin that’s already regrown. His nose tingles under the weight of it, but it means little. 

She would too if she had an audience, yet her stares continue throughout the day like she has none. Done when she thinks he’s not watching. 

He is. He’s just better at hiding it.

She does it during music. Third and fourth period, too. He’d say she’s following him, but of course, she has a schedule of her own. She has to. It’s just a small high school. Doesn’t make it any less constricting. 

His nose tingles constantly. The grape jelly at lunch lingers in his gut along with his gun from the cheerleaders, and still she stares every so often with that same crinkle of her brows. It’s like she’s never seen a dude in a leather jacket before. Never seen a car as cool as his. 

As the week rolls on, though, she blends into the crowd. At least, he doesn’t notice her stares any longer, too busy with his own on cheerleader two. 

Her name is Melinda. Her ringlets, natural. Rack is too. Dean cops a feel when she helps him catch up on his biology between fifth and sixth in the janitor’s closet on the second Wednesday. He pays her back with a hickey on her right shoulder. 

“Mark’s having a party Friday,” she whispers into his ear. Hand grips his arm when he swirls his tongue to soothe the reddened skin.

“Good for him.” His fingers squeeze her, storing away the feel of the muscle bouncing back for future use. 

She scoffs and nudges him off. Said something, too, but Dean’s fixed on the way her lip shines under what little light the bulb overhead is giving. He leans closer in and pulls the bottom one between his own to taste more cherry. Feels the warmth bubble in his gut.

“Dean.” She smacks him this time. It would pinch, but the leather of his jacket softens the blow.

“What?”

“I’m asking if you wanna go with me. It could be fun.”

He wants to roll his eyes, and he almost does, but he knows doing so will stop him from getting any further with this girl, and he’s worked so hard to get her here. Listening to her talk about Leo and some song about Barbies. He forced himself to tune in to the local radio station and all he learned was that some guy, with a voice that sounded like a chain smoker, wanted Barbie to party.

Not him. Nope. The music they all listen to is trash, and he is not going to surround himself with it on a Friday night just to get some action. His hand’ll do just fine with the memories of her tit.

“Or we could hang out. Just me and you.” His lips nip at her again. “Brady Point.”

“Braden,” she says with a whine. and that click girls do when they’re trying to be angry. It’s cute. 

“Yeah.” He swoops back in. 

“But my friends will be there.” 

And this is going nowhere.

Her eyes are as still as the rest of her, holding him as if she’d physically reached in and grabbed them. Neither blinks, but Dean tries to convince her he’s more interesting than a party at Marks. 

Turns out he’s not, and he’s left to his own devices Friday night, lounging ‘round Bobby’s, cleaning his colt.

“Did John give ya a curfew I should know about?” his ‘uncle’ says across from him. Bottle of beer in his hand. 

Just as he did in the janitor’s closet with Melinda, Dean doesn’t blink when he looks back at him. He places the barrel down, reaches for the oil and busies his hands once again. 

It’s not like he wants to be here. He’d still rather be out on the road with John, even though he threatened to take the car. At least he’d be doing something useful with his time. Algebra ain’t going to help him gank no ghost. Don’t get him started on music theory or the essay due Tuesday morning.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Bobby takes a swig and stands with a loud scrape of his chair over the floor. The floorboards continue to protest as he pads his way to the fridge for another. The creak of the door and the rattle of glass is obvious enough, but what Dean doesn’t expect is to be handed one, too, when he returns. 

“Even Sam’s out with the friends he made.” Bobby glares at him over the bottle, twists the cap and flings it on the table. 

Dean does the same. 

He’s mid sip when Bobby sits back down and asks, “Weren’t you seeing that cheerleader? Melissa?” 

The cold brew goes down the wrong pipe, and his fist whacks the top of his sternum. The thump drowned out by his splutter and wheeze. How the hell does he know that? Unless…Sammy. That’s the last time he picks him up from school. Kid can ride his bike, rain or shine.

He looks up at Bobby, still waiting for him to be done. His beady eyes under his cap and the specks of grey in his beard continue to point at him. 

“What do you want me to say?” Dean dares before another mouthful. Slower this time. Letting the bubbles slide down his throat, keeping his mouth and hands occupied. 

“Nothing. Not my place to give ya advice, either.” He sighs, and Dean just knows there’s a ‘but,’ coming. “You got the chance to have a normal life for a minute. Why not enjoy it?” Bobby leans into the table. There’s a split second of grouch as his face changes and his jaw tightens, humbling his pride. “I hear that Sutton kid’s throwing a party.”

And Dean chokes again. Fucking Sam. He scowls. “You want me to go get drunk with a bunch of other kids? That what you’re saying?” 

“You telling me you’re straight-laced now? Only difference between them kids and me is they’ve got smaller prostates, and don’t need to whiz every—”

“Okay. Fine,” Dean says and gulps some more beer down. Thunks it on the table with finality and stands. He pulls his jacket on and steps over to pick up Baby’s keys from where he left them. 

But, “The hell you’re driving,” stops him in his tracks and he’s heading out the door, keyless and without another word, raising his collar up to protect his neck from the night air. The screen door slams behind him.

Now what? He doesn’t even know where the party is, let alone how he’s going to bust it to this guy’s house without his car. School’s a ten-minute drive from here, and chances are, Mark’s place is further still, and there’s no way he’s walking that far. 

He digs his boots in the dirt. Smushes the grass tufts, scattering the powder, blackened by the sky, and looks around. Cars, whole ones, shells of them, and stars as far as the eye can see surround him. But also under the shed, poking out behind the pole closest to him, the rim of a thin tire catches his eye. 

It’s the same place they used to keep their bike, not Sam’s new one - he stole that - but the one Bobby fixed up all those years ago. 

Of course, he’s grown, but the thing looks tiny. Creaks under his hands when he tugs it out. The bars are rusty and he can feel the coarse, flaky metal against his fingertips. Even the rubber handles have disintegrated. 

Out of its confines, he lifts his leg over and straddles the middle bar. Wheels it back and forth under him. He places his ass on the seat, and, yeah, there’s no way he can ride this thing like this, but if he stands, it’s possible. 

Shaky.

Rickety.

Yet before he knows it, he’s peddling down the path just the same. Gravel flicks up against his jeans, but it’s freeing. That wind in his hair. Breeze on his cheeks. The way his jacket swings behind him like a cape as he leans over the handlebars. The same ones Sammy used to ride on. 

Laughter. Fun. Bat signals. Ninja turtles. His mind goes back to a time when he shared it all with you that one spring. What was he, nine?

Huh. It’s been a while. He wonders what happened to you? Did you skip town? Do you go to school with him now, and he just hasn’t run into you yet? 

Maybe you’re at the party? One of Melinda’s friends, though you would’ve said something if he knew them, and none of their names match yours. Not even the middle name Mary, like your mom. You sure were long winded. Could blow the biggest bubbles in your shakes. 

God, he’s a dweeb. His nostalgia, pulling at his heart strings, buzzing his nose, and steering the bike to the old arcade ‘cause why not. 

Whirs. Dings. Whistles. Like Bobby’s, it hasn’t changed one bit. The jingles made by synthesisers are as familiar as Baby’s rumble. The soundtrack trying to overcome it all hasn’t let up its 80s tunes either, and Dean strides through the tinted doors to the riff of Kenny Loggins’ Danger Zone. He’s pumped.

Nope. Nothing’s changed, alright. 

There’s a musk to the place that he’s never been able to put his finger on, but one that’s popped up throughout his life. It’s a taste. A burn in his nostrils from dust and mould, sweaty palms, and old money that’s spent most of its life being jammed into the pockets of little boys.

Speaking of, he reaches deep into his and pulls out his leather wallet. Flips it open. Stops the just-in-case condom he keeps in there from falling out. He’s prepared, and he’s got plenty of dollar bills ready to change over.

He smooths one out, chuckles at the joke he’s made about rubbing that something else instead, and feeds the edge into the slot. Only has him grinning more. The thrill and rattle of money coming out is alright, too, and the closest to the feel of Vegas he’s gonna get without a fake ID and a broken razor.

Coin laden, he heads for Donkey Kong, the first thing he recognises - if only the sucker knew he wasn’t the main attraction any more. He bites his tongue with his newest coin-slot joke, is relieved for a moment that these things don’t spit out white tickets, and hits start.

It’s like riding the bicycle. All floods back. He even gets to the second level on the first go, but then Mario drops the hammer on himself and then is hit by a barrel. Totally not his fault. Totally, he tries again.

It mightn’t be as advanced as modern, 3D Mario or Zelda, but there’s an addiction for sure. He plays another, and a few more than he’s willing to admit before moving on to the next one. Has a go at all his favourites. Loses to some punk-ass junior on Time Crisis. 

“Real guns don’t work like that,” he spits over Bon Jovi’s ‘Shot Through the Heart’, and heads to the snack bar. Another piece of nostalgia, Red Vines, call his name.

By now it’s getting close to nine. Not late for a guy with no curfew, but late enough that the younger kids are calling it quits, and sweet, zero lines. 

He steps up to the counter, pulls out his wallet again and looks straight into the eyes of the girl with the goofy hat. She’s not wearing it now, though. Hair pulled up off her face and neck. He just recognises the furrowed brow, and his raise in unison. 

Great. “Hey,” he says. Mutters, more like. 

He avoids her stare and concentrates on the candy before him, picking up two packets of the red licorice and a box of Milk Duds. “Can I get a root beer, too?” He smiles out of politeness, but it’s reserved, and lacks its usual charm. He straightens when she continues to stare and startles as much as she does when she realises.

“Ah, sure.” She turns on the soundtrack’s newest changeover, a slow synthetic drumbeat that’s as almost familiar as the way her hairline pulls at her neck below her pink blouse. 

It can’t be. It’s too coincidental. He finds that bike only to think of the girl he once knew, and there she is, just like that? All this talk of hoodoo, but it is the same town, the same arcade?

Nah. Coincidence. That’s all this is. Pure coincidence. These thoughts and memories about the girl he once knew messing with his brain more and more…until she turns around again and he really looks at her. At you.

He looks at you. 

And if this all hasn’t wigged him out already, the guy, swooning over the stereo says something about always being friends someday.

His finger points in your direction and it’s not just for telling you what else he wants to buy. 

You blink. Those eyes. Those brows. 

“You’re—”

“Hi Dean,” you say with a thin smile, and then, as if his recognition fuels you, that confident tone he’s just remembered, the one that once took his juice box, has you adding, “Took you long enough.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Am I running with that one random line Dean made about Zelda, somewhere in the show? You bet I am ✌️

I know I put five chapters down in the Masterlist, but I ended this chapter earlier than intended because it seemed like a better spot than I’d planned, so there might be another yet, time will tell.

Did you know a Dean in high school? Did you date someone like him? I had way too much fun writing him as a horny teenager 😂 let’s see how they get along now 😘

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[casualavocados]

im gonna break down my last gifset: the second half of the ep12 intimacy scene, because nat and louis are such good actors ive been rendered slightly braindead more than once due to how well they SOLD this scene and SOLD ai di and chen yi's love for each other through their physicality.

WARNING: if you read this and then use the words top or bottom to describe anything going on here, i will deadass block you. ♥️ don't even think about it. ♥️

this is gonna be unhinged but the mix of horny and pure adoring each other is an ever-crisscrossing line that is simply underappreciated from what ive seen in previous posts of this particular part.

so they've been making out for a while with ai di in chen yi's lap and chen yi decides to push them over… i did not cut a single frame of this btw.

starting with the first two gifs:

i love the way ai di's hand comes to rest perfectly at the nape of chen yi's neck during the impact. then there's a brief "are we gonna kiss?" half of a second before chen yi goes for ai di's neck. and ai di responds appreciatively: with his head tilted back, his hand in chen yi's hair… you see in the second gif his fingers curling a little, to gently trail his nails down chen yi's neck, wordlessly telling chen yi to keep going. and he does, moving from ai di's neck to his chest.

and here we get a moment of ai di going oh. his mouth literally opens a little wider—

—and he lifts up his head as if to check that that's really chen yi doing this to him. all the while his hand has moved from chen yi's neck/hair to rubbing chen yi's shoulder. again in a reassuring "yes that's good" way, and also, i imagine, just for the sake of touching chen yi too.

he looks at chen yi and then full body relaxes into feeling it, while still rubbing chen yi's shoulder. i cant get over ai di's face here, i can't. the whole shot is art, with chen yi kissing just below his ribs.

bc chen yi is so focused on adoring him, on pouring all this love he has for ai di into these gentle kisses and the way he's touching him, too: sliding his hand up ai di's chest to grip his shoulder in return. (also notice ai di's sweatshirt from four years ago hanging up in the background. chen yi has been waiting so long for this too and needs to show it.)

and then— WELL. then ai di slides his hand back up into chen yi's hair…

and chen yi responds to the feeling of it immediately. it's almost like ai di is saying yes, that's good, now come here, and you see chen yi's eyes open and his body immediately follow that cue. perfect wordless communication. ai di's hand is literally pulling him closer (with barely any pressure) and chen yi instinctively responds to it by making his way back up with another soft kiss.

and ai di is watching him, waiting for him. chen yi's hand is sliding along ai di's chest again… you even see ai di's legs open a little at the end of the gif to make room for chen yi to take that space again.

and chen yi does. he really does:

and he does that on purpose. (it's like he's responding to ai di's satisfaction by saying, "let me make it feel even better". while also saying "i love you this much".)

and ai di responds by intentionally adjusting himself to feel more of it:

chen yi moves back from the neck kiss and ai di really said with his body: no, don't you dare take that pressure away.

there is so much going on in those two gifs. starting with the former: you can see ai di leaning back for the neck kiss, and then his hand moves down to chen yi's hip the instant he feels the pressure between his legs, in such a perfectly instinctive movement you can literally see his fingers tighten in chen yi's hair and his toes curl at the edge of the gif. he is completely 100% feeling it. he lifts his head to look.

—& i can't get over the way ai di is always trying to see, to watch chen yi doing this to him. it's chen yi. he has to make sure it's real. he has waited for and wanted this for so long and he isnt dreaming anymore.

and then in the latter: ai di tilts his head back again a little before his shift. his very intentional shifting of hips that physically lifts his back from the bed a little to align them more comfortably and to keep the friction. this movement stops chen yi from kissing ai di's neck again, bringing him to his mouth instead— but not until after ai di's hand on the back of chen yi's neck slides down to cup his cheek. (as if this whole gif says, not only "yes, that feels good, don't stop", but also, "i need you to know i love you".)

they kiss like that: pressed together, looking at each other, ai di cradling chen yi's face with one of his hands. you can see his thumb holding the base of chen yi's jaw in the next gif:

while chen yi in turn pulls his arm out from underneath ai di to prop (only) his chest up a bit higher for the express purpose of just looking at ai di. feeling ai di touching him like this, too. both of them gentle and needy, adoring and eager; all of that fully communicated through their body language.

there is not an inch of them that isnt feeling this moment and isnt completely tuned in to both themselves and the other. it's so intimate and vulnerable and so intentional. and the fact that they are taking their time, always looking at each other, is what makes it so loving and sweet and is also exactly what makes it so hot.

it's chen yi's turn now to check that this is real. to soak this all in and breathe. that's ai di beneath him. against him. loving him.

and it takes a full gif but ai di allows maybe 2 seconds more of looking at each other before reaching up and pulling chen yi into a deeper kiss. he's waited for this for so long—

although first you see ai di's eyes flick down and back up. and let me tell you— he's not looking at chen yi's lips.

chen yi's hand perfectly supports the back of ai di's head and neck as ai di surges up to wrap chen yi in his arms—cup the nape of chen yi's neck in his fingers—pulling himself up and chen yi closer in the same movement.

and this is when and why the camera pans away. because those kisses are getting deeper. they are locked in, they're attached, they are feeling all of it, everything is intentional and loving and very clear about where this scene will be going next.

i just— this is a lot, for me. because it is so intensely loving. and also so intensely horny. like, i've seen some good sex scenes, but it takes some really incredible acting to pull off seeming so fully, devotedly, in love, and be able to show that alongside and through attraction. personally? i haven't seen any bl actors do it better than nat and louis in this scene right here. please notice, as well, that all thirteen of these gifs are of one, continuous, shot.

simply put, it's a very. very. well done scene. AND I NEED TO CHEW DRYWALL.

(final note: a reminder of my warning at the start of this post bc i am serious. there are too many infinitesimal things happening in this scene for these characters to be reduced to stereotypes that, frankly, do not matter in real life. ♥️ no need to respond to this warning either… feel free to focus on what the post is saying instead.)

and that's why chen yi and ai di are better and more real than every other bl couple in existence. ok bye.

[funkbun]

miss mitternacht fucking balling

she's bawling?? oh, no no. she's Ballin'

[erinwantstowrite]

saw some pants on pinterest.... thought of discowing... couldn't be stopped...

[theotherrookie]

Frosty looked hardly pleased himself as he got called a kid over and over. If he was such a useless little thing, how come his powers were holding all of them back?

"I'm fine on my own." This was still better than going home, as far as he was concerned.

So it was no surprise that he didn't feel particularly bad about what Five had been doing. Murder was sort of implied in hunting, he had already made up his mind about that. If Five had deemed it necessary to try and kill Lucien, there was probably a good reason.

Besides, shaming him wasn't going to work. Russell had no reason to give him that attitude.

Frosty's train of thought was cut short by Lucien hurling the baseball at his other knee, ending any attempt to escape.

"That should count for at least ten points." Lucien said with a smirk, "Now let's catch that snake."

Their best shot would have been doing that right then and there before Five could run inside. The hunter's endless ego demanded he stood around humoring Antonio. They couldn't waste this chance.

"So what? It's how you use it, not if you have it that counts." Five replied as he turned his sword into a whip to fend off Veronica's attacks again.

"Mine's bigger anyway!" Rook shouted.

"My sword is pink." Willow added.

"And I have a baseball bat with your name on it!" Erica said, getting ready to pounce again.

"Gods, she's multiplying." Five rolled his eyes as he reached into his pocket for a vial, "Why, aren't you projecting a little? Frosty is a dear colleague. You grabbed a child out of the trash and make her fight to save your ass. The cosplay doesn't change that fact."

While he definitely believed that about Bill, Five's intent was to get on Rook's nerves enough to shoot some of her fire his way. He could have done without what he assumed were unsavory assumptions to his bloodline, but he tossed the vial right at the incoming fireball. The explosion that followed engulfed Five in a cloud of toxic smoke, forming a barrier that allowed him to close the distance with Frosty and drag him away to safety.

Erica's tails morphed into spider legs and planted themselves in the ground before she could dive in the toxic fog.

"Ew, gross. Thanks, shadows!" The shadows received a few pats as they gently set Erica down.

Rook kicked the ground in frustration. "Fuck! I didn't want to fight him inside."

"It might have been his plan all along, dear." Veronica replied, "Is everybody alright?"

"How cute." Crosshair wasn't particularly moved by the scene, but she was definitely glad to have been left alone to pick up the pieces.

It had been fun while it lasted, it was time to grab her last surviving rifle and go. Crosshair opened the case to start packing up and found it full of potatoes.

She suddenly didn't feel a big fan of elves anymore.

"I'm glad we're all on the same page." Rook said, "Now, let's shut down the kindergarten."

It was more of an attempt at scaring Frosty than anything. It would have been much better if he surrendered on his own. Beating a kid wasn't on her list of favorite things to do, but he didn't look ready to give up.

"Then your brother has weird taste in friends." Frosty replied as he moved to sit up, "It says something that out of all the people, he picked the ones built to kill."

Not that he had much of a saying in that regard. Five was a major weirdo himself, but you don't exactly get to pick your colleagues. But that wasn't the time to think about it. He had to get up and stand his ground.

Frosty pressed his hands against the ground and summoned a new wave of tiny, but very sharp, ice spikes all around him. Its erratic pattern stopped Rook in her tracks and forced her to back away into a ring of fire.

"Gods, you're so annoying!" Rook cursed as a few stray spikes still managed to get through.

Frosty started stumbling towards Five.

Lucien held out his hand to Russell. "Give me a ball."

There was no doubt the two had come up with some kind of strategy to combine their powers, Frosty had to be stopped. But even as Five managed to earn himself a moment to steady himself, he soon found that more trouble was about to join the party.

He simply couldn't help it. Five's gaze met Antonio’s and in the instant that followed, a mix of confusion and anger set on the hunter's face as he fell for the cheapest trick so far. He coughed on his own stinky breath as he glared back.

"Oh, not you again." Out of all the people he had bothered, Antonio was the one he wanted to deal with the least.

"There's me again too!" Erica yelled as she landed nearby. Shadow tendrils emerged from her back, before taking the shape of five fluffy tails.

"Pardon me." The drone wobbled slightly as Willow used it as an extra step to break the fall. The katana was drawn and ready as soon as she hit the ground.

Five sneered, "So the whole family's here."

That was indeed their cue to go. Five kept his head down as he dodged another of Veronica's strikes and started running back to his hideout.

[dovewingkinnie]

ai x computer cursor my favorite

[dirtytransmasc]

when you read an absolutely heart wrenching, soul destroying, tear jerking, yet simultaneously sweet, hilarious, down right beautiful fic you've ever read in your life, you've gone through every stage of grief, you've cried, you've laughed, you've mourned... and you have to act normal to everyone around you....

I hate this

[tuituipupu]

käärijä returning to esc after last year’s absolute shitshow is choice. i’ll say that. extremely choice.

[tojisun]

the gaz drabble with reader and her daughter penelope was so so beautiful and sweet I loved it <3

thank you so so much omg 🥹🫶🏼

it’s just one of those days yk when you hear something so nostalgic you begin longing for something you’ve never had? projected it as much as i can to kyle and rambled and ended up falling in love w it :(

little pen and mama dancing in the rain. little pen (she’s two!) stumbling and laughing and chasing after her mom. little pen and mama matching raincoats and boots. little pen who lets rain water pool in her boots before jumping to make the loudest sploosh sound that makes her and mama giggle.

oh how precious she is 🥹

(kyle and little pen having matching boas and tiaras during her grand tea pary.

kyle and little pen drinking their teas with pinkies up. she shows mr. kyle what proper ‘pinky up’ is because mama said little pen is her smart duckling so she’s gots to teach mr. kyle so mr. kyle can impress mama.

kyle and little pen passing out in the living room in their exhaustion, and both waking up to the wafting aroma of hot chocolate.

kyle and little pen stumbling to the kitchen, both groggy, and drawing out their sleepy, “thank you” to mama who just giggles because her two treasures are so alike, even in drowsiness.

kyle and little pen being best friends because they both love mama and people who love mama should stick together.)

[feathers-little-nest]

I think there's not enough G cup Mobei-Jun fanarts. Everyone is talking about large Mobei-Jun boobs and how much Shang Qinghua loves them, but no one actually gives him boobs. I feel like I'm being gaslighted here