#give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes like what you want me to hear that line and not feel emotion

[unsat-and-strange]

the garden by the crane wives makes me feel something specific but i dont know what im sorry but its so good

[kitsmemes]

THE CRANE WIVES LYRIC STARTERS: "Foxlore" Album, Part 2. Alter as needed.

Curses

"there's a fire in my brain."

"i'm burning up."

"oh my."

"the well is dry."

"every word i say is kindling... but the smoke clears when you're around."

"won't you stay with me, my darling?"

"this house says my name like an elegy."

"there's still cobwebs in the corners, and the backyard's full of bones."

"won't you stay with me, my darling, when this house don't feel like home?"

"ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

"the devil's after both of us."

"lay my curses out to rest."

"make a mercy out of me."

"this tired old machine is-a rumbling."

"all my aching bones are trembling, and i may yet fall apart."

"won't you stay with me, my darling, when the war starts in my heart?"

"tell me i am good enough."

Turn Out The Lights

"you don't have to believe every single thought that tumbles through your head."

"just 'cause it sounds like you talking."

"sometimes all you can do is say goodnight and tuck your demons into bed."

"'cause they're not worth fighting."

"turn out the lights on your racing mind."

"you keep a running list of all your doubts and your dead ends."

"you taste them on the tip of your tongue."

"you dwell on all you ever did wrong."

"what good has ever come of it?"

"what answers will you find?"

Pretty Little Things

"i once loved a man who was all lips and hands."

"i still feel his touch against my skin."

"past love lingers like phantom limbs."

"i cut straight to the heart."

"i don't believe the pretty little things that you say."

"i've heard a lot of little pretty things."

"don't buy me flowers."

"it pains me to watch pretty little things wilt away."

"pretty little things wilt away."

"there are lessons in life no one should have to learn."

"but trust is now something i make people earn."

"so i'm not inclined to just give it away."

"i know a trick to make a man's colors show."

"if he sees something he wants, tell him no."

"maybe you're right."

"maybe i have been used up by another man's hungry hands."

"maybe i have been ruined by another man after him."

"but maybe i'm the one who's right."

"maybe you will prove why."

"women like me don't fall for pretty little things."

Know How

"i am not brave."

"i keep my focus on what is safe."

"you drew a line, made up your mind."

"now i'm struggling to realize."

"i gotta wrap my head around what my heart is telling me."

"i've been trying to drown it out."

"just because i know what i am supposed to do now, doesn't mean i know."

"doesn't mean i know how."

"i blind my eyes to what won't stay."

"you kissed my mouth."

"you pushed me out."

"now i'm struggling to free myself."

Not The Ghost

"turn your lamps down low."

"keep the light so dim that you can't see what's out there ahead."

"my dear, there are secrets here."

"i will carry them home."

"carry them home."

"if only i could break the chain of disappointments weighing me down."

"shake off the ghosts that whisper warnings."

"i won't be afraid of all the things i've wanted."

"it's the fear, and not the ghost."

"see what a life you lead."

"you're an anchor for all the heaviest regrets inside of you."

"escape."

"we collect mistakes."

The Garden

"tear it down."

"tear it down around my head."

"i need you to bury this beneath my bed."

"the crows in the garden are laughing at my expense."

"all the lies that i might have told instead."

"hold your light to the darkness in my head."

"put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat."

"give me something pretty to wear beneath my bloodstained clothes."

"my darling, the devil knows my name."

"lay me down."

"pour the dirt into our bed."

"tell the crows they can have their pound of flesh."

"the ghosts at the window echo all our quiet prayers."

"when they come for us, they'll come with hammers and nails."

"get on your knees."

"dig up the garden."

"won't you throw down that spade and dig up the garden, darling?"

"get your hands dirty."

"rip up the garden."

"won't you cut down that apple tree for me?"

[darksapphire29]

Imagine #2

You’re on your period, and Peter freaks out when he sees your blood. You have to explain what it is.

Warnings: The reader is on their period, and it gets messy, so if this makes anyone uncomfortable, please don’t read. More stressed Peter. Pan is also really confused. I'm pretty sure some of this is a little cringy, so, yeah... Enjoy!!

You rolled over in bed. Opening your eyes, light filtered through the flap used as a door. Your sight was fuzzy from sleep. A deep throbbing surged around your abdomen. You groaned, reaching down to grasp at your stomach. Your fingers touched something wet, and your eyes widened. You shot up, scrambling out of bed with a groan. Right where you had laid, a large spot on the sheets was coated in red. Your trousers were soaked through, and you felt some of your blood trailing down your leg.

“Holy crap!” You wheezed, ripping the sheets off the bed. Somehow, the mattress beneath was fine. You thanked your lucky stars. You rushed to the chest sitting by the foot of your bed. You flung the lid open, throwing your clothes around. Your head spun. This had never happened before. You were always prepared. How could you have forgotten? 

You never talked to Peter nor any of the Lost Boys about your period. You were terrified to tell them, mostly because it would be really awkward. But also, you didn’t want Peter to be disgusted by you. The two of you had grown close, and you had been his girlfriend for almost two years. If you mentioned it, he might be grossed out by you, and you couldn’t bare to see him look at you like that. 

You changed your clothes and made sure to wear a pad, and then you had a Panadol. Neverland was a magical place. All you had to do was wish for what you needed, and (most of the time) you would get it. 

You picked up the bloodstained items, and crept up to the flap. Peaking through, you watched Felix working away with Adam and Devin, the latter seeming particularly annoyed with something. Peter was standing by the tree line, hands on his hips with his back to you as he yelled at someone. 

Before anyone could see you, you dashed from your tent and into the forest. You followed the path to the river. Your footsteps never slowing. Then, you heard a second pair chasing you. Your heart jolted and you picked up the pace, clenching your clothes and sheets close to your body. The footsteps became louder and closer together. Suddenly, hands grabbed onto your shoulders. You yelped as they pulled you backwards. They spun you around, and you were met with a red-faced Peter. 

“And where are you going, then?” He demanded, hand still resting on your shoulder. You shrugged out of his hold, eyes wide as saucepans. What could you say? Don’t worry, Peter. I’m only cleaning up my own blood. And of course Peter noticed you leave.

“I-I...” As discreet as you could, you held your things closer to your chest. “I was going to wash my clothing... and bathe.” 

Peter stared hard at your face, eyes flickering between yours. Then, he rose a brow and snatched your clothes away. “Wait!” You reached for them, but he only laughed.

“What’s the matter, love?” He smirked, but only moments later, it fell. His gaze snapped down to the cloth. His brows furrowed lower than you thought they could. He jumped backwards, dropping your clothes like they had the plague. He looked back up at you. His eyes were black. Then, he seemed to snap out of it, and he was in front of you again in seconds.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!” You flinched. His yell caught you off guard. “Did someone hurt you? I swear, when I find them, they’ll wish they’d never been born!” He checked you over for any injuries or traces of blood. His hands brushed roughly over your stomach and you winced. He glared at you, but when he found nothing but skin, his eyes narrowed and he stared at you in confusion. 

Tears brimmed in your eyes. He was going to be so disturbed and you knew it. All the boys back in Storybrooke were, some even told you so. You weren’t prepared for it. Peter’s eyes softened when he noticed your tears, and he stepped forward, bringing you into a hug. 

“Love, talk to me. I don’t understand. Is--” He pulled away from you, his jade eyes boring into your (e/c) ones. He gestured behind him. “Is that blood yours?” You took a deep breath. This was it, (Y/n). Get it over with. 

You nodded. “Yes, Peter.” Just like that he was furious again.

“What the hell, (Y/N)! Why didn’t you say anything?! Where is it?!” He went to lift your shirt, not even caring about respect anymore, but you grabbed his hands. He backed off. “(Y/n), I can’t help you if you don’t let me!” The panic in his eyes startled you. He really thought you were injured?

“Peter, I’m not hurt.” His face looked almost angry, but curious. 

“But you said--”

“Let me finish, Peter!” You snapped. You so weren’t in the mood for this. “Gosh, this is so awkward.” You muttered. “I’m on my period.” A faint blush tinted your cheeks, and you covered your face with your other hand. You expected him to just walk away, make fun of you maybe. But instead, he tilted his head and asked a question.

“Period?” Your hand fell from your face. He wasn’t disgusted, or uncomfortable. Just confused. 

“You know... my time of the month? When I bleed from down there.” You waved your hand over your abdomen, your face ten times redder. But Peter only frowned. Seriously, world? Wasn’t it awkward enough? Now you had to explain to the infamous Peter Pan why your vagina was bleeding? “You really have no idea?” He shook his head slowly, and you sighed. “Alright, fine. Sit down, this is gonna take a while.” 

The two of you seated yourselves on the grass, your garments forgotten, and you began to explain female anatomy. He took everything you said really seriously, never interrupting you. He didn’t even make any snide remarks. It was strange; he was giving you his full attention. When you finished, he just nodded, letting it all sink in. The silence killed you.

“So... any questions?” 

“Does it hurt?” His tone was sincere and his eyes gentle. What you told him now would affect the way he and everyone acted around you for the next eternity. 

“Sometimes. On the second and third days, when I wake up, it feels like someone’s punching me in the gut. But other than that, it’s just a dull throbbing or hardly there at all.” He just nodded again. 

“You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were dying!” He shoved you over. You landed on your elbow, leaves and dirt sticking to your skin. You huffed. “I’m not disgusted, by the way.” He said while you brushed off the dirt. “You’re still my beautiful Lost Girl.” You blushed.

Peter stood and offered his hand. You laughed, slapping his hand and standing up yourself. “No, you don’t get to read my mind!” He grinned. “Hang on! If you read my mind, why’d you make me explain everything?”

“You were so embarrassed. It was amusing.” He chuckled. Your jaw dropped, and you threw your clothes at him.

“Thanks for the souvenir!” He laughed, running off with them to the river. You chased after him.

“PAN, YOU RAT!”

[gabrieldrawsstuff]

Aight fellas, I'm doing a list of canon descriptions of dw characters for future reference, might do a second part with more minor characters

SPOILER ALERT OBV

STRANGER

-THE JOURNAL : "Somehow I'm wearing a coat, so I must've changed my clothes on my way here. I don't recognize myself anymore. I can barely hold this pencil. Has my body changed?"

-DOCTOR : "I see you haven't regained your speech. You need to find another doctor."

-SNAIL : "Your face... What happened to you?

The snail's jaw falls so low, it almost detaches itself from the rest of the body.

You scared me... You barely resemble a human... You should cover yourself..."

SNAIL : "You're so ugly, I feel like puking... You barely resemble a human being..."

THE CRIPPLE : "You, lad. You've got your hands and legs. Strong arms. I beg you!"

MAMA ELEPHANT : "Can't you speak? Did someone take away your voice?"

MAMA ELEPHANT : "Your gob looks like that because of this fiendish air, do you know? I bet you can't speak, because you didn't keep your mouth shut when walking through the woods."

MAMA ELEPHANT : "(...) I know you want something, you leper demon."

MUSHROOM GRANNY : "(...) But you're young and strong."

CHICKEN LADY : "Whaddaya need, poor soul? Hungry, eh? I'd give ya some stew, but what good will it do?"

(I think in polish version it was closer to 'how will you eat it' although I can't be sure)

MIRROR : "You are one ugly bastard. I guess you got what you deserved."

MUSICIAN : "This is our doctor, yes? He is just as brave and good as you are!"

MUSICIAN : "You're not af-fraid of anything!"

WOLFMAN : "Even from afar I can smell your putrid stench. Be glad I don't have an appetite for carcasses, Meat"

WOLFMAN : (after the church dream sequence) "Meat, what's with the big eyes? Hehe... Scared?"

WOLFMAN : (when you nod to a question if you're making a joke of him) "You're a brave piece of meat... and what's more important, one with a sense of humor. 

WOLFMAN : "Are you pretending to be human, or are you just cracking jokes?"

WOLFMAN : "You look tired, Meat. Busy night?"

WOLFMAN : "Have fun, Meat... Just remember to hide that disaster of a face or it's no dancing for you"

WOLFMAN : (when you spare the sow) "My heart sings with joy when I see such selfless kindness. Tell me the truth, Meat. It was you, wasn't it?"

vvvvv

TRADER

-A man, roughly my size, is standing before me.

I can barely make out his disturbingly familiar features through the matte visor of his helmet...

The massive helmet is covered with an old sack and seems to be an integral part of the unnaturally pale body.

-The man reaches out to me with his black hand. It's covered in charcoal... There's something written on his worn, woolen glove.

-Visibly struggling, the man drops the sack from his back and bends in half, as if out of breath. He shakes the dust off his clothes, then rolls up the sleeve of his, seemingly too small, jacket. 

-The old sack covering his body slides down, revealing his chest, covered in horrid growths. It is fused with a porous helmet, pulsating to the rhythm of his breath.

vvvvv

WOLFMAN

THE JOURNAL: "If I'm not delusional, the man whom I met... had the head of a wolf."

FIRST ENCOUNTER: The figure hides its face under the hood. It smells of wet soil and fur.

WOLFMAN: "(...)I barely believe my beautiful eyes... (...) The Wolf smiles, revealing a row of sharp teeth.

AT BARN RUINS: The Wolf makes a quick leap and, bouncing against me with his swollen belly, he puts his paws on my shoulders. He ostentatiously licks his face. (...)

-I notice fresh bloodstains on his fur and feel streaks of his saliva dripping onto my coat. 

-The Wolf takes two steps back. I can only see a row of filthy, sharp teeth underneath his hood.

-The Wolf squeezes my arms and starts licking my face. Once from the left side, once from the right side. (...) His breath stinks of rot.

WOLFMAN: "Thanks to you I feel fulfilled! I got my girl, my sweet little lady back."

-Suddenly the Wolf sends me back with a powerful push and reaches into his coat pocket.

WOLFMAN: "(...) and then nothing wil keep you from getting the fuck out of my part of the woods! Do you get me, Meat? You will pack your bags, dive into that stinking hole of yours and dissa-fucking-pear!"

-Finally he snorts, his thick, yellow spit landing on the photo.

-The Wolf grabs the box and starts sniffing it from every angle. I could swear I've heard his tail moving under his coat.

WOLFMAN: "And what am I supposed to do with it? Bite it until it opens? Your brain must be rotting if you think I will break my fangs for this shit."

WOLFMAN: "An electronic game, eh? About a wolf stealing chicken eggs... hehehe. Good one!I've a soft spot for games, how about you?"

-As I produce the key, the Wolf's pupils widen with excitement.

WOLFMAN: (about villagers) "Those selfish, deceitful wretches! They think they're superior, because they have human gobs. They treat us like lepers! But you know what? Fuck them. We're buddies, aren't we? And them? They deserve to be punished, Meat..."

-The Wolf pierces me with his look and grins. A string of saliva lands on his hole-riddled jacket.

-The Wolf puts his paw on me. I can feel his claws puncturing my skin.

WOLFMAN: (about piotrek) "Meat! Fucking hell, seen that? Hahaha! Seen that? Hahaha! Off he flew, didn't he? OFF HE FUCKED!!! Hahahaha!"

WOLFMAN: "If you wish to spend some more quality time basking in the striking, yet natural beauty of my features before you head off to the Silent Forest, you will find me in my camp in the Dry Meadow."

vvvvv

DOCTOR

THE JOURNAL: "What I do know is that the insane fucker took my key. My only chance to get out of the woods. He also tore out all the pages from my journal."

THE JOURNAL: "The doctor has escaped. So be it. He would only be a hindrance anyway."

CHICKEN LADY: "My sisters! Where did ya find it? It's all that godless quack's fault - devil brought him! All he did was prescribe this and that, scribble this no-good drivel! To hell with them papers!"

-I can feel the doctor's cold hand grab me by the jaw, (...)

-He removes his dirty glasses with a trembling hand and freezes.

DOCTOR: "First they begged for help, now I need to hide from them! I'm just an ordinary doctor! How the fuck was I supposed to help them?! How?!"

-With shaking hands, he reaches for the cigarrete butt between his yellow teeth.

DOCTOR: "I used to come here to treat people. I pulled out kids' milk teeth, delivered babies... (...) Last time I came here was three or four years ago. Then the trees blocked the path."

-The Doctor is visibly pleased with himself and his theory. His hands are no longer trembling. He produces a hand-rolled cigarette and lights it.

DOCTOR: "(...) I have no idea where it leads. I'm a shitty diver. (...)"

-The Doctor stares right into my eyes. Mud drips from his face. He hasn't blinked in over a minute.

- (...)His glasses are so dirty, I barely see the eyes hiding underneath.

-A chunk of mud falls down on his exposed tongue. He chews it slowly and swallows with satisfaction.

-The Doctor puts the muddy hand into his mouth, grimaces and pulls out a yellow tooth. He puts it into the pocket of his torn trousers. The tooth falls through a hole. He does not notice this...

-Slowly he bends down and grabs a thick branch from the ground. He starts biting the bark off of it. He swallows the bark with an effort, but also great satisfaction. He places the stick among other ones sticking out of his mud-covered head.

WOLFMAN: "Well, well. I know this quack. A nonentity, a third-rate witch doctor. Useless fucking clunker... But he still managed to screw you over with that key. Eh, comrade?"

MUSICIAN: "This is our doctor, yes? He is just as brave and good as you are! He helped me. He is helping all of us! He gave me this beautiful mask, so I could be healed of my afllictions. Maybe you could have one too..."

vvvvv

vvvvv

MUSICIAN

THE JOURNAL: "I met a boy in the village. He told me that the "Chicken Lady" keeps the "Pretty Lady" locked in her house. The boy really wants to see her, but the old woman won't allow it."

THE JOURNAL: "I decided to give the key to Chicken Lady's room to the little boy. He thanked me and asked me to bring him his mom's violin (it's hidden behind the wardrobe). He's afraid to go himself, as his parents are supposedly angry with him."

THE JOURNAL: "The boy sure was happy to see the new violin. (...)The kid also told me I should visit him in his parent's home someday."

CHICKEN LADY: (after musician's death) "Maybe it's just that me ears are getting worse, but it's been a while since I've heard that monster outside me windows..."

CHICKEN LADY: "Holy Mother, this creep again! May the devil take him and his blasted violin!"

MUSICIAN: "The Pretty Lady? S-she's... the most beautiful lady in the w-world! I w-watch her through the cracks in the window. S-she ch-changes when I watch her... g-gets more beautiful. I p-play for her... I want her to be h-happy..."

MUSICIAN: "I fished out the Pretty Lady's w-wreath from the river! (...)Oh yes, I will become the Pretty L-lady's husband! We w-will walk hand in hand, s-sir. I will play for her, mister s-sir."

-A skinny little hand emerges from beneath the tractor and grabs me by the ankle.

MUSICIAN: "They will not l-listen to me, they w-won't hear how sad I am, sir..."

-One of the strings securing his mask falls off, together with his ear. The boy reattaches it as if nothing happened.

MUSICIAN: "My m-mom has this beautiful violin! I would ask her to b-borrow it to me, but she's too angry with me... Could you p-please c-convince her to b-borrow it to me? I'll g-give you a card with drawings for her. To apologize."

-The boy turns the game in his hand for a while, but he can't find a way to reach the buttons with his overgrown fingers. The game slips out of his hand and drops to the ground. The wannabe musician freezes.

MUSICIAN: "(...) maybe you could take a wee piece of... m-meat for me? I've never eaten a pig and I've h-heard it's very tasty! W-would you take s-some for me?"

-The boy sniffles and rubs the mask with his deformed hand.

-From beneath the mask you can hear a horribly distorted, resounding voice... of a child?

-The figure tries to turn its head, but its enormous neck makes this task impossible to complete.

MUSICIAN: "P-please let me stay. P-please, don't chase me off. I've got nowhere to... go. The villagers don't a-a-allow me to live in the camp. I p-p-promise I won't p-play anymore! I'll be quiet. You can c-cover me with something, if you don't w-want to look at m-me..."

MUSICIAN: (after gifting you a rat) "(...) I mean, she jumped on my hand and s-started nibbling on my f-finger! I quickly clasped my h-hand and b-bit through its neck!"

-The corners of the boy's mouth turn up in a grotesque smile, exposing rows of overgrown teeth, which even his mask couldn't hide.

-The boy clumsily grabs the ball in his hand. He carefully hides it under his legs, so that it doesn't roll away.

MUSICIAN: "S-sorry! I didn't want to! T-this thing is coming out of m-my body. I... I tried to stop it, but I don't think I can... N-now the whole room is covered with... this. I didn't want to make a mess, I s-swear! Please, don't t-throw me a-away!"

-The boy leans over the violin lying next to his overgrown left hand. He plucks one of the strings with his right hand, clumsily trying to keep the rhythm.

MUSICIAN: "Recently, I've grown quite a bit. My mom always used to say that I need to be b-big and s-strong... to help her out in the field..."

The boy tries to hug his frail knees with the disproportionately massive torso.

"But I... I don't want to be big anymore. It's v-very hard being big. You need to be so... so strong! To even walk.Now my v-violin is... too s-small for me!"

vvvvv

vvvvv

[ccwastaken]

Jeff gets bullied by two gay people

No I am not going to give my stories serious titles ever.

anyway this takes place directly after this story

Words: 1573

"Ben?"

"Yeah?" 

"Come in here, I have a job for you."

"Alright- gimme a second-"

"Ben, pause the game."

"I will! I just gotta-"

"Benjamin!" 

"Fine!" 

The blonde boy hit the pause button harder than necessary and climbed off the couch with a huff. Right in the middle of a boss battle. He poked his head into the kitchen. "Yeah?"

In the kitchen stood three people. A grey creature wearing a blue mask, a brown haired boy wearing a face mask, and a giant, faceless cryptid known for stealing children. Ben's brothers and father. 

"I want you to take these clothes up to Jeff's room. He's just next door to Toby." The faceless cryptid, also known as Ben's adoptive father, Slenderman, said. Ben took the clothes and nodded. "And tell him to come downstairs when he's dressed."

"Kay." Ben looked down at the clothes as he walked upstairs and down the hall. Jeff, the mansion's newest resident, was in the bedroom at the very end of the hall. He knocked on the door. 

No answer. 

Either Jeff was still asleep at twelve thirty in the afternoon, or he wasn't answering. Ben knocked again. Then again. He huffed and knocked again, only to hear a quiet "come in" halfway through it. He smiled a bit and opened the door.

The room was shrouded with darkness. Sitting on the bed was a pale white figure with messy black hair. He had a massive bloody gash in his face, and eyes that seemed to stare straight through Ben. 

"Da- Slender sent up clothes for you," Ben held out the pile of clothes. "No idea if these are yours or a replacement pair but-"

The figure, Jeff, didn't move for a moment. They just looked at each other before Jeff crawled to the edge of the bed and held out his hands. Ben walked over and handed them over. "Oh and you're wanted downstairs." He gave Jeff a quick smile and left. 

Initially he hadn't really trusted Jeff but- well he didn't seem all that bad. Sure he attacked Slender but- Slenderman could be pretty scary! He seemed like a nice kid. "He looks about my age," Ben thought to himself as he walked downstairs. "That's kinda neat."

Jeff waited until the boy's footsteps were gone before looking over the clothes he'd been given. A white hoodie, black jeans, and a grey t-shirt, along with socks, underwear and even a pair of trainers. Huh. Almost identical to his previous outfit, but with less bloodstains. 

He got dressed quickly and left the room. He looked up and down the hall and relaxed. It was empty, as far as he could tell. He walked towards where the stairs were, looking around with cautious curiosity. 

And then something tapped his shoulder. 

Jeff, out of reflex, immediately whirled around and punched the tapper in the gut. 

"OW- Fockin' 'ell..." The tapper turned out to be the cockney accented clown (mime?) Jeff had met last night. Jack. Before the boy had time to apologise though, Jack gagged, and threw up. Jeff stepped back quickly in disgust, then realized there wasn't actually vomit on the floor. It was candy. Jack chuckled softly and picked up a couple candies, then held them out to Jeff, his arm extending a bit in the process. "Want some?" The clown/mime gave him a cheesy grin.

"Uh- ...no." Jeff stepped back away, then turned and quickly made his way towards the stairs as quickly as he could. Anything to be away from the weird candy spewing clown man who was pouting behind him.

The living room seemed to be less active. Nobody was there except for Ben, who was furiously mashing buttons on his controller. Jeff decided not to greet him. He seemed too preoccupied. 

He pushed open the kitchen door and stepped in. In the kitchen stood three people. Slenderman, the giant faceless cryptid that had very politely kidnapped him yesterday, a brown haired kid that looked a little older than Jeff who wore a face mask, and a third person, who wore a blue mask with black, crying eyes. 

"Ah, Jeff!" Slenderman clasped his hands together. "There you are. Did you sleep well?" 

Jeff shrugged. "Yeah- alright." 

"Was your room okay? Bed comfy?"

"Yeah it was- it was fine-" 

"Do your clothes fit?"

"Yeah I'm- I'm good-" Jeff shifted on his feet anxiously. Slender nodded. 

"Toby, can you grab Jeff's breakfast from the microwave for me?" He asked as he pulled out a chair for the boy. Jeff sat down awkwardly, fiddling with his hands. A plate of waffles was placed in front of him. 

"Thanks." Jeff reached up to grab his knife and fork and-

"Jeff?" The boy looked up. "Are your hands bleeding?" 

"Uh-" Jeff tensed. "Little bit yeah- heh- my uh- my skin peels real easy so-" Jeff fiddled with his hands again. A tendril pulled his wrist away and Slender leaned down, examining Jeff's hands. 

"Hmph." Slender relinquished the boy. "Stay here." He said before leaving the kitchen. Jeff watched him go.

"Aaaand the award for fastest to piss off Slender goes toooooo...." Jeff looked behind him to see the person in the blue mask do a drum roll on the countertop. "Jeff whatever-the-hell-your-last-name-is!" 

The brown haired boy next to him laughed beneath his face mask. Jeff just stared at them, unsure of how to react. "Oh c'mon, don't gimme that look." One of them said, probably the blue masked one. The brown haired boy looked at the masked guy(?), then back at Jeff. 

"Uh- hey. My name's Toby." Toby raised a hand in greeting as he spoke. "You're the new kid?" 

"Yeah." Jeff replied simply. Toby walked over and sat at the table next to Jeff. 

"Hey there's still dishes here!" The masked guy protested. Toby looked over at him. 

"It's two plates and a mug." He countered before looking back to Jeff. "That's EJ by the way." 

Jeff could hear EJ grumbling behind them. He wasn't really sure what to say so he and Toby just stared at each other for a few moments before Toby drummed his hands on the table anxiously and glanced away. "You like to stare, huh?"

"I don't have eyelids." Jeff replied bluntly. He looked over at his waffles instead and cut into them. 

"PFFFF- Heh, you gotta sense of humour at least." 

"No I literally don't have them." Jeff looked at Toby again. The older boy squinted for a few moments before his eyes widened in surprise.

"Holy shi-"

"Language." Slender walked back into the kitchen, interrupting Toby's confusion and panic. He made quick work of wrapping Jeff's hands in bandages. "There. Now no more peeling, got it?" 

Jeff gave him an unamused look in return. Slender stood back up and straightened his tie. "I'm going out to get some things. Show Jeff around, you two." He almost seemed to smile as he tilted his head at Toby. "Especially you, Toby, since Jeff is right next to your room."

"Will do." Toby replied, seemingly more relaxed now, though his head twitched a couple times. Slender nodded and left the room. Toby looked at Jeff again. "So like- AH-" He was interrupted by EJ dropping a damp dish cloth on his head. He pulled it off quickly and glared at his masked friend, who sat across from him. "What was that for?" He asked, his head seemingly twitching in irritation. 

"Not doing the dishes," EJ leaned back in his chair. He seemed to look at Jeff from beneath the mask's pitch black eyes. "So you literally don't have eyelids?"

"I haven't blinked in two years." Jeff replied. "My life is constant pain." 

EJ inhaled sharply through his teeth. "Yikes." He replied. "Eye Drops should help that." 

"Yeah I got some last night." Jeff took another bite of waffles while the other two seemed to debate asking what happened to him. It was silent, save for Toby's shoulder jerking awkwardly and making a quiet popping noise.

"So how old are you?" Toby asked after a bit. 

"Fifteen." Jeff replied. He glanced from Toby to EJ. "You?"

"Twenty three." Toby replied.

"Twenty two." EJ answered as he rested his feet against the edge of the table. 

Okay wow they're old. Though, Toby really didn't look his age. As for EJ- well Jeff couldn't tell. "What's the mask for?" He asked. EJ tilted his head at him in amusement.

"You wanna know why they call me EJ?" He asked. Jeff frowned in confusion. 

"Sure?" 

"Don't freak him out." Toby murmured.

"Nah, he can take it," EJ lifted the mask off and looked at Jeff. He had ashy grey skin and pointy ears. He opened his eyes to reveal nothing. His eye sockets were completely empty. "The E stands for eyeless." He said with a toothy smirk. Jeff could see fangs in his mouth.

"...y'know I think being eyeless is a whole lot better than having no eyelids." Jeff finally replied. There was a moment of silence before both EJ and Toby broke into hysterical laughter. 

"I LIKE THIS ONE!" EJ barked after he'd finished cackling. He rested his trainers against the edge of the table and pointed at Jeff with a clawed finger, grinning. "You're fun, kid."

Jeff's lips quirked up into a genuine smile. They- liked him. Genuinely. They found him funny even though he'd said very little and barely knew him. 

He liked it here.

[meowloudly15]

Stranded: Day 6 - HAIR-RELATED CRISIS

I RETURN FROM STORY HIATUS AT LONG LAST! Thank you for patiently waiting for my newest installment! I hope it was worth the wait!

Just as a reminder, I've switched to updating solely on Thursdays.

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Gwen woke up to the blare of her alarm, blurred lines of text sitting millimeters from her face, and a sore neck. She had fallen asleep while sitting on the floor finishing her homework. She pushed her physics worksheets off of her face and fumbled for her phone.

It was time for another day of school.

Of all the places at which Gwen could have stayed during her duration on this parallel universe, free from all other responsibilities, it had to be a school. At least it was Friday.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

As Gwen moved to put her papers in her folder, she fell face-first onto the floor, her face landing on the physics papers. She felt something pop inside her nose. When she finally regained the ability to stand, she found that there was a trace of blood on one of the pieces of paper. She swore.

Today was not going to be a good day. She could just tell.

Physics proved relatively uneventful. Gwen's nose stopped bleeding shortly before class began. She explained the bloodstain to Mrs. Quinn, who accepted the paper with a shrug.

Miles seemed on edge all throughout class. He kept fidgeting with the bottom of his pants and jumping at the slightest noises. Plus, he didn't look like he had slept well.

Besides his twitchiness, something seemed odd about him. Gwen couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

The next few classes passed uneventfully, except for Gwen's periodic atomic disjunctions, of course. She turned in all of her back work except for her history papers, which she had accidentally left in her dorm room in her haste. She told Mr. Adams that she would get them to him by the end of the day.

During lunch, instead of heading directly to the cafeteria, Gwen took a different route, planning to swing by her room to pick up the missing papers. She was in the lobby when she noticed an itch at the base of her skull.

LIKE YOU

Gwen felt somebody bump into her. She turned around and saw Miles.

"Oh!" she said. "Pardon!"

Wait a second.

He had spider-powers, too? That was the reason for his antsiness? How had she not noticed it before? Was it a recent development?

Miles didn't answer. He stood frozen in place. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.

Gwen cocked her head to the side. "Are you all right? You look, uh, hot."

Miles replied, "I, uh, it's puberty! Except…" His voice started dropping deeper with every word he said. "Except I'm done with that. I'm a man now."

If Gwen wasn't as adept at bottling up her emotions, she would have laughed at his senseless display of machoness.

"Oh, and I'm Miles."

Gwen brightened up. "I'm Gwe-"

She paused in the middle of her name when she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be called Wanda.

"...eeeeanda."

Miles looked at her in confusion. "Wait, your name is Gwanda?"

Gwen grinned hokily. "Yeah! I-It's African."

She quickly looked down at herself, then at Miles' much darker complexion.

"South African! Uh, no accent, though, 'cause I was raised here, in the States!"

Cover stories were not her forte.

Miles furrowed his brow, then nodded. "Uh, okay."

Had he bought into the story? Gwen couldn't tell.

That was probably the second-worst cover story she had ever made up. Nothing would ever rival the "It's ketchup" moment, although this new "Gwanda" moment came pretty close. There was no way Miles would buy it, unless he was really, really gullible. (For the record, Gwen's dad was not.)

Miles stared at Gwen for what was only a couple of seconds but felt longer, uncomfortably longer.

Had he seen through her flimsy disguise?

Did he realise that she had powers, too?

Gwen started to babble, "Uh, no, not really. My name's Wanda, actually, no G…"

It didn't look like Miles was listening. He wore a thousand-yard stare.

HAIR-RELATED CRISIS

Oh, this couldn't possibly end well.

Miles put his hand on her shoulder. She recoiled slightly.

"Hey."

Gwen blinked and nodded, starting to back away. She became all the more aware of the places that she had to be. "I, uh… okay? I'll see you around."

"See ya." Miles took his hand off of her shoulder, but it passed through her hair, sticking to it.

This was definitely not going to end well.

Miles stared at his hand in shock, then tried to pull it out of Gwen's hair. Of course, it didn't work, and it hurt.

"Hey!" Gwen exclaimed.

He had no idea about his powers, did he? This was not good at all.

Miles gaped. He tried pulling again, nearly yanking Gwen's hair straight out of her head. It was not a fun experience.

"Ow ow ow ow!"

If he kept pulling, provided that he also had super-strength, Gwen was not in for a good time. She grabbed his wrist and pulled it back towards her in an attempt to get him to stop.

"Calm down, okay?"

"Hey, let go of me!" Miles tried to pull his hand back.

"No, hold on, just chill out!"

Gwen had a feeling that they were working at cross purposes.

PERSONS TAKING NOTICE

The two of them started to struggle against each other, Miles trying to get his hand unstuck, Gwen trying to protect herself from getting scalped or having her neck snapped. A crowd of students started to gather. It looked like she couldn't exposition her way out of this mess.

"It's just puberty!" exclaimed Miles.

Gwen gaped. "I don't think you know what puberty is!"

He really didn't know about his powers. That wasn't going to help her. But she still had to get him unstuck, somehow.

"Just try to relax, okay?"

Miles said simultaneously, "I have a plan. I'm gonna pull really hard, and..."

This kid would be the death of her. Literally.

"That's a terrible plan!"

"Count of three. One…"

"No no no no no!"

"Two…"

Right now, Miles was a threat. She had to neutralise the threat. So Gwen grabbed the straps of his backpack and, ducking beneath him, flipped him over her head.

A couple of teachers rushed over and jabbered to the two kids, berated them for fighting on school grounds, asked them what was the matter. Miles didn't respond. Gwen feared that she might have knocked him unconscious by mistake. Or maybe he didn't feel like talking. She couldn't blame him if that was the case.

Gwen told the teachers, "He got his hand stuck in my hair and we couldn't get it out."

They escorted the two students to the nurse's office, where the nurse cut off the part of Gwen's hair that was stuck to Miles' hand. Gwen surveyed the damage with a hand mirror.

Today was not a good day.

Miles put on a quirky smile, hoping to alleviate the tension between them. "Uh, nice to meet you?"

Gwen stared straight ahead, not the slightest bit amused. "Sure. Total pleasure."

What was she supposed to do about her friggin' hair?

Plus, that ordeal had sapped a lot of her lunch period free time. Gwen needed to get to her dorm and get her homework.

Miles, his head hung low, stood up and walked out of the office. He turned around and looked back at her. "I, uh, see you around?"

She rolled her eyes. No puppy-dog gaze would penetrate her stoic exterior.

The nurse walked back over, carrying a pair of scissors. "Wanda, is it?"

Gwen looked over at her and nodded.

"Would you like me to fix your hair? Or try, at least?"

Gwen nodded again. "Can you?"

"Uh, yeah, my son's ex had her hair partly shaved on one side, and I could try to give you that haircut, if you want. Otherwise, you could get a hat-"

Gwen didn't have a hat. "Can you show me what it'd look like?"

The nurse nodded and pulled out her phone. She showed Gwen a picture of a young man standing next to a girl with an undercut.

Gwen shrugged. "That's fine by me. I mean, my hair's ruined anyway. How much worse could you make it?"

The nurse chuckled. "Right, then. Oh, here, put this towel around your neck."

About ten minutes later, Gwen walked out of the nurse's office, her feelings of irritation having subsided. However, there were some hair scraps caught under her clothes, which caused her physical irritation.

She was hungry, but her lunch break was halfway over by now. With luck, she would be able to get food and eat super-

Oh yeah, she had to fetch her history papers from her room. That was important.

PIGEON SWARM

As Gwen walked toward her dorm room, an oddly-shaped shadow appeared on the floor. There was a loud thump. She looked upward and saw Miles, who wasn't wearing a shirt and appeared to be stuck to a bunch of pigeons, lying on the skylight.

Gwen rubbed her eyes, then looked back up in time to see him jolt away.

She hoped nothing bad had happened to him. At the same time, she couldn't help but feel as if he deserved it. Karma was on her side, at least for the time being.

Gwen proceeded onward to her room after gazing around and making certain that nobody else had noticed Miles' sudden appearance. Both surprisingly and fortunately, nobody had.

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[masieofthevalley]

All I Really Want is You (Spideypool) - Chapter Twelve

Find the Masterlist for this fic here! Read this fic on AO3! Check out my Ko-Fi if you would like a commission!

Summary: “Who are you, the big bad wolf?” She snarked. She mentally congratulated herself that her voice hadn’t betrayed the fluttering in her gut.

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?”

Peter Parker is an exhausted and overworked student in her senior year of college. Sleep-deprived and running on coffee and fumes, Peter really just wants to get through this semester. On a rare coffee run to ensure that she doesn't fall asleep on patrol or in her textbooks again, she quite literally stumbles upon Deadpool. Try as she might, she just can't stay away from him, and along the way, she finds herself in the middle of a nefarious plot between HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D.

A/N: Hello, everyone! Today’s chapter is Chapter Twelve: Absolutely Smitten. This chapter is named after the song Absolutely Smitten by Dodie. 

As always, there is a playlist for this fic, and you can find it on YouTube and Spotify. Spotify won’t play in order unless you have Spotify Premium. You don’t need to listen to it in order, but each chapter has a specific song associated with it. There is also a song associated with the entire fic, which is She Looks So Perfect by 5 Seconds of Summer.

If you liked this chapter, like, share, and reblog, and please leave comments! They make my day, and I will gladly respond. You can also head over to my AO3 and comment there, and I will also respond there! Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve: Absolutely Smitten

Chapter Summary: Peter spirals before her date with Wade, and Wade reacts to Peter all dolled up.

Peter was close to having a nervous breakdown. She was splayed out like a starfish on her bedroom floor, and she wanted to scream due to the anxiety bubbling beneath her skin. Scattered around her on the floor was almost every item of clothing she owned, dirty or clean. She had no idea which articles of clothing needed to washing now, but her sensitive nose could probably find out rather quickly what was dirty if she needed to.

 She had been trying to figure out what to wear for the past fifteen minutes. She had taken a long shower, unsuccessfully trying to calm her nerves. When she got back to her bedroom, her previous panic from earlier about what to wear was reignited, hence her lying on the floor. It was already 7:00 PM, and she was supposed to meet Wade at eight. She didn’t have a lot of time to figure out what to wear. 

Peter couldn’t stop thinking that this date was going to go horribly wrong. What if Wade actually thought she was annoying and ended up hating her? He said earlier that he wasn’t good for her. What if he thought she was too good for him? What if this was all just a colossal mistake? Could she even go out on another date? She hadn’t been on a date with anyone since Gwen. Oh, Gwen. Could she do that to Gwen? 

Peter’s freakout was interrupted by the shrill ringing of her regular cell-phone. She flopped her hand around on the floor until she found the phone. She didn’t look at the screen as she answered it; she knew where the accept button was by now. Peter brought the phone up to her ear and licked her lips. 

“Hello?” she asked, her voice too loud. 

“Peter! How are you, Honey?” Aunt May’s voice was a soothing balm. Peter sighed. 

“Hi, May.” 

“It’s good to hear from you, Sweetheart! Now, do you remember my friend Jamie?” Peter was too distracted to think about why May was suddenly diving into a different subject, so she just went along with it. 

“Yeah, I remember, May.” Peter hoped her voice didn’t sound too weird. She didn’t want her aunt to worry. 

“Well, a few days ago, I was sitting at the front desk right…” 

Aunt May managed to distract Peter for about ten minutes with talk of her hospital and Jamie. Apparently, the other nurse had asked out May, and they were going to get dinner next week. Peter didn’t know how she expected to feel after hearing the news. She didn’t have any ill feelings toward Jamie or toward Aunt May, for that matter; she was just happy for the two women. Aunt May deserved to find someone who loved her just as Uncle Ben did, and Peter was glad that May was finally moving forward. 

Toward the end of their call, Peter looked at the time and realized that she needed to start getting ready if she was going to meet Wade. She told May she needed to go, but she hesitated before speaking again. 

“May?” Peter asked, running her hand through her hair. 

“Hmm?” May hummed, and Peter pictured them sitting together at the older woman’s kitchen table, something they had done hundreds of times over the years. 

“Hypothetically, if I was going out with someone tonight, what should I wear?” Peter’s voice was small as she finished her question. 

“I would say,” May began, sounding like she was trying to imagine all of the shirts in Peter’s closet. “You should wear one of your nicer tee-shirts with that floral button-up you have. Oh, and a pair of jeans.” 

“Thanks, May,” Peter sighed in relief, a small smile on her face. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

“I love you, Honey. Be safe,” May slipped in, and Peter rolled her eyes. 

“Love you too. Bye.” 

“Bye, Peter.” 

Peter put her phone back down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. She gave herself a few more minutes to think before she stood up and stretched, cracking her back. It didn’t take long to find the floral print shirt that May was talking about, and Peter quickly threw on a pair of jeans that she thought were clean. The tee-shirt she chose was 70’s inspired, with the words, “You axolotl questions,” printed on it along with a picture of an axolotl. It was one of Peter’s favorite shirts, even though it wasn’t exactly nerdy or Science-based in general. Peter turned to look in her small mirror as she buttoned her top half-way. Her button-up was a light-pink color with tiny blue and purple flowers, and the ruffled, short-sleeves complimented her arms quite nicely. She loved how her legs looked in her skinny-jeans, though she had to roll them up twice at the bottom. Finally, she slipped on her sneakers and pulled on her brown jacket, debating on whether or not to add her one beanie to her outfit. Instead of putting it on her head, Peter tucked it into her coat. She looked at herself one more time in the mirror before turning and leaving her apartment. 

Peter was thankful for the ride to Sister Margaret’s. She still wasn’t 100% calm, and skating in the cold October air gave her air to breathe. It also gave her time to look at all of the Halloween decorations in the windows of the shops she passed, and Peter reminded herself that she needed to buy candy the next day. Halloween was the day after tomorrow, and even though there were only a few kids in Peter’s apartment building, she still wanted to have candy for them. 

Peter slowed as she approached Sister Margaret’s. Someone was leaning against the wall outside the bar, and Peter skidded to a stop. Peter grabbed her board and walked closer to the bar, watching as the person slowly pushed off the building. She was close enough now that she could make out black and red leather. It was Wade. 

“Baby Girl!” he cried, waving both of his hands over his head. Peter sighed through a smile and pointedly waved one time. She had the urge to flash Wade peace signs or finger guns, but she resisted. Barely. 

“Hi,” Peter said lamely, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. She was standing directly in front of Wade now, and as she looked up at his face, she felt her cheeks warm from the direct attention he was giving her. She didn’t know if she was disappointed that he was in his regular Deadpool attire or if she was relieved that he wasn’t in something more serious. Maybe he was worried that she wouldn’t recognize him without his suit? Peter didn’t know, but there were bigger fish to fry. 

Like the look that was on Wade’s face. His mouth was open beneath his mask, and his eye lenses were the widest she’d ever seen them. He looked genuinely astounded as he continued to stare at her, and Peter started to worry that there was something wrong with her appearance. She hadn’t worn her suit beneath her clothes, right? No, her suit was at home in her backpack. Was there a bloodstain on her shirt? She didn’t think there was, but she looked down just to double-check. One could never be too sure when they were a crime-fighting vigilante. 

“What?” Peter eventually snapped, mildly irritated with Wade’s staring. Wade immediately snapped out of his trance and shook his head. 

“You look very nice, absolutely lovely, little Cottontail,” Wade finally spoke, and Peter furrowed her brow. He wasn’t trying to flirt with her or embarrass her. It was out-of-character based on the few interactions Peter had had with him previously. 

“Um, thank you,” Peter muttered, nervously running her free hand through her hair. He thought she was pretty? “You look nice too….Wade.” 

“Well, shucks, Bambi, don’t flatter me, it’ll just go to my head!” Wade giggled, and Peter relaxed. There he was. 

“I’m serious, though. You’re stunning, Peter,” Wade murmured, stepping forward as Peter took one equal step back. They continued this dance until Peter’s back was flush with the concrete wall behind her. Well, fuck. 

“Yeah?” Peter was breathless, her thoughts spinning around and around in her head as Deadpool crowded in on her. She couldn’t have tried to formulate a coherent sentence if she tried. Her legs began to buckle, and she was grateful for the wall behind her. Her limbs, her very insides, had turned to jelly by Wade’s mere presence. 

“Yeah, Sweetheart.” Wade leaned one of his arms against the wall, pressing himself even closer to Peter. Though they were separated by mere inches, she could feel his body heat. He smelled like leather, gunpowder, and strangely enough, gingerbread. 

It was intoxicating. 

Wade leaned in closer, his hand tipping Peter’s chin up until she was looking directly into the eye lenses of his mask. Peter’s face was on fire. She wanted to rip his mask off and peer into his soul. She wanted to see if he had freckles on his face, and if she did, she wanted to kiss every single one of them. She wanted to feel his body pressed against hers, feel the heat of his palms on her bare skin. Wade’s hand cradled her face, and Peter leaned into it. She tilted her chin even more and rose up on her tiptoes, trying to get closer. She wanted to kiss him - 

“Let’s get this show on the road, Shortstack! Time to get some Italian! Oh shit, I didn’t even ask if you liked Italian!” Suddenly, Wade was five feet apart from Peter and blubbering out some nonsense that Peter could barely keep up with. 

“What?” Peter asked, mind reeling from the abrupt change in atmosphere. 

“Do you like Italian food, Bambi? Please tell me you like Italian!” Wade pleaded, his hands raised in a praying gesture. Peter was getting whiplash. “Shit, I knew I should’ve gone with Mexican. Everyone likes Mexican!” 

“Yes, yes, I like Italian!” Peter huffed, grabbing onto one of Wade’s flailing arms. Wade squawked before relaxing. Peter peered up at him, raising an eyebrow at the weird look on Wade’s face. 

“Stop looking at me like that! Let’s just go!” Peter demanded and made to take her hand off of Wade’s arm. As soon as Peter let go of him, Wade grabbed her hand in his own and laced their fingers. Peter looked down at their entwined hands before looking back up at Wade.

“This okay?” he asked quietly. Peter’s jaw went slack at the raw concern and anxiety present in Wade’s tone, and she nodded, unsure of what to say. 

“Let’s go, Honey Bunches of Oats!” 

“Don’t call me that ever again.” 

“Okay, whatever you say, Honey Nut Cheerios.” 

“No, absolutely not!” 

“Oh, don’t be such a Frosted Flake!” 

“WADE!”

[naireides]

Can you please write a fic around this? Please??? PLEASE? Roan: okay so look this whole treaty things it's just not working out. Bellamy: what can I do to fix it? Roan: well a marriage might fix things Bellamy: ...Roan: between you and Clarke. Roan: and some heirs. Roan: and to make the alliance official make me the godfatherRoan: they can call me 'cool uncle roan'

so this is tweaked a bit to be more ‘marriage of convenience + bellarke babies’ and you can also thank this pic for inspo

wc: 4.7k because i obviously have no life

read on ao3 here

Despite all that they’ve been through, Clarke has never really hated Roan.

When he was her kidnapper she was more scared than anything, and then soon he became an ally in the snake pit that was Polis. Sure she might not agree with everything he does, but she’s come to have a soft spot for the man, especially after he agreed to trade with them even though the Ice Nation hated the Sky People.

The treaty that resulted from that alliance was another story however.

“Most Azgeda alliances are sealed with a contract,” he tells them, staring them down across the table.

“Anything,” she says. It had been a long couple of days in the Ice Nation. Snow had been amazing at first, but then the novelty soon wore off, and Clarke hates having to wear several layers of clothing each day. She is anxious to get back home, and from the way Bellamy keeps on drumming his fingers against the empty holster at his thigh, she can tell that he is too.

Roan lifts an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so fast, Wanheda,” he says smoothly, ignoring the way the title made her flinch. He nods at his guards positioned around the room.

Clarke and Bellamy share a look as they clear out.

“Most Azgeda alliances are sealed with a… certain kind of contract,” he explains once it’s just the three of them left in the chamber. He narrows his eyes, his gaze flitting back and forth between the two of them. “A marriage.”

They both go stiff at that, and almost unconsciously Clarke finds his hand beneath the table, squeezing it.

“A marriage,” she repeats, tongue feeling like cotton in her mouth.

If Roan notices the complete 180 in their demeanours, he says nothing. “Yes. Usually the child of the clan’s leader. Sometimes even that leader themselves.”

The muscle in Bellamy’s jaw twitches, and his hand tightens around hers.

“However, there have been some… special circumstances in the past,” he goes on, staring intently at Clarke.

She swallows. “What kind of circumstances?”

“If a leader has no children and is already promised to someone else,” he replies, and then his eyes pointedly slide from her to Bellamy who hasn’t so much as moved since the bomb was dropped. She feels her stomach clench. “If that’s the case then we can still choose to move forward in the alliance. The binding would just be a little bit trickier.”

“So if I was… promised,” she says, testing the feel of the word on her tongue as she chanced a glance at Bellamy, “Then we could still go through with this whole thing?”

“Yes.”

She lets out a gust of air and turns to face him properly. For once his eyes aren’t guarded and she can see the hardened determination that graced his features. If this is what you need me to do, I’ll do it, he seems to say, and Clarke squeezes his hand under the table again, letting her thumb brush over his knuckles. Meeting his eye once more, she gives him the tiniest of nods before turning back to face Roan, who continues to watch the whole thing impassively.

She has to clear her throat twice before she can speak.

“I am promised to someone,” she tells him.

Roan doesn’t seem surprised. If anything he seems amused. “Is that so.”

Clarke nods and then lifts their joined hands to rest on the table. “Bellamy and I are to be married in the spring.”

“The spring is a good time to foster new beginnings,” he hums.

“I’m sorry. I hope we can still find a way to make this treaty work.”

Roan’s eyes are flat out glinting in hidden mirth. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

They spend another two hours hammering out all the new details of the treaty, drawing up new boundary lines and trade routes. It’s so much work that she could almost forget the promise she made hanging over their heads. Almost.

By the time they’re finished, it is already nightfall, and they decline Roan’s invitation to stay the night.

“How’s the alliance supposed to be held up if there isn’t a… bond?” Bellamy asks as they were leaving, facing twisting slightly on the last word. It’s the first time he’s spoken about it since it was brought up all those hours ago.

“With hope and good faith,” he says, and then smirks. “Well that, and the fact that my army is bigger than yours.”

Bellamy scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest in a way she knows is meant to seem intimidating. “A big army is no good if you don’t know how to use it,” he replies, and Clarke decides to intervene before someone could got get stabbed.

“If you two are done measuring the size of your dicks,” she rolls her eyes and Roan continues to smirk while Bellamy glares at him. She elbows him before glancing back up at the king. “Thank you for taking the time to listen to us, King Roan.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Wanheda.”

“I’m gonna bring the rover around,” Bellamy says to her, accepting his guns with a grunt of thanks from the Azgeda warriors. “Stay here.”

She waits until he was out of sight before turning back to Roan, who is leaning against the wall, a picture of ease. “Thank you,” she says, pouring every bit of gratitude she could find into the words. “For not making me marry you.”

For a long while, he says nothing, and just when the lights of the rover could be seen breaking the treeline, he turns to her. “You are not my type anyways, Wanheda,” he says. “Too loud and stubborn.”

Clarke bristles at that, but Roan pressed on, “That, and I’m sure your Bellamy would have razed the very ground I stand on if I dare take you away.”

“It’s not like that-”

“So you always say.”

She swallows thickly. “Bellamy is my friend and co leader,” she maintains, “We’re both willing to do whatever it may take to ensure the betterment of our people.”

“Just not move hundreds of miles away from them.”

“Like you said, I’m our leader,” she shoots back at him. “And he’s essential for the day to day running of Arkadia and the guard. He’s important.”

“What an impersonal way to talk about your chosen.”

“Give it up. You know that he’s not my… chosen. You know that we just lied to your face back in there for the sake of this treaty.”

He pushes off the wall, coming right up in her face. “Yes, I do know that, and while I’m willing to overlook many of your transgressions, Wanheda,” he whispers harshly, “this is not one of them. My people have not agreed to an alliance of this kind for many decades. If you do not keep up your little lie, it could cost you, and not to mention me, our lives.” He steps back smoothly when the rover pulled up, though not before he added, “Tread carefully little Wanheda.”

She just glares at him as she climbs into the rover, wishing more than anything that she could punch his face in.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Bellamy asks once the lights of the Ice Nation have faded into the background.

“Second thoughts?”

“Hey I’m fine with it. I never expected to get married on the Ark, much less to the Ark’s princess,” he says, nudging her lightly.

Clarke scoffs. “It’s not even a real marriage. We’ll still be co-leaders, you’ll still have your own quarters and run the guard. Nothing is really changing other than the fact that you might have to hold my hand and pretend to actually like me whenever the grounders come to visit.” She pauses for a moment. “Now I know that part might be a little bit hard for you-” she teases, and he barks out a laughing, shoving her into the car door.

“How will I ever live,” he deadpans, and she snorts.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

They lapse into comfortable silence, and Clarke stares out the window, at the tiny pinpricks of light that dust the sky, at the blur of trees they pass. It’s why she likes Bellamy and no one else to accompany her on missions like these; during the journey she can relax and just be.

When they’re twenty minutes out he snickers to himself and she turns to him in question.

“I’m just thinking about how you’re going to explain this to Abby,” he clarifies.

Clarke groans theatrically. “Fuck. I forgot about that. Do you think we can just… skip out that part?” she asks. And then, “Wait, what do you mean ‘you’?”

“You’re acting like your mom actually likes me.”

“She’s does! She’s just… prickly.”

He snorts. “Yeah. Right. Let’s see how prickly she gets when you tell her the alliance came with a free marriage.”

Clarke doesn’t have any response for that so she settles for punching him in the arm. From the way he laughs she guesses that it hurts her more than him.

-

Bellamy and Clarke get married in the spring, just as promised.

There isn’t an actual ceremony. There’s no audience or aisle to walk down, she’s not wearing a pretty dress, there’s no religious readings or exchange of vows. Instead Bellamy meets her at the medbay, a little sweaty and dishevelled from the drills he’s been running with the cadets all morning. Clarke is in no position to judge him, not when she reeks of antiseptic and she’s pretty sure that there’s a bloodstain on her shirt sleeve.

They make their way to the little cottage a few miles from Arkadia and get an old grounder woman to give them matching tattoos on their wrist, a tiny galaxy no bigger than a bottle cap.

He walks her back to the med bay after the sign the papers in the council chambers and promises to meet her for dinner, just like they do every night.

This time her hand trails to the newly bandaged tattoo as she watches him go.

Thankfully her shift at medical isn’t a terribly busy one, and when she gets back to her cabin, Bellamy is already there, heating a pot of water over the fireplace for tea.

“Here,” he says, pulling a small cluster of flowers from within his guard jacket and thrusting them her way. They’re bright blue and crumpled slightly. Forget-me-nots she thinks as she carefully strokes a petal.

“What are these for?”

“Wedding present.”

“You realise that you don’t actually get yourself a wedding present, right?” she asks, grinning at the way the tips of his ears turn red.

“If you don’t want them you can always throw them out a window or something,” he huffs, stirring in the tea leaves.

“No I want them,” she says, holding them close to her chest, and goes off to search for something to put them in. She ends up emptying the can she keeps her pencils in on her desk and filling it halfway with water before she drops the flowers in.

It’s times like these she thinks about how easy it would be to fall in love with Bellamy. The thing is, she knows that she loves him. She loves him in the same way she loves all her friends- Raven, Monty, Harper. And yeah, sometimes he makes her heart flip when he flashes that boyish smile at her, or when he lets her hold his hand, or when he brings her little gifts from scavenging missions or when-

Well, there’s been a lot more exceptions these days and she’s not blind; she knows their on the precipice of something. All they have to do is take the leap.

But Clarke’s never been fond of leaps so she sets the can down with perhaps more force than necessary, some of the water sloshing out over the sides, and shakes her head to clear it.

“I can’t believe you brought me flowers,” she snickers as she plops down next to Bellamy, bumping her shoulder into his.

He bumps her back. “I can’t believe you’re being such a brat about it,” he grouses, passing her her plate. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

“Yes mom.”

-

The treaty has held for six years.

So has their marriage.

Well, their first marriage anyway.

They don’t make a leap. Instead it’s a gentle slide down, one where she gets to keep her wits about her.

It starts small, with Bellamy touching her more than normal. They’ve always been tactile around each other, but this feels… new. It’s all little things like a hand on the small of her back as they walk, or her hand would find his under the table, a cheek against her head, rocking her back and forth.

And then it’s the dates.

To be fair, they don’t really consider them dates at first.

She’s knows that she’s Bellamy’s preferred scouting partner when he has to go on long trips, and she likes getting away from the hustle and bustle of camp for a few days. She likes camping out beneath the stars while he points out the constellations and tells her the myths behind them. Sometimes they even make a quick detour- no more than a day at a time- to spend a night in the glowing forest.

There are other dates too- trips to the river on lazy afternoons where they lick honey off their fingers while soaking their feet, lunch dates in the med bay or the guard quarters because god knows they both forget to stop and take a minute. Even at night when everyone is huddled around the bonfires, they’d be a little ways off, cuddled together on their own log in their own little bubble.

“You two are nauseatingly married,” Raven tells her one time while she’s helping to repair the ultrasound machine they scavenged from the mountain ages ago.

Clarke lifts an eyebrow, refusing to colour at her words. “We’re not actually married, you do know that, right? It was just to make sure neither of us had to go slum it in the Ice Nation. That’s it.”

The mechanic shoots her an incredulous look. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that you’re not in love with that boy,” she snorts and then while Clarke was still spluttering trying to come up with excuses she adds on, easy as nothing, “Pass me that screwdriver.”

It all really comes to head when a storm damages his cabin and he has to move into hers.

He could have stayed with anyone else, but he didn’t ask, and Clarke was the first to offer. She spends the first few weeks sharing a bed with him, and every night they’d go to bed on opposite sides with as much space as possible between them, and then every morning she would wake up pressed against the hard panes of his chest, an arm looped around her waist, his nose buried in her hair.

It only took her a couple of days to figure it out, and when she did, it practically makes her entire year.

Bellamy Blake was a serial cuddler and it was wonderful.

She usually wakes up before him, and it’s the hardest thing in the world to have to pull herself away from the circle of his arms to get dressed and get the day started. He likes to lounge around, dithering until he has ten minutes left to get to his shift.

She knows by now that she’s in love with Bellamy and she’s still trying to figure out how to tell him when it happens.

‘It’ being the fact that he wakes up before her for once.

It’s not really unusual- sometimes she has the morning off, or sometimes he has an early shift- but never has he woken before her and remained in bed.

When Clarke wakes up, she finds her head pillowed against his chest as usual, arms banded tight around her waist. It’s his breathing that gives it away though; he’s not snoring. In fact, there isn’t actually any sound coming from him even though she can feel the rise and fall of his chest.

She looks up and finds a pair of brown eyes already looking down at her, soft and sleep hazy, as his lips tip up, and she can’t not do anything but lean up and kiss him.

It’s a bit sloppy and the angle is all wrong, but Bellamy makes a soft sound of surprise in the back of his throat before sucking her bottom lip gently in his mouth. His hand cradles her jaw and Clarke twists, crawling up his body so that she could kiss him proper.

“Mmm, good morning,” he murmurs, nose skimming across her cheek when they finally part. She finds herself straddling his chest, her hair falling around them in a tangle blonde curtain, and she grins. She can feel his responding smile against her neck as he presses small, hot kisses to the underside of her jaw.

“Morning,” she sigh. The hand combing through his hair spasms a bit when he bites down on her pulse with blunt teeth.

They don’t leave the cabin for at least another hour- most of which was spent making out until their lips went numb, but they also found enough time to lay everything out on the table- and Bellamy keeps her fingers laced in his as they walk over to the mess hall. He kisses her again when he leaves to run exercises with the cadets, and Clarke is walking on air for the rest of the week.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for their friends to talk about the change in their relationship, and even less time certain objects of value to be exchanged.

“They made bets on us,” she tells him, outraged, one night after she first found out.

Bellamy hums against her thigh, pressing a quick kiss to the soft skin there. “I would have bet on us too.”

She huffs and aims a kick at him, one which he skillfully dodges. He retaliates with a stinging slap to her inner thigh, grinning when she squeaks. “That’s not the point. The point is that they have no respect for our- fuck,” she keens loudly when he kisses her through the damp material of her underwear.

“You talk too much,” he mutters, tugging her panties off with his teeth. “Shut up.”

Clarke lifts an eyebrow and then spreads her legs even wider. “Make me then.”

Bellamy smirks up at her, hands dragging up her legs to press his fingers into her hipbones. “Nah. I’m gonna make you scream, princess,” he tells her, and then proceeds to do just that.

(Later, when Clarke is still grumbling about it, he turns to her and says, “It’s because everyone knew this was inevitable.”

“You thought we were inevitable?”

“Yes.”

“So why the hell didn’t you do anything before Roan forced us into this?” she asks, hitting his arm.

“Ouch! I was working up to it, okay? I had a plan, jesus.”)

(Coincidentally it’s also the first time they both say ‘I love you.’)

It takes them a year and a half to get there, but they eventually have a second wedding.

There’s maybe ten people at most in audience and there’s an aisle for her to walk down this time, with Bellamy waiting for at the end, wearing an old but clean jacket that’s snug at the shoulders. It’s crisp autumn but that doesn’t stop her from wearing a light cotton dress and getting forget me nots braided into her hair. They have vows this time, something they cobbled together from the old books he owns, and at the end he presses a dry, chaste kiss to her lips.

-

“Do we really have to invite him?” Bellamy grumbles for the umpteenth time, making a face as Clarke tidies up the cabin.

He’s still in bed, sporting sleep mussed hair and pillow creased skin with the blankets shoved down to his hips as he pouts up at her, eyes still glazed over with the remnants of sleep. Claudia is balanced on his bare chest, chubby fists resting on his sternum as she continues to doze, blissfully unaware, and Clarke aches to crawl back into bed to join them.

Instead she tries to focus on the task at hand- folding the laundry- while trying to bite back a laugh. Bellamy has never really gotten over his dislike of Roan (“He stabbed me, Clarke.” “And you shot him.” “It’s not the same thing.”) and the other man certainly doesn’t do anything to help matters. If anything he prefers to needle Bellamy, silently egg him on until the he’s left glaring at him, a muscle jumping in his neck, and Clarke is called in to make sure no one strangles the other.

Honestly, it’s like dealing with a pair of seven year olds instead of grown ass men.

It’s been six years since they first entered the alliance with Roan and the Ice Nation, and every spring, like clockwork, they meet up to revise and review the treaty, expounding and abolishing rules as they see fit.

Bellamy has always hated these meetings- she suspects that it has to do with Roan’s smug nature more than anything else- but this time there’s a new undercurrent of tension that flows through him at the prospect of the Ice King visiting the same day as their daughter’s first birthday.

“We don’t have to invite him, but it would be impolite if we don’t,” she says, tucking a bundle of Claudia’s handmade onesies into the top drawer of their bureau.

“Which means we have to.”

This time the smile slips out. Clarke will be the first to admit that Bellamy’s hatred of the grounder king was downright comical at times. Even she has learnt to let go of the past but Bellamy? Bellamy holds a grudge like no tomorrow.

“He’s going to be here to update the treaty anyway,” she tells him. “And Claudia’s birthday clashes with it. Why can’t just ditch him in the council chambers after the meeting is done to go to her party.”

“Yes we can.”

“Bellamy.”

He sighs dramatically, cradling their daughter’s head when she starts to stir and he turns to be on his side. It’s a lot to take in sometimes. She’s already weak when it comes to just Bellamy; the way he loves lazy mornings where he can just stretch out in the sunlight, dark skin contrasting beautifully against the pale sheets. Throw in their daughter into the mix and Clarke gives herself maybe five more minutes before she caves and gets back in with them.

Maybe less, she thinks when Claudia finally opens her eyes and smiles, bright and gummy at Bellamy who immediately grins back and starts peppering her face with kisses.

She drops the rest of clothes in the basket and crawls into bed, fitting herself underneath his arm before scooping up Claudia so that she can blow a raspberry to her stomach. Bellamy sleepily nuzzles her cheek, and she drops a kiss on his shoulder as he takes her back.

“I promise you won’t have to interact with Roan any more than necessary,” she says, stroking his stomach and feeling his muscles tense and quiver under her touch.

He’s still pouting, and she leans over to kiss it off his face, taking care not to jostle the baby between them.

“You better,” he grumbles, fingers trailing over her cheek. Claudia is babbling between them, more drool than anything else, and he reaches down to tweak her nose too. “If he tries to take Claud from me I’m shooting him in the ass.”

Clarke just sighs, and figures that’s as much of a concession that she’ll get from Bellamy on the matter.

-

Roan arrives with his delegation a couple hours earlier than expected, and Bellamy is the one there to receive them, Claudia resting against his chest in the sling Raven made for him.

Clarke almost drops the forceps she was sterilizing when she hears the news, and all but runs to the main gate to make sure everyone’s limbs are intact.

Thankfully they are, and she reaches just in time to see Roan peer down into the sling and say, “So this is the new addition. She takes after you.”

It’s an understatement to say the least. Claudia has inherited everything from Bellamy- his hair, his eyes, his freckles. Even her skin is just one shade lighter than his sunkissed one, and Clarke would swear that if she hadn’t carried her for nine months she wouldn’t even know the child was hers too.

Bellamy is more than a little smug about it.

(“She has your mouth though,” he tells her when she grumbles about it for the millionth time. He leans over and presses a smacking to her forehead. “She’s just as bossy and loud as you are.”)

Clarke jogs the last few yards to meet up with them, bumping Bellamy with her hip and wiggling a finger at Claudia for her to try and grab. “Roan,” she says, flat, “You’re early.”

“We heard there was a party,” he smirks, and nods at one of his riders to bring forward a box. “A present. For the little one.”

She stares at it warily. “It better not be like the last present you gave me,” she warns, and he huffs out a laugh. Meanwhile Bellamy continues to glare at him, cradling Claudia to his chest.

“I can assure you, it isn’t.” And then after a pause, “Although I’m sure any child of you two is bound to be nothing but trouble so maybe I might have to get her a present like that eventually.”

Bellamy snarls at him and Clarke rests a hand on his forearm. Roan, satisfied that he finally did something to get under Bellamy’s skin, smiles and then gestures to his men to open his box.

They both lean forward to take a peek at it and-

“Are those-” her brows furrow.

“Dolls?” Bellamy finishes for her, looking just as confused as she is.

“What did you expect?” Roan asks, rolling his eyes.

Never one to back down, Bellamy immediately snipes, “I don’t know, a severed goat’s head?”

“Those are reserved for when they hit ten years,” he shoots back and then hands one of them to Clarke. It’s surprisingly soft, crinkling when she grips it tight, as though it was filled with straw, and looked similar to ones she used to see in pictures on the Ark.

Claudia, fed up off no one paying attention to her, begins to squirm, and Bellamy scoops her up in his arms. Her gaze almost immediately zeroes in on the doll held in Clarke’s hands, and she reaches for it, gurgling to herself.

“Well she likes it,” he sighs when Clarke hands it over and Claudia immediately shoves the head in her mouth, drooling all over it. He adds, low just enough for Clarke to hear, “Guess that means I can’t burn them after he’s gone.”

She steps on his toes until he grunts. “Bellamy.”

Turning back to Roan, she gives him a warm smile. “Thank you for such a thoughtful gift.”

“It was no problem, Wanheda,” he says, dipping his chin, and Clarke beckons to the guards standing at the gate to come and take their horses to the stables as they enter, directing them to their lodgings and the mess hall in case they were hungry, and getting someone to deposit the box back at their cabin.

They linger at the back of the group, Claudia still chewing away happily at her new toy and Bellamy huffs. “I guess I won’t shoot him in the ass this time,” he says grudgingly, bouncing their kid on his hip until she laughs, and Clarke ducks her head so he won’t see her smile.

“I’m glad you’re finally growing as a person,” she tells him, patting his chest, and he catches her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” he sighs dramatically, and this time she can’t hide her giggles, leaning into his side as he drapes an arm around her shoulders, the three of them heading home.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Daniel Michaelson: Nate Vandrum’s Nightmare

(for the @whumptober2019 prompt Hallucination - and for @pinkcupboardwitch and @muffinworry who I’m sure are totally fine with this)

There’s a weight on him, and Nate can’t breathe.

He tries, but it’s caught somewhere in the pressure pushing slowly, inexorably, onto his chest. The exhale is easy and simple enough - it’s on the inhale that the weight is worse, and worse, and he can’t quite replace the oxygen he’s lost.

Each breath is a little more difficult than the one before.

There’s no real panic, only the sense that he should panic, he should be scared that he can’t quite breathe, but he’s not scared… not yet.

He’s dizzy but still mostly asleep, caught in a formless uneasy dream where he’s been given some task to do by Bram but he can’t quite manage it, and every time he fails he sees Danny’s wrists and remembers what will happen if he can’t pull it together before Bram’s cell phone timer goes off, before he starts taking pictures, before Danny starts to scream.

But he can’t remember what the task is, and he can’t possibly finish it in time.

Danny, what did he tell me to do? You have to tell me, please, I want to help you.

In his dreams he never stammers - every word comes out crisp and clear and smooth, just like when he was a professor, just like before. Sometimes he wonders how long it will be before he stammers in his sleep, too, before his mind stops remembering there was ever a time he didn’t.

Nate tries to shift, to roll over and pull the fuzzy soft blanket up higher, but the weight won’t let him, keeps him flat on his back. 

“I don’t think so, Nate,” Ashley says, tsking softly, clicking her tongue against her teeth. 

Cold fingertips with fingernails so long they scratch against his skin find his chin and turn his head towards the ceiling, hold him there with the most delicate touch. The cold pressure feels like someone has laid a block of ice against his chest, soaking into his skin, freezing around his heart.

He can feel the brush of her hair now, the slightly wavy white-blonde of it against his cheek.

Hitch in a breath; not quite enough air.

Exhale.

Again.

“Y-you’re dead,” Nate slurs, without much worry or concern, not yet. He’s still half-lost in himself, in his attempt to remember what chore Bram gave him to do, what task he must finish. He can still see Danny’s pleading eyes, begging him to save him from the next cruelty, and the next, and the next. “Kill… K-K-Killed y-you m’self.”

Breath in - never enough, not enough.

Exhale.

Again.

The cold weight on his chest shifts a little, and he can see now that she’s sitting on him, settled right over his breastbone, wearing the blue jeans and hooded sweatshirt she’d had on when he killed her,.

The great big bloodstain is still spread across the front where he had stabbed her, just kept stabbing until he couldn’t do it any longer, until all his rage at his agony and his misery had been spent. He could still see the tears in the fabric - how many stab wounds, he doesn’t even remember any longer. The bloodstains are brownish and dried and cracking off in flakes that flutter down to his collarbone and neck. Through the rips in the cloth the knife had made, he can see a flash of her skin - no wounds there, just pale white and unmarked.

The ripple of the shadows of her ribs, pale stomach, a suggestion of a curve. 

He manages a single deep breath, fighting against the weight, forcing in all the oxygen his starving brain needs, and then exhales in a rush.

Should’ve held onto that air.

Oh well; he’d just have to fight harder.

Her eyes, when he looks up at her, are still the same focused, cold ice-blue, but her cheekbones are more pronounced. Her teeth, when she smiles, are pointed and the gums have pulled back from them, turning every tooth into a fang. Her skin is grayish-blue, not white, and he can see the thin blue veins underneath skin so thin it’s gone not-quite-transparent. 

She smells like soil, and blood, and death.

And ice.

“So you did,” She admits, shifting a little bit, her right knee along the left side of his ribcage, left knee along his right. Her hands move up his chest, palms pressing slowly, inexorably, until she’s holding him down by his shoulders, curling over so she’s bent nearly in half, so close they could kiss, brushing the end of her nose against his. “I did not appreciate that, by the way.”

“I d-d-didn’t ap-appreciate the c-crowbar,” Nate manages, his voice thin as he strains to get enough breath to speak at all. “Or th-the needles under m-my fingernails. Or th-the collar. Or the wh-wh-whip. Or, or the-”

��I’m sure you didn’t,” She says smoothly, putting a finger on his lips to stop the flow of words. “You called us psychopaths.”

“C-Call you w-w-worse than th, that,” Nate says, and bites down on the ice-cold finger as hard as he can.

It’s like biting onto a sculpture made entirely of bone, as if there isn’t any skin to give under his teeth at all, and she tastes like nothing.

She jerks her hand back with a hiss and Nate feels a spike of triumph at causing even this slight bit of pain, even though she is dead - has been dead for years, and the dead don’t come back. If the dead came back, Bram would never be able to stop running from the cascade of corpses he and Ashley left everywhere they went.

“You little shit,” She snaps, shaking out her hand, eyes narrowed to angry slits as she stares down at him. 

Nate swallows hard, forces another long breath, his fingers clawing into the sheets beneath the covers, trying to remind himself that this has to be a dream, too. She’s dead. 

Inhale - just enough air this time.

Exhale - as carefully and slowly as he can.

Again.

He remembers each and every time the knife went into and came out of her skin, every moment he buried it nearly to the handle and then yanked it back out, the way she had looked so genuinely, truly surprised, her eyes open wide right through her death and beyond it.

Now those eyes are narrowed and thoughtful, and she is so, so cold.

“You’ve lost all your manners since you left us,” She growls, sucking on the finger he bit like a little kid, sitting back, one hand still pushing his shoulder down and trapping him where he is. “It’s because of that puppy you killed my brother over, isn’t it?”

“T-T-Tried to k-kill,” Nate says - even now, years after her death, he can’t let Ashley be wrong. He gives her a smile that is nearly a snarl. He is fiercely proud of himself - and Bram is proud of him, too, he’d said as much in the courtroom. The last words they’d exchanged as they led Bram away the final time after the sentencing was finished.

Bram had been led past the prosecution’s table and he’d paused looked right into Nate’s eyes, and said simply, I love you, baby, and I’m so fuckin’ proud of you.

Nate hadn’t said anything - but the part of him that had never left Bram had shivered in helpless joy at the words. 

It doesn’t matter if Bram is proud of him or not. 

It doesn’t matter.

He tells himself that, and sometimes he even believes it for a while. Right now, though, he knows that isn’t fully true. Stronger than the urge to please Bram, to earn his love and his pride, though, is his desire to protect and defend and care for…

“Danny,” Nate breathes out, turning his head to the side, catching only a glimpse of mussed-up red hair and his wrists pressed together up in front of his frightened sleeping face before Ashley grabs his chin again and turns his face back to her, shaking her head. Now he can hear Danny’s breathing, hitched and stutter-skipping. “D-Don’t-”

“Don’t what?” Ashley murmurs. “Don’t get into his head? Don’t give him pretty dreams? Too late for that. Oh, Nate, you broke so many rules when you took him away from my Brammie.” She rolls her hips over his chest, the feeling of paralyzing ice making its way up into his shoulders and down his arms.

As she pushes herself slowly down, moving down his stomach grinding a little into his pelvis, finally coming to a stop with her hips on the tops of his thighs, she lays herself along him until her chest rests on his.

Her hipbones jut hard into his legs until he thinks he will bruise.

It’s all so very, very cold.

“Do you want to know what your darling dreams about, baby?” Ashley asks idly, gnawing on one fingernail with her pointed teeth. 

“No,” He answers, but he can’t look away from her eyes - the way he could never look away from Bram’s, either. They hold you - they mesmerize you - you’re spellbound with them. He had managed to escape Bram only because he fell so hard for Danny that he could break the spell again. 

For all that he keeps his voice calm, his heart pounds in his chest, and she’s dead, he knows she’s dead but part of him is wailing inside his mind don’t let her take you away again, they will never stop, you will never escape.

“He loves you so, so much,” Ashley says, leaning down to press a kiss to Nate’s cheek. Where her lips brush, he freezes over. She kisses him, cold lips to his, and when he breathes out next he sees a cloud of air in front of his face.

He can’t move his mouth.

“He was made for you,” Ashley says, gentle and soothing and syrupy-sweet. “My Brammie took a pretty young man and broke him, shattered him like a coffee mug on the floor, ground little Red’s face into it until there was no face left and then glued him back together… but there are some pieces missing, aren’t there? Everything he is, everything he has, everything he will ever be is because Brammie made him for you. There is no Daniel Michaelson left. There is only your little Red, your sweet little whore, who loves you so, so much.”

Nate swallows, trying to shake his head, to protest - Danny is his own person, he doesn’t belong to me, he isn’t mine, more of him comes back every single day, yesterday he dropped something and just cursed at it instead of asking me to forgive him - but he can’t move his mouth and no sound comes out, only a shaking exhale, a fight to inhale again, through a mouth he can’t quite open.

“He dreams,” Ashley murmurs, kissing his forehead, and he feels the ice traveling up to his hairline and along his scalp. A nip to one earlobe and his ears feel like he’s been standing out in the winter in the woods for hours. The end of his nose is next, frozen after her lips have left it. “He dreams of the woods. He dreams of the ways in which he was broken for you. He dreams of barbed wire cutting into his wrists and that beautiful wire grid over his mouth, the blood at his jaw, at his nose, in his mouth. He tastes blood in his sleep.” She smiles, flashing her pointed monster teeth at him. “He dreams of everything my Brammie did to make him perfect, just for you. Just for you, Nate. You’re just like us. You want him all to yourself.”

Nate tries to shake his head, desperately fighting her words, the way she echoes his deepest fears, his worst thoughts - that they kept him too long, that within him is the potential to become like them, that maybe he already is becoming like them.

That maybe every time he takes Danny’s hand, holds him in his sleep, kisses him, it’s something he only does because Bram would want him to. That he wants to be here to protect him not because Danny needs protecting but because Nate doesn’t want to let him go.

Because over seven years, maybe they infected him.

Maybe it’s only a matter of time.

She leans in to whisper in his ear. “In his best dreams, Nate, he dreams that he belongs to you. That’s how fucking broken my brother made him. That’s how perfect he is for you. That’s your perfect little Red.”

Through gritted teeth and an immobile mouth, Nate spits out, “D-D-D-Dan-ny.”

She pulls back, frowning down at him, momentarily confused. “What?”

“N-Name… is… D-D-Dan-ny.”

I tried to kill for him once and I can do it again.

I could kill you again.

Nate takes the deepest breath he can manage, closes his eyes, and jerks himself upright with every ounce of strength he has, hands out to grab her by the throat.

His fingers close around thin air.

Nate sits up in bed, and it’s just him and Danny in the room, in the bed. He can hear Danny’s little brother’s low breathing from down the hall through the door cracked open (hadn’t he closed it before they went to sleep? He’s almost certain he did), but no one is here.

He turns to look down at Danny, who sleeps peacefully, and his arms are splayed apart, not forced together like before. His face is peaceful, serene and young in sleep, and he shifts around, rolling over to face Nate without opening his eyes, mumbling something soft and loving in his sleep.

Had that just been a dream? Some kind of hallucination?

Nate slowly turns back to stare around the dark room.

He slowly lays back down in the bed covers himself up to the chin with the blankets, and slides his arms around Danny as tightly as he can, pulling the redhead closer to him, Danny’s head tucked under his chin like they slept sometimes at the cabin, when they needed each other more than they feared Bram’s wrath when he found them like that.

Just a dream.

Just seeing things.

But when he exhales, Nate can see his breath - and his ears and the end of his nose still feel frozen solid.

As he tries to slow his breathing, he can still feel a pressure on his chest, still hear her low voice whispering, you’re just like us.

Or you will be.