#i love clunk dude

[jash-updates]

Best Character Ever Just Dropped

[With a lotta lore scattered across way too many damn conversations ]

The Recorder Saga:

Okay long post over.......clunk <3

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

if i was absolutely FORCED to go back in time to high school i think the one thing i would change would be. being more involved w the theatre kids

[takekawa]

i am realizing my habit of afking with VNs in the background for ambience is working against me when one of TNCs prominent tracks is 'banging cutlery together and moaning in xylophone silent hill'

the sirens call.. is too strong.. nghhgghg..

[doctorbitchcrxft]

A Very Supernatural Christmas | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: discussions of childhood trauma lol, discussions of religious trauma lololol, canon violence, canon gore, talking about Dean's deal sad face

Word Count: 7223

A/N: One of my favorite episodes of all time ever. I am so excited to share this with you guys. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the support. I love y’all!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

In the middle of nowhere in Michigan, you and Dean posed as FBI agents investigating a holly jolly potential case. 

“Um, my daughter and I were in our beds,” the woman before you shakily explained.

“Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof, and then, I heard Mike scream. And now I’m talking to the FBI.”

“And you didn't see any of it?” Dean questioned. 

She shook her head tearfully. “No, he was… he was just gone.”

“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?” you asked. 

“That’s right,” she replied. 

“Does anybody else have a key?” you suggested. 

“My parents.”

“Where do they live?”

“Florida.”

Sam then walked out of the house. “ Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We’re all set.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Dean told her. 

The three of you started down the steps. 

“Agents?” Mrs. Walsh called.

You turned to face her. 

“The police said my husband might have been kidnapped.”

“Could be,” Dean shrugged. 

“Then… why haven’t the kidnappers called? O-Or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” she began to cry.

“We’re very sorry,” you said empathetically. You watched the distressed woman turn to go back inside, and the heavy Christmas wreath on the door clunked against the door when she shut it. 

“Find anything?” Dean asked Sam as the three of you walked away from the house. 

Sam sighed. “Stocking, mistletoe… this.” He took something out of his pocket and dropped it into Dean’s hand. 

You inspected it. “A tooth?” you asked upon seeing the bloody bone. 

“Where was this?” Dean looked up at Sam and away from the tooth. 

“In the chimney,” Sam replied. 

“Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow,” Dean grimaced. 

“At least, not in one piece,” you winced. 

“Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney—”

“We need to find out what dragged him up there,” Sam finished. 

***

Christmas had never been a completely happy time for you. Growing up Catholic, there was always a hint of, perhaps, fear that came with the holiday. The idea that Christ was supposed to come again, and his second coming would mean the end of the world was unsettling to you, even as an incredibly pious child. 

Working jobs around the holidays always managed to recreate that unsettled feeling for you. Something so gruesome like the case you were dealing with now around such a happy holiday always made you nostalgic for a childhood you never had: an innocent one. 

Around your motel room, Sam was pinning pictures of demons up while you researched on your laptop. The door opened, and Dean came inside. 

“So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Dean smirked, carrying a brown paper bag.

Sam mirrored Dean’s expression. “Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.”

Dean looked confused, but you snickered. 

“Who?” Dean asked. 

“Dude,” you said, “Mary Poppins?”

“Who’s that?” 

“Oh, god, you’re hopeless,” you sighed, shaking your head.

“Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month,” Dean explained. 

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?” Sam asked. 

“Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof,” Dean shrugged. “So, what the hell do you think we're dealing with?”

“Actually, I have an idea,” Sam replied. “Uh, it's gonna sound crazy.”

“What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to me?” Dean deadpanned. 

“How ‘bout evil Santa,” you smirked.

Dean considered a moment before nodding. “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

“Yeah… I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture,” Sam said while he showed Dean drawings of the creature. “You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore.”

“Saying what?” Dean looked incredulous. 

“Saying, back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean snorted. “So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, ah, I’m just saying, that’s what the lore says.”

“Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told me that in the first place, remember,” Sam sassed at his brother. 

Dean looked down, seeming to feel a little guilty. 

Finally, Sam sighed. “Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I gotta be wrong.”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You and Sam were confused. 

“I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched,” Dean explained. 

“Where?” Sam asked. 

***

The place Dean was referring to was a cutesy little craft fair called “Santa’s Village.” Children played and people bustled around wearing Christmas costumes. 

“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean remarked, looking around himself. 

“Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be,” Sam replied. 

“It’s a Christmas miracle. Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year,” Dean suggested casually. 

You remained quiet, feeling almost sorrowful at his statement given he’d discussed bringing this up to Sam with you.  

“Have one what?”

“A Christmas.”

Sam scoffed. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon, Sam,” you said, swallowing your emotions. 

“Yeah, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little,” Dean continued. 

“Dean, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for me, you know,” Sam reminded his brother. 

“What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.”

“Whose childhood are you talking about?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Sam.”

“No! Just… no.”

You and Dean were both surprised by Sam’s petulance. “Alright, Grinch,” Dean snarked. He walked ahead, and you remained by his side. 

“What’s Sam talking about?” you asked quietly. 

“Ah, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I mean, Dad was out all the time, and Sammy and I fought… a lot… as kids, but I didn’t think it’d scar him.” 

You turned back to Sam who still seemed lost in thought. 

“Hey, Scrooge,” you called, which seemed to shake the younger brother out of his own head, “you comin’?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you.” He caught back up to you and Dean. 

“What are we looking for, again?” Dean asked him. 

“Um…” Sam trailed off, “lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets.”

“Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa,” Dean said dryly. “Why the sweets?” 

“Think about it, Dee,” you replied. “If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer. Which is wrong on just… so many levels.”

Sam chuckled. 

“How does this thing know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” Dean questioned. 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Dean turned toward a man dressed as Santa taking pictures with a child whose mother stood close by. “Maybe we do,” he noted.

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters were just about to confront and kill who you thought was your Krampus. Fortunately for the Santa actor from earlier in the day, you realized the man was just a lonely old creep. 

After an uncomfortable rendition of “Silent Night” that Dean led you and Sam in singing in an attempt to explain why you were in the creepy Santa’s house, you slumped down in the backseat of the Impala.

“Well, back to square one, I guess,” you sighed. “Also, Dean, couldn’t you have picked a song you actually knew the words to?”

“Hey, I did know the words,” he replied, beginning to drive off. 

“Yeah, all two of ‘em,” Sam chimed in. 

You giggled. “Hey, Sam?” you asked. 

“Hm?”

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

The younger brother sighed. “(Y/N)...”

Dean took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. “I mean, I admit it. Y’know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.”

“ ‘Bumpy’?” Sam scoffed. 

“That was then. We’ll do it right this year,” Dean tried. 

“Look, Dean. If you and (Y/N) want to have Christmas, knock yourselves out. Just don’t involve me.” Sam shifted in his seat to face the dark night that had fallen outside of the car. 

Dean grumbled, “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. Me and (Y/N) making cranberry molds.”

You knew Dean wasn’t actually opposed to just enjoying Christmas with you, but he wanted to involve his brother.

***

“Wanna smoke?” you asked Dean. 

Sam was still wide awake in his bed, and you and Dean had some things to talk about without the younger Winchester present. 

He nodded and followed you out of the room. 

Despite the lack of snow on the ground, you were bundled in one of Dean’s hoodies to protect you from the slight chill in the air.

“I think you’re turnin’ me into a fiend,” Dean commented as you lit your joint. 

“Well, I’d rather you smoke a plant than drown yourself in booze,” you replied, a slight tremble in your voice from the cold. 

“I meant to tell you earlier,” Dean began, taking the joint from you and looking at the ground, “you’ve got a real beautiful voice.”

You laughed softly and hopped up on the trunk of the Impala. “You’re only sayin’ that ��cause you and Sam are terrible.”

“I’m serious,” he said, blowing the smoke at you playfully. 

You scrunched up your nose and shut your eyes to avoid the puff. When you reopened them, you found Dean staring at you with that confusing expression again. After all this time, you still couldn’t place what that look meant. 

“What?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. 

He shook his head, still admiring you and smirking. “Nothin’.”

“So, do you want me to talk to Sam? About Christmas?” Dean’s intense stare was making you nervous, and you needed to break it up with the conversation you initially wanted to have with him. 

“Nah,” Dean shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll come around.”

You opened your arms to him and gestured for him to come lean against you. He turned his back to the Impala, and you wrapped your arms around him. You kissed his shoulder before placing your chin on top of it. The two of you just sat like that in silence in the cold, enjoying each other’s company while getting lost in thought. 

“What was your Christmas like? As a kid, I mean?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. 

You picked your chin up off his shoulder and stuck your hands in your pockets. “Oh, gosh,” you sighed. “It was always a little less ‘candy canes and Rudolph’ and a little more ‘fear and condemnation’.”

Dean jumped up on the trunk next to you and turned, clearly a little surprised by your answer. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged. “Christmas always kinda felt like a threat to me. Y’know, ‘Jesus is gonna come again’ and all that.”

“That’s… weirdly dirty,” Dean commented. 

You gently nudged his shoulder with yours. “Perv. Meaning Jesus is gonna come back to life and, like… destroy the planet. My mom always said Christmas was a reminder that this is not our true home.”

“This, as in, earth?” he asked, genuine intrigue in his eyes. 

You nodded. “And we’re all gonna end up being judged. And if you don’t believe or follow the commandments, you’re sentenced to Hell.”

“Jesus,” Dean grimaced. “That’s a little dark to be telling a kid.”

“Tell me about it,” you smirked. “But… if that’s the truth, at least we know I’ll be seeing you again.” You turned to him, smiling a little lopsidedly.

He tried to return your smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m scared, (Y/N).” 

You nodded. “I know. Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. 

You took a moment to let his mind recover from his anxieties. “What were your Christmases like growing up? You said they were good, but you never told me why they were good.”

“Uh, let’s see,” Dean began, reflecting on something in his memory. “There was this one time when Dad was supposed to make it back from a hunting trip. He’d promised Sammy he’d be home for Christmas. But, uh, Dad never showed.”

You looked at him sadly. 

Dean’s eyes remained focused on his hands in his lap. “I was maybe twelve. Sammy was eight. And on Christmas Eve, while he was asleep, I went out and found this really nice house.”

“You did not!” you scolded playfully, knowing exactly where he was going with this. 

“I did,” Dean chuckled. “Only, I didn’t know they were chick presents. Sam was pissed when he got a Barbie instead of the green army men he’d been asking for.”

“You did the best you could,” you reminded him.

Dean shrugged. “And, uh, since he never made it back, Sam gave me the present he was planning on giving to Dad.” He thumbed the amulet around his neck and showed it to you. 

“That’s so sweet,” you smiled, a tinge of nostalgic sadness behind your smile. “My little brother and I always gave each other what we could. Normally, it was just stupid little things from the gas stations around or something.” You smiled, remembering your brother fondly. “When he was seven, Steven gave me a little bracelet. He stole it out of a girl’s backpack pocket when she was waiting for her parents to finish booking a room in the motel lobby. He was a great pickpocket; you guys would’ve gotten along great.”

Dean chuckled. 

“But anyway, uh, it was a little friendship bracelet. I was so upset when I grew out of it,” you said. “Biggest regret of my life is burning it with his body.”

Dean nodded somberly. “Why’d you do it?”

You shrugged. “I kept telling myself, ‘He doesn’t live in the stuff. Keeping his stuff doesn’t keep him alive.’ And I’d grown out of it, so I figured, I’d never have any use for it again. But, uh, I was an angry teenager. I was so angry at him for so long after he killed himself. I definitely threw the bracelet in the fire in a moment of anger.”

Dean just stared at you, and once again, you couldn’t read his expression. 

“You keep giving me that look,” you said, staring deeply into his beautiful eyes. 

“What look?” he asked. Dean clearly knew what you were talking about, as his face hadn’t really changed from the look in question; there was simply a slight tease behind his eyes on top of it. 

“That look,” you said, giggling. “It frustrates me so much ‘cause it’s, like, the only facial expression on the planet I can’t read.” “Then, I’m definitely not telling you what it means now,” Dean taunted, still smirking. 

You rolled your eyes and hopped off the car. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you back around to face him, putting you back on the trunk and standing between your legs. He kissed you deeply, hands eagerly trying to pull you closer despite there being no more room between the two of you. 

“Dean,” you said between kisses. “Dean—”

“What?” Dean pulled back just long enough to ask you and then returned to kissing you. 

“We have to go to bed now, c’mon,” you replied. 

“Aw, c’mon, not yet,” Dean groaned, trailing his lips down your neck. 

You sighed shakily at the feeling of his soft lips against the sensitive skin, and your eyes closed in content. “C’mon,” you whined. “I’m freezing.”

“Fine,” he groaned. 

***

The next day, another poor soul had gone missing. According to the son of the man who was abducted, Santa had dragged his father up the chimney. As you left the house, Sam noticed a wreath on the hearth he’d felt noteworthy enough to ask the grieving wife about. 

“Wreaths, huh?” Dean taunted, sauntering away from the woman’s house. “Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.”

“We’ve seen that wreath before, Dean,” Sam said, ignoring his brother’s flippance.

“Where?” you and Dean asked in unison. 

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.”

Dean eyed Sam curiously. “I know. I was just testing you.”

You rolled your eyes, ducking down into the Impala. 

***

“I’m an idiot,” you groaned, dropping your head back.

Sam sat up from behind his laptop. “What, why?”

Dean turned to you from his spot on your shared bed as well. 

“That smell,” you said. “Guys, we’re not dealing with Krampus.” You laughed at your own stupidity. “I should’ve known it from the wreath on the door at the Walshes’ house!”

“(Y/N), would you cut to the chase?” Dean asked dryly. 

“It’s meadowsweet,” you revealed. 

Dean whistled mockingly. “Wow! Amazing. What the hell is meadowsweet?”

“It’s pretty rare, and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore,” Sam replied. 

“Pagan lore?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Meadowsweet’s for human sacrifice. It’s kinda like chum for the gods. The gods are drawn to it, and they’d stop by and snack on the nearest human.”

“Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Dean wondered. 

“Almost every Christmas tradition is pagan, Dee,” you replied. 

“Okay, Ms. Catholic, I thought it was Jesus’s birthday,” Dean snarked, a smile playing on his lips.

“No, uh, I had to unlearn that when I left the Church. Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. Yule was the winter solstice festival the church stole and renamed ‘Christmas.’ ‘Cause, y’know, eurocentrism. Hooray,” you explained. 

Sam added, “The Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit; that’s all remnants of pagan worship.”

“How do you know that? What are you two freaks gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?” Dean remarked. 

Both of you rolled your eyes. 

“So, you really think we’re gonna be dealing with a pagan god?” The older brother quirked a brow. 

“Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, god of the winter solstice,” Sam noted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Dean huffed, “And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths…” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘Come kill us’.”

Dean deadpanned, “Great.”

“Wait, Hold Nickar makes sense, though,” you chimed in, something dawning on you. “Guess what he gives you in return?”

“Lap dances, hopefully,” Dean smirked. 

You gave him a look. “Mild weather.”

Dean looked out of the window. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”

“For instance,” shrugged Sam. 

“Do we know how to kill it yet?” Dean asked. 

“Have you met me? That’s all I’ve been looking for the past hour.”

“While you work on that—” Sam turned to his brother, “we got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

“You think they’re selling them on purpose?” Dean questioned, sitting up on his bed.

“Feeding the victims to this thing?”

Sam sighed. “Let’s find out.”

“You keep workin’ your pagan-god-killin’ angle, (Y/N),” Dean told you, moving over to you. “Sam and I ’ll be back soon.” He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead, and your cheeks heated at the brief contact.

***

“How ‘re you supposed to kill a god, (Y/N)?” Bobby droned through the phone.

“I don’t know, dude, that’s what I’m asking you,” you sighed. “I mean, I’ve been pouring through this shit online for hours. I’m ready to pull my fucking hair out.”

“Lemme make a few calls, kid, and I’ll see what I can do,” Bobby said. 

“Thanks, Bobby. You’re the best.” You sat back in your chair and clicked your phone off. 

Almost as if on cue, Dean burst through the door with Sam trailing behind him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the older one drawled. “Got somethin’ for me?”

“I wish. Just sent Bobby lookin’,” you replied. “Got anything for me?”

“Actually, yeah,” Dean said. “That store we went to? Turns out, lady named Madge Carrigan gave ‘em to the store for free. How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?” 

“A couple hundred dollars, at least,” Sam answered while you clacked away at your computer looking for Madge Carrigan’s home address. 

“Sounds pretty suspicious,” you said absentmindedly. 

“Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” Dean laughed while he took his jacket off.

“You mean, the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?” Sam responded, an unimpressed expression crossing his features. 

“Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great. I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.” He sat on the bed closest to you and went to lean over and look at your computer. 

Despite the fact that you were still on the phone, Sam asked Dean, “Alright, dude… What’s going on with you?”

You stopped typing, and both you and Dean sat up to face Sam. 

“I mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden?” continued the brunet. “Why do you want Christmas so bad?”

“Why are you so against it?” Dean challenged. “I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?”

Sam’s voice became heavy with emotion. “No, that has nothing to do with it. I-I mean, I-I just… I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean’s voice had less of an edge. “This is my last year.”

Sam huffed out a quick breath. “I know. That’s why I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay, when I know next Christmas, you’ll be dead.” The near-casualness Sam spoke about Dean’s almost-five-month-out deadline with made your breath catch in your throat. “I just can’t,” Sam finished, voice almost too quiet for you to hear. 

The three of you went silent. To distract yourself from the heaviness in the room, you went back to typing on your laptop to find Madge Carrigan’s address and any information on her that suggested she really was your bad guy. 

You could feel Dean staring at you, though, and you knew he needed you at that moment. So you shut your laptop and got into bed with him. He laid against your chest, and you kept your arms around him tightly. Soon, you drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 

***

The next day, you and Dean headed to the Carrigan’s home. Sam stayed behind to research and see if you had missed anything in your search the night before. The house you arrived at was decorated with cutesy Christmas decorations and screamed the 1950s “American dream.”

“This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh?” Dean remarked, looking around. “Can’t you just feel the evil pagan vibe?” He rapped his knuckles against the door. 

A blonde, middle-aged woman in a sweater opened it. “Yes?” she answered sweetly. 

“Please tell me you’re the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths,” Dean said. 

“Why, yes I am,” she smiled widely. 

“Ha! Bingo.” Dean turned to you with a grin. 

“We just moved into the neighborhood,” you lied, gesturing between yourself and Dean, “and we were mingling with the Sylars the other day. They had one of your beautiful wreaths on their fireplace. He and I were immediately in love with it.”

“You were? Well, isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?” Mrs. Carrigan’s smile had not lessened since she opened the front door; it was creeping you out. 

“It is; it sure is,” you replied. “But the problem is that all your wreaths had sold out before we got the chance to buy one.”

“Oh, fudge!” she pouted. 

“You wouldn’t have another one that we could buy from you, would you?” Dean questioned.

“Oh, no, I’m afraid those were the only ones I had for this season.”

“Aww…” you whined, deflating. 

“Tell me something, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?” your partner asked. 

A man who you assumed was Mr. Carrigan came down the staircase behind the woman as she answered, “Why, the smell, of course! I don’t think I’ve ever smelled anything finer.”

‘She… already said that,’ you thought, but you kept the smile plastered on your face.

“What's going on, honey?” Mr. Carrigan asked his wife. You noticed his outfit of choice was a cardigan and slacks, and he held an old-fashioned pipe. The two reminded you very much of “Leave it to Beaver.”

“Well, just this nice couple asking about my wreaths, dear.”

“Oh, the wreaths are fine,” Mr. Carrigan affirmed. “Fine wreaths. Oh, care for some peanut brittle?” He held out a tin, and Dean took a piece. 

You gave him a harsh glare, preventing him from raising the brittle to his lips. Politely, you bid the couple goodbye and kept Dean from snacking while he started to drive.

As soon as you got out of the line of the Carrigans’ sights, you took the peanut brittle and chucked it out of the window. 

“What was that for? I’m hungry,” Dean whined. 

“Evil pagans, Dean,” you reminded him. “I don’t want you to get magical food poisoning.” You kissed his cheek and sat back in your chair.

He considered for a moment but finally seemed to admit defeat when he hung his head, a small smile and a blush rising to his cheeks. 

***

That night, you and the Winchesters headed back to the Carrigan’s home. “ ‘O Come All Ye Faithful” played from somewhere down the street, and the soft glow of Christmas lights on strings shining through the dark night almost made you feel like a child again; falling asleep in the back of your family’s station wagon while your mother hummed along to the Christmas tunes on the radio. 

An evergreen stake was hidden in your jacket’s inside pocket; Bobby was becoming your favorite person with his seemingly endless amounts of contacts and information. Sam had informed you and his brother that the last place the Carrigans had lived, three people disappeared, too. 

You followed Dean into the living room of the dark home after he picked the lock. He turned around and whispered, “See? Plastic.” He gestured to the couch and other furniture  still covered in sheets of it.

You headed down the hallway where ornaments and snow globes rested on shelves on the wall. You made your way into the kitchen where Sam and Dean were looking at a lock on the basement door. Dean picked it, and you followed him down the stairs. You did your best to avoid making the stairs creak as you did so. 

You shined your flashlight around and realized the basement was less of a storage room and more of Hannibal Lector’s playroom; a bowl of blood and bone sat at the end of a bloodstained wooden table just big enough to fit a human on that had shackles outfitted to each of its corners. You backed up along the wall, only to bump into something that moved. You yelped in surprise and wheeled around to see a leather bag wriggling around, as if a person was inside it. 

Suddenly, you felt a hand on the back of your shirt, lifting you up, and you screamed. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. 

You wriggled and kicked with all your might, but Mr. Carrigan was too strong. He turned you around and held you to the wall by your throat, and you clawed at his hand to get away from him. However, slowly losing air, you were unsure whether the best strategy was to fight or to conserve your oxygen. 

“Gosh, I wish you kids hadn’t come down here,” Madge smiled sweetly.

***

Slowly, your mind began to awaken. Your limbs and head felt heavy, and the light seeping in through your closed eyes felt painful. You blinked a few times, soon able to fully open your eyes and look around. 

You jerked a little in your seat but soon realized your hands were bound to the chair. You turned your head to the left to see Dean tied up shoulders slumped, and on the right, Sam. You supposed the two boys were tied back to back and your chair was tied sort of in between the two. However, you couldn’t see anything going on behind you. 

“Dean? You okay?” you asked frantically when you heard him groan. 

“Yeah, I think so,” he grumbled. 

“How ‘bout you, Sam?” 

Sam just hummed in response. “So, I guess we’re dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God. Nice to know.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, breathing deeply. 

You heard approaching footsteps coming from behind you. 

“Ooh, and here we thought you two lazybones were gonna sleep straight through all the fun stuff,” you heard Madge giggle. 

“Miss all this? Nah, we’re partiers,” Dean snarked. 

You heard Mr. Carrigan take a puff from his pipe. “Isn’t he a kick in the pants, honey? You’re hunters, is what you are.”

“And you’re pagan gods. So, why don't we just call it even, and go our separate ways?” the older brother suggested. 

“What, so you can bring more hunters and kill us?” Madge laughed, voice still sugary sweet. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you went snacking on humans, now, huh?” Sam shot back.

“Oh now, don’t get all wet,” Mr. Carrigan scolded gently. 

“Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year and that’s a fact.” You turned to the left to see Madge put a napkin on Dean’s lap. “Now what do we take?” She did the same to you. “What, two? Three?” And then did the same to Sam.

“Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew here make six.” Mr. Carrigan took another drag from his pipe. Funnily enough, you hadn’t seen him light the thing once yet. 

“Now, that’s not so bad, is it?” Madge crooned. 

“Well, you say it like that,” Dean sassed, “I guess you guys are the Cunninghams.”

“You, mister, better show us a little respect,” Madge instructed, and you could see her leaning down to try and intimidate Dean.

“Or what?” you remarked, trying to crane your neck around to look at the Carrigans. “You gonna eat us?”

“Not so fast,” Mr. Carrigan responded. “There’s rituals to be followed first.”

You turned to Madge, who looked excited. “Oh, we’re just sticklers for ritual.”

“And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?” Mr. Carrigan taunted, walking around in front of you.

“Let me guess.” The glare you delivered was challenging. “Meadowsweet.”

Mr. Carrigan nodded. 

“Oh shucks,” you mockingly pouted, “you’re all out of wreaths. I guess we’ll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?”

“Oh, don’t be such a gloomy Gus.” You could hear Madge rustling around as she spoke. Suddenly, a wreath was put around your neck. You attempted to bite Mrs. Carrigan’s fingers to no avail, and she just tapped your nose in response. “There. Oh, don’t they just look darling?

Mr. Carrigan smacked his lips. “Good enough to eat. Alrighty-roo. Step number two.” You heard the sound of a knife being released from its sheath. 

Sam started mumbling, “No, no—” to which you and Dean cried his name. 

“D-Don’t!” Sam wailed. 

“Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted. 

You struggled even harder against your binds.

“Hear how they talk to us?” Mr. Carrigan tsked. “To gods? Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions.”

Mr. Carrigan walked around to you holding the bowl, and you started to panic just a little. 

“Times have changed!” Dean growled. 

“Tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our– our altars are being burned down, and we’re being hunted down like common monsters.” Mr. Carrigan walked back behind what you assumed was the kitchen counter.

“But did we say a peep? Oh ho ho, no, no, no, we did not. Two millennia,” Madge continued for her husband. “We kept a low profile; we got jobs, a mortgage. Wh- What was that word, dear?”

“We assimilated.”

“Yeah, we assimilated. Why, we play bridge on Tuesday and Fridays.” The woman walked over to you holding the bowl with Sam’s blood in it. “We’re just like everybody else.”

“You’re not blending in as smooth as you think, lady,” Dean snarked. Madge ignored your partner’s comment. “This might pinch a bit, dear.” With that, she sliced into your arm deeply. 

“F-Fuck!” you screamed. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled. “Get your hands off her!”

“Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar. Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing?” Madge waved the knife around in your face as you panted in pain. “ ‘Fudge’.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” you sassed. 

“Oh, god, you son of a bitch!” Dean howled, and you assumed Madge had cut him up, too. 

“Get away from him!” you yelled, creating brush burns on your arms from how hard you were pulling on your binds.

“You kids have no idea how lucky you are,” Mr. Carrigan said. “There was a time when kids came from miles around, just to be sitting where you are.” He came to a stop in front of you holding a pair of pliers.

“What do you think you’re doing with those?” you asked, chest heaving in panic. 

All he did was smile in response. 

“You fudging touch her again, and I’ll fudging kill you!” Dean growled. 

“Very good!” Madge praised just before you heard your love groan in pain again. 

You had no time to focus on Dean because Mr. Carrigan grabbed your hand. 

“No, no, don’t!” Sam begged from beside you. 

“Get off me!” you cried, and your cry soon turned into a scream as the god painfully pulled your index fingernail off. 

“Oh, we got a winner!” Mr. Carrigan exclaimed happily. He disappeared from your line of sight again, and you dropped your head back on your chair. Your finger and arm were throbbing, and you couldn’t help but cry. 

“I swear to god, (Y/N), I’ll fucking kill them,” you heard Dean mutter through the white hot pain roaring in your ears.

“What else, dear?” Madge cooed. 

“Well, let’s see. Uh, fingernails, blood. Oh! Sweet Peter on a popsicle stick,” the man laughed. “I forgot the tooth.”

“Oh, dear!”

“Merry Christmas, guys,” Dean said, out of breath. 

You turned your head to see Madge and Mr. Carrigan advancing on Dean. The man held the pliers up and grabbed Dean’s chin harshly. “Open wide… and say, ‘Aah’.”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. 

“Somebody gonna get that?” Dean asked around the tool in his mouth. “You should get that.”

“Come on,” Mr. Carrigan finally said. 

You knew you had to act fast, and you started working the knife out of your sleeve as soon as the doors shut behind the Carrigans. Silently, all three of you got out of your binds. You hid with Dean behind one of the kitchen doors. 

“Now, where were we?” you heard Madge say. 

You pulled a drawer out to hold the door closed and trapped the Carrigans in the kitchen. Almost immediately, the couple was attempting to open them. 

You made your way over to Sam at the other end of the kitchen and leaned on the door beside him.

“What do we do now? The evergreen stakes are in the basement!” Dean whispered. 

“Well, we need more evergreen, Dean!” Sam replied. 

You looked over at the tree in the corner of the living room. “Guys. Bingo.”

Dean smirked excitedly. “Sam, help me get this.” He had his brother assist him in moving the large cabinet next to the door in front of it.

While the boys worked, you pushed the Christmas tree over and broke three large branches off it. You tossed one to both boys who caught them with ease. 

Gripping your stake tightly, you waited with bated breath as the house went silent. Suddenly, Mr. Carrigan tackled Dean to the ground. Madge grabbed your shoulder before you could help Dean and wheeled you around. “You little thing,” she chastised. “I loved that tree.”

You raised your stake, but she hit you hard and threw you back onto the plastic-covered couch. The woman stalked toward you, and you whacked her to the ground with the branches of your stake. You scrambled to your feet before she could recover and stabbed her through the chest with your stake.

“Madge!” Mr. Carrigan screamed just before Sam stabbed him with his own makeshift stake.

You moved to stand beside the two boys, chest heaving from the effort. “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals,” you breathed out at the dead bodies at your feet. The two boys huffed out labored laughs before Dean slung his arm around your shoulder and began leading you out of the house. 

***

“How’d you keep Dean from finding this stuff?” Sam asked.

You pulled a few plastic bags out from under the bed you shared with the older Winchester. “He doesn’t look under here unless it’s for his shoes. I’ve been making sure they’re next to mine by the door every night,” you explained with a smile. You handed one of the bags to Sam. “It’s not much, but I found a crappy dollar store down the road. I was hoping you’d change your mind.”

Sam looked down sheepishly. “You do get why I was… hesitant, though, right?”

You stood up and nodded. “Absolutely, I do.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. 

“C’mon,” you said. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

“What?”

You stooped to pull out the little plastic Christmas tree from under Sam’s bed and held it up with a wide grin.

***

Dean returned almost an hour later holding a six pack. “What’s all this?” he asked, almost in a sort of daze as he looked around the decorated room.

You continued to busy yourself with making eggnog while the brothers talked.

“What do you think it is? It’s– it’s Christmas,” Sam replied.

You walked over to Sam with a cup of your concoction.

“What made you change your mind?” Dean asked him.

“Oh, thanks,” Sam told you without answering his brother.

“Lemme know if it needs more of a kick,” you said. 

Sam took a swig and coughed. “Nope, all good.”

“Yeah?” you grinned.

Sam nodded and smiled. 

Dean came up behind you and slipped an arm around your waist, his hand landing just above your ass. He smirked down at you and took the other cup of eggnog from your left hand. He gulped almost half of it down, unfazed by the strong whiskey taste. 

“Well, uh, have a seat. Let’s do… Christmas stuff, or whatever,” Sam awkwardly said. 

You sat beside Dean on the couch next to the small Christmas tree decorated with car air fresheners. Sam pulled up a chair across from you. 

“All right, first things first,” Dean nodded, and you handed him the two packages he’d wrapped shoddily in brown paper bags. “Merry Christmas, Sam.” Dean handed him one of the two bags.

Sam smiled widely. “Where’d you get these?”

“Someplace special,” Dean smirked. At Sam’s deadpan expression, Dean continued, “The gas mart down the street. Open them up.”

“Well, great minds think alike, Dean.” Sam brought out two packages wrapped in newspaper. He gave the first to Dean. 

“Really?” Dean asked, eyes shining with surprise. 

You left Dean’s arms momentarily to reach under the couch and brought out two packages daintily wrapped in brown paper. You handed one to each of the boys, and they handed their gifts to you. “You didn’t have to get me anything, guys,” you said. 

“Yeah, we did. Shuddup,” Dean remarked, smirking. 

You relaxed back against him while Sam opened his gift from Dean. “Skin mags!” he laughed. “And shaving cream.”

“You like?” Dean questioned.

Sam smiled and nodded. He then opened the gift from you. “Oh, no way!” He held up the Staind cassette tapes you’d gotten for him to add to Dean’s collection for long drives; especially for when Dean was gone. 

You grinned widely as he admired the tapes. “Okay, Dee, your turn,” you told him. 

He chuckled and unwrapped Sam’s gift to him. “Look at this! Fuel for me and fuel for my baby.” He held up a candy bar and a bottle of oil, and you laughed. “These are awesome,” the older brother said. “Thanks, Sammy.” 

“Okay, now mine,” you beamed. 

“Oh, holy shit,” Dean breathed out while he opened the Bowie knife you’d gotten engraved for him. On the hilt of the blade were his initials, and the handle was engraved to look just like the side of his prized Taurus pistol. “Jesus, (Y/N), this is—” he couldn’t seem to find the words, instead opting to place a long kiss on the side of your forehead. 

At last, you opened yours. Sam gave you the second book in a series you’d been reading on Greek myths, for which you were eternally grateful, but Dean’s gift truly floored you.

“Where’d you get this?” you asked, fingering the small beaded bracelet Dean had given you. 

“Off some kid in the lobby,” he smirked.

Tears filled your eyes at how close of attention he paid to you and your stories. 

“There’s something else in there, too.” 

You looked up to Dean with complete admiration before rummaging around in the bag once more. You pulled out a ripped piece of paper from the notepad at a motel you’d recently stayed at with the words, “Redeem on Dean’s expiration date.” You looked up to him in confusion.

“It’s, uh, for this,” Dean revealed, thumbing the amulet around his neck. “I want you to have it.” 

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He returned your fierce embrace, pulling you impossibly closer across his lap. 

“Merry Christmas, Deano,” you whispered into his shoulder.

Dean pulled away from you and kissed your forehead. He then held his eggnog up to cheers you and Sam. “Merry Christmas, guys.”

The three of you sat in silence sipping your drinks before Sam broke the quiet. 

He looked quite sad as he began, “Hey, Dean, y—” but Sam cut himself off, sighing and shaking his head. “Do you feel like watching the game?” he finally asked.

Dean grinned in relief. “Absolutely.”

You clicked on the television before settling into Dean’s side. He lazily thumbed your hip and sighed in content. Sam turned his chair to face the television.

***

Later that night, long after Dean and Sam had gone to bed, you were still wide awake. Snow had begun softly falling outside the motel room window, and the moonlight reflected off the white blanket over the Impala beautifully. Wrapped in a blanket, you made your way over to your duffel bag. You hadn’t taken the bracelet that Dean gave you off, and you were still holding the piece of paper to “redeem” when Dean was gone. 

You took your wallet out and slipped the piece of paper into the see-through pocket where your ID sat, and there it would stay until this was all over. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[offical-ouroboros]

dude your unknown x readers are SO. HOUGHHHHH /POS,,, there is so little content for it anywhere but yours is utterly DELECTIBLE, if u do post the singularity thing you wrote i would be more than happy to read it bc i also love that freaky lil chewed gum looking son of a bitch 🩵🩵🩵 - a-monsters-chew-toy

yesyyeysyeysyeysyeysyyeysyeysysys I love finding other people who enjoy monsters like me (*´꒳`*)

Please note this entire thing was written with me in mind and I didn't actually expect anyone to be interested... And it's a bit of a three parter! If you like this one, I'll post the second piece as well :3

Feel free to request anything specific you'd like for future posts!!!

~☆

Should or Shouldn't - 1

CW: yandere stuff idk, hux kidnaps you lol, heavy projecting on reader character because this was from my docs fanfics, not proof read cos these are my late night rambles, slight nsfw implications through speech??? man idk I'm crazy for hux, male pronouns for reader lol

~♡

Thunk.

You dropped the pallet down, stunning the creature.

“You should not do such things.” Its glitchy, monotone voice uttered.

You paused.

You didn't even really have time to run before it spoke.

And for some reason…

“S… Sorry.”

It paused.

Then its sleek, metal leg crushed the wooden planks under it.

And you didn't move.

And it didn't hurt you.

“Is this the part where I run?” You speak up, half jokingly.

“No.” It says plainly.

“Calibrating... Your refusal is futile.”

“I- Sorry…?” You say again.

“You are not fit for this experiment. I will be taking you now.”

“W-What?!” You cry out, trying to take a step back.

It quickly grabs you, clutching the back of your shirt with its claw.

“You should thank me for this.”

You tense.

“T-Thank you…?”

You're so confused.

“Good worm.”

Things just continued from there.

You stayed in its grasp as it brutalized the others in the trial, mangling their legs so they'd just bleed out.

And then, when the realm was about to collapse…

You just went unconscious.

+

Waking back up was a nightmare.

At least, you wished it was.

You were somewhere in its realm still- The Entity’s hand picked wreckage of whatever planet the Singularity had come from.

You were on the floor. It was cold. But on the bright side, there seemed to be… Some kind of fabric near you. Large enough to cover most of your body, if you curled up.

You start to stir more, pushing up before falling flat back down as your limbs buckle under you.

Yelping in pain, you can't help it but cry.

Your pain is only worsened when you feel… Something… Coiling around your ankle.

It's like the fleshy plants of this planet. Like the nasty growths of skin covering the Singularity’s robotic form.

You whimper and tug on it, panic setting in.

There's a few odd clunks- Getting closer.

But you're too terrified to process them.

“Stop struggling.” Its voice suddenly speaks up, shocking you out of your efforts. You scramble back, still laying on the ground.

“Refusal is futile. You are safe now.”

In what world was this safety?

"What are you talking about?"

“Your inferior mind was no match for future experiments.”

“Lemme go-” Your voice cracks and you break down into a sob. “Lemme- Lemme go!” You cry out louder, quivering as you do so.

“You are emotional. It is amusing.”

You shake as your fists ball up. Leaning back against the ruined barrels and such behind you, you simply break down sobbing.

It stares at you, motionless.

“You should not be crying.” There's… It almost sounds genuine. Like it can't understand why you'd be upset with it.

You don't respond. Just cry.

Shuffling closer, its scythe arm brushes against you.

Of course, you flinch away, whimpering. But…

Its head tilts slightly.

“Stop it.” It utters. “Your whines are irritating.”

You keep crying, curling up slightly.

“ . . . Analyzing situation.”

“Calibrating.”

“What is the problem?”

You scowl, glancing up at it.

“You took me.” You hiss.

“Incorrect. I have saved you.”

“You kidnapped me!"

“You were going to get yourself killed. I have saved you. You thanked me.”

You tense.

“Why are you acting up now?”

You tilt your head down, feeling just barely calmer.

“You scare me.” You mumble.

“A logical response.”

“So you'll-”

“You are never leaving.”

Shudder.

“Fuck you! I hate you!” You scream.

“Your emotional blabbering has lost its charm. I advise you to stop. Or I will make you.”

A harsh huff leaves you. “What? You'll kill me? Good. I don't want to be-”

You're slammed against the barrels behind you. A quick breath is forced out.

“It will be slow. Painful. You will not die.”

You're back to sobbing, completely hysterical.

“There. There. Be a good worm.” It's pressed closer to you… Oddly intimately. Its right arm is behind you, forcing you to lean into it or risk being cut.

“I hate you.” You whimper.

“Your emotional outburst…. Is valid. You will not be punished for them. If you stay put.”

You swallow, lower lip quivering. And… Hesitantly lean into him, nuzzling softly.

“There. Good…”

It seemed to stop itself from saying something.

“P… Please get- Get my leg out.. Out of th… Please?” You struggle to find the words. “I'll- I'll stay right here. I just… Don't like being tied up when I don't wanna be…”

“Beg for it.”

“ . . . I'm- I'm not gonna-” Your ears move in embarrassment.

“Then it stays.”

“ . . . Mh-” A weak sound escapes you. “Okay.” Your voice is so quiet.

“Little worm is deceptive. He stays until his superior can trust him.”

A little whine escapes you, and you nod.

It's not like you could do much else.

Maybe it would kill you. Maybe, like it said, it would just torture you. The Entity had already allowed it to take you. To remove you from Her trials. Maybe forever. Maybe just until it got bored of you. And by then, She'd likely be bored too. And you'd finally, truly die.

But no.

The Singularity would keep you.

Forever.

You were human.

Bound to have some reaction to anything it did.

The slightest change could spark a massive, brand new reaction.

And it would love to…

Study you.

That's all this was.

Right?

[cloverque]

up on tokio hill (msby bj)

masterlist, ch 1: the newbie is our new housemaid! (not)

upon arriving in tokio hill, a misunderstanding occurs the moment you show up. your new housemates seem like a lot to deal with– and a lot more handsome than you expected. but things will work out, will it not?

5488 words

“I swear I’ll call security on ya if ya don’t leave right now!” The blonde man before you shook his phone in the air, ready to fulfil his threat. His orbs were flaming with the fury of a thousand suns and his face was pulled back to a snarl– he looked like he was ready to drop-kick you out of the house itself.

“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. I don’t even know what’s going on!” You held up your hands defensively and stood firmly (as much as you could without shaking).

The urge to take flight in the face of a livid, insanely handsome dude was so strong that you may just leave the country altogether. This was definitely not the way you imagined your first day at the share-house would go.

“Everyone calm down!” Another man begged. Behind the silver haired man is an oven with smoke leaking out of. His hands were held up as well, like the scene in Jurassic World and the raptors.

For the love of the gods, Uncle Tai, what have I gotten myself into…?

(A few hours ago…)

Tokio Hill was a quiet suburb in the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t exactly what it sounded when Uncle Tai had introduced it– you’d imagine it was a bumpy piece of land with tall grass and mice scurrying about. According to Google, it was home to plenty of rich folks, celebrities and some of Japan’s biggest sensations. It used to be a paparazzi hotspot until the local authorities decided to protect the inhabitants by conducting regular security checks. There were even a couple of police outposts in the area.

It was a wonder how a normal person could afford living in such a high end place. If it weren’t for your ‘niece discount’, you would never have moved into the area. Uncle Tai barely told you about the other tenants, but they must have been loaded. With that said…

“How on earth did Uncle Tai bag this place?” You wondered aloud as you stood outside a gated property, a pet carrier in one hand and a luggage bag in another.

This house was unlike the (extravagant) others down the road. An off white coat of paint with a deep, navy blue roof. It had a number of floors, you guessed three altogether. The fence had barely any gaps between them, preventing you from peeking through. It did a splendid job obscuring the ground floor from public view, but the other floors were visible.

A meow came from the carrier. You peered inside; a stubby Sphynx sat comfortably inside, whiskers twitching curiously. You slipped your fingers through the gaps to rub its hairless head.

“Oh Meru, I guess our new life starts today,” you whispered. Its bright blue eyes twinkled with (what you assumed was) curiosity. Your pet mewed back as you returned your focus to the house.

It all starts here. A fresh start. You inhaled deeply then exhaled. It’ll work out– it has to.

You approached a smaller gate that was off to the side of the entrance. A silver intercom was built into the gate. You pressed the biggest button, probably the doorbell. It didn’t take long before you got a response.

Static buzzed from the intercom. A man’s voice crackled, “...Ello? Hey, hello?”

You straightened up, “Hi! I’m new here. Today’s my first day, and–“

“Oh, I know you! Yeah, come on in,” The man interrupted. The crackling stopped and you the gate clunked. Gingerly, you pushed it open and entered the estate.

The front yard was huge, accommodating two shiny cars and a front yard. Concrete seemed to extend around the area, tall enough that you doubted you’d be able to see the other side without a ladder. Lining the walls were hedges; green and freshly trimmed. Off to a corner was a grassy area with an outdoor swing and bird fountain. A fish carved from stone spewed a steady stream of water into the pool.

Your eyes wandered around as you moved towards the main door. Footsteps thudded inside the house before the door swung open. A giant loomed over you and Meru. Your pet cat and you simultaneously tilted your heads up to look at him– a man with silver hair, peppered with grey tips. He was all smiles in a frilly apron.

This guy must be almost two metres tall! Both your cat and you stared in awe. You stared holes at the super girly apron. A magical girl was printed on the front. M-Moe gap…

“I was expecting you! Come on in,” he patted his hands on the apron, “I’m in the middle of something, so you can just do the second floor first.”

“Okay. Wait, what-?”

An alarm sounded inside the house. The man whipped his head towards the source before turning back to you. “Uh oh, we gotta hurry! Come on in already,” Without hesitation, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the house.

You clambered in, luggage and all, and Meru screeched from its rocking carrier. Full of apologies, you tried to console your pet whilst he shut the door. He noticed Meru, who stood on its haunches at the salt and pepper haired man.

“You can leave your things here first,” He gestured where you stood. When you set Meru on top of the shoe cabinet at the entrance, he reached out to you. His larger hand enveloped your wrist effortlessly and he began pulling you along. His hold was gentle enough so as to not bruise, but secure enough to make sure you couldn’t run. The unwarranted warmth on your wrist gave you goosebumps.

What on earth was going on? This was some sort of misunderstanding, right? Before you could process that thought, he stopped at the end of the hallway, where a closet awaited. He rummaged through it and produced a few items.

“Here’s what you’ll need. This, this– oh, this too…” Without looking, he handed you cleaning tools: bleach, sprays, gloves and more.

As he progressively piled more into your arms, the alarm continued beeping in the background. You practically cradled the load, “Umm, mister, I don’t think I’m who you think I am. I’m actually-”

The man ran off to the kitchen, where a cloud of grey began seeping from an oven. He screeched incoherently and began fussing over whatever it was inside. As he began murmuring to himself, you sighed. There was no way of getting through to him. At least, not now.

You took in the living room slowly. In the corner of the house was a flight of stairs. The rest of the place was split into three areas: the lounge, dining area and kitchen. The lounge was furnished with a massive flat screen television and a long couch. In-between was a paper strewn coffee table and magazines haphazardly stacked. Meanwhile, the kitchen was occupied by none other than the silver haired man, who stood by marble countertops. There was an island table as well, though it seemed counterintuitive when there was a dining table present.

The layout of the place was exactly like the photos Uncle Tai had sent you. And the place was big. As expected of a private estate in a posh area. Again, how did your good for nothing uncle score this place…?

You looked at your cleaning supplies. He said just the second floor, right? Maybe he’d listen to you afterwards. You waved goodbye to Meru and began your way up the flight of stairs, tools in hand.

When you reached the second floor, you peered around the corners to view the hallway. There were three rooms available, two on either side. One of the doors had a little sign that read ‘bath and laundry’. You peeked inside: there was a common area with a sink and mirror that stretched across one wall. Laundry machines and baskets were on the other end, with one of the baskets piled up with off-white sheets. You walked deeper in and into the connected shower room, which had a huge bathtub. On the shelves built into the walls were a mess of different bottles of miscellaneous hygiene items.

There was a lot to be done, you realised as you walked out of the shower room. You approached the laundry and realised there were jars of different powders on the shelves hanging above the laundry machines. There was even a note, a handwritten one with a few annotations. You scrutinised it with a squint.

“For every extra bedsheet, use a third of a cup of detergent. Only use this brand of fabric softener for the sheets. I will come after you if they are not properly washed,” You read aloud. A giggle escaped you, “What the heck? They sound like a troublesome person.”

You eyed the baskets– you could start with this one. The instructions written by the troublesome person could guide you for your first task. The counters and shelves could do some wiping and reorganising as well.

“Guess I better get started,” You left to return downstairs, “I better set these things down first before I drop them.”

While you laid out your cleaning appliances, a man entered the laundry-cum-wash room. The man pulled his shirt over his head, ruffling his blonde hair. It fell to the floor, along with the sweatpants he had shimmied out of. He swooped up his clothes and hung them over one of the baskets. Quietly, he closed the bathroom door behind him, forgoing the decision to lock it. After a shower, he stepped into the bathtub for a soak. With a long arm draped over one side, he closed his eyes and began dozing off. Unbeknownst to him, on the other side of the door, you had begun to do the laundry.

　The tumbling of laundry filled the room. You watched the sheets toss and turn inside the machines as you squatted, hands on your knees. Thanks to the meticulously written notes, it was easy to figure out the buttons and amount of detergent to use. While they were washing, you wiped down the counters and surfaces. Your cleaning rags were coiled up in the bottom of the pail beside you.

While cleaning, you came to the conclusion that the guy in the kitchen had mistaken you for a cleaner. Uncle Tai must have told the tenants that you’d be here, right? There’s no way that bozo would forget to inform them… right?

“Knowing him, maybe it’s not out of the picture,” you sighed and rested your face in your hands.

You heard footsteps from the hallway and your face lit up. Was he finally free to speak? You turned expectantly but came face to face with another stranger. A half-naked man wrapped in a towel around his torso stood at the doorway of the shower. His hands tried to hide his exposed chest and his face was…

Oh– This isn’t good.

He let out an ear-piercing scream.

. . .

Oh right, so that’s what had led up to this situation.

You blinked at the blonde who droned on about the cops and trespassing. This guy was a broken record, nothing was going through him. His shoulders heaved up and down aggressively. Was it from anxiety or anger? It was hard to tell.

“Tsum-tsum, you gotta chill out! It’s the new maid Taichii hired, remember? He told us about it last week!” the silver haired man clarified. He still adorned the frilly apron with the magical girl.

“The new maid’s only supposed to be here when we ain’t around, ya moron!” The blonde man said, eyes wide. “I can’t believe ya let a stalker into the house, Bo-kun! Besides, it looks like she’s moving in, not cleaning for the day!”

He jabbed a finger in the direction of your luggage. Meru, who had been anxious throughout, flinched. It hissed in the direction of a frowning ‘Tsum-Tsum’.

You blocked his line of sight to Meru, “Woah there, you’ve really got the wrong idea. I’m not your stalker because firstly, I swear to the gods that I don’t even know who you are. And secondly, I’m your new housemate– I have the contract and texts to prove it!”

The blonde raised his brows before returning to his scowl. He seemed to ponder it over.

“Huh? So you aren’t our new housemaid?” The man named ‘Bo-kun’ blinked incessantly.

“Or a stalker?” The blonde folded his arms crossly.

Before you could retort, the main door clicked open.

“I’m home!” You heard a voice call out. Footsteps thumped in the hallway before another man appeared in the scene. This person carried a bag of groceries in one hand, and a cap in another. His bright ginger hair contrasted against the cream walls of the living room.

“I saw another pair of shoes at the entrance. Is (l/n)-san finally-“ He made eye contact with you and the others, “–What’s going on?”

“Hinata! Help–” Apron guy cried as the ginger hurried over. “Tsum-tsum thinks our new maid is a stalker-!”

“For the love of– How many times must I tell you guys that I’m neither!” You threw up your hands in desperation.

The ginger blinked once at you before looking at the others, “Did you guys forget? Taichii-san’s niece is joining us here starting today. Isn’t this (l/n)-san?”

The three men turned their heads to you. A long sigh escaped you. It seemed like they would finally listen. Thank the gods for this man named Hinata.

　Meru roamed freely in the living room, sniffing the kitchen counters. It approached the oven, which was half-open. A tray of burnt cookies sat inside, and your cat ran off after a tentative sniff. Meanwhile, you stared at the men sitting across from you. They had introduced themselves briefly, and the three men across from you were known as Atsumu, Hinata and Bokuto.

Uncle Tai forgot to mention that I’ll be living with a bunch of dudes, you side-eyed your sphynx. As if it could hear your thoughts, the hairless cat mewed back.

“I’m so sorry, (l/n)-san,” Bokuto blushed. He sat across you at the dinner table, his forehead practically squished against the surface as he bowed apologetically. His form was shrunken with embarrassment, his broad shoulders drawn in.

Atsumu sipped on his mug of coffee. He appeared indignant over the situation, as much as someone could be after accusing an innocent person of a crime. He would send not so inconspicuous gazes your way too. As you stared pointedly, your eyes met and he averted his gaze. An irk mark formed on your head.

This guy hates to swallow his pride, huh? What an asshole.

Whilst sparks flew between the two of you, Hinata scratched his cheek. He sat in between the others awkwardly. “This vibe makes me feel like I should apologise too…”

“It’s been a while since I heard of the news and I… completely forgot… and mixed up the housecleaning visit with your moving in. I’m terribly sorry for making you clean the place up–!” Bokuto added, still grovelling.

You held up your mug of coffee, “It’s fine now, Bokuto-san. And please, there’s no need for you to do this. It’s okay.”

He lifted his head cautiously and you reassured him with a nod. You took a tentative sip.

“How can we make it up to you?” Hinata spoke up, to which you rubbed your chin.

Meru mewed at the foot of the table. You lit up and turned to the trio, “Oh, I know. How about you show me around the house?”

It didn’t take much convincing for a house tour. Although, a certain blonde had slipped away during the tour, refusing to entertain your questions. The remaining duo properly showed you around the house, including the backyard. They shared that sometimes, they would have barbecues with friends, though rarely. You learned that Atsumu and Bokuto stayed on the second floor, which probably explained how the former had entered the bathroom without you knowing, due to it being right across his room. Meanwhile, Hinata, another tenant and you stayed on the third floor. As for the toilets…

When you enquired about it, the guys exchanged a look before Hinata sheepishly said, “Taichii-san had specifically requested that you use the third floor’s bathroom only… Um, he mentioned that it wouldn’t be right for a lady to share a bathroom with men she had no familial relation with.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I’m being a bother,” Your eyes widened.

“It’s totes fine. We’re not at home much... Besides, we only have toilet fights when Tsum-tsum’s in the kitchen. Which is rare-” Bokuto rambled before Hinata slapped a hand over his mouth. The man with salt and pepper hair blinked in confusion.

“Don’t worry about it!” The ginger grinned. You raised a brow. That wasn’t reassuring one bit.

They led you to your room and the duo retreated downstairs. You watched them leave with Meru in your arms. You stood outside a room, the only one with a sign hanging on the door. It was your name arranged in hiragana with wooden blocks. A flower was even glued to the end.

Does Uncle Tai think I’m still in preschool? You tried to take it down only to realise it was superglued to the door. An irk mark formed on your head. A certain bozo was about to hear it from me later on the phone…

You closed the door behind you and set Meru down. Its tail trembled curiously as it inspected the floor. Gazing around the room, you noted the stacks of cardboard boxes in a corner. Huh, Uncle Tai really wasn’t lying when he said this place was bigger. You sat down on the bed. The naked mattress was soft yet firm, awaiting to be clothed in sheets. The evaporated stains of cleaning liquid on surfaces notified you of its recent cleaning. And much to your pleasure, the room was modestly furnished the way you had requested it to be. Just a table, wardrobe and cabinet.

Suddenly, you were reminded of your luggage at the door. You had forgotten about it during the chaos. It was the least of your worries when you were dealing with the probability of being arrested. You opened your door and peeked out of the room. Unexpectedly, your luggage bag was waiting outside. You glanced around the hall and at the stairs.

Someone has helped you out! You watched for any movement at the stairs but neither saw nor heard anything. With gratitude, you muttered thanks and wheeled it in.

You spent the rest of your time unboxing and decorating your room. Meru helped by laying on the bed and its new sheets. It dozed off in the warmth that filtered through your windows. You made quick work of unpacking clothes and arranging your decorations and merchandise. As you finished setting up your monitors, you pondered over the earlier argument.

Why did the blonde guy react so explosively earlier? Was he a celebrity of sorts? You were certain that you were up to date with pop culture, but neither his face nor name rang a bell. Though you wouldn’t doubt if he wasn’t famous. He was as prickly as a sea-urchin but undeniably a handsome man. You rummaged through your pop culture schemas but produced nothing.

A thump outside your room broke your train of thought. You peeked past your door to investigate and found yet another giant in the hallway. What did the tenants of this house eat…? This man was dressed in a stylish turtleneck and coat, and he stood across you, fiddling with the keys to his room.

Suddenly, Meru mewed. The man in the coat spun around, keys in hand. Your cat yawned and nuzzled the bed. You met his obsidian eyes nervously.

“Umm, hello…” You started. He stared back.

Despite wearing a mask, he was also quite the looker. Why was this house full of good looking dudes? Was he a celebrity of sorts too? The man had a mop of curly dark hair atop his head and two moles above an eyebrow. Wait, two moles? Your eyes widened in recognition, “Sakusa Kiyoomi!?””

Sakusa knitted his brows together. His mask twitched as he spoke, “Do I know you?”

“Are you for real? We attended class together in highschool . Remember, with your cousin Komori-kun. I was with you for all three years!” You gestured at yourself. He stared hard, as if considering what you had just said.

Heavy footsteps filled the stairway and Bokuto reappeared, “Oh! I see you guys have met already. That’s awesome,” He grinned and gestured over his shoulder, “C’mon, we’re heading out for dinner!”

“Huh? But I just got back,” Sakusa rubbed his temples with a sigh.

Bokuto simply placed his hands on his hips, “It won’t be good if you miss out, Yoomi! Besides, we’re having a welcome party!”

　By the time you set foot, it was already evening. The restaurant they intended to visit was within walking distance, on the outskirts of the city that edged towards the suburbs. Rows of shops were situated on one side of a river, where cherry trees lined along. With spring fleeing from Japan’s grasp, the trees had already lost most of their blossoms. That didn’t stop you from catching a lone fluttering blossom as you stood outside a restaurant. Warm light filtered through the paper screen doors as the sign above read Onigiri Miya.

The guys opened the doors and a windchime rang in the doorway. You peeked past their broad shoulders to take in the place. The interior was a modest mixture of Japanese and modern design, with cream walls and wooden floorboards. Customers dined at the counter that looped around the kitchen or on the floors, at the low tables. The clamour of conversation and oil crackling was almost homely, like the izakayas in back home. As your eyes scanned the place, a waiter with freckles practically bounded towards your group.

“It’s been a while since I last saw you guys!” The boy said. He must have been in high school with his doe-like gaze.

“Sup,” Atsumu grinned. He was surprisingly cheery despite the earlier situation, “Is Samu here?”

“He left earlier for a catering event. The boss has been busy lately!” He noticed you and quickly added, “Oh, who’s this?”

“She’s our new housemate. Taichii’s niece,” Hinata added, gesturing at you with a smile. You nodded shyly and the waiter beamed.

“Arighty! My name is Yuuma and I’ll be your waiter for the day!” He swooped up a few menus and gestured, “Please follow me!”

Yuuma led everyone to the back of the restaurant. This area was partitioned off with screen doors, and it was far quieter here. These rooms must be reserved for special customers. You entered the room last and everyone took their seats, leaving the only open spot next to Atsumu. It wasn’t your intention to sit beside him, so you made it clear by respectfully scooting an inch away from him. After inspecting the menu, and with thoughtful insight from the guys, you decided on a warm bowl of curry udon, with a side of a speciality onigiri.

An awkward silence fell in the room the moment Yuuma left to place the orders. You half-heartedly scratched the fabric of your clothes when Hinata spoke up.

“We haven’t had a proper opportunity to introduce ourselves, so let me start,” the ginger smiled. His amber eyes held a homely warmth that could melt the barriers of anybody’s heart. He gestured at himself, “I’m Hinata Shouyou. It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“I’m (l/n) (y/n). The pleasure is mine,” You bowed your head. Mirroring Hinata’s smile, you added, “Uncle Tai and I share the same family name, so feel free to call me (y/n), if you’d like.”

“Can I call you (y/n)-chan? That’s such a pretty name!” Bokuto straightened up and thumbed at his chest, “Ah– And I’m Koutarou Bokuto! It’s real nice to meet ‘cha!”

Bokuto’s gaze arrowed at the blonde beside you. The former seemed to be staring expectantly for him to introduce himself. Maybe because of the awkward incident from earlier. Ah… this awkward introduction gave the vibe of adolescents during a mixer, or something.

“Miya Atsumu,” the blonde practically exhaled. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes. He thumped an elbow on the table and rested his chin on it, “Nice to meet ‘cha, I suppose.”

“Y-Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Miya-san,” Your smile wavered. Even if he mistook you for a stalker.

“Atsumu will do just fine.”

A half hearted sigh escaped you internally. Then there was Sakusa, who seemed disinterested in the conversation from the start. He had his gaze fixated on the wall behind you this whole time. Your eyes met for a brief second.

He spoke up softly, “Sakusa Kiyoomi. But you seem to already know that.”

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me. I was the class president in all our years in high school,” You leaned forward a little. Would that be enough to jog his memory?

Sakusa looked up at the ceiling, seemingly disinterested. You sighed with a dejected smile. Figures. It had been a number of years after graduation. So this reaction wasn’t much of a surprise. Your shoulders drooped in defeat.

“Sooo… does that mean you attended Itachiyama Institute?” Hinata spoke up. “What was Sakusa-san like?”

“I’ve attended since middle school all the way to high school. I may be wrong, but Sakusa-san transferred at the start of his first year of high school,” You lit up. Grinning, you cheekily added, “Girls were all over him for the next three years. It was never a boring day.”

“It was annoying,” Sakusa admitted. His focus remained on anything but you, but he indulged in a half-smile. “The only good memories I had were on the court.”

“Somebody’s shy,” the blonde beside you sniggered, “I’m surprised he had chicks when he’s this much of an asshole– Ow!”

Something thumped under the table. You could only assume Sakusa had kicked Atsumu under. A nervous smile creeped up on your face. Beneath his mask of calm he must have been riled up a little by that comment. Who knew he’d grown to be so petty.

Meanwhile, Atsumu grinded his teeth, “Fall over and shrivel up!”

The waiter returned with trays in hand. In a sing-song voice, he said, “Atsumu-san, please keep it down.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and pouted. What was he, five? While Atsumu hyper-fixated on a dent in the floor, Bokuto helped Yuuma place the dishes on the table while Hinata began distributing cutlery. You took a pair of chopsticks and pulled your meal closer to you. The five of you shared a quiet meal, as much as one could when a blonde was seething beside you.

After some time had passed, you asked, “So are you all from the Kansai region? Except for Atsumu-san, the rest of you don’t sound like it.”

“Yoomi and I are from the capital, but Hinata’s from Miyagi.” Bokuto responded with a mouth full of ebifry. He took a swig of beer before exclaiming, “Woo! This stuff is great!”

Sakusa leaned away from Bokuto, a disgusted expression on his features. He shifted his meal away from the guy, who dropped a shrimp tail from his mouth. Meanwhile, Atsumu nagged at the guy to eat less sloppily.

Hinata chuckled before turning to you, “Yup, I’m from the more rural side of the prefecture. What about (l/n)-san?”

“I also lived in the countryside up until grade school. That’s when I moved to Tokyo,” you took a bite of a potato. It was soft and tender, like the rest of the veggies in the curry.

“I totally get it,” Hinata grinned. I can imagine it was a big change!”

“And now you moved from Tokyo to Osaka.” Bokuto prodded with half another ebifry sticking out from his lips. “Why’s that?”

You stopped mid bite. You raised your head to meet Bokuto’s eyes. The others were preoccupied with their food, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t listening. Like wisps of steam on a hot day, your appetite dissolved. Suddenly your curry udon and speciality onigiri didn’t smell so appetising anymore. With a far off look in your eyes, you managed a timid smile.

“I… guess I needed a change of pace.”

. . .

“And then she said to me… ‘Who do you think you are, asshole?!... And- Oh, I don’t feel sho gud…’” Gurgled Bokuto, who remained limp in Hinata and Sakusa’s grasps. They were practically dragging him at this rate, with how in and out of consciousness he was.

“He’s a goner,” Sakusa announced. He jabbed a finger into Bokuto’s face before clicking his tongue, “I even told him to hold back a little.”

Hinata chuckled. The tips of his ears were dusted pink but not as saturated as Bokuto’s. “He’s the life of a party. You’d know by now that Bokuto-san can’t stop once he starts.”

“I’m well aware of my teammate’s awful drinking habits, but we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. He’s going to whine about his hangover during practice…” Sakusa trailed off.

Night had long fallen upon Osaka, and the way back was arduous with a passed out drunk in your party. You laughed light heartedly as the trio in front of you stumbled over a pebble. A flurry of insults at the unconscious man in the group spewed from Sakusa. Poor Hinata tried to defuse the situation on behalf of a man who was too drunk to care. Frankly, it was hilarious.

“What’s so funny?” Atsumu mumbled beside you. He was also tipsy, but not as bad as Bokuto. The two of you trailed behind the others.

Your smile fell, “Umm, it’s nothing.” You didn’t want him to misunderstand, so you quickly added, “I haven’t had this much fun in a while. I’m really happy.”

He hummed, seemingly in thought. A few moments of silence passed, and just when you figured that was the end, he muttered.

“Hey, about earlier.”

“Earlier…?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” the blonde said quickly, jamming his fists into the pocket of his hoodie. The warm light emanating from the street lamps cast a gentle glow on the contours of his handsome face. His brows furrowed, “I’ll be honest with ya, I jumped to conclusions and said some pretty awful things, my bad.”

He must not have been used to this– he was chewing on his bottom lip. It looked like it took everything in him to apologise, if you could consider this an apology.

The corners of your lips tilted up, “It’s okay. I would’ve been pretty spooked if some stranger appeared in my bathroom too. I may have done the same.”

“Oh, I mean. It’s not like ya did something wrong. Something like this happened before… sorta.”

This had happened before? Your surprised gaze was missed by Atsumu, who fixated on the path ahead. His eyes were downcast, and you frowned. With a face like his, it wouldn’t be out of the question to have obsessive fans. But stalkers were a different thing, no?

“I think I misjudged you,” you commented. “You seem like an okay guy, Atsumu-san.”

He gave you the side eye, “Hey, just because I apologised doesn’t mean you can make fun of me.”

“You call that an apology?” You chuckled when Hinata called out suddenly.

“(l/n)-san, Atsumu-san! Can you help buy us some painkillers? We ran out and need some for Bokuto-san tomorrow!” He gestured at the FamilyMart nearby.

Atsumu groaned. He flashed an okay-sign to the guys before looking at you. “Boy, yer going to witness an ugly sight tomorrow. We’re going to buy five different types of painkillers only for Bokuto to refuse to eat any.”

He entered the store first. Staring at his back, you looked behind your shoulder at Hinata, Sakura and Bokuto. They were fussing over the guy in the middle whose eyes were barely open.

A smile crept up your face. Who knows? Maybe living with these guys is going to be alright.

“(y/n)-san,” Atsumu called. He stood at the doorway, arms crossed.

“Be there in a second!” You hurried over, shoes clacking on the pavement.

With the trio waiting outside, Atsumu and you searched the aisles for medicine. You took a handful which Atsumu dumped into a basket. As the two of you waited in line, your phone– which you had left behind on your desk– buzzed with notifications.

[maddie0101]

Skinny Love Series (Thomas TMR x OFC)

Summary: The greenie learns that there aren’t just boys in the glade and Blake can’t seem to take her eyes off of him.

Warnings: Language, Inappropriate thoughts?

Word count: 1,512k

➭ Previous Chapter ➭ Series Masterlist ➭ Next Chapter

The greenie leans against a beam as he gazes towards the maze doors curiously, as the curly haired boy beside him rambles. "It's basically the same story for all of us." He hears the boy say—catching his attention. Chuck tightens the makeshift hammock behind him as the greenie keeps his golden eyes on the entrance.

"We wake up in the box, Alby gives us the tour...then here we are—Don't worry, you're already doing better than I did." Chuck says placing his hands on his hips. "I clunked my pants three times before they got me out of the pit." The boy continues rambling on as he then turns around to see the greenie no longer listening. Instead the greenie walks towards the maze.

Chuck lets out an annoyed huff before running after the newbie.

"Dude, where are you going?" Chuck's voice calls as his heavy and rapid footsteps sound from behind the greenie.

"I just wanna see." The greenie grunts in agitation.

"You can look around all you want but you better not go out there." Chuck warns as they continue walking to the center of the glade.

"Why not? What's through there?"

"I don't know. I just know what I'm told." Chuck stops the greenie before he gets any closer to the maze opening, reaching an arm out to stop the boy. "And we're not supposed to leave."

Just as the boy fell into step beside the greenie— three figures emerge from the entrance, running past the two gladers as the greenie narrows his eyes at them. His eyebrows furrow when he sees the third person in the middle, who was hidden behind the two boys.

A girl??

As the three people run past, the greenie stares at the beauty running towards them, her bright green eyes connecting to his dark honey brown.

Minho turns back to the two boys, adverting the greenie's gaze away from the girl. "Hey Chuck. New greenie, huh?"

"How's it feel to be promoted?" The other boy beside Minho asks as they continue jogging.

"Feels great, Ben!" Chuck yells back with a bright smile.

"Did he clunk his panties?" Blake asks as she walks behind Minho, referring to the greenie beside the youngster.

"Just about!" Chuck laughs

Blake eyes the new greenie staring at them as she continues running, noting his gaze on hers as she passes by.

From her quick glance, she notes his broad shoulders and muscular frame. His warm, chocolate eyes and his soft hair brown hair fall over his forehead as her green eyes scan over him quickly. He’s hot. Like bend me over hot.

Turning her head back in front of her she decides to ignore his presence, as she isn't one to take care of the greenies on their first day. They all annoy her and the others with questions she didn't know or couldn't answer.

As she can't help but not disobey what she had just thought to herself as she glances back behind her again. Okay, but seriously. What do these people feed them?

His dark brown eyes twinkle as Blake notes the specks of gold that surround his irises... are they honey, whiskey, or chocolate? The greenie's face has a few moles that litter the sides of his cheeks, a sharp jawline clenches as, he mirrors Blake's gaze.

I’m in trouble.. Blake thinks to herself.

Minho catches the brunette girl staring as they walk closer to camp. "You're drooling, Princess." The boy teases they walk side by side. Blake's gaze turns into as glare as she continues walking.

From the other side of the glade, the two boys stand by the entrance of the maze, the greenie still watching the runners—more specifically the female runner.

"Who's that?—And I thought no one was allowed to leave?" The boy questions as his eyebrows furrow

Chuck grins immediately—knowing who the greenie is referring to. "That's Blake, she's the only girl in the glade—and I said we're not allowed to leave, but they're different. They're runners—They know more about the maze than anyone."

"Wait, what?" The greenie finally takes his attention away from the girl, turning back to Chuck.

"What?" Chuck asks innocently, knowing he made the mistake of telling the greenie about the maze.

They weren't supposed to tell the newbies anything about the maze till they were settled in. Of course, Newt made that mistake when Blake first arrived, but that was quickly made into a new rule.

"What?—You just said the maze"

"I did?" Chuck tries to play it off, scratching the back of his head, nervously.

"Yeah" The greenie lets out a dry laugh, inching closer to the maze he stares into the entrance. A brand new set of questions flood the greenie's mind as he gazes between the concrete, intrigue floods his body.

From afar, Blake watches as the greenie nears the entrance gazing in, as Chuck rushes behind the boy to make sure he doesn't go in. "Curious one ain't he?" Blake blurts out to turn her gaze to Minho, who stands beside her.

Minho's arms crossed over his chest, as he lets out a scoff, watching the curious boy. "Reminds me of someone—" He hints as he turns his head to the girl with an eyebrow quirked.

Blake rolls her eyes but freezes when she sees Gally charging straight for the greenie. Great, here we go.

The girl pushes off of the ground as she jogs towards the boys who stand at the entrance. Barely making it twenty feet away before Gally pushes the greenie off his feet—sending the boy flying backwards. The greenie lands on the hard ground, squirming onto his back as Gally towers over him, screaming.

"We gotta stop meeting like this, greenie." The builder shouts as his veins protrude out of his forehead. Blood rushes to his ears as they turn red from agitation.

Blake skids to a stop next to the curly haired youngster as they watch Gally scream at the greenie. The newbie pushes his hands off of the ground to stand up, feeling the builder's frame towering over his hunched figure, the boy screams—"Get off me!" As he pushes the taller boy back.

"All right! Calm, calm, calm." Gally urges raising his hands up in surrender.

"Don't touch me!"

"Hey, just relax!" Gally continues urging the boy, trying to calm him down.

"What the hell is wrong with you guys?" The boy shouts angrily scanning his eyes around the group.

Newt and the rest of the gladers soon jog up to the frightened newbie, from hearing the commotion and screaming. "Just calm down, all right." Newt coos as his hands also fly up in surrender.

Blake stands off to the side watching the scene unfold, unamused. Her eyebrow arches at the greenie's obvious agitation and terror as the rest of the boys fall beside her.

The greenie freaks out even more.  "No, okay! Why won't you tell me what's out there!"

Alby raises his hand up trying to calm the boy down, inching towards him cautiously. Blake knows the doors are about to close, so she doesn't say a word.

She lets the boys handle it, as she does not have the energy to argue or explain. Usually, the girl has a lot of energy, but after her runs she gets tired and doesn't feel like dealing with it.

"We're just trying to protect you. It's for your own good." Alby says inching to the frantic boy.

"You guys can't just keep me here!" The newbie continues yelling.

"I can't let you leave." Alby tries to tell him.

"Why not?" The greenie questions angrily.

Suddenly the gladers hear a click coming from behind them, turning their heads towards the doors, the maze rumbles, making the walls start to move. A gust of wind blows through the opening as the greenie stares into the maze.

"What the hell?" He mutters in confusion

The doors to the maze creak, slowly closing as the gladers all stand by watching the doors close.

Blake stands in the same spot with her arms crossed, still watching the greenie. As the maze doors finally shut, making a loud echo sound—the gladers turn their heads back to the greenie.

"Next time, I'm gonna let you leave." Gally says walking past the group of boys formed at the doors.

The greenie turns to look at the gladers starting to head back, as he sees the girl still stands there with her arms crossed.

"Curiously kills the cat."

The greenie furrows his eyebrows at the girl's statement as she walks back to camp. Not realizing he’s staring at the girl walking away, the boy watches intently as her hips sway.

"Don't even try it." Chuck's voice startles the boy. "Minho will kick your ass."

The dark haired boy turns to face Chuck, making a frown as he clears his throat. "I—I wasn't—" he begins.

"Yeah you were—It's okay. She's hot—only girl in the glade, I get it...Just don't do anything stupid." Chuck warns him.

➭ Next Chapter

Author’s Note: Short chapter, I know…I’m sorry. But I am editing the fourth, so that should be out here soon! The writing could be better, but it is what it is, I guess. 😅 Lmk if you would like to be tagged!

[startswitheff]

You Will Be Loved

Rating: E

Word Count: 22870

Relationship: Dean/Cas

Summary: Dean makes an ill timed wish. Inspired by this amazing post by @boyworstie.

Find it on AO3

Sam set the overfilled box of curios on the kitchen table, heedless of the fact that several items spilled out onto the shining surface, and made a beeline for the fridge. He reached in and grabbed a bottle of his home-made cold-pressed kale "superjuice" and started chugging it. 

Dean turned around from where he was polishing the countertop and regarded his brother cramming his face full of green shit with distaste. Then his eye fell on the dusty items cluttering the tabletop that he had just cleaned and his grimace deepened. "Dude. We are about to have lunch."

"Awesome. I’m starving." Sam tossed the now empty bottle in the sink and stepped forward eagerly. "What’re we having?"

"Nothing, until you can clean that crap off the table." Dean folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes, but dutifully shuffled back to the table and started haphazardly tossing items back in the box. There was a loud clunk and then the tinkle of broken glass, and Dean glanced up from his garnish to see Sam enveloped in a small cloud of sparkling pink dust.

"The fuck?"

Sam slowly turned around, looking sheepish and ridiculous with glitter all over his dumb face. "I broke something."

"Sam, that’s Asgardian itching powder. If you let that sink in you’ll scratch off all your skin within three days," grumbled Cas, bustling into the room with a pile of books in his hands. He nodded in the direction of the hall. "You should shower. Now. With holy oil!" he added as Sam hurried from the room.

Catching sight of Dean’s disgruntled expression, Cas sighed and set his books carefully on a far shelf before approaching the table. Dean tossed his rag on the hook and joined him, nudging his shoulder into the angel’s and peering down at the box. "What is all this stuff, anyway?"

"Cursed objects, mostly," Cas replied, eyeing the contents warily. "Sam and I were cleaning out store room 98 in advance of that shipment from Bobby’s old storage locker, and we found all these things that need to be safely contained in curse boxes." He sighed deeply. "But as you know, Sam gets a little… careless… when he’s hungry, so I sent him up here to eat before he caused too much damage. Clearly I was too late," he muttered, cautiously reaching towards something that looked like a gnarled tree root and setting it gingerly in the box.

Dean was feeling helpful, so he grabbed a set of three interlocked golden rings. "What’s this? It’s beautiful."

Cas tensed next to him before whipping a handkerchief from his breast pocket and opening it across his palm. He used his covered hand to quickly pluck the rings from Dean’s grasp. Wrapping the rings up snugly with a satisfying clink, he jammed the cloth bundle deep down one side of the carton. "Please be careful, Dean. Those were wishing rings. Who knows what the consequences would be if you’d expressed any wants or desires while holding them?"

Dean gulped and stepped back, wiping his hand across his shirt. "Jinkies, Cas. So that was like one of them Hand of God, Monkey’s Paw kinda things?"

"Indeed," Cas nodded. "Please be cautious which items you allow to touch with your bare skin until Sam and I get all the curse boxes sorted."

"Yes, dear," Dean smiled, and winked. "But you know that the only thing I want or desire touching my bare skin is you, right?"

Cas huffed and rolled his eyes, but Dean knew when he watched the pretty blush color his husband’s cheeks that he’d gotten to him and he took advantage of the moment to reel Cas in by the tie for a kiss. Smiling, he then pecked Cas on the nose and stepped back to grab the rag and spray again as the angel finished clearing off the table. He carefully set the box next to the books on the shelf and Dean spritzed the tabletop once more before washing his hands thoroughly. 

Dean gestured with his chin for Cas to sit and set a plate with a club sandwich and side salad in front of him before sliding in next to him with one of his own. 

"Thank you, beloved, this looks delicious." He took a bite of the sandwich and hummed in pleasure.

"Yeah, well, Sam’s will get cold, but that’s his own damned fault." Dean applied himself to his own lunch and the two men ate in companionable silence until only a few crumbs remained on their plates and Dean leaned into Cas, patting his belly. He closed his eyes, settling further against Castiel’s shoulder, and sighed when the angel looped an arm around his waist to hold him steady.

"You know, I don’t think that there’s anything I could wish for that would make me happier than I am right now," he murmured, opening his eyes to stare unseeing at the ceiling. "But I have done so much stupid shit, and made so many mistakes, that I would love a do-over for so many things in my past."

Cas demurred. "I think we both know that altering the past is… inadvisable."

Dean nodded, turning his head a little so he could bury his face in his husband’s neck. "Yeah, I know. And really I only did the dumbest crap when my back was against the wall and I was all alone and thought that nobody was ever gonna come for me. Not like you did," he mumbled, pressing a kiss just above the collar, and Cas shivered and tightened his hold.

"You have spent much of your life caring for others, Dean. I’m so happy now that you can allow me to care for you." Dean heard the smile in Cas’s voice when he spoke next. "Even if my sandwiches aren’t half as good as yours."

"It’s the thought that counts, sweetheart," Dean replied, pulling back to press a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. Cas grinned at him indulgently, but then his eyes became serious.

"I do regret that your childhood and even the first years of your adult life were so lonely."

Dean sighed again, his thoughts drifting to the past. "I would love to have a conversation with my past self, you know? Sit him down with a beer and tell him that he’s not gonna be alone forever. That he’ll be happy someday. Just to give him something to look forward to." He looked over at Cas, whose blue eyes shone with sympathy and understanding. "And who knows," he continued with a smirk, "maybe it would give him enough hope to get his head out of his ass earlier when he finally meets you, and avoids the whole will-they-won’t-they-for-over-a-fucking-decade-thing."

Cas chuckled softly. "I rather like your head where it is, Dean. And your ass," he added with a raised brow. "But yes, I would agree that our ‘courtship’, as it were, was unnecessarily drawn-out."

Read more on AO3

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #598

Top Ten Star Wars Droids

I wanted to do something this week to commemorate the release of Ahsoka, the brand new Star Wars TV series about, er, Ahsoka. She’s the padawan who was trained by Anakin and who ended up leaving the Jedi Order just in time to not be massacred by, er, Anakin. And she’s popped up in live-action in The Mandalorian and The Book of Boba Fett, played by Rosario Dawson. And now she’s back! In her own show! Which hopefully won’t require me to have watched a trillion episodes of Clone Wars and Rebels to understand its various nuances. Because, er, I haven’t.

Anyway: Star Wars. I’ve written a little bit before how the bloom’s come off the rose for me, and how I’m just not very arsed anymore about anything to do with a galaxy far, far away. Having said that, I’m still quite excited about Ahsoka, even though the last time I was really excited was for the slightly disappointing Obi-Wan Kenobi, which left me wondering if I could ever feel the way I felt about the second season of Mando ever again. But Ahsoka has more Hot Jedi Action and David Tennant as a droid.

Which brings me to this week’s list. Because I do love Star Wars; the history and mythology and the breadth of the films and spin-offs. And I think one of the things it does really, really well is Give Good Droid. Here’s a fun aside: Star Wars owns the term “droid”, which I just figured was short for “android”, but is technically a Star Wars Term. Anyway, Star Wars has the best of all kinds of robots, which is quite a claim to make for a Transformers fan. I think what seals the deal is how weird, outlandish, and varied they are; not just valve-headed automatons, you’ve got men-in-suit type dealios, but also humanoid robots that are impossible – hollow-limbed, skinny, composed of irregular shapes; droids that could only be droids. Then you’ve got a variety of bucket-headed contraptions, clunking around on stubby legs or wheeling about; beeping, whirring little suckers. Then there are teeny tiny things, or spider-legged things, or flying things; all sorts of robotic buddies. It makes for a wild and wacky universe, and helps sell not just the fantastical nature of Star Wars, but also the in-universe ordinariness of these things.

So this is a list of my favourite droids from Star Wars. Mostly the films, coz I’ve not really watched much of the animated series.

And, for the record, I do actually think Ahsoka looks pretty ace.

C-3PO and R2-D2: yes, of course I’m cheating and sticking them together; how could I not? Long before those two women whose names nobody knew kissed for eighteen frames of Rise of Skywalker, we had the franchise’s premier gay couple; the bickering old marrieds of Artoo and Threepio. Like a classic British sitcom double-act, Threep’s all hifalutin and priggish and big-headed; whilst his cooler, cockier other half is the real brains of the outfit. But despite their contrasting personalities and temper tantrums, there is genuine love and affection between the pair; so much so that it make the franchise’s treatment of droids feel incredibly dark.  

K-2SO: a bandy-legged, towering figure, a former “bad droid” programmed to be good but still with a rather dour demeanour. His deadpan hatred of Jyn Erso and matter-of-fact pronouncements of doom is a source of great humour, so when he does eventually show her affection it means something; his heroic sacrifice is the throat-lumpiest moment in a movie full of sad, tragic, early deaths.

B1-series Battle Droids: I’m trying to stick to individual droids but that can’t always happen; here we have the whole lot of them, those beige “Roger, Roger” dudes with their adorably droopy faces, silly walks, and delightfully clanky sound effects. I just adore them; they really took a technology that couldn’t have existed (CG characters) to make something that felt of a piece with the old, classic Star Wars universe. They were funny but also felt like a threat; the moment they unfurl from their troop carrier has real menace. Shout out, too, to their bigger brothers, the B2, with their mean-looking sunken heads and gun-arms.

L3-37: a droid with a circular head, a real sense of character, and perhaps a bit of a delusion (or perhaps not…?). Like Alan Tudyk’s Kaytoo and Athony Daniels’ Threepio, there’s a lot to love here due to the droid’s performer; Elthree feels so Phoebe Waller-Bridge. She’s funny but also adds a lot of pathos to the film, with her championing of droid rights and (again) her tragic demise. She gets to live on as, essentially, the Millennium Falcon, which is pretty cool. But at the end of the day, it’s her weirdly sexual relationship with Lando that earns her a spot; although thinking about it, everyone’s relationship with Lando is weirdly sexual.

DUM-series Pit Droids: again with the entire series, but what’s not to love about these flat-headed collapsible robo-Stooges? Dorky little dudes who get into fights, carry heavy loads, and generally dick about causing a mess. They were funny in Phantom Menace and – if anything – even funnier on Mando. I just think they’re neat.

IG-11: another one of the newer droids, and another one who’s greatness may just be down to the really cool actor playing him. But we get a few different shades here; the murder-bot whose only function is to kill; and the nurture bot who will do anything to protect his charge. Again, he’s a droid who bows out tragically, but then – sort of – comes back again. And he remains funny and deadpan, his every deliverance in a soft, staccato Kiwi accent. It’s a bit gross that they used his body as a statue though.

R4-P17: perhaps an obscure one, but I adore her; she’s Obi-Wan Kenobi’s ill-fated little astromech droid, popping up in his Jedi starfighter to help guide him round the galaxy, release a tray of pots and pans to confuse Jango Fett, and transmit a message to the Jedi Council care of “the Old Folk’s Home”, something I’ve found intriguing and delightful since 2002. She has to put up with Obi-Wan’s grumpiness and – frankly – his dose of droid-racism, as well as living in the shadow of Anakin’s droid, Artoo. She dies tragically, too, decapitated by a buzz droid; it’s not played quite as heroically as some of these other droids.

EV-9D9 and 8D8: another couple; and I may be wrong (can’t be arsed trawling Wookieepedia) but I think they may actually be a couple, too. Anyway, these are also a touch obscure, but they’re Jabba the Hutt’s fantastic torture-droids. EV (Eevee?) is the red one with the cool flappy mouth who checks Artoo and Threepio in when Luke “gives” them to Jabba; “you’re a feisty one, but you’ll soon learn some respect”. 8D, meanwhile, is the lanky white one who’s cruelly burning a Gonk Droid and pulling the arms off a protocol droid. Together, they’re an ace pair of metal bastards; and I had both toys. Yay for torture!

GNK Power Droids: Gonk Droids; these are Gonk Droids. They’re massive cuboid things with fat little square feet, farting about in slow motion making stupid comedy sounds. Apparently they’re mobile power batteries, but who cares? They’re just a box on (short) legs, with no distinguishing features, and they make a silly noise and I love them to bits.

MSE-6 series Mouse Droids: ah, of course; how could we forget the remote-controlled toasters? Talk about your world-building, the fact that these tiny shoeboxes on wheels were tear-arsing around the Death Star corridors, utterly ignored by everyone, was another major facet in establishing the lived-in nature of this universe; these kinds of small, everyday droids were utterly commonplace. They also make a funny noise, and get scared when a Wookiee roars at them, and they’re just delightful.

Blimey, ten droids already! And that’s with me cheekily sticking some together in one entry. I know what you’re all thinking: no BB-8, what a travesty. But really I’m more gutted I couldn’t find room for one of those exploding Imperial probe droids; or even better, R5-D4, the little astromech who blows a gasket in A New Hope leading to Uncle Owen buying Artoo instead. I once read a story where Arfive was the first droid to develop the Force, and he foresaw the need for Artoo to be placed with Luke, and so heroically sacrificed himself. Anyway, he turned up again in Mando, so he can’t have been too poorly. So yeah: top droids. Sorry, BB.

[void-speaks]

And here are my thoughts on Episode 3:

Boy oh boy am I nervous as hell haha

Man.

IMAGINE IF RANBOO FACE REVEALS ON GENLOSS I WILL GO CRAZY

IT'S LIVE IT'S LIVE IT'S LIVE

The music rocks dude.

Also no more Showfall Media???

Maybe it's a bad idea to watch a horror project at 1 am but what else am I supposed to do lol, move the stream?

This music makes me think a saw trap will go off as soon as the timer ends.

I have no snacks so I had to grab bread.

Imagine if Ranboo completely disregards the "The Protagonist™️ must live until the end of the franchise" rule and kills his character 😭

I will never regret sacrificing my sleep for this.

3 MINUTES BOYS.

ONE MINUTE ONE MINUTE ONE MINUTE ONE MINUTE YOOOOOOOO

Kinda miss the elevator music.

30 SECS.

10!!!!

YOOOOOOOOOOOOO IT'S STRATIFJFNFJFNFKFNDKDKFKFKJGJFJFJFJFJFJF

LET’S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

what the fuck?? Where did they get an entire mall??????

Anime intro opening slay

TV MAN TV MAN TV MAN DIFJDIRKFODKELIFIFID

YOYOYOYOYOYOYOYOYOYOYO HATCH????? HETCH??????

AUDIENCE POG POG POG HEHE

TURN OFF THE AUDIENCE???? NO DON'T TURN US OFF!!!!!!!!

TAKE OFF THE MASK TAKE OFF THE MASK TAKE OFF THE MASK.

I LOVE THE TV MAN HEHEHEHEHEHE

Why do I feel like he's evil.

Dude be walkin

Yo Ran fix that back pls.

Ooops. Sorry Ethan.

Why is he talking like that...

I no longer like TV man.

How did they get an entire mall to them?????

Oh no survivor's guilt moment.

Mmmmmmmm pots.

Wait is that Alex?? I still can't tell.

Slay. Hehe.

LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR.

TV MAN IS EVIL I'M SURE OF THIS!!!!!!!

I love when Ran zones out hehehe

HOLY FUCKING SHIT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

WHAT IS THAT ENNARD ABOMINATION LOOKING THING.

I think TV man is evil. Hate it eirhdjdbbfbfbrbrb.

They be standin lol.

People hehehehe

Oh? Another camera?

SOMETHING MOVED IN???????

When Ranboo hid behind the bush I thought they fell 😭😭😭

Okay wait so if these people are not the company then who is the company?? Or what is the company? Is the message of Genloss just be like: "Destroy Capitalism. Capitalism bad."?

WAIT ARE THEY LITERALLY TEASING RANBOO FACE REVEAL OH MY LORD?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Ranboo stare creepy

I SAW SOMEONE MOVE

Reassuring much huh

SINCE WHAT????? SINCE WHAT TV MAN?????????

Strong man bug arms strong boo

Just smash all of this. Literally just pour water everywhere lol.

Destroy destroy destroy destroy destroy destroy

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

WOW FUCKING THANKS TV MAN.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MONONDOFKSIFNFIFNFIDJFICNDKDKCJFJFKFKKFKF PEOPLE OH NOOOOOOOOOOO

HOLY FUCK BLOOD OH NO I'M TERRIFIED?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!

NO DON'T YELL.

Oh em gee????

So is the message streamer industry bad?!?!?!?!?!?

YOOOO CHARLIE!!!!!!

EHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHREHHEHRHEHEHRHEHRHEHEHEHEHRHRHHRHEEH

CHARLIE CHARLIE CHARLIE CHARLIE

Rip the Puzzler lol

DON'T YELL!!!!!!!!!!!

Was Charlie actually streaming???

SUBA OFNFDIDB3KJFDKFNCJFJFJFJDJDJRKRIFJFJDJNDNDMFLDLEJFJGN

Clunk and Wacky's lol

HOLY SHIT SOMETHING KILLS THE PEOPLE LORD OH NO

AAAAASAAASASSSSSSSSSSSSSSAAAJSJAJSJSAASAAAAAAAAAAA

RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN

IRKEKEKDIDJDJDJDJDJDJDJDJJDJFJFJFJFJFJFJFJFJFJFJFJFJFNFNFNFNNFNFNFFNFNFNNFJFJFFJJFJFJFJDJFJFJGJJFDJJD

I AM GETTING SHEEVERS DOWN MY SPINE DOFNDKDJDJFHJDJDJDJDJFJFJFJDJJDJDJFUFBDBDU

LORD DEAR GOD EIDNTJK4BDJFJFNFJGNFJDKDKFIJFJFJFJFJFJF

KNIFE TJME KNIFE TIME KNIFE TIME KNIFE TIME YOYOYOYOOYOYOYOYOY

They're so awkward lol

NOT THE PAN LOL

THEY'RE LITERALLY IM THE BACKEOOMS

They a runner they a trackstar

PEPO RUN RUN RUN!!!!!

What the fuck is heppening eith the glass bri??????

Who dat??

TV man!!!!!!!

WAIT SNEEG?!??!?!?!?!?!?!???????

Who are you?? Yeah who are they??????

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. TV man is not evil. TV man is dead.

Ranboo??? Ranboo??????

RANBOO????????????

KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL

SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAY >:D

Charlie is going through ut rn

OH LORD OH NO

RANBOO SAVE CHARLIE

KILL

Oh? No kill? :(

Not the Little Nightmares music.

This is not real is it.

Where's Charlie????

Wait no where IS Charlie????????

This is not real. This is definitely fake bro.

OH LORD

TOLD YOU!!!!!!!!

I TOLD YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!

SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU EVIL MAN.

Squiggles!! Hi!!! :D

PLEASE LIVE!!!!!!!

NO DON'T DIE!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE NO DON'T DIE!

BREAK FREE

BREAK FREE

BREAK FREE

BREAK FREE

BREAK FREE

NO DON'T DIE PLEASE NO DON'T DIE

Oh....

They wanna die. Okay then! Die is die.

Goodbye Ranboo!

Bye bye Ran! Was a pleasure!

Oh my lord... he dead.

So they really just crucified them huh.

No more Hero I guess!

Oh lord. 8 of them huh? And this one was the sixth one. Holy moly.

THIS WAS EPIC.

Can't believe we got both Swearboo and Faceboo holy shit!

Tho honestly at this point, in my eyes the mask is the face lol.

My head hurts lolz.

[deviant-kl700]

I have ambiance for Thai one boys

Poptarts and monster

Hey rented out a ducking mega mall

Four stories good god

I don’t trust this fella

Charles?

He just lied to ranbus how Tf do you expect me to trust this fella

Sub A

I love the two standing by the water cooler

Wanna make the key card so so much

I already have a WIP of ran’s mask

No how long has he been there

I need to know

A year? Like the first video

Or more like the first concept in real ranboos head

How many of these masked did they make

It says red on the board above must be the red one then buckaroos

No way we are already at the heart

I DONT LIKE THIS GUY

Btw I could never act as one of the mask guys my hands are way too ansy

I want the best for u

FUCK YOU DUDE

I DONT LIKE SEEING MY FAVOURITE GUYS BE SAD AND STRESSED

Makes me sad and stressed

WARNING VIDEO GAME IN PROGRESS Hahahahaha

GAMING MOMENT

AT TEN SUBS ILL GET MY BALLS OUT

I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY

The puzzler actually died?!

NO NO JERMA WHY

JERMA FUCKING DIED NONONO

guys this is such beautiful cinematography

Sub A my boy you got mentioned!!

My favourite stores clunk and wacky’s

WHAT THE FUCK

RUN MY SILLYS

YOU GOT THIS YOU BUFF MASTERPIECE CHARLIE HOLD TAHT DOOR

the slime bucket is just blood

It’s hashtag confirmed

Stop making jokes I’m actually fucking tearing up at my

RUN AT LEAST DO A LIGHT JAUNT

back we’re we started. Fuck.

Getting some foot action from the camera

You were doing stuff to me NO PLEASE DONT REMEMBER THAT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Oh god.

Hetch a name that most likely has meaning but without it sounds like a emo middle schoolers oc

Ranboo is going beast mode oh gosh

This isn’t the end right?

Oh my god it’s the cabin

CHECK IN ON CHARLES did we do something wrong

Is this our fault

Please

SHUT UP U EMO OC YOU

fuck.

I’m such a loser why I’m a shaking and crying

I care far too much about this person and a character of his dying leaves me in shambles

God damn it man.

[the-clockwork-three]

Swan Lake is a classic for a reason. Beautiful story. Amazing music. Incredible choreography. I do wish Ireland had... Literally any other ballet playing. Our cultural scene is incredibly stagnant. Just Swan Lake and the Nutcracker. Anyways this is musing from the production I saw today (technically yesterday)

The set for this production was very Greek (???) to me, especially in Act 1. (Not in the sense of the phrase but actually like Greece). There was a lot of pillars, and marblesque seats and fancy pots full of flowers. The lake was a lake in the even acts and the Act 3 ballroom is very plain. However the costume design was normal, which is to say they could be from anywhere in western Europe. But they were all sparkly so that's a plus

Act one. That's a pas de trois. You cannot convince me that that dance with the bestie and the two girls is not a valid Grand Pas de Trois. A dance together, everyone gets a solo, then they are together again. Swan Lake says polyamoruos rights. And this polyamory really want a fourth, but Seigfried keeps being like "nah it's alright, you go ahead I'm going to stay here". He is NOT interested in their advances.

Random half-joking headcannons aside, the crossbow was like really pathetic. It was pure white with what looked like delicate carvings and gems and I genuinely thought it was a pickaxe for a second before I remembered the plot. It's just.... My dude that's not going to hurt a fly it looks like your mum bought you a nice decoration. Also, if your mum gives you a crossbow in the first scene I expect you to have shot it at the evil wizard by the last one. Chekhov's gun,,,, or what I like to call it, Seigfried's stupid little crossbow

Anyway MIME STRIKES BACK. We all know that ballet is incredibly tied to mime as an artform and so the only way I'll my communicating the concept of marriage from now on is by laying one hand over the other and giving loaded looks. Anyways ballet is so silly and I love it

Act 2. Cygnets. I love cygnets. Give me more cygnets. I've also performed a lot of act 2 so the music is a little burned into my brain. Watching it made my feet hurt from remembering standing still for 3 solos

Anyways, here we meet Seigfried's first, but certainly not last, cringfail moment. He is the lands worst marksman. God help us all.

Also he proves himself to be an absolute wife guy. Odette has this lovely solo and he's just on the sidelines giving her heart eyes.

Act 3 <3 I've said it before and I'll say it again. I LOVE WHEN BALLET IS CLOSER TO ITS FOLK DANCE ROOTS. Character dance? Yummy. 3/5 of the folk dances were character. AND TARANTELLA. I LOVE SPAINISH DANCES. Rad grade 4 dance f (maybe. Possibly) is my favorite dance I have ever done for a ballet exam. If you take nothing of this watch RAD grade 4 dance f. The tamberines in the fourth dance were clearly missing their cymbals though. You can hear the dancers pointe shoes clunking against the stage, you would be able to hear the tamberines. And when they smack the thing there was the merest clink. Again as I have done the tarantella in rad grade 4, I can tell you that dancing with tamberines is LOUD

And then we have Odile. My boy you're so fucking stupid. I love you, but you are good of heart, dumb of ass. But the dance was breath taking. Of course. Fouttetes<3 and then Seigfried's pirouettes à second<3 I do think the ballerina fell out of the last fouette so she might not have done the full 32, or if she did she needs to work on her technique of stopping. Show stopping though. And? Then? At the end of the grand pas de deux????? The way Seigfried gripped Odile's hand and pressed it to his cheek. Raw devotion. It made my heart wrench. My boy is just so fucking stupid.

It's also really interesting to me that the Grand Pas de Deux goes to Odile. Odette does not get the dignity other tragic heroines get. The main dance in her story doesn't even go to her. She doesn't get the fouettes. Her love, her spotlight, her story was stolen from her. I think that's what made this veiwing of swan lake different from my earlier ones, as I understand the structure of ballets now. Also this one I'm seeing live

Act 4. May have laughed when Wizard Man crawled off stage. He was so wet and pathetic. Can neither confirm or deny.

Alright back to the idea of devotion. Seigfried to his last breath looks to the sky for Odette. He tries to give her what he gave Odile by mistake, his declaration of undying love. He presses he head to her hands with a desperation. He would try a thousand times over if they had the time. Odette for her part forgives him. She raises him from the ground when he feels the weight of his sins pressing down on him. She does not hold a grudge, but that doesn't change that she is scared. She knows Rothbart is coming, and the other swans are anxious with her. But they stay together, because that's what love is, right? Staying by someone's side, through good and bad, and forgiveness.

I'll be honest, I was not expecting a kiss. Not every romance needs one yanno. Sometimes pressing one's cheek to their loved ones hands communicates just as well as a smackeroonie. And if someone never kissed me but did the hand thing, I'd believe they liked me (note to self, possible solution to icks the idea of kissing gives you.). But then they did kiss and :D tbf it's implied that they are both super dead and on the way to heaven but that's a happy end in my books

Anyways watch swan lake. It good.

[synamartia]

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO~!

♡ You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

I'mma start right here. So I'm from Las Vegas, and this bit got me feeling homesick, okay? The Strip, Fremont Street, and the hotels/casinos are LITTERED with showgirls dressed like this - hell, I've seen a couple inside the Adventure Dome - and it's just body-slamming me with nostalgia right now, cause I remember seeing them all the time and thinking they were SO goddamn beautiful, so thank you for this, my love~! ❤️

♡ Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

OKAY LOOK, I'MMA TAKE A WILD GUESS AND SAY YOU'RE SETTING AL UP TO BE A JUSTICE COLLECTOR IN THIS FIC, RIGHT?? That's not what it's actually called, I'm just too lazy to look up the proper term for it rn OTL but basically it's someone that brings people to justice based on their own moral code, usually operates outside the actual judicial system? I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense it's like 5:30 am here and I haven't slept yet (well, it was when I started reading) ANYWAY. I bring this part up because it just fits his character like Cinderella's slipper, and I love that you're including his 'weird moral code', as Vivzie put it~ *chef's kiss*

♡ “My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

BOI, GIVE HER A MINUTE. SHE JUST HAD SOMEONE THROTTLE HER. But nah, this bit is another thing I absolutely LOVE so far cause OFC he would be so nonchalant about killing someone, and with a witness no less. Very Alastor coded~! 👌

♡ Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

🎵 Not for looooonnnnggggg~! 🎵 Can't wait for the *BONK* once Al finally falls~ I'mma EAT 👏 THAT 👏 SHIT 👏 UP👏 (okay I just reread this bit again and realized you meant when they LOOKED at her, and not when they fell IN LOVE with reader "OTL - MY STATEMENT STILL STANDS THOUGH)

♡ His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

Babygirl. Mans just killed a dude and brushed it off like pastry crumbs. WHAT. WERE. YOU. EXPECTING?

♡ You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

WAIT. NO. YOU CAN'T JUST-- GET YOUR BAMBI ASS BACK HERE YOU MOTHERFU--

♡ A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

NAH, FOR REAL THOUGH, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU-- for the record I'd fall on the 'steel' in his lap too

♡ Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

THERE YOU ARE YA LITTLE SHIT-- (such a sweetie though, I love it! thank you bby~ ❤️)

♡ “Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Istfg, if you run away again--

♡ You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

OH, COME OOONNN! 😭 please don't think I'm complaining I promise I'm not I actually really love the chase I'm just playing into the bit now

♡ It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

♡ Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

Good god almighty, I'm such a simp for a disheveled Alastor, holy shit *knuckle bite* ASDFGHJKLGUHH--

♡ It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps. 

Fuck YES *popcorn munch* it's 'bout to get REAL steamy up in this bitch 🫠😶‍🌫️

♡ His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

GET IT BABY

♡ Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

Always. Never assume we're NOT down bad for you unless explicitly said otherwise.

♡ Is that right? You wanted him to touch you? 

Yes.

♡ “Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

YES. (Also side note: Istg I had no idea you had Al asking this when I wrote that one bit for Haunted. 😅)

♡ His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

I doooo~🎵

♡ “Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.  

HHHHHNNNNNGGHGGGHH-- 💦💦💦

♡ Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

No, seriously. Please. Guidance is my kink. I have no idea what the official term for it is, but PLEASE. 😭❤️‍🔥

♡ “Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

"Oh, god-," INDEED. PRAISE ME MORE.

WHY THE FUCK DID I WAIT TO READ THIS??? IT'S SO GOOD AND IT'S ONLY THE FIRST CHAPTER WHAT THE HELL??? I'mma go get a lil bit of sleep, but when I wake up, I'mma be binge reading the FUCK outta this! I got a whole week off, and as it stands right now, ZERO plans! I apologize in advance for the havoc I'mma 'bout to wreak upon your dashes please forgive me 😭

And and and, also-- can I pretty please be added to the tag list, dearie~? 🥹🙏

I just need you to know this story has had me in a chokehold and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it. This is gonna be a weird smutty slow burn, so still smut every post but full p in v sex will be a reward you have to work for?

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Redsmut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedysmut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

「warnings/tags: HumanAlastor x FemaleReader, implied attempt to SA, fingering, plot with porn?, Multi part work, bad kind of choking, blood kink, blood licking, just in general blood, Non-Sex repulsed Ace Spectrum Alastor, stalking, murder obvs, finger sucking, smoking kinda kills if you squint, Public sex acts, garter belt, You have a stage name but no one important uses it, Greed, Lust, Human Alastor is a little different than Demon Alastor. 」

minors dni 💅🏽

Part 1 Pretty in Red

The marriage between burlesque and jazz wasn’t unexpected. Before the Great Depression took the nation into a stranglehold, both Jazz and Burlesque were immoral wastes of time only the most barbaric sought out.

And oh, did you love it. Everyone who was made to feel like nobody flocked to your theater and the surrounding neighborhood. Men, women, the people who didn’t agree with either. The biblically inclined, those closer to sodom, the sapphic dolls. Everyone was equal in the halls of jazz rooms and theatres where burlesquers were welcome.

Because of the inclusive nature of such places, you often saw familiar faces. It wouldn’t be unusual for someone from Thursday night to be seen Saturday at a different locale.

That presented certain opportunities and challenges. When you found a good mark, it was easy to be wherever he was and play it off as fate and common interests.

And when you gained a new stalker, someone wanting a personal show, it could be hard to tell until it was too late. 

Maybe it was your greed, or just your love of attention, but you found yourself focused almost entirely on a particularly well dressed man one evening. You’d seen him around before. Clean cut, sharp suit, a welcoming smile always on display. He looked like he had money, the most attractive quality of any man you could meet.

So focused on his gleaming stare from the side booths you hadn’t noticed the man at the stage front tables. You barely noticed him the night before, or the night before that, either. Because Smiles, as you took to calling the handsome stranger in the back, had been here three nights now too.

You really put on a show. Shimmying your hips, ostrich feathers following suit with every move. Your brassiere was heavy with shining rhinestones, panties of silk and lace. Your set was almost done, all that was left was to remove your top and slink away behind the curtains to hollers and whistles. Back turned, you unhooked the painful bra and let it fall to the stage with a clunk. Foot in front of foot, you stalked the stage length. With your hand hidden from view you took the feathered fan from the stagehand behind the curtain. As the music crescendoed you turned, fan unfurling just in time to hide yourself.

Groans, mass begging from the audience. Your stage name a chant now, a prayer. “Autumn! Come on!”

As the band slowed, music dying to mark the end of your number, you scanned the crowd. Eyes blinking coyly, you mouthed, “More? Did you want more?”

People were jumping to their feet, not Smiles but that was fine, you were focused now on the adoration of the crowd. The music ended, a second of silence. 

You winked, the drums hitting one last beat as you let the fan close.

Fanfare! Men whistling, women clapping. Someone shouted a marriage proposal. You took a bow, twirled on the balls of your feet and slipped gracefully behind the curtains.

Your hands wound to your spine, rubbing blood flow back into your skin as the staff removed your headdress. Someone slipped your robe over you and you nodded a thanks, aching feet carrying you to the dressing room. It was chaos, as usual. Women buzzing around, tits and ass here and there. You smiled. You happened to enjoy this part of the job. Soft bodies in shiny costumes, lovely smells and sweet voices. If you could get dressed quickly enough, you could still take a tour of the room and slide into Smiles’ booth. 

“Enjoy the show?” You’d ask. He’d lean in, maybe blush, “Always when you’re here.” Or something like that. You’d cozy up to him, flag down a waiter for something strong and pricey, and get him properly drunk. He’d wake up outside, fine and dandy except his missing cash. 

You’ll call him a drunkard if he confronts you, accuse him of getting himself robbed after you refused his advances. You’ll say it too loudly, and he’ll run off. 

You danced a little in your seat, another game of cat and mouse about to commence. But first, a smoke.

Unbeknownst to you, the well dressed man hadn’t come to see you. He preferred your singing shows at the little dive bar two blocks over. No, he had come for the man at the front table. For weeks now, he had watched him harassing the ladies of the few joints in New Orleans that weren’t regularly hounded by police. Your smiley mark even heard stories of unsavory acts, many women leaving the dance scene entirely after.

He didn’t care for it. He didn’t care for him. So he took to his hunt, following the man to come to his own conclusions. The pattern of behavior was obvious, and though he hadn’t seen what ended the last obsession, it was clear one of the performers at this club was being stalked as the next victim. 

He watched your dance with half lidded eyes, just as much as he watched the man give dirty looks to the other men cheering. Heard the, “Marry me!” shouted at you.

Yes, it was obvious to him now. 

So when the target of his interest got up and pushed his way into a staff only door, well, the well dressed man was sure to follow. 

The great thing about confidence and a nicely tailored suit is that no one questions you about why you are where you are. So while the brute he tailed had to shove past people to get wherever he was going, people smiled and made room for the gentleman who was not far behind.

He caught the street access door before it closed, allowing it to stay open just a sliver. Enough for one golden brown eye to watch the events unfold.

“Can I have a light?” The stranger asked you. You looked at him, then to the staff only entrance he just came out of. 

“I don’t think I know you….,” you handed him the lighter but he instead leaned into you, cigarette hanging from his lips. “You… new?”

You sparked the flint with a practiced thumb, taking three tries to get it lit, and put your hand out. The man didn’t budge, eyebrows rising, “You really don’t recognize me?” He asked, motioning with his hand to come closer. Your eyes glanced down the alley, cars slowly moving past the street. When you looked back, the man took your wrist in his hand. He held you so tightly that the muscles in your palm locked and you dropped the lighter. 

“What the fu-,” his hand came across your face, halting your sentence.

“I’m your best customer. Every show. I’m the one who brings flowers.”

Dozens of men bring flowers, especially on the weekend shows. You held your cheek, skin burning. Your hand pulled back, the corner of your lip bleeding from his rings. Scrambling, your mind was searching for the right words.

With a forced smiled, your shaky voice finally piped up, “Oh! Yeah! Oh geez. I am so sorry, doll. I’m just so tired, and the alley is so dark. Here, let’s go inside so I can get a better look at you.” You tried to take your wrist from him but he didn’t loosen up.

“Nah, you ain’t tricking me. You owe me.” He pulled you into him, large hand gripping your face with ease, “You can’t lead on men like this and think you don’t gotta answer for it.” He kissed you, forcing your face into his. “Bitch! Did you fucking bite me?” He threw you into the tin trash cans beside the wall, knocking the wind out of you. 

No purse, no sharp object, not even a heeled shoe to defend yourself with. You cursed, so preoccupied with Smiles you forgot your wits.

You spit out the copper saliva, his blood and yours. “I’ll keep biting, too.” 

Why scream? The sounds of the next act were bouncing off the brick walls. Upbeat jazz and applause echoing around you. No one would hear you. Men can break your body but you never had to give them your dignity. Never give them the satisfaction of a response.

No. No screaming. You instead spent your energy trying to get to your feet. He took hold of your neck now, throttling you. It wasn’t what you had expected, but as he lifted you off the ground and your little dressing room slippers fell off, you thought this was actually better. 

“Well I think that’s quite enough.”

You felt warmth, then registered wetness. Your shin scraped on the asphalt as you were dropped without warning. Trying to open your eyes, you found you couldn’t see. Wiping and blinking away the foreign liquid, you watched your attacker fall to his knees.

Blood was shooting from between his fingers around his own neck, each pulse becoming weaker and weaker, evident through the stream.

When he finally fell over, drained, you were startled to see another man with you. The light reflected off his glasses as he adjusted them, the knife still in his right hand as he did so. 

“My, my. What a mess he’s made.” The man smiled down at you, offering a hand. When you didn’t immediately react, he cocked his head to the left, “Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?”

Is that was this was? A rescue? You took his hand with both of yours, pulling yourself up. 

Smiles? You blinked away the shock, time to shift into your next part. Damsel. You weren’t out the woods yet.

“You saved my life!” As you pressed yourself into his chest, you tucked your head beneath his chin. You tried to make yourself small. “I owe you! Please let’s go inside, drinks on me!” You looked up, batting your lashes.

“I don’t think that’s wise, dear.” His gaze panned down your dress, soaked through. He could see the thinking behind your eyes.

“No, right….,” You gripped his vest, “We gotta get outta here, fast. There’s a hotel just behind the threatre.” You started to pull his suit jacket off, slipping it over yourself. “No cops, the theatre will get raided. Just— take me somewhere safe?”

You watched him look you over, arm finally extending to let you hook yours with his. 

As soon as the hotel door closed behind you, you slipped off his jacket and ran to the dressing table mirror. 

Your face was painted red, navy dress now black and sticky. It was good you stayed from view of the reception staff. “I didn’t get my rescuer’s name,” you licked your thumb and rubbed at the blood around your cheeks. 

“Alastor. It’s a pleasure.”

You laughed, “Is that what you call a pleasure?” Turning, you pulled the mostly still dry handkerchief from your pocket and dabbed the corner on your tongue. You brought it up to the frame of his glasses and wiped the blood from the metal. “I’d hate to see what you call a bad time.”

Your hand slowed, noticing the way he was looking at you. Typically men’s pupils were blown when they fell on you, but his were constricted. They flitted around your face. His hand took hold of yours, fingers separating the thumb from the handkerchief. He pulled the little square of yellow fabric free with his other hand, allowing him to hold your thumb now by itself.

His lips opened, tongue licking the blood stained finger before placing it directly into his mouth.

Your stared, horrified, as he sucked the digit clean. 

His eyes fluttered close, finger popping out of his mouth with a debauched sound. You made no attempt to take back your hand. The realization you may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire set in.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” You tried to sound as in control as possible. Calm. Unwavered. Offered a timid smile. 

He chuckled, “You could say that. May I?” His fingers lifted your chin. You didn’t know what he was asking. His soft smile looked downright loving. He smelled so good, notes of something earthy rising above the copper.

You nodded, because part of you wanted to see where it would go. And part of you thought you didn’t have a choice.

As his face came to yours, you instinctually closed your eyes expecting a kiss. But no, instead you felt his tongue wipe across the cut at the corner of your mouth. His breath blanketed your cheek. Then his hand left your chin, the warmth of his body gone entirely. 

You opened your eyes to see him at the door, slipping back into his jacket, “I’ll pay for the night.” He tipped his head to you and exited the room back first, eyes locked with yours until the door closed.

You just stood there in the silence left behind. But as if on cue, the adrenaline waned and your knees buckled under you. You were moments from death, now somehow spared. But what had he— Alastor, been doing there? Did he follow you, too? The cat and mouse had been flipped, or perhaps now this was a fox and hound?

Gripping the dressing table, you pulled yourself up and into the view of the mirror again. Face streaked in dried blood save for the one clean spot where your lips met cheek. 

You felt like a ghost the next day. It would be nice to tell someone about what happened but, “Hey a man tried to kill me and then another man killed him! Then he licked blood off my face and I let him. It was the most disturbingly erotic thing to happen to me in months!” would get you tossed into a wagon. 

“Are you rude or just stupid?” The theatre manager pulled you aside by the arm when you came into rehearsal. “You can’t just disappear like that, people were waiting.”

Your eyes narrowed, “Was… my absence really the most exciting part of the evening? Not the John in the gutter?”

He huffed, “So that’s it? Got a beau?”

“Wait— nothing else happened last night? After I left?” 

“This show doesn’t revolve around you. Plenty happened.”

“Excuse me,” you hurried into the back, “And sorry!”

You opened the street access door and looked into the alley. Trash cans neat and tidy, no dead man, nothing strange or telltale.

You ducked back inside. Had Smiles done this? Obviously, actually. No stranger just cleaned up the dead body. If the flatfeet had found him, the club would have been under scrutiny.

Good, you thought, and went about your work.

Rehearsal dragged on. Little details summoning you back to the night before. 

“You okay?” Another performer asked, grabbing your hand and inspecting the blood around your cuticles.

“Oh it’s not mine!” You laughed, she laughed, you walked off before she could clarify.

When applying your makeup, you remembered his hands on your face. They were so soft. Definitely a man of means. A brief intrusive thought, the other hands on your face last night.

You pranced on stage, going through the motions of your routine. Even in the empty hall, your eyes wandered to the booth he’d been in. And as you took the stage in earnest later that night you searched the crowd for the glint of his glasses and found nothing shiny nor promising.

Back in the dressing room you took a moment to wonder what the actual fuck you we’re doing. He murdered a man in front of you, why were you hoping to see him again? He had half a mind to kill you next.

But would that really be so bad?  Your life was routine, boring even. The only thing keeping your lungs expanding was the applause. Maybe the headlines of your death would cause such an uproar, dancer struck down in her prime, that you could bask in the loving glow all the way from hell.

One way to remain famous, you considered. A dramatic death.

Not that you were famous. You weren’t part of the national circuits. Just your local theatres, a common face and body to the sinners of Louisiana’s most infamous city. But, well, fame is relative. For the scene you were in, you were your own little star. 

A shining light. Shimmering. The faint light reflecting off— Blood. For a second you could only remember looking through bloodied, heavy lashes. 

“You’ve been so out of it. Trouble in paradise?” Ruth, the curviest of your coworkers and arguably the favorite of the crew, rested her chin on your head. Looking at each other in the mirror, you offered a soft smile.

“I’ll letcha know when I get there.”

She pinched your cheek, “Tommy said you had a new guy. I just figured-,”

“That isn’t,” you clenched your eyes shut, “no, no guy. I just got locked out last night in the alley. The sticky-,” sticky and viscous blood, “back door wouldn’t open up. I didn’t want to come in the front in my slippers so I just hoofed it home.” 

She patted your head, “if you say so! Be careful out there though. Dangerous these days.” 

An understatement.

You enjoyed the spotlight, but more than that you craved the attention doted on you after. You’d walk through the hall to the bar to adoring looks and free drinks. It bothered you that Tommy was telling the girls you had a man. You didn’t want to appear too closed off, or for word to spread to the customers. 

Last thing you needed was men passing you by for more available options. Not that the pay wasn’t fine. Ends were being met, but grifting added an element of thrill. You really did love the chase. Finding someone and deciding he would be yours, he would fall under your spell and be at your feminine mercy. It made you feel powerful, almost mythical. And the money was nice. Sometimes you didn’t even need to steal, the men would just lavish you in gifts and you’d let it fizzle out naturally. Normally their wives would snatch them back or they’d just get tired of waiting for you to leave the stage and dance into their domestic dreams. A housewife? An adopted mother to a grown man during the day, a hungry nymph at night? For what, an allowance and a home you didn’t own? Pass. Where’s that handsome man with his knife? That was a much better steel to fall onto than what these men offered from their laps.

From your view at the bar you knew he wasn’t there. But with a nod you decided the chase was still on. You were going to get your victory. If anything, this would be easier. You had dirt on him. Blackmail would be simple enough. Bloody clothes and the perfect alibi; being a woman. No cop would think you took down that hulking man. 

Ah, right. There was no body.

That would be an issue. He had to have taken it somewhere. Just find him and follow. Worst case scenario, you play the usual game and steal whatever cash was in his wallet.

Well, worst case you die. 

You slept sitting up to keep your hair set, during the day your makeup barely was there but a red lip always the star. You had three nice dresses (well, you had had four) so you figured three nights to find him before moving on.

You slinked through the crowds of the hot and sweaty dance club Moxie. Swinging music kept bodies moving, and though you kept your eyes open you didn’t catch sight of this Alastor fellow. Which was fine! You enjoyed a few dances, swing always making you feel energized. Not a waste of a Friday night.

Saturday was easy, the lounge on fifth. Smooth jazz, plush chairs, rich men. Definitely a place you could imagine Smiles to frequent. The whisky was all top shelf, and many gentlemen offered you a lap to sit. Sure, no Alastor, but you didn’t go home empty handed.

You weren’t a particularly great singer, but if the room was small enough and the piano loud enough, you could please a crowd. Your friend had you on a semi-set schedule most Sundays at her little dive too many blocks from Main Street. Her darling played piano, you sat and sang to the couple dozen patrons stuffed into the one room bar. When you finished your set, you took your bows and looked for your friend. You needed to tell her you wouldn’t be staying. 

Your polite nods and gracious thank yous were abruptly ended by a tap on your shoulder, “You dropped this, miss.” You did a mental check of your purse before turning around.

“Oh, a sight for sore eyes. Mr. Alastor.” Your face lit up, you could see it in his glasses.

“You’re too kind. Here, I apologize for the delay. I wanted to return them clean.” In his hand was your yellow handkerchief, folded neatly. You took it and found it uncharacteristically heavy. 

When you unfurled it, your brass lighter fell into your waiting palm. Your thumb caressed the engraving. 

Alastor watched your face as the lighter tumbled out. “I figured it was important, given the condition and detailing.”

You tested the weight in your hand, “Did you fill it?” You looked to him incredulously.  He nodded.

It was a surprisingly kind act, and you needed a second to regain your composure. “I don’t know how to thank you.” Your quick wit failed for a moment, but rebounded fast. “Except with a drink. My treat. To my rescuer.”

He mulled the idea, your reaction to him was interesting. Alastor had thought if he approached you first you’d show a little more fear, or shock. But you looked downright chipper to see him there. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have much time tonight. I had just wanted to return your items.”

Your smile dropped. How did he know you were here? Had he been carrying— no, he said he had them cleaned. Had he seen you here before, before the incident? A chuckle, smile brought back, “My luck is terrible. You always flee me. I hope you don’t see my company as deadweight.”

Alastor’s smile twitched, eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses, “Not at all! I think you’d find I’m quite comfortable with-.”

“Lugging people around?” You said. That constricted pupil again, eyes wild. A chill ran down your spine. Alarms were going off. Wrong answer. You straightened your back, popping the items into your purse, “Next time.”

Alastor nodded, “Yes. Next time, then.”

You fucked it up. You knew you had, but suddenly his words felt like a thinly veiled threat. 

You turned to leave and hadn’t seen his smile sour.

It hadn’t been a threat. He hadn’t anticipated you to notice the implication. Most people would have been so blinded by his charm they would fail to notice the glaring red flags. He was mildly impressed. You would be more trouble than he had expected.

Alastor knew he needed to do something about the clearly clever woman who was seemingly expecting him. He had followed you for several days, surprised to find you not spreading word about the murder. You hadn’t spoken to anyone, really. Even the man you left the lounge with, you just smiled and nodded nearly all evening while the man dominated the conversation. So, your sharp wit took him off guard. Who were you pretending to be? And why?

All of your cleverness fell apart when you tried to follow him. It was almost comical. He felt bad. This was going to be embarrassing for you.

He took several right turns and stepped into the park just outside of the bar. You thought perhaps he had gotten lost and considered turning around after you realized you’d lost sight of him. As you passed a large weeping willow, you were pulled under the curtains of hanging moss by your waist.

Back against the large tree, you could only pout.

“What are you after, stalking a man in the dead of night?” Alastor had you pinned, both hands on either side of your head. His body boxed you in, not that there was much more to see than moss and darkness.

You blinked several times. What a question. You answered honestly, “You.” He cocked a brow. Then you lied, “Your affection. Your time.”

Something akin to a giggle bubbled from his chest. “I don’t have much affection, but I have even less time.” Your eyes darted around, looking for your next move. “I-,” you grabbed him by the face and kissed him. When you broke the kiss he was staring wide eyed, glasses askew. He opened his mouth to speak and you kissed him again, longer, harder.

He seemed frozen under your mouth, lips taut. Your hands roamed his face, messing up his hair and glasses. Mind reeling. Play the nymph. Be the whore the men always said they hated. Be too strong, too forward, too much and he’ll run off like men do. You could try again another day.

Your hand reached for his lap, his hips instinctively jerking away. Perfect. Men these days can’t get it up for a woman who takes the lead. 

Alastor was entirely unsure what the fuck was happening. You were wildly unpredictable. When you grabbed at his dick, he thought his eyes would cross from the shock. Is this what ‘affection’ meant to you? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand you. Were you really just lustful? Even after what you’d seen him—

You bit at his bottom lip, pulling slightly. Big eyes looking back at him. Your breath was already running away from you, adrenaline seemingly synonymous with Alastor. Staring up at him, you waited. His move.

It was his turn to blink. He looked off to his left, eyes swinging back to you. With a shrug, he leaned his body back towards yours. His hand slid down the front of your dress; red silk. A deer in the headlights, you tensed. The rare third option; fight, flight, freeze. Soon his fingers were tracing the lace of your stockings, climbing up the garter straps. 

His eyes were studying your face. You didn’t want to give the wrong answer again, but at this point you weren’t sure any answer was right. This was taking a sudden turn and your foot was off the brake. You closed your eyes, opting out of the scrutiny of his stare. His hand met your stomach and began to slip down again. He rested it between your thighs, longer fingers and palm cupping the entirety of your sex.

Alastor struggled to decipher your expression. It was almost like a pout, but more subtle. You hadn’t said stop or pushed him away yet. Was he right? You were just… horny? As his hand slid back up and pried their way into your panties, you trembled.

It had been so long since someone else’s hand was on you. Someone whose hands you genuinely enjoyed, who you wanted to be on you.

Is that right? You wanted him to touch you? 

Maybe it was the stare, or the smile. Probably just the adrenaline.

His hand found its place again, middle finger bending to part your folds and feel your wetness. You whimpered, hand coming to cover your own mouth. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He said it low, a husky tone he didn’t have before.

No. Maybe. You nodded yes.

“Will you be satisfied now? No more tailing me?”

No. Probably not. Another nod.

His finger pushed in, and with a kind of greed you didn't recognize your hips ground down into his palm. He slipped in and out of you with ease. You had no idea when or why you got so wet.

“I always end up dripping around you, Alastor,” you whispered through your fingers. His ring finger joined. Why couldn’t you shut up? Why did you have to bring up, well, the murder?

“A common problem for those I take an interest in.” 

Oh no. You moaned softly into your hand. Sharp mind made dull by his fingers so you didn’t, couldn’t, process his double meaning. 

Oh no. The sounds of footsteps, a pair of lovers sneaking into the park for privacy. You heard their giggles, the sounds of kisses interrupting their walking.

“Shhh”, he breathed into your ear as he worked a third finger into your heat. One knuckle, two knuckles. A whimper. His hand came to press down over your own on your mouth, a second barrier for your mewling. You groaned, the sound coming from your throat.  

Whispers. The silhouette of the two interlopers was visible through the willow’s curtains. You watched from over his shoulder, pussy clenching around him. Three knuckles deep, bottoming out.

Fuck it. You moaned freely into your hand, wiggling down onto his hand. Hips rolling, you let your little sounds of praise flow.

The couple laughed, “That’s the spirit!” A man said, a woman hushing him and pulling him away.

Alastor grinned into your neck, immensely amused. He would have better luck predicting a dice roll than your next move. 

You hadn’t realized how hollow you’d been until now, feeling so full. When alone, you focused on just cumming, fingers on your clit and mind on memories. You never bothered much with anything else.

Your hunger intensified. You wanted more. Both hands reached for his crotch again, finding nothing there for you. You could have cried. How were you a wet mess pressed against a tree and he was soft as a newspaper in a rainstorm?

Your pride stung. Men usually stood at attention around you. A half sob into the air earned you a chuckle from Alastor. “It’s no reflection of you, darling.” His nose nudged your ear lobe, “I need a little different stimulation than most.”

“Do you play for the other team?” You considered how you could momentarily switch. 

A louder laugh, “I don’t have a team.” He leaned back now to look at you. His freehand came to press on your lower stomach, gently pushing your womb down. Your brows knit, why did that feel so good? Hands going to the tree behind you for stability.

“Sure feels like you know how to play. This is-,” his hand switched from thrusting slowly in and out to moving front and back. It sent vibrations up into you. Your eyes rolled close. Shut up. Stop talking. Focus. Close.

He kissed around your open mouth, “Well, it’d be unamerican to not dabble. When necessary, or when the conditions are right.”

Double speak over, “Just tell me what to do to get you to fuck me.”

Alastor’s head fell back as he laughed earnestly, most likely alerting anyone in the immediate area. “Ha! No, this is more fun.”

“Oh fuck you,” you brought a hand around to your throbbing clit to quicken your release.

“Maybe next time, dear.” He took a second, fingers in you sliding around your walls in search of something before finding his place and continuing. Your breath noticeably changed, instead of panting you were practically holding it in. You needed the pressure, you needed something to squeeze that spring of pleasure down so it could snap back. As your face went flush, he kissed at your temple, “You look so pretty in red.”

“Oh god-,” Your head fell onto his chest, your joint effort bringing you to orgasm. 

“A little late on Sunday for prayers, don't you think?”

A tiny scream into his suit pocket, his hand not stopping until your thighs finished twitching around him. Even after his hand stopped moving you gripped him by the wrist and rolled onto his fingers a few more times. The pleasure ebbing but still spiking every time he moved against you. 

Ah, greed. That was it. He understood a little better. This wasn’t lust, not alone.  You were definitely a mix of the two. With a sigh, you released your hold and let him slide out of you. Already you felt lonelier. Already you wished to start over.

With his dry hand he smoothed out your dress. You weren’t ashamed but you suddenly felt too embarrassed to look him the eye. But you did, hearing him hum as he sucked his fingers clean. 

Why were you only ever in his mouth in the strangest ways?

“You always taste so sweet, dear. Now!” You wanted to say something clever and salacious like, ‘there’s more where that came from’ but he didn’t afford you the opportunity. He offered you his hooked arm, “It’s dangerous in the park at night. Let’s get you to a cab and on your way home.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Your legs were wobbly but otherwise fine. “Illegal activities in public?”

“Funny, I was just wondering the same of you. Stalking is a crime, dear.”

You bit your lip. “Touché.”

He flagged down a taxi, “Tell him where to go.” You slid into the back seat and half-whispered to the driver. Alastor leaned into the passenger side front window and after paying the man, went to close your door, “You’ve been an entertaining sparring partner. Goodbye, sweetheart.”

With a thud of the door and a growl of the engine, you were driving away from him. You could see him in the rear window. He didn’t dare to move, he didn’t need you following another step of his.

Which was unfortunate for him, as you were already scheming how to find him again.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @angelicwillows

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

[gu6chan]

im petty over a lot of meaningless stupid shit but letting me have my salt, one thing from the past year???? two years ago????? that makes me even MORE salty now that im actually trying to play dod3 is when i was doing my usual autistic bitching to someone like "yeah i loved the weapon wheel, the little clunk-clunk-click noise it would make and the personality it had and that they changed it with a quick-press system in dod3 is abysmal to me. "iTs MoRe CoNvEnIeNt" BITCH WHERE'S THE PERSONALITY??? WHERE'S THE FEELING"

AND THIS BITCH S W O R E, UP AND DOWN WITH THEIR WHOLE LIFE AND SOUL THAT DOD3 HAD A WEAPON WHEEL

And I'm like "bitch no it does not" and they were like

"Simon, I swear to god, Drakengard 3 HAS a weapon wheel"

And I was like "It literally does not you click a button and a new weapon appears that is a quick press system"

And they were like "NO, SIMON IT DOES HAVE A WEAPON WHEEL, IT LITERALLY HAS A WEAPON WHEEL"

And I'm SO 🤨 at this point because i SWORE i did not see any fucking weapon wheel, ive seen plenty of people bitching about the lack of a weapon wheel, BUT HERE IS THIS MOTHERFUCKER, SAYING IT HAS A WEAPON WHEEL so I'm like "ohhh, it has a weapon wheel, hmmm bitch? IT HAS A WHEEL THAT DROPS DOWN LIKE DOD1 AND 2????? WITH THE CLUNK CLUNK AND THE CLICK CLICK???? WHERE YOU CAN CHOOSE UP TO LIKE 8 WEAPONS???? THAT WEAPON WHEEL?????" AND THEY WERE LIKE "YEAH DUDE IT LITERALLY HAS A WEAPON WHEEL. DRAKENGARD 3 HAS A WEAPON WHEEL" and they were SO insistent I was finally like

"i dont Believe you......... but because you are my friend and have actually played this game, i will take your word for it : ) <3"

And so through unrelated circumstances and the usual passage of time, ive found myself attempting a playthrough of Drakengard 3

Bitch????? Where's the weapon wheel?????

THAT IS A FUCKING RHOMBUS.

[theboysfromaustin]

Part 2 of 3 of the Manchester trip

---

December 13, 2009

The clunk of landing gear locking into place woke Ian from his drug-induced stupor, “Dallas?” “You slept through Dallas AND London.  Welcome home.” ��Home?” Ian stared out the window.  It had changed in over 30 years, but it was unmistakable.  He gripped Kazuo's hand, squeezing, lower lip trembling.  Kazuo had spent a great deal of money to get them there, refusing Ian's offers to pay him back.

Kazuo kissed him, “You've made it.” “This means a lot to me…” “You mean a lot to me.  I want you to be happy.” Ian pressed his head to Kazuo's, “I'm so fucking hungry.” “Yeah, you haven't eaten since Austin.” “We'll go to a chippy.”  Gav yawned, stretching, “Food?” “Dude, we just ate breakfast at Heathrow - and you ate a ton.” “It's after noon, it's lunch time,” Anders tapped his Scooby-Doo watch.  “He has a point,” Maureen removed her eye mask, “Travel makes you hungry.”

Ian winced as the plane touched down, bouncing before settling on the runway, “I'm…home…” ‘What are we doing first?” “We should go see my parents…where I grew up…Jezza's house…was next door.  We'll see him tomorrow…”

—--

“Mum?  Dad?”

Ian knelt down in front of the stone, touching it gently, “It's been…30 years?”  Wow….um, I've got a lot of people to introduce you to…” He looked back, “That's Kazuo, and Gav - my beloved partners.  That's Maureen, she's my adopted mum.  And…that's Anders.  My son.  I wish you could meet them…..I love them all so much…”

Kazuo was the first to sit, leaning on Ian, “We're all taking good care of him.” “We love him dearly, he's helped each of us,” Maureen hugged her son from behind. “If it weren't for him,” Gav settled down.  “We wouldn’t have made it this far in life,” Anders embraced his father.  “So you can see, I’m doing very well,” Ian smiled, before his expression faltered, “Except…I didn’t come here just to see you.  Jeremy…you remember Jezza, well, he….I was able to love him, at least…”

Ian trailed off, “We're going to visit him tomorrow.  We're going to go see the house today, show them where I grew up, and hopefully not….run into…” Ian grimaced.  Kazuo squeezed Ian's knee, “It's nice to finally be able to speak to your parents.” “Yeah,” Ian sniffled.

He stood, “The house isn't far off.  Just a few miles away.  It's….gonna be weird seeing it again….” “Lead the way, big man,” Gav patted his shoulder.  Ian remembered the way there, eyes scanning the scenery, sniffling softly.

He pulled up to the curb, hands shaking.

“Dad?” Anders leaned forward, touching his shoulder.  “I…” Ian raised his head, before unbuckling himself and stepping out of the vehicle, staring at the row of houses, “It hasn't changed…neither has…” He lowered his head, “I'm sorry, Jezza.” 

The others got out, Kazuo taking Ian's hand, squeezing, “I get that it's weird, after all this time…even I, y'know…when my dad died…it was weird to go home.” “Yeah…” Ian moved up the path, staring at Jeremy's house.

Where he'd lived until his death.

He moved forward, gently touching the gate. “Do you want to go knock on your old door?” Maureen leaned on her boy.  “No…” Ian's voice was soft, “That's just one more wound to reopen.  I don't want to bother whoever lives there now…”

Ian sighed, “We should go to the hotel, get settled.  Today's been….difficult.  Tomorrow…I…” Ian shut his mouth.  He didn't want to worry anyone, but he had a theory.

A theory that maybe Jeremy didn't succumb to cancer.

He had a terrible feeling…

That he was correct.

[ghostleywrites]

A search for what is lost Ch 2

Ch 2- Ambush TW- Guns, lost siblings, violence, blood, vampires, dnd nonsense, tell me if I am missing anything thnx

Thanks for reading!

“Malachi, shouldn't we make a plan?” Lilith spoke, her breath forming clouds of fog in the chilly air.

“It's one guy why would we need a plan,” He spoke back, “two of us, one of him, sounds like a good enough plan to me.”

“I don't know dude.”

“We'll be fine. He's probably asleep anyways.”

“I guess you're right,” she said, looking at the watch that hung from her belt the sun would be fully set in one hour; “But just in case something happens-”

“Which it won't,”

“But you know I love my backup plans,” She quipped back.

“Yup,” He said, popping the ‘p’.

“Just in case, split up and meet back at the village. They will have to choose one of us to chase and we can both hold our own in a one on one.”

“Gotcha,” he held a thumbs up to her with a bright smile, “now we ready?”

“I guess.”

The two siblings approached the snow-covered cabin, surveying the area for any proof of life.

“This place looks desolate,” Malachi spoke, shuffling around the yard of the cabin and peering in through the half-broken windows.

“Maybe they got news of us coming and they ran?”

“Maybe, let's head inside; get some more information,” Malachi spoke while forcing open the door. The door opened with a squeak as dust fell from the frame. Inside the cabin, it looked worse. Furniture was knocked over, and covered in tarps and cobwebs.

“False report?” Lilith asked while dusting off a small picture frame.

“Probably, head back to the village to gather information?”

“What did I say before we even came in here?” Lilith said with a snarky tone.

“Oh shut up,” as Malachi finished speaking a loud creek sounded throughout the whole cabin.

“That wasn't us,” Lilith spoke softly, pulling her gun from her holster. Malachi didn't respond as he pulled his sword from his belt. The two carefully walked through the rest of the rooms clearing the whole place.

“There's nothing here,” Malachi said disappointedly.

“We didn't clear the perimeter so let's do that before we head out.” Lilith spoke, holstering her own weapon. The two walked out and carefully wandered the perimeter of the cabin and its land before stumbling upon something.

There, covered in snow, sat the entrance to a cellar. Malachi pried open the door, it opened with a loud clunk and revealed a dark tunnel.

“Ladies first,” He stepped to the side and motioned for Lilith to enter.

“What?” She responded shocked, “you have the short range weapon you go first.”

“I know, I’m messing with you.” Malachi climbed into the tunnel and carefully made his way deeper followed by the shorter sibling. “This is definitely it, Lil.”

“I have to agree so be on guard,” she whispered back, “being in this place makes it easy for us to get caught.”

“Then we'll just have to be fast.” The two made their way to the bottom of the tunnel to see a large poorly lit room. A few lanterns littered the room that was filled with blankets and pillows.

“Interesting layout,” Lilith said.

“Interesting indeed.”

Suddenly the silence was broken with a loud creak. It was the same loud creak that they heard earlier but this time louder, and followed by footsteps.

“They're here,” Malachi spoke softly, reading himself for the fight.

“Malachi, something is wrong.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Listen closely, that's not just one pair of footsteps.”

The two listened in silence, and sure enough, two, three, four. Four people walk towards them from different directions.

“Lil,”

“I’m on the same page.”

The two ran towards the tunnel, they couldn’t take that fight in tight quarters. As they ran, so did the footsteps, and they ran fast. Malachi got out first, he was always faster than Lilith, he was taller and had longer legs.

As she approached the door to the outside she felt a hand grasp her ankle, turning around she finally saw the face of her prey. Only she felt like the prey now. She froze at the look of the man grasping at her leg. He didn't look evil, other than the look in his eyes. He looked like just another man, with deep brown hair, pale skin, and deep burgundy eyes.

Lilith couldn't move as the deep red eyes pierced into her mind sending her into a frozen trance.

She was ripped out of the trance as Malachi pushed her shoulder down and fired his gun into the vampire's face. The smell of black powder filled the air, the strong smell of smoke and now blood was a nauseating mix.

“Lil!” Malachi shouted, pulling her backward, “let's go.”

Three more to go.

“Thanks,” She breathed out harshly.

“You owe me,” he laughed stiffly.

Two more crawled out from the tunnel after them.

“I take the one on the left, you get the one on the right?” Lilith spoke looking at the two in front of them.

“Sounds good to me.”

The two began fighting separate battles, Lilith used tree cover to stay at a distance whereas Malachi fought up close and personal. The two were doing well.

Forgetting about the fourth was their mistake.

Suddenly Lilith was tackled by a large body and pinned to the ground, her now smoking gun flying away in the snow. She yelped as her body hit the ground with a loud thud as she was pinned down by a large vampire, he looked the most sane out of the four meaning he was most likely the leader of this group. He had stringy silver hair that fell over his pale skin and bright red eyes that stared into the girl.

“Lilith!” Malachi shouted, turning around and seeing his sister on the ground under the beast.

Lilith pushed against the stronger beast as he smirked, “you're a lot weaker than the others, little Whitlocke.”

Malachi quickly slashed one of the beasts in half before he charged at the one pinning his sister just to get cut off by the other beast.

Lilith shivered as the beast got closer to her neck, “I wonder if you taste like your siblings little one” his breath tickled at her neck. His fangs glistened as he bit down on her shoulder harshly. Lilith reached down grabbing the small dagger from her belt and plunging it into his shoulder. He released her stumbling backwards hissing at the pain as he ripped the dagger from his shoulder.

“You taste even sweeter than your siblings,” The vampire’s face cracked into a wicked smile as he threw the dagger to the ground, “maybe I should keep you as a little trophy.”

Lilith turned, seeing Malachi fighting against the other beast. The girl ran towards her gun that lay in the snow, as soon as she grabbed it she turned and fired at the vampire chasing towards him. He dodged the bullet swiftly clawing at the girl's face before she could dodge. His sharp claws dug into her face creating a deep gash across her nose as she screamed falling backwards and clutching her face, the deep red blood splattered against the pure snow.

“You know, I was hoping for one of the others to show up,” He spoke walking towards the girl who lay on the ground clinging to her face, “but you are quite a surprise; who knew the Whitlockes had a little runt and another puppy running around. Let me introduce myself. My name is Athan. May I assume your's is Lilith my little runt?” He spoke harshly, grabbing her chin, wiping at the blood that trickled down her face, and licking it off his fingers.

Our conversation was cut off by a scream as Malachi sliced through the other vampire before staring daggers at the vampire holding his sister's face.

“I wonder if you taste the same,” He released Lilith's face standing up to face the taller twin.

“Back off my sister,” Malachi hissed at him.

“What a good protective pup,” He said with a sickening smile.

“Mal!” Lilith shouted to her brother, “do this together!”

“Yup,” Malachi said, readying his short sword as he stared at the vampire between them. Malachi charged towards the vampire.