#just know if i disappear then the ghosts got me

[cosmicalily]

"baby, you can have it" - a jeongin oneshot by @cosmicalily

"an inch away from more than just friends, touch me, baby, put your lips on mine." - 'naked in manhattan' by chappell roan

author's note: another situation where i normally gatekeep the fuck out of my queer anthems (in the context of writing non-wlw fics for them), but the whole 'an inch away from more than just friends' felt SO relevant in the context of this oneshot. go stream 'the rise and fall of a midwest princess'. go listen to 'casual' and cry. it's good for you!

warnings: nudity, suggestive (the most that occurs is a makeout, nothing more)

You hadn't been able to stop yourself.

Why couldn't you have just remained a normal friend, his best friend?

Why were you spending hours, analysing the simplest things that he did, things that made your heart flutter, scream, and slingshot all the way to the moon and back? Spin around Saturn, melt through the heat of the sun and settle back in your chest, a mess of thoughts and emotions, innocent and otherwise.

The way he ate the strawberry liquorice he loved so much; his pink tongue pointed and sticking out occasionally to brush his lower lip as he savoured the candy.

The way he'd drag you home with him almost each night after school, hand you a cherry cola, and you'd spend hours playing video games and talking and laughing. Sometimes, Jisung would join you, but those evenings you got Jeongin all to yourself were something you treasured. And sometimes, those nights would end with more than just you kissing him on the cheek goodbye. Some mornings, you’d wake up, sprawled across his chest, the ghost of his lips on your neck, and the aching feeling of missing something. The feeling that even if he held your hand all the way to school, where you’d enter class together and apologise in unison for being late, he could slip away oh so easily.

The way he had made a habit of sketching little stars in a blue ballpoint pen around the few freckles that dotted your arm.

You looked down at your skin. There were still faded sketches dotting your arm, blue ink melting into your skin. Ghosts of the drawings he’d done yesterday; slowly disappearing but still very much so there.

Of course there were other girls. Girls who’d message him day after day, ask for his Snapchat, stick post-it notes onto his locker and cling to his arm in the hallway.

He tried not to pay too much attention to them; the occasional smile and ‘hey’, not to be rude, not to be unkind, but never responding to their affection, to their endless babble.

Jeongin was made to be a high school crush. He had bleached hair with the slightest hint of pink to it, sharp, fox-like features, contrasting wildly with his soft, dimpled cheeks, frequently flushed with a peach tinge.

You sometimes wondered why he gave you the time of day. Jeongin, although he wasn’t necessarily the most popular guy, was known across your grade and even the years above. He was older than almost everyone in the year level; an early birthday had originally granted him a move up to twelfth grade, but he’d opted against it. His friends were all in the year above, and whilst he still sometimes sat with them at break times, he’d decided to go for you.

“He hardly sits with us anymore,” Jisung mumbled to you, after Jeongin had passed out on the couch, head in your lap, arms around your waist. 

“I know. I keep asking him why. He says he sees you guys enough.”

Jisung looked down at Jeongin’s babyish expression as he slept, face pressed against your stomach. “Or he’s in love with you,” Jisung had reasoned, ruffling your hair and giving Jeongin’s arm a pinch before leaving.

You’d looked down at the pile of Jeongin lying before you; sleepy, clingy and oh so angelic. His features looked softer in the dim light, and his eyelashes fluttered every few seconds.

Every soft breath against your stomach made your heart swell, and you wished, just for a moment, that he’d say it out loud. Admit to it. 

There were times where you were almost certain. Ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent. Catching him staring at you from your vanity mirror as you did your eyeliner, his hands slipping around your waist as you sat on the bathroom counter bleaching his hair, the soft kisses to your cheek that he’d offer you when you were crying.

That wasn’t platonic, was it? It couldn’t be.

You looked down at your arms, admiring the faded stars again. There was one in particular, a little larger than the rest. It wasn’t really a star anymore. His hand must have slipped. You craned your neck a little closer, getting a better look at the smudge of blue ink.

A heart.

You breathed out a little, and Jeongin’s eyes fluttered open.

You stroked his hair softly, hoping he’d fall back asleep, but he sat up, looking into your eyes. 

You felt so overwhelmed by him, but in the most beautiful way possible. By his sparkling eyes and his sweet face, the soft scent of his skin, and finally,

His lips on yours.

The way they moved in harmony, the way his tongue slipped in gently, not dominating your mouth, but exploring it. Curiously, like he wanted to get to know the parts of you that he hadn’t been able to. The parts that exceeded the confines of platonic love.

His hands were on your cheeks, your shoulders, your hips, your waist, gentle, fluid movements that sent shivers down your spine. There was a calm desperation about his actions, a need to search for more, to find another patch of skin he hadn’t seen or ran his fingers across yet. 

And when the two of you broke apart in a daze, chests heaving, sweat glossing over your skin, he hooked his fingers through the straps of your camisole, looking at you intently and giving you a moment to protest. When you nodded eagerly, he pulled off your tank top with one movement, one hand on the fabric, the other smoothing your hair to avoid it getting tangled. But once it was off, he didn’t grope or squeeze or touch.

Not that he would've without making sure you wanted it, even if he felt sure. Ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent wasn't one hundred, after all. He wanted you to be sure, because he was sure. And he was sure as hell that he didn't want to hurt you, not when he had you like this.

Not when you struggled to keep your lovedrunk eyes open, exhaustion creeping through your veins.

So he laid your body down to rest on the sofa, chest-down, and pulled a blue-ink ballpoint pen from his back pocket.

“That tickles,” you giggled, squirming a little as Jeongin settled himself behind you and began drawing on your bare skin.

“I wanna give you all the stars, baby,” he mumbled, sketching. His fingers were hot but the metal tip of the pen was cool on your back. The patterns he traced and the galaxies he formed were soothing and repetitive, and you felt yourself drifting off.

And when you woke up, he was beside you, limbs wrapped around yours, lips pressed against your neck.

A faded imprint of the ink stars on your arms stamped onto his skin.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx - comment, dm or send an ask to be added!

[rejectedbytheempty]

from the dirt we rise, ch. 3

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.1k

cw: mentions of blood, vague body shaming (not john)

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

ch. 1

when you got upstairs soap had already set your bags in a spare room, though you noticed that they hadn’t been snooped in, probably ghost’s doing.

nathan was sitting on the bed huffing loudly, having thrown his luggage on the floor in exhaustion after going up the stairs. he didn’t say anything, just gave you a glaring side eye and went back to his huffing and puffing. the room was.. nice? like genuinely nice.

it seriously could be a picture on some teenage girl’s cottage core bedroom inspo pinterest board. which is not something you thought you’d ever say about an adult man’s decorating style. he had delicate flower print bedsheet, sheer curtains with lace trim, an antique dresser, and cream colored wallpaper.

“this room is nice, isn’t it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

nathan just glanced at you, “it’s creepy. and this bed is too hard.” you just rolled your eyes when he turned back to go through his luggage to grab his phone.

“right, well, i’m going to head downstairs, help them get dinner ready. you can stay up here, if you want.”

nathan just grumbled an affirmative, his eyes glued to his screen. you made your way down the creaking stairs, now quite sure that you

couldn’t get a drink of water in the middle of the night without alerting the whole house.

“how’s the room for you? need anything?” john asked, hearing you coming around the bend to the kitchen.

“it’s beautiful, actually,” you said, a grin on your face.

soap laughed, “didnae peg the big guy to be an interior decorator then?”

you shook your head, “no, actually, i didn’t.”

john just waved johnny off, “i’m not an interior decorator, i just had some stuff laying around the house, you know?” when he turned around to grab a towel off the counter, johnny gave you a pointed look as if to signal that he was only telling a half-truth.

you giggled slightly, then muffled it behind your hand when john turned back around. he eyed both of you apprehensively but returned to the stove.

“what are we making for dinner?” you asked.

“i was thinking potato soup, if that’s alright with you?” john asked, pulling a sack of potatoes from beside the door and hefting them onto the counter.

“is there anything i can do to help?” you asked.

“och, no, cannae make a lady such as yerself get her hands dirty” soap said, making you laugh again, blushing slightly.

“you can help peel the potatoes?” john offered. you nodded, taking a knife from him, then picking up a potato, you started peeling along with price and soap.

“where’s simon, by the way?” you asked, suddenly wondering where the masked behemoth of a man had gone. it’s strange how well he was able to disappear since he was such a big man, seems like it’d be the opposite. though, you suppose, that was his job for however many years, hard to break the habit of being stealthy.

“he’s checking on the animals for me” john answered. he and johnny were going noticeably faster than you, and you tried to pick up the pace.

“animals? you mean you have some here at the farm?” you asked. “some chickens, a few pigs, and a couple cows”

he answered, “if you’d like, i can show you around tomorrow morning?”

“that’d be wonderful! tha- shit!” you cried out as your knife slipped and you sliced deep into your hand.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, i’m so sorry” you said, cradling your hand to your stomach, watching helplessly as blood rushed to the surface of the cut.

“hey, hey, it’s okay, you don’t have anything to be sorry for” john said, rushing to your side with a towel, taking your hand in his and pressing the towel onto your hurt hand.

“i’m gonna get the first aid kit” johnny said hurriedly as he rushed off into the other room.

the room spun slightly, and you wobbled into john while trying to keep yourself steady, “sorry” you muttered.

“it’s okay, stop apologizing” he said gruffly, leading you to the couch. you sat down and he maneuvered your other hand on top of where his was a second ago, “keep pressure on this, alright?” you just nodded, deciding to focus on holding the towel rather than the faint ringing in your ears. you closed your eyes, willing the nausea to go away.

after a while of keeping pressure on your wound, john found it okay to take it off as the bleeding had ceased. johnny brought over the kit, which was a metal box with a red cross symbol on it, and a bottle of whisky.

you furrowed your eyebrows, “what’s that for? cleaning the wound?”

johnny laughed and shook his head, “it’s for yer courage, lass, dinnae wanna waste a good whisky on yer hand.”

he fished a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out of the metal box and showed it to you, “this is for cleaning the wound, aye?”

you just looked to john who nodded, “he’s right. the cut is big enough that we’ll probably have to stitch it up, and i find that it’s better when your senses are a bit dulled.”

he grabbed a shot glass from the cabinet and walked back over to pour the whisky. he offered it to you, “i’m not gonna force you to take it, but i think it might do you some good.”

you hesitated for a moment and then grabbed the drink from him. you paused for a moment and then threw it back, the alcohol hitting the back of your throat. you coughed at the sensation, making both men laugh.

“good, ain’t it?” johnny said with a toothy grin.

you grimaced but nodded, “strong” was all you could get out.

“now’s the hard part, you just tell me if you need to take a break, okay?” john said, sinking to your level, his dark brown eyes had softened as they looked in yours.

you swallowed thickly but nodded, “yes, sir.” he smiled softly and started opening the bottle of peroxide.

“ye want to hold onto my hand, bonnie?” you looked to johnny, who had sat beside you on the couch with an outstretched hand. wordlessly, you took his hand with your unharmed one and squeezed it appreciatively.

soap maybe regretted his offer after john poured the peroxide onto your hand, finding the tips of his fingers had gone bloodless from you squeezing the life out of him. he seemed to be having a worse time of it than you, he was barely holding back numerous curse words from spilling out.

“see? all done” john said as he gently dabbed at the wound. you nodded weakly.

“you’re doing so good,” he said in a softer voice, brushing your hair behind your ear. it was actually embarrassing how quickly that made you flush.

“stitches next, alright? you need to take a break or anything?” he asked. he looked so earnest, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time nathan had ever looked at you like that, maybe never.

“i.. i’m fine, you can keep going, thank you” you said, hurriedly.

he nodded and got to work, moving quickly with the needle like he had done this many times before. he probably had, now that you were thinking about it, ended up in some desolate place with just the stuff on his back and some kind of bullet wound. and here you were, complaining and whining about getting stitches in a nice, warm house after you accidentally cut yourself while peeling potatoes.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to make this into such a big deal,” you said as he finished.

the scot breathed a sigh of relief when you let go of his hand, shaking it about to get the blood flowing again. “och, nonsense lass, nothing to be sorry for. it was a nasty cut, think that any one of us might’ve reacted worse than you, aye?” johnny comforted you.

“johnny’s right, no sense in apologizing for things you ought not be sorry for.”

“so-“ you stopped yourself before you apologized again.

“alright, thank you, then.” both men’s faces brightened.

“ah, anytime, bonnie.” “of course.”

after john finished wrapping it in gauze you heard the creak of the stairs. you looked over to see nathan coming down the steps, seeming like he had gotten over his temper tantrum. his eyebrows furrowed when he looked over at you three,

“what the hell happened?”

“i.. cut myself when i was peeling potatoes.”

“god, well, here, let me see” he said, walking up to you and grabbing your injured hand. he twisted it back and forth sharply trying to see the injury through the gauze, making you cry out in pain. “hey! be gentle with her, i don’t want you to rip her stitches.” john said, quickly rising to his feet.

“i was just trying to look at it, i didn’t hurt you, right baby?” nathan asked you. you looked between the two men and could only stammer out an incomprehensible response.

“speak up” nathan said.

john stepped closer to him, “don’t talk to her like that.”

johnny quickly stepped between the two, sensing that this argument was going to just get worse and end with someone in the hospital. “let’s just calm down, don’t wanna do anything we’ll regret, aye?” he looked pointedly at nathan.

just that moment, simon walked in the door, peeling off his muddy boots before he looked over at the spectacle in the living room.

“what the hell is going on here?” he asked, immediately straightening up, his eyes narrowing. if nathan thought that he could maybe take on john, or johnny, he was sure he couldn’t take on simon, so he withered under simon’s unabashed glare.

“it was just a misunderstanding” johnny explained, which nathan nodded along vigorously to. seeming satisfied, simon just huffed and continued stripping off his muddied outerwear.

ghost, soap, and john all finished peeling the potatoes, though they made you swear you’d never go near a knife again. something that you agreed to readily, you needed a break from sharp things, for at least a little while.

you couldn’t imagine how things would have gone if you were by yourself when it happened. or even if nathan was there, he didn’t seem much help and he even ended up gripping your hand a bit too hard later, something that got another silencing glare from simon.

once john had finished the soup, he ladled it out into bowls and set them onto the delicately decorated table. you bit back another comment on him being an interior decorator, guessing he had been teased enough by johnny and simon.

“it looks delicious, thank you” you said, picking up your spoon.

“i wouldn’t thank me until you’ve tried it” he said, taking his place at the table.

“dinnae be putting yerself down cap’n, besides, not easy to mess up this soup.”

“well, soap, i’m sure price can do anything he puts his mind to” ghost said, his eyes crinkling with a smile, he had taken his mask off to eat, revealing a face that was ruggedly handsome, especially because it was covered in scars, a particularly large one slashed through his lips.

john just shook his head at them and started eating, you followed suit. it was delicious, almost worth stabbing your hand for, really.

nathan hardly touched the stuff, however, claiming that he wanted to stay in shape, and nothing so fattening as potatoes and cheese. he gave you a pointed look as you finished your bowl, making the food settle like a stone at the bottom of your stomach.

john stood up from the table suddenly, the chair scraping on the floor harshly, “alright, that’s enough of that. i’ve tolerated your comments and actions long enough but that’s the final fucking straw. you’re in my house now, and in my house we are kind and respectful to women,” john said, pointing an accusatory finger at nathan, whose face turned a bright shade of red.

“i don’t care if it’s your fucking house, that’s my fucking girl that you’ve been basically flirting with all day, and you know what? i’m done with it. i’m done with it all. i won’t take this disrespect anymore. get up, we’re leaving. i’ll call my dad to come pick us up,” nathan said, pulling up at your arm.

you stayed put, looking around the table, simon raised his eyebrows to you, as if silently asking for the signal to take care of him. you looked from nathan’s angry face to john’s stern expression back to simon and shook your head.

standing up, you turned to nathan, who looked mildly relieved that you had listened to him. “nathan, i have something to tell you.”

he rolled his eyes, exasperated, “can it wait?”

you forced down a scream, “no, it can’t.”

he sighed, “okay, spit it out then.”

“i’m breaking up with you.”

a/n: thank you so much for your support on the past two chapters!!! i’m sorry this took so long and was so rushed, i’ve just been so busy w exams and holidays and work and i just forced myself to sit down and finally write this part. so here it is!

side note: i honestly hc that john watches hgtv or some variation bc one time it was the only thing palatable on tv. he denies ever watching anything of the sort but best believe he can outdo martha stewart.

taglist:

@the-disaster-in-waiting

@night-girl-301

@darkangel4121

@valeissocute

@dneicjefx

@liidiaaag

@lilynotdilly

@sleep101

@yellow-cat

@snailss

@nellabear

@eternallyvenus

@bookishthoughtss

@lunerbitch

@horny-bish

@sunna-fangirls

@nexthyperfix

@princeofnonsense

@supernova2205

@beebeechaos

@appl3-0rchard

@shadowwolf8002

@mismatchsposts

@dragonbe-writing

[aimfor-theheart]

oh cielo!! happy new year!! i'm so glad we've met in this vast internet space and i'm sending you so much love for the coming year as well 💕 if you're still playing, how about fake dating with vi?

FUJI BELOVEDDD!!!! i am also so glad that we've met on this strange internet space and i am sending you so much love and joy and success this 2025!! 💗

i am still playing and i have been waiting all day to sit down and write this one. was SO EXCITED to see this ask...thank u for giving me the opportunity to write about vi 💗

fake dating au + vi

Someone's following you. Their footsteps echo behind you, reverberating around inside your head. You're keen, ears pricked, as you glance half behind your shoulder.

Their shadow in the fog is a ghost that's been haunting you.

Your heart ticks up, your steps lurch; you move a little faster.

Vi should be close—

The footsteps quicken. So do you.

You round the corner and yelp when you crash into a solid form.

Hands on you, wide and warm, steadying you. Eyes like a crystal sky finding yours. "You alright?" Vi asks and your heart swells, relief floods you.

You glance behind you and perceptive and sharp as always, Vi peers into the city smog, too. She sees the shape of someone and knows. Knows danger. Knows who it might be. Her body tenses, hackles rising.

Then her demeanor shifts.

"Been lookin' for you everywhere, princess." And suddenly her arm is around you, pulling you into her. She's warm and solid and you can feel the press of your bodies together, the way you fit together. You try not to startle or pull away.

Your cheeks warm. Vi is your bodyguard assigned to you after this stalking started, not—

You swallow hard, uncertain. "Um—Vi?"

Under her breath, she says, "just play along."

And with that, she sweeps you away, tucked under her arm. The night is brisk and damp, but Vi's body, shrouding yours, keeps out the chill. You walk in step. Your follower perseveres.

As you near your safe house, you watch Vi's mind work.

Between one breath and the next, you're pressed up a back alley wall. And Vi's pressing you there, against you, her hands on your waist.

"We need to ditch him before we reach the safe house." She says lowly, lowering her face towards you. "Just—follow my lead."

As the footsteps approach, Vi dips her face to the crook of your neck. Warmth floods your system and instinctively, you grab for her, fisting one hand in the front of her shirt, the other looping around her shoulders.

You must look like lovers. It strikes you like lightning.

And when the footsteps round the corner, Vi suddenly grabs your chin in hand, and kisses you soundly on the mouth.

You make a noise of surprise, which she swallows. And you think she's only going to stay like this, unmoving and kissing you for appearances, but she suddenly deepens it.

Her tongue presses along your bottom lip and you part for her, almost out of surprise, which she takes advantage of eagerly. With your alarm, mingles a strange glow and flutter of desire. You feel it, tender and terrified, in the pit of your stomach. It spreads it's wings.

Your hand disappears into the hair at the nape of her neck and she gets a thigh between your legs. You gasp.

When she hears your follower near, she pulls away—lips spit slick and chest heaving a little, hair tousled, eyes fever bright—and rounds on him.

The man startles.

And Vi plays sleazy well when she swipes at her bottom lip with her thumb. Gone is your dedicated bodyguard, replaced with a heated fling you may have.

She asks, "You got a problem?" And now she sizes him up. Squares her shoulders. "Can't we get a little privacy?"

He falters, uncertain, eyes bouncing to you and then Vi.

"Fuck off," Vi snaps, "and get lost before I do something I regret."

He scurries away and the moment he's far enough away, Vi is reaching for your hand, engulfing it with hers. "Come on, we gotta go—" and she pulls you along, as if she hadn't just kissed you senseless moments ago, and you disappear down the maze of alleyways with her.

"Nice acting," she smirks, "who knew you had it in you?"

Send me a trope/gennre + a character and I'll write a drabble for it!

[ghostybaby000]

Gone | Part 4

Part 1 Part 3

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+, fighting, cursing, general violence, symptoms of panic, fluff, blood

Part one above!

Tag List: @yyiikes @talooolaaloolla @strawberrygato @cumsluut @sofiacoppolaslut @blackbeautyiloveyouso @casalucard @identity2212 @daydreamerwoah

John angles his head to look at Ghost, his trance fixated on the car window where you laid. Ghost clenched his side slightly harder as he looked to John and spoke, his voice gruff. 

‘It was James.’ 

John lets out an angered huff as he looks to the ground shaking his head in disapproval before continuing,  

‘He really did all of this,’ He motions to the back of the car where you still laid quietly recovering. ‘Just to prove himself, what- wrong?’ John wipes his hand down his face as he looks to Ghost with questions. 

Ghost thinks back to when him and James practiced together and trained by each other’s sides, going through combat maneuvers and different tactics when entering a building. It all ended when he was assigned to an infiltration in James’ home town. Civilian lives were lost and James had promised that Ghost would pay for not doing enough.  James was dismissed for being violent towards others outside of training, in most instances targeting Ghost.

Ghost shrugs as grabs the bear from on top of the car, the dirt and dried blood bringing it straight out of a horror film. He looks to John and back into the almost empty lot, his own car was a good walk away. 

‘Follow me back to mine, and ill get her in.’ Johns face cooled as he registered what Ghost had said. He gave him a once over and decided that he would be fine getting back, and had been in far worse shape after a long night. 

‘Right, I’ll follow you out.’

Without another word they separated and made it into their cars, Ghost driving the entire way in a silence that was only filled by his thoughts. He drove with one hand on his side, the other firmly gripping the wheel as he recalled the end of his night. 

Neither of the other two men were moving, his attention entirely focused on the man walking circles around him, on the brink of the shadow. The man stopped Infront of him, as he chuckled. 

‘Oh c��mon you remember me, don’t you Riley?’ The red from Ghosts eyes began to be replaced with a curious rage instead of a violent one. Ghost hadn’t heard that voice in years, over a decade if he had to guess. He remained silent as James spoke.

‘Right, always the silent one…You did seem quiet when it came to answering questions when you got back.’ The man pulled a gun from behind his belt and looked it over in the light, moving from hand to hand feeling the weight.

‘You know, I hate to of done all of this just to get your attention, but I really do hold a grudge. I’m sure you would too if a comrade had let some of your closest-‘ The next moments were a blend of fists flying and grunts as Ghost ran to and slammed James into the wall behind him, his gun disappearing in the midst of the fight. The two men rolled around fighting until James broke off and backed away from Ghost, one hand out stretched before him, trying to keep him at bay. 

He wiped his lip across his forearm and laughed as Ghost stared him down like a wild animal defending its territory.

‘So- that is what get’s you to break huh? That little toy you were dragging around?’ Ghost made another step towards the man as he backed away, ending in them circling one another.  

‘How- How do you think that compares? I was kind enough to not even kill her- but you let my friends die!’ The man looked down in an exhausted motion, shaking his head is if he were remembering. Ghost spared no time in lunging at the man, but right before he had made it to him, the man bent down. 

James quickly grabbed the blade from one of the earlier fights and swung up, into a tackling Ghosts side. Ghost didn’t stop as the blade entered but grabbed the man and sent him to the ground. 

As the man went down the blade was pulled from his side, earning a yell of anger from Ghost as he climbed on top of the man, and disarmed him. The man fought to claw at Ghosts face or to use his legs in order to escape but it was little use. Ghosts hands wrapped around the mans throat as he strangled him, ignoring the blood coming from his side or the indents in his flesh from where he had been clawed at, James was well out of practice.

It wasn’t until James had stopped moving that Ghost thought of you. He wouldn’t waste a second longer on this man when he didn’t know what condition you were in. Standing his hand slams into his side, the pain seeping into his vision as he tried to hold his pressure. Looking down he sees the gun gleaming in the light, and instead gives a final blow to James’ head with his boot-it didn’t feel right to kill him.  

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts as he pulled into the drive way of his home, Looking in his rearview he sees Johns car turning on to the road behind him. They both park and get out of the car, Ghost pulling out his keys to open the front door, his pain starting to spread into his back and entire upper body. He fits the key into the door and opens it, turning around to see John getting out of his car. John gets out and gently takes you from the back seat, turning around and walking a few paces to meet Ghost in the middle. 

Ghosts hands leave his side to take you, as he and John look down to see them stained in blood, both dried and fresh.  Without a word John moves past Ghost and into the house, where he paid no attention to detail. He simply moved inside and placed you down on the nearest couch, and made his way back out of the house, where Ghost was waiting in the door frame. He moved to the side as John swept by him he paused and looked to him,

‘You two gonna be alright?’ His eyes stared into Ghosts as he looked down and at each hand before responding. ‘We’ll be fine’ John gave a nod as he headed to his car, opening the door Ghost called out to him, 

‘John.’ He waited until he turned around once more to face him. 

‘Thank you.’ His head made a backwards tilt the couch inside where you laid. John sealed his lips for a moment before speaking. 

“I’ll have someone over there to take care of things.’ With that he sat down into his car, started the engine and made his way out of the neighborhood. 

Ghost stood there for a moment longer, and then made his way back out to his car, and back inside where he sat on the edge of the couch being sure to not disturb you. He grabbed a throw from the back of the couch, laid it over you and went to the bathroom to clean up. 

Once out of the shower he came out to see you unmoved, and tucked the now clean bear in between your arm and chest. He sighed as his fingers ran over the bandage going around his abdomen before standing and then settling into the other section of the couch to sleep-making sure you were in his sight all night.

[astrxsee]

I absolutely loved "price bringing the boys to his country home for the holidays," RAHHHHH, thank you for sharing your visions 😁 also re: your tags, I Will be getting you started on how soap talks SO FREAKING DIRTY About Price's pride and joy - - lord -- anyway, love for the New Year!

<3 -@horny-for-tf141

ilysm this is my first ask ever eeeeee

also this is part 2 to this

no bc simon wont shut up about you. johnny would hear about every interaction between the two of you that day. the scot eating up every sweet word that falls out of the larger man’s mouth.

“i could just smell her ‘air, took everythin’ in me not to grab her right there.”

soap would nod like an eager puppy, probably holding back something borderline feral.

“yeah, l.t., those eyes, they just do something for ya. don’t they?”

he’d say to ghost, pushing him to say more. he’d try and miserably fail to hide the growing tent in his pants as his superior kept talking. soap couldn’t help but to notice the tension in simon’s body and the way his hands would ball into fists as he kept talking.

“now what was she thinking putting on that slutty little dress on new year’s eve. god i wanted to rip that little number in half. our little birdie should know that she’s all mine.”

simon would say, his eyes peering over to johnny.

“aye, l.t., poor lass doesn’t know what’s good for her is all. show her what she needs. cap’ can’t keep her here forever.” the scot speaks up, the light from the warm fire your father made earlier flickering over his face.

-

AND OMG don’t even get me started on how they’d treat you in person like…

just imagine it’s christmas eve and your father is throwing a party for his team and a couple of his friends. simon can’t keep his eyes off you the entire night, and you know it.

you’d eventually drag him out to the porch for a smoke, him grumbling in opposition while you sweetly bat your eyelashes at him. of course he followed you like a dog, he’d follow you anywhere.

imagine cuddling into his side complaining that it’s ‘too cold’ and him putting his arm over your shoulders and pulling you in.

“why can’t you stop looking at me, simon?” you asked innocently, your eyes looking up at him. you knew the exact answer but this was just too fun.

he lets out a long groan, his hand running over his masked face.

“don’t do this to me, princess.” he practically begs you. his eyes filled with a feeling you can’t quite place.

then imagine you starting to tease him more as you trace cute patterns into the fabric of his stupid christmas sweater. his breathing becoming labored as he leans his head back, his eyes shutting. my man is fighting for his life

“please, lovie, you don’t know what you do to me.” he grits his teeth as his hands travel down to your hips. his large hand taking up so much space, squeezing onto you like you’d disappear.

“i’m sorry, si. i just can’t help it when you’re exactly what i want.”

you think it’s the doe eyes and the small kiss you pressed to his neck that gets you into the next situation.

in a split second, he had you pressed up against the siding of your father’s his captain’s house. his large arms caging you in between him and the wall. you could hear low growls coming from his throat. one of his large hands comes to rest on your hip as he buries his nose in your neck.

“you haven’t left my mind since i got here, dove. you’ve grown up so much since the last time i saw you, i just can’t help myself.”

he inhales sharply, breathing in your scent. he trails feather light kisses along your jawbone, almost like you’d break at any sort of pressure.

“you’ve been mine and you’ve always known it. just had to let you figure it out for yourself, princess.”

now don’t imagine johnny watching from inside, chubbing up at the sight of his lieutenant devouring price’s lovely, innocent little daughter. maybe ghost would let him watch when he takes her virginity

[galaxygolfergirl]

Mystery Inc. (2025) “We’ve got some work to do now”

Happy new year, y’all. Worked on this for the past few days and I’m glad that I got it done in time to ring in 2025 with a modern Scooby gang. And here, I’ve written out a few thoughts on how that might go. Those that know me and have seen my art before will see that I am repeating myself (or just ripping off another post I did wholesale), but I digress.

If and when Warner Bros. actually decides to do a more mature and darker tv adaptation, drawing from what Mystery Incorporated did before, I had the thought that the Scooby gang wouldn’t necessarily go the route of literal supernatural mysteries or investigations, or at least not the majority of the time. I never caught up with the second season of Mystery Incorporated, but I do like the idea that they eased into the more paranormal events rather than doing it up front. I think narratively in a newer adaptation, they would solve more serious crimes that had gone cold from police investigations, and that would just so happen to involve masked criminals or “paranormal” circumstances to be uncovered.

Say they solve mysteries such as murders, disappearances, kidnapping, or the like, and in essence the gang becomes a real service to their community in taking up cases that would have otherwise gone ignored and forgotten. That may sound dark, but if the 90s movies like On Zombie Island and Witch’s Ghost, or Mystery Incorporated taught us anything, is that under the right hand you can strike a balance between sincerity and intensity. The franchise itself has always had to strike a balance between fear and absurdity, and creators have gotten away with a lot more than what one would expect from something as goofy as Scooby Doo (they do often team up with Batman, after all).

The gang can still uncover other crimes, like robbery, smuggling, counterfeiting, all the usual Scooby crimes, of course, but underlining it with the consequences of those affected might give each case more depth. Conceptually, I think the driving purpose in the gang’s mission needs to emphasize a foundation of not only compassion, but also pursuing justice.

In the spirit of the Scooby gang, I guess, I’ll take with me the ideal of helping others against bad actors who use deceit and intimidation to disenfranchise and victimize others. Sticking close to my friends and figuring out what the real problem is, unmasking the real villains in our lives. Overall, if a new, more mature adaptation can teach us anything, is the importance of skepticism and never losing sight that the scariest monsters are the ones we create ourselves. That maybe we don’t always see the clear picture, and that sometimes, if not always, the explanation can be elusive, but it’s never non-existent.

Happy new year, auld lang syne, and I look forward to creating more art for you all. 🎆🍾🥂

@scoobydoominuscoobydoo @scrappedtogether @ilovefredjones @scoobysurfers @bookishdruid @thosemeddlingsims @ilovefredjones @frelmaa @light-miracles @cometcrystal @thescoobydooby

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Chapter 15

Chapter 14 Premium Story

Thank you @passthechloroform for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

The riot that happened the other day has faded into a phantom with the passage of time.

People are coming and going in the city as if nothing had happened, and today is peaceful and bustling.

I, too, blend into the city, my bag lighter than when I arrived, the scars gone.

(I guess that's the end of my errands for today.)

(Even so, from the biggest landowner in Tanzanite to the theater manager, to the owner of the best restaurant in the country...)

(The people who ask the owner for books are all important people who support Tanzanite's economy.)

(I'm glad I learned proper manners from my time as Belle.)

???: --I've done it.

(Huh...?)

I hear a voice carried on the hot desert wind and stop.

Looking down an alley, I see a woman with her face hidden by a veil, gathering scattered flowers from the ground.

(Did she drop them?)

Emma: Do you need any help?

When I call out to her, the woman's eyes widen under her thin veil, and then she smiles.

Woman: Thank you, kind young lady. May I take you up on your offer?

Emma: Of course.

The flowers scattered on the ground are the "Al flowers" I saw at the theater before.

The flowers, the color of water that moistens the dry desert, seem to cool the hot air just by looking at them.

Emma: Are you a flower seller, miss?

Woman: No, I'm a humble diviner.

Woman: These flowers are the flowers of the Living God, so I thought they might contain blessings and I'm giving them to people I know.

Woman: Please take some if you like.

After putting all the flowers back in the basket, the woman bundles a few of them and offers them to me.

Emma: Wow, thank you very much.

Woman: I'm the one who should be thanking you. I'm glad I met such a kind person like you.

Woman: There have been a series of terrible incidents lately, haven't there? I've become afraid of people...

(...I thought they had disappeared like a phantom...)

(But maybe there are many people who are actually anxious like her.)

What had become invisible due to the illusion of everyday life is now highlighted under the sunlight.

The woman's face was haggard.

Just hearing that she's a diviner, it's easy to imagine what's happening to her.

Woman: Please be careful, young lady. We will eventually lose the moon.

Woman: As prophesied, the end is near. This country will soon be over.

Emma: That's...

The woman smiles and disappears into the depths of the alley, carrying her flower basket.

As if to say she doesn't want to talk about the end at all.

(The talk of the end... Clavis didn't seem to know the details either, did he?)

(It's become vague, but maybe I can find out by looking it up in a book?)

-

That night - as usual, I was working hard in the back of the elegant temple to repay my debt.

I finely grind chickpeas and onions, then add parsley, pepper, salt, and spices, and mix them together.

After letting it sit for a while, I shape it with my hands and roll it into a pot of oil, and it's almost complete.

(Now all I have to do is fry it until the color changes, make the sauce...)

Azel: You're making something unusual today.

Emma: Whoa!?

Azel suddenly appeared and peered into the pot from behind me.

The close distance and his breath on my ear made my heart feel like it was going to burst out of my chest.

Azel: Why are you acting like I'm a ghost...?

Emma: Please don't talk right next to my ear.

Azel: Oh, I didn't know you were sensitive to sounds.

Emma: --ah

He purposely blows air on my ear, and a faint voice escapes me.

(He might have heard what I just said...)

I turn around and glare at him with shame, and Azel seems to be reflecting on his actions as he quickly raises both hands.

Azel: I'm sorry, so don't glare at me like that. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing.

(Why am I so nervous just because he got close to me?)

(...Is it because my body was surprised?)

Azel steps away from me and picks up the memo that was on the counter.

Azel: Did Kasim teach you this?

Emma: How did you know?

Azel: He's an acquaintance. I can tell by this messy handwriting.

Mr. Kasim is the manager and chef of the restaurant where I delivered the owner's book.

When I casually mentioned that I wanted to try making Tanzanite cuisine, he kindly wrote down a recipe for a fried dish that is commonly made in homes.

Azel: Why do you go this far?

Emma: Why...?

Azel: Honestly, with food, anything is fine as long as it's edible, right?

Emma: ...You're always so picky with your orders.

Azel: That's different. This is different.

Azel: You don't particularly enjoy cooking as a hobby, do you?

Azel: You could just make something simple... Isn't it a bother?

The recipe that Azel is holding up is indeed labor-intensive.

Cooking something I'm not used to takes time and effort, and I get more tired than usual.

(I've never really thought about it deeply, but...)

Emma: I thought you might miss the taste of your hometown if you only had Rhodolite cuisine.

Emma: I'm cooking to repay my debt and pay the rent, but...

Emma: If I'm going to cook anyway, I want you to enjoy it, right?

When I confess my true feelings, the recipe slips from Azel's hand.

(...)

(Huh... Do I actually like Azel quite a bit?)

At any rate, these are not things you should say to a God who has enslaved you with debt, and I become aware of my unconscious feelings only after putting them into words.

(No, I'm just attached to him, there's nothing shameful about it...)

*remembering Azel's previous remark*

Azel: Insulting me again... You're really good at creating debt, aren't you?

(...There's nothing...)

Remembering his soft, moon-like smile, I become strangely awkward for some reason.

(Why doesn't Azel say anything? What is this silence?)

His mysterious eyes, holding the starry sky, quietly look down at me.

His eyes are unusually serious, and yet somewhat displeased.

Azel: Is this some new kind of harassment?

Emma: How did you even come to that twisted interpretation!?

Azel: The sight of a good person makes me sick.

(Ugh... That actually hurts.)

Emma: ...Was I bothering you?

I don't understand what Azel is thinking, so I try looking down for now.

Suddenly, the God who had a scary face shows signs of agitation.

Azel: Ah, no, that's not it. It's a good mindset. Keep it up and offer me your cooking.

Azel: I can praise your thoughtfulness. In fact, I'll praise it highly.

Azel: But don't say anything that makes it difficult for me to take advantage of you from now on.

(So that's what it is...)

Azel: By the way, it's burning.

Emma: Ah!

I hurriedly look up and scoop the croquette out of the oil.

It's my first time seeing a Tanzanite-style croquette, but it's turned out cute with its round shape.

Emma: Look, it's pretty good for my first attempt--

Azel: So you were faking crying again?

Azel raises his eyebrows and pulls my cheek.

Emma: I'm sowwy.

(...I let it slip. I know Azel is surprisingly weak to tears, so I couldn't help it...)

(But I should avoid doing this often because it really worries him.)

Even with my cheek being lightly pulled, I arrange the croquettes on a plate.

As I move my body, my heart gradually calms down.

(Now, to make it look more vibrant...)

Azel: ...Why is that flower there?

He complains about the small vase I placed next to the plate.

The fresh Al flower should be a small oasis in the desert that soothes anyone who sees it, but only Azel, who has let go of my cheek, doesn't even try to hide his expression of disgust.

Emma: A diviner gave it to me today.

Emma: Looking at it like this, it has a Prince Azel-like quality and it's kind of endearing--

Emma: Why are you glaring at me again!?

Azel: I sensed a disrespectful presence.

(That's so unreasonable!)

Azel: I hate that flower.

Azel: It doesn't bring me any profit, yet it uses my name without permission.

Emma: I feel like you would thoroughly collect even if it was a deferred payment, Prince Azel.

Azel: There's no way I could do such a terrible thing to the common people, right?

(...Am I not one of the common people?)

While complaining, he doesn't seem to intend to deny what I'm doing, and the vase is not removed.

Azel: However, if diviners start handing out blessed flowers, it really is the end.

Azel: I don't know who that woman is, but she must be sensing the end is near.

Emma: ...You're right. The woman who gave me the flower was afraid of the "prophecy of the end."

Emma: Prince Azel... what exactly is the prophecy of the end left by the first Living God?

Azel: Find out yourself.

Emma: I wanted to look for books, but I couldn't find any bookstores at all.

In Rhodolite, I could find bookstores just by casually walking around the city.

However, there were no shops in the Tanzanite market that handled books at all.

I couldn't get any information even when I asked people, and in the end, I gave up on bookstores, but--

Azel: Why do you think that is?

Azel sits down on a chair, rests his cheek on his hand on the table, and places his hand on the book he'll probably read during his meal.

Azel: Why are there no bookstores in Tanzanite?

(So it wasn't just that I couldn't find them.)

I felt the air around Azel change.

Emma: Is it because... there aren't many people who can read?

Azel: That's one reason, but there's a more important reason.

Azel: What are people's thoughts made of?

(I wonder what it is.)

Emma: Experiences?

Azel: No. Think more directly.

(...The foundation of thought...)

Emma: Words...?

Azel: That's right. So, where do we get the words that form the basis of our thoughts?

Emma: From everyday conversations, the letters overflowing in the city, and books, I suppose?

Azel: Indeed. The more words people have, the more deeply they can think.

Azel: The reason you're more intelligent than other women is probably because you love books and know a lot of words.

(He casually complimented me.)

Azel: Conversely, if you don't know words, you can't even think.

Azel: Even if you have something in mind, if you can't verbalize it well, you can't be called human.

Emma: In that case, it would be better to have many bookstores, wouldn't it?

Azel: There are people who don't think so, which is why there are no bookstores in Tanzanite.

Emma: ...Why...?

Azel: Come on, think about it.

Azel raises the corners of his mouth as if enjoying the conversation itself.

(Without books, people can't think. But there are people who hate thinking.)

What suddenly crossed my mind was the riot the other day.

The hellish scene of believers and those with distrust towards God punching and cursing each other was hard to believe was the work of people with intellect.

(Clavis said it started with some fanatics.)

(Fanatics surely don't know the words to doubt God.)

(They blindly believe because they don't know the words, and they lash out before thinking.)

(And the one who led them was...)

Emma: ...It's inconvenient, isn't it?

Emma: The more you know words, the more you can think about faith in God from various perspectives.

Emma: If you want to maintain absolute control, the thinking that shows all paths might get in the way.

When I somehow managed to gather the scattered words and put them together, Azel clapped his hands as if to say "well done."

Azel: Of course, there are books in Tanzanite too. But most of them are related to mythology.

Azel: People's thoughts naturally become centered around God.

Azel: The people of Tanzanite haven't been allowed to do so for many years.

Azel: To become independent from God by gaining knowledge.

Emma: ...That's not what you want, is it, Prince Azel?

Azel: No, I'm actually inviting book merchants. Akatsuki and you are the leading examples.

Azel: There are bookstores too, though small. People have also become more knowledgeable than before.

Azel: But there are still those who don't like the idea of the people having knowledge.

Emma: ...The apostle, right?

(Because he's the kind of person who would ignore even your will, Azel, to protect the divine authority of God.)

Azel: To be precise, it's the "royal family."

Azel: The clan that descends from the first Living God believes without a doubt that protecting this mystery is their mission.

Azel: The control of thought might be a sin that the royal family of Tanzanite has held onto for a long time.

*flashback*

Silvio: The people of Tanzanite today can't live without God.

Silvio: They are kept alive by God, and have built their prosperity by God.

Silvio: If God doesn't want it...

Silvio: I wonder who created this current situation?

*back to present*

(I understand the answer to that question now... but...)

(It's strange that God and the royal family, who are supposed to be praising God, are so out of sync.)

(In Tanzanite, God is not an idol.)

(He's a living mystery right here, and he's showing a clear will.)

Azel: But sin is something that must eventually be atoned for.

Azel: They will pay the price eventually.

Emma: Is that... the "prophecy of the end"?

Azel: Who knows?

Azel shrugs his shoulders and casually reaches for the croquettes lined up on the table.

Azel: ...........Delicious.

He seems to have accidentally let it slip, and noticing my gaze, Azel looks away awkwardly.

Azel: ...If you want to know about the first Living God's prophecy, why don't you ask Enis?

Azel: He'll surely answer with a pale face. Unlike me, he's obedient.

Emma: Won't you tell me, Prince Azel?

Azel: It'll cost you.

Emma: Not that again...

Azel: This time it will be an exorbitant amount. Give up and go ask the king.

(If it were the usual Azel, I feel like he would tell me even if I was reluctant, since it's a chance to get money.)

(Is there some reason why it's hard to say?)

Azel reaches for the second croquette--

Emma: Stop snacking!

I grab his greedy hand from me, and I'm surprised by the thickness of his wrist, more than I imagined.

(...It's a man's hand.)

(No, I've held it before...)

(Was it this strong?)

Azel: To give orders to a God...

Emma: It's not an order, it's a request. The sauce isn't ready yet.

Azel: I don't need it.

Emma: I need it.

Azel: ..............

Emma: I won't give in even if you make a sulky face.

Azel: Stingy.

Emma: I'm fine with being stingy.

Emma: But if you like it that much, it was worth the effort I put into making it.

Azel: ..............Please stop saying things like that.

Azel grabs my hand back and pulls it away.

I feel my heart skip a beat again-- I look down, and the sound of knocking ton ton shakes the air.

Emma: Kamal?

Kamal is leaning against the door, which had been left open at some point.

She has a gentle expression, as if she has just seen something heartwarming.

Azel: ...Oh, that's right.

Azel: Kamal, let's talk outside.

Azel: I'll be right back.

Azel stands up and quickly leaves with Kamal.

When the two of them stand side by side, they look like a picture-perfect combination of a handsome man and a beautiful woman--

For some reason, I feel a twinge of pain in my chest.

-

Kamal: Oh my, you've become quite close to that child.

Kamal: At first, you were acting all indifferent, like "it has nothing to do with me."

Azel: Shut up. Just hand over the goods.

Kamal: Oh my, evil God. You shouldn't show that child such a scary face.

Laughing lightly, the bewitching beauty takes out a jet-black lump of iron from the large bag she's carrying.

The eyes of the God who received it were frozen.

Kamal: As you predicted, I confiscated it at the port this time.

Kamal: The world's calamity, the beast of ruin... It's really troublesome.

Azel: Yes. But what's truly troublesome is the hidden soldier that man sent.

Azel: I hope the guests from Rhodolite will take this bait.

.

.

.

Chapter 16

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[return-of-the-queen-au]

Y'know what's fucked up?

How in the storybooks we see how the dwellers who used to be the children in subcon (and if you wanna believe they're also the adults, go ahead. I like that headcanon) who were nothing but lost souls until snatcher, not the prince, snatcher came over and what seems to forcefully make them sign a contract to become his minions.

and this makes me think that the prince got his silly evil arc before meeting said souls and forcing them to do his biding.

the kids, if they remember or not, only knew that the prince disappeared one day and that's it. They probably don't know snatcher is the prince. (nor that Vanessa is the ice monster, for that matter. Unless snatcher says it with no shame, but knowing him he definitely did.)

it's hard to connect the dots if you lack context. They don't what happened to the prince and they don't know he died, they just know there's this evil ghost who eats souls and laughs about it.

all the subcon residents (again, if they do remember who they were and what was going on before the whole Vanessa-goes-crazy matter) are doomed to be stuck with some evil ghost they (think) don't know without ever knowing why they died.

for them it was just a blizzard and some scary ice monster........their boss keeps talking about as "the ice queen" and about her cookies.

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

have a bunch of tbs prompts actually!

-something that fills in a little bit the space between tama and tct since i feel like a lot was skipped in the podcast that you could dip into (all the developing relationships and moving ons)

-joan cutting marks hair after he comes back from the roadtrip with damien

-sam/mark dancing together when their relationship is still new

im happy if anything even gets written, this fandom is sadly so dead and i love any and all additions no matter what they look like

thank you for these prompts! Hoping to get all of them written eventually, but have this one for now. Hope you enjoy!

TW for canon-typical PTSD/depression, Mark post Tier-5, etc.

Mark’s first few weeks back in Boston are a fun amalgamation of Good Things and Bad Things.

Good Things include but are not limited to: Sam. Really good Scotch. Drinking really good Scotch with Sam that he stole from his sister. His sister.

Bad Things include but are not limited to: Nightmares. Damien. Knowing Damien is just Out There getting his ability back. The way Sam looks at him sometimes like she’s not quite sure who he is. The way his sister looks at him sometimes, like he’s just the broken mess of a thing who took her baby brother away. His sister.

Joanie, despite her best efforts, fits neatly into both camps. She’s always been special like that.

The days blur together in a haze of booze and bad dreams, interspersed with all too brief moments of light. Sam drags him out of the house– he has a panic attack at the grocery store. She takes him out to dinner– the waiter tells her she needs to “fatten him up.” She curls up next to him on the couch, warm and real and living, and he feels hyper-aware of every way in which his body fails to live up to the ghost she fell in love with.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when his hair starts to bother him more than anything else.

“Mark?” Joanie calls, rapping her knuckles against the half-open door of her closet turned guest room. Mark was supposed to be getting ready– because Joan refuses to leave the house if he’s still in bed or pajamas, but then she never lets him hear the end of it if she has to cancel on patients, so he at least has to make himself get dressed each morning, even if he falls back into a depressed stupor on the couch the second she walks out the door– but he got stuck at the mirror. He’s wearing jeans, slung low and loose on his hips because Joanie keeps insisting he’ll “grow into them” like he’s five, a t-shirt in his hands. He hasn’t managed to work up the energy to actually pull it over his head yet, but it’s not his scrawny, scarred chest that has him stuck in his own head.

It’s the hair, clean but unruly, reaching almost all the way to his shoulders.

He hates it.

“Mark!” Joan says again, sharper this time, and he startles back into action, mutters, “Hey, sorry, what” as he finally puts his shirt on, his reflection disappearing behind the fabric for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He tugs his jeans up a little. Fixes his shirt over top. Runs a hand through his hair and then shakes it out like he’s touched something slimy.

He still can’t quite tear his gaze away from the mirror, not even to give his sister a more convincing proof of life.

“Okay, well…” Joan hovers in the doorway. “I’ve got a nine o’clock, so I’m gonna get going…”

“Okay.” Mark gathers his hair up into one hand, turning one way and then the other to try and see how it would look short again. “Have fun.”

Joan still doesn’t move. After a beat, she says, “Is Sam coming over?”

Mark sighs and pats his hair flat again, giving up on trying to make it how it used to be through sheer force of will. “No, she’s got plans with Chloe. And frankly, I think she needs a break from my bullshit.”

“Do you want me to cut that for you?”

He was expecting a big sister/therapist response along the lines of now, Mark, if you say all those negative things about yourself, you’ll just end up believing them, so the question startles him enough that he finally looks at her. “What?”

“Your… hair,” Joanie says, gesturing a little awkwardly. “You keep fussing with it. Is it bothering you?”

Mark grabs a belt from his bed and starts looping it through his jeans– anything to not have to look his sister in the eye. “It’s fine, I just gotta get to the barber.”

They both know perfectly well why he hasn’t yet. The idea of sitting in a chair with restricted access to his hands while a strange man brings sharp objects close to his neck just about makes him wanna fall back into a coma.

But he hates looking like someone who lost autonomy over his own life for the better part of five years. He wants to feel like himself again, and the first step in doing that is to look like himself again.

Joan looks at her watch, shifts her weight from foot to foot. “I really have to get going… but when I get home, we’ll talk about this some more, okay? Maybe we can figure something out.”

***

Joan calls on her way home from work (because she’s an insane person who still has a landline) to say “Meet me on the porch. If you’re wearing something nice, change your clothes.”

Mark is not wearing something nice. He changed back into sweatpants before noon, and he’s pretty sure this t-shirt once belonged to Joanie’s college boyfriend Derek. And part of him wants to see the annoyed look on Joan’s face when she gets home and he has not, in fact, met her on the porch, but honestly he’s too curious about what tricks she has up her sleeve to want to waste time pissing her off.

So he’s leaning over the porch railing when Joan’s car pulls into the driveway. She gets out of the car and calls, “Good! You listened!” and Mark becomes painfully aware of the differences between the two of them– Joan in her neat blouse and pencil skirt, heels in hand as she runs barefoot up the drive, versus Mark in ill-fitting hand-me-downs and Crocs.

“Wait here,” Joan commands, rushing past him into the house. “I’ll be right back. Did you have a good day?”

Mark rolls his eyes, not even dignifying that question with a response.

A few minutes later, she emerges, having changed into shorts and a t-shirt, carrying a folding chair under one arm, her other hand clutched around a handheld mirror and a pair of kitchen scissors.

Mark blinks, the pieces falling into place. “Wait, you were serious? You’re gonna cut my hair?”

“Why not, right?” Joan plops the chair down in the middle of the porch. “Either I do a great job and it gives you the confidence to leave the house more, or I don’t and Sam dumps you, but at least the length won’t bother you so much anymore.”

Mark glares at her, but there’s no heat to it. “It has… been bothering me,” he reluctantly admits.

Joan snips her scissors in the air. “Sit, then.”

He sits. Joan plays the Roman Holiday soundtrack on her phone, for some ambiance. Mark closes his eyes, and then, when that paired with Joan’s fingers brushing up against his neck brings back bad memories, stares into the mirror Joan brought so he can see each clump of hair fall away.

He watches as the broken boy who was imprisoned, and then trapped, and then kidnapped disappears, leaving in its place… Mark.

The Mark Sam met in 1810. The Mark Joan spent years working to save. The Mark he wants to be.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for this.”

Joan combs through his newly shorn hair with her fingers. “You can ask next time, you know. You can ask me for anything.”

Mark’s still not sure about that just yet, but he is sure of one thing: Joanie has a firm spot on the Good Things list today.

--

Taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added or removed):

@pandoradeloeste

@genericgirl420

@sizzlingjudgebanditpaper

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@flibbertigibbety-jibber-jabber

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@mercale

[venlazlo]

Maryis Week Day 1 Heart to Heart

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Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 6 | Day 7

edit: added the maryisweek2024 tag now that the day has come

silly little speech bubble addition under the cut. =3

the prompt is heart to heart for day 1 and i'm emotionally inept so i went literal with it.

[klanced]

Keith walking into the holding cell greeting all the regulars by name while Lance is sobbing lamenting that his life is over and his future is ruined (they were like. Trespassing or some shit he’s going to be fine)

lance: (actively dry heaving in the corner, on the verge of a panic attack as he imagines having a permanent record)(actually what does a permanent record even look like?)(omg is he going to have to go to COURT? like in JUDGE JUDY?)

keith: remy, this is lance. lance, this is remy, she’s my favorite alcoholic :)

[wikiangela]

.

[lixenn]

So, I'm just dozing in my bed waiting for my alarm to fully bring me into the waking world, when all of a sudden my motion controlled kitchen sink springs to life and scares the bejesus out of me.

I live alone.

My sink was very much empty (because I actually did my dishes).

There's only one possible explanation for this.

*cocks shotgun*

Dorm's haunted.

[holydramon]

saw some vague digimon survive spoilers (yes I still haven’t finished it, it’s long and I’m slow) and I am going crazy because I think I pieced together what’s up with haru and miyuki but I can’t tell my sister because spoilers and *holds head in hands and screams*

[violetnaps]

havent talked to friendsin so long and im,,, overthibkig everything,,,,,

[teenagefeeling]

so. this morning i opened facebook (for family drama reasons too complicated to go into here lmao) and it immediately recommended that i send a friend request to the guy who just ghosted me. that was a nice little jumpscare <3 and THEN just now, a person who was from a dating app but i never met up with and i assumed had ghosted me about 2 months ago just. responded??? hello????