#like. I have reached the hearts that they are in the process of withdrawing behind a wall of teenage bravado

[itspileofgoodthings]

anyways every time I think that I am fully a high school teacher who should stop teaching 8th graders something happens and I am reminded of how much I love 8th grade boys simply because they are still such kids and can be managed with sternness/fun.

[astrow0rldx]

PAC TAROT: Shadow Work

Piles read left to right. Really use your intuition for which one calls to you to read. This Reading will be a little different, because it's ai generated. But hear me out, it's extremely accurate. I pull the tarot cards, and questions and it makes a story using automatic creative writing skills. In the story format it should help understand better.

Pile One

You present yourself as someone grounded and nurturing, someone who has it all together—capable, reliable, and a provider of stability. You wear this mask of self-sufficiency with grace, offering support and care to those around you. There’s a warmth to how you handle life, as if you’re always the one others can lean on. Yet, beneath this persona, there’s a quiet dissatisfaction, an emotional numbness that you don’t let others see. You feel disconnected, like something essential is missing, but you avoid acknowledging it, preferring to maintain the image of having everything under control.

Deep down, there’s a fear of rejection and abandonment that colors how you see yourself and your place in the world. This fear stems from past experiences where you felt left out or unworthy, perhaps from moments when you reached out for support and were met with coldness or lack. That sense of being shut out has led you to withdraw emotionally, burying your desires and vulnerabilities under layers of self-protection. However, this hidden wound shapes how you move through the world—it keeps you from fully expressing the vibrant, fiery side of yourself, the part of you that is bold, passionate, and fearless. While you project strength, this shadow lingers in the background, holding you back from fully owning your power.

Your shadow comes to the surface when you’re confronted by people or situations that reflect confidence and control, especially when they embody traits you’ve repressed. These encounters stir something inside you, triggering internal conflict as your shadow self clashes with the persona you’ve carefully built. The lesson in this struggle is to reconnect with your emotional core, to allow yourself to feel deeply and openly once again. Healing comes through embracing the tension, acknowledging that inner battles are a part of your growth. By working through this, you’ll move toward a more patient and nurturing relationship with yourself, where you invest in long-term growth and understand that healing is a process—one that requires steady effort and care.

Pile Two

She finds herself in a state of suspension, caught between holding onto control and surrendering to the unknown. Outwardly, she appears strong, composed, and authoritative, someone who takes charge with ease and thrives in an orderly world. She presents herself as the one in control, the one who always knows what to do. However, beneath this confident exterior, she’s struggling with uncertainty. She feels stuck, as if the answers she’s searching for are just out of reach, and in order to find them, she knows she must let go of the rigid expectations she’s placed on herself. She wears the mask of authority, but behind it, she is deeply uncertain, torn between what she knows and what she longs to discover.

At her core, she craves connection—a relationship where she can feel deeply understood and loved. There's a romantic within her, yearning for a bond that feels effortless and sincere, as if she’s waiting for that perfect emotional partnership. But she’s haunted by past disappointments, memories of love that didn’t turn out the way she hoped. This loss lingers, making her cautious about trusting her heart again. She often revisits those past moments of grief, wondering what went wrong and fearing that opening herself up to love again will lead to more heartbreak. As much as she wants love, the weight of her emotional past makes her guard her feelings, holding back from diving fully into new connections.

Her fears and vulnerabilities surface when emotions become overwhelming, or when she’s faced with situations that push her to move too fast. In those moments, she becomes protective, holding onto her feelings and resources tightly, afraid of losing control or being vulnerable. Her instinct is to cling to what she knows, but there’s also a deeper truth: her dreams and fantasies about what could be are not just idle thoughts. They reflect her true desires, the part of her that longs to break free from her hesitation and embrace all the possibilities that life offers. To heal, she needs to release the fear of losing control, to trust that even if things are uncertain, the journey ahead is rich with opportunities—ones she’s fully capable of seizing, if only she lets go.

Pile Three

She is moving through a period of transition, quietly distancing herself from past conflicts and emotional turbulence. Her journey, both literal and metaphorical, is one of seeking peace and clarity after enduring a storm. On the outside, she may seem calm, as though she’s finally found her direction, but the waters behind her are still unsettled. Internally, she is recovering from struggles, possibly with others or even within herself. The tension and discord she’s left behind still echo in her thoughts, making it difficult for her to fully let go. While she appears to be progressing, there is a quiet battle inside her, as if she’s constantly bracing for the next challenge.

Her internal struggle centers on patience and the need to balance her desires with the reality of what she’s building. She has invested time and energy into something—perhaps a relationship, a career, or personal growth—and now she waits, unsure of the outcome. There's a restlessness beneath her calm exterior, a feeling of competition, either with herself or with others. She yearns for stability and celebration, for a moment when she can finally relax and feel secure, but she is deeply aware that the foundation she’s working on still needs time to solidify. Emotionally, she is tied to the idea of love and partnership, but her past battles have made her wary. Love feels both close and distant, like something she craves but is cautious about fully embracing.

Her emotional depth runs deep, though she doesn’t always show it. She is someone who feels intensely, yet she’s learned to control and temper her feelings. When her emotions rise, they are powerful, but she channels them carefully, maintaining a composed exterior. Her greatest strength lies in her intuition. She often knows more than she lets on, reading situations and people with a subtle, almost mystical understanding. But this also makes her guarded, as if she’s protecting herself from being hurt again. She’s been through many trials, and though she’s weary, she remains resilient. Her journey is far from over, and while the battles she’s faced have left her cautious, they have also made her wiser. She stands ready to move forward, but she knows the path ahead will require both patience and strength.

[emkayewrites]

The behind-the-scenes #Lukola moments I have invented to keep myself going now that we are in a Lukola drought...

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

July 20th 2022 – Buckinghamshire

“We are thinking Old Hollywood glamour.” Erika leaned forward so that her bespectacled face was level with Nicola’s.  As the lead make-up artist on the Bridgerton set, she was attuned to creating beautiful looks for the cast.

“We want the sultriness and we want it to reflect that era before heavy contouring.” Erika continued, lightly dabbing an orange blending sponge at Nicola’s face.

They were sat in a trailer on the grounds of a beautiful countryside estate.  Nicola sat in a dressing gown on a chair in front of a large vanity mirror, her hair up in rollers.  The third season of the show had already started to film some initial scenes with some of the cast but she was not due to appear on-screen for another week.  Instead, she was there for her make-up tests and costume fittings, a process that at best, took days.

There was real excitement in the atmosphere.  Nicola could sense waves of it from the production staff and even from the usually very restrained Erika.  There was an extra hop in her step.  It was a feeling Nicola shared.  There was something electrifying about the start of a filming process.  Of course, the realities of set life meant there was a lot of pressure and chaos.  There were days where there was not enough time and there was never enough rest for anyone.  However, you did not feel those things on day one.  The first day was your best day because you were well-rested, healthy and raring to go.   

She saw her reflection as Erika stepped to one side and almost jumped out of her skin at the sight.  There was a dark, very straight line that bisected the middle of her face, travelling from the top of her forehead, down her nose, across her lips and ending at her chin.  One side of her face was equal parts glossy and dewy, the other half was pale and bare.  It took Nicola a minute to remind herself of the method in the madness that Erika employed; she preferred to apply two sets of make-up at once rather than do the whole face.  This was what Erika called efficiency.

“Tell me you trained as a make-up artist on the Phantom of Opera without telling me.” Nicola joked.

“Sorry, should have warned you.” Erika laughed.

“It’s alright, it was just a small heart attack.”

“I’m just going to get the camera for a few polaroids before we carry on.” Erika hurried out of the trailer.  It was common to have a photographic log of different make-up looks.

Now alone with herself, Nicola’s eyes darted to the one place she had been trying to ignore. 

Her phone, sat on the table before her, taunting her with a small flashing light that signalled a notification.  She hated how every time she saw this, her mind went straight to thinking about him.  She struggled not to think about him every single day.  That fever dream of a night where they had spent time together left an imprint on her that she could not shake.  They had continued to message each other but the responses were sporadic and infrequent on his part.  The days there was no response felt like withdrawal from a drug. 

Now she was aware of herself, greedily eyeing up her phone, wondering desperately if she would get her next hit of dopamine from him.  She forced herself not to reach for her phone, in part to instill some kind of willpower over herself but also in part because of the fear of the crushing feeling she would have when the notification turned out to be something as inane as a Spam email. 

“Fucking hell!” Luke’s voice and laugh reached her before he did.  He appeared in the mirror before her.  One side of his hair was pinned back with a set of hair clips.  He looked smart in full Regency period attire.  She had seen him in this state of dress so many times before that it felt like seeing an old friend.

“Only got the budget for half my face.  Think you can act like you’re falling in love with this?” She swivelled herself around to face him.

“It’s going to be a task.” He responded with a straight face.

“They’ve given you more make-up than me!” She exclaimed as she eyed his face more closely.  It was clearer to her now that his skin had been plucked, buffed and smoothened to perfection.  “And are those – wait a minute, have they drawn on side-burns?!”

He seemingly blushed at this remark, which took her by surprise. She remembered that he had confessed he was self-conscious and worried about not being a good enough leading man. 

“Well, you really look like Book Colin. This is just what I imagine he would be like.” She added, trying to change the tone of the conversation from mocking to supportive.  It was a delicate balance to strike with someone who was usually the first one to make fun of themselves.  It was something she would need to get better at in the coming months.

He seemingly perked up a little at this compliment. It was then that she noticed he had one hand behind his back. He noticed her noticing.

“Well, I’ve actually got a little present for you for the start of filming.” He bought out into view a gift box with a purple bow.

“What? No, you didn’t!” She was taken aback.  It was traditional to give and receive wrap gifts, but she did not expect anything at the start of filming.  “I didn’t get you anything.”

“I know.” He smirked. “I win.”

She gave him an unamused look as he placed the box in her lap.  “You really shouldn’t have.”

“It’s something really small and really practical – something that you will love having on set.”

Something small and practical? Her mind raced through the possibilities.  What on earth did he mean? She unravelled the wrapping paper to reveal a shoe box that had Nike Kids emblazoned across it.  She burst into laughter as the instant realization hit her.

“Oh this is very good Mr. Newton.” She nodded approvingly at him. “Very good. Small and practical – and funny. Top notch, sir!”

He beamed at her with a mixture of pride and excitement.  She could tell her reaction had been very fulfilling for him.  She stood up and gave him a tight hug, despite knowing he was not a hugger.  It surprised her when he gave her a squeeze back. 

“Alright – don’t be smudging each other’s make-ups!”  Erika’s voice cut through as they let each other go.  She was wondering back in, polaroid camera in hand. 

“Luke’s filming gift for me.” Nicola stated, holding the shoe box up in Erika’s view.  Erika immediately let out a roar of laughter.

During the first season of Bridgerton, Nicola had been seen slipping into more comfortable shoes between takes: usually a pair of Nike trainers.  During one particularly long day on set, most of the cast were on stand-by between takes, the subject had somehow turned to Nicola’s trainers and how stylish they looked.  She had admitted she shopped for footwear in the children’s section.  It’s cheaper and they get cooler designs. She had enthused.  This had naturally led to the question of her shoe size.  Perhaps it was because everyone was tired to the point of delirium, or bored and desperate for some stimulation, but learning how small her feet actually were had caused fits of laughter across the main cast and then trickled across the production team.  For several months, the sight of Nicola in her Nike trainers would cause cast members to collapse in a fit of giggles.  At one point, the other Luke on set had waltzed into one particularly dramatic scene with his feet stuffed into them – creating one of the funniest outtakes of the series. 

“Now, I want you to wear them with pride.” Luke stated. “It’s important my leading lady is comfortable.”  With that, he gave her and Erika a dramatic bow and then walked backwards out of the trailer.

“Well, what a gentleman.” Erika stated, getting the camera ready.

Nicola turned and faced her.

Between the blinding flash of the camera and the very warm feeling she had from being back on set with people that were like her family, she was hardly thinking about Ezra anymore.  Until she was thinking about him again.  Damn.

Read more here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56951683/chapters/145353211

[theres-a-body-here]

more demo

Territorial

The Demogorgon x Reader

Reader is GN but is AFAB

After a long, losing trial against the Xenomorph, you decided to forgo cleaning up at camp and instead decide to head directly to the Hawkin's realm to be with Demogorgon. You were exhausted, covered in acidic blood, and cold.

All you want is to be with Demo and get some rest. You make your way through the fog and eventually find the gates to the Laboratory, opening them and walking towards the main room you guys have turned into a nest.

Upon entering the dimly lit chamber, you spot Demogorgon waiting patiently for your arrival. His eyes light up (figuratively speaking), and he lets out a delighted chitter as he sees you enter.

Quickly, he rushes crawls towards you and pulls you along into the makeshift nest. He starts grooming you tenderly, running his claws through your hair and inspecting every inch of your body for signs of injury.

But then he stopped.

Sniffing the air cautiously, Demogorgon picks up an unfamiliar scent lingering on your clothes and skin – the acrid odor of the Xenomorph.

Jealousy fills his heart, causing him to emit a series of plaintive whines and moans. He presses his muzzle against your neck, taking deep breaths as if trying to reassure himself that you belong solely to him. Despite finding the situation humorous, you can't help but feel flattered by his possessiveness

“Don't worry, Demo,” you say softly, reaching out to embrace him tightly. “I just had a trial with her.”

His whimpers subside momentarily, replaced by soft rumbling coming from his chest as he feels your warmth enveloping him. Slowly, he pulls you deeper into the nest, covering your bodies with discarded fabrics and blankets.

It becomes apparent that he wants nothing more than to eradicate all traces of the Xenomorph from your body, replacing them with his unique musk instead. You wrap your arms around him even tighter, allowing him to nuzzle and rub against you as he pleases.

Demogorgon parts his flower-like maw, revealing the abyss of teeth within. He brings your head close to his mouth, swallowing it whole in one swift motion. Then, you feel something wet and slimy brushing against your face – his tongue. He proceeds to lick and caress every inch of your features.

It's his version of a makeout sesh.

The feeling of countless razor-sharp teeth pressing against your skin sends shivers down your spine, but you trust Demogorgon completely, knowing that he wouldn't harm you.

Eventually, he withdraws his face from yours, leaving your head covered in his viscous saliva.

His petal flaps twist into annoyance as he takes a deep sniff, attempting to detect any remaining trace of the Xenomorph's presence.

It remains stubbornly persistent.

Frustrated, Demogorgon lets out a low growl before turning his attention towards your garments. With careful precision, he starts nipping at the cloth, slowly tearing them apart piece by piece. Understanding his intentions, you hasten the process by removing your clothes voluntarily.

"Okay, okay, I get it," You chuckle out as you undress completely and sit back down within the nest.

As soon as you strip bare, Demogorgon wastes no time in getting to work.

Without skipping a beat, Demogorgon dives straight for your most sensitive area, encasing your genitals within his five-petaled mouth. His tongue works tirelessly, probing and licking every fold as your moans fill the air.

With each lap of his tongue, your juices flow freely, mixing with his copious amounts of saliva.

Your hands grasp his head firmly while bucking your hips against his face, desperately holding onto him as he devours your pussy. His claws dig into your chest as he holds you down. He leaves faint marks as he keeps you in place, unwilling to relinquish control.

After a while, Demogorgon retracts his face, leaving behind a sticky trail between your thighs.

His fat cock slithers forth from the slit between his legs, excreting pre-cum liberally as it quivers with anticipation. He crawls over you, peppering your face in rapid, wet pecks, as he lines his cock to your cunt.

Wrapping his gangly arms around your waist, Demogorgon pushes his cock inside you with excruciating slowness. Each inch penetrates further, stretching your inner walls to their limits.

Your moans echo throughout the room as Demo tries to bury his cock even deeper inside you. He trembles violently at the sensation of your tightness, letting out a series of pleased whines.

As his excitement grows, Demogorgon begins to ram his cock into you with increasing ferocity. The sound of flesh slapping together fills the air as he pounds relentlessly, muffled only by your mingled moans.

Your body jerks uncontrollably underneath him, your moans cracking in pitch. Demo continues to lick at your face as drives his cock deeper into your cunt.

It gets harder to stay quiet as he stirs your insides. "Fucccccckkkk, Demo!" you cry out, voice warbling with every thrust.

As his massive cock slams against your cervix repeatedly, you cry out in bliss, your voice growing hoarse from all the shouting.

With each brutal thrust, Demogorgon's growls intensify, indicating just how close he is. His claws tighten their hold on you. So hard they start to draw small droplets of blood.

One final plunge sees him embed his cock deep within your womb, spewing gallons of hot seed directly inside.

Collapsing on top of you, Demogorgon's cock slips out of your pussy with a wet squelch. As his seed drips down your leg, he burrows his face into your shoulder.

Inhaling deeply, Demogorgon picks up traces of the Xenomorph's lingering scent, much to his annoyance. He lets out a low growl.

It seems like there's more work to be done…

Feeling his cock stiffening once more, you realize he won't stop till he ensures that only his smell remains on you. You let out an exhausted sigh.

it's gonna be a long few hours.

[oohnotvery]

Hand To Your Heart: Chapter 8

Read on AO3 here.

tw/cw for pregnancy content in author’s note:

Thank you so much for that warm “welcome back.” I don’t feel like I deserved your generosity or kindness since I completely bailed on this story for so long.

If anyone is interested in a personal update, I’m over halfway to meeting my new baby and unfortunately have had some complications (including a minor surgery last week, thus the delay in posting Chapter 8), but the little guy is healthy and gigantic. We have a name, which is exciting, and my daughter has started carrying a baby doll around and calling it her “baby brother.” So that’s truly precious! We’ll see how she really feels come February.

Okay, but also in personal news—and perhaps this is too personal for Tumblr, but I can’t help myself—I had to withdraw my daughter from her daycare two weeks ago because I caught her teacher HITTING HER across the face. I reported the daycare and the teacher to the appropriate authorities, but oh my god, what if I hadn’t seen it happen?? That was a devastating day and sometimes I still close my eyes and that moment just replays in my mind’s eye over and over and over again. I’ll be sitting in traffic and jolt back to seeing someone hit my little girl and my blood BOILS. Trust no one, indeed.

As to the fic, just a reminder, this story isn’t Mulder/Diana, and it also isn’t Scully/Other! Have no fear.

Mike Stephens seems highly motivated to make the most of their arrangement, because just two hours later, at 4 p.m., he struts into the bull pen as cocky as a rooster.

At first, she doesn’t notice him, only registering a shift in the atmosphere when she sees Mulder’s head lift and his shoulders tense. Following his gaze, she looks up, her cheeks flushing the moment she catches sight of Mike.

Abruptly, she rises to her feet, determined to head this off before it escalates. Part of her wants to shove her new sexual arrangement in Mulder’s face; a much larger part of her demands she conduct her intimate business in private. She catches Mike’s arm before he can cozy up to her desk, steering him towards a nearby conference room where they can be more discreet. But he stops her gently, a wide smile on his face.

“Just wanted to see if you were around tonight,” he says quietly, his face tipped towards hers. “Or am I being too forward?”

She swallows past her embarrassment. Any ordinary person might not catch their muted conversation, but in her peripheral vision, she notices Mulder’s tense posture and the way his head angles towards them. He’s definitely listening.

Remembering herself, Scully flashes Mike a reassuring smile while her brain tries to process her response.

At first, she hesitates. Seeing him tonight would be . . . expeditious. She hasn’t even had a moment to reflect on her impulsive choice to get involved with Mike. Is rushing into something with him tonight a mistake?

And then she remembers Mulder’s plans. He’s going to dinner with Diana tonight—dinner, drinks, and most likely sex. Scully attempts to overlook the reality that she’s centering her choices around Mulder’s plans, and it grates on her more than she’d like to admit. But it’s always been this way between them. From the moment she and Mulder met, she’s anchored her life to his. In a sense, she’s always been destined to revolve around him.

She meets Mike’s gaze and gives a short nod. “Come by at eight?” she offers, keeping her voice low.

His smile widens as he reaches around her to grab a sticky note and pen from her desk. He pushes them towards her.

“Your address?”

Behind them, Mulder turns slightly in his chair and Scully’s face burns brighter. Why is she doing this to herself? He’s a smart guy. He’s going to know she’s just doing it because he’s sleeping with Diana. He knows she isn’t actually interested in Mike—she even admitted it to him many moons ago.

“Dana?” Mike prompts, interrupting her thoughts.

She bites her lip, then scribbles down her information.

She and Mike exchange a few more pleasantries before he retreats towards the elevators. She takes a second to collect herself, combing her fingers through her hair and smoothing down her skirt. She still has about an hour left of work before she’ll allow herself to leave to get ready for tonight. She just needs a moment to calm down and refocus—

Mulder is watching her, his body now fully turned to face her. She catches his gaze and tries not to react at what she sees in his eyes. His gaze is coolly neutral, the face of a profiler, giving little away. But she knows him well, and she thinks she sees something else in there. Hurt, maybe, or confusion. She can’t quite place the emotions. But she does know one thing: he’s onto her.

Pursing her lips, she breaks his gaze and primly takes a seat. Time to get to work.

**

At home, Scully showers and shaves, ignoring the way the razor bobbles in her trembling hands. It takes her thirty minutes to pick out an appropriate outfit. Staring into her underwear drawer is like staring into a timelapse of her short-lived relationship with Mulder. She can’t wear the black lingerie set with Mike tonight—she was wearing those the first time Mulder ever went down on her. She can’t wear the blue set either, because the panties have a tiny rip in the side from where he yanked them off roughly in excitement. In the end, she discover she only owns two pieces of undergarments that Mulder hasn’t touched, and while both pieces are the opposite of sexy, she simply can’t bring herself to wear anything that reminds her of him tonight.

She settles on a black cardigan and black pants, dabs her lips with a thin layer of lipstick, and touches up her eye makeup. She pops open a bottle of wine and drinks half a glass by herself, wondering if Mike will care that her breath smells like alcohol. She highly doubts it. This is just casual sex, nothing more.  

Mike knocks five minutes before eight and Scully’s fists curl into tight, anxious balls as she walks to the door and lets him in. He makes a few standard comments about how nice her apartment is, how it took him a few minutes to find a parking spot, how she lives far from the Hoover Building. She nods and responds with the usual pleasantries, her higher mind taking over even as her internal alarm system begins to register a blind panic.

What the fuck is she doing?

She jumps when he settles his hands at her waist.

“You alright?” he asks, his eyebrows creasing.

She swallows thickly and nods, unable to speak. His hands are too heavy against her hips and he’s standing at the wrong angle. Mulder is so much taller, she realizes idly as Mike tugs her flush to his body. God, and Mulder is stronger too, she realizes as her hands rise automatically to his biceps. He smiles down at her and this time, she robustly fights the urge to compare his lips to Mulder’s. But she can’t help but notice that Mike’s aren’t as full, and his teeth aren’t as straight.

It's obvious before his mouth even touches hers that she’s not going to enjoy this. For Christ’s sake, she chides herself, am I ever going to want another man now that I’ve had Mulder? What have I done to myself?

Her panic escalates as Mike’s tongue darts out to part her lips. It hadn’t occurred to her until this moment that she might get emotional kissing another man. From this point on, she realizes with a sinking heart, Mulder will no longer be the last person I’ve kissed. The thought makes her so queasy that she starts to pull away, but Mike presses into her more firmly. With shock, she realizes he’s already hard.

Don’t do it, don’t do it, she reprimands herself. Don’t make the comparison—

He’s not as big as Mulder either.

“Fuck,” she whispers angrily, pulling away.

Mike opens his eyes and stares at her with concern. “Everything okay?”

She glances up at him, but her mind is somewhere else completely. Mulder is at dinner with Diana, she thinks. He’s wining and dining Diana Fowley and then he’s going to fuck her. He’s going to fuck that woman tonight and he’s not going to be thinking of me. Who cares if Mulder isn’t the last person I've kissed? I haven’t been the last woman he’s kissed in weeks.

Is she really doing this to make herself feel better? Because if so, it’s only making her feel much, much worse. She blinks, trying to clear her thoughts.

“Just needed a minute,” she says nervously, hoping her hesitation comes across as coquettish shyness.

She excuses herself to pour them each a glass of wine, and only after she’s downed hers does she let Mike kiss her again. He moves them to the couch and she idly notes that he’s unbuttoning her cardigan, then her pants. She keeps kissing him for the sake of appearances, but she is nearly apathetic in her arousal. Mike’s fingers drift down to her panties and she wills herself to get wet for him, but she’s too distracted.

“Too much wine,” she says unconvincingly when he glances up at her in question. “I’ve—I’ve had a long day.”

Mike withdraws his hand and settles back against the couch, eyeing her carefully. “Should we postpone?”

“Hmm?” she asks aloofly, as if she hasn’t been completely disinterested in him since the minute he arrived.

He smiles gently. “I get the feeling you’re not quite ready for this tonight.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not that—”

“Dana,” he says kindly, leaning forward, “tonight’s been nice. You’re a beautiful woman and I want to spend more time with you.” He reaches out and brushes her cheek. She tries not to flinch. “But there’s no reason to rush this. Why don’t we rain check?”

She nods dumbly, unable to reconcile the tumult of emotions raging inside her: relief that she doesn’t have to fake it with Mike anymore, and humiliation that she couldn’t go through with her plan. Mulder surely isn’t having trouble getting it up for Diana tonight.

In the end, she and Mike leave it open, tentatively agreeing to catch up again on Sunday. But when the weekend passes and she hasn’t heard from him, she starts to worry that perhaps she’s ruined her chances.

On Monday, Scully enters the bull pen with a brave face. She knows she’ll see Mulder and she suspects that Diana will make an appearance at his desk. How many times will she have to endure watching their relationship blossom in front of her?

But Mulder doesn’t show. By lunchtime, Scully assumes that he and Diana are off together working their case, which is why she’s surprised when the woman in question struts down the hallway and plants herself in front of her desk.

“Agent Scully,” Diana greets her.

“Agent Fowley.”

Diana props a hand against her desk and Scully steels herself for yet another emotionally difficult conversation.

“Have you seen Fox?” Diana asks.

Scully blinks. “Not this morning.”

Diana purses her lips. “And over the weekend?”

Scully shakes her head slowly. “No, I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“And you haven’t heard from him?”

Scully narrows her eyes. “Is something wrong, Agent Fowley?”

Diana clears her throat, straightening up. Scully can tell she’s trying to act casual, but when Diana speaks, there’s concern in her voice.

“He was supposed to meet me Friday night and he . . . didn’t,” the other woman says. “He hasn’t answered any of my calls or emails either. I tried going by his apartment over the weekend, but he didn’t answer his door if he was there.”

Scully considers this. “Was his car in the parking lot?”

Diana shakes her head. “The building has been mandating street parking lately. I drove around the block and didn’t see his vehicle, but there’s a chance I could have missed it.”

Scully nods thoughtfully, resisting the wave of irritation she feels at not knowing this new development in Mulder’s apartment situation. “And he gave you no indication that he’d be out of pocket all weekend?”

Diana rolls her eyes. “You know how he is. Fox is rarely predictable.”

This may be the first time she’s ever agreed with Diana Fowley on anything, and she finds herself nodding.

“I guess I’ll give him a call,” Scully finally says, chewing her lip. “See if I can get in touch with him.”

Diana nods stoically, but the concern in her eyes is evident. Although it’s not unheard of for Mulder to go missing for days at a time, Scully feels herself growing uneasy at Diana’s reaction. The other agent expected to see him this weekend, that much is clear. After Diana departs, Scully picks up her phone and dials Mulder’s number, immediately getting his voicemail. She shoots him an email, but after an hour with no reply, she starts growing restless.

The day passes and Mulder never shows. Scully tries calling him three more times with no luck. When Mike gives her a ring, she sends him straight to voicemail. When she listens to his message, she learns he wants to come by tonight. Scully swallows hard at the thought. She really needs to force herself to try again with him. One more try, that’s all she needs.

But as she stares at Mulder’s empty chair, she knows exactly how she’s going to spend the rest of her evening. As a courtesy, she shoots Mike an email excusing her absence tonight and suggesting they try later in the week. When five o’clock hits, she jumps in her car and steers it towards Alexandria.

She’s going to find Mulder.

[ponyosmom35]

the truth

bittersweet chapter fifteen

steve harrington x fem oc

synopsis: Indie explains everything to steve.

link to master list:

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

Steve and Indie sit on the roof of her house, each with a beverage in hand, enjoying the cool evening breeze. The night sky is clear, the stars twinkling above them. Steve takes a sip from his Coke, his gaze fixed on the constellations above, before looking at Indie.

"You know, I never actually did ask you... how did you end up knowing about the Upside Down?"

Nervously, Indie wraps her arms around herself as the fear of that time creeps back into her skin.

“Nancy and I were looking for Barb when we saw a Demogorgon in the woods behind your house. After you broke Jonathan’s camera, we noticed that he’d captured a photo of Barb sitting alone by the pool. We asked him about it, and he said she was there one minute and gone the next. So we went through his other pictures and discovered that he’d captured a photo of the monster we saw in the woods—the same thing Joyce described seeing climb out of the walls.”

Steve listens intently to her story, a frown forming on his face. He can see the fear etched in her features, and he reaches over, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"That must have been terrifying, going out searching for that thing, knowing full well what it’s capable of..."

He takes a deep breath, trying to process all the information she’s shared. Then, his eyes widen with realization. Steve’s expression grows more serious as he looks at Indie, a new understanding in his eyes. He withdraws his hand, his voice softer, almost reverent.

"You could’ve lost your life that day. You and Nancy both..."

“It was worth it, though. We thought that if we could bring them home or find the creature and kill it, then it could make things right. But obviously, it didn’t work out like that.”

Steve nods, a mix of admiration and concern in his gaze. He’s both impressed by her bravery and worried about the danger she put herself in. He shakes his head, struggling to find the right words.

“So what happened next?” he asks.

Indie takes a deep breath, the memories flooding back as she continues.

“We found the door it came through and followed it into the Upside Down. It was dark and slimy and so fucking cold. We were nearly eaten by one of the Demogorgons before we escaped back through the door. That’s when we met up with Joyce, Hopper, and the kids, and we realized it was all connected. Eleven—the girl the kids found—was the one who opened the door with her powers after she escaped from the scientist’s lab on the edge of the forest. We found out that Eleven could locate Will and Barb in her mind, so we went to the school and built a sensory deprivation tank for her. She found them, but that’s when she told me that Barb was gone...”

Her throat tightens, and she pauses, struggling to continue. Steve watches her intently, his expression growing more serious with each passing moment. The story she’s telling is both incredible and horrifying. He can hardly believe the things she experienced.

When she mentions Barb being gone, Steve’s heart sinks. He looks at her, seeing the pain etched on her face. He wants desperately to say something, to comfort her, but he’s at a loss for words.

“But Will... he, uh, was alive, so Joyce and Hopper decided to go into the Upside Down and bring him home while Jonathan and I stayed with the kids. But I was just so fucking sad and so fucking angry that I couldn’t just stay there, you know?” she trails off, her lips trembling as a tear falls down her cheek.

Steve watches as her tough facade crumbles and a single tear trickles down her cheek. His heart aches at the sight. He wants to reach out and comfort her, to take away the pain that’s so obviously lingering within her.

He scoots a little closer to her, his gaze filled with sympathy. He gently grips her hand, and she looks up at him in surprise.

“I wanted revenge. So I decided I was gonna trap the Demogorgon and kill it, for Barb. Nancy and Jonathan refused to let me do it alone. Nancy wanted to kill it just as much as I did. So we left the kids and went back to the house, set up the traps, and got ready to lure it in. That’s when you got there and put a wrench in things,” she jokes, trying to pull herself together.

Steve watches as Indie steadies herself, his grip on her hand tightening just a little. He chuckles softly at her attempt to lighten the mood, appreciating the effort.

"Yeah, I guess I did mess things up for you. But who could pass up a heroic entrance and saving the day?"

He grins at her, trying to keep the mood light, but he can’t ignore the weight of everything she’s told him.

“Sorry, was that before or after you screamed like a little girl?” she teases.

Steve huffs, a mix of mock offense and embarrassment on his face.

"I did not scream! It was... a tactical war cry, alright?"

“Right,” she draws out, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Seriously though, Steve, you were incredible. Not many people could have fought that thing the way you did—once you were done screaming.”

Steve gives her a playful shove, chuckling at her teasing. He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m never living down that scream, am I?"

“Not as long as I live,” she says with a grin. “I wonder how the school would react to Steve Harrington—the scream queen.”

Steve lets out an exaggerated groan, burying his face in his hands. He can imagine the school’s reaction all too well.

"Please, don’t even say it out loud. I’ll be the laughing stock of Hawkins."

“Join the club,” she says.

Steve looks at her sadly, hating that he contributed to that.

“Hey, not anymore, alright? Remember I told you I’m gonna look out for you. Think of me as your new best friend.”

“Sure, Steve.”

“I wasn’t kidding about that. I won’t let you go through high school feeling unseen anymore. You roll with me now.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m perfectly happy in my little bubble. Besides, I wouldn’t wanna embarrass you by being your friend.”

“You are not embarrassing. If anything, I’m fucking lucky that someone like you is choosing to give me the time of day! You’re fucking amazing, Indie, and I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it!”

“Oh, god,” she rolls her eyes.

“You and me red” he says bumping her shoulder with his own gently 

“You and me” she confirms. 

[miniscule-meow]

Isabell and the Lads CH2: The Healing Process (2.3)

Writing Masterpost First Part| Last Part| Next Part Word Count: ~2.4k Warnings: Blood Mention

---

Marcus sets her down on the coffee table, carefully sliding her off of his palm. He sets her climbing hook down next to her before withdrawing his hands slowly. His blue eyes look her over, and he frowns when he sees the fresh blood seeping through her bandages.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “about… all of this,” he adds. “With the dollhouse, I just wanted to make staying here as comfortable for you as possible. I thought that having somewhere you can go where things are basically your size… I thought that would be nice, I guess. I didn’t think about how… I just… I didn’t think. So… yeah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… fine,” she says looking up at him. She was glad to be out of his hands, but now she has to look up at him, this feels almost worse. Even sitting down on the floor, his torso forms a solid wall in front of her. There is just no escaping how big these humans are. It feels like every time she looks up at one of them her heart stutters all over again, she doesn’t think she could ever get used to that.

And she isn’t going to have to. She assures herself.

As soon as she can climb, she’s out of here. As long as she can avoid being put in a cage, or a jar, she knows she’ll be able to escape.  She’ll be able to go home and pretend that this was all just a bad dream.

Zeke returns, a bundle of supplies in his arms. He sets everything down, arranging it all methodically on the coffee table, Marcus swipes the objects that he needs, chattering on about how they can try to make some supplies for her, to make things easier without having to use the dollhouse. Zeke mostly ignores him, but Isabell can see the way his brows twitch up, and how his eyes shift to his roommate every time he disturbs the supplies he’s laid out.

“Let me see your leg,” Zeke says evenly, she nods, her breath catching when his focus slides to rest solely on her.

Zeke’s eyes trace over the blood seeping through the bandages, his mouth presses flat in response. They only changed these a few hours ago, it can’t be a good sign that they’re already changing them again. With any luck, her stitches will be fine. She does not want to go through that process again.

His hands drift forward, and she can’t stop herself from sucking in a tense breath and holding it. Hands might forever be the bane of her existence. Fingers as long as she is tall, grabbing, pinching, squeezing. The sight of his hands reaching for her sparks a tessellation of memories to shatter across her mind.

Hands, shoving into her cramped hiding spaces, groping around blindly.

Hands capturing her roughly in a too tight fist.

Hands ripping open floorboards, wedging behind shelves, pulling away large furniture items.

Hands spreading her limbs, toying with her, bending her the wrong ways.

She knows he’s gentle, he’s done all this before and nothing like that happened. But it is still nerve wrecking to sit there and just let him touch her.  That goes against everything she is, everything she’s ever been taught.

“Your leg?” His voice brings her back to reality. She blinks, realizing suddenly her eyelashes are heavy with tears. She blinks them away rapidly, but there’s no hope of the human missing that. He's so observant it seems like he catches everything. His hand still hovers before her, his fingers shift as he fidgets with his empty hand. His eyes flick to hers, searching her face. He’s trying to help her, and she’s panicking about his hand. He hadn’t even touched her yet.

She can’t say her plan of making the humans think she trusts them is starting off very strong. So far, she’s had two, maybe three botched escape attempts, she’s panicked about a doll house, and she’s panicked about a hand being sort of near her. She needs to pull herself together before they put her back in the damn box.

“Sorry,” she says softly, quickly wiping her eyes. “Um I—” she doesn’t have an excuse, or an explanation for him. Not about this, not about the dollhouse. Not one that doesn’t involve her telling them about her entire life story. Considering how her throat is closing around her simple apology, she can’t imagine even attempting an explanation like that. “Go ahead,” she says with a sharp nod

Zeke doesn’t seem to respond, aside from letting go of a small sigh. He fiddles with his lip piercing and his brow pinch together, and his hand begins to slowly close the distance between them. She squeezes her eyes shut and turns her face away. His warm fingertip brushes against her leg. It doesn’t hurt, but she balls her hands into tight fists beside herself. She clenches her teeth and just repeats, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay inside her mind until he finishes taking care of her leg.

As soon as Zeke is finished, he silently collects the first aid kit, and walks off without sparing her a glance. Isabell takes a deep breath and inspects his handiwork. The bandage is neat and clean. He has incredible dexterity for someone of his size.

“While you’re up, grab a hot glue gun,” Marcus calls after him. He’s holding the remote and is preoccupied with something on the TV. He seems wholly unperturbed by Zeke’s cold nature. She wonders if that means that she shouldn’t read too much into it, or if Marcus is simply in his own world. Maybe both of those things could be true. “Have you ever seen The Lord of the Rings?” he asks her. She doesn’t know what that is, so she just shakes her head. “Hm. Okay,” he says with a frown and a determined nod, “We’ll be fixing that,” he turns back to the TV. “You know, just so we’re clear here, I’m considering you my third roommate.” He grins a bold toothy smile down at her. “Zeke probably won’t say it, but I know he feels the same way too,” Marcus leans in, dropping his voice to a playful stage whisper, “He doesn’t like talking about his feelings, but he has them. Don’t let him fool you,” he chuckles sitting upright once more. “But seriously, I don’t want you to worry about us thinking you’re,” he grimaces, unable to bring himself to say what he’s thinking. A toy, a pet, He redirects instead, “I don’t want you to worry. You’re our roommate, nothing less. Cool?”

“I…” She knows that she could never truly be their roommate. Living out in the open, existing in the same space as humans comfortably? As if. But this is a step in the right direction. They wouldn’t lock a roommate up in a jar. But of course, she hasn’t entirely ruled out the possibility that he’s telling her what she wants to hear, just like she’s doing for them. So, she quickly redirects her words, “I don’t even have a job,” she says quietly. Marcus’s brow pinches together in response.

“You… what?” he asks with a chuckle, caught off guard by her statement.

“I don’t have a job!” She repeats, “I don’t have money, I can’t go to the store or help with chores or do anything. Zeke told me about all of that human stuff today. How am I supposed to be your roommate if all you’re doing is taking care of me the whole time?” She frowns.

“Hey, that doesn’t matter,” he says, gesturing with the remote as he speaks, “Your job right now is just to rest and heal, alright? After that, we can figure something out. If you want some kind of chore, or job, or way to pay rent to make you feel better, then sure, you got it. That’s if you decide you want to stick around, of course. We just need to make sure your leg gets better first, Okay?” Marcus offers an encouraging smile. She finds herself awestruck by his confidence. He’s so sure that everything is going to be alright. His expression wraps a fuzzy warmth around her, like he’s just wrapped her in a blanket.

“Okay,” she says, a small smile spreading across her own face despite herself. This human is all too good at this game. Marcus turns his attention back to the TV.

Zeke returns not too long after that, settling back down on the floor beside Marcus. It’s obvious that he’s trying not to stare at her. After handing Marcus the hot glue gun, his eyes flick across the table, landing on just about everything else, except for her. Ultimately, he finds nothing to keep his attention, and settles for looking down at his hands.

“Zeke, she’s never seen The Lord of the Rings,” Marcus states, “Can you believe that?” He looks at him incredulously.

“When would she have seen… any movie?” Zeke returns, looking up to raise a brow in Marcus’ direction.

“That’s… huh. You have a point,” Marcus murmurs, then after a pause, he starts the movie and hands Zeke a bag of doll clothes. Zeke’s shoulders relax as he’s given a task to keep himself occupied

“What do you think?” Marcus asks, his attention turns back to her now that he’s laid out all of their craft supplies.

“This is…” She shakes her head, taking a second to truly look over all of the supplies they set out. She finds herself once again unable to find the right words, “this is… amazing,” she breathes the word, awestruck. She has access to everything she could ever need, right here. Typically, she can only work with things she can find. Things that humans wouldn’t miss. And of course, things she’s able to carry back with her. Objects that check all those boxes are unsurprisingly fairly difficult to find. But in a matter of minutes, the humans have placed an endless world of possibilities right in front of her.

A chill breaks through her excitement. All it costs her is her dignity and her freedom. Her smile faulters.

Marcus is beaming, obviously pleased that she’s finally starting to look happy. Zeke steals glances at her, looking up from his task of seam ripping the Velcro away from the doll garments.  Even he has a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

The humans are pleased. They like that they did something to make her happy. She’s on the right track.  She shoves all other thoughts from her mind.

“You’re big into crafting then?” Marcus asks.

“I kind of have to be,” she says with a short laugh. “Everything I have, I have to make it out of repurposed human things. It’s my favorite part though. It’s like solving a puzzle,” she pauses, right, borrowing is generally frowned upon in the human world. They call it stealing or thief-ing something like that. “um, I only take things that wouldn’t be missed though,” she adds quickly. “And if I do find something really good, I try to repay the favor. Y-you know uh just little things. A trinket for a trinket. Or maybe a small repair like a torn curtain or a watch or… I don’t know stuff like that, it kind of depends on the human. But, um I don’t just take stuff.”

“It sounds like you’re basically a professional,” Marcus comments,

“I guess,” Isabell says with a shrug, thankful that he didn’t hang on the part about her taking stuff. She tries to remember if she’s ever gotten anything really good from this apartment. Something they might be sour about losing. She can’t come up with anything off the top of her head. “I’ve got some pretty cool things I’ve made back in my room. I’d show you but you wouldn’t be able to fit.” a playful grin spreads across her face as she talks.

“You’ll just have to recreate some of it, show me what you’ve got,” Marcus matches her energy effortlessly.

Everyone works in a comfortable quiet, with the movie playing on in the background. Zeke focuses on adjusting some of the doll clothes, Marcus is opening packages of little furniture and plates, doll things. Once he’s finished with that, they take stock of what they have. They have a lot of the basics covered. could stand to make a little kitchen and some other odds and ends, like a bookshelf. Marcus asks if he can help her with anything. She agrees, delegating to him the task of cutting popsicle sticks.

“You weren’t kidding, you’re really good at this stuff,” Marcus comments when the bookshelf they’re making is nearly complete.

“Like I said, I just have some experience,” she says, looking up at him.

“This is like, carpenter level stuff though. It’s seriously impressive,” he leans in close to inspect her handywork.

“Thanks. I- well, I was going to say I can typically work a little faster when it doesn’t hurt to stand, but actually, since you were cutting things for me, I think that might have made up for the lost time,” she says, moving herself over to her new couch.

“I’m glad I could help,” he says, watching the limp in her step and glancing over to Zeke, “Is your leg feeling alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine. I think I just need to take a break,” she sits down. For being doll furniture, the couch is surprisingly comfortable. As soon as she’s sitting, the exhaustion she’s been ignoring pounces on her, like it was waiting for her to let her guard down.  

“A break sounds good to me,” Marcus says, standing and stretching.

His full height towers over her, and she thought the sight of him sitting in front of her had been intimidating. Her heartbeat speeds up, dredging the last remaining ounces of adrenaline up to fight off her exhaustion once more. It feels like a losing battle, and she’s left feeling jittery and sluggish all at once. She would love to be able to close her eyes and sleep all of this off. She would love it even more if she could wake up already back home in the safety of the walls. But she knows that’s not going to happen. And she knows she doesn’t have a chance of getting any kind of sleep while there are humans there to watch her.

“Do you want a snack or something?” Marcus asks, already making his way to the kitchen.

“Okay.” She mumbles, though it’s likely that Marcus didn’t hear her. He was going to make a snack regardless.

[selene-writes]

Hellfire- Pilot part 1

Hi! This is part one of the Pilot. W.C- 5,057 (its a long one) Warnings for this chapter include angst? and swearing. This is an 18+ fic

The two of you opted to leave that night in the Impala, as it made more sense to travel together given that you had been driving around in a stolen car. 

As you drove on, the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air. "Where should we go?" you asked, breaking the tense silence that had settled between you and Dean.

Dean remained uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, his eyes focused straight ahead on the road ahead. Just when you began to think he hadn't heard your question, his voice cut through in a gruff tone. "California."

Your eyes widened in alarm, instantly understanding what Dean was suggesting. "No, Dean, don't even think about it. He's out," you said firmly.

"Damn it, Jane! Don't you get it? Nobody gets out!" Dean's reply came sharp, his frustration with the past clear.

"He did," you retorted, your tone unwavering as you met Dean's intense gaze. You refused to back down.

Dean fell silent, the tension in the car thickening as he processed your words. After a moment he sighed. "But still," he said reluctantly, "he's still his dad, and I'm still his brother. He deserves to know."

Sensing Dean's withdrawal from the conversation as he turned up the radio, you frowned and turned to gaze out the window at the passing scenery. The blur of lights and shadows outside mirrored the complexities swirling within you. A part of you knew Dean was right—Sam deserved to know the truth, and Dean would never have reached out for help if he wasn't genuinely afraid. 

"Dean Winchester... scared," you thought silently to yourself. The thought would have seemed ludicrous in your younger days, but now it just showed how serious the circumstances were.

You sighed softly and closed your eyes, allowing the familiar strains of Metallica to wash over you. 

I never opened myself this way, 

Life is ours we live it our way

All these words I just don't say

And nothing else matters

Sam and Dean had always been your closest friends, practically brothers since childhood. Growing up, you often pondered why Bobby Singer, the man who raised you, seemed distant at times. It wasn't until you turned seven that he finally sat you down for the "you were adopted" conversation, which shed light on his occasional coldness. Sometimes you swore he looked at you like you were some disgusting… thing.

Despite the occasional look that made you feel like an unwanted outsider, Bobby was still better than the infamous John Winchester. Out of the three of you, you were the middle child, two years younger than Dean and two years older than Sam.

The memory of your first meeting with the Winchesters remained vivid in your mind.

It was a quiet afternoon at home, with Bobby off on a routine salt and burn hunt, leaving you tasked with cleaning guns and securing the house. "I need you to help me clean the guns and hold down the fort while I’m gone," he had said, emphasizing the importance of your role. Initially annoyed at being left behind, you reluctantly accepted. As you meticulously cleaned the weapons, the sound of a car pulling up outside caught your attention. Peering cautiously through the window, you expected to see Bobby's truck, but instead, a sleek black Impala appeared.

Instinctively, you grabbed a gun and took cover behind a wall near the entrance, heart racing. The door swung open, and without hesitation, you aimed your weapon at the intruder.

"Hands up, you damn idjit!" you yelled, adrenaline pumping through you. To your surprise, the intruder turned out to be a boy, slightly older than you, with a mischievous look in his eyes. He immediately threw his hands up in surrender, and promptly busted into laughter.

"What's so funny?" you demanded, trying to maintain a stern demeanor despite your small frame and young age. 

He continued chuckling until Bobby and another man, holding a young child appeared from around the corner. Bobby, with a mixture of concern and relief, swiftly disarmed you. "Easy there, kiddo. We've got visitors."

"I'm John," the stranger introduced himself, extending a hand toward you. You hesitated, eyeing him warily, deciding not to respond. After a moment, John withdrew his hand, understanding your skepticism. "This is my son, Sam," he gestured towards the toddler cradled in his arms, "and my son..."

"Dean," the older boy interjected, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and something you couldn't quite place.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You smiled at the memory. Most five-year-olds didn't clean guns, but you were among the few raised in the hunter's life—just like Sam, Dean, and a handful of others. Yet, you knew you were luckier. It had always been you and Bobby against the world. You had no one else to lose, unlike the Winchester boys who had lost their mom and Dean who had lost his childhood. The smile on your face faded as you thought about the weight they carried from such a young age.

"You may want to close your eyes. This is going to take a while," Dean's voice broke through your reverie, pulling you back to the present moment. You nodded and shut your eyes.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Much to your annoyance, Dean had let you sleep the entire way.  As you arrived at your destination, the lingering unease of your nightmare still weighed on your mind.

"Dean, what the fuck are you doing?" you whispered sharply, glaring up at Dean as he effortlessly climbed the fire escape leading to Sam's room.

"What does it look like?" Dean retorted with a mischievous grin before resuming the climb. You cursed yourself for ever letting Dean know which room belonged to Sam.

"You coming?" Dean called down to you, pausing mid-climb to look back. With a sigh, you pushed aside memories of times before Sam left, trying to focus on the present.

"Yeah," you muttered, steeling yourself before beginning the climb up after him.

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

Two years earlier (the day Sam left for Stanford):

"I'm so proud of you, Sam," you said with a smile, gazing up at his towering figure.

"I wouldn't have gone if it wasn't for you, Jane," Sam replied earnestly, his eyes locking with yours.

"That's not true," you started, but he cut you off gently.

"It is. You've been my best friend," Sam insisted, his voice soft.

You opened your mouth to respond, to tell him that he was yours too, but before the words could form, his lips met yours. For a brief moment, you melted into the kiss, clinging to his shirt as years of unspoken feelings seemed to align. It was a moment you had longed for, yet when Sam suddenly pulled away, you realized tears were streaming down your cheeks.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked softly, concern etching his features as he gently moved back, prompting you to reach out and stop him from leaving.

"Nothing, it's just... I'll miss you," you admitted, your smile bittersweet.

Sam's expression softened even more, and he stepped closer, his hands tenderly brushing away your tears. "I won't forget you, Jane," he whispered against your lips, his promise comforting.

Every word, every touch, remains etched in your memory like it happened yesterday.

But the last time you had heard from him was a year and a half ago, Sam had eventually stopped communicating with you altogether,

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now

"Easy tiger," Dean's voice echoed softly as you slipped through the open window into the dark room. The outlines of the brothers were barely visible on the floor– with Dean currently pinning Sam down.

"Dean?" Sam's voice cut through the darkness, sending a flutter through your heart and a twist in your stomach. "You scared the hell out of me."

"That's 'cause you're out of practice," Dean replied with a smirk, clearly enjoying his advantage. Sam frowned slightly, then swiftly flipped Dean over, reversing their positions.

"Or not," Dean grumbled as he found himself beneath Sam's weight. "Get off me," he demanded, scowling as Sam stood up, pulling Dean to his feet. They both turned towards you, their figures illuminated as the lights suddenly flickered on.

“Jane?" Sam's confusion was evident, quickly melting into something warmer as he approached you with a smile. You held your breath as he enveloped you in a hug.

"Hi, Sam," you murmured, returning the embrace, aware of the unwanted effect he still had on you.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam asked after pulling back slightly.

"I was looking for a beer," Dean chimed in, laughing as he clapped Sam on the shoulder. You rolled your eyes, about to explain when a pretty blonde woman emerged from the back room.

Sam?" she called out, her gaze shifting between the three of you. "Hey, Jess," Sam replied, introducing Dean and then towards you. You winced inwardly.

"Dean, your brother?" she inquired, turning to Dean before glancing at you. Your stomach twisted as the realization sank in: Sam had never mentioned you to her, his childhood friend. Pushing the pang aside, you forced a smile.

"Childhood friend. Nice to meet you," you said warmly.

"Likewise," Jess replied warmly, though a flicker of curiosity passed over her features.

"I love the Smurfs," Dean interjected, his eyes drifting appreciatively over Jess's appearance.

"You know, I have to tell you," Dean began to approach her with a flirty tone, "you are way out of my brother's league."

"And yours," you added, earning a glare from Dean and a knowing look shared with Sam.

"I should probably get dressed," Jess interjected, rolling her eyes but giving a small smile.

"No, no, I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously," Dean assured her before turning back to Sam and you. "Anyway, I need to borrow your boyfriend here," he said, crossing his arms and giving Sam a pointed look. Dean had certainly made an impression.

Jess nodded slightly, giving a small smile before excusing herself to another room. Sam wasted no time in closing the distance between you all and grabbing her hand.

"Anything you need to say, you can say in front of Jess," Sam declared firmly, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. Before Dean could respond, you spoke up.

"Your dad hasn't been home for a few days," you said, locking eyes with Sam, hoping he'd understand the urgency in your tone and the meaning in your words.

"He's probably just working overtime," Sam replied casually. Dean replied, his voice low and serious.

"Dad's on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days," Dean stated bluntly, his eyes darkening with concern. Sam's expression hardened immediately. Without breaking eye contact with either of you, he turned to Jess with a strained smile.

"Jess, excuse us,"

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After some back and forth, Sam agreed to come down to the parking lot to talk.

"Where the hell did I put that thing?" Dean muttered, elbow-deep in the trunk filled with an array of deadly weapons. You stood on one side of him, Sam on the other.

"When John left, why didn’t you go with him?" you asked, studying Dean’s focused expression as he continued his search through the unorganized trunk.

"I was on my own gig, a voodoo thing in New Orleans," Dean replied casually.

"Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?" Sam's surprise was evident in his voice, causing you to laugh.

"I'm 26, dude," Dean retorted with a smirk, before turning his attention back to the trunk and finally locating the papers he was searching for.

"Dad checked out a two-lane blacktop outside of Jericho, California," Dean informed you both, sorting through the papers. "About a month ago, they found this guy's car, but he was gone." He handed you a news article and continued flipping through more documents.

"Maybe he was kidnapped?" you suggested, passing the article to Sam.

"There were others," Dean added, showing you more papers with different men's faces. "One in April '04, '03, '98, '92—ten disappearances in the last twenty years."

"All men," Sam observed, handing the paper back to Dean.

"And all on the same 5-mile stretch of road," Dean confirmed with a nod. "The frequency picked up, so Dad went to investigate. That was three weeks ago," he paused, glancing between Sam and you. "I hadn't heard from him until yesterday," he continued, pulling out his phone and playing a message.

"Dean, something's happening. I think it's serious. I need to try and find out what's going on," John Winchester's voice crackled through the static. "Be careful, Dean. We're all in danger."

Your brow furrowed as Sam spoke up, "You know there's an EVP on this?"

You looked at Sam and grinned, impressed. "Not bad, Sammy," you said. 

"Alright," Dean said, pressing a button his phone.  "I slowed the message down and ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got." 

A woman's voice whispered eerily: "I can never go home” 

"I can never go home," you echoed, feeling a chill run down your spine as you glanced between the brothers, both wearing matching frowns. Dean closed the trunk and turned to Sam.

"You know, I haven't asked you for anything in two years. I haven't bothered you," Dean leaned against the trunk, facing Sam, while you stood opposite, arms crossed.

Sam sighed, looking between you and Dean before giving in. "Fine, I'll go. But I have to be back on Monday."

"What happens Monday?" Dean questioned stubbornly.

"I have an interview," Sam replied firmly.

"An interview?" Dean scoffed, clearly unimpressed. You rolled your eyes at his dismissive tone, something you found yourself doing a lot lately.

"It's a law school interview. It determines my future," Sam explained, his irritation evident.

"Law school?" Dean said in disbelief.

"Do we have a deal or not?"

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Law school?" Dean questioned skeptically as you both leaned against the trunk. Sam had gone inside to gather his things and talk to Jess.

"Yup, and I don’t want to hear you two fighting over it," you replied firmly, turning to face Dean with a knowing look.

"But why law—" Dean began, but you cut him off before he could finish.

"Not a word," you insisted, flashing him stern look. "I can't handle you two arguing."

"Alright, alright," Dean relented. "By the way, were you working on a case when I showed up?"

"No, actually. I had wrapped it up the night before. It was a simple salt and burn, but I decided to stay one more night," you explained, noticing your breath in the cold night air.

"Why's that?" Dean inquired, studying your expression.

"Just a feeling, I guess," you shrugged, trying to brush off the vague sense of premonition that had kept you there. 

"You knew something would happen. You knew you had to stay. Freak," a voice taunted in your head, but you pushed it away with a deep breath.

"Well, I'm glad you stayed as long as you did. Otherwise, I wouldn't have known where you are, and I would've had to go look for you," Dean admitted, his tone serious and grateful. "Thanks for coming with me and helping me find my dad."

"Of course," you replied warmly, meeting Dean's gaze with sincerity. "I'd do anything for you guys."

The three of you settled into a nearby motel for the night, deciding to regroup and start fresh in the morning. For a brief moment, watching Sam and Dean banter and bicker, you felt a pang of nostalgia for simpler times. It reminded you of childhood, when being together meant everything would be okay. Despite Dean’s reluctance to admit it, things felt off without Sam—less hopeful, somehow.

You smiled to yourself, savoring the feeling in that fleeting moment, you wished you could freeze time. But reality intruded, reminding you that nothing lasts forever.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So, it looks like there's nobody matching Dad at the hospital or morgue, so that's something I guess,” Sam said, closing his phone. You were in the backseat, coming up to the bridge where the most recent disappearance occurred.

“Check it out,” you said, nodding your head towards the police cars on the bridge. You could see two officers. Dean pulled the car over and reached over you to open the glove compartment. Sam leaned forward to get a better view. Dean pulled a box from the glove compartment and opened it, revealing a stash of badges and fake IDs. He pulled out two federal marshal badges for him and Sam, and you grabbed your own from your bag.

“Let's go,” Dean said, opening the door. 

As the three of you drew nearer to the police you began to overhear them speaking in hushed tones. 

"It's almost too clean," the younger officer remarked, peering into the car. Your gaze followed his, landing on the blood-stained window, and you couldn't help but grimace at the sight.

“You had another one like this last month, didn’t you?” Dean asked as the three of you approached them from behind. Without waiting for their response he began pacing around the car, examining it.

“And you are?” The older officer asked, suspicious, his gaze lingering on Dean.

“Federal Marshalls.” Dean replies smoothly, flashing his badge quickly before returning it to his back pocket. 

“You three are a little young for federal marshals, aren’t you?” he asked, full of doubt and skepticism.

“Thanks, that's awfully kind of you,” Dean replied, chuckling and walking to the other side of the car, where the younger officer stood. "You did have another one like this, didn’t you?” Dean pressed, directing his question to the closer officer.

"Yeah, that's right, a mile up the road. There have been others before that," the officer confirmed, his voice grave.

 So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam interjected earnestly.

"In a town like this, everybody knows everybody," the older officer replied, nodding at Sams question. The two officers shared a look.

"Any connection to any of the victims besides the fact that they're all men?" you finally spoke up, breaking the uneasy silence that hung over you.

“No, not as far as we can tell,” the older cop said, meeting my gaze.  

“So, what's the theory?” Sams voice cut in, he was looking across the bridge and down the road. 

"Honestly, we don’t know," the older cop admitted, shaking his head in frustration.

“Serial murderer, kidnapping ring?” the man shook his head, clearly confused by the question.

“Well, that is exactly the crack police work I’d expect out of you guys.” Dean said striding over to where Sam and you stood. You could have smacked him but Sam, stepping beat you to it, stepping on Deans foot before you could. The officer's expression darkened, his patience clearly wearing thin. 

Thank you for your time," you spoke up quickly, offering a small smile, attempting to defuse the citation.

“Gentlemen, ma’am,” the younger man said, nodding his head.  

The three of you started walking back towards the car, not saying anything. You continued walking forward, in front of both the brothers, only turning when you heard a loud smack.

 "Ow, what was that for?" Sam exclaimed, rubbing his head and staring at Dean with a mix of disbelief and annoyance.

“Why do you have to step on my foot?” Dean shot back defensively

“Why do you have to talk to the police like that? They were already suspicious,” You interjected, annoyed with how the encounter had gone.

 “Come on, they don’t really know what's going on. If we’re gonna find Dad, we have to do this ourselves,” Dean asserted firmly, halting in his tracks and turning to face both you and Sam. It was then that you noticed a pair of real federal marshals approaching from behind Dean—two men in sharp suits and another in a khaki uniform. Sam cleared his throat, catching Dean's attention just as the marshals reached your group.

“Can I help you all?” the marshal in the khaki uniform inquired, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses.

"No Sir" Dean replied, flashing his signature smile. The three of you walked quickly towards the impala, wanting to get the hell out of there before anyone caught on.

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

After questioning the authorities, you decided to talk to the victim's girlfriend and one of her friends at a local restaurant. It was the victim's girlfriend who eventually brought a local legend that had happened decades ago. She related the story of a young woman who had been murdered on Centennial Highway. According to the legend, her restless spirit haunted the stretch of road, appearing as a hitchhiker to unsuspecting travelers. Those who picked her up seemingly disappeared without a trace. As soon as you heard this story, the three of you exchanged a knowing glance, knowing it must be a spirit. 

You decided to go to the library to find out all the information you can. The two brothers and you sat in the far corner, in front of a computer.

Now, after nearly two hours of pointless research, you were ready to call it a night."

So violent spirits are born out of violent deaths, right?" Sam's voice broke the quiet as he easily navigated the library computer's search bar. You nodded thoughtfully, your gaze fixed on the screen, strands of hair falling across your face. You tucked them behind your ear, your attention divided between the screen and Sam's presence.

"Maybe it's not murder," Sam thought aloud, adjusting his search. He deleted 'murder' and typed 'suicide' instead, hitting enter with a determined click. Almost instantly, the screen refreshed, revealing an article dated back to 1981, accompanied by a pretty but sad photograph of a woman named Constance Welch,

"Jumps off the Bridge, drowns in the water," Sam read aloud, his voice lowering as to not attract attention.  

"Does it say why she did it?" Deans' eyes flickered between Sam and the screen."

Yeah," Sam replied, scrolling down the page. "An hour before they found her, she called 911." He paused; his voice tinged with empathy as he read. "Her two little kids are in the bathtub, she leaves them alone for one minute, and when she comes back, they aren’t breathing. Both died,"

"That's awful," you whispered softly, Dean humming in agreement.

"That bridge look familiar to you?" Dean asked, his voice low, breaking the silence that had settled over you. You leaned in closer to the computer screen, your eyes narrowing slightly as you recognized the familiar image in front of you. 

"It's the same bridge," you confirmed quietly, your voice carrying a weight of realization. "The one we were on earlier today, where we found the car.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a chilly night and the moon shown through the pillars of the bridge. Sam, Dean, and you and you stood silently, gazing down at the murky river below. The sound of rushing water echoed faintly against the concrete pillars, adding an eerie setting to the night.

“So, this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean remarked, his voice tinged with curiosity as he peered into the depths beneath the bridge.

You turned to Sam, ignoring Deans remark. "So do you think your dad would have been here?" Your question hung in the air, a reminder of your mission. 

"Well, he was chasing the same story, and we're chasing him," Dean replied matter-of-factly, his gaze shifting from the water to meet yours.

Sam's brow furrowed slightly; his expression thoughtful. "Okay, so now what?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of anger as he and Dean began to move away from the railing.

"Now we keep digging until we find him," Dean declared, his determination evident in each deliberate step forward. "It might take a while."

Sam halted in his tracks, his gaze flickering between you and Dean. You fell into step beside Dean, casting a glance back at the river, you felt unsettled, but you followed them.

"Dean, I told you; I've got to get back by—" Sam began, his voice trailing off.

"Monday," Dean interjected, cutting him off with a knowing nod. "Right, the interview."

"Yeah," Sam acknowledged with a nod of his own.

"Right, I forgot," Dean retorted, as he locked eyes with Sam. "You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just gonna become some lawyer, marry your girl?"

Your attempt to calm their brewing argument was cut short as Sam shot back, his voice laced with anger. "Maybe, why not?" He shot Dean a challenging glare, daring him to press further.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you?" Dean fired back, his words sharper now, brushing aside your attempt to intervene.

"No," Sam admitted, his jaw clenched. "And she's never going to know."

"Well, that's healthy," Dean scoffed, his tone mocking. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but you're gonna have to face up to who you really are."

"Dean, it's not your—" You tried to interject, but Sam's sharp voice redirected your attention.

"Who is that?" Sam's voice cut through the night, his sudden shift in tone catching both your and Dean's attention.

"One of us," Dean replied cryptically.

"No, I'm not gonna be like one of you guys, that isn’t my life," Sam asserted, his voice rising as he stepped forward to confront Dean, bringing you closer to the edge of the bridge. Yu tried to pretend that his words didn’t hurt.

"Well, you have a responsibility," Dean countered, he shrugged as he held his ground.

"To Dad and his crusade?" Sam challenged; his gaze unwavering as he locked eyes with Dean. You noticed Dean's fists clenching, his muscles tensing as he struggled to control his emotions.

"If it weren’t for pictures, I wouldn’t even know what Mom looked like. What difference would it make?" Sam's words cut through the night air, his voice thick with anger and frustration. Before you could intervene, Dean swiftly closed the distance, pinning Sam against one of the sturdy metal pillars of the bridge. Your heart raced with alarm as you ran towards them, calling out Dean's name.

"Dean!" you yelled urgently, closing in to try and separate them, but Dean's grip remained firm, his eyes locked fiercely on Sam's.

"Don't talk about her like that," Dean growled lowly, his voice carrying a certain intensity that echoed across the bridge.

Reluctantly, Dean released Sam and stepped back. Your attention, however, was drawn elsewhere—a woman in a white dress, standing creepily on the rail, catching your eye and making you freeze.

"Um, guys," you spoke up, your voice tinged with urgency as you pointed towards the woman. Both Sam and Dean turned to follow your gaze, their expressions mirroring your own.

She glanced back at the three of you before deliberately falling forward, disappearing into the darkness below with a chilling splash. Without a moment's hesitation, you sprinted towards the edge where she had jumped, the boys close behind you.  Peering over the rail, you strained your eyes to spot any sign of her in the dark, gray waters below, but found nothing.

“Where’d she go?” Sam asked, peering over the edge.

“I don’t know,” you replied, holding your breath. 

 Sam, Dean and you stood frozen in shock, staring at the headlights of Dean's beloved Impala illuminating the darkened bridge.

“What the—" Sam began, his voice filled with disbelief, but his words were cut short by the unfolding chaos."

Who's driving your car?" you blurted out, eyes wide as you turned to Dean for an explanation. His hand emerged from his pocket, clutching the keys to the Impala and your stomach turned at the realization.

Before anyone could react further, the screech of tires filled the air, and the Impala lurched forward, headlights bright as it surged towards you with alarming speed. Panic surged within you, adrenaline flooding your veins as you screamed.

"SHIT!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, heart racing as you took off, sprinting, Sam and Dean close behind. The pounding of your feet on the hard pavement echoed alongside the relentless roar of the car's engine right behind you.

"Go! GO!" Sam's urgent cry spurred you forward, your muscles burning as you pushed yourself to run as fast as you can. The car closed the distance, its headlights casting shadows that flickered across the bridge.

With desperate urgency, Sam looked to the side, eyes widening as he saw the edge of the rail. Without hesitation, he veered towards it, his hand grasping the railing as he propelled himself over the edge.

You and Dean followed suit, the rush of air whipping past you as you jumped over the rail seconds before the Impala would have struck. For a terrifying moment, you teetered on the brink of the abyss, feeling the distance beneath you.

Just as you feared the plunge into the water, a strong grip closed around your arm. You looked up in a panic and saw Sam, his face set with determination as he held on tight, pulling you up and over the railing to safety. Gratefully, you clutched onto him, relief flooding through you as the ground felt solid beneath your feet.

"Thanks," you managed to gasp out, breathless and shaken.

"You're welcome," Sam replied, his grip firm and reassuring as he steadied you against the rail. Your gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, a silent acknowledgment from you throughout the chaos. 

Below you, Dean surfaced from the river, his face a mixture of relief and exhilaration. Unsure whether it was the rush of survival or the look on Dean's mud-covered face but laughter bubbled up unexpectedly from you and Sam.

"Fuck you!" Dean's voice carried up from the water, his playful yet annoyed tone met with even more laughter from you and Sam,

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

One room, please,” Dean declared, sliding a debit card across the front desk. The elderly man behind the desk looked at Dean strangely but didn’t question why he was covered in dried mud.

You guys have a reunion or something?” the man asked, glancing at the card and then at us. I raised my eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” Sam replied, looking at the old man.

“That other guy, Bert Aframian, he came in and bought out a room for a month,” the man said, focusing on Sam. I shot a meaningful look at the two taller boys. John had definitely been here.

“And what room might that be?” I asked sweetly.

Next part

[wellthebardsdead]

Unwilling Dreamer Pt3

Pt2 here

———

“Nerevar… my sweet nerevar…”

Shamat: h-hot- it’s so hot- where- am I?

“Don’t listen to him.”

Shamat: *opens his eyes to see another elf seated before him, one with his face but golden skin, staring at him with forlorn, heartbroken eyes* who? Are you?

Voryn: I’m you… before nerevar killed us… you’re in terrible danger.

Shamat: killed us- I- *jumps as the elf is replaced by another, a tall, muscular, clawed figure behind a golden mask*

Dagoth Ur: Don’t. listen. To. Him.

“Voryn?”

Shamat: *jolts awake with a feeble, startled cry as warm, kind, familiar hands stroke his cheeks, drying them from spilled tears* wh-what? L-lord Nerevar I-

Nerevar: *seated at his bedside with his breakfast, now gently drying his face* shhhh, it’s just me my dreamer.

Shamat: *tilts his head, voice quivering as he questions him* I’m voryn? Your dreamer?

Nerevar: yes voryn, youre mine, my dreamer. My retainer, my most loyal, devout, beloved. *strokes his cheek catching another tear with his thumb*

Shamat: *shudders at his touch, feeling a mix of confusion, shame and honour that the Hortator and king of all morrowind would dare give him even a scrap of his time never mind tend to him and treat him as sweetly as he has* b-but- I’m nobody sir I-

Nerevar: just don’t remember yet. *dries another tear before feeling his forehead* Tsk. Damned skooma… these withdrawals must be killing you.

Shamat: *tilts his head thinking the nightmare, the ear splitting pounding headache and burning heat must be withdrawal symptoms, they’d all started after he met nerevar of course* I- I’m hot- my head hurts-

Nerevar: *nods sadly, feeling helpless as he watches his treasured friend suffer* you’ll feel better after you’ve got something in you… *quietly lifts a cup of what looks like a rather dark tea, holding it to the dunmers lips* Have your medicine first…

Shamat: y-yes sir- *shakily reaches up to take the cup only for nerevar to continue his grip on it as he sips it slowly, refusing to let him feed himself, especially his ‘medicine’* I- *coughs as he finishes the cup* I-it tastes familiar somehow- like-… *quietly falls back into the pillows, his pupils blown out and body relaxing in an instant as his addiction is sated by the small dose*

Nerevar: *sighs and sets the cup down, feeling terrible for drugging him with even a small dose but knowing it’ll help in the process of weening his body off of it until he can stomach an antidote* that’s better isn’t it?… *leans down kissing his forehead earning only a soft, confused hum from the dunmers lips* sit up now, let’s get some food in you, my dreamer.

*a few weeks later*

Shamat: *sitting in his bed, no longer completely bed bound but still confined to his room, the door locked securely and guarded from the outside, as if his own bedchamber were a secret treasury for the Hortator himself. A little precious gem, for nerevars eyes only* … *quietly looks at the books on his bedside, unable to read any of them, unable to read at all never mind write* … *picks one up and slides out of bed, pulling on his slippers before walking to the door and knocking sheepishly* hello?… g-guards?…

Guard 1: Lord dagoth? What is it? Are you hurt? Sick?

Shamat: I- n-no. C-can one of you read a book to me?… I can’t read and lord nerevar won’t-

Guard 2: I’m sorry my lord but the Hortator gave us strict orders not to interact with you beyond-

Shamat: p-please?…

*silence*

Shamat: *sighs and goes to sit back down before jumping as the door clicks open a fraction and an armoured hand reaches through* thank y- *blinks as the guard takes it and closes the door again*

Guard 2: I’ll read to you from out here.

Shamat: *heart dropping realising the guard won’t join him in his room, only allowing him company other than nerevar from the other side of the wall* thank you… *sits by the door and sighs, feeling isolated by his routine, by nerevars strict rules over him and his care, and feeling terrible and ungrateful for even daring to think negatively about it. Daring to be sour about the care nerevar obviously has for him, for the roof over his head, for the food in his stomach, and the medicine that makes his pains go away*

Guard 2: *reading to him as promised* And in silence he swore a mighty oath-that he should be his Lord's bane, and in vengeance for his- O-Oh! L-lord nerevar I-

Shamat: *jumps a little and shakily scrambles up to his feet hearing Nerevars name, opening some of the still tender wounds on his legs and back as he does so* lord ner- *goes silent hearing the sound of something being struck by a harsh blow before staggering back as the door swings open and nerevar enters pulling the guard in by his hair*

Nerevar: *holds the book up in his hand* Did you ask him to read you this?…

Shamat: *eyes wide seeing the bruise already forming on the guards cheek and the cruel grip nerevar has on his hair* I- y-yes I did. I-I had nothing to do and couldn’t read it without y-your help my lord.

Guard 2: *wincing at nerevars hold on his head, trying his hardest to pull himself forward to protect his neck fearing it’ll be cut* I-I swear- I swear my lord I’d never impose on your claim to lord dagoth- I only meant to please h- *coughs as he’s suddenly thrown to the floor with a violent force*

Nerevar: *eyes locked firmly onto Shamat* get out. You’ll be reassigned.

Guard 2: *gets up without hesitation and scrambles out of the chamber, not even sparing a glance back at Shamat in fear it’ll leave his head rolling on the floor*

Nerevar: *closes the door slowly and locks it, eyes still firmly on the meek dunmer trapped before him* … *slowly walks to him, holding the book tight in his hand* …Are you telling the truth… you wanted him to read to you?… nothing else?…

Shamat: *nods staring up at him, his mind swimming with confusion and fear, not understanding what he did wrong to earn such a reaction or harm to another* y-yes my l-

Nerevar: *lifts his chin suddenly with the book, his tongue clicking in disapproval* …

Shamat: m-my moon and star. *trembles feeling the sharp corner beneath his chin* I was bored, it… it’s so lonely when you’re gone…

Nerevar: *gaze softening as he lowers the book, satisfied his dreamer is telling the truth* Oh voryn, I’m sorry my duties must steal me away from you… *gently hands him the book before lifting him up as if he weighs nothing* I’ll read to you no-… *looks down to see a pool of blood gathered at his feet where Shamat stood* … *sets him on the bed and pulls back the robes to see the bandages soaked from where the wounds tore* …

Shamat: n-nerevar?

Nerevar: … *gently covers him back up before walking to the door and stepping outside, locking it as he leaves*

[ageless-aislynn]

Aislynn's Rumble Jumble of Random Thinky Thoughts on Halo s2 ep 5 "Aleria."

Spoilers, natch. 😉

I was holding out a little bit of hope, especially given that Riz went back for Vannak, that we were going to get some sort of last minute reprieve to save the big fellow. Sadly, no. 😭

John's guilt that Riz went back for Vannak's body because he had been pushing her so hard was understandable but I don't believe that was the whole story, if it was even a part of it at all. I think she went back for him because because he was one of them and they don't leave one of their own behind. More than that, she went back for him because she loves him. Call it the love for a brother, for a comrade, a friend who has been at her side since they were children, she loved him. Of course, you're also welcome to call it romantic as well, you know how I support my fellow shippers 117% at all times 😇 (she says, as if she hasn't totally written Vannak/Riz shippy fic 😂😉)

Poor John, of all the trauma he's been through, this has been by far the worst of it all: he's been abandoned by the UNSC, he's lost his armor, he's lost his identity as Master Chief, he's lost Reach, has lost Cortana, lost Admiral Keyes, lost Kai, lost Vannak and then now Riz. That moment when he tells her she's all he has left just about broke my heart. When she hugged him, he did a brilliant job, IMO, of showing how for a moment, he just wanted to close his eyes and collapse onto her, then pride makes him withdraw and try to pull a facade together like it doesn't matter. *sniffle*

I obviously hope this isn't the last we see of Riz but, at the same time, I'm happy for her. She deserves some peace after the terrifying amount of physical and emotional violence she's been through. Just seeing her smiling at the end made my heart feel a little better. Love you, Riz. I hope we see you again having a great life, bb, you deserve it. 💖

Okay, so I was NOT expecting Laera to go all Negan with a barbed wire bat. 😮 But was it satisfying to watch the quiet menace growing larger and larger, while that shopkeeper dude clearly realized that he would've been better off taking a beating from Soren? Yes, that was very satisfying, indeed, lol! And why I wasn't expecting the UNSC to have taken Kessler is beyond me because of COURSE they know about him (Halsey called him by name, after all) and of COURSE they're going to want a son of a Spartan. Will any of Soren's enhancements have been passed down genetically? Will Kessler be more likely to survive the process if they put him through it? Will they not even have to put him through it at all? I would imagine they have a lot of questions they'd like answered. And Laera and her bat would be very happy to answer them all, I'd imagine... 🥊😠🥊😉

Now, the three most important things about the scenes with Makee, Cortana and not!Thel!Arbiter whom I shall try to now call Var 'Gatanai since that's his name:

I still don't care for Cortana's makeover. 🤷‍♀️I liked the bit of camaraderie between her and Makee, especially with Makee's line about what happens when a useful thing loses its use. I see a forced alliance in their future, if not an actual friendship.

I still keep staring at Makee's eyebrows, wondering if they're more blonde because she dyed them or is it from whatever she went through to bring her back to life after last season. Yes, this is the important thing to keep worrying about. 🙄😜

I had to struggle so hard not to loudly exclaim, "ARE YOU BLINDED BY ITS MAJESTY?" when Cortana showed Var the Halo lands Makee and John frolicked through in season 1. 😇😂😉

And fourth place runner up, I didn't get as many shippy vibes this week between Makee and Var, whom I can call by his name or by not!Thel!Arbiter but not just "the Arbiter" because I'm a card-carrying member of the Fangirls of Arbiter Thel 'Vadam Fan Club and I'm not going to risk losing my membership. 😂😉

My bb boi. *draws sparkly hearts everywhere* 💖💖💖😉

I'm of two minds about them pretty obviously giving Var the Arbiter storyline here. However, if they would've called the character Thel 'Vadam(ee) but not had him voiced by Keith David? Um, HERESY. I don't say that sort of thing often when it comes to new adaptations but, c'mon, he IS the Arbiter when it comes to voices and considering that Thel would be CGI or whatever they're using to create Var and the other Elites, it's not the same sort of prospect as I've heard other people say, that they should've dubbed Steve Downes' voice over Pablo Schreiber's. (Yes, I saw that pop up a couple of times in the earlier days.) I mean, clearly Steve Downes IS Master Chief when it comes to the games but dubbing a live action actor is never going to look smooth, IMO.

Anyway, I think this means we won't be meeting Thel in this series, since his storyline is currently going along without him. 🤷‍♀️

Now to see what's in store for us next week. I am both looking forward to and dreading Kai and John's inevitable reunion. He's going to feel utterly betrayed, I'd think, and as I've said before, if she's not utterly devastated by Vannak's death and feeling guilty over not being there when Silver Team needed her... I'm going to have to super-duper fix that with fic. *nodnods* 😜😉

PS - Am I writing something utterly fluffy for Vannak right now? OF COURSE I am! C'mon, Vannak, jump in the AU Party Warthog, where you'll always be safe and happy!

[thekinkyleopard]

After Lunch

A Canon Remi x Levi One-Shot

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Smut, Aggression

Author’s Note: The boys be fucking in canon idk what else to tell you

Description: After being forced away from the wolf earlier that morning, he finds himself missing him. Visiting to feed the man gets steamy when Remi can’t find an appetite…for food.

It had been quite some time waiting for the wolf with Drae on now thirds of breakfast. “Hey I’m going to go look for Rem, you good here?” The cat asked politely before standing up at the table. Draeko waved him off shoveling another bite of syrup slathered waffles into his face.

“Totally good, go find your man,” Levi waved at the other and then carefully made his way through the halls with his container in tow full of fresh breakfast eggs, toast and sausage…well kinda fresh, room tempy. He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d find his mate, what the evaluation would have consisted of but, he was sure no matter what, the wolf would be happy to see him, surely. As he reached closer, he noticed the man standing just outside his door, confusingly sniffing the air around him. “Oh! Hey handsome, there you are~” he spoke with a gentleness that immediately soothed the struggling man as he was now aware of his presence. Man, what luck that his little kitten had just poofed up right when he needed him.

“Hey there, cutie,” flashing a weakened grin at the other taking a calculated guess at where he was standing beside him by his shadow. He took note of the smell in the air, eggs…sausage? Had Levi come bringing food? He noticed a resistance in his stomach at the thought of food.

“I brought ya some breakfast since you took a bit longer than expected,” he now carried the food in one hand and taking Remi’s arm, leading him back towards the room, shutting the door behind them. Slowly, gently and patiently guiding his sweating, struggling mate over to the bed, Remi sat down. Once the wolf was settled Levi turned before smoothly sitting next to him on the bed, with a sweet smile spread across his face he brought a hand down to touch at Remi’s knee. Said man could only smile in return knowing that he had him by his side, despite not being able to see him there.

“You’re an angel…but honestly…I’m struggling to find the will to eat…” he sighed with melancholy, blind gaze falling downward to look at the shadows of his feet on the ground. Leaning into the other’s side Levi looked over at the man’s large hands, tracing every vein and flesh pattern with his sharp sky blues.

“Withdrawal?” The cat asked calmly while Remi responded with but a simple nod of his head.

“That and…I don’t know, talking about stuff with these people….just makes me lose my appetite on top of everything else,” the wolf looked over now at the cat as their eyes connected, still unable to process or make out his favorite blue orbs. Every day things seemed to get clearer and clearer but still unable to make out the one thing he wanted to see, Levi.

“Well, I got this ordered all special for you…so we can’t let it go to waste…” the smaller said thoughtfully as he looked around considering the options. They weren’t at home so he couldn’t just remedy this issue with weed, no….so he thought carefully. Meanwhile, Remi’s heart sank in his chest. Levi had gone out of his way to obtain this meal for him? ‘Oh come on, stomach! Why are you acting like this now??’ He thought internally, looking down with saddened pale greens.

“I’m sorry you went out of your way for me…” he muttered almost under his breath and Levi immediately perked up attentively, placing his hand at Remi’s strong slumped shoulder.

“Acushla…no, no…it’s okay! I’d do anything for you….and I mean anything…” a light bulb suddenly went off, the end of his sentence heated as he suddenly realized what he needed to do to get the wolf hungry again. Setting the container to the side, he hopped down off Remi’s bed, the wolf curiously following the shadow as it moved in between his legs, forcing his way to the edge of the bed, and sliding down….to his knees? The wolf assumed.

Correctly. Levi was definitely on his knees in front of the wolf and nuzzled his face against one of his strong thighs. “I-…baby, what are yo-…” suddenly he felt the leopard’s gentle palms gliding up both sides of his legs.

“You always need a snack after you cum….I figure…couldn’t hurt to try,” he bit his lower lip as his eyes could burn holes through his cheap hospital pants with the hungry gaze he held there. Remi would give up his left testicle to see the look on his little mate’s face. Just a crumb. His breath caught in his throat, biting his own lip, chewing slightly at the pierced corners.

“I’m definitely not against experimenting…help fix me nurse…” he said with a sly, cocky undertone as the wolf threaded both his hands through the messy strands of white and black hairs. The immediate validation Levi needed,

“It would be my pleasure…” purring with an alluringly haunting voice as the hands tangled in his hair beckoned him over, quickly he brought his slender fingers over the wolf’s waist band. Remembering distinctly from earlier that morning, he wasn’t going to have to wrestle with any underwear knowing his mate was currently commando. That and the large tent already starting to grow under the grey material made it that much more obvious. “Excited?” He giggled nuzzling the pitched cock through the fabric of tightening pants. Remi let out a whispered groan trying to keep himself steady as the cat teased him.

“Very…” he licked his lips rolling his eyes back and shut, arms flexing to fight the urge to relentlessly rut up against the other’s face. Levi let out a playful but sultry little laugh before quickly surfing the impatient organ out from behind the fabric. Now face to face with Remi’s half hard length he brought a flattened tongue out to slowly lick up the underside. “Mmm…” the cat moaned gently as he did so, pausing at the ridge of his head, slowly gliding the wet surface against each fold. Remi shuddered, letting out a strangled gruff of air. His cock coming to life under the little cat’s expert movements. Using medium force, guiding with both palms Remi slowly lowered Levi’s mouth, as to encapsulate the entire head, hot wet lips closing around it.

“F-fuck…kitten…” he let out another struggled gasp as Levi swallowed the tip of his cock now. Swirling a busy tongue in tight circles, teasing the hole there, the wolf pushed him further, then further, his pale greens snapping open to look at the light above him. “Riiiiight there…” growling with animalistic passion deep from within him. Levi gagged just slightly as he managed to allow the cock to slide down his throat, moaning around the tightened space in his mouth, the vibrations shooting up little sparks of ecstasy through Remi’s nerve endings. “GOD…” he gasped again as he felt the tip of Levi’s little pierced nose hit the base of his pubic area.

The leopard’s ocean blues now watering and squinted as he struggled to keep himself from gagging on the thick length inside his mouth. He’d finally got it all in, throat full, and you could see it bulging the narrow area of his neck. “Ffff…..oooo~” the wolf pushed out a breath of air as he huffed silently, his cock fully sheathed inside Levi’s throat, it only made him twitch. Truly he felt punished, it had been so long since he remembered what that gorgeous face looked like stuff full of his dick wrapped around those delicious lips. Frustrated that he was missing out on the image, he pulled back suddenly, where the cat gasped for a proper gulp of air before he was violently shoved back down. He would just have to picture it, that helpless dripping…blushing face. Crying diamond blues. Suddenly, like a switch had been set off, the wolf began to powerfully drive himself in and out of Levi’s slick and waiting mouth.

“Fuuuuu…cking insane…” the wolf huffed again as he continued to fuck the smaller’s swollen lips. Levi’s face now leaking from every orifice, nose, eyes, and mouth, saliva starting to pool down the younger’s soft chin as he gripped the edge of the bed. His head moved in quick matching bobbing motions to each aggressive thrust. Despite what anyone walking in may think, this was exactly what the cat had been missing. That terribly rough, borderline psychotic treatment he always pleasantly received when being intimate with the other. His throat continuing to vibrate and quiver around him as the room echoed with wet abrasive sloppy sounds, and rough gasps. He loved being treated like Remi’s own personal little flesh light…but only he got this side of Levi, only he got to treat Levi as such. Something the wolf was already confident in, he knew that every part of the leopard belonged to him, only him, and he would take it as such.

“Thaaaaat’s, right my little kitten, swallow me up now…make Daddy proud..” growling behind strained, closed teeth he continued to force his way in and out of the cat’s mouth. Levi could only whimper and mewl pathetically as he was relentlessly stuffed, struggling to breath and drooling down his own face. He continued with sharp, violent thrusts up against Levi’s maw until he finally pulled the leopard up for a quick breather of air. To which the thankful cat took great opportunity in, gasping needlessly before licking his lips and reopening his mouth to anticipate the next few malicious pumps. Plunging himself back into that familiarly warm and pleasant cave, Remi sucked a sharp gasp through his teeth. Levi’s hands coming up to grip each side of Remi’s thighs, squeezing with the tips of his fingers, long nails digging into the flesh and fabric there. The wolf biting his lower lip, puncturing through the flesh, to prevent himself from howling in pleasure as he felt the other’s nails drive into him. Remi lapped away at the crimson trail that dripped down his mouth.

“I’m going to fucking….bust…HOLY….” Continuing to pant and puff, swallowing a pool of blood that collected under his tongue, driving himself forcibly into Levi’s mouth. “SHIT…” he could barely keep his voice at a below audible sound as his orgasm rocked him, hit him like a ton of bricks, body trembling, as he lifted the cat’s face ever so slightly to insure he didn’t drown as the hot seed hit the back of his throat. With a very seductive and slow moan, Levi let every drop of cum slide gracefully down the hatch, slurping meticulously at Remi’s deflating length like a cum thirsty whore as his head was released. Remi sank where he sat and gasped, hand now grasping his chest. “Fuck babe…” he hissed breathlessly while his partner sat back to clean off his face with the edge of his shirt.

“Y-yeah?” He giggled shakily before coming back up to sit beside him on the bed. “Hungry now?” Laughing while still gently panting to catch his breath.

Read Canon for more

Author’s Notes: I love fuck toy Levi <3 🥴

[mazamba]

The air was bleeding.

It'd been a late night for the League, thank you Darkseid, so they'd all hoped to simply debrief and go to bed.

Then Constantine had teleported in the middle of the room, yelling about an invasion from beyond the dead, right before small beads of a green, viscous liquid had begun to form in the middle of the air. Before long, the goo had dripped down onto their once pristine table, forming a shallow puddle.

Clumps began to form, small at first, but they grew steadily to form long, oblong shapes in the slime. Batman realized they were bones just in time for a skeletal hand to reach out and slam into the table, bracing itself as a radius, ulna, and humerus grew from the liquid flowing up the green bone in gravity-defying rivulets. A shoulder blade formed, ribs, vertebrae, and a skull, followed by the other arm and the pelvis.

Batman was concerned. The skeleton was much too small for an adult, maybe for a ten or eleven year old child, or even an unusually short twelve year old. He clutched at Damian's cape behind him, keeping him back from the thick green figure.

The liquid kept flowing from the air, into the puddle, and up the bones to clump into green tendons and muscles of various shades of green. A heart beat erratically in the middle of the table, and had to be captured by the skeleton before it could fall off the edge. Intestines and lungs formed in the liquid, before retracting into the abdominal cavity like noodles.

The creature arched its back inwards, coughing and gargling fluid out of its lungs as the skin finally grew in. Wonder Woman, who stood behind the figure with a hand on her sword, had just enough time to process that the figure was female, before cloth formed over her skin.

Hair grew out of the scalp as soon as her face was finished reforming, and she retched, coughing what was left of the thick slime out of her lungs. Rather than withdraw, the slime oozed back to her, seeping into her clothes and into the exposed skin on her middle section to find holes in the tissue they could fill.

Finally reformed, the girl's arms gave out and she fell flat on her stomach, breathing heavily from the strain of reforming. She was young, as Batman had suspected, younger than Damian at least.

Still, the Child had looked young too.

"-elp!"

Superman approached, correctly assuming Batman would want to stay with his son to keep the thirteen-year-old boy from stabbing the creature gasping for air on their table.

"Are you all right?"

The girl coughed as she rolled over on her back to sit up, wiping a trail of green slime off her mouth.

"I heard- I heard there are heroes in this dimension," she croaked, still recovering from the ordeal.

"You heard correctly," affirmed Superman, "is there-?"

"My brother!" she was on him in a second, desperately grasping onto his shoulders like a lifeline, "They have my brother! Please! I'll do anything, but you have to save my brother!"

Dani just wanted to visit Danny…that ended with Danny being captured by the GiW

She needs help, after all she is NOT a hero.

Fortunately, she unlocks a new ability that allows her to escape; pass through the veil by liquefying

…and to say that he hasn't had an hour, Danny tells her how he had learned a new ability perfect for winning the fight in which he was stuck and she was making fun of him for the very lucky timing

Now she's in the ghost zone and needs to find help…but the only ghosts she's sure will help can't leave their lair because of ~responsibility~

…she doesn't have to be helped by a ghost in fact? just a heroic person! AND the zone is glue between ALL dimensions!!!

This is how a lazarus green puddle randomly forms in DC and then comes together into a strange little girl who has a mission tm

[fallen-angel-92]

Chapter 1

She was not where she was supposed to be. Birthed from the womb of a goddess and raised as a Spartan. She must try and learn what it means to be a parent all the while trying to navigate this new world she is in.

         “War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers (The Lord of the Rings, #2)

 

         Blood flew from wounds. Fists met with flesh before she had managed to slam her hammer into the head of the witch as they landed upon the snow covered ground.  Slowly, she stood up, her dark brown eyes took in the land around her as she placed her hammer back into its proper slot on her hip. It is then she noticed that the buildings that were in front of her were similar in design to those her mother told her about from her world. Just as she started to walk forward toward the building she heard the sound of several pops followed by a female yelping in pain.

         Not thinking much on it, she quickly reached behind her where her two blades rested upon her lower back, pulling them from their sheaths. Blades in hand she darted forward toward where she had heard the sound coming from as she entered what she believed was the main street, she instantly noticed a woman holding her son close to her.  There were several men surrounding her and the child holding what she assumed were automatic weapons not waiting for anything to happen, she charged at them. One of the men heard her approaching from behind, as he turned to see her fully, she used her right hand to swing a blade severing his throat.

Blood spurted from the wound causing  the other men that were nearby to turn toward her with their weapons raised. Before they could start firing on her, she quickly sank both her blades into the chest area, releasing the handles of the blades and stepped back. This allowed her to summon chains of molten rage to flow from her hands as she reached the end of the chain within her tight grip, she quickly swung the man toward the others sending them flying backward into a nearby wall. The wall collapsed most likely killing them in the process, as soon as her blades were back into her hands she felt something graze her left arm from behind.

She turned around raising her left arm, allowing her shield to spring forth just as her father's did. She could hear the pinging of the bullets ricocheting off it, not standing idly she ran toward the last man, as soon as she was close enough she slammed the shield into his head. She watched as his body hit the floor before shoving her blade into his heart. Once she was sure he was no longer moving, she removed the blade from his body, and then sheathed both the blades before pressing a button on her arm armor to withdraw her shield back. Her eyes glanced from the body toward the woman and child.

She could see the fear and curiosity in their eyes, however, she did not want to remain in this area. However, she did not want to leave the two in the midst of what she assumed was a war torn realm.

“You two should leave. Especially since you have your son with you,” she spoke out wtih a low growl.

She watched them for a moment before she turned back around to leave the area once she could see the brunette woman slowly get to her feet. She did not move over two feet away when the woman called out, accent thick upon her voice, “Wait! It is dangerous here. I can offer you shelter in return for your assistance earlier.”

She turned around looking at the woman before letting out a soft huff,” I can take care of myself, however, I am in need of lodgings until I can make my own home.”

She watched as the woman nodded her head, picking her young son, and jerked her head toward the street behind her,” Follow me. I'll show you back to our home. My name is Madonia Muller and this is my son Jake. May we ask for your name?”

“You may call me Rhea,” She replied back as she followed through several streets, taking note of the war torn conditions. 

“It is an honor to meet you, Rhea. Can you tell me where you are from? I saw a light and then you appeared,” Madonia asked as they entered what appeared to be some form of housing area near the outskirts of the town.

“I am from an ancient place. One that cannot be reached through normal means. That is all I will say,” Rhea replied as they stopped in front of the door of what appeared to be a quaint little house. 

It was obvious by the boarded up windows as well some of the damage done to the outside walls.  Madonia reached into her pocket, pulling out a key and opening up the door. Once they were inside, Rhea was greeted to a homely house, Rhea glanced upon the walls and could see that they had several photos of both her and her son. However, her attention was drawn away by Madonia speaking,” I understand. Please follow me. I'll show you to the guest room. You can rest there.” She sat the young boy, Jake, down onto the ground before signaling her to follow.

Rhea watched out of the corner of her eyes as Jake climbed up onto the nearby couch, sitting down and watched as Rhea and his mother passed by. She followed  Madonia down a small hallway toward a door, they stopped in front of it. Madonia opened the door allowing Rhea to see that it was a somewhat small room with a medium sized bed and several small dressers.

“It's not much, but you are more than welcome to use it as thanks for save me and my son,” Madonia spoke softly to her.

Rhea simply let out a hum as she stepped inside and looked around before speaking gruffly,” This will suffice I need not more. Tell me why were those men trying to kill you and your son?”

Rhea noticed the hesitation to answer her question, unsure if she was trustworthy, however, she noticed a familiar set of blue eyes peering around the doorframe. Rhea let out a small huff as she spoke,” A story for another time. It seems the boy needs you.”

At the mention of her son Madonia turned to face her son, walking over to him crouching down and began to speak to him in a language she didn't understand. Despite not understanding the language she could see that Jake was uncomfortable in her presence and so she spoke out loud,” The boy is obviously uncomfortable with my presence. Any further conversations regarding the situation outside and about me I am sure can be addressed in the morning.”

Madonia glanced over at Rhea with a slightly grateful look before nodding her head, wrapping an arm around her son's shoulders she said,'' You are correct. Come Jake, let us leave so Ms. Rhea can sleep.”

“Okay mom,” Jake muttere, lowly as he glanced up at Madonia and then toward Rhea.

Rhea simply nodded to them, watching as they left the room with Madonia closing the door behind her. Once they were gone, Rhea began to remove her blades from her back and laid them upon the nearby shelf. She then took off her hammer, staring at the black and red metal for a moment before setting it on the floor. She walked over to the bed, sitting down upon it before allowing herself to lay in it properly after she removed her boots. As she laid there, she stared up at the plain ceiling and began to wonder how her family was doing without her. Rhea hope that no one blamed themselves for her choices before she closed her eyes and drifted off into a fitful slumber. 

(Hope you enjoyed this new RE fanfic! Let me know what you think.)

[blueicequeen19]

I’m not sure if you’ve ever done this because I have yet to read all of your writings but I’m in the middle of it! Btw you’re an amazing writer! So I was thinking like Jj being overly protective of you and jealous when you even talk to other guys but you aren’t dating. Then one day everything spills out in a crazy dramatic way then from there it can get spicy or whatever you may like haha

Warnings: protective JJ

“I got you a beer.” I smile at the persistent cutie that’s been chatting me all night. I reach for the cup when JJ appears next to me, his gaze drilling into the other guy.

“She doesn’t like beer. You’d know that if you spent half the night listening to her as you did talking about yourself.” I gasp and the guy scowls at JJ.

“What are you? Her boyfriend? Or maybe another guy pissed because he’s in the friendzone?” I reach for JJ when he throws his own beer in the guys face, splashing me in the process. JJ is suddenly yanked backwards by John B who’s playing mediator.

“Stop! Do you want the cops to get called?” John B tries pushing JJ back but the other guy isn’t done.

“It’s fine, man. I’ll let you have her after I’m done. I’ll have her riding my dick by the time the nights over.” I don’t even think as I step forward and kick him in the balls.

“I wouldn’t touch your dick with a ten foot pole, you asshole.” I scoff, stepping back as he hits his knees in the sand. Warm arms wrap around my waist and pull me away from the scene. I know it’s JJ because he’s fighting laughter as he leads me over to his dirt bike.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.” JJ huffs a laugh as he straddles his bike and I climb on behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“I never told you I don’t like beer.” I finally say and he freezes with his leg half raised to kick start. I felt braver questioning him with his back to me. I couldn’t chicken out this way.

“You didn’t have to. You always pass on beer. I picked up on that.” JJ finally says.

“What else did you pick up on?” I ask softly. I could feel his heart racing through his cut off. I slide my hand into the side of his cutoff and over the warm skin on his chest to better feel his racing organ.

“No bullshit?” JJ exhales a shaky breath, glancing at me over his shoulder.

“No bullshit.”

“Okay. Here goes. You hate chick flicks because you don’t like to cry. You like peanut butter more than anyone I know. You snore in your sleep. And you’re afraid of people getting too close so you only date guys that are easy to leave.” Now my heart was racing. I swallow around the dryness in my mouth. I try to withdraw my hands from the warmth of his skin but he stops me, catching both wrists and placing them back where they were.

“I don’t snore.” I snort and he chuckles, his back shaking against my cheek with his laughter. It doesn’t show my racing heart and it doesn’t help when he starts stroking my arms.

“If we don’t leave, I’m going to end up kissing you.” JJ finally says and goosebumps erupts all over my body. JJ notices because one of his hands cups my knee where the bumps appear. I shake my head, burying my face between his shoulder blades and tracing his spine with my nose.

“I wouldn’t be easy to leave.” JJ adds after another long pause. Tears spring to my eyes because he’s right. I don’t get a moment to respond because he starts his bike and takes off towards the road to take me home.

[strawbxrryneptune]

Kinktober day one: Knife play

Cw: slight knife play, exhibitionism, fingering, slight penetration, dirty talk

Word count: 1,210

Watching Scream was a tradition with your roommate, but when his nest friend is involved, it's a bit more....interesting

Movie script is in italics!! Enjoy <3

♡♡

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You smile at the line, having heard it countless times.

“I don’t know.”

“You have to have a favorite.”

Your gaze tears away from the television for a second to watch your roommate’s friend, Bakugou, emerge from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn.

“Scream, really? This shit is old as fuck.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the bowl out of his hands once he gets close enough and turning back to the screen.

“So, you gotta boyfriend?”

“Why, you wanna ask me out?”

You giggle with Casey as she twirls her hair, sneaking a glance to the blonde next to you who's on his phone.

You wish he wasn't such a killjoy. You would love to be curled up in his strong, meaty arms right now, enjoying the classics of Halloween.

“Somethin’ on my face, Doll?”

You gasp, turning back towards the movie and flushing when you hear his huff of laughter.

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“Because I wanna know who I'm looking at.”

The doorbell rings suddenly, and you almost piss yourself at the timing. Reaching over to pause the movie, you get up and plop the half empty bowl of popcorn back into Bakugou’s hands and move towards the door, ignoring his grumbles of how annoying you are.

Opening the door, you shiver from the chill outside, before feeling your heart warm at the cute sight of your roommate, Kirishima, standing in front of you with two huge domino bags.

“Hey, y/n, ya miss me?”

You laugh, grabbing the bags.

“Nah, just the food.”

Smiling at his fake pout, you make your way back to the sofa and plop down next to Bakugou, who’s dozing off. You reach over to slap his chest and he catches your hand right before impact, cracking a dark eye open and staring you down, causing heat to erupt in your lower tummy.

“Oh, sorry, I….”

He holds your gaze, lips curled up slightly in a half snarl. His hands are big, alarmingly so, and warm. The softness of them soothes you, and you find yourself leaning slightly forward, watching his eyes dilate and darken, plush lips parting and letting out a sharp exhale, before he retracts his hand from your wrist, turning his head to the side in an attempt to hide the flush creeping up his neck.

You stumble back, flopping onto your side of the couch in a daze, unaware of Kirishima watching you from the kitchen island, a knowing look on his face as he preps the plates and gets drinks.

20 minutes pass, pizza devoured and soda sloshing happily in your belly. You’re resting with your head laid on the back of the couch, lazily watching the movie. Kirishima’s invested , sitting on the floor in front of you wrapped in a Fatgum blanket. You watch Ghostface appear on the screen and, before you can stop it, your thoughts fly out of your mouth.

“Is it just me, or is Ghostface fine as fuck?"

Kirishima laughs, turning his head to look at you.

“You mean Billy?”

You shake your head, sitting up all the way.

"Stu?"

“No no no, Ghostface. The voice, the body, the way you can't tell who's under, it's just really hot.”

Kirishima roars in laughter, turning back around to continue the movie as his eyes tear up.

“So yer telling me yer attracted to fuckin masked killers.”

Bakugou stares at you, earning himself a glare from you.

“Obviously if he wanted to kill me I wouldn't be turned on-”

“Oh, so if i took this,”

You turn your head as Bakugou grabs the knife you were gonna use for the brownies from the coffee table.

“And did this,”

He reaches for you and before you can register what's happening he has his arm wrapped around your chest, knife held to your throat.

“You wouldn’t wet yer fuckin’ panties?”

You let out a shaky exhale, trying not to go dumb as you start to heat up, clit throbbing under your panties as he gently traces the cool metal down your throat.

“You-you wanna kill me?”

He chuckles, leaning down to lick up the shell of your ear.

“Not the answer I was lookin’ for, Pretty.”

He slides his hand down your belly, thick fingers toying with the waistband of your shorts. You whine softly, moving your hips in a circle to get his fingers moving, bumping against his bulge in the process. He makes a punched noise before moaning directly into your ear, hips rolling up.

You sigh and tilt your head back, slowly rocking your hips back against him and pressing soft, tickling kisses to his flushed neck. He’s panting, letting out breathy “hah’s” with every push of your ass against his crotch. He withdraws his hand from your underwear, only to grab your own hand and push it down with his, sliding yours and his finger inside of you. You have to bite your lip hard to keep a moan from ripping itself from your throat, placing your mouth back on his sweaty skin once he begins curling his fingers inside of you.

He brings the knife back up, trailing it along your lower tummy, up your chest, along your throat and stopping just under your jaw, pushing down ever so slightly and making your head spin, eyes rolling back as you jerk your hips to try and get him to put another finger.

"Mmh, you like that, slut? Want me to slit your fucking throat?"

You answer with a garbled moan, fingers twitching when he finally sinks two more of his fingers inside you along with two of yours, the stretch making you whine. Immediately he stops, and you almost whine again when you remember Kirishima sitting inches away from you, the back of his head right in front of your dripping cunt.

"Shit, you wanna get caught or sumthin'? I dunno about you but I'm not too keen on sharing what's fuckin mine."

You shake your head, sinking your teeth into his shoulder and continuing to rock your hips against his hand, eyes knocked into the back of your head as he takes his fingers out to rub slow, lazy circles on your clit. He shuffles a little under you, the knife disappearing before you feel his thick, sticky cockhead glide over your slit, popping in ever so slightly. You shake your head violently, trying to get Bakugou to stop.

“Bakugou, nnngf, it’s too much, m’gonna cum-”

He shuts you up with a sloppy kiss, saliva dribbling down your lips as he finally gets his tip inside, pushing in slightly farther before you're convulsing, squeezing him so good. The both of you cum just like that, tangled together on the couch behind Kirishima as the last 5 minutes of the movie plays in front of you. 

When you come down, the credits start to roll, and you both look at each other in horror. When you hear soft breathing and snoring, however, you loosen up and relax. He was sleeping.

“Lets clean ourselves up-”

“Hah? I didnt get to properly fuck you, idiot. The knife wasn't even real, that shit’s for butter. Sit your pretty ass down and grind on my fuckin’ cock.”

[kharti]

[ In Over His Head #35 ]

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Meet me below deck at midnight, the note in Stede’s hand read. In the cargo hold.

      ( Continue reading on AO3 or... )

Meet me below deck at midnight, the note in Stede’s hand read. In the cargo hold.

He now understood what poets and writers would describe as butterflies, a nervous excitement that threatened to stop his heart from how erratic it skipped. A midnight tryst, away from prying eyes, just the two of them.

What would a pirate’s courtship be like? Once, he would have thought it to be a violent passion, laying claim to a forfeit heart. He had imagined teeth and swords and nails digging in to leave marks on his skin. It had been a fantasy of his on more than one occasion, certainly.

But he wasn’t sure that was going to be the case. Ed was too gentle with him, too gentle in the way he would touch Stede that they almost didn’t touch. As if Stede was a delicate thing. And though he wouldn’t mind the rough and raw, he was ready to admit he didn’t mind the soft, either.

The way Ed looked at him like he was an illusion, waiting to wake up at any moment.

It made him feel stronger, somehow, to have this shared uncertainty between them. That neither of them knew what they were doing. That this fantasy was real, that they were really living in this moment together.

As he walked down the hall, past the snoring behind some doors and over the creaky boards that would alert to his presence, he felt his heart jump into his throat.

Whatever lay behind the threshold ahead of him, he was ready. Just so long as it was good. Oh, heaven above, please let it be good. If this was a withdrawal of Ed’s heart, Stede might just cease to be right then and there.

He stopped just shy of entering the dark room as that thought circled around his skull, a sudden ache in his head and in his heart. Why did his mind go there? Why did it even put the notion in his way? Ed wouldn’t do that to him.

He repeated that to himself—Ed wouldn’t, Ed wouldn’t, Ed wouldn’t—and stepped through the doorway, into the dark where very little light reached.

“Stop,” Ed’s voice said from somewhere in the shadows. “Stay right there. Please.”

The breath left him, and the mantra changed. Ed was going to, Ed was going to, Ed was going to. “Ed?” he asked, unable to hide the quivering fear in the single word.

There was a similar quiver as Ed’s voice replied, “I want t’share somethin’, but… y’might not like it.”

It was over, it was over, it was over.

“Lucius called it ‘free verse.’ It doesn’t rhyme, ‘m’sorry for that.”

What?

Stede blinked as he tried to process the words. Free verse. Rhyme.

He sucked in a sharp intake of air as realization struck him in the center of his chest, and his heart started dancing again. “I’m listening,” he said, softly, curiously, excitedly. “I won’t judge.”

Ed cleared his throat, but didn’t speak. The anxiety was palpable without seeing the man, across the dark and empty space between them, Stede could feel the nerves like a vibration within his bones.

He was more than happy to wait. Happy to give him the time. Happy just to know that there was a poem that had been written for him. Happy to be here, right where he was, with the man who’d written him poetry.

Then, finally, Ed began to speak, with hesitant pauses between words, with a slow and careful measure.

“There's a new wind blowing like I've never known “There's a feeling in my heart that I can't explain “We were both looking for something “And we ended up finding each other.”

Ed paused to draw a ragged breath, and Stede could hear the tremble of paper in his hands. Stede, meanwhile, put a hand over his eyes to hide the tears that filled his vision.

“I'm so scared to feel these feelings “You're so scared to give these feelings “It's just so hard to believe “That this is happening between us “This mad love burning deep in my soul “Deeper than my heart could ever understand “Letting go of everything I've ever known.”

Stede, who rarely found himself at a loss for words, had nothing. His mind wasn’t a maelstrom of anxious thoughts. There were no phantoms haunting the corners of his vision, no one telling him how to feel or what he was.

He was merely standing there, crying, weeping, and smiling through each tear.

Footsteps echoed and he felt Ed draw near. He lowered his hand so his face was visible, all of him exposed, his tears and his smile and his heart and his love.

There was a vulnerable look on Ed’s face that softened when he was close enough to see clearly. “Those’re good tears,” he said more than asked.

“The best of tears.” Stede gave a breathless laugh as he threw his arms around the man and squeezed, trying to pour his feelings back into him, to return what he’d been given. “Thank you for my new favorite poem.”

Slowly, Ed’s arms encircled him, then held him tight and buried his face against Stede’s hair. He couldn’t tell which heartbeat was his, both of the pounding sounds so loud in the quiet room while they held one another, no more words needed in that moment.

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