#minor and canon typical but it is there

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

A Study of Tattoos

@house-of-mirrors here's my fic for you for the @fallenlondonficswap! I hope you enjoy!

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,290

Summary: An academic has an encounter with a spy, and can never go back.

Contains: The great game, Judgements, tomb-colonists, the khanate, permadeath, and brief mentions of zailors and implied intimacy.

Ao3 Link

It has been weeks since I saw her.I was not supposed to open that door. She had been redressing, pulling her blouse back on when I noticed them. Dozens of tattoos covered every available inch of skin, some overlapping even, like the sketching book of a Bohemian who could not yet afford a fresh one. My mind has since become that sketchbook. They fascinate me. I look for tattoos everywhere I go now, hoping to catch a glimpse of more. Sometimes I do.

I have found out more. She was a surface runner. A spy. Staying in the Neath for as minimal time as possible so as to not die, and lose her usefulness. My accidental involvement with her has set off a chain reaction which I do not understand. A chain reaction which I must understand. Ripples have consequences. 

My final term is nearing an end. My professor, a demanding man who always oversees every minute detail, is demanding a long-form research project. I will choose the coding of tattoos to demonstrate my academic expertise.

***

I have made an error. Examples of spy tattoos are hard to find in full for one simple reason: It is vital that they be decoded only by the intended recipient. Even after one is put onto the body and then delivered, it may still be decoded by others to find out a plan. I had to figure out a method that would enable me to find these tattoos.

I bumbled around Wilmot’s End for near to a week. I would pin any spy I could recognize as such with conversation, like an amateur entomologist clumsily practicing on an abundant species. I realize, only now in the aftermath, the flaws in my method. At the time however, I was stumbling through, unseeing, blunt and broad in my brushstrokes.

I did not realize what would be the consequences of my actions. The game I was playing was not long enough. One of the spies began to spread such a storm of scandal that my own professor booked me a ticket to the Tomb-Colonies! As such, I leave today.

***

I have been here a week now, and made friends with a very old Colonist. They are dead now. I watched them crack open, like a cocoon made not of silk, but rather of dusty bandages. Before they died, however, I was permitted to see beneath those bandages. I had been explaining my thesis, and how my attempts at finding samples was what brought me here, when they told me they had something that might help. Indeed they did.

As part of my research, I had studied tattoos extensively. In addition to the time I spent in Wilmot’s End, I had also spent an entire week staking out Clathermont’s parlor, watching those who came and went. When the Colonist unraveled their wraps to show the aged parchment of their skin, I saw tattoos and symbology I had never come across before. I took very detailed drawings, noting everything from direction to color to location.

***

I am back at the University. The Colonies gave me the time and space to think. I took some gifted rags back with me. I wrap myself in them now, and keep a scytale of my notes. Depending on where I choose to wrap them, I can disguise many messages.

***

I have gone through the entire libraries of both Benthic and Summerset. They contain hardly anything about spycraft, and even less about what it looked like before the Fall of London. This place is hindering my research more than helping it. I will go back to the Tomb-Colonies, this time of my own volition. I tire of things happening without my understanding of how or why. I will learn, and I will grow.

One of my classmates is a pawn. He is clearly a spy, but he never operates of his own free will. Is there a way to, in this game? If so, I will find it. If not, I will become it.

***

Once more I am here among dust and moths. A Tomb-Colonist who reminded me of my Aunt spoke with me. I ended up asking her about older tattoo works. She pointed me across the Zee.

“There, in the Khanate. My granddaughter traveled there once. Its people are descendants of those who escaped that last fallen city.” She gave me some of her wrappings, to fill the gaps in my own. I thanked her.

I will spend the remainder of my time here, constructing a false identity with which I may enter the city.

***

I wonder. Was I pointed to the Khanate by chance? Am I still part of someone else’s schemes? Perhaps, like a puppet that resents the one who claims to be her master, I will take up a blade, sharp and precise, and slice off both blindfold and bindings in one neat cut.

***

My disguise is complete now. The Kindly Colonist had parting words for me.

“They will use every last part of you. Death, true death, will not be the end. They will use your memory to haunt and persuade others. They will use your tombstone as a dead drop. They will use your dying breath to pull in another. You cannot love or be loved. Travel safe, and if you do try to escape… Do not do it partway. You cannot have a foot in each world.”

She gave me a small cloth bag. There is a scrap of irrigo fabric inside, which causes a fog in my mind.

***

I have found a captain willing to zail my false identity East. I study the crew’s backs and shoulders, looking for ink.

***

My disguise has held so far. It is a good thing I have learned not to be reckless. My second day in port I saw a junior pawn removed by the White and Golds. I have a growing distaste for them. I played shatar for much of the day. Unlike London, tattoos are kept much more secret here.

***

I intercepted a message today. I danced with a charming woman all night long, and used our intimacy to make a study of her tattoos. The shapes themselves are smaller here, but still just as detailed. They know how to prolong usefulness. The symbols are different as well, though I see similarities reflected in the tattoos of the zailors who brought me here.

***

Last night I dreamt of a chessboard. I was clothed in ruby armor. A man in ivory approached me.

Once within arm’s reach, the world around me transformed into a glittering castle. I could see checkered fighting out of the windows.

Someone guarded him off to the side. He talked carefully and with precision, and explained many things. How he was interested in my development, how I moved across the board quickly for a mere pawn. How he had arranged all of this. His eyes were blue like snow as he dropped carelessly back onto his self-proclaimed throne.

His right hand twisted, and marionette strings tightened against my limbs. I grew furious. I did not want to be controlled. He was not allowed to manipulate my life.

He spoke of bleaching my ruby vestments, and his eyes gleamed. They glowed such a bright light, in fact, that it burned to look upon his shining throne.

My fury kept me grounded. I wanted nothing more than to snuff out that bright white light. I snapped my strings, and all at once, his castle folded and faded, like crumpled notes.

A man who reminded me of someone I once knew rushed up to me. His armor was deep ebony. I looked at my tattooed limbs, and saw that so was mine.

I woke up.

[cirtusmistress]

Hurricane

Authors Note: I wrote this about two years ago and posted it to AO3, and never cross-posted it to Tumblr. But given I want to get back into writing, I may as well start by posting what I got! So enjoy my first fic, two years late.

Ship ~ Brahms Heelshire x GN Reader

Tags ~ Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Reader is Competent, Storm prep, Brahms is Scared of Storms, Touch-Starved Brahms Heelshire, Reader Replaces Greta Evans, Minor Injuries, Doll Brahms Heelshire, One Shot, Gender-Neutral Pronouns

AO3 Crosspost

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A storm? Like, a thunderstorm? Or is it worse?” You asked. You’d been working for the Heelshire’s for around two months now. And though they’d left you with very detailed instructions on how to care for their beloved son, they had never brought up things such as house care. Honestly, you hadn’t planned on staying this long. Not into Autumn.

“A full on hurricane.” Malcolm answered, setting the last of the grocery bags down. He continued, “The worst one we’ve had in years apparently. They’re predicting outages and downed trees. I can help you secure the windows and doors if you’d like?” He offered. A sweet gesture. An olive branch of friendship. But you knew better than to take it.

During your short time at the Heelshire estate, and caring for Brahms, you’d learned a great many things. The most crucial being that whenever someone stayed around too long and stole your attention away from the doll you cared for, there was hell to pay. In one instance you found the dining room in complete disarray after simply inviting Malcolm in for tea, during a rare social moment for you. The worst case was when a friend of yours stopped by. They were a globetrotter, and seeing as you already had residence found it simpler to just stay with you. A mistake. One night was enough to send Brahms into the worst tantrum you’d ever seen. Multiple rooms destroyed, a window had been broken, and he had stolen your friend's passport. Your friendship didn’t last long after that. After all, who was to believe that a doll could cause so much harm?

“Thank you, Malcolm, but I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with a few storms in my life, I’ll manage.” You replied. Malcolm studied you for a moment. Likely trying to read you, sniff out any signs of dishonesty. But, there were none. Just that warm smile that could melt anyone's heart. He gave a sigh of defeat and nodded.

“If you say so. Just give me a call if you need anything. I’ll come check on you when the hurricane passes.” With that he gave you a wave and headed back to his truck. You muttered a soft thanks, finally returning to your chores.

Brahms sat in the kitchen where he’d been waiting. Like he was listening to your conversation. You’d grown used to this odd job of yours. Caring for a doll as if it were human. Though you’d always figured there was more to this situation then most believed. You’d heard of people using dolls to cope with loss, the concept wasn’t lost on you. But for a couple well into their later years? And there were just.. Too many small things. Even in the rules. Playing music loud, reading in a loud clear voice, leaving food in the freezer. Food which you knew was going missing.

But the biggest tell was an accident. It had been about a month into the job. You’d actually begun to believe Brahms was a child's spirit trapped in the doll. What with him moving around on his own, and leaving you little offerings, and once saying your goddamn name when he was upset. But then, just by accident as you were putting Brahms to bed, you hit your foot against the wall. It had hurt so badly you thought you’d broken a toe. But what stood out in your mind even now was the sound the wall made. It didn’t make the thud you knew from stubbing your toe time and time again in youth. The wall sounded hollow. There had been an echo. Now you knew some older houses had hollow walls. Normally the cavities between the two layers were used for insulation. But that echo.. That wasn’t a normal hollow wall.

After that you’d started paying closer attention to the house and Brahms as you went about your day. Watching and listening. Countless nights where you’d lay in bed and just listen. You’d hear shuffling, the rare footstep like someone had stumbled. Once you swore you heard breathing. You noticed how many rooms had large paintings or cabinets, your size or larger. For a while you thought you were going mad. There was no way in hell that an elderly couple had been keeping their son in the walls for twenty years. But then you learned of the Heelshire’s deaths. Suicides. So many things pointing to something you didn’t quite know how to feel about. On one hand, you were now basically the sole guardian of a doll who was actually a stand-in for the hypothetical twenty-eight year old man in the walls. On the other, Brahms was now completely alone after twenty years of isolation. Alone, save for you. Sweet, kind, loving you who treated a porcelain doll like a real boy. Who read to him every night and tucked him in with a kiss. You couldn’t just leave him. No matter what Brahms was.

“We’re in for a storm, Brahms. I guess that means we’re having a slumber party downstairs tonight.” You cortled, putting the last of the groceries away. You took note of how little perishables Malcolm had dropped off. Thinking ahead. You wouldn’t be able to cook for however long the power was gone, if it did go that was.

You turned back to the doll, scooping him up and taking him with you. You figured the downstairs office would be the safest place. The windows were relatively small and were less likely to break. It would do for your purposes. You sat Brahms in the corner and got to work moving the desk out of the way. You’d have to lay down blankets and things to sleep on. You doubted the old fashioned Heelshire’s were going to have something like an air mattress.

You spent a good hour doing basic storm prep. Dragging some old blankets and comforters out of wardrobes and laying them down on the floor. Filling up buckets and the tubs with water. Getting crossword puzzles and cards. By the time that was all done, it had begun to rain outside. The calm before the storm you supposed. The last thing on your storm checklist was lanterns. This was an old house, you were certain that the Heelshire’s would have oil lamps somewhere. Naturally the first place you wanted to check was the attic.. But you knew better. After all, if your theory was right you didn’t want to scare the poor man by invading his space. So you settled on checking the cellar first.

Only issue was, you really couldn’t bring Brahms. You knew he was never meant to be alone but taking a fragile doll into a dark cellar was too risky. He’d have to stay upstairs. You were hoping he wouldn’t be too upset.

“Brahms, I’m headed to the cellar. I’ll be quick, I promise.” You hummed. With that, you headed down alone. You had been right, it was dark and musty and damp. You started to wonder if there was mold down here. You flicked on the old dingy light which surprisingly still worked. You began digging through the clutter. Old things like furniture, clothes never worn since the sixties, even some art pieces. It was like a time capsule. You didn’t have time to walk through history though, you needed to find anything that could give light without the use of electricity. Lower and lower you went through the piles, until finally you found something. A pair of old oil lamps and a small can of oil to go with it. You muttered a soft thanks, pulling them out from beneath wicker chairs. But what was behind them gave you pause.

The bricks were singed. Dark burn marks that showed age. Your eyes followed the marks. The furniture in here had covered them, but now they were exposed after your rummaging. They flowed over the bricks going upwards. They almost looked beautiful. But that beauty hid a tragedy that plagued this home. You knew why they’d been hidden with so much clutter.

Your thoughts were interrupted when something crashed behind you, making you scream and jump. When you turned you saw one of the mirrored vanities stored away had been smashed. The mirror shards now littered the floor. And on the steps sat the Brahms doll, staring you down. It took you a moment to catch your breath, realizing your error. Brahms didn’t want you uncovering his painful memories. And he’d made sure you knew that. Gathering yourself, you pushed the lamps aside and began to put all that you’d moved back into its place. Covering those painful memories back up, letting them remain hidden and forgotten. Once finished you picked the lamps and the can up and approached Brahms. Kneeling to his height you gave an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry Brahms,” you spoke with such a genuine tone of sincerity, “I shouldn’t have snooped around. But look! I found the lamps we’ll need!” You held up the lamps, jostling them a little so they clinked together. Of course the doll remained frozen. But just faintly, almost missable under the sound of rain pouring down, you heard panting. Like someone coming down from a rage.

“I’ll clean up the shards, then we’ll head back upstairs, okay?” You’d started speaking to Brahms out loud more after you’d learned about the walls. Feeding your own delusions some would say. You held your word, starting to pick up the larger shards and resting them on top of the vanity. The smaller ones you just brushed away with some loose fabric you found. You didn’t really plan on coming back down here anyways, not after that outburst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You always found time moves slower when there was a storm. The day seemed to drag on as the storm became worse and worse. The wind had picked up and those raindrops just kept getting larger. It was loud, even on the bottom floor. You had settled on just simple sandwiches for dinner, making sure to put a ‘spare’ in the freezer. And after that you’d just settled in to do a crossword. It was.. Probably the first time in weeks where you felt safe. There was something about the dim lighting and blankets that just felt right. Secure. Warm. Brahms sat under the covers and you’d even given him a crossword book of his own. Slightly cruel, knowing he couldn’t move with you there with him. But at least you’d been talking to him. Funny, you always struggled talking with real people. But this doll turned you into a chatterbox. Maybe it was the simple fact no one was attempting to speak over you. Like someone was actually listening.

Your tranquility was disrupted by a large gust of wind, followed by a crash that made the manor shake. And what sounded like a scream. It had come from upstairs. Something inside you just knew. That crash was in the attic. You were running upstairs before you even had time to think. Up the stairs, and finding the attic ladder down. You were unsure if it had come undone itself or if someone had moved it. That didn’t matter as you climbed up. It was your first time in the attic but you didn’t get a chance to explore. A branch had flown off a tree and crashed through the wall, opening it up to the elements. You could only act, no time for clear thoughts. You grabbed a nearby blanket and started to desperately try to cover the hole, but another gale blew you back. There was nothing you could do to patch it right now, not unless you wanted to risk injury or worse, death.

Your rattled mind returned to the scream you had heard. Or at least you thought you had heard. Looking around you didn’t see a body but there was a bed up here. A tv, a sink.. Someone was living here. You didn’t have time to celebrate your theory being proven. Where was Brahms? Your eyes flitted around, finally landing back on the ladder. Somehow you had missed the very clear bloody handprint on it during your panic. But if Brahms was bleeding.. Oh God, how badly was he injured? Quickly you descended the steps, trying to find any sign of him. You were too panicked to even fear this man who was hiding from you for so long. All you knew somewhere in this house he was hurt and bleeding.

“Brahms?” You called, starting to check every room. Could he have climbed back into the walls? Fearing you discovering him? You checked everything on the top floor and worked down, calling his name in a more desperate tone with each exclamation. But finally you found him. Turning the corner back into the downstairs study. There he sat, in place of the doll. It wasn’t what you expected to see. The mask was shocking at first glance. You were momentarily stun locked. He was bigger than you anticipated, even sitting down. Finally you snapped out of it when he looked at you, and held out his bleeding hand. It had a sizable gash across the palm.

“It hurts,” He spoke in a child-like voice. The voice you’d heard months ago. His head drooped a touch as he spoke, “Can you fix it?” He asked. Finally, after another beat, you nodded. Your mouth felt dry. Too dry to speak. In the kitchen you found the first aid, and took it back with you. He hadn’t moved from his place on the makeshift bed. You knelt beside him, and carefully took his hand in yours. Up close you could see the burn scars that ran along his entire right side. Suddenly his outburst in the cellar made much more sense.. Carefully you applied some rubbing alcohol to the cut. That made Brahms whimper and pull his hand back. The look in his eyes behind that mask was murderous.

“I’m sorry, Brahms, but I have to.. To clean it.” You choke out. Your mouth is still far too dry. You hold your hand out for his again, giving him those warm eyes again. He would trust you wouldn’t he? After all, you had been the one to care for him all this time. He looked at your hand, then back to your face. For a moment Brahms almost seemed entranced by your eyes before conceding and resting his hand back in yours.

“Good boy..” You said, starting to clean the wound. He made a noise akin to that of a moan at your praise. You supposed you were the first person to touch him or give him praise in years. He was likely touch starved. Once the cut was clean, you grabbed the bandages and began to wrap his hand. He kept watching you. His breath was heavy behind that mask.

Finally you were done, and you let his hand go. Brahms examined your work, how carefully you’d wrapped him, and the cute little bow you’d tied it off with. As he studied his hand, you studied him. Despite the childish voice he put on, he was very much an adult. You could see his beard poking out from beneath the porcelain. He was actually rather handsome, you’d admit. The rain picked up again, and the lights began flickering. Brahms jumped and quickly moved closer to you. Before you knew it his head was hiding in your lap. Apparently he was afraid of the storm. Made sense, it had attacked him after all. Carefully you began to stroke his hair in an attempt to soothe him.

“We’ll be okay. Just a little wind and rain, that’s all. Maybe we can play cards? Or I can tell you a story?” You offered. Just trying to find anything to distract him from the weather outside damaging his home. Slowly he nodded, not lifting his head from your waist. Actually his grip seemed to grow tighter. You could feel him inhaling a little too deeply, and his hands started to squeeze your thighs as he held tight. You felt bad thinking how unsurprised that made you. But he had lived in the walls for twenty years.. And you were likely the first person he’d had stick around.

You settled back on to the makeshift mattress, Brahms never letting you go. He shuffled up a bit, so his face was resting against your chest. You kept stroking his hair, picking your brain for a story to tell. Something romantic as you had a wild feeling that was right up his alley. You recounted the story of Pride and Prejudice, not skipping any details of the classic story. Brahms seemed all too enthralled by the tale. He even began to kick his feet in the air when you recounted the climax between Elizabeth and the beloved Mr.Darcy. Just before you could finish though, the lights finally gave out. Brahms tensed up against you and again hugged you tight against him. You let out a wheeze. You needed to get the lamps but he seemed content just smothering you until the lights came back themselves. Finally you managed to sit up as he continued to cling like a baby koala.

“Brahms, sweetheart, I need to light the lamps.” You manage to get out. But that seems to make his grip tighter. He shakes his head, face pulling your shirt back and forth.

“No. No lamps. I don’t want any fire in the house.” He whimpered. Your heart broke a little. That night seemed to have never left Brahms.. You stroked his back soothingly before trailing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“Brahms, we need light. It’ll be okay, I can work an oil lamp-” You were cut off as Brahms slammed you back down against the floor. Even with the cushioning it knocked the air from your lungs. Your hands fell from his face beside yourself as his own gripped your shoulders.

“No fire in the house. Never again.” His voice was no longer that high falsetto. Instead it was deep, aggressive. He sounded his age. You gasped for air, before nodding. Tears had pricked your eyes. You felt a twinge of guilt as you questioned whether or not he’d hurt you.

Finally you found your voice again, “Okay Brahms. No lamps, I promise. Do you want another story?” You asked in a feeble attempt to calm him back down. Lucky for you it seemed to work. Brahms grip on your shoulders loosened, and he returned his head to your chest. He nodded and urged you on to tell your story.

A shaky sigh escaped you. You thanked your lucky stars that you could calm him so easily. As you began telling another story, the rain and wind outside crashed into the manor. You knew Brahms would never harm you. Not you. Not his caretaker. But you began to wonder. How long would this storm last? Suddenly, in the dark, the room no longer felt secure.

[samuelsdean]

The Cure to Injuries

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you most definitely didn’t think that the most effective cure to a bruise is a gentle kiss placed on it.

genre: fluff & angst

word count: 1.8k

author's notes: this is the first fic i have ever written since my stay on wattpad during grade school. so, forgive me for any mistakes & cheesiness that bled into it. spencer is too cute and he deserves more softness in his life. anyway, i hope you'll enjoy what you're about to read as much as i enjoyed writing it. i hope you'll like & reblog if you find this fic good. please do tell me if you want me to write more because i will!

GROWING UP, YOU’VE ALWAYS KNOWN YOU WANTED TO DO SOMETHING TO HELP PEOPLE. The first job you thought of was becoming a teacher. However, you realized that making lesson plans and dealing with naughty kids weren’t your thing. 

The next one was becoming a lawyer. But, you’ve had enough of seeing your dad being buried in paperwork and your family telling you, "You’d be a great lawyer! You literally enjoy debating with everyone."

Then, you thought of becoming a doctor. You were good at science, and you found the human body interesting. That was your dream until you had to see your friends vomit literal bile on the sidewalk and have their stomachs pumped after a night of drinking. After that, you didn’t think you could deal with vomit and other possible human excretions in the future.

Luckily, one sunny day, your brightest idea of what you wanted your future to be like finally came to you. You wanted to work for the FBI. You’ve always been a bit too interested in criminal justice, but at the same time, you wanted to fuse it with your interest in science. So, you’ve decided that becoming a profiler is your end goal.

You just didn’t think about how becoming one could involve getting bruised and battered, possibly even shot at and blown up, and you most definitely didn’t think that the most effective cure to a bruise is a gentle kiss placed on it.

"Ow! It’s good you aren’t the medical doctor kind of doctor because your patient would definitely file a complaint against you." 

You huffed and puffed, as you gingerly sat on the ambulance, accompanied by your co-worker, Dr. Spencer Reid. He shook his head and rolled his eyes at you as he continued prodding you for other injuries. 

The FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU, has been your workplace for almost four years now. You never thought you’d get here after you realized that you don’t only need brains to become a profiler but also brawn. Fortunately for you, you were too smart for the FBI to pass up on, and, well, you at least passed your physical exams—albeit barely but still enough to get to where you are now. Oh, the dream!

Where you are right now, despite that, is definitely not the dream. You were presently black and blue after being the one to take down and make the arrest of the unsub who had abducted children in Kentucky as surrogates for her deceased child. Despite your injuries, the day ended on a positive note. All the children are going home to their parents alive, and that’s all you could ever ask for. Well, that, and the incessant flocking of your co-worker, who just so happened to be the person with whom you have harbored romantic feelings for quite some time now.

"What you did was stupid, Y/L/N! You could’ve gotten killed, going in there like you’re bulletproof or something," Reid exclaimed, complete with the hand gestures and the word vomit when he’s excited or worried. "Did you forget what happened five months, seven days, and three hours ago? You got shot in the arm!"

In this case, you’re positive he’s about to pass out from all the talking and lack of breathing.

"You know, Reid," You chuckled in amusement and said, "I’m more concerned about you keeping track of the exact date and time I got injured. Are you sure you’re doing that out of concern for me as your coworker, or is it because you secretly have feelings for me?"

The doctor paled, his pouty lips opening and closing like those of a fish, swimming in the depths of the ocean.

"W-what?! What do you mean I have feelings for you?"

That made your heart twitch, and not in a good way. You knew the doctor couldn't reciprocate your feelings. He just happened to have a phenomenal memory. He can’t help but store random information; he has no choice but to remember. But, you can’t help yourself. A tiny part of you still yearns for him to return your feelings. Oh well, you’d rather have him as your friend than nothing at all. But, a little teasing won’t hurt, right?

"I’m kidding, Reid," you snickered, "I know you know that piece of information because of that eidetic memory of yours or whatever."

"It’s not just because of that, you know," Reid sighed.

That gave you pause. It seemed like your world stopped turning and nothing else mattered. It couldn’t be, you thought, there’s no way he likes you back. You’re you, and he’s this otherworldly guy. You can’t even believe he’s real.

"What?" You chuckled nervously, tugging at your ear gently, "What are you saying, Spencer?"

Spencer sighed and frowned, "I know I was the reason you got shot that day, Y/N. I saw the glint in your eye when you thought the best way to save me from getting shot was to push me out of the way and shield me. And that was a stupid move, by the way."

Your jaw dropped. You were about to say something, but Spencer beat you to it.

"Let me finish first," He said, raising his index finger as if to say I still have a lot to say, "It’s stupid because you almost got yourself killed. I was about to move out of the way when you covered for me and you got hurt! You got hurt, Y/N! How was I supposed to live with myself if you ended up dying that day because of me? How, Y/N?"

"But I didn’t! I’m here, Reid." You’re scowling now and about to rant Spencer’s ear off. " What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry I wanted to save you that day? Because I’m not!"

You know that what you did that day was incredibly stupid of you. What Reid was saying was true. You could have died that day, but you were too selfish to admit that. You were so selfish that you couldn’t imagine living a life without Spencer Reid in it if you hadn't pushed him out of the way and ended up hurting yourself for it. And you have had no regrets to this day about doing it.

"That’s the thing, Y/N," Reid was almost full-on shouting now: "No matter how much you end up getting hurt to protect the people around you, you don’t care! Did you really think I’d appreciate what you did for me if you ended up seriously getting hurt, or worse, dead?"

Your vision is getting blurry from the unshed tears now. You love Reid so much, but he wouldn’t get it. He would never see you as more than just a coworker. More than a friend.

"No, Spencer," you sniffled, looking directly at him now, "I know you wouldn’t have appreciated it if that happened. Call me selfish, but I care for you too much to ever let anything hurt you and regret what I did."

You stood up from where you were sitting and were about to head to the SUV where you could be alone before driving back to the precinct, but Spencer didn’t let you. He held your wrist, pulled you back, and groaned.

"God, you’re insufferable!" He exclaimed, "Don’t you get it? I care about you, Y/N!"

"I know, Reid," you smiled wistfully, "you care about me because I’m your friend."

"No, I don’t." 

This made you stop in your tracks and stare at him intently.

"I don’t care about you as a friend, Y/N. I never did."

"Oh."

Reid sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair. "Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I don’t expect you to love me back—"

"I love you." This made Reid stop fully. "I have loved you since the day you talked my ear off about Doctor Who. I have loved you since that time I woke up in the middle of the night back in Atlanta and ended up knocking on your door because I couldn't go back to sleep. You told me you'd always be here for me."

"I love you, Spencer Reid."

Before you could overthink your sudden confession, Spencer held your uninjured cheek with his slender hand—and the next thing you know, he is kissing you. 

You couldn't help but gasp. You were startled by the suddenness. His lips were warm and soft, almost pillowy against yours. Warmth blossomed in your chest as Spencer's lips brushed against yours tentatively. The smell of his hair—like the smell of early mornings after a night of rain—was dizzying. He smelled so clean and fresh, like soap, with a hint of the smell of a new book.

You felt lightheaded as he swiped his tongue against your lips, asking for entrance, which you gave him. You could taste the hint of sweet coffee he drank just minutes before the takedown. You could feel the soft tickle of his breath and his fingers as he carded it through your hair while you breathed each other in.

You never imagined kissing Spencer could feel like this.

Regretfully, your bruised cheek was starting to take the brunt of all the snogging. You had to pull away because you were running out of breath, so you tapped his cheek. Spencer wasn't taking the hint at all, which made you giggle—cute. Having no other choice, you held both of his cheeks and pulled away.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No, silly," you chortled; he's so cute. "I just ran out of breath, and my bruised cheeks hurt. It isn't your fault. Don't worry." You assured him.

Spencer sighed a breath of relief, which made you want to tease him.

"I know what can stop my bruises from hurting, though."

Eager to please you, the doctor was about to start searching for possible medical remedies to your injuries, not knowing you had something else in mind.

"You could plant a kiss on them." You grinned widely as you saw Spencer's neck start reddening, "I'm kidding, Spence," you said, "You don't have to—"

You didn't expect Spencer—of all people—to be the type of person who would shower you with kisses if you asked him, but he is. He started planting light kisses on the purple blotches on your face—not caring that anyone from the local police to your workmates from the bureau could see you. 

"I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N," Reid said, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he brushed his lips against yours once again.

You never thought the best day of your life would be the day you get injured. You never thought the best cure for cuts, scrapes, and bruises could be a kiss from the one you love the most—Spencer Reid.

[weevil-wallflower]

Scars

Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: Even a Jedi Knight needs some reassurance from time to time.

Warnings/Tags: Spoilers for Jedi: Survivor, canon-typical violence, SFW, no use of Y/N, minor angst.

A.N.: My fifth entry for Cal Kestis Week 2024! It follows the Day 4 prompt ‘Scars’. I've been meaning to get this one out like four days ago, on the last day of Cal Kestis Week but unfortunately work and studies prevented me from finishing it on time. And yes, another older prompt but I simply had to use this idea! Gif by me!

Also on AO3!

Word Count: ~1,600

The final moments of Cal’s fight with Dagan were a blur of pain and fury. As the duel between Cal and Dagan came to a brutal end, Dagan’s lightsaber struck Cal across his chest, sending a shockwave of agony through his body. The sizzling sound of burning flesh filled the air as Cal staggered, his tunic scorched around the fresh wound while his lightsaber clattered to the floor.

The redhead clutched the wound as he felt the charred fabric of his tunic cling to the cauterised wound. The world around him flipped as he collapsed to the ground, his vision narrowing to the sight of Dagan’s triumphant sneer.

Taking in a deep breath and pushing away the pain for the moment, Cal Force-pulled his lightsaber towards him and used one of Dagan’s own hallucinations against him. He focused intently, allowing the Force to shape his image into that of Santari, Dagan’s late friend. The vision caught Dagan off guard, his defense faltering as he grappled with the apparition of the one person who he trusted most. Seizing the opportunity, Cal's lightsaber blazed with lethal accuracy, piercing right through Dagan's chest. Dagan's pained scream was mixed with a sizzling sound as the blade tore through muscle and bone. Cal twisted the sword, guaranteeing a fatal strike.

Just as victory appeared to be imminent, Dagan used the Force to painfully seize Cal's body, suspending him mid-air. Dagan’s voice, filled with rage and desperation, rang through the chamber as he yelled about Tanalorr, his dream fading away. Cal struggled against the invisible grip, his own strength waning.

BD-1, seeing the peril his friend was in, acted swiftly. With frantic beeps and nudges, the little droid managed to wake Bode, who had previously been rendered unconscious by Dagan. Realising the dire situation, Bode aimed his blaster at Dagan and fired, the shot breaking Dagan’s concentration and releasing Cal from his grasp.

With a final lethal strike to across the chest, Cal sent Dagan crumpling to the ground, his body twitching as the life drained from his eyes. Cal stood over him, his chest heaving with the effort and pain of the fight.

Bode slowly approached the redhead, his expression a mix of relief and concern. “Cal, are you okay?” He asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Cal glanced at Bode, his face a mask of determination despite the agonising pain in his chest. "I'm fine," he lied, his voice strained. All he wanted was to get away from there and be in your comforting arms.

Bode studied him for a moment, seeing through the facade but deciding not to press further. He placed a reassuring hand on Cal's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "You did good, brother," Bode said softly, his tone filled with warmth. "Go on ahead. I'll stay and survey the area. And see if I can find a manual for that compass or something..."

Cal nodded, a wave of gratitude washing over him at Bode's support. "Thanks, Bode," he replied, his voice a bit more genuine.

With a final look at his fallen foe and a nod to Bode, Cal turned and made his way back towards Pyloon’s Saloon. Hand pressed to the wound on his chest, each step sent a wave of pain radiating through his body but he forced himself onwards, driven by the need to be with you. He knew that in your arms, he would find the solace and comfort he desperately needed.

When he finally entered your shared quarters below Pyloon’s Saloon, stumbling in through the back door—most likely to avoid everyone in the cantina—You were already there waiting for him, your expression one of great concern. As soon as Cal stumbled in, BD-1 hopped down from his back, rushing over to You with worried beeps about the Jedi.

“Cal,” You said softly, rushing over to his side. “Let me take a look at that.”

He nodded, his emerald eyes meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. His tunic sported a burnt slash across his chest where the lightsaber had struck him, the fabric singed and charred around the wound. Carefully, You guided him to sit on the bed, your touch gentle but firm. You gently pried his tunic off, being careful not to aggravate the wound further before You began to examine the injury. BD-1 perched on your shoulder, his beeps and chirps a constant stream of worry as he watched You work.

When the wound came into view, You couldn’t help but gasp at the horrible sight, your heart aching for the pain Cal had endured. The wound was a searing, angry red slash across his chest, blackened at the edges and blistered from the intense heat of the lightsaber.

The silence in your quarters was thick with unspoken words. As You worked, Cal couldn’t help but shakily trail his fingers over the fresh slash on his chest, wincing at the pain but also more at the thought of yet another mark added to his already scarred body. Each one told a story of pain and survival, a testament to the battles he had fought. His body was already littered with scars—what was another?

The redhead’s mind swirled with anguished thoughts. How could You, someone so beautiful and kind, love someone like him? How could You look at his scarred body and see anything other than ugliness—to see someone who was capable of more than just war and violence? The doubts gnawed at him, twisting in his gut like a knife.

After cleaning the wound and sealing it with a bacta patch, You looked up at him, your eyes solemn. “This will scar,” You said quietly, your voice tinged with sadness.

Cal forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, it’s just another one for the collection, right? Sure to impress you...”

Despite his playful words, the tone of his voice was heavy with sorrow. You could see the weight of his past experiences and hardships pressing down on him, the scars not just on his skin but deep within his soul.

You paused, your hands still on his chest and met his gaze with a gentle, unwavering look. “Cal,” You said softly, “you could be doing anything at all—something as simple as planting a seed in the cantina’s garden—and you would still impress me.”

The sincerity in your voice penetrated his defenses, and for a moment, the pain and fear melted away. He looked at You, really looked, and saw the depth of your care and admiration for him. It wasn’t the scars that defined him in your eyes, but the strength, courage and kindness that lay beneath them.

A lump formed in Cal’s throat as he struggled to find the right words. “You have no idea how much that means to me…” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, the weight of his battles felt lighter, the burden of his scars less daunting.

You smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of fiery hair from his forehead. “I do, Cal. And I’m here with you, scars and all.”

BD-1 let out a soft, comforting beep, hopping down from your shoulder to nestle closer to Cal to affirm your words.

Under the soft light of your shared quarters, as the tender moment between You and Cal lingered, You were overcome with a sudden urge to reassure him of your love and acceptance, scars and all. Gently, You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss around the fresh slash on his chest, feeling the tension in his body begin to melt away. Cal’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as he absorbed the warmth of your touch.

Moving upwards, You kissed the long scar on his upper right jaw, your lips lingering on the raised line, and tingling from the roughness of his short beard. You then moved to the small scar across his right eyebrow, kissing it softly. Eyes still closed, Cal’s mind was rampant with emotions he could barely contain. His heart pounded in his chest as the contact sent a shiver down his spine. Each kiss was like a balm, soothing the lingering pain and doubts that haunted him.

Next, You placed a delicate kiss on the scar across his nose, before your fingers gently traced the path of the old wound. Cal’s hands, which has been tightly gripping the edge of the bed, slowly relaxed, moving up to rest on your waist as if seeking the comfort and stability that only You could provide.

Finally, You reached the small scar that ran across his lower lip. You pressed your lips against it tenderly, feeling the slight roughness beneath the softness of his skin. Cal’s eyes opened, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The anguish in his heart was replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

When You finally pulled away, You gazed into Cal’s emerald eyes and saw tears silently streaming down his cheeks. Your heart clenched at the sight, but before You could voice your concerns, he softly assured You, “They’re tears of happiness.”

A giggle escaped your lips, the sound joyful and filled with relief. “I’m glad,” You whispered, wiping away his tears with your thumb. “Because you mean everything to me, Cal.”

Cal pulled You into a tight embrace, his strong arms holding You close as if You were his anchor in a storm. The weight of his scars felt lighter now, due to a reminder of your love and acceptance. And as You nestled against him, You knew that together, you both could face anything, bound by a love that was stronger than any scar could be.

[wompcod]

I've never posted here before so TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: I found this post by the lovely @call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes and got the urge to expand on it a little. THANK YOU LIZZY YOUR POSTS ARE SO GOOD!!! 🙏🏻 ❤️ I also hardly ever write angst and I have never posted before so if you see any typos, naur. Ficlet starts here ⬇️⬇️ Mind the tags!!

Price, for the first time in a long time, didn't know what to make of this situation.

It started three weeks ago, Ghost was acting differently. At first Ghost was less talkative and it was clear he was becoming more and more exhausted—to Price at least, Gaz too. They chalked it up to the constant work of trying to put Makarov down once and for all. They all were, none of them had been this tired in a long time, Ghost especially.

But then it got worse. Ghost would refuse to speak unless spoken too, his eye bags were visible through the black eye paint if he even bothered to put it on, and he became violent. Ripping people to shreds when on missions. It was understandable but it wasn't necessary, and he knew it. He was being sloppy. Uncalculated. They had only been on a few missions since the incident in the train tunnels but it was clear a pattern was forming.

Two nights ago, Price decided to go to Ghost's room to talk. It was late at night and it was one of those few recent days where they had the opportunity to get a full night's rest, but when he made it to the stairs with Ghosts quarters it was barricaded with the couch and the table from the 141 rec room. When he pushed past, his door was blocked by the nightstand and desk.

It was Simon who let him in and broke down. Price had never seen him like this in a long time, it was almost uncanny. The lieutenant was doing his best to hold back tears but was failing. He struggled to get his words out but eventually told he he was seeing things.

Seeing Soap. "He won't stop trying to crawl into my bed at night. I've tried everything," he cried. "Locking the door, barricading the stairs—" he waved his arms in the air, not knowing what to do with his hands—"I don't know how he does it."

Price wasn't upset about the fraternization, he knew the moment Simon and Soap met they would be something. Kyle caught on soon after he was introduced to them. What he was upset about was the fact that Soap was dead. He died three weeks ago in the train tunnels. The day Makarov blew the bullet into his head and got away.

Simon spread his ashes himself.

Price had no choice but to take him to get a psych eval. He never wanted to think that Simon would one day go crazy but he didn't know what else to do.

The on-base doctor said that, aside from saying he was crazy, he wasn't exhibiting any other behaviors that would support these claims. He had been seeing a therapist for a while before this whole mess, he didn't have any history of mental illnesses or any disabilities that developed or ran in the family that would give him these problems. At the most, depression all those years ago after his father and Roba. The doctor said it was because he was grieving and sent him back saying he was clear to keep working after a few days of on-site leave. Price didn't see it. Simon would never act this way simply out of grief. He didn't when his family died. Why now?

Price was sitting in his office yesterday when he got a visit from Kyle. It was clear he was crying but made the effort to stop himself before entering the office.

Before he could speak Price guided him to the spare chair and asked him, "Kyle, what happened?"

"I saw Soap."

Both Simon and Kyle are saying they saw Soap. In the flesh.

They talked. Kyle said he was leaving the firing range when he saw him. Soap was apparently just standing there, looking at him. Kyle said he was wearing the gear and clothes when he died. There was blood on his left temple and his nose was bleeding.

A soldier asked him what was wrong, when Kyle blinked Soap was gone. Kyle didn't respond, he made a bee-line to Price's office.

It was too coincidental, both Kyle and Simon are saying they're seeing Soap within two days. It can't be psychological.

Price told Kyle he would do his best to keep him and Simon from going off the deep end. That he was there when they needed to talk. Don't go to the doctor, they can't do anything.

Now, the next day, the sun had set and he was filing the last of his paperwork and the reports regarding the most recent mission in his quarters. A weapon shipment in London was being escorted by Makarov's men—since the incident, he hasn't shown his face, the coward. Things were fine in the first half, the cargo was small and minimum security, but given their luck recently something just had to go wrong. Kyle had gotten shot in the leg, Simon went ballistic, it's why they aren't on the field now. By the time it was over they were dirty, covered in blood, surrounded by dead bodies, and beaten tired, but they were able to keep Makarov from building his arsenal bigger than it already was. It was just disappointing it was such a small dent, if it even made a dent.

A knock interrupted Price's thoughts—ramblings, really.

The sun was setting, everyone knew to not bother him so late into the day unless it was an emergency. Only his boys had that privilege of visiting him when they wanted. "Come in," he rasped. He turned away from his paperwork, finally finished, and moved to grab his cup of water from the nightstand. He'd hardly spoken to anyone all day aside from Laswell. She said she would comb through the boys family medical history to see if there was any possible undiagnosed problem, but that was all she could do.

The door handle jiggled and the door creaked open. A moment of silence entered the space. Price turned around. The door was ajar, but no one came inside. "You can talk to me," he said, maybe Simon or Kyle got cold feet and didn't want to be a bother. No one answered. Price abandoned his water on the nightstand.

He opened the door, but no one was there, odd. He stood there for a brief moment, waiting to see if either of him men would turn up but it didn't happen.

He shut the door. The draft made the room cold. He opened the closet and pulled out a pair of pj's and tossed them on the bed.

Something flicked his hat, tilting it forward and down his forehead. He whipped his head around, no one was there. The room was dead silent. A thought weaseled its way into the forefront of his mind. Soap was the only one who would do that. 'The only one on base brave enough to flick the captain's hat,' other soldiers would say. Simon and Kyle wouldn't get in any trouble, but they knew it was Soap's thing. He'd do it whenever he needed to get John's attention, or when he felt like it. It was endearing.

John's heart ached. Soap was always like a son to him, just as much as Kyle and Simon. He wanted to stop himself from thinking about it, but he couldn't. John is not crazy. Neither is Simon. Neither is Kyle.

A creaking sound from the floorboards cut through the silence, but John hadn't moved. The creaking turned into squeaky footsteps. He stood as still as a statue and listened to them.

They circled around the room, the supposed draft from just a moment ago seemed to come back, it circled him along with the steps. It wasn't a draft. It was just cold. What is happening?

"Captain?"

John whipped his head around, he's sure he gave himself whiplash this time but gave the sudden, sharp pain in his neck no mind.

Soap. Soap is standing there. He looks pale. Confused. Hurt. Hugging himself tightly. His mohawk was a mess. He looked the same way Kyle described him. Except, a closer look tells him it wasn't just blood on his temple. It was the bullet hole. John adjusted his hat back in place, as of it covering his eyes slightly was the reason this was happening.

"Why is everyone acting so weird," Soap asked. His voice was hoarse and his eyes were red and puffy. He stepped forward

"Soap..." John stepped back.

"Ky's been ignoring me for weeks, and Si...Simon," Soap started crying and hugged himself tighter. John wanted to cry too. Soap, his sergeant, his boy, has been suffering even after he died.

"Simon keeps shutting me out," he sobbed, "I don't know what I did! He won't tell me! Kyle won't even look at me!"

John's body moved on its own. He wrapped Soap in a tight hug, Christ he was freezing.

Soap latched on and sobbed into his shoulder, but the tears didn't stay for long.

After a few minutes Soap pulled away and wiped his face, the blood that spattered on his eye smeared. John looked closely at him, he was partially transparent. He could see the light from the lamp behind him shine through his skin just barely.

"Captain," Soap asked, "my head hurts...what happened?" He rubbed the palm of his hand on his right temple.

John didn't answer, he couldn't. What was he supposed to say, 'you died three weeks ago'? Is this even real? It's a nightmare, it has to be, but it feels too real.

When John didn't answer, Soap held back a whimper in his throat and walked around. When John turned around, Soap was gone. The door didn't move.

John didn't sleep that night. He's sure Simon and Kyle didn't either. Laswell gave him an update, neither Simon nor Kyle have any plausible mental disabilities or illnesses that could cause any severe stress or hallucinations but John didn't care about that anymore.

Simon watched the sunset. Johnny loved watching it with him. Watching the vibrant hues of the sky, orange and gold, turn to deep purple and blues kissing the green grass until only the stars shined in the sky. Simon loved it. The stars shined in Johnny's eyes so brightly.

It's why he's here, on the outskirts of the property maskless. He could still hear the firing range but the base was far away enough that no one would think to sneak out this way and get away with it, no one as skilled as them. Simon twiddled a dandelion between his fingers. He never blew wishes, didn't think it was real. Johnny did though.

He closed his eyes, blew on the small weed, and watched the tufts of white drift off in the cool breeze. He hopes his wish will come true.

The air in front of him got colder. Before he could open his eyes he felt a pair of familiar lips on his, no longer warm. The kiss was slow and tender, and despite it being so cold Simon had missed this desperately. He lifted his hand and touched Johnny's cheek, tilting their heads and deepening the kiss.

Johnny pulled away first, "Thought I'd find you here," he whispered. He adjusted himself and sat at Simon's side, looping his arm around his and locking their hands together. Johnny rested his head on Simon's shoulder. Simon felt the tell-tale lump building in his throat and did his best to swallow it down. He couldn't speak.

When he didn't respond, Johnny continued. "We confessed to each other here, shared our first kiss and our first time together here, too. Do you remember?"

"How could I forget," Simon breathed. He didn't dare look to open his eyes. He doesn't know if he could handle seeing Johnny in the state he's in. But when Johnny asked him to he couldn't help it.

Simon could feel the tears roll down his cheeks while his nose became stuffy and warm. Johnny lifted his free hand and wiped the tears off. He was so pale. Simon missed his sun kissed skin. The stars weren't shining in his eyes anymore. He still had the hollow wound in his left temple. It wasn't bleeding but the blood on his face and under his nose was still fresh and bright red. The gear, unmoving.

"Whatever happened between us, we can fix it," Johnny quaked. "We always do."

Simon feared this. Kyle learned from his parents all things paranormal. They always loved the investigations and scary stories, saying that sometimes certain ghosts get stuck in a loop. They don't know they died. It's why Simon was here. A 'trigger' for the ghost in question. Kyle said it would trigger Johnny's memory and help him possibly move on.

Johnny, poor Johnny, sitting here with tears matching Simon's as he tries his best to understand what's happening, doesn't have a clue of what's really going on. Hell, he doesn't seem to even remember Makarov.

Simon had to say it. Tell him he was dead, help him move on, it has to be him. He would've done the same. "We can't, Johnny—"

"Why? Why won't anyone tell me what I did—"

"Johnny," Simon interrupted, "don't freak out when I say this but," he could feel the words mingle with the lump in his throat, he forced them out with a sniffle, "you're dead."

Johnny's eyes widened. "I.." he stumbled over his words thinking of what to say next. When he couldn't, he asked, "Si, what are you saying?"

Simon twisted in his spot and cupped Johnny's chilled face in his hands. "I need you to remember. Vladimir Makarov? The train tunnels three weeks ago? What Makarov did to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about—" Johnny held his hands over Simon's.

"We all split up, you and Price were alone, Makarov got the jump on you and—"

"Stop it." Johnny demanded firmly pulled away from Simon and turned around. "Stop saying that." He sniffled.

Simon stopped. Saying what in particular he couldn't tell, but he had to push. He recalled his words just before. There was one word that persiste, he tested it slowly, "...Makarov?"

"Stop it!" Johnny stood and backed away, "It...hurts. Makes my head hurt. Stop it, Simon please." His presence flickered faintly as he held his head in his hands.

Simon wanted too, he hated to see it damage his Johnny so badly but he couldn't live with himself if it meant Johnny would stay trapped. A never ending loop of visiting the firing range, the training grounds, the demolitions area, their spot, then Simon's bed that inevitably one day wouldn't be his anymore. The thought of Johnny wandering aimlessly years down the line, confused on where they all went, what happened, and why things were changing. Alone. The thought felt like a knife twisting in his heart.

"I know, love, I know" he reassured the Scot. He reached out and gently held Johnny's hand in his, giving him space but still showing him he was there for this. "But I need you to breathe, I need you to remember.

Johnny sniffled and wiped his nose with his free one. He froze when he saw the blood smeared on his hand. His gloved hand. "Why am I..." He looked down and looked at himself. He hadn't noticed he was dressed like he was being shipped out. Johnny assessed himself quietly. Going over the empty pockets on his tacvest. Johnny's eyes widened more than they already were, "The tunnels..." he trembled, "Makarov..."

"Love," Simon asked. He stroked Johnny's hand with his thumb but it didn't calm him down. The flickering was worse now, non-stop and he was becoming more and more transparent.

"No..no, no, no no," Johnny fell to his knees with his head in his hands. Simon tried to catch him but he just phased through with a sharp chill running up his spine.

Simon knelt down to his level and did his best to comfort him, but how could he? Is this it, he thinks, maybe Johnny is finally passing. Hopefully. It hurt that this was the last they would see each other. This was how they left each other. At least until it was Simon's time, he thinks. He isn't entirely sure how it works. He never took the thought of an afterlife into consideration until three weeks ago.

Johnny lifted himself off of his knees and shoved his way past Simon, and when Simon turned around he was gone. The night became silent aside from the crickets and the faint sounds of the base nearby. Simon crouched down and sobbed. He felt some relief but the deviation settled in his heart and attached itself to his lungs. He upset Johnny—no, well yes, but he didn't have a choice. He had to help Johnny move on. This was how it had to be.

He doesn't know how much time had passed when he started his trek back to the base. He cried until he couldn't cry anymore. He hadn't even cried that hard when his family died. He already felt less human back then but Johnny was the one who revived the Ghost. Now Johnny is gone.

The last of their leave flew by and none of the group had seen Soap since.

Ok that's all, bye 👋🏻 *runs away*

[curlygrant44]

Tick tock.

Tick tock.

He can practically feel the time ticking away as he runs, breathless, lungs burning, focus narrowed to the single point ahead of him, waiting for a familiar door to come into view as he rounds yet another corner-

(cw: hanging, corpse mention, minor gore)

The door is broken, window smashed, left ajar.

Glass on the floor, and a discarded crowbar.

And familiar dark-colored shoes, with the hem of a navy blue Pony Express-issued jumpsuit visible.

Danging, motionless, in the air- he feels like he's going to be sick, barely chokes back the urge to vomit, because he knows what he's going to see.

Somehow, it's still worse than he imagined. One glance up at Jimmy's face is almost more than he can take, and he has to lean against the wall, dry heaving, for a few seconds before he can compose himself enough again to fish the knife out of his own jumpsuit.

He was never any good with knots, so while it takes some time to saw through the rope, it still feels like the more expedient option.

Is it?

Who knows.

All Curly can tell right now is that he has to do this, has to keep going, because if Sunshine is coming here, he's going to see this, and then he's going to-

He doesn't know what's going to happen then, actually; Sunshine is still a mystery to him.

But, god, he's not going to let him suffer through this. As much as he hates Jimmy, as much as he'd like to be able to take satisfaction in this end, it feels...gruesome. Cruel. A bullet would've worked just as well, and he knows that both their guests carry, he's noticed that much.

How can he make Sunshine see something that, in his mind, never should have happened? They could've made it cleaner. Faster. Easier.

Right?

Couldn't they?

Shouldn't they? Didn't Jimmy deserve better? He's not wrong for thinking that, is he? Is he? Is he wrong?

The rope thins, frays, starts to unwind itself, ready to snap-

Something in him snaps with it.

And he holds his breath as the wet, sickening thud of meat -- nothing but limp, lifeless meat that happens to wear the face of the person who always meant the most to him -- hitting the floor echoes through the cockpit and down the hall.

The back of his neck prickles suddenly, and he jerks his head up, peering out the still open, still broken, door.

( @the-captain-of-the-tulpar )

[samanddean76]

Title: One Way Or Another

Author: SamandDean76 | Artist: Bluefire986

Ship: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Word Count: 14,976 | Rating: Explicit

Major Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Tags: Alternate Universe, Stanford Era, Alpha/Beta/omega Dynamics, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Transformation, Collars, Dean Winchester Whump, True Mates, Revenge, Or Justice, Alpha John Winchester, Omega Mary Winchester, background John/Mary, Alpha Zachariah, background Zachariah/Mary (past rape), Alpha Dick Roman, Alcoholic John Winchester, Minor Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Written for the Wincest Big Bang 2024, Original Art by Bluefire986

Summary: Dean woke up in the hospital, bruised, battered, and a newly turned Omega. His life had been left in shambles, and his only hope was that Sam would leave Stanford and come back to mate the brother that he hadn’t seen in four years. Not since the day of Sam and John’s last big fight.

Sam received the dire news and promptly put his life on hold, so that he could help Dean, the big brother who had done everything to protect him growing up. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he allowed Dean to be put up for auction where he would be sold to the highest bidder.

Together the boys work to unravel the mystery surrounding the disappearance of their father, Dean’s assault, and the long-buried secrets that their pack was desperate to keep hidden away. Knowing that the only way they could live their lives was if the truth was brought out into the blinding light of day.

I am so proud to finally be able to present my Wincest Big Bang story to everyone! @bluefire986 created some wonderful art for the story, that helped to enrich the journey that I sent the boys on. @jld71 was the beta who kept me on track. And my Muse went wild so that I might be able to create an A/B/O alternate universe where challenges are plentiful, and rewards are many. I hope you enjoy it!

Story on AO3

Art on AO3 | LiveJournal

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Angst Central

**This is what happened in Danny's home universe in the Iceberg Siren story. There is angst, there is minor gore, there is some violence. It is along the lines of a fair amount of DPxDC fanfics as far as the Fenton parents experimenting on Danny. Love y'all, be safe!**

Jasmine Fenton often found herself wondering when Jack and Maddie had become the monsters they claimed ghosts were. Was it before she was born? Or had it happened right in front of her eyes, threatening her precious baby brother from the day he turned fourteen?

Or was the threat there before then? Had they looked at her and her brother like experiments from their birth?

Had the portal accident truly been an accident?

No. She couldn’t let herself think like that- they had been good, once. They had taken her and Danny on picnics, had taught them about the stars.

They had ripped into her baby brother with serrated knives- after the first successful autopsy, that is. Sawing off pieces of skin, digging into his organs.

Brutalizing the sweet boy who just wanted to help. Who only wanted to help.

Jazz hated herself sometimes, for going away to college. Danny had insisted on it.

“You can’t let me hold you back, Jazz. I’m only here for another year, it’ll be fine!”

It was not fine. Dani had called her, having not heard from Danny for a few days. She headed home for the weekend and met the young girl outside of FentonWorks.

They found their brother strapped to a table, bleeding out and crying for his parents to stop.

Jazz saw green. She was too liminal to allow her King brother to suffer. Without thinking, she knocked Jack and Maddie out with the Anti-Creep stick and a careful application of Maddie’s martial arts lessons.

Dani had released her original from his straps while she did so, and then picked him up with as much care as she could.

Jasmine Nightingale shoved the pair into the portal and then destroyed her former parents’ life work.

All of it.

~~~

Samantha Manson watched in sick glee as FentonWorks went up in flames. Maddie and Jack had been dragged outside one by one, still unconscious, by a furious Jazz, and then she’d gone back in.

Sam had thought she was going back in for Danny, that some ghost or burglar had been too much and that Jazz had come home to find it in shambles.

She was wrong.

Jazz had come back outside holding a remote, and, once she was a safe distance away, had pressed the big red button.

The explosion from the basement rocked the town, and Sam had to take a few steps back from the heat.

Only in the light of the flames dancing across Jazz’ vindictive expression did she notice the streaks of greenish blood on Jazz’s cheek and down her blouse.

Sam ran forward and grabbed at the older teen’s arm.

“Danny?”

“Safe.” The response came from a voice void of emotion. “Dani took him to the Realms.”

“When will they be back?”

Jazz snarled and threw down her remote, stomping viciously on it once.

“I destroyed the portal.”

Oh. That meant never. That meant never.

Sam felt herself begin to cry, and Jazz collected her into her arms, and the two of them stood together in the flickering light of the fire, crying for their loss. Crying for Danny.

The Fentons wouldn’t know what hit them- the Manson name would ensure that.

~~~

Tucker Foley was angry. Sam and Jazz had met him in the park after the explosion, both of them with tears still running down their faces, and told him what happened.

Told him that Danny was gone, and it was the Fenton’s fault.

Tucker Foley was more than angry.

Tucker. Motherfucking. Foley. Was downright livid. He knew, and the girls did not, that the GIW had been funding the Fentons in their ghost research. Had given them a grant when they ‘apprehended’ Phantom. Had made everyone look the other way every time Danny had gone to someone for help.

His last text from Danny’s phone was awful.

TooFine: want 2 play doomed 2morrow?

Ghost?: sure. Parents are home Ghost?: they promised nasty burger if I got a good grade on the english test Ghost?: guess who got a 85 Ghost?: maybe they’ll stay out of the lab for once

Tucker Foley stayed up late into the night, furiously working at his desktop.

In the early hours of the morning, he hit one last key.

The GIW’s files vanished, their computers fried themselves, and their bases stopped allowing access.

Tucker wished he’d had the motivation to do something before it cost him his best friend. He knew he would probably regret his inaction for the rest of his life.

Letters Unsent

Jazz- I know you’re probably feeling guilty still. It’s been three years for me- I don’t know how long it’s been for you. The realms have a weird time-dilation.

Don’t feel guilty. It wasn’t your fault, it was mom and dad’s. They chose their path, and you don’t have to keep that on your shoulders anymore. In any case, I think I’m happier now than I’ve ever been?

There’s this guy- (don’t you think it’s funny mom and dad were better about me being gay than me being a ghost?)- his name is Jason, but I call him Red. He’s like me, he died before and came back different.

Well, he’s more like the median between me and Vlad, but that’s not the point.

Jazzy, I love him. I miss you and Sam and Tuck, but I don’t think I could survive without him, and it’s only been a few months since we started dating.

I’m happy here, for the first time in a long time, I’m happy.

Love,

Your Brother

~~~

Sam! Sam, Sammy, Samalamadingdong- I miss you! You would love the city I’m living in. The Gothic vibes are there all the way. Every time I see a gargoyle I think of you.

There’s even a superhero called ‘Batman’- He’s totally a furry. My boyfriend agrees with me.

I wouldn’t think bats are particularly sexy, but hey, I won’t knock someone’s kink.

I- I love you, you know? You and Tuck are my best friends. I spent a lot of time hoping a new portal would open and I’d find my way back to all three of you, at first.

By now I’m glad one hasn’t. CW sent me to this dimension, and, while I haven’t discovered my purpose, I’ve definitely discovered the love of my unlife.

You and Jason would get along, I think.

Don’t let me catch you crying over me, Sam Manson. You’ll make your makeup run.

Love,

Danny

~~~

Heya Tuck! Something tells me you rained hell- that something being CW. I know Jazz and Sam did too, in their own ways, but yours is probably the most useful for the Realms. As a King, I gotta think about that before I think about what effects me.

Being king sucks, want to beat me in single combat?

Would Doomed count as single combat?

My boyfriend has brothers, and they haven’t managed to gain kingship from me yet- I’m so bad at this dimension’s video games it’s not even funny.

It probably has something to do with being a ghost.

Good thing Jason is worse at video games than I am.

I wish I could see you again, at least to say goodbye. It’s a good thing that Desiree doesn’t take wishes from paper, otherwise something would go wrong, I’m sure.

Love you, TF.

DP.

[agent-troi]

Fictober prompt #9: "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Fandom: The X-Files

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: minor canon-typical violence and gore

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

Security Questions

Chapter 2: Colony/End Game

“He wants you to be at Memorial Bridge in Bethesda in one hour,” a shaken, battered Scully told Mulder, as the bounty hunter hovered menacingly outside the phone booth.

”Scully, I need time. I need more time than that.”

“Mulder–”

The bounty hunter reached into the phone booth and pressed down on the switch, hanging up the phone. “He’ll have to make the time. He knows what will happen if he doesn’t.”

Scully’s gaze drifted to her gun, which for the first time since her capture was not pointing directly at her. The bounty hunter saw where she was looking, and brought the barrel up to rest against the side of her head once more.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said. “Any resistance, and you won’t see your partner again.”

“If you kill me, you won’t have anything to trade.” Scully lifted her chin and met his cold gray eyes, making a valiant yet fruitless attempt to hide how terrified she was. “I know an empty threat when I hear one.”

A faint trace of amusement appeared on the bounty hunter’s face as he dragged her back to the car, still at gunpoint. “Yes, you do seem to be possessed with an unnatural intuition. Speaking of which, how did you know I wasn’t your partner?”

“You didn’t seem to think it was strange that I’ve been receiving Mrs. Paddock’s calls since our case ended– which by the way was in New Hampshire, not Vermont. Neither of us has heard from her or from anyone who was involved since then.”

He shook his head. “No, you knew before that. You knew as soon as your partner called that he was the real Mulder. How did you know?”

Read the full chapter on Ao3

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2023 @fictober-event

[ariaachillesaphrodisia]

To Kill The King Upon His Throne - Vampire Nightwing x Reader - DC Vs. Vampires Fanfiction - CHAPTER ONE

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Violence, character deaths, blood drinking, gore, dismemberment, blood, hunting (of vampires and humans).

SPOILER WARNING:: Spoilers for all of DC vs. Vampires, but especially spoilers for Issue #6 - #10.

As the tall golden doors opened, revealing the manor within, you could not help but marvel at the sight before you. Your breath caught in your throat as you saw the sparkling chandelier hanging what seemed like a thousand feet above you, and you could barely get that breath out as you continued to scan the room. The floors were the cleanest marble you had ever seen in your life. The pillars were a glossy mahogany, adorned with stone on the tops and bottoms of them. The most beautiful woodwork you had ever seen in your life littered the railings on the second floor, and two sets of stairs led up on either side of the room to the second floor itself. These stairs were themselves covered with a floral print carpet that looked as though it had no creases in it whatsoever. Paintings in gold frames were scattered about the walls, and you wondered to yourself whether it was real gold. You thought that it must be, for no false gold could ever shine so beautifully in the light of the candles which were on silver candleholders next to both sets of stairs. But as breathtaking as these marvels were, and though you hated to admit it, they very much were, they were not what demanded your attention the most…

No… what did that was the man standing atop the second floor, hands causally resting upon the wood of the railing. He was dressed in a jet-black suit with a dazzling golden tie that rivaled the beauty of the gold painting frames. He had on above this a navy-blue vest with silver buttons, and both his cufflinks and his masquerade mask matched the shade of blue of his vest. The design of the mask itself made you think of an owl, with its ruffled edges and pointed beak. The man’s eyes reminded you of an owl as well, as they surveyed the crowd below like a bird of prey waiting for its moment to strike. You watched those eyes dart back and forth before finally meeting your gaze, and you watched the corners of his lips form into a smile. And you smiled back at him. Neither smile was unfriendly on the surface, but both held hidden intentions, you knew. For his smile, you knew from the look of his eyes, was the smile of a hawk who just spotted his next meal. But your smile… well… your smile hid a dark secret as well. For you were not a frightened rabbit, unprepared for the oncoming attack. No… you were a viper hidden in the guise of an innocent little rabbit… and just as he was… you too were waiting for just the right moment to strike.

It had only been a few months since the world first learned of the existence of vampires. At least, the widespread existence of them. No one was surprised when a few vampires showed up. After all, your cities were defended by people who could lift trucks with one hand, people who could deflect bullets, people who could run fast enough to break the sound barrier, people who could make objects out of light, and people who dressed up in costumes designed to look like bats. The villains were no stranger to magic either, with some being able to control plants and others being… well… unkillable. So of course, the news of a few vampires here or there wasn’t really too shocking. People were worried, naturally, when the news of vampire-related deaths began hitting screens all across the globe, but most assumed that the heroes would take care of these isolated incidents and the world would be back to “normal” in no time…

But then the killings didn’t stop. Not only that… they got worse.

Villains in different cities began turning up dead. Not just the lower-threat ones that people barely paid attention to either. Some bigger names began showing up on the news as victims of the vampire attacks. The Penguin was reported missing, and not long after his body turned up with bit marks littering it.

It wasn’t only villains either. Rumors were circulating that Zan, a member of the Wonder Twins, had gone missing as well, and though nothing had been confirmed by the league… the rarer and rarer appearances of his sister, Janya, made people suspect there may have been some trust to the rumors. Then… a little while later… the Flash stopped making appearances in Central City… or anywhere else for that matter. Again, no statement was formally made… but the loss of two superheroes, especially such high-profile ones, stirred up a significant amount of panic and fear amongst the citizens of… well… pretty much everywhere. No one knew what was happening, but what people were becoming certain of was that this was not something that was just going to fade out of people’s lives. This wasn’t just a few isolated incidents that would be taken care of in no time. And more and more… it seemed like this was not something the superheroes everyone had come to rely on could handle. So people began losing hope in those heroes. Some tried to stay inside. Others tried to barricade their houses or find hiding places to stay with friends, family, or anyone else they could convince to join them. There were those who thought it might be best to try and move somewhere else, and those who fought to stay. There were some who even thought it might be best to join them. These were the people who believed there was some sort of uprising going on. A war between vampires and humans. It sounded like madness at the time. Sounded even madder when people suggested joining the vampires. Of course… no one could have known how things would progress. You supposed that, perhaps if they did… they would not have been so quick to judge those people as crazy or mad… because in those people’s minds… becoming an undead was far better than becoming an undead’s next meal.

And then there were those such as yourself, who took a very different approach when it came to dealing with the new reality that you had found yourselves in. Instead of trying to run from them, hide from them, or become one of them… you decided to hunt them. There were many stories of how people became hunters. Some had family members or friends who were taken by a vampire. Others became hunters out of fear of what would happen to them, their loved ones, or their cities and homes if they did not. Some had years of experience and training in dealing with combat, and others had no training other than the skills they picked up while trying to hunt a vampire. For some, they decided on their own to become hunters. For others, someone they knew introduced them to the life. For you, it was your best friend, Rose, who had first suggested to you that you and her should team up to try and hunt some vampires. You had no experience in combat, fights, or anything of the sort. The most you knew was the stuff you had learned from watching her. But the knowledge you lacked Rose more than made up for. You weren’t sure where she learned all her weapons and combat skills from. She has always been very secretive about herself and her life. But in all honesty, you were just glad that you happened to know someone who did have that training.

Rose spent weeks training you to kill. The first bit of your training was all theory. She showed you the different types of weapons and explained all the weaknesses she knew that could help take down a vampire, or at least weaken them enough to let you get in for the kill. She showed you a special sword which she had laced with holy water and adorned with a cross. You asked her if you could get a sword like that, and at the time she had laughed and asked you if you had ever held a sword. You’d blushed and told her no, and she told you that settled the matter. She did, however, give you a small dagger which was laced with holy water, along with a large container of holy water. She told you that you were only to use that in emergency circumstances, or when you “got really good at offing them”. You had assumed you were only going to use it in the former… but after that day… the latter started looking more and more plausible until one day, it just became your reality.

That day. It will sound cliché, but that day really did start out just like any other day. Well, any other day since you had begun training to hunt vampires, and on occasion, accompanying Rose on hunts. You had met up with Rose at the secret location you two had been holding your training sessions at over the past while. You talked for a bit with her. She asked about your life, how your family was doing, all the usual stuff. You answered and asked her the same. She gave you the regular vague and ominous answers she always did, especially when it came to stuff about her family, which she either gave a single-word answer to or a grunting sound of disapproval at the mention of them. You weren’t sure what was up with this, but didn’t want to pry, so you’d gotten used to just nodding or moving the conversation along. After some small talk, training began. On that particular day, she had been teaching you about agility. Ways to both avoid an oncoming attack and ways to strike back before they even have time to expect it. When Rose had started this part of your training, she had been serious and stern, but over time (and mostly thanks to your more playful demeanor) she had loosened up and had even started cracking a few smiles at your jokes. The sparing or exercises too became more enjoyable, with some friendly competition to see who could beat who in the matches. These were the sorts of exercises that you had been doing that day. You worked hard for a few hours, then decided to take a break. It was early evening, and while you ate you and she talked about what you thought things would be like when the world returned to normal. Rose was in the middle of a scenario that sounded like it came straight from a young adult post-apocalypse novel when all of a sudden, the room started going dark.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, wondering if perhaps the power had gone out. You looked up at the lights and saw they were indeed out and turned to ask Rose whether she knew where the fuse box was. Before the question could even leave your lips, you saw that Rose had gone completely pale, as though she had seen a ghost. Her eyes were wide, and you saw fear written clearly across your face. This alone was enough to send a shiver down your back. In all the time you’d known her, you’d never seen her afraid. Worried, sure. Stressed, seemed like 90% of the time she was. But never afraid. You were about to ask her what was wrong but before the question even left your lips, a shot of dread coursed through you as a sudden realization hit you. The reason the lights weren’t on was not because they had died, or because something had knocked out the power… they hadn’t been on in the first place. You hadn’t needed to turn them on. It… it had been so bright outside. The sun shone so beautifully that you hadn’t needed to turn on any of the lights when you entered the building. So then… why had the room gotten so dark… Your focus was brought back to the present moment when you saw Rose beginning to point at something. You followed her line of sight and noticed she was pointing out the window. You could not hold back the gasp that left your lips at the sight greeting both of you outside that window.

The world was completely dark. It was as though within a matter of minutes, time had gone from early evening to midnight. You could make out the glow of lights within some of the nearby buildings, and you saw a few streetlamps which were still lit up, but other than that, you could not see anything. Most buildings, like the one you were in, were without light, and you suspected they, like you, had seen no reason to turn on the lights. You wondered how many of them were hesitating to turn on the lights for the same reason that you were, and for the same reason you suspected Rose was: not wanting to attract any unwanted vampiric attention to yourselves. Another horrible realization dawned on you at that thought, and you looked at Rose with panic, reading the same expression on her face which made you realize you and her had both had the exact same thought at the exact same time. Before, the threat of running into a vampire during the day was minimal. People learned fairly early on to avoid any areas where there was enough shade to cover a person, or any areas where the sunlight didn’t reach at all. Businesses removed any canopies or umbrellas, and the buildings that could not remove devices or apparatuses meant to shade people put up signs that warned of the dangers of such areas, especially those more out of view of the public eye. People learned how to protect themselves during the day, and during the nights people would hide out in houses, buildings, shelters, etc. Anywhere where they could to try and avoid the vampires who would roam the streets at nights, hunting for their next prey. Some businesses such as bars or clubs took quite the hit due to this lack of nighttime activity, but it was a small price to pay compared to the alternative. People adapted to this new way of living, and it provided people with a small sense of safety. Of security.

But now… that was all gone. The sun was gone… and so too with it any safety that it had provided. There was no way in that moment to know that it was going to stay that way… that there would be no way to reverse it but… but as optimistic as you had tried to be during this entire ordeal up to that point… you couldn’t see a way that this ended well. The sun was gone! They had taken away the sun! You weren’t sure how, and you weren’t sure what their end goal was. You figured they would have to bring back some of the sunlight. They fed off humans, so it would be damning to themselves if they didn’t. Humans needed food, and that either meant animals, who require crops, or the crops themselves, which required sunlight. But you figured that they must have had some sort of contingency plan for that. After all… if they could get rid of the sun… well… you were sure they had some controlled way of bringing it back to the areas where they needed it. But while you might have been certain that they would not let all of humanity starve to death (if only to ensure their own survival), it did not fill you with any sort of comfort.

The sound of shuffling brought you back to reality and you looked over to see Rose hurriedly packing a bag. She threw her sword into its holster and threw the bag over her other shoulder. You asked her where she was going, and she told you she had to check on her family. In all the times she had ever spoken of them, never before had you heard any sort of warmth or love in her voice… but now… now you heard clear concern and fear for them hidden under an attempt to keep her voice cool and causal. The thought of your own family came to mind, and you felt the same mix of fear and concern fill you. You watched Rose rush off before you could protest or tell her it was too dangerous to go alone, even for her. You doubted it would have done any good anyways.

You immediately grabbed your phone and texted your parents, asking them if they were alright. You hadn’t spoken with them much since the “vampire outbreak”, only here or there to check-in. They lived in Metropolis, and you lived in Chicago, and the truth was that you weren’t very close with them. Nothing bad had happened between you all, it was just that you didn’t get much time to visit even before everything, and neither party was particularly good at remembering to call outside of special occasions. Still though, when everything had started, they had been good about messaging you back whenever you texted, asking how you were in return. You’d purposely not told them about the hunting, not wanting to worry them. You just told them you were staying with a friend and keeping safe. You waited for the sound of an incoming message and sure enough, you heard it. Your mother was asking if you had seen what was happening outside and you told her yes, you had. Your father asked if you were safe and you told him you were. They told you that they were staying with a bunch of the neighbors and that they had barricaded the house. You felt relieved at the knowledge that they were safe. You told them to be careful and to not go outside unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, to bring things that could help against the vampires. They told you to do the same, and you told them you would. You felt bad lying to them, but you knew you couldn’t tell them the truth. You ended the conversation by saying that you loved them, and then you turned your phone off.

At first, you didn’t hunt. You only killed the vampires you came across when you were outside, which was a rare occurrence. You had hunted before, sure, but that was with Rose. Anytime you got overwhelmed or forgot what you were supposed to do, she was there to have your back. But now you were on your own, with no one to look out for you, and you weren’t confident enough in your skills to hunt. So, you only went out when it was absolutely necessary, and you tried to avoid the vampires as much as you could. At least… until one day when you were walking back from raiding an abandoned store and you saw a group of figures rushing after someone. At first, you assumed it was a group of vampires hunting down an unlucky prey, but then you saw that they were all carrying stakes. Your eyes widened as you realized they were hunters. You were too curious to look away, and after assessing that your location was safe, you watched the group. They were closing in on the vampire fast, and it looked like they would have a successful mission.

But then you saw movement atop one of the nearby buildings, and you held back a gasp when you realized it was another vampire. It must have noticed the group and come to aid the other vampire! You saw it leap down from the top of the building onto a balcony close by, and realized in horror that the hunters were not aware of this new vampire’s presence. You watched in terror as the vampire raced toward one of the members of the group. They were the smallest of the lot and were trailing behind a little bit. You could see the hesitation and nervousness just in the way they ran. And you could see the vampire quickly approaching them. Your eyes shot back between the two figures and then, before you knew it, you were off.

You bolted towards the smaller figure without even thinking. You made sure to keep a distance away so the vampire would not notice you, using the shadows to blend in. You swiftly pulled your knife from its holster and made sure to time your steps perfectly. You waited until the vampire had jumped down to the street and was just about to strike the figure, and then you attacked. You stabbed the vampire in the throat, causing it to let out a loud screech. It wildly grasped at the knife but it was too late, the holy water had already entered into its veins. The vampire screamed insults at you and then words turned into gargles as you ripped the knife from its throat. It crawled away, hissing at you before it disappeared from your view.

You turned to see that the group had already taken care of the second vampire. The figure in front of you was looking at you with wide eyes, and you saw that they were shaking violently. They looked about nineteen or twenty. Younger than the other people they were traveling with. The others had turned back to you and the figure on the ground, having heard the prior commotion. One of them, an older gentleman of about fifty, held a stake up at you and demanded you explain your presence. The others made no moves, but you saw they were all clutching their stakes tighter too. You were about to speak when the figure on the ground spoke for you. They explained what happened, and how you had saved them from the oncoming attack. They told everyone how you had protected them, and you saw the group visibly relax. They relaxed further when you showed them your teeth and held a cross provided by one of the people. Most smiled at you, though there were a few who still looked skeptical. You supposed that was fair, given the state of the world. What shocked you though was the offer that came from the figure you had helped earlier.

They asked you to join their group. Said they were impressed by your skills, and that they thought you’d make a good addition to the team. You were stunned. You looked to the others to try to gauge their reactions and saw they were either smiling or nodding. Even the skeptical ones were nodding, though you supposed they were only doing so because it meant they could keep a closer eye on you that way. See if you were a threat or not. The figure you had helped, who said their name was Jamie, was looking at you with hopeful, bright eyes, and you bit your lip nervously. You weren’t sure about joining this group. You weren’t sure how safe it was to join any group, to be honest. Rose had always warned you about trusting others, especially strangers, and these people were strangers. But… but looking at them… you couldn’t help but want to join them. You could tell that many of the group were injured, with most only having minor injuries or scrapes, but some having injuries that you could tell were of a likely more serious nature. These injuries were hastily patched up, with some covering the wounds with only tape and tissue. You knew that they didn’t have the skills that you had gained from Rose’s training. Knew they didn’t have the know-how required to successfully hunt the vampires. But it was more than that. You could see in their eyes their determination. Their strength. Their hope. They might not have been the best at what they were trying to do. They might not even be close. But… but they were trying. They were willing to risk their lives to try to make a change, no matter how small that change might be. And you could not help but admire that. You could not help but want to be a part of that.

And so, against Rose’s warning, you smiled at the group and offered out your hand. You told them that, if they would have you, you would be honored to be a part of their group. To join them on their mission. You told them that you had some training when it came to how to properly hunt vampires and that you could train those who were interested. You saw quite a few faces light up at this, and one by one, everyone shook your hand. They introduced themselves as they did so, each smiling at you and welcoming you into the group. Even the ones who had been skeptical offered you smiles and introduced themselves. You could still sense some hesitation, and you knew it would take time until they would trust you fully but… but just seeing these smiling faces… being welcomed like that… a small part of your heart was warmed by the scene unfolding in front of you.

You were with the group for about a month. You did as you had promised, and trained them as best as you could, trying to recall as much of Rose’s teachings as possible. When not in training, you spent your time trying to get to know everyone. You spent much of your time with Jamie, as they were the closest you really had there to a familiar face. Eventually, you began getting close with some other people though. There were two others you got particularly close with. Yana and Alexander were their names. You sat between them at meals and got talking with them. It turns out that the three of you had some similar interests, and you bonded over them. You enjoyed talking with them. With Jamie. With everyone. The more time you spent with the group, the more they began to feel like a second family to you. It was a welcomed feeling, with your other family being located so far away and with Rose… well… you had no idea where she was. How she was. So, it was nice to have some people who could take your mind off things. The hunts were not going terribly either. Time after time people would return with fewer cuts and fewer bruises, and you noticed even that the hunts were taking less time. Everyone seemed relieved by this, and it helped lighten the mood. You thought that people were happy to have their little successes where they could, and you could not help but join them in their joy. For a while, everything was great. As great as it could be, given the state of the world, but… you felt at home with them. You felt happy. You… should have known it was too good to last… but you wanted to believe that there could be some light in this darkness you found yourself living in. You wanted to believe there was some hope to be found…

But if there was… it was not there. Not in that moment, and not for you.

It happened near the end of your first month with the group. They’d planned a surprise (well… it had been a surprise until they realized they had to tell you to get you out of the place so they could prepare) party for you. Told you to wait in the furthest wing of the house while they got stuff ready. Said it was to celebrate your first month with them. Said it was a tradition. You didn’t think anything of it. You knew the house was safe. No one could get in or out without first having to get by the people stationed on guard duty, a system you yourself had put in place. It was a system that had worked thus far, and so you saw no reason not to. You’d be safe, and they’d be safe too. So, you went to where they told you to, put on some music, and sat down to read a book. There wasn’t any electricity, but the house had a record player that ran on batteries, and it turned out that the owner of the house, Morris, the older gentleman who had questioned you when you first met the group, had a stash of batteries in the basement. There was plenty there, so he didn’t mind people using some for non-essential items, such as the record player. You were grateful for this, as the music always served to soothe you and help you forget about the madness outside. On that day, you found yourself struggling to stay awake, yawning as you tried and failed to focus on the words in the book in front of you. You had offered the previous night to work guard duty, and now the lack of sleep appeared to be catching up with you. Before you knew it, you were drifting to sleep as the soft sound of piano music carried you off to the land of dreams.

You awoke much later than you had intended to and got up with panic. You hoped that you had not kept the others waiting for too long and rushed out of the room, ready to apologize for your lateness. You wondered briefly why none of them had woken you to call you to the party, but you supposed that perhaps they had wanted to allow you to get some rest. Or perhaps they had tried to wake you. You were a fairly heavy sleeper, especially after pulling a night shift, so you supposed perhaps they may have tried to nudge you awake but upon not having any success, they left you to rest up until you naturally woke you. Whatever the case was, you made a mental note to yourself to thank them for both the party and for letting you rest up a bit. You rushed out of the wing you were in and were about to open the door which connected it to the front foyer when all of a sudden you noticed something sticky on the floor when lifting your shoe. You looked down and saw a red liquid seeping under the door. You stepped back, hands flying to your mouth in horror.

You tried to tell yourself it was just juice. Or syrup. Or whatever gel they used in cakes. Yeah, it was just that. Someone had been making the cake and spilled a bunch of it. And they were coming to clean it up. That’s why no one had come to get you. They were all rushing around trying to clean up the mess. But even though all of you was so desperate to believe this… deep down you knew that it wasn’t gel. Or syrup. Or juice. You knew what it was… and so you told yourself to switch off the part of your brain that wanted to believe it was any of those things and focused on the part of you that knew what it was. That part of you reached for the holy water-covered knife in your belt, and quickly pulled the door open. You tried to mentally prepare yourself for what you would see… but when the door finally opened… no part of you could ever have been ready to see what lay on the other side of that door.

Everyone was dead.

That was the first thing you noticed. Most of the bodies were completely drained of their blood, and even from a distance, you could spot the puncture wounds littering necks, arms, shoulders, legs, and ankles. Though the bodies themselves contained no blood, the area around the bite location did. This wasn’t because the vampire’s fangs had dripped some blood onto them. No… you’d seen that before and that only left a small amount. On these bodies… the bodies of your friends… of your second family… the blood around the wound resembled that of a bad laceration. Not only that… the wounds themselves were a mess and looked as though the vampire had bitten into them over and over, never quite hitting the same spot twice but hitting close enough that it looked more like one giant hole than several smaller ones. The bite locations looked closer to something you would see in cases of wild animal attacks than vampire attacks, and you could only imagine how painful it would have been. You were so focused on looking forward at the onslaught ahead of you that as you stepped forward, you failed to see what had caused the spillage of blood in front of you. That was until your foot knocked into something as you were moving forward and you looked down. You immediately wished you hadn’t.

On the floor in front of you was a body lying face down in a large pool of blood. Their legs were bent at odd angles, and you could see bones sticking out of their ankles. There was a hole through their abdomen, and you could see what appeared to be intestines coming out of the hole. It took everything in you not to vomit on the spot. Your eyes moved upwards, and you saw that one of their arms was bent in the same way as the legs were. The other arm was resting by their side, but you noticed something that made you stifle a scream. The hand of the figure was missing. You could see bits of flesh and bones sticking out at the bottom of the arm but the hand was nowhere to be seen. You looked around, trying to see if you could find it, and that was when you spotted something hanging off the door handle of the doorway you had just entered in through. It was the hand, still tightly clinging to the handle. You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts, and then knelt down. You shifted the body gently to the side, trying to see how the figure was. As soon as you saw the figure’s eyes, you let out a shrill cry of horror.

It was Jamie. You recognized those eyes. Somehow… even in death… they held such innocence. Such hope. Their eyes were wide and panicked too though, and you knew why. You knew why they had such an expression, and why they had been grasping so tightly to the handle so that… when they were attacked… the hand remained there. It wasn’t because they were trying to escape the vampire’s murderous rampage. No… it was because… because they were trying to save you. Trying to warn you what was happening. Trying to tell you to get out before… before the vampire got you too. They could have tried to save themselves. Fled down another corridor or out the main doors. You don’t know whether it would have helped but… but you knew that… you knew they had died trying to save your life, and the stab of pain and guilt you felt was more than you could ever put into words. Softly, you shut their eyelids and crossed their arms over their chest. Then you stood up and made your way out of the manor, shutting the door behind you as you left what was, for the briefest of moments, your home… and your family.

You began hunting down every vampire in the area that you could, trying to find information on the vampire who had killed your found family. You reached dead end after dead end, but you never gave up. Most of the vampires you encountered were not all that talkative, but occasionally you would find one who would offer you information in exchange for sparing their lives. You never did, but after stalking them for weeks and watching them feed off of the terrified souls of the city, you hardly felt bad about not keeping your end of the bargain. Plus… the carnage you had seen in that house had turned you cold and merciless, so to you, it mattered little what you had to do to get your revenge, so long as you got it. Sometimes you wondered whether Rose would be proud of you, or would hate you for what you had become. You wondered what the group would have thought of you… but you pushed these thoughts away as soon as they came. You had a mission. An objective. And you would complete that mission no matter what it cost you.

And soon that mission came to an end. You managed to track down the vampire responsible for the massacre at your old “home”. In the vampire’s belongings, you had found a pendant which had belonged to Yana. You remembered it well, as she always wore it around her neck. The clasp was broken and you suspected the vampire likely ripped it off of her either before or after feeding from her. But it was all the proof you needed. You had had the vampire tied up, ready to interrogate him, but the pendant’s existence confirmed that he was indeed the one you had been searching for. You grabbed your bottle of holy water, walked behind him, and then forcefully bent his head to the side, pouring the holy water into the vampire’s ear canal. You didn’t wait around to see how he died. You just walked out of the building, leaving him on his own, with nothing but the burning pain inside of him and the sound of his screams to keep him company until he eventually met his end. An end signaled to you when the screaming ceased, and the world around you fell silent once more.

With nothing to remain in the city for, you traveled around. You pondered going to Metropolis to visit your family. To see whether they were alright. But in the end, you decided against it. You had been hunting for a couple weeks now and while you never left a vampire alive to come after you later… you were sure that word had gotten around about your killing habits, and though the risk was low… you didn’t want to risk endangering them. Every time you thought about returning to them… the image of Jamie’s body came to mind, and ultimately that was enough to stop you from going. You thought that if there was a chance they would be safer without you there… then best take that chance. You weren’t sure where else to go though. You’d learned a lot about the world from the more talkative vampires you had captured. You learned that “blood farms” were being set up across the continent, and that in most cities and urban areas, people were being rounded up and placed on these blood farms.

However, you had heard that one city’s street was still free to be roamed by humans. Well… free to be roamed was not quite right. There were rumors that these streets were actually hunting grounds for the vampires who resided in the city. Instead of getting their blood from the farms, they got it from hunting and capturing any humans they could find. Gotham City, the vampire had told you, was one of the last cities in the country where humans were not being gathered for the blood farms. You had thanked the vampire for this information and then had staked them through the heart. As you thought back to this piece of information in the current moment, you thought that perhaps you could go to Gotham. It may have been the perfect hunting ground for vampires, but that meant that perhaps it might be a good hunting ground for you as well. And, if indeed there were humans being hunted by the vampires in that city… perhaps you could save some people as well. Perhaps you could help someone…

So, Gotham it was. You grabbed what little belongings you had and made the journey to Gotham. There were some motor vehicles that still worked, and even some which had gas still in them, but you did not wish to risk the attention a loud vehicle driving through mostly empty streets would bring. One or two vampires you could handle, but you knew that the second you fired up the engine of a car… you would be inviting a group of vampires your way, and that was not a fight you were prepared to take on. However, that did not mean you were going to walk the entire way. Motor vehicles might have been out of the question… but that was not the only form of transit, and luckily for you, the vampires didn’t seem to be particularly interested in cleaning up the city streets. This meant that all manner of things were left outside, including bicycles. You found one, found a helmet a few blocks down, and then headed on your way to Gotham City.

Gotham was exactly how it had been described to you. The entire city was dark in a way that Chicago had never been. You could practically smell the fear, pain, and anguish in the air, and you could taste desperation, misery, and hopelessness in it too. Upon arriving in the city, you immediately sought shelter in the first open house you could find. It was a fairly decent dwelling. There were already locks on the doors, but you made sure to add some reinforcements on all the doors and windows just to ensure no one came in uninvited. Once you had finished this, you began making yourself at home. You raided the cupboards and kitchen, sorting out all the food which was still good and rationing it. There was enough to last you comfortably for the next few weeks when combined with the supplies you’d brought with you, and you were grateful for this. You hid the food in the lower cupboards of the kitchen and then went into the bedroom, where you were greeted by a soft twin-sized bed. A sudden wave of tiredness hit you and you immediately flung yourself onto the bed, not even bothering to change. In no time at all, you were fast asleep in the newest place which you would call home.

Your routine over the next while was more or less the same from day to day. You would wake up, eat something quickly, and then immediately set out to hunt. Most days you would kill at least three vampires, but there were some days when you would spend all your time that day just tracking one. In such cases, it was only when you spotted a vampire in your hunting grounds who appeared to be of a higher station. It was fairly easy to spot which vampires were in this category. Vampires who were not were often more feral in their kills, and in their hunts. Their bloodlust was uncontrolled, and their mannerisms reflected this. But vampires who were… their bloodlust scared you far more than that of the more ferocious ones, but their kills were sadistic, cruel, and merciless. The other vampires did not pursue a single target but rather went after anyone in the area. These ones… they hunted more for sport than for the need to feed. They still drained their victims, sure, but instead of draining them quickly, they would draw it out. Sometimes it took an hour or two, but in many of the cases you’d seen, they normally took four or more hours draining a single victim, leaving them suspended for that length of time between life and death. These vampires were more cunning in their hunts and their kills, making them much more dangerous and much more difficult to kill.

Worse yet was the fact that they appeared to be able to utilize abilities beyond just heightened senses, increased running speed, and sharp fangs. Once, when you had been tracking one such vampire, you noticed that they used what appeared to be hypnosis to draw their prey closer to them. The poor soul didn’t even seem to realize what was happening, or if they did, they were perfectly fine with it. They had a smile on their face the entire time the vampire was draining them, and even as they were taking their final breath, you could see no panic or fear present. It was as though their mind was somewhere else completely… or perhaps more accurately, it was as though someone else had control of their mind. You had eventually killed this vampire, but you never were able to figure out exactly what it was the vampire had done to the person you had watched him kill.

On days when you encountered these vampires, you would often abandon your other pursuits in order to effectively kill the vampire you had found. You had to take extra precautions when hunting these vampires, as they were much more aware of their surroundings than others. Additionally, you noticed that sometimes these vampires would hunt in pairs or groups, and if you caught wind of this, you immediately dropped your pursuit and went back to your regular hunting grounds. But there were many times when you would find these vampires hunting alone, and so you would continue your hunt. It was, in fact, one such hunt that led you to where you were now…

You had been following this vampire for several days and had even packed additional food items and supplies in your bag a couple of days prior just to ensure that you did not risk losing your target due to having to return home for food or for a supply. You were determined to catch this one. Not only because you had seen him kill with a sadistic glee that you’d never seen before in your life, but because while watching him, you overheard him talking with another vampire about some sort of event. He asked the other vampire whether they had been invited, and the other vampire had shaken their head. Your target had laughed at this, telling them they must not have been high enough status to have been invited. He patted them on the shoulder and advised them to keep trying. You weren’t sure what he meant by that until he gestured towards the body of his latest victim and then told the other vampire that perhaps if they were more creative, “he” would take notice and the other vampire could get themselves an invitation.

This had immediately caught your attention, and your interest was considerably peaked. An invitation? To what? Why was this vampire so excited and cocky about getting into this event, and why did the other one look so disappointed? You suspected that the vampires likely had gatherings or meetings just as humans did, but this seemed like something… else. A general meeting or something like that wouldn’t be so exciting, you guessed. So what was it? And who was this “he” the vampire had mentioned to his friend? It had to be someone of importance, as whoever he was, he was clearly the one deciding who was “important” enough to get an invitation to the event, and who wasn’t. Was it perhaps one of the vampires who had proclaimed themselves a ruler of Gotham? You’d heard rumors of vampires who were doing that. You tended to avoid any areas where you’d heard rumors of them residing or frequenting. These vampires were ruthless and had killed many of their own kind to “earn” their titles. Part of you was tempted to take them on, but you didn’t want the attention that would bring onto you. Your ability to disappear into the shadows with no one the wiser to your identity helped your hunts immensely, and you hardly wanted to risk that all for some rumors and some vampires who claimed to be more important than they likely actually were.  

Still though… this was new. Most vampires who tried to pass themselves off as the rulers of Gotham rarely actually made appearances, and this was for good reason. Even if it was just rumors and they held no actual power or status, those rumors served as protection so long as they remained legends. But the moment they made their real presence known, they opened themselves up to attacks from either vampires who thought they could claim that title through bloodshed or vampires who were just tired of another vampire controlling things in the city. So the fact that someone was actually inviting people to an event was something you desperately wanted to know more about. Was one of those vampires getting too confident, or did they have some sort of plan? Just what was it they were inviting people to, and why only certain vampires? What were the criteria to get in? These questions and more rattled around in your brain and began to eat away at you, and you decided that you were going to have to find out once and for all what was happening here.

It hadn’t taken you long to make your move. Only a few days after the vampire had spoken with his “friend” about the event. You found him hunting in a more abandoned area of town, and with your knife ready, you jumped down from one of the balcony ladders in the area and landed square on the vampire’s shoulders. You wasted no time sinking the knife into his left shoulder blade, making sure not to strike anything vital. Yet. The vampire howled in pain and began trying to claw at you, but you were prepared for his attempts and sprinkled his fingers with holy water. His flesh began to sizzle and his howls turned to screams of pure agony. You jumped back off his shoulders and landed on the ground, kicking the vampire on the back of his knees and causing him to fall to the ground. You grabbed a stake and then climbed onto him, positioning the stake over his heart. You demanded to know what “event” was being held, and who the host of this event was. He looked at you with confusion for a moment, and then seemed to realize that you had been following him when he had had his conversation previously in the alleyway. You weren’t sure how you expected him to react, but you hadn’t expected him to start laughing. And yet, this was exactly what he did. He laughed and laughed as though you’d just told him the funniest joke in the world, and it was a horrid sound, that laugh. You pressed the stake right against his chest and repeated your query, in no mood for the vampire’s games. The vampire’s laughter stopped and he cleared his throat before answering your question.

He told you that the event was a ball. A masquerade ball. It was being hosted in one of the most lavish mansions in the area and was an event that was hosted every few months. He said that the event was strictly by invitation only. No one knew how the invitees were picked, but everyone had their own theories. The only thing that people knew for sure was that, around the same time every few months, people would find invitations either on their doorsteps or in their regular hunting areas. The invitations all had the same designs on them. New ones every event. The names of the invitees were never printed on them. They only gave the time and date of the event, as well as the address. At the bottom was a “sincerely and with thanks” note signed only by “The Lord of Vampires”. No name was given other than that.

You asked the vampire what he thought was meant by this, and he gave you a confused expression, asking you if you had ever heard of the Vampire King. You shook your head, and he furrowed his brows. He explained to you that Gotham wasn’t chosen as a hunting ground for no reason. That it was chosen as such because it was where the King of Vampires resided. He said that he did not know much about this King of Vampires and that the only time he’d ever been close to him was at a previous masquerade ball, but even then, he had only seen the man for a split second. But the vampire had told you that there were rumors he obtained his current position by killing the previous Vampire Queen, and so he had tried to stay far away from the current King. Still, he attended the ball every time he was invited, as for one thing, he didn’t want to upset the King by turning down the invitation, and two, it was the most talked about event for vampires and gaining an invitation… attending the event… it helped a vampire quickly rise in terms of their power and status. You asked the vampire whether he had the invitation to the event on him, and he nodded, explaining that he never went anywhere without it in the fear it may be stolen or lost. You asked him where the invitation was, and he told you it was in his jacket pocket. You thanked him, and before he had a chance to move or speak again, you rammed the stake through his heart.

After cleaning up the mess, you rummaged through the vampire’s pocket and found that he had, in fact, been telling the truth. There, in the left pocket of his jacket, was in fact an invitation that noted a date, time, and place, along with the closing statement that the vampire had informed you would be on it. Sure enough, no name was listed on the invitation. You searched on the front and back of it, but other than the aforementioned details as well as a stunning navy blue and black backing, you saw nothing. A smirk came upon your face as you realized what this meant…

The next while was spent preparing everything you’d need for the big night. The vampire was smart to keep the invitation on him, but not quite as smart in bragging about it. You, however, would not make this mistake. You kept the invitation upon you at all times, and whenever you were moving it, you made sure to keep an eye out for anyone who might have seen you pick it up or move it. The last thing you needed was for some other vampire to try and steal it from you. You wondered if that was this Vampire King’s goal in not adding a name to the invitation. Perhaps there was no method to who got invited or if there was, perhaps it didn’t really matter to him. Perhaps he just wanted to see who would be willing to spill blood… well… vampire blood, for a chance to attend the event. Or perhaps he had no idea how famous his event was? You weren’t sure, but it hardly mattered. It was beneficial to you that the invitation contained no name, and that was all that really mattered to you. Finding the location wasn’t all that difficult, which you were grateful for. Technology had ceased working a while back but there were still maps around the city, and you managed to find one that showed the location of the mansion, which was apparently somewhat of a staple of Gotham. So, there was that taken care of.

The next issue was how to blend in at the party. You worried that, perhaps, vampires might be able to tell upon scent whether someone was human or not. There were plenty of vampire tales and myths to suggest such a thing, however, you knew that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of myths and tales about vampires, and not all of them were true. The question was whether this particular one was true or not. You spent some time testing this, walking amongst vampires instead of hiding in the shadows. You had your weapons close at hand in case one of them did sense you were human, but after a few trials, you learned that they could not tell you apart from their fellow vampires. None of them came after you, and a few who were in the process of hunting even asked if you wanted to join them. This was all the proof you needed to show you that, in fact, vampires could not differentiate between humans and vampires upon scent alone. This meant that the most crucial thing that you would have to avoid would be getting cut or injured on anything. That, you knew, did attract vampires. It appeared they could not tell whether one was human or a vampire based upon their regular scent, however, you knew that they were attracted to the scent of blood. You didn’t have to test this, as you knew from past experience that this was the case. You’d had one too many unfortunate incidences where you had gotten cut by something while running about Gotham, and had had to abandon your post and try to hide out somewhere due to the sheer amount of vampires who had started on your trail simply from that small amount of blood. And that was in a giant city where you could run away… you couldn’t even imagine what would become of you if you got cut in a mansion with a bunch of thirsty vampires… one of which was the King of the Vampires. So, you made a mental note to yourself to avoid any objects that could lead to you getting injured and to do your best to avoid any situations where you may get injured. It was, though, a masquerade ball, so you doubted this was going to be an issue. Still though, best to stay vigilant. You didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

And with those things out of the way, you began to prepare for the big event. You found the fanciest outfit that you could and set it away for the day. You got all the accessories and things that you wanted to in order to add to the look and did the same thing. One night while hunting, you stumbled upon a small shop that had, before everything, sold cosmetics and similar things. You found several bottles of perfume and cologne and grabbed a few of those before heading out of the shop. You figured that that could help you blend in with the vampires. The ones in Gotham had not noticed you were not one of them, true, but you weren’t entirely positive that the others wouldn’t be able to. You thought that it was better safe than sorry, and if the products could help mask the fact that you were human…well… it was worth a shot. Worst case scenario, you get a chance to use some of the supplies you’d snagged during your trips around the city. Best case scenario… it helped you avoid detection. You also picked up some additional weapons and supplies, including more holy water and a few crosses as well. You altered your outfit for the ball so that you could hide the weapons inside of the coat you were wearing to the event, and you hid a smaller knife on the inside of your footwear as well. Once you had finished the alterations and gotten everything else prepared, all there was left to do was wait. And so wait you did…

Until now.

And here you were. Standing a little past the doorway of the vampire masquerade ball. Vampires dancing up ahead of you in the ballroom Some were grabbing drinks or snacks in the parlor room, and others were chatting away in the library. None had noticed that there was an intruder in their midst. None had noticed that you weren’t quite like the others. You weren’t sure whether it was the mix of cologne and perfume you had sprayed on yourself earlier, or whether your theory had been correct about them not being able to smell you unless you were cut, but either way… you were in, and there was no sign of trouble… well…

At least not any unexpected trouble.

The expected trouble, as it happened, was now making his way down from the second floor. The long, jet-black tailcoat he was wearing flowed behind him like a cape as he practically glided over the stairs. His movements were so perfect and so graceful that you swore it was as though he was not taking steps, but rather floating above the stairs as he moved toward you. The smirk you’d seen earlier upon that devilishly handsome face of his had not disappeared, but neither had the dangerous smile upon yours. Your eyes did not leave him for a second as he left the stairwell and began making his way toward you. His shoes made a distinct clacking sound as he walked, and you could tell it was purposeful. He wanted everyone to know where he was. What he was doing. He wanted his presence to be known. His simple movements demanded the attention of everyone in the room, and you watched as though who were close to him began bowing their heads in respect. You tried to hide it on your face, but inside… your smirk grew.

So, here he was. The Vampire King himself.

As he approached closer, you bowed your head to him as well, not wanting to give him any reason to suspect that you were not one of them. You kept your head bowed, but watched as his feet came closer and closer to you until they stopped, leaving him standing right in front of you. You waited, unsure of what he would do. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Your throat was dry, and so was your mouth. You tried to keep your breathing slow, but the rapid raising and falling of your chest was a clear indication that you were not doing a good job at it. For the longest time, the Vampire King stood there in front of you and said nothing. You began to fear that he had seen through your disguise. That he knew who you were. You already knew that the vampires who appeared to have a higher status did seem to be more powerful than some of the vampires you encountered regularly in Gotham, so who knew what powers the King of Vampires had? Could he have somehow sensed that you were not a vampire? Was that why he wasn’t saying or doing anything? But why? If he knew, why not just kill you? Did he want to avoid making a scene? Your fear and agitation grew worse with every passing second. You were desperate to know what he was thinking. What he was planning. Every moment of silence was anguish and felt as though it were an eternity, and with every passing second, you grew more and more sure he was onto you… sure he knew your secret… sure he was planning to end you right there and then, so what exactly was he waiting for? What was he planning? What was it he meant to do…

“May I have the next dance?”

His voice cut through the silence like a knife, and yet the sound itself bore no sharpness. It was sweet, soft, and welcoming. You looked up to see him smiling down at you, and just like before, it was a honey trap smile, and you knew it. You raised your head and offered him a small smile of your own. His hand was extended towards you, you noticed, and you waited a moment before taking it. His smile grew at this, and he began making his way toward the ballroom. You followed, your hand still in his, and the two of you entered the ballroom. As soon as you did, all eyes were on you. Well, more specifically, you and him. The Vampire King looked towards the band and nodded to them, and with that, the band quickly switched songs from whatever they had been playing before to a new tune. One that was slower, with just a hint of darkness and sensuality to it. The Vampire King gestured towards the dancefloor, and you nodded in agreement, and then the two of you made your way to the center of the dancefloor. You put one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist, and his movements mirrored yours. You locked your eyes with his deep, piercing red ones, both of you smiling those same honey-trap smiles at each other…

And with that, your little dance began.

[mommieswithmuscles]

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No minors and No men

My girlfriend is busy playing League Of Legends with my bestfriend and won't give me my required attention. But also throwback songs are so good. Here's an angsty Abby death fic. For extra impact: play the full song when you get to it before continuing. For max impact: listen to it on repeat before starting to read until after you finish reading.

CW: major character death, grief, metions of sex and smoking weed, graphic depiction of death, eating disorder

Title: Hoodie

It all happened so fast. One second she was on her horse beside you, the next she was laughing, barrelling off. You let your laughter ride the wind as well, galloping on her trail as you admire your wife. Manny officiated the wedding for you, the entire audience including yourself and your bride were tearing up laughing even though he was so delicate with the things he said.

You remember what it felt like as you exchanged vows, rings, then the sealing kiss. Signing the documents Mel wrote up for you both, hand in hand, smiling with equally ruined make up. The sob filled hug you shared after putting down the pen.

It all flashes in that instant the ground caved in. You stopped before the hole, ready to jump down, when all you hear is terrible screaming and screeches. Your arm reaches down but her's can't grasp it. You lean further in, bracing as well as you can as you're as deep into the hole as you can get. A swarm of Clickers surrounds her. You both kill so, so many. You think you're done, you think it's over when you put your gun down to reach for her again.

Her bloody, sweaty hand grasps yours. She uses the corpse of her horse as leverage to get to you. You pull. She starts to surface. Manny rides up and reaches in to help, never far from your trail as the three of you always patrol together. His hands on her hip and arm, guiding her to the surface. She braces on your thigh, the ground, pushes her self up.

Those moments flash in your mind again. Your first touch, first kiss, for time having sex. It all flashes as a bloater rips through the sink hole, and she slips out of your arms. Out of safety. You want to deny she's dead when Manny jumps down, you following him into the hole.

You kill the bloater, Manny shoving corpses around with you trying to find Abby. She doesn't respond when you call for her. Every smile she's ever had and ever given you come to mind. Your first date, your first time smoking weed together, your first time sleeping under the stars with her in the WLF fences with Alice and Bear.

The hole in her abdomen is nothing compared to the disfigurement of her face. You touch it, caress it gently. Hoping, praying it's just the lights and blood playing tricks. Begging it's not as bad as it seems. It's all for naught when Manny helps you haul her corpse onto your horse. As he holds his bloody palm over your mouth to help muffle your screams of anguish into his chest as his arm encases you.

You ride in near silence as your horse trots back to base. Your sniffles and sobs filling the despair between you and Manny. He offers to carry her for you, but you decline. You escort her corpse to the medbay, allowing Mel one final look at her before Isaac calls for a funeral.

You jump into the trench dug for her, resting her body with a final kiss to where you remember her lips and where you remember her forehead, whispering one last "I love you" into her gorey skin. Manny helps take you out of the grave. You're the first to start putting dirt on her. Manny stands with you for support, asking others to give you space as you took your time covering her.

Selfishly, you kept her clothes, and buried her in your bedsheet. It was a wine red silk piece Abby found with you on a patrol that led to a risky escapade. You look at the barren mattress, not ready to redress it yet as her clothes lay rested. You run your fingertips over her jacket. She almost never took it off. Even when it was hot, she had it with her.

Deep breaths. In... Out... You slowly lift the fabric as if it would fall apart if you looked at it for too long. Gingerly slipping yourself inside it. Memories of the few times you wore it flood your mind and eyes. You quiver at the ache it gives you, feeling hollow in a way you used to say was dramatic or for show. You now hate yourself for that judgement. It's the most real thing you've felt. And it hurts more than you could imagine or describe.

Even months after her death you're still wearing it. It still has her pine scent, albeit faded. You've never washed it. Her bloody clothes are also still unwashed, kept in a pillowcase for when you need her close.

You sing softly to yourself.

You sob into the sleeves as you run your fingers over the small burn on the cuff from your first smoke session. She tried to flick the ash off the blunt, but a coal fell. She screamed like it touched her skin, but you laughed and put it out, kissing her wrist with a dopey grin. Matching bloodshot eyes met yours, her horror turning to glee.

Manny took months of care to help you try and eat again after that patrol. Your first meal he had taken her jacket. You were in the shower and didn't want to wash her away, so you left it on the bed. He used it to bargain with you. Here you are years later, starting back on that routine. You try and try and try, but you always have spells where you can't eat because of how much you miss her and how sick eating makes you feel.

Manny's with you again, Mel, Alice, and Bear with you, too. As he holds her jacket, Mel with her hand on your knee. Her toddler was with the daycare center. You remember the look on Abby's face when Mel told you she was pregnant. She was almost more excited than Mel herself. You couldn't help but let tears fall looking at the new bump Mel started showing. You told Abby, at her grave, right after Mel told you. Abby would have wanted to know.

It's grown since then, she's due any day now. Her hand squeezes for support as you finish your first real meal in a long time. Manny hands you Abby's jacket, gently pulling your arms through it before taking your dishes to the sink. Mel lets you know she's proud of you, but you shake your head. It's too much.

"You're still rockin' her hoodie, and chewing on the strings..." She starts, squeezing your hand when you crumble.

To be clear: my girlfriend does no wrong. She's not actually ignoring me I got her addicted to a game that made me angry but I want to get my daily win and am stuck on a hard loss streak my bestie is trying to help me break. She stepped in before I screamed at my monitor and broke my mouse.

[remytheartist]

Nickie: SUN!

[CRASH]

Sun: n1Ck13-&$&%}*+£¥&&@($/^#+>’l

System: SHUT DOWN IMMINENT!

Sun: 1M 50rRY

————

Part 1 -> Go back

Part 2 -> Go back

Part 3 -> Go back

Part 4 -> YOURE HERE :D!

[samanddean76]

Be Good (HozierNatural 2024)

Hozier Song: It Will Come Back

Author: SamandDean76

Beta: jdl71

Artist: i-already-know-im-going-2-hell

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12,210

Pairing/s: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Rory Gilmore

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Dean Forester, Rory Gilmore, Bobby Singer, John Winchester, Barbara Forester, Lorelai Gilmore, Original Characters

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Additional Tags: Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Is Not Okay, Minor Character Death, First Time

Summary: John leaves Sam and Dean at a motel to go on a hunt. After spending a week alone, the owner calls CPS and the boys are taken into custody. The last thing Dean tells 8-year-old Sam is to ‘be good’, and once separated Sam does his best to do just that. But once Sam realizes that he won’t be going back to either John or Dean ever again, his stubborn streak kicks in and he will only answer to the name Dean. Sam gets adopted by the Foresters, who move to Chicago and then Stars Hollow. Where he meets Rory Gilmore.

Dean is left to rot in the system, after being deemed too violent, and eventually ages out. He tries to find Sam but fails as Sam Winchester no longer exists. Dean seeks out Bobby, and ends up moving in with the hunter, working as a mechanic in between searching for Sam.

A lucky break results in Dean finding a small-town newspaper that features the MVP of the Stars Hollow High School hockey team, who bears a striking resemblance to Sam. Dean heads out to Connecticut and finds Sam, safe and sound, but thoroughly humiliated by his crush. Before they leave, they seek the revenge that soothes Sam’s soul. And leaves Dean wondering what the hell happened to the innocent little boy he used to know.

Link to Fic | Link to Art

I would like to give a great big thank you to @i-already-know-im-going-2-hell for creating such amazing art for the story! It was a real treat to be able to work with them! And thanks to jdl71 for being an awesome beta! I also want to thank the mods who ran the @hoziernaturalevents bang this year! They kept everything in order and made a warm and welcoming atmosphere for everyone to enjoy!

[excelsiorfics]

Free To Be

Date: 22 Aug 2021 Author: tepkunset Rating: Teen Word Count/Status: 20,827, 5/5 chapters Dynamic: Julio Richter/Shatterstar Characters: Julio Richter, Shatterstar, OCs, Cameos Tags: Mojoworld, Time Travel, Self-Harm, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: Shatterstar’s life is too good to be true; he has a safe home, a caring boyfriend, and freedom to be who he wants. But now ghosts from his past come crawling out from behind the camera to challenge it.

[waywardsalt]

damien and linebeck have the minor dynamic of damien being a guy who’s pretty well built and has a healthy bit of fat on him and linebeck having the prestigious title of ‘boniest man on the great sea’

[chaosandthe-deadblog]

i feel like ive said this before but the self ship community is either the sweetest most accepting community there is or a hell of harassment and pr-shipping which is um. interesting to be a part of👍