#mutual tag wee

[simpalert]

HAPPY 100 FOLLOWERS @tenaciouslittlething

you've been a sweet heart since the first time i met you, you were one of the first people to help me build my confidence and post more sun and moon/sun and moon show stuff. your a great friend and i have no idea where i'd be without you, i am so so proud of you. hugs and platonic kisses-simpalert/kira

[lycanpunk666]

I kinda want to put this one post underwater but I don’t have enough sources for a counter argument

[michyeosseo]

semidoyi backstory;

title taken from lyrics to lifts, c/o my 아두 derangement playlist ♡

[r0bee]

Listened to the first chapter of a Phillip Pullman audiobook in the car with my mum and my sister the other day and it reminded that my favourite writing style is one that tells you details but in a simple way, like you're being told what the narrator has noticed about the characters/environment over the years.

I like when it feels like the narrator talks like they're a friend. There's something about the details being little anecdotes or observations that gives a story so much life. Tell me about how worn out their boots are and who they got them from, tell me what their favourite pastry is, tell me all the little details you might notice if you lived with the story.

It makes it feel special.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - I Saw You In The Water

Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: You and Sam try something new to help Dean with the Mark of Cain. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: I'm trying to distract myself from life, so here. Have a miniseries!

Title from Cringe by Matt Maeson

Word Count: 3.7k

Read on A03!

“This looks kind of stupid,” you mutter to Sam, and he makes a small nod of agreement, neither of you looking away from the scene before you. Rowena reciting a bunch of words that don’t sound real, and Dean sitting in a kiddie pool, scowling with his eyes screwed tight.

“It’s not just stupid,” Dean snaps your name, and you flush. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. “It’s pointless, and I am not getting adult baptized. You know what? screw this-“

He starts to stand, but Rowena pushes on his chest and sends him back into the water on his ass.

“No moving, or you’ll make me have to start over. And none of us,” Rowena looks Dean over with a dramatic shudder. “Want that.”

“Does it, um, does it have to be an inflatable pool, Rowena? Can’t we just put him in the shower?“

Rowena scoffs, dismissing Sam with a wave of her hand. “That is not how magic works, Samuel. We’re already making a gamble by hoping the spell counts this as a communal bath filled by the clean of soul, and a motel shower would be far worse.”

“Clean of soul-“

“That wee little bellhop.” Rowena gives you a sweet smile, a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach turn slightly. “Only dirty thoughts in his head were about you and your lovely breasts.”

“What.” Dean’s head shoots up, his scowl somehow more violent. “What do you mean, her breasts-“

“I mean her tits, you dimwitted boy.” Rowena gives you a disbelieving eye roll. “Men.”

“Who the fuck was looking at her tits-“

“The bellhop, Dearie, keep up-”

“Can you just do the spell, Rowena?” You cross your arms over your chest, half folding into yourself in a play to get the conversation off of your boobs. “Now?”

Rowena rolls her eyes, but nods and goes back to all her incoherent mumbo jumbo as Dean begins to look violent.

You bump Sam’s shoulder, standing slightly on your toes to whisper, “What if this doesn’t work?”

“It will.” Sam shakes his head, and his hair hits you slightly in the face. “Rowena’s the best in the game, and we’re only stretching a few of the ingredients. It’ll be fine.”

Neither of you believe that, but you’re also running out of options. You’ve lost all your leads on the Book of the Damned, and Dean can’t keep killing people. It’s killing him, and Sam, and you, and also the people. And this is, in a roundabout way, a solution. And Rowena says it will work, and you’re not stupid enough to trust her, but you’re also desperate enough to make a deal with her. She’ll do a spell to make Dean’s bloodlust refocus—make it more about things that make him happy, and less about murder—and you and Sam will stop trying to kill her for three whole months.

If it works, it’s a win for everyone. Rowena doesn’t get shot, you and Sam get Dean back, and Dean can maybe, hopefully, be happy again.

Rowena draws back up from Dean and walks over to you and Sam, extending her hand. “Hair.”

“What-“

“Hair, lass. The spell needs your hair.”

“Sam’s hair?” You frown. “Or my hair?”

“Preferably, both.”

You and Sam exchange a look of what the fuck, and Sam keeps his voice low—inaudible to Dean—as he mutters, “Why our hair?" Why not the, uh, the bellhop guy-“

“The bellhop is of no significance to Dean’s life. You two are the people he loves most in the world, so unless you want him to remain under the Mark’s corruption,” Rowena flexes her hand, her voice becoming stern. “Hair.”

Sam pulls out his hair quickly, but you’re a little slower. You’re not someone Dean loves. You’re someone Dean cares about, but you’re not Sam. You don’t belong on the spell’s weird ingredient list, you barely belong in this room. Watching Dean in such a strongly vulnerable position, making decisions about his life for him. He’d resisted this, you’d said please, and he’d caved almost immediately, but you mostly think he just didn’t want to argue. You've all been arguing a lot lately—Sam and Dean arguing about most everything, you and Sam arguing about next moves, and you and Dean arguing about you sticking around, near him, through this—and it’s getting exhausting.

But Rowena gives you an impatient look, and you pass your hair into her hand. If it doesn’t work, you can just start over and only use Sam’s hair. He has a lot of it to spare, he’ll be fine.

When the spell finishes, Sam and Rowena go outside to talk and you sit on the bed, watching Dean in silence. He’d insisted on wearing his clothing in the pool—jeans, boots, flannel and all—he’s cross-legged in the water, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes.

He still looks good. There’s an expression made of deep lines and tense frustration on his too-handsome face, and you want to touch him. You want to touch Deanwherever he’ll let you. Run soothing hands over his frown, find out of his grown-out scruff is soft or prickly, kiss his full, pink lips until he smiles, and drift down his body. Over his chest, his stomach, lower and lower until you’re wrapping your mouth around him, and he knows that you care. You really, really care about Dean, and he’s not a burden, and if this doesn’t work, you’re going to stay right at his side until you find something that does, because you like to think you’d look up at him under your lashes and he’d see that you love him, and throw his head back and groan, and maybe his hands—big and rough and so carefully skilled—would touch you-

“Be honest with me, Sweetheart.”

His low, deep voice pulls you out of your fantasy, and you blink at him with a flush that you pray he won’t notice. “What?”

“Be honest,” he repeats, and his eyes open right onto yours. He doesn’t look to be in pain anymore, he mostly looks tired, so you nod.

“Yeah, okay. What-“

“This is dumb.”

You huff a soft, dry laugh. “It’s a little ridiculous. But it will work, Dean.”

“No spell that I know of calls for an inflatable kiddie pool.”

“Well, you’re not a witch.” You shrug. “And think of it this way, we bought that forever. We bring it back to the bunker, that’s fun.”

“Bought my ass.”Dean drawls your name, giving you a pointed look that makes you squeeze your legs together a little. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you and Sam stole this thing.”

“It was like, $40.” You mumble, staring at the floral patterns of the motel carpet. “I am not paying that much for some plastic.”

“Even for a spell to save my damned soul?” Dean’s teasing, but there’s something in his voice you hate. Something that make you look up at him with a frown, unable to hide the slight desperation in your voice.

“You’re not damned, Dean.”

He just shrugs, refusing to meet your eyes, and before you can push it Sam returns, tossing Dean the keys and announcing that it’s time to figure out what the Mark wants.

So now, in an old, dusty bar, Dean’s smiling. He hasn’t really, really smiled in a few months, and it’s incredible to see.

It aches a little that he’s smiling away from you. Across the bar with his I can show you the world, sweetheart stance and expression. The one where he’s leaning the counter with one arm, and his eyes have a promise of fun while his every word is charming and drawling and teasing. You think he learned it from movies—he’s told you he likes the charisma of old western heroes, and there is something about his whole show that says cowboy—but there’s a pretty strong chance it’s just Dean. It’s how he is. Who he is. All he does is be handsome and stupid and annoying in a way that makes you want to punch him and then immediately kiss him after.

He’s hasn’t been Dean like that in a while, though. It’s been mostly frowns that turn in on his face, and a refusal to look in the mirror that he tries to hide, but you’ve still noticed. But right now, this is your Dean. The Dean who follows you into countless dreams with his pretty lips and eyes and strong hands and body, the Dean who’s managed to haunt you while you're awake and plant an ache in your heart when he’s in pain, and the Dean who you might know a little better than you know yourself. It’s why you ordered a cheeseburger when he went to sulk at the bar, and why you’re facing the door in the booth—Dean always faces the door—and why it hurts something deep and hopeless inside you that the grace of Dean’s smile is all focused on a pretty girl that isn’t you.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Your attention turns to Sam—who’s looking at you with a sympathy that is not welcome—and you give him a flat glare. “What am I supposedto say to that.”

“Um, the truth? I think?” Sam turns in his seat to look over at Dean, and you kick him. “Hey!” He yelps your name, whipping back around with an almost pout. “That hurt-“

“Don’t look at him.” You hiss, jerking your head to Dean. “He needs this.”

“Yeah, but-“

“No but, Sam. The spell is supposed to make him crave things he likes, he likes sex, let him have sex.”

“I don’t…” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s weird. I read the spell-“

“Of course you read the spell-“

“Shut up, I always read the spells, it’s safer. And this one,” Sam looks you over with a frown and tight-lipped, grimacing expression. “This one’s odd.”

“Oh no,” your voice is sarcastic and cold, and it makes Sam flinch a little. “An odd thing. If only we knew some people who knew how to handle odd things.”

“This is why I wish you would just talk to him.” Sam mutters, giving the waitress a kind smile as she hands out the food. “You get mean when things like this happen. And I don’t think it would be as horrible as you’ve decided it would be.”

You pull the cheeseburger to your own side of the table in a blatant Dean-trap. “That is very easy for you to say, Sammy. Worst case for you, you become a child of divorce.”

He shrugs, poking at his salad with a fork. “I think that’s the worst case for Dean. You’d win custody.”

“Fair.” You look back to the cheeseburger, small smile threatening to pull at your lips. “I do have a higher rate of income.”

“No, you don’t,” Sam frowns. “You make exactly what he does. Nothing.”

“Wrong. I’m a better pool hustler than he is, so my return rate is higher.”

Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t let him hear you say that, we’ll be stuck here until he beats you in a game.” He makes a mock face of disgust. “We’ll die here.”

You let yourself fully smile, even as you mutter, “kiss ass.”

Sam just shrugs, grinning himself as he takes a long drink. You really miss smiling. You really miss easy jokes, and you really miss making fun of each other without being consumed by too much grief or pain to do so.

You really miss Dean. He’s just across the room, but you still really miss him. And you want him—your Dean, the one that’s a little ridiculous and overly charming and the strongest, best man you’ve ever known—back. Over here, smiling at you, teasing you, or saying something shockingly genuine that makes your heart his even more than it already has been.

You look back to him in the bar—you can’t really help it, you think Dean and you always start to look for him in any crowd—and for a second you could’ve sworn he was looking at you. His smile has faded a little, and there are lines on his forehead, so if he was looking at you it wasn’t because you’re something good to him. He probably just saw his food, and then saw you, and now he’s antsy. His foot is tapping on the floor, and he’s fidgeting with the cuff of his flannel, so either Rowena’s terrible at her job, or the Mark is eating at him again.

You’ll fix it. Whatever Dean needs you to do for this, for him, you’ll do it silently and without asking for anything in return. No matter how many lectures Sam gives you about being selectively observant and kind of an idiot, you’ll just help Dean, and he won’t have to think twice about it. Helping Dean is what you do, it’s what you’ve done. Your whole life, in some way, has become how can I help Dean. How can I do something for this person who does everything for everyone else, and maybe he’ll turn his attention to me, and maybe he won’t, but no matter what I’ll have helped Dean.

It’s not like he doesn’t help you. Dean opens doors and saves your life and patches your wounds, and he never asks for anything back. But that’s why you want to help.

And this is helping Dean. It might be killing you a little, but it’s helping Dean, so you’ll still fix it, and then drown your sorrows with ice cream, strong drinks, and small moments of his joy when he’s better.

——————

Dean is really, really conflicted. It’s ripping him in half, because he knows he’s supposed to be polite to chicks—like the one in front of him, with the sweet smile and sweeter words he doesn’t deserve to hear—but her voice sounds like nails on chalkboard. She doesn’t feel right, she doesn’t feel good, and the bloodlust inside him doesn’t want her.

Bloodlust is the wrong word. It was the right word, but over the past few hours it didn’t feel like it anymore. Dean’s not great with words—he’s great with guns, and cars, and sometimes drawing, but not words—and even he gets that bloodlust really isn’t the correct word for wanting something in a way that’s clean. Pure and raw, but not innocent. It’s still a craving, it’s still insatiable, but it doesn’t feel tainted. It’s driving Dean to things he couldn’t really hate being dependent on. It had started softer and abstract, right after the spell, with drinks and food, so he’d driven to a bar. Then it had asked for care and love, and Dean didn’t have either of those things readily at his disposal, so he looked where he usually found something close to it. In a pretty girl, with a big rack and unburdened smile.

Then his attention had wandered for half a second, and now it couldn’t come back. The not-bloodlust��that wasn’t a good term for it either, he’d need to come up with a better, catchier one later—had tugged his gaze over to Her and Sam, and suddenly everything had been sharper and a lot more specific. Dean should go back to the booth. The booth had beer, and a cheeseburger, and Her and Sam. Mostly Her, but Sam was cool too. Dean was allowed to love two people.

And that’s where the conflict came in. Dean needed to be over there. His stomach was turning, and his skin was growing itchy and hot the longer he wasn’t there. But if he went over there, not only would he not only be leaving this very sweet girl, who seemed fine, but he might be in real danger of telling Her things he was not supposed to tell her. Things Sam kept telling Dean to tell Her, and things Dean kept having to remind Sam weren’t any of his business. He would not lose another good thing because he couldn’t keep himself in check. He would not poison something that didn’t deserve it, no matter how much the bloodlust kept telling him to. Kept telling him that She was caring and lovely, so Dean should drag her down to his level and kiss her in the grime and guts.

The not-bloodlust wanted Her too. The not-bloodlust really liked the idea of just being closer to Her, because she usually helped things. She helped everyone—Dean wasn’t special—but the not-bloodlust seemed to think that simply breathing air that had been inside her more recently would fix a lot of things that were boiling and cracking and hissing in Dean’s body.

That’s what won the conflict. He wouldn’t have to say things for this to be better, they just would be. So Dean gave the pretty girl an apologetic goodbye—she’d be fine, there were other men who were better than Dean and weren’t overtly craving their best friends in the bar—and almost ran back to Her and Sam.

She looks up at Dean as he scoots into the booth, her brows furrowed and mouth tugging down. “You’re back.”

“Well done, sweetheart, I am back.” Dean grins at Her, and that only makes her frown more.

“Did you, um,” She looks over to Sam, who shrugs. “Did you strike out?”

“Nah, just hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. Dean had been hungry. Dean had been starving, but he felt better now. He’d still eat the cheeseburger, but the hunger had dulled from a mind-numbing desperation and withdrawal to just a growl near his throat of cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are good.

“Well, how are you feeling?” Sam’s voice is insistent, and Dean rolls his eyes, because he knows where this is going. “Do you want to kill someone? Rowena said the spell might take a few hours to work-“

“Workin’ now. I feel good.” Dean takes a large bite of his cheeseburger, and She and Sam exchange looks.

“Good?”

Dean nods, shooting Her a wink. “Real good,” he says Her name through his mouthful—crumbs falling out of his mouth—and she sighs. Her hand twitches on the table, and Dean wants to hold it. He can’t hold it. He’s not even supposed to be talking right now—that was the deal he’d made with himself—so holding hands if defiantly off the table. It would probably freak her out, too, and that’s the last thing Dean wants to do. He’s freaked Her out enough for a whole lot of lifetimes, so she should be smiling instead.

Dean’s usually really good at making Her smile. He’s proud of that, because She worries more than Sam and has more nightmares than Dean, but he can always make her smile.

She’s not smiling now. She’s tense, and she keeps looking between Dean and the girl at the bar.

“You’re good.” She repeats his words slowly, but it doesn’t sound like she believes them. “And you think the spell worked.”

“Did work.” Dean swallows, and immediately takes another bite. Cheeseburgers are good, the not-bloodlust had decided, so Dean should eat more cheeseburgers. “Don’t think it did, I know it did.”

“How do you know?” Sam asks, pulling the cheeseburger across the table, away from Dean.

“Hey!” Dean reaches for his plate, and Sam moves it away faster. “What the fuck, Sammy, do not touch my burger-”

“It’s distracting you, Dean, and this is serious. We really need to know if the spell worked-“

“It did work. I don’t want to gank anything, I just want my cheeseburger and-“ He has to cut himself off, because that is exactly why he wasn’t supposed to talk. “Look, man, it worked. Trust me, I feel good. No bloodlust, just, uh, not-bloodlust.”

Sam glances at the cheeseburger, then at Her, then at Dean. Dean gives him a very winning grin—all teeth and bright eyes, and give me back my burger, I’m not going to kill anyone—but Sam’s attention just moves back to Her. She mostly looks confused and tired—Dean still needs to make her smile—but she nods, making a loose gesture of surrender, and Sam, finally, slides the food back to Dean.

“If he’s really good,” Sam’s pretty clearly talking to Her, but Dean listens anyways. They’re a team, he’s allowed to hear this stuff. “We should get back to Kansas tonight. It’s not smart to linger in a town after a hunt finishes-“

“I know,” She glances back to Dean, and he offers her his widest, most reassuring smile. She doesn’t smile back, but her face relaxes a little, so Dean counts it as a victory. “Do you want to finish that, or-“

“Gimme three-“

“Chew, Dean.”

He does, holding up three fingers in a silent signal, and inhales the rest of his cheeseburger.

“Holy crap, dude.“ Sam blinks between Dean and the empty plate. “That was really fast, even for you.”

Dean shrugs, standing out of the booth. “Don’t blame me, blame the not-bloodlust. Cheeseburgers or murder, Sammy, gotta be one.”

Sam rolls his eyes, starting to the door, and Dean lingers until She’s on her feet and they can follow Sam together.

“Not-bloodlust is a bad name,” She mutters, staring at the floor as she walks. “What about, uh, what’s the opposite of blood?”

“Dunno.” Dean watches Her carefully, raking his brain for a good answer. “Water? Waterlust?”

That gets him a small, huffed laugh. “That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”

“Doesn’t have to. It’s my lust.”

“It is.” She meets Dean’s eyes, and her attention is soft, but it feels strange. Like she’s trying to find something on Dean’s face he doesn’t know how to get for her. “And if you really want, we can call it waterlust, but I like betterlust.”

“Betterlust?“

“Starts with B,” Her attention turns back to the floor, and Dean feels something sour twist around his heart and forearm. “Fun to say. Makes sense, too, you’re lusting after better stuff.”

Dean was lusting after better stuff. It was a good name—better than not-bloodlust—and he was willing to concede waterlust to Her. It was, overwhelmingly so, the least he could do.

“Betterlust it is, Sweetheart.” He tried his most charming, cocky, look at me, I’m a cowboy and I can be yours if you offer me just a few kind words because I’m a pathetic, worthless wet dog that barks and bites, but man am I good at sex, smile on Her, and this time, he got a real smile back.

End Note: Wow what's this something I write that's actually going to be short? We'll see!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224

[parkersbliss]

if you and the COD men had Instagram

pairing: task force 141 x gender neutral reader (platonic), ft. keegan, alex, konig and alejandro

warnings: totally inaccurate brain rot, some of these people would not have instagram or post them like this LOL, like def OOC but it was funny to me? obvi they don't actually know each other canonically

a/n: I canon ghost would actually vaguely appear in the back of their insta posts with no tag and people just think the grim reaper is coming after them :)

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

Liked by valval, kganrusset, and 226 others

soapify gang and @/lasvargas !!! view all 33 comments

(Y/U/N) ZOO WEE MAMA SOAP UR BICEPSSS 🤤 → soapify glad someone noticed → gatzby one bite? 🥺 → soapify boy.

j.price my men → (Y/U/N) no, MY men :)

gatzby ghost in jeans really completes the vibes → (Y/U/N) imagine ghost is actually smiling behind the mask → user141 I'm not.

lasvargas this is too cold, showing the opps fr → (Y/U/N) @/iphilgraves 😘 → gatzby BITCH U HAVE HIS INSTA?? → soapify do NOT bring his energy on my page. → j.price (Y/N). office. now. → (Y/U/N) awww 🙁 → user141 this doesn't surprise me

Liked by iphilgraves, sandroach and 463 others

gatzby FOAP!! view all 122 comments

user141 Calling an airstrike on you right now. → gatzby NO PLEASE

soapify GHOAP → user141 Die.

(Y/U/N) bros got an overbite fr → user141 I will literally knock out your teeth.

katelasss Never seen this angle of him → user141 And you never will again.

iphilgraves Not so tough with the jaw hanging out, now? → lasvargas gtfo before I bomb you → iphilgraves Thought we were teaming up to mutually bully him → gatzby I BLOCKED U??? → iphilgraves Whoops

j.price Did you take this before we got ambushed? → (Y/U/N) it was funny → j.price Kids 🤦‍♂️

Liked by walkingL, imrudyyyy and 658 others

(Y/U/N) did somebody say serve? view all 99 comments

user141 Serve your country. → (Y/U/N) I am????

soapify serve me a sandwich → (Y/U/N) bitch.

gatzby serve me that ASS → (Y/U/N) say less king

j.price Serve some revenge. → (Y/U/N) sir yes sir

lasvargas we all know this diva

katelasss Can you serve a response to your emails? → (Y/U/N) oops, yes ma'am

alexkellar scrolling feels like a divorce → (Y/U/N) it is

vladmak What core is this? → (Y/U/N) beat ur ass core.

Liked by konig, alexkellar and 833 others

(Y/U/N) he wanted to say hi (we’re stranded at sea) @/kganrusset view all 129 comments

kganrusset YOU wanted to take the photo 🫵 → (Y/U/N) details, details → kganrusset whatever 😒 lmk when you get tired of handing out my number to other bitches → soapify am I included in bitches? → (Y/U/N) are u fucking serious. → gatzby yeah. → kganrusset you can reach me at 348-

j.price How did you end up with Keegan out there? → (Y/U/N) girls trip! → kganrusset Please take them back.

user141 Ghosts crossover before gta6? → (Y/U/N) ghost joining the ghosts when?

soapify the mcu (military commander universe) is expanding → kilokarim ULF crossover again? → iphilgraves shadow company crossover? → (Y/U/N) when? → gatzby (Y/N) STOP. → lasvargas mexican special forces crossover? → konig KorTac crossover? → vladmak Konni crossover? → katelasss No.

j.price Why don't you have half of those people blocked? → (Y/U/N) my bad, cap → user141 They're not blocking them. → (Y/U/N) I like the drama 🤷‍♀️

—

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taglist: @trxpslxt @looking1016 @the-kakawshi-bird @Bitchyzombietaco @lilwinchester67

[firenati0n]

2024 writing round up!

thank you for the tags @kiwiana-writes @cha-melodius @alasse9 :) <3

i posted 19 fics this year (whoa) ranging from 932 words to 54,284 words. wild! all were for RWRB! yay firstprince! :)

JANUARY

too scared to post shit after writing worm fic in december

FEBRUARY

An Amateur's Guide to Piping That Cream and Beating That Meat (T, 5k) henry needs to make something for alex's friendsgiving and comes across a thirst trapping headless food tiktoker. i wonder who it could be. deranged tiktok comments, friends to lovers

people ruin people, i don't wanna ruin you (M, WIP, 6.8k, 4/9 chapters) - this was posted anonymously until august) alex is a washed up singer, henry is his new pet project. and maybe something more. musician firstprince, v loose a star is born x greek mythology au, icarus!alex, collaborators to lovers

MARCH

each time we touch / i wanna take too much (M, 1.3k) alex puts his fingers in henry's mouth. mhm yep that's it.

keep me up all night / i wanna scratch your surface  (M, 1.4k) alex is so in love he could die. puts his mouth on other places. prose-y loverboy alex.

cause you're classic, and i'm reckless (T, 5.4k) alex and henry are costars, henry offers to help alex with intimacy research. actor au, kissing for practice leads to kissing for real, inspired by ryan gosling and rachel mcadams at the 2005 mtv movie awards, costars to lovers

who truly stuck the knife in first (M, 3.7k) alex and henry are spy partners. a mission goes sideways and they fight and fuck about it. sexually charged wrestling, partners to lovers

APRIL

and all i can taste is this moment, and all i can breathe is your life (T, 9999 words) angel!henry watches over lawyer!alex invisibly until one day alex sees him. now what? loose city of angels au, pining yearning longing galore, wee bit of angst with a happy ending, introspection

MAY

who would've thought that a guy like henry would double as a superstar?  (T, 6.4k) hannah montana au, crack treated seriously, henry is hannah montana and alex works at a ranch. a hot damn mess.

JUNE

busy writing and posting proposal au! :)

JULY

the full spectrum of human emotion (M, 54k) editor!henry gets assistant!alex to marry him to avoid deportation. but wait! alex hates henry! oops. the proposal (2009) au, marriage of convenience, fake dating, romantic comedy, banter and big feelings

AUGUST

you're the closest to heaven that i'll ever be (T, 7.7k) angel!henry sequel, henry learning what it means to be human, very tender and full of musings on humanity and love and the little things in life

the leaves of a silver maple (assorted, 13k) collection of short standalone prompt fics for my fic fest (some of my favorite fics ever exist in this collection and they're so buried jfalksjlf)

prompt one - wicked E | 2.6k | au, sims family, fluff laced with a little crack. as a treat. henry finds something rather...wicked on alex's laptop. prompt two - sweaters T | 1k | canon-verse, fluffy, sweet, sharing clothes alex steals henry's sweater, and henry gets back at him. prompt three -  magic T | 5.2k | kiki's delivery service (studio ghibli, 1989) au, magic au, high school au, warlock!henry, baker!alex, sweet, tender, emotional, found family a tender little exploration of love, purpose, healing, and a warlock!henry finding baker!alex.  prompt four -  comfort T | 2.6k | roommate au, sickfic, hurt/comfort, taking care of each other, mutual pining, fluff, domesticity, pride & prejudice (2005) refs, first kiss, getting together three times henry took care of alex and one time alex took care of henry. prompt five - wicked once more M | 500 words | au, sims family, cracky fluff, accidental sims mpreg alex is being a menace once again in The Sims. prompt six - apron M | 200 words | au, silly, apron shenanigans henry is wearing an apron. and nothing else.  prompt seven - goodbye T | 200 words | the good place au, bittersweet alex and henry say goodbye. prompt eight - father T | 300 words | post-canon, a tinge of grief, hope henry reflects on grief.

SEPTEMBER

i like the way you blush / i like the way you bite (M, 932) henry puts his fingers in alex's mouth

OCTOBER

flip the switch and let the cauldron bubble (T, 2.7k) kiki's delivery service au sequel, warlock!henry and baker!alex and the many potions that heal them

about to bust-elo (M, 2k) alex tries Café Bustelo Instant Espresso and has a hell of a day. inspired by my fuckass coffee habits.

feeling your heart beating, wondering what you're dreaming (M, 5.7k) five times childhood best friends alex and henry share a bed platonically, and the one time (of many) they do as something more, childhood friends to lovers, one bed, pining, fluffy and tender

from all the pain our brain has made, the game is not played alone (G, 1.4k) alex has a long day and a terrible headache, and henry comforts him

NOVEMBER

brain break

DECEMBER

london's so nice, back in your seamless rhymes (T, 7.4k) alex and henry fall in love—five days a week, four bus routes, three pseudo-dates, two holiday markets, and one red scarf of fate later. strangers to friends to lovers, meet-cute, london buses, fluffy and fun

if the city never sleeps, then that makes three (T, 1.4k) london bus meet-cute universe part 2. alex and henry have a movie night and learn some things about each other and the people they thirst over

i looked into your eyes, got such a great surprise (M, 1.6k) london bus meet-cute universe part 3. alex and henry go on a walk and do some reflecting on love and happiness. fluffy and funny and sweet.

-

and that's a wrap! what a year! so grateful for everyone who read and commented and subscribed and engaged...it means so much to me. i have really leaned on this community while navigating rough waters, and deeply love all the friends and connections i have made. sending everyone a lot of love!

xoxo roop

open tag and a few under the cut :)

@ninzied @myheartalivewrites @rmd-writes @tintagel-or-cockleshells @clottedcreamfudge

@anchoredarchangel @dumbpeachjuice @smc-27 @cricketnationrise @everwitch-magiks

@orchidscript @cheesecurdsgravyandfries @run-for-chamo-miles @onward--upward @eusuntgratie

@bigassbowlingballhead @leaves-of-laurelin @porcelainmortal @getmehighonmagic @blueeyedgrlwrites

@suseagull5914 @judasofsuburbia @seths-rogens @caterpills @violetbaudelaire-quagmire

@onthewaytosomewhere @indestructibleheart @sophie1973 @fairflowered @incalamity

@smugvillanelle @anincompletelist @wordsofhoneydew @itsmaybitheway @whimsymanaged

@miss-minnelli @zwiazdziarka @sherryvalli @msmarvelouswinchester @thesleepyskipper

@thedramasummer @priincebutt @14carrotghoul @kj-bee @welcometololaland

@miharaikko @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 6

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Chapter 6 - Restart

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Drinking. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3.9k

AO3

Chapter 5

You walk into Quantico with a new sense of purpose after having drinks with Prentiss last night. The barrier that the section chief had built up with assumptions and unknowns had been removed and replaced with cautious optimism. That you can work with – a mutual understanding that you’re both on the same side, you meant no harm and were not a threat to the BAU. As it was a workday, you only shared another drink together but the two of you nursed them slowly.

As you still couldn’t say much about your past, you did elaborate on the high-speed pursuit that Tara hinted at.

“Yeah, so it all worked out. Dumb ass fell right into the spike strips. Took care of that quick once I got ‘em there,” you explain before taking another swallow of beer.

“They never learn.” Prentiss smiles and takes a sip as well. “But keeping pace with them was something else. No wonder they panicked.”

You smile. “Yep! Intel was good that they weren’t carrying much. They fired off a few rounds here and there to scare us off. Try and get me to fall back. They just never got the memo that the CIA Surveillance and Pursuit class was renamed cuz of me.” You raise your beer and wink at Prentiss. “Now affectionately known as the Maniac Chase Class.”

“Oh my god! That was you?” She laughs, shaking her head in amazement.

“Yeah. I gotta wee bit carried away on my third try.” You shrug coyly. “Really wanted to beat that record.”

“You demolished it.” She smirks. “And the car.”

“Which slid across the line for a new record,” you explain with pride and then pause for dramatic effect, holding your arms out, beer still in hand, “And … I walked away without a single injury.”

“See, that part I thought was all hype,” Emily admits and looks inquisitive.

“No, sadly. It helped I was young and dumb when I did it.” You say with introspective embarrassment. “I was so fucking stupid.”

She snorts with agreement while doing mental math. “Wait, how old were you when he recruited you?”

“Young,” you vaguely admit.

“But you joined before me,” she says, knowing you were aware of her records and nod that she was correct. “I joined late ’97 and everyone just naturally talked about the course like that.” You heard the implication. She meant that the nickname wasn’t a new idea and was trying to figure out how much longer you have been in the CIA before she joined.

You clear your throat in caution. “Leave it alone, Prentiss. I … I honestly can’t say anything more.” You grimace, knowing you already said too much.

Emily didn’t press for further information, but you knew she gleaned enough to make educated assumptions. You felt like a fool, letting your guard down like that, but the conversation flowed easily between the two of you. It felt … nice, being able to connect with someone new. That hadn’t happened since Rebecca.

You’ll need to keep your guard up since Prentiss reaffirmed that you would be a proper member of the BAU starting today. They would want to get to know you, and you them. You just have to remember to tone it down and not get carried away with enthusiasm. Keep Brian’s wisdom close to your heart that this is new to you and ground yourself. Don’t get swept away with emotions, like last night.

It was a late start at Quantico for you since you had to start at Langley. The stipend funds had been approved and your signature was needed on a lot of paperwork. Finance assured you that the money would be deposited into the BAU budget by the end of day. Prentiss would be able give Bailey the proverbial finger on Monday when she distributed the funds, pushing the unit into the green, leaving the penny pincher helpless with his mission to disband the BAU that way.

Prentiss had texted you that the team would be ready for you in the conference room discussing their current caseloads and leads and would wait for you, providing you that proper do over with them. You appreciated that and said as such in reply.

As you head off the elevator to the sixth floor, you felt a renewed sense of purpose and belonging. You even put a little more effort into your outfit, choosing a charcoal grey pants suit with a black sleeveless semi-spread polo collar, and comfy black work shoes with decent tread. You had your backpack on, holding the straps over your chest as you survey the area.

True to her word, the team was already in the conference room. Garcia happens to see you first and smiles big, giving you a quick, animated wave that caught Prentiss’ attention. She was standing and angles her body to the left to see who was there and visibly relaxes noticing it was you. The team follows her gaze as Prentiss gestures for you to join them.

JJ looks from Prentiss to Rossi, who was suspiciously smirking up at Emily. “And why are you smiley this morning?”

“Hm?” he looks over at her as Prentiss’ attention turns towards the exchange. “Oh, just delighted Whitlock can join us. Orientation’s a pain in the ass.”

He was equally relieved and surprised that Emily spoke to you as quickly as she did. Because of that, he wouldn’t press the orientation fib being told to the team.

“Man, I wish I had the short version like she did when I joined,” Luke grumbles playfully.

“Yeah, but you needed a lot of work honey, and honestly … still do, unlike our CIA cutie,” Garcia chides as you walk in.

“That my new rank?” you say with twinkling eyes and a brow raising to the group. “CIA cutie?”

The members collectively chuckle and laugh at the joke and as you look at Prentiss, she was fighting to keep her lips from curling upwards.

“No. Still a consultant.” Prentiss admits. She gestures to an empty seat between Tara and Garcia. “Please have a seat and we’ll get started.”

You nod and slip past Prentiss, sliding the backpack off your shoulders. You place it on the ground behind your chair and sit down. As you look at the BAU members starting back at you, you feel daunted. But you got this and look eagerly at Prentiss to kick this off.

“I know things have been hectic this week with all the changes and assignments and getting Whitlock up to speed on FBI protocols. She still has a few more items to go over, but I’m pulling her in since we can use all the help we can get,” Prentiss explains. “Garcia, mind getting Whitlock up to speed where we’re at?

Garcia immediately speaks up, almost bouncing on the seat at the chance. “You got it, Ma’am.”

Emily winces and presses her hand down towards Garcia. “What have I said about that?”

She smiles. “Not to call you Ma’am.”

“Please remember that.”

“You got it, Boss Ma’am.” Garcia says cheekily.

Emily sits down in a huff, and you have to cover your mouth to hide the smile on your face. The team did not hide their amusement at the banter.

“Anyway,” Garcia says and laces her fingers together before turning her hands inside out to crack them, “time for catch up!”

Her fingers dance across the keyboard and immediately your eyes go to screen depicting a U.S. map with sixteen dots. Each dot had a line that led to a description of the kill kit number, contents and the city and state of its location. Two of the dots are red, the others blue.

“We have recovered fourteen of the sixteen kill kits, no thanks to our firebug in holding right now. The two missing are from Indio, CA and Rockville, MD and your technological goddess is monitoring anything in the surrounding areas that sounds Sicariusy like.”

“How wide’s the radius?” you ask.

“Fifty,” she answers while you nod. “So far nothing’s pinged that shouts out, ‘I’m a Sicarius henchmen’. However, Mr. Dishonorably Discharged had a test kit that was really oooooold based on soil samples.”

“Five years isn’t that old,” JJ says.

“But the kits being activated by Sicarius, it is,” explains Rossi. “All the lockers we’ve found have new tech, supplies, chemicals …”

“Lab did confirm the soil samples from our kits are newer. So why give Green something older?” Prentiss asks the team.

“Maybe this one fit Green’s M.O. better?” Luke offers.

“Maybe, but I don’t think so,” says Rossi.

“What are you thinking, Dave?” urges Prentiss.

“That Green was set up?” you offer, looking between Prentiss and Rossi.

He half smiles, impressed, and points to you casually. “Kid’s good. That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Maybe he was testing Green to see what he’d do. Confirm if he was truly loyal or not.”

“And either way, Sicarius would get what he wanted. A big explosion or expose Green for who he really is,” JJ says emphatically. “

“All right.” Prentiss takes a moment to digest this and addresses everyone. “Give me some options.”

Luke leans back and gestures to Garcia. “Green was the last to see his sister. So, we’re thinking a cognitive interview might help him remember any details of that night. Anything that could help him ID the guy that took her.”

“Good luck trying to get him to agree to it,” states Tara. “He has big problems with authority figures. He won’t cooperate unless he has good reason.”

“How’s not finding his sister’s killer a good reason?” you ask.

“Oh, he’s really pissed off.” Prentiss says as you raise a brow. “We took away his chance at catching Sicarius and enacting his revenge.”

“And he really doesn’t like that I’m a Fed again.” Garcia pouts with that admission. “He sent me all that info thinking I was still distanced from all of this.” She gestures wildly at the room.

Prentiss looks sympathetic. “But we have to try. Luke, I need you to talk to Green and get him to agree to the cognitive interview. JJ, keep watch on the exchange.” They both nod and she addresses Garcia. “Keep working on any leads that might help us find those missing kill kits. Whitlock, you’ll assist.”

You visibly perk up at the sound of your name and look thankful for a hands-on opportunity. Inwardly, you were doing backflips. Prentiss could feel you buzzing with internal excitement and chuckles. “Not like you can catch up on any paperwork you don’t have yet.”

Rossi and Tara groan while Luke and JJ share a smirk.

“Oh, don’t even,” admonishes Prentiss. “You both get to play catch up in between interviewing Green until a case comes in.”

Luke is silent, lowering his head in defeat as JJ frowns while pouting. “Aww.”

Now that the team had their assignments, Garcia was utterly giddy and squeals towards you. “Come Robin! To the Batcave!”

Garcia catches you up on everything over the next few hours. From the hidden message apps on the unsubs phones, to the discussion forums, and how Sicarius used this to gain followers so he could teach them the ways of being sadistic killers. She had identified the usernames of the unsubs and was able to find that they all chatted with Sicarius - User45125. They also learned about the different murder methods that matched up with the bodies found in the shipping container. Out of the lockers that are missing, the BAU believes that kits would contain methods to kill by acid and strangulation to match the last of the victims.

“I can’t trace any direct messaging, so that’s why all of this is based on the forum info me and JJ combed through,” Garcia says, ending her lengthy summation.

“What a sick fuck.” You shake your head in disgust. “Play with the first round of victims and pass all that fun on to his new friends who do it all over again.”

You were sitting to the left of Garcia, lightly turning the chair back and forth with a foot on the floor. To your delight, it didn’t bother her. It was a habit you developed over time to help you think. You look over the conversations that Sicarius had with the unsubs and Green. He definitely narrowed down the chosen ones based on their psychopathic thrills.

“How many are on this message board again?” you ask, gesturing at the screens.

“Over half a million. Which just…bleh!” Garcia pauses, shivering for dramatic effect, “Makes me feel all squicky that there are that many of them chatting in one spot. But I narrowed down the really, really, bad naughties to seventeen k.”

“Damn. Fucker’s been busy.” You go silent as you calculate options with the information the BAU had.

Garcia glances at you, seeing your eyes darting back and forth in concentration. “What’cha thinking there?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just … “ you pause, words softening, “a half formed thought. A possibility.” You turn towards Garcia. “Can you narrow the users further by who hasn’t been active in a few months? At least since Green last contacted Sicarius? Bonus if longer.”

She blinks rapidly at you and looks put out. “Can I?!” She then closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Since you’re new, I will let that slight pass, but there is nothing I can’t do, missy.”

Except get your file, but you don’t need to know that!

“Apologies, M’Lady!” You smile, making sure to file that away to not offend the bubbly woman in the future. “If you would be so kind and continue working your magic?”

“And the lady shall be kind!” Garcia says with vigor and starts narrowing down the possibilities further.

The two of you work diligently over the next few hours. You guide Garcia with different traits to knock down the users into something manageable with the information that can be extracted from text. Emoji use, shorten expressions, length of posts, seeking knowledge and showboating instead of trying to engage in an emotional connection, aggressive language use, and interests.

“Here you go.” Garcia calls up a list of usernames that fit your specifications. “One-hundred and thirty-four.”

“Have any of those spoke to our guy at length? Something substantial?”

“Hm, yes!” She pulls those up.

That got you down to thirty-eight. “And how many of those appear to have contacted him through direct messaging?” You couldn’t know for sure but based on the flow of conversation and quality, there were hints.

She types quickly. “Ah, fourteen.” She shows you the names.

“List them by last known contact with him – earliest to latest.”

“Done.”

“Now pull up last few messages from each.”

“Also done.”

You read through them, ignoring the majority as you skim but there were a few that stood out.

Dark_Muse: Fucking cunt is finally gonna pay!!! Girls night is gonna end on a high!!!

_piouspisces: Woke up from a dream today. Hope it comes true. Just have to set up the right ingredients. Need advice on lacing paper. I have some ideas but need confirmation.

FlamePit23: The world only makes sense at sunrise and sunset. It’s when it looks like the world is set on fire. Beautiful.

You point to that last username. “Show me this one’s profile.”

Garcia clicks on it and reads. “’Nothing burns as bright as the rage inside you. Cultivate and embrace it. Keep it under your control’. Oh, they go on to say to never make any friends. That’s cheerful and lonely.”

“But they admitted to ‘nurturing others so I can take them off guard. Like my mother did to me when I was younger’ makes me think this one’s female,” you say while tapping the screen. “What’s the date and timestamp on the last message?”

“That would be … August 12, 2022 0550.”

You would bet that it was close to sunrise on that day when the user posted.

You pull your hand back to cup your chin in thought as Garcia looks oddly at you. “You know, I’ve been doing this a really, really long time, and I can usually predict where people are going with their data mining. But you? I have zilch of an idea because this makes no sense to me.”

You heard she was talking, but you weren’t listening. You were too focused on formulating a plan.

She puckers her lips in annoyance at being ignored and snaps her fingers twice in front of your face. “Hello?”

“Oh!” you say, jerking back into awareness. “I’m trying to come up with a crazy plan.”

“Please tell me this won’t result in you going AWOL again …” Prentiss had entered and neither of them had heard the door open.

You and Garcia share a look wondering if she even knocked as Prentiss walks in further expectantly. “Well?”

You sit back and reassure her. “Ah, no. Course not.”

“Wait. So, you really went AWOL?” Garcia asks curiously. “Did you serve before the CIA?”

“I didn’t serve.” You bit your lower lip and nod, coming to terms with what you can say. “I did some training with military personnel. All informal.”

You and the other four recruits had gone through training with the Green Berets, Navy Seals, and Delta Force. Something you couldn’t disclose as it technically never happened, hence, the informal part of your cover. You also are glad Garcia was distracted by that and didn’t ask you to elaborate on the AWOL matter.

Garcia whistles. “Wowzer.”

That made you smile. “A very simple, yet precise, way to put it.”

“A talent of hers for sure. But let’s get back to this crazy plan of yours,” insists Prentiss as she leans against the desk on the other side of Garcia.

“Again, it’s just the start of one but it could be a way to infiltrate Sicarius’ chosen ones without the need for vengeance to fuck things up.”

“You really say that word a lot,” notices Garcia.

“What?”

Garcia struggles by opening and closing her mouth like a fish to try and get the word out, but Prentiss beats her to it. “Fuck.”

“Huh?” You look at the section chief with confusion. “No thank you?”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant!” She answers, speaking quickly as you fluster her with the insinuation, and you couldn’t hold in your laughter any longer.

“What’s so funny?” she snaps.

“You!” you answer between cackles. “I knew what you meant.”

Garcia at least has the decency to look away while trying to fight off her own snickers as Prentiss takes a hand to her head to rub at her temples. “I swear to god, Whitlock …”

“Anyway …” you grin. “The idea is to chat him up with a username that is not entirely inactive but hasn’t been used in a bit. Think we found a prospect.”

Prentiss’ irritation with you changes to interest. “That so?”

Garcia nods. “Now that I know what the plan is, yes. I can do a deeper dive into this user and see what I can dig up.”

“Less is more, in this case,” you explain thoughtfully. “If we infiltrate this way, we gotta have enough info to be this user without him really knowing who this is. So, if you can find who they are, then we’re back to finding another. Because that means he would know their identity, too.”

Prentiss nods. “Do it. Green isn’t cooperating at all like Tara figured. He wouldn’t agree to the cognitive interview. Might as well see how this pans out while JJ tries to change Green’s mind.”

“On it, Boss Ma’am!” Garcia jests as she gets to work.

Prentiss looks up at the ceiling as if searching for patience, but as brown eyes come down, they focus on you. “Come with me and bring your stuff.”

“Sure thing.” You rise, grabbing your backpack but before you follow Prentiss, you squeeze Garcia’s shoulder. “This was nice. Working with you, that is.”

She tears her eyes away from the screen to look up at your soulful eyes. You really appreciated how Garcia jumped into working with you with fervor and not giving you the cold shoulder from earlier this week. “Aww, sweetie! Yes, we’ll keep working at it to make this idea blossom into a full blown plan!”

You smile so hard your cheeks hurt and stay that way until Garcia gets back to work. You then meet up with Prentiss to walk out together.

“Good first day.” It was an observation by the section chief.

“Yeah, it really was.” You were smiling again. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Her tone carries a mystique to it, and you become captivated while walking to the bullpen together. “But I owe you a proper thank you. Langley sent me the confirmation of funds.”

“I’ll behave.” Prentiss’ eyes widen when you say that. “I won’t start making it rain money at you in celebration.”

She chuckles. “So, you can control it?”

“Occasionally.”

“Good. Then I’ve no regrets in getting you something.”

That made you perk up. “You got me something?”

“Bit overdue, but …” Prentiss stops without warning at the first desk to the right when you enter the bullpen. “… it’s yours.”

You are befuddled as you shift your gaze from Prentiss to the desk and audibly gasp. Resting on top of it was your name on display as a consultant. “Wow.”

Pleased with your reaction, she nudges you with her elbow. “This is when you’re supposed to thank me.”

“Ah, right!” you laugh, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck before looking to her with a radiant smile. “Thank you, Prentiss.”

Your response without jest disarms her like it did last night over drinks. Your gazes lock for several beats and you just stand there with sincere gratitude that she welcomed you as a member of the team.

She recovers quickly with a stiff nod and motions to your desk. “You’re welcome. When you’re done getting settled, get back to working on that angle with Garcia.”

“You got it.” You immediately round the desk, already slipping off your backpack to place on top of it as Prentiss heads to her office.

That felt really nice to say in your head. Your desk. When was the last time you had a desk with a name plate? Everything you did was covert up until now so flashing your name and credentials was the equivalent to placing a target on your back with a bright flashing sign that says, ‘Shoot me!’. The right people knew your name when on mission, but most of your identity was done under aliases and callsigns.

You take a quick inventory of what’s on the desk – laptop connected to dual monitors, keyboard and mouse, stacked plastic organizers, phone, stapler, black plastic pen holder that was empty.

Guess I’ll have to find supplies…

You pick up the stapler and click it, watching a used staple hit the desk. At least that was ready to go for all the paperwork you’ll be doing now. The team will be excited to hear that! You then pull out the chair to get acquainted with the drawers only to be shocked for the second time today.

Waiting for you on the chair was a six pack of Diet Coke bottles with a blue sticky note attached. You peel it off to read and immediately smile.

Welcome to the BAU, Whitlock.

EP

Chapter 7

@unkonw00 @ara-a-bird @rayisaknight @sevyscoven

[simpalert]

a fact

and its true

tag list: @sunandmoonshow-unofficial @hyperfixatedartt @jazzywazzy070 @inks-ns @tenaciouslittlething @artoutoftheblue @churchydragon @zelda-10l @marmartian11 @uselessalexis165

[finniestoncrane]

2.5k Event Request - General!Penguin x GN!Reader word count: 750 a/n: oswald cobblepot is 100% the kind of freaky wee guy who would make you bite him so he could show off his wounds as proof that he has a partner u-u cw: biting, marking, begging, lil bit of an ownership theme 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2.5k (to follow or to block)

Oswald's grip around our arm was firm, but not controlling. If you'd struggled, if you'd really wanted to break loose, you could have, and he would have let you. But this was just a playful display of affection, a little glimpse at the truth, of his desperate need to be close to you always.

"No, come on, don't go. Stay here with me, I'll order food to the warehouse. We'll make a date of it."

As you broke free from his grasp, you laughed.

"Not very covert to have some poor delivery driver show up to your hideout, Ozzie."

You offered him a smile, the good-natured teasing having the opposite effect you wanted it to as his own smile faded. Some might have found his desire to be with you all of the time quite needy, perhaps clingy, or irritating. You, however, found it flattering. It felt nice to be wanted, to be desired on such an intense level. And you'd be lying if the feeling wasn't mutual.

But where Oswald ran his own empire and commanded others, you were still one of the many people in Gotham still at the beck and call of someone else. Despite Oswald offering to rid you of that problem, you'd been determined to make your own way, and not let him spend any more of his time or money making you comfortable.

"I can't believe you're still going to leave me."

His exaggerated petted lip and sniffling warmed your heart, making you giggle as you rushed back over to him to give him yet another goodbye kiss.

Catching you in a romantic embrace, he held you close until you were out of breath, letting you go as you panted, cheeks flushed, heart pounding.

"Well, if you're going to leave... could you do me one favour before you go?"

"Anything for you, Oz."

He smiled, a grin that widened the more the sentiment of your words settled in his chest.

"Could you... It sounds very juvenile, the kind of thing that loved up teenagers might do... but would you maybe... bite me?"

The request surprised you. It wasn't too shocking for Oswald to suggest something a little kinky, but the way he asked made it seem less about the sexual merit and more emotional.

"Like... a love bite?"

"Yes! Exactly. Right here on my neck. Something that will leave a mark."

You raised an eyebrow, still wondering what the meaning behind his wish was. It did mean you'd have to stay a little while longer, but only seconds, maybe minutes. There had to be something else to it.

"Don't you have an important meeting this afternoon? Shouldn't I do it somewhere a little less visible?"

He blushed, looking away from you as he answered your question.

"Ah, well, you see, that's exactly the point. I'd like you to mark me. Make it known that I belong to someone. That I'm theirs. Yours. And having that on display is sort of... exciting."

In fairness, he was completely correct. The idea of having Oswald marred by your teeth marks, his flesh bruised and reddened by your mouth in a way he couldn't deny if someone were to ask him was definitely a turn on. And the accompanying sentiment that he belonged to you was the cherry on top.

So you moved back to him, kicking your leg over his and settling yourself in his lap. With your palms against his cheeks, you held his rough, round face tight and leaned your forehead to his. Your kisses peppered his skin, moving from his lips to his chin to his neck as you found the perfect place to sink your teeth into him. All while he gratefully moaned, delighting in being lavished with affection.

Once you had it, you closed your teeth around the spot, visible to anyone above where his shirt collar lay, and began to suck the flesh into your mouth. Your tongue swirled over him, the scent of his cologne filling your nose as you leaned closer, hands on his chest as you balanced yourself, his own hands curving around your waist and to your rear.

When you broke away, you took a moment to wipe your face free of saliva, easing yourself off his lap and admiring the bright red patch on his skin, attention drawn to the tent forming at the front of his pants.

"Ok, now I really have to go, Ozzie. But at least you have something to remember me by."

His eyes were still glazed over, his fingers touching at the warm mark as he smiled and waved goodbye.

[soap-ify]

cw — angst, hurt / no comfort, major character death. italic paragraphs are flashbacks!

moon, tell me if i could / send up my heart to you ?

It wasn’t that the love between Johnny and you ever died.

It was still there. Pure, unadulterated, always burning just like a fire. And Johnny, too, was like a fire — boisterous and powerful, smart and fiery.

He kept you warm, but he stung too.

Marrying him was the best decision of your life. But everyone gets selfish sometimes, and the selfish part of you started craving his presence more in your home, rightfully so. You knew that there would be instances like this, where he’d be gone for too long and with no contact, sometimes making it feel as if he was just a hallucination you had fallen in love with all along. Given the radio silence, of course.

Him coming back had started becoming less joyful. You no longer ran up to hug him, and he no longer smothered you up with kisses. You were exhausted, and he was too. A brief eye contact and a soft smile was enough to show that you were grateful he came back alive. A mutual understanding between you two.

You knew he never stopped loving you, and it somehow hurt you even more. Love wasn’t always going to fix a marriage, it seemed. No matter how much you cry and swatted at his chest, distressed whenever he’d come back with a new injury.

You were the one who watched him change after all. More distant, more tired, too focused and tense. He was scared just like you. Yet never short in giving you his love.

“M’gonna get us a wee kitty.” He said one random morning, hair all messy after just having woken up, a sleepy grin adorning his lips, arms lazily wrapped around your waist. “We’ll raise it together.”

You sometimes wished you had his optimism.

“I love ye, I do!” He raised his voice in agitation, blue eyes wide in desperation while you were on the verge of tears, anger simmering beneath you. “But I can’t just quit my work like tha’...”

“I miss you, Johnny… I-I am tired of being scared all the time when you’re gone!” You choked back on a sob, shifting on your feet, careful to not step on the shattered pieces of the vase you had bumped against earlier.

“I know…” His voice cracked too, and something in your heart broke, knowing that he wasn’t going to back down from this mission. “I’ll come back, I promise. I promise m’never gonna leave ye alone like this.” He tentatively stepped forward before wrapping his arms around you, letting you cry on his chest.

Johnny never stopped loving you, and sometimes a weird part of you wished he did, because it wouldn’t hurt this much when he’d break his promises.

It wouldn’t hurt this much when the knock on your door turned out to be Johnny’s Captain and not him. It probably would have stung less if you both had stopped loving each other.

“John was the best of us. He’d’ve fought the world bare handed.”

Price’s words were forever ingrained into your brain, bitterly so, and it made you want to jump on that Captain and wrap your hands around his neck tight. You couldn’t even protect my Johnny.

You didn’t touch Johnny’s dog tags for a good two weeks, not even looking at it, simply pretending that he was still on his mission

“I won’t let you step into this house when you get back.” You said in a broken, frustrated voice while he stepped out of the house with that damn duffel bag, not giving you a single response.

You don’t recall what the argument was. Just a silly thing that got you both frustrated. All you remember was that those were your last words to him, and it hurt. You never meant it, and you knew he didn’t mean all the stuff he said to you too. That’s just how marriages were, right?

But if you knew that was going to be the last time you’d see him, you’d cry and hold him tight, ramble about every single thing you loved and hated about him, tell him about everything.

You wished you were more selfish, somehow able to convince him to not leave the house. Just for once.

Your hands mindlessly reached out for the dog tags after what felt like an eternity, wincing at the cold material. The warmth was no longer there, replaced with this icy air that was rotting you slowly.

Your fingers slowly wrapped around the dog tags, bringing it towards your face, your lips gently pressing a kiss against his name while beads of tears begin rolling down your cheeks for the nth time since the last two weeks, a broken hic leaving your mouth as your breaths gently fanned the steel in attempt to warm it up, your wedding ring gently grazing against the chain.

Your legs finally led you out of your bed, taking you towards his office that was just a few steps away from the bedroom. You never really stepped in there — especially not since he died, and you didn’t want to, knowing that his scent had probably vanished away.

Your trembling hand gently turned the knob down, opening the door with a click while your other hand tightly clutched onto his dog tags, too terrified to let him go.

His office was neat, just a few papers tucked out of a slightly open drawer. The place was sickeningly cold, making you feel nauseous while your eyes stung with the incoming tears, your throat burning up.

Your eyes landed on a canvas at the edge of the room, right beside the window, a stool placed in front of it while a white cloth was neatly draped over the canvas, some paint smudges adorning the visible wood of the canvas’s stand. He never told you he was working on something.

Your body worked faster than your brain and before you knew it, you were in front of the canvas, hand hastily reaching out to remove the piece of cloth and—

You.

It was you on the canvas, a big goofy smile adorning your lips while you held someone’s hand, probably his. You looked so happy, warm colours adorning the painting, only half done. It was unfinished.

Your legs gave out and you fell onto your knees, your hands covering your mouth in shock, the dog tags slipping from your fingers and hitting the ground loudly. Tears blurred your vision and a loud, distressed wail finally left your lips while you crumbled, hands desperately clutching onto your hair, chest heaving.

He was drawing you. He was drawing you before going on that mission. He was always drawing you, every inch of your face forever memorised in his brain, never letting you go. He couldn’t even finish the painting, he hadn’t even started coloring his hand — the only visible part of him in the painting.

A distant meow halted your sobs as you looked around, the cute little ginger kitten he had gotten you two walking over to you, another soft meow leaving it.

“It’s just you and me now…” You sniffled and gently pulled the kitten on your lap, fingers running through its fur in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, your eyes moving back onto the painting, every fiber of your body feeling as if it was punched and squeezed tightly.

“When I die, m’gonna send ye little angels from above.” His drunk words caused you to giggle softly, nuzzling into him while his hands held you by your waist, both of you lazily swaying in the living room to some sappy old song.

“Don’t say that, Johnny.” You huffed playfully, though still meaning your words.

He chuckled and pressed an affectionate kiss on your nose, smiling cheekily. “Ye are bloody right. We’re gonna die old and happy together, yeah?”

Johnny really never stopped loving you. Though just like a fire, he too, vanished into thin air and left behind this undying cold.

[wistfulcynic]

a non-izzy-centric reading of the events of season two

i didn't really want to get into this because it's so, so tiresome and i'd rather talk about the things i loved about this season. Poison, positivity, etc. But.

reading this post about people doubting their own judgement due to the overwhelming noise from Izzy stans along with a rewatch of season two from start to finish made me realise that i too had been influenced by a year and a half of being intensely frustrated by people insisting so loudly that OFMD was in fact the Izzy Hands Show. My initial issues with S2 mostly stemmed from overcompensating for that by resenting any development of Izzy on the screen because i did not want it to feed those people. Which meant that i also was centring Izzy in a way that he should not be centred! i was letting their noise lead me to read him as far more important than he actually is.

So i looked back at several points from the season that had me feeling uncomfortable and which, from a cursory browse through the Izzy tag i've concluded his stans see as a contradiction or a betrayal or something and re-evaluated them from the perspective of Izzy not being a main fucking character.

point one: "He's our dick."

When Archie (a newcomer and therefore a fairly effective audience stand-in for anyone not balls deep in fandom bullshit) asks Jim why they're going to so much trouble for Izzy, who she has immediately clocked as "kind of a dick", Jim gives this response. Which, if you think Izzy is important, may read as an expression of reluctant fondness. But then, Jim continues: "There was a time when life meant something on this ship. When we lived for each other, not just to survive." These lines are punctuated by a flashback to the famous Revenge crew found-family Renaissance-painting moment. Jim is nostalgic for the "good old days" of the Revenge under Stede's people-positive management style. It is out of respect for that (seemingly) lost way of life that they take the trouble for Izzy, not for Izzy himself. They'd have done the same for anyone, because they desperately want life to matter again. Izzy, as the person whose gamy leg is a direct result of his threatening Ed and bringing the kraken era down on all of them, is simply the one whose life happens to be on the line.

(honestly, i love this from Jim, who was one of Stede's boldest detractors in season one and still the crew member most likely to call him out on his bullshit. That's your "reluctant fondness" moment right there.)

point two: the new unicorn

apparently Izzy stans see the gift of the unicorn leg prosthetic as a symbol of deep love and respect from the crew to Izzy. Which is an absolutely wild reading when you look at what led up to it.

There's tension on the ship. Divisions. Lucius is chain-smoking and jump-scared by his own shadow. Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang are overcome by guilt over their mutiny and frantically scrubbing nonexistent blood from the deck in what is a fantastically darkly funny Lady Macbeth moment for them. Izzy is sloppy drunk and yelling nonsensical abuse at the unicorn masthead. Roach, Pete, Oluwande, and Wee John make a well-intentioned but ill-conceived attempt to bring everyone back together (i say "everyone" but Izzy, significantly, is not included) which leads to them all being at each other's throats in the sort of mutually-assured-destruction configuration that starts world wars. It's a great scene. Izzy is not a part of it.

until he interrupts them, throws the unicorn legs at them and in his drunken clumsiness breaks his prosthetic. He then pointedly refuses their offers of assistance and drags himself away along the floor by his arms.

my friends. This is peak pathos. The crew do not respect Izzy in this moment, they feel sorry for him. They realise that he's worse off than any of the rest of them and that knowledge brings them back together. Making the unicorn prosthetic is barely about Izzy at all. It's about the crew coming together, repairing the rifts in their found family and as a bonus helping out their grumpy second cousin who doesn't really want to be there but has nowhere else to go. It's also a very generous offer of a new place on the ship--as the new unicorn--and a fresh start. Because that's what life on the Revenge is. For everyone.

point three: la vie en rose

much has been made of Izzy putting on drag makeup and singing at the Calypso birthday party, and fair enough. That's a big character development point for him. i don't hate it, though i wish there'd been more build-up to it, a longer conversation between Izzy and Wee John at least (insert obligatory "fuck Max" here) but regardless, if we accept Izzy's amputated leg as cutting off his old self and replacing it with the unicorn then we can arrive at a place where he's able to participate in a drag performance without too much cognitive gymnastics.

i've written before about the curious choice to have Izzy sing La Vie En Rose in French (after he initially sang it in English) at the very moment when Ed and Stede are having sex for the first time. On first watch i felt viscerally troubled by it, it felt like a validation of the obsessive psychosexual reading of Izzy's feelings for Ed. Looking at the season as a whole, it feels more like a (cringy, creepy, waaaay over the line) attempt on his part to signal approval for Ed and Stede's relationship. Especially when taken in conjunction with his (super creepy, like wtf who greenlit this) interruption of their breakfast in bed the next morning to make a ham-fisted innuendo. Weird but okay i guess, it's not like Izzy and social niceties have ever gone hand in hand.

many people point to the drag scene as the crew embracing Izzy and welcoming him as one of them. Again, i don't disagree. But, also again, this is not specific to Izzy. This is just what they do. They also embraced Archie with her snake-cult stories, they re-embraced Ed (who yes, they do love, refutations of arguments that they don't love Ed are a whole other essay though) and later they embrace Zheng and Auntie and also Jackie who once stole their savings jar and threatened to cut off their noses. That's what they do! They embrace people! That's what the show is about!

point four: the death scene

i have to be honest, i still hate this. i don't hate that Izzy died, i hate that he died in Ed's arms with Ed calling him his only family. That still feels unearned to me, and alas was probably another victim of the shortened season. But even with this extremely kind and forgiving death scene, the stans are not satisfied! They feel that the entire crew should have been gathered round, assuring Izzy of their profound love for him. There should have been weeping at the funeral, wailing and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments etc. It's what he deserves as such a beloved member of the crew!

except he wasn't beloved. He was accepted, yes. Welcomed, even. But acceptance is a far cry from love. Cheering as someone sings a song at a party does not mean you feel ready to weep at their deathbed or proclaim your undying affection for them.

yet even so, the crew are visibly distraught at his death scene. There are tears in many eyes! But effusive declarations of feeling from any one of them other than Ed would have felt (to anyone not convinced Izzy is the main character) completely wrong and very weird. You can headcanon what you like to fill the gaps in canon but on screen we have seen very few meaningful interactions between Izzy and any of the existing crew aside from Fang and Lucius and to a lesser extent Wee John. Izzy's primary relationship with another character is with Ed and so, as much as i still don't like it, Ed is the only one who has any real reason to be at Izzy's side as he dies.

as for the brevity of the funeral and the fact that they went straight from it to Pete and Lucius's wedding instead of having, idk, a prolonged wake at which everyone speaks at length about how important Izzy was to them, i mean. Obviously that wasn't going to happen. More than enough screen time had already been given to a side character who spent most of it either being miserable himself or making others so. It was time for the rest of them to find some moments of joy. As Izzy himself said, not moving on is worse.

in conclusion, i'd like to address the people saying that Izzy should have lived so he could continue his arc of self-discovery and sure, that would have been great--on the Izzy Hands Show. But OFMD is about Ed and Stede and Izzy had served his purpose in their story. i feel certain there will be copious fanfics to soothe anyone who feels Izzy was shortchanged.

on the show, though, he was treated in a very logical and foreseeable way as the antagonist who was able to see the light at the end but not necessarily to thrive in such a well-lit environment. Literature (by which i mean also films and tv) abounds with examples of this sort of character. They see the error of their ways but they are too stuck in them, shaped by them, to exist comfortably in any other way. They help bring about change to benefit others and not for themselves, that is the bittersweet beauty of their endings.

Izzy let Ed go. He embraced the softer parts of himself. He died surrounded by people who may not have loved him but at least accepted him as one of their own and felt genuine sorrow about his passing. That is a satisfying narrative end for a reformed antagonist! If you truly feel that he was shortchanged by it then you have forgotten what show you're watching and what sort of character he was.

Izzy Hands: not the main character, still an interesting one, absolute nightmare, what a guy.

[sprout-fics]

Silent Night

(Simon Ghost Riley x OC 'Fix')

Part of my Snowblind Series

Rating: General Wordcount: 2.3k Tags: Angst, Whump, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Injuries, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Trauma Warnings: Descriptions of injuries A/N: In my head this oneshot takes place between Hellebore and Mayday Mayday, during Fix and Ghost's weird mutual longing era. Anyways, thanks for sticking with this story for another year!

Divider by @adornedwithlight

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that you and Ghost are the only ones on base during Christmas.

Normally you’d fly back to D.C. for the holidays and camp out at Laswell and Paula’s house in NoVA. Kate had made sure you knew you had a standing invite to visit any time. Yet this holiday Paula had convinced her wife to take a camper out west to some ski resort, taking Whiskey along as well. So Kate had sheepishly let you know that while you were free to house-sit, they would be indisposed. Rather than face the ghosts of your family and DC alone, you decided to stay on base in the UK.

The rest of the team left days ago, taking up their valuable holiday leave and traveling to their respective corners of the UK. Soap had eagerly chattered about visiting his sisters and seeing his nieces, nephews and Nan. It’s not often he gets to see them all at once, and you know he looks forward to wrestling with the ‘wee tykes’ and shooting the breeze with his brothers in law.

Gaz had sheepishly shared he too was visiting home- going to see his mom and sisters as well. Though less rowdy than Soap’s family gatherings, he made a face about being fussed over after not visiting home for so long. No doubt he’d be scolded for not calling home as often as he should and have his mom start asking pointed questions about finding a nice girl to settle down with.

Price hadn’t mentioned any family to you, and you hadn’t asked. Whether by omission or the fact that he didn’t have any to speak of, the matter seemed a tender point for him and you quieted any questions you thought to raise. He did, however, smile when talking about his nice cottage and warm fireplace, a glass of whiskey and the quality box of cigars Nikolai sent him every year for Christmas.

One by one they left, easing off into the gray winter. With them most of base trickled out as well, the younger soldiers whooping and hollering as they boarded the bus to the airport or had family pick them up at the gates. Eventually, as the snow fell and the days darkened further against the solstice, it was just you.

You...and your lieutenant who hasn’t left his room in three days.

Price had warned you before he left that the holidays were a hard time for Simon. Though he didn’t share details, the fact that Simon never mentioned any family was evidence enough that for Simon holidays were not the bright cheery festivities others were used to. Like you, Simon instead approached lonely carols and the solitary, starry nights with a sense of loss, of grief.

With a skeleton crew running base, you’re left largely to your own devices. The first day is fine. You spend valuable down time catching up on the pile of books you’ve accumulated, including some sent to you by Farah. You visit the gym, take a long hot shower, watch a cheesy Hallmark film in the rec room, eat dinner, and doze off for about ten hours straight.

By the end of the second day you start to feel restless. It used to be that you soaked up any down time you could, but after joining the task force and getting used to their rapid fire mission schedule, so much unstructured time only serves to itch under your skin with the need to move, to go. You try and burn it off with a few laps around base, but the quiet of the buildings only unsettles you.

Gaz and Soap don’t reply to your attempts to text them, too busy with their own holiday gatherings to entertain your need for socialization. In the evening you stare up at the ceiling of your room and think about knocking on Ghost’s door.

You text him, but he doesn’t reply.

You think about him as you lay awake in your bed, listening for the sound of his answer, only to be left in silence.

By the end of the third day you can’t stand it anymore.

In the evening you stand in front of Ghost’s door, hand raised to knock and your knuckles shy of the surface. You’re not even sure what your plan is, even if he does answer. You haven’t seen Ghost leave his room at all, and even the mess hall staff say they haven’t seen him. You’re worried about him, about if he’s eaten recently, if he’s rotting inside his room.

“Ghost?” You ask after minutes of silence standing before his door. “It’s me.”

Silence, and you wonder if he’s even in there at all.

“I just...” You try again, throat dry as moments pass with words unsaid. “...just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

This time there’s a sound of slight movement inside, followed by the sound of something that sounds suspiciously like broken glass.

“Ghost?” You ask again, alarmed. “Is something broken? Are you okay?” and when he doesn’t reply you feel anxiety gnaw inside your chest. “Hey, Ghost, answer me-”

The sound of heavy, thudding footsteps reaches you before you can reel backwards, and the door swings open abruptly to reveal Ghost’s massive, dizzying figure looming out of the pitch black of his room.

“What.” He says flatly, anger scarcely hidden in his voice, one bare hand holding onto the door frame with a white-knuckle grip and eyes narrowed with a dangerous warning.

You swallow, taking a step back to view him fully, eyes raising from his feet to his masked face-

and settling on his bare, bloody knuckles.

“What-” You manage, brow furrowing. “What on earth did you do to your hand?!”

Ghost blinks, eyes softening as he raises his hand, as if noticing it for the first time. There’s glass shards embedded in his skin, and concern flutters brightly in your chest as he merely grunts.

“ ‘S fine.” He mutters before his dark eyes narrow in on you again. “What do you want.”

“It’s not fine.” You manage, grabbing for his hand to raise it up an examine it. You’re so worried you don’t even see the way Ghost flinches when you touch him. Blood streams between his fingers, cakey and dried, tiny fragments of glass sticking from his skin. You force yourself to swallow, thinking about how much it must hurt to be walking around like this.

“What did you do?” You ask him breathlessly, followed by: “Nevermind. Do you have a med kit in here? I can run to the infirmary and get one- though my room might be closer...”

You don’t see the way Ghost blinks at you, shoulders softening as he takes in your pinched, worried face.

“...I have one.” He mutters at last, turning into the darkness of his room with the door open, apparently for you to follow. You stand on the threshold hesitantly, blinking as you notice the lingering chill from Ghost’s frigid fingers. As you step forward darkness engulfs you, only a slant of light from the hallway to provide any illumination to the pitch black room.

Ghost’s room is cold, bare, and if you didn’t know better you would have assumed no one slept here. The only signs of life are the blankets on the bed haphazardly tossed from the thin mattress, and a phone charger plugged into the wall. The desk is empty, the dresser looks untouched, and even the closet is absent of any clothes that would hang there.

Your boot crunches something fragile, and you look down to see a tiny, glimmering shard of blood-stained glass. Crimson droplets lead to the bathroom, and when you glance inside you see the mirror.

Shattered.

Ghost rustles with something in the drawer of his desk, finally pulling out a med kit and depositing it beside you with a solid and pointed thunk. His dark eyes glimmer in the dimness of the room, unblinking. Waiting for you to speak.

When you meet his gaze, your chest aches.

You’re not sure what demons have been haunting him in this solitude- evil enough to make him violent and volatile enough to punch out the mirror. Sinister enough so that he hardly noticed the glass embedded in his knuckles. You know if you ask you risk Ghost forcing you out, locking himself away only so ghosts can torment him in the silence.

So you say nothing, eyes lowering away from his coal-dark gaze burning into your skull. Gingerly, you reach for the medkit and turn on the desk lamp to see what you’re doing. Ghost wordlessly settles on the edge of his bed- his entire frame one gigantic line of tension from his fingertips to his toes. He looks ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, fleeing and leaving you in the darkness. One hand clenches tightly on his knee, gaze watching you like a cornered, wild animal.

Ready to bite at the first touch of kindness, like he doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

You snap on gloves and disinfect the tweezers before dragging the desk chair before him and silently getting to work. Questions burn in your mind as you pick glass shards from Ghost’s knuckles, fueled only by his eerie silence and inhuman stillness. Each tiny fragment catches what little light there is, glimmering like yuletide stars amidst an endless expanse of midnight sky.

Secrets linger behind Ghost’s dark pupils- tales of death and destruction of something he once held dear. Smoke billows from his mouth, the fires of carnage burning bright in the empty cavern of his chest. The soot settles around his eyes, darkens his gaze in mystery and the promise of retribution if you come too close.

Like a moth to a flame, you want to set yourself on fire in his stare.

For you too are burning up from the inside out.

Ghost’s hand is frozen still inside your delicate hold, like a wild animal caught between the jaws of a trap. Eyes unblinking, promising to sink his teeth in you the moment you make a wrong move. It’s slow work tending to his hand, cleaning the glass and setting it aside. Fresh blood stains his knuckles but Ghost acts like he doesn’t even feel it.

Whatever demons haunt him must hurt tenfold.

Though you don’t yet know what they are, you know you can understand. The emptiness and longing, the pain of wishing things were different feels all the more acute during the darkest days of the year. Memories wash over you during moments like rogue waves, and you have to brace yourself against them lest they sweep you out to sea.

Truth be told, you’re not sure what’s worse- the fact that you have family that’s alive that you wish you didn’t have, or the fact that Simon has no family at all. In some ways, you’re almost jealous. Maybe, if things were different, you wouldn’t be so haunted by the things you used to love.

“Almost done.” You mutter quietly, reaching for the disinfectant to clean the shallow wounds on his knuckles, and Ghost doesn’t make a sound despite the sting.

You swallow thickly before trying in a quiet voice: “Why is Santa’s sack so big?”

Ghost blinks, as if startled from a reverie of destruction that plays out behind his eyes.

Trying to keep your voice even, you manage to catch his gaze with a half-hearted smile.

“Because he only comes once a year.”

Silence, and Ghost’s eyes flicker with something real for the first time, something that if you stare for too long, seems almost fond.

“...Not bad.” He offers at last, and you grin.

It doesn’t take long to clean the wound and bandage it. When you’re done Ghost flexes his hand and inspects your handiwork with a nod. Though he doesn’t say anything else, you can see the thanks in his eyes.

You could choose this moment to press him, ask him what made him act this way- what ghosts haunt him so. Yet you know patience is they key to taming wild things, so you retreat carefully, quietly to the door. It’s there that you linger, looking back to where Simon sits on the bed, unmoved. He’s a massive shadow amidst the darkness, a slant of light cast onto him where he sits slumped forward, cradling his injured hand and lost in thought.

Words escape you. There’s nothing to be said that feels right for this moment. No reassurances or apologies or offers of kindness seem to penetrate the grave soil Simon has pulled down on top of himself. With your shadow cast onto his form you pause, swallow before offering quietly:

“Merry Christmas, Simon.”

You close the door behind you, only so you can lean against it and lose yourself in thought as Simon sits silent in the darkness, staring down at his bandaged hand and thinking how warm your touch felt against his own.

Some day, when things are different, Simon will tell you of the things that happened long ago. He’ll talk about that day- about Tommy and Beth and Joseph. He’ll talk about how it’s been so long he can hardly remember the sight of his mother smiling at him, but he can still remember her voice. He’ll share how he still blames himself, how things should have been different. He’ll talk about the scars you can’t see and how he’s still so afraid to allow himself to be loved because he can’t stand the pain of loss once more.

Some day, you’ll hold him close to your chest as he shares all this and more, listening until he empties his chest of grief and you sit in the silence, allowing his wounds to close themselves over. You’ll hold him as he shudders but doesn’t cry, feeling his bones tremble with the weight of the life he’s lived.

Some day, you’ll find the strength to share your own scars, tell Simon of the loss you’ve felt, and the betrayal that came with.

Before then, you’ll bend your head and kiss him, and wait until you’ve both made yourselves whole again.

Tag List:

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[dhr-advent]

Icebreaker by ninepiecesofcrait

icebreaker (4988 words) by ninepiecesofcrait Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: D/Hr Advent, D/Hr Advent 2024, ministry co-workers au, festive silliness and hijinks, chekov’s identically wrapped presents, chekov’s vibrator, [chekov from the afterlife: now why am i in it??], (because it made me laugh sorry to invoke you in the wizard porn anton!!!), oh there is absolutely smut in here, nine write a fic without endnotes challenge level: impossible, Enthusiastic cunnilingus, Teasing, Coming In Pants, (baby that’s the ninepiecesofcrait tags starter pack right there), draco malfoy is a team player!!!, a wee bit of mutual playful degradation, clothed man half-naked woman: is that anything?, my guy has it BAD, sloppy first times, Vaginal Sex, sexual mishaps and broken furniture Summary:

On his way out of the office for Christmas break, Malfoy accidentally grabs the horrible present Ginny gave Hermione instead of his own, unraveling Hermione’s plans for a quiet, relaxing holiday in a single, vibrating moment.

[robo-milky]

It will be New Years for me once the Earth rotates, but it may already be 2024 for you <3

Tag time! (Hope you don’t mind ^^;) This is probably the most heart you’ll ever get from me, so be grateful <3/J (I actually love y’all and til this day, I’m still amazed you’re here and we’re mutuals??? Like wHAT?????)

You Were There When I Was a Wee Blog

@authoruio

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@anevilbunnyinthehat

@bunnwich

@nem0-nee

@starry-night-rose

@the-v-lociraptor

@revivemyreverie

If it weren’t for y’all, I don’t think I would have stuck on Tumblr for as long as I did- When I moved platforms and fandoms, it was really intimidating. Thanks for always being so warm and friendly for the times we interact ^^

Rook Enjoyers 😎

@deluxe-rabbitsu

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@haryuwu

@mochawulfie

…This deserves its own category. May we continue to simp for the funny huntsman into the new year 🫡

Thanks for Brainrotting with me

@ashipiko

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@valse-a-mille-temps

@gyarunie

????!?!?????? How have you not called the police on me yet???? Thank you so SO much for being supportive and y’all are just so… amazing??? Like I feel like I don’t deserve you for how sweet you’ve all been??? Out of this world 💥

*Gently Places on Pedestal*

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I know I don’t interact much but I really REALLY love your works and it does brighten my day whenever I see you pop up in my notifications! …I’d be lying if I said some of you on the list didn’t feel like seniors/senpais on this site ^^;

#1 Idia Hater

@pinkrozezzz

Look at you, all special and cozy with a spot for yourself 🙄🙄 I hope you trip over a knife— I mean have a wonderful new year <3

7SU

@pumpknpatches

@okayu-7thjojo

@79siris

I may have moved on to TWST but godddd I will never forget this game. When the 7SU content (especially in the west) was still barren, seeing you was like seeing water in a desert! I’m glad to have been apart of such a close, tight-knit community with you all 🥺

…and more <33

[thedeadthree]

✧ — a wee semi(ish) hiatus announcement!!

today i am having my wisdom teeth removed so for the next couple days or so i may be a bit out of commission while i recover !!!! i will try to catch up on tags/asks when i am able and i have a queue going but i will likely be off the grid for a bit!! mutuals are welcome to ask for my discord !!!!!!