#nothing i write will ever be compelling. nothing i write will ever be deep. nothing i write will ever stick with someone –

[dewwshi]

he may be the better swordsman but we all know who wins the wrestling matches

(psst i'm on bluesky now i guess?)

[obitostits]

yearning for the moment i actually write good fic woah

[yaut-jaknowit]

Y'know what? I think it'd be funny as hell if a human farmer (y/n) befriended a xenomorph. And it acts like a cute, drooling, ..alien dog. And their male Yautja parter tolerates the Xeno while in front or near his human mate. But when y/n disappears. They both are just at each other's throats?

If that's okay, also I love your writing! And I cannot wait to see more! And I hope you have a lovely day/night

Lost Dog

Character: Con'tei (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader with Xeno

Word Count: 1784

Summary: As a farmer on a planet not many know, you live your life contently. Waking up early to go out into the fields and work. It's just yourself and your mate, Con'tei. Until a special alien shows up and worms its way into your soft heart instantly.

Author Note: This is such a funny idea.

Masterlist

Ao3

Ever since that day you stumbled upon an injured Xenomorph, it’s been attached to your hip. Since that same day, Con’tei has wanted nothing more than to tear the alien apart. No matter how many times you asked him to at least be civil with the thing. The Yautja has his own thoughts of the Xenomorph. That being having its head upon his wall. Specifically above the bed. Its nonexistent, lifeless eyes peering down at you. Con’tei was sure to let you of every detail to paint a picture inside of your mind. Every time.

When the Xeno looked up at you, guts nearly splattered across the edge of your corn field, you had fallen. Though it has no eyes, you felt compelled to help it back to your dwelling. Con’tei had been off on a hunt and left you enough time to patch up the creature. Until the Yautja returned and smelled the scent of a hard meat on the property. It took lots of sweet talking to get the male to calm down and listening to your voice.

Finally, Con’tei was able to think clearly after he saw you were okay. No injuries. No smell of blood. Not even fear in the air. The Yautja was more than confused on the what, why, and how. That only grew worse when he only had to take step to the side.

There in the bath tub of the dwelling sat the observing hard meat, just peering at him. You physically had to wrap your arms around Con’tei’s thin waist and pull the newly blooded away.

Worst of all, the xeno morph lept out of the tub when it saw the struggle. Its instincts flaring to life. It thought you were fighting the enemy and rushed out to help. Water dripped down its black, scared hide. Sharp silver teeth were bared at Con’tei. Its long, black tail whipped side to side.

A yelp slipped from your lips. Con’tei pushed you off of him a bit too harsh and lunged at the creature. You fell down to the ground and landed wrong on your wrist.

The two clash for a second when your sharp cry sounded an alarm. Each held onto the other, ready to draw blood. They whipped their heads over to your lying, prone form. One pushed at the other and nearly climbed over each other.

Con’tei reaches you first and kneels down at your side. But, he’s shoved off to the side by a black, skeleton hand. A deep bellow tumbled out of his chest as he reared back up to kill the hard meat somehow in your shared home.

It’s your crying that breaks the two of them up again. They separate once more to rush to your aid. For the moment, they were able to ignore the other. Con’tei’s dark orange hands touches at your hands. One was pinned to your chest by the other. Pain radiating from one. A deep purr vibrated from the Yautja in a comforting manner. His bright yellow eyes scanned over the rest of you. The only thing that was of concern was the wrist you were clutching onto.

Across from you, the xenomorph was whining and nudging its elongated head against your cheek. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Con’tei who snarled and scooped you away from the creature. This nearly became a tug-of-war match until you shouted, “stop it!” Each alien stilled.

“Stop fighting, please! I’m in pain and you’re only making it worse.” Con’tei whimpered and bowed his head in a manner that resembled a kicked puppy. “And you’re not making it any better by flailing around.” The xeno lowered its own head, tail dropping to the ground.

“Now, please, put me down. I think I just pulled a muscle in my wrist no thanks to the two of you,” you snapped at the two of them. The anger mostly coming from the pain sprouting from your throbbing wrist.

One look in your heat gaze had the Yautja listening to you. Your feet gingerly touched the ground. Con’tei was hesitant to let go of you at first. His gaze couldn’t stop flickering towards the creature he was sworn to kill. His muscles twitched as he fought every single cell in his body not to leap over you and slaughter it where it stood.

Instantly, you turned towards Con’tei and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Hey! Look at me, sir,” you demanded. The burnt orange Yautja had to drag his gaze off of the xeno. You had just turned your back to it with little care of your safety. “I know you are freaking internally and externally but let me explain.”

He bristled. Of course, you better explain in why in Cetanu’s name is there a hard meat in your home. And why was is following you around? Why was is it protecting you? His first thought was dismissed when smelled no change to your body. It hadn’t implanted anything into you. Con’tei snorted and crossed his arms.

You couldn’t help the sigh, shoulders sagging a little. “Okay, I deserved that.” Con’tei could agree with that. “But, you must see it from my side. I was working the field when I stumbled across this poor thing, all injured and begging for help.” He was ready to shake some sense into you. “I took it home and nursed it back to health. Now, its like a dog! It follows around and helps me around the house and even in the field.”

His anger flooded back to Con’tei’s mind and nearly blinded him. How could the one person he loves in the universe say such stupidity in the moment? He knew you were smarter than this. Yet, here you were proving him wrong with each word that falls out of your mouth.

The xeno made its point by coming up behind you and nuzzling its ugly face into the crook of your neck. His muscles flexed. “And why do you have it our home? Why isn’t it dead?” Injured, you should’ve had little trouble by exterminating the cursed thing. Why did your heart have to be so big? Why did your luck have to be so terrible?

Your face soured. You stepped back and patted the top of the xenomorph’s smooth, shiny head. It gave a chuff and rubbed against you some more. “Because, it was injured! I had to save it. I wasn’t going to let it die! What kind of person do you take me for to leave an injured creature for dead?” By Paya’s name, if he didn’t love you so much. He desperately wanted to shake some sense into you. Maybe rattle the thought of care for it out of your head.

“Exactly why it should be dead. You had a chance to kill it. Why didn’t you take it?” His hunter mind couldn’t grasp the thought process of your ooman brain.

Those were the wrong words to say.

“I told you! It was injured and I’m not like you. It looked so sad and pathetic. Now, look at it! It’s like a puppy I’ve always wanted. A very…” you trailed off to glance over your shoulder. “A very big, scary puppy who would protect me!”

There was truth to your words. Clearly, it was willing to protect you from someone who could easily kill it. But to leave it to live, Con’tei couldn’t let himself live with that knowledge. Even if it showed compliancy to you at the moment, who knows when its baser instincts kick in and slaughter you or use your body for a host.

Con’tei huffed and narrowed his bright eyes on you. “I said no.” The Yautja was still young and recently gained his clan marking during his chiva against these blasted creatures.

The way your brows jumped at his denial; then, your gaze darkened. Con’tei felt a drop of fear fall into the pit of his stomach. “No? Well, mister, it’s not up to you. You go off on these hunts all by yourself for a week or so. I’m left all alone!” You turned your head and nuzzled against the unforgiving, smooth surface of the xenomorph’s cheek. “What happens if something attacks our home? I can’t protect it to save my life. With it, I could at least stand a chance.”

What were you thinking?! After everything he’s told you about his near failure during his chiva, you had wished for the hard meat to stay. You go against his direct order to protect you keep it!

Yet… the truth behind your words sunk deep into the soft tissue of his brain. The knowledge this planet held many dangers while you sit at home, unprotected and weaponless, churned his stomach. Con’tei gritted his mandibles and looked over your shoulder. The creature had its face turned towards him, chin resting on your shoulder.

He tried to think of ways to convince you. Maybe, he’ll spend what little credits he had to get you a creature to protect you. Something he could train from a young age. Something that wasn’t a hard meat that could tear out your throat in a instant.

When his gaze returned to you, his stubbornness finally cracked. A groan sounded from him. “Little one, I swear…” he trailed off then let his shoulders sag. “Alright, alright. Fine. But, you must have it trained. A collar will be put on it. It will send an electric shock through its body, immobilizing it should it turn on you. I’m warning you, my mate.”

All of his stories he’s told you were fresh in your mind. His near defeat of his own life by these creatures. But, the loneness of sitting in an empty house made life difficult.

A squeal pierced the air. Your arms snatched around his waist. Con’tei jolted at first then let himself settle in your embrace before his own arms return the motion. The hunt had been long and made him long for this affection with you this entire time. What is he going to do with his little ooman who has him wrapped around their tiny pinkie finger?

With a sigh, he lets you go.

“Okay, you two be good then. I’ve gotta go clean up the bathroom!” You blew each of them a kiss before skipping towards the bathroom. The door was closed behind you to clean up the mess the xenomorph had left behind in his wake of protection.

Both of the alien’s watched as the door closed behind you. Then, they snapped their heads towards the other. A second paused the still air. Each lunged at the other in a clash of fangs, claws, and snarls.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

LEVIATHAN I: ECHOES IN A SHALLOW BAY

Series Synopsis: The sea spits you out at Phainon’s feet and tells him to save you. You wonder if he will ever regret that he falls to his knees and obliges.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Phainon x F!Reader, Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 9.9k

Content Warnings: it’s me again writing for amphoreus baddies despite being like an eighth of the way through 3.0 AT THE MOST, fantasy au (amphoreus?? i hardly KNOW us), i make up lore + magic because i can, i world build also because i can, random luocha relevance fsr, amnesia trope, love triangle (we are not getting both at the same damn time i fear), violence and blood and whatnot most likely, screwy timeline bullshit, screwy spatial bullshit (this makes no sense but it will), an ending i personally would not consider angsty but some might, don’t ask me who’s endgame i oscillate sm it’ll probably just be left vague, wherever you think this is going it definitely isn't, slapping that ooc warning on here because who even am i without her (it's really bad this time though SLDKHF sorry)…

A/N: guys i thought i knew fear posting part one of threefold but no THIS is fear LMAOAOA i'm subjecting you all to my slop T_T...i don't love this by any means in fact i on the whole despise it but whatever sometimes you just gotta post anyways #enjoy farmer phainon 😭 I WILL LOCK IN FOR LATER PARTS I PROMISE

Sand slipped between your fingers as you scrabbled for purchase, dragging yourself out of the vicious currents which clawed at your legs, wailing and trying to pull you back to where your certain death awaited. Your side screamed in protest, and with a low groan, you pressed one hand to the weeping wound in an attempt to silence it, your stomach roiling from the sticky sensation of blood gathering at the site of the frayed, greening flesh.

With only one arm left free, you continued to pull yourself up the shore, but you made it a scant few paces before your trembling wrist gave out entirely, leaving you to collapse, your cheek pressed to the rough, crumbling bits of shell that littered the coast. The tide licked at your ankles victoriously, and you were dimly aware of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as they fluttered shut and the great song of your doom filled your ears, echoing somewhere deep in your bones like an army’s march.

Each pump of your heart was fainter than the last until your pulse all but crawled to a stop, and although the roar of the beast was in a foreign and guttural tongue, you understood what it was saying anyways: end. Your end was here, and there would be no one to witness this demise, no one to cradle your body and decorate it with anemones so that you were suitably beautiful for your journey to the underworld. 

“Hey!” 

You wanted to tell the man that he should leave you to die, that there was no need for him to run when there was nothing he could do to change this outcome, but his voice was so sweet and dear that you could not stop the burst of inspiration which compelled you to push yourself up and watch him as he sprinted barefoot across the beach towards you, his alarm palpable even from such a distance.

“Who are you?” he said as he knelt by your side, shielding you from the sun and the sea alike. The clamor surrounding you quieted when met with the heaviness of his vast, boundless irises, and as the rest of the world darkened into nothing, everything you had ever known dissipating as readily as mist in the morning, you focused only on the skies contained in his worried gaze.

“How beautiful you are,” you said, and then you were coughing and he was gasping and you were saying words that you were sure did not belong to you but to someone else, someone many years older and some measures wiser. “Forgive me…I have kept you waiting for so long…”

“No, no, please don’t die, please don’t — who are you? What happened to you?” he said insistently, taking your face in his large, warm hands. Your eyelids drooped as he shook you, and you did not feel as frightened anymore, your dread fleeing in the consolation of his panicked embrace.

The last thing you felt was the weight of his palms upon your heart and the heat of his mouth against your own as he begged you to come back, to answer his many questions and stay with him in the realm of the living. Perhaps you might’ve, but you succumbed to the bleakness of finality and were met with a blissful emptiness not too dissimilar to sleep before you could attempt to; then, it was all you could do to lie there and think to yourself how wonderful it would be if you spent the rest of your existence exactly like this, freed from trials and tribulations and terrors alike…

You awoke with a sharp inhale, half-expecting to be met with the biting sting of sand on your skin — yet to your surprise, you were in a bed, feather-stuffed pillows propped behind your neck and a pale blue quilt tucked neatly around your shoulders. Furrowing your brow, you stared at the white ceiling for a moment, and then you sat up, casting aside the pillows and quilt in a flurry of activity, swinging your legs over the mattress and planting your feet on the wooden floor.

Only a second later, your knees buckled and you found yourself in a heap on the woven rug, the flowery patterns dyed into the wool mocking you with their cheery brightness. You lay there for a while, finding no merit in attempting anything but motionlessness, and then slowly you extended your arm, tracing the bleeding edges of the red petals that were now at your eye level.

Dimly you grew aware of a thudding that was becoming progressively louder, and the thought crossed your mind that you should perhaps be worried, but whoever was approaching had not hurt you while you had slept, so you felt that it was fair for you to ignore it. Anyways, what would you do even if they did mean you harm? There was no sense in caring, so you remained sprawled on your side, stroking along the carpet and wishing the stems of the flowers might manifest into reality so that you could braid them together into thin, spidery plaits.

The door banged open, and you gave the entrant the grace of lifting your chin, as much out of your own curiosity as in polite acknowledgement. He did not notice you at first, his shoulders tense as he scanned the room, and when he realized the bed was empty, something like a scowl formed on his kind, lovely face — though it was not anger but despair that drove it, or at least that was how it seemed to your untrained eye.

“Oh, you’re awake!” he said, his eyes widening and a slight smile replacing his frown when he finally noticed you peering up at him. “Though, why are you on the floor? Never mind, I suppose it doesn’t really matter now that you’re there. You really are proving to be a lot more troublesome to take care of than a lamb, you know that?"

In a swift movement, he hooked one hand under your knees and cradled your neck in the bend of his other elbow, lifting you with a surprising ease and then depositing you back on the bed. It might have been impressive to some, but now that he had drawn the comparison, all you could think of was that he did not view you with anything more than the dutiful responsibility of a hound to its flock.

“I was just about to come and change your wound’s dressings, so it’s good timing, anyways,” he said, reaching for your waist before pausing, an odd, delicate pink shade blooming at the tips of his ears. “Ah, I’m sorry. You were asleep, so I never asked permission…”

“Whatever for?” you said. Your voice came out scratchy and burnt, remnants of something acrid sticking to the back of your throat, and you coughed to clear it, prompting another frown from him. Shaking his head, he sighed and tugged at the hem of your shirt, which hung off of you so awkwardly  that it must’ve been his and not yours at all.

“I have to lift it a bit,” he said. “Not — not immodestly or anything, I swear! I had the neighbor’s daughter come to bathe you and change you out of that torn dress you washed up in, but your wound is so deep that it requires attention more frequently than I can justify calling her for, and I have some experience, you know, with the puppies and the foals and whatnot, so I’ve just been doing it myself…”

“Is that what you’re fretting over?” you said in amazement. “Why, I should not complain. You may think of me as a lamb or a puppy or a foal, if it eases your mind, but all you have done has been in the effort of saving me, I am sure, so whether you consider me a woman or a beast, I do not think there is any need for guilt regardless."

“If you’re sure,” he said, the shirt bunching around your ribcage when he pushed it up and leaned closer to the covered wound, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he peeled away the white gauze from your skin, bit by excruciating bit.

“So — so you must be fond of animals, then?” you said, biting back a hiss as the cool air dug into where tendrils of infection laced along your exposed, gouged-away skin. “No, do not apologize; please tell me of them, so that I may be duly distracted.”

“Yes, there’s not much else to be fond of around here,” he said. “Here being Aedes Elysiae, if you didn’t know; we are terribly isolated from anything of note, and the sheep outnumber the people by far, so what choice do I have? It’s a dull, sleepy place, this village, but no one ever leaves it, perhaps because there is a certain charm to a home and a livelihood so secluded from the mess and bustle of the capital.”

As he spoke, he patted down the packing in your wound, wiping away the excess blood spilling over the sides with a tenderness that belied the clinical nature of the task. Of course it still ached, but you were quite sure that if it were anyone but him, it would’ve been ten times worse, so in thanks you stayed as still as possible and allowed him to work without complaint.

“My name is Phainon,” he continued. “I’m only a shepherd, to be honest with you, so all of this is a bit strange to me — I’m not really the kind of person that this sort of thing happens to, if you understand what I’m saying. I was just chasing after a stray ewe that day, but then my dog got to barking and led me straight to you.”

“I don’t remember a dog,” you said. “Though I don’t remember much of anything, so I suppose that’s a bit meaningless. ”

“He didn’t want to go near the sea. It’s odd, because he’s normally so fond of swimming, but that day all he could do was whine and paw at the sand like he was waiting for me to do something,” Phainon said, winding a pristine roll of bandages around your torso methodically, with the mindlessness typical of accustomization to an everyday task. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“No,” you said. “When I try to think of my past, I come up with nothing. Nothing, that is, but you.”

He pursed his lips, and then his fingers brushed over your navel, tying the strips of dressing together in a cross. You didn’t know if it was intentional or an unconscious, fidgeting habit; you thought it must’ve been the latter, given that he did not dissolve into a fit of apologies for daring to touch you, but then again you did not know him well enough to say for certain. Either way, it was so quick that you did not mind and would not have mentioned it even if you did; then he was adjusting your shirt and stepping away, clasping his hands together like he was gathering his thoughts.

“It hasn’t healed any,” he said. “I was hoping that when you woke up you would be able to tell me where you’re from, or at least what happened for you to end up in such a manner. I might be able to treat you better if that’s the case, but as it is, I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“My apologies,” you said, bowing your head. “I owe you my very life, and yet the only repayment I can afford you is further distress.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t thinking of repayment when I found you. I wasn’t thinking much at all, really, just that you were there and you were dead, or soon would be, and I couldn’t accept it.”

“You couldn’t accept it,” you repeated. “Why, because you’re the one who found me? Do you feel some measure of duty to me for it?”

“It’s not just that,” he said. “I don’t know. I can hardly explain it to myself, let alone someone else…but I thought I would have to stay and breathe for you until the tide grew low and the crabs came to mock me, and strangely enough, I would’ve done it. If that was what was necessary, I would’ve.”

You narrowed your eyes, scrutinizing the man who had played as your heart and your lungs until such a time that you could do so on your own. He was a striking figure, albeit unassuming at first glance, his taste in ornament and dress detracting somewhat from the imposing nature of his presence. Taller and broader than any shepherd had the right to be, his eyes were shimmering and clever, his hair carelessly mussed and pale as the moon, the silvery strands framing his appealing face in such a fine way that you almost could not believe he was real, that he was not some empyrean figment of your imagination.

“I see,” you said finally. “Whatever your reasoning might be, I’m indebted to you.”

“Oh, um…anyways, now that you’re awake, I guess the only thing to do is to take you to the village proper, where we can see an actual healer,” he said, wrinkling his nose, clearly unused to praise being lavished upon him, especially such a great, generous amount. “I was too frightened to jostle you about so much while you were unconscious, but I don’t know that we have much of a choice anymore. I’ve been treating your wound as one would treat an abscessed hoof, but this may be a few orders of magnitude more serious.”

Unbidden, your knuckles pressed into your aching ribs, and with a wince, you chuckled. Phainon’s face fell, his eyebrows drawing together and the corners of his lips curving downwards, and this for some reason prompted a sinking sort of disappointment in you.

“It may be,” you said. “But I am sure that with proper medicine, it will heal and be as if it never happened.”

Both of you knew you were being unnecessarily and unrealistically optimistic, but he did not say anything to correct you, only nodding, perhaps needing the reassurance as much or more than you did. After all, wouldn’t it be worse to know that despite everything he had done, you had still died? Wouldn’t it hurt more now that he had brought you into his home than it would’ve if he had simply left you on that beach, rotting amongst the stinking seaweed?

With the help of your grip on Phainon’s proffered forearm, you managed to stumble down the stairs to his kitchen, though it was an exhausting endeavor, and you would’ve fallen several times over if it weren’t for him. You knew from the set of his mouth that he didn’t approve of your attempts at independence, but he was not the sort to argue, nor the type to gloat when you settled in a chair at his small table with a sigh.

“I don’t have much,” he said as he opened and closed the doors of his cabinets, pulling out various preserves in glass jars, weighing them in his hands before putting half back. “It won’t be anywhere near as nice as you’re used to, I’ll bet.”

“I’m not ‘used to’ anything,” you reminded him, craning your neck so you could watch him as he crouched, muttering something about needing to go to the market again soon.

“Ah,” he said, turning and blinking at you nigh-owlishly, his lashes surprisingly dark as he batted them at you. “Right. Sorry, it’s just that you’re so proper and beautiful and — I mean, not beautiful! Wait. Yes, you are beautiful, but that’s not why — I just — ugh, my mother always told me I was well-practiced at shoving my foot in my mouth, but until now I didn’t understand what she meant by that. Here, I hope this is acceptable.”

He slid a plate of something or another over to you, and then he turned on his heel and busied himself with tidying the already-spotless counters. You admired him as he wiped over the grainy wood, in the meanwhile cutting your food into pieces with the fork and knife he had given you, taking the smallest bite and then humming in approval.

“It is more than acceptable,” you said. “However, need I remind you I’m in no position to complain either way? I would eat even if you only gave me pig slop.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” he said, dropping his rag and brandishing his index finger at you. “Do you really think — you’re joking.”

“Yes,” you said, laughing despite how it hurt, thinking that there might be some remedy to be found in this version of pain. “I am only joking.”

“I can’t quite understand you,” he said. “You speak like one of those Helikan tax collectors, but you have the sensibilities of any ordinary girl.”

“Is ‘Helikan tax collector’ the worst insult you can fathom? I am duly offended, though you really ought to improve your creativity for the future,” you said.

“You’re joking again,” he said flatly, and you could not even deny it, your continued laughter betraying you. “I’m not trying to insult you, I’m simply telling the truth. It’s an honor if anything; being associated with Helike is high praise here.”

“Why is that?” you said. He handed you a mug filled to the brim with a warm drink that had a sweet, unfamiliar aroma wafting off of it, and then he sat across from you with his chin in his hands.

“It’s the capital of the region,” he said. “The most powerful city on the coast. Aedes Elysiae and the other villages like us are technically part of the Helikan state, though for the most part they leave us to our own devices, as long as we pay our taxes and don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Do they lend you protection in exchange?” you said.

“They’re supposed to,” he said. “But the city itself is much too far, and we are of much too little consequence for them to care, especially since that Lord of Swines took over and let the countryside fall to chaos.”

“What sort of a place is this, to be ruled with such a loose fist, and by a man called the Lord of Swines, no less?” you said incredulously. “Have I found myself in some strange fiction? I can’t quite believe it.”

“He’s not actually called the Lord of Swines,” Phainon said, clicking his tongue impatiently. “And officially, he’s not the ruler of anything but his temple. Helikan politics are a bit of a complex situation, but you shouldn’t pay any mind to them. Focus on getting well and remembering where your actual home is. I’m sure there are people who are missing you.”

“Right,” you said. “If I have a mother and father, they must be worried…or siblings, if I am so privileged as to have a brother or sister or both, then maybe they are searching for me…and friends, surely I have friends, right? Do you believe they think of me in my absence?”

“Of course they do,” he said. “They will be overjoyed when you return, I’m sure of it.”

“It is such a difficult and delicate thing, to mourn a life and love I do not know,” you said, chewing contemplatively in the ensuing silence, continuing only after you had swallowed. “I am sad for what I have lost, but I am more sad for those who have lost me. My suffering is only bodily and can be treated, or at least alleviated, but what recourse do they have?”

It was a rhetorical question, and thus he did not try to answer it, but you could tell by the softening of his eyes that he pitied you. Perhaps you should’ve found it condescending or infuriating, but it was only heartening to think that he understood, that he, too, shared your sorrow, or at least held sympathy for it; so, reaching out, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and held his hand against your eyes, smothering your tears before they could come.

Outside of Phainon’s small home stretched endless fields of grass, green and gold in turn, sheep dotting the landscape like small, fleecy clouds. A tan hound lounged by the dirt path, a pink tongue lolling out of his black muzzle, and when he noticed you had come out, he beat his tail against the ground, sending up plumes of dust into the air. You smiled as you passed him, remembering that Phainon had mentioned it had been his dog who had led him to you and wondering if this was the very one who had done it.

“He’s been moping about ever since I brought you home,” Phainon said, as if he could read your mind. The dog got up with a deep exhale, trotting along behind you with his tail still wagging, though he broke off eventually to chase after a pair of wayward rams. “You may think it fanciful, but I do believe he was worried.”

“How helpless it is, to be a dog in a world meant for people,” you said. You meant it as a rumination, an earnest contemplation on the nature of these things, but Phainon only snorted, tightening his grip around your shoulders as you rounded the corner of a stone barn and came up to a white-fenced pasture where a pair of horses grazed.

“You’re funny,” he said. “Maybe you used to be a court jester.”

“I don’t think so,” you said, furrowing your brow. You had no frame of reference for it, but the very title felt uncomfortable and wrong, settling on your shoulders like a mismatched cloak. He glanced at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling before he took a halter over the taller horse’s head and led it out of the field behind him.

“Yes, probably not,” he said. “I’ve not met any jesters, but from what Natasha has told me of them, you wouldn’t fit the role.”

“Who’s Natasha?” you said, sitting on a bale of hay and observing him as he bustled about, readying the horse for the trip to the town center.

“She’s the best healer in all of Aedes Elysiae,” he said. “Actually, she’s from the capital, but something happened in her family a few years ago, so she moved out here and has remained in the village ever since. It’s a lucky thing, really — she knows how to treat maladies most of us have never even heard of, and I’m sure she’s saved more lives than I count just because of it.”

“You’re taking me to see her, then,” you said. He nodded.

“If there’s anyone here who can figure out what’s going on with your wound, it’s her,” he said. “Like I told you, I would’ve taken you to her earlier — I should’ve, I know I should’ve — but —”

“You mustn’t upset yourself like this,” you interrupted before he could continue. “You have done the best you could. I do not blame you, so do not blame yourself; how could you have known that it would turn out to be such an abnormal case? Anyways, you may have done the right thing after all. I am still alive, and who knows if that would’ve been the case had you been hasty? Enough with your worrying, for I cannot continue to reassure you in this way. You must be certain that you were correct and understand that even if you weren’t, you cannot undo what has already been done. The only thing left for both of us is to continue onwards with the situation as it is.”

He gawked at you for a moment, like he had not been expecting you to say that, and even you were taken aback, for you, too, were surprised by the gravitas in your voice, the stern, cold nature of it. An awkward silence descended upon you both with a swiftness, and it was only broken when his horse huffed, pawing at the ground in an impatient reminder that he was still tied and half-tacked.

Phainon cleared his throat and busied himself with the buckles of the saddle, clearly embarrassed. “Right, I’ll do that.”

“I am sorry,” you said.

“Don’t be,” he said. “You spoke correctly. There’s nothing that can be changed now. All we can do is go to Natasha and hope it was enough.”

The ride to the village center was not terribly long, or at least you did not think it was, for you spent most of it with your cheek between the bony blades of his shoulders, drifting in and out of sleep, although you had just awoken a few hours earlier. It must’ve been a symptom of the decay festering in your ribcage, for the weariness felt unnatural, forced, a fog over your mind that combined with the lack of your memories to lull you into a blank motionlessness, your failing body weighed down as if by stones shoved in your pockets.

To call Aedes Elysiae a village was generous; it was a cluster of homes wound through with a few cobblestone streets, a small square lined with shops the closest to a center that they had. Wood-painted signs declared each merchant’s wares, but Phainon led you past all of them, ignoring the staring townspeople who whispered as you walked by and halting before a grey-walled house with flowers blooming in the windowsills.

“Here we are,” he said, helping you off of the horse and tying it to a wooden post. You reached out and took one of the blossoms between your fingers while he did so, stroking the velvety petals with a slight frown, though you could not say why they brought such distress, why your stomach dropped as soon as you saw the steadfast blooms. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” you said, startling at the sudden address, the flower falling from your hand and drifting to the ground, where it was promptly crushed under the horse’s hoof. “Yes, yes, I’m alright. I was just surprised.”

“By the flowers?” he said, far more discerning than you would’ve expected from someone who had been kind to the point of near-naivete up until this point. When you nodded hesitantly, he frowned. “I don’t know what kind they are. They don’t grow around here; I think she brought them with her from Helike or something.”

“Anemones,” you said, the name materializing like the ghost of a person you once knew but had long ago lost. “I…they mean something, I think, but I can’t say what. Of course.”

“Do you think that once your injury is cured, you’ll be able to remember everything again?” he said, knocking on the blue door, cocking his head slightly while he waited for a response.

“I would like to believe so,” you said. “But it feels overly hopeful, so I will refrain for now. It’s better not to have expectations at all, right?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But isn’t it also important to have faith? I mean, what else even is there to be had?”

Before you could muster a response, the door swung open, revealing a slender, willowy woman with an oval face and dark hair tied at the nape of her neck, loose tendrils falling in her eyes and white ribbon trailing down her back. When she noticed you and Phainon standing there, she frowned slightly, but it was concerned, not disdainful, and nearly maternal in quality, although she could not have been more than a few years older than either of you. 

“Phainon? Who’s this? Is everything alright?” she said, and the calm, steady cadence of her voice was enough to set your heart, which inexplicably had begun to race, at ease. Here was a woman who understood things, who might understand you, despite the sorry fact that you could not yet understand yourself. She ushered you in without even waiting for Phainon to explain, taking over the support of your limp weight as easily and naturally as breathing — which, to a healer, such a task really was so ingrained, you supposed.

“I found her on the beach,” he said, and although she did not require any assistance, he hovered at your side with the worried air of a mothering hen, like he could not bear to relinquish the care of you entirely. “She washed up in a wad of seaweed, bleeding all over the sand from this horrible wound in her side. For a while I was sure she would die in my arms, but then miraculously she began coughing and breathing on her own, without my help, although she did not wake up for some time, and the condition of her wound never improved. Ah, that’s actually why we came to see you, Natasha, if you don’t mind looking…”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she chided him, as if he had been a fool to ask her in the first place. “Just wait outside. I’ll bring her to you when I’m done.”

“Okay,” he said, but it was drawn out and long, like he was hoping by the end of the word she would change her mind. His reluctance was obvious, and with every step he took away from you, your heart squeezed a little tighter, which meant that he was not alone in the feeling — but who were you to argue? She was the one who knew best, and so you had no choice but to follow her directives.

Natasha waited until the door was well and fully closed before she turned to you, clearing her throat and folding her hands in her lap. You had been expecting her to immediately take to inspecting the site of your injury, so you were surprised by the reaction, and even more so by her subsequent scowl.

“Was he telling the truth?” she said.

“Huh?” you said. She nodded towards the window, where, presumably, Phainon stood in anxious wait, unable to do anything of merit but unable to leave, either.

“Phainon,” she said. “Did he really find you under such…altruistic circumstances? I don’t want to believe it of him, he’s always been so good, so wonderful, but neither do I wish to presume. So, I ask you again: is he telling the truth?”

“I don’t understand,” you said. “Are you suggesting that he could be the one who hurt me?”

“In a sense,” she said, the air suddenly growing fraught and thick with tension. “Or, perhaps, that in your current condition, he might have—”

“No!” you said, and it burst out so vehemently that your hand clapped over your mouth immediately afterwards. What cause did you have to defend him so staunchly? You did not know him, not well and not at all, and what Natasha was saying was not baseless. It would not have been difficult for Phainon, not with how you were at present…but you could not fathom it, you rejected it, you knew it wasn’t the case. He wouldn’t have, he could not, you were so sure, and your certainty was frightening, it was frightening and confounding and should not have existed in the first place, least of all in such a great quantity, but it was there nonetheless.

“You’re quite convinced?” she said, and you nodded, because, although you could not remember much, you did recall the day he had found you, for it was in a sense a second birth, the rest of your life a dark blur up until the moment you had opened your eyes to him. Him and the deep punctures in your side, which were blackened around the edges and wept red onto his turmeric-stained tunic; him and the kelp tangling around your throat, which crumbled away as soon as his palm lit upon the firm bone of your chest; him and the brine at the corners of your mouth, which dribbled down your chin as he pinched your nose shut and pressed his lips to yours, breathing life back into a sodden, weary heart that had no choice but to accept the offering.

“I am. He saved my life. I — well, to be fully honest with you, I have found myself without much if anything in the way of memories, but there are some things that exist in the back of my mind in the way some words exist on the tip of one’s tongue, just out of reach but maddeningly close, and this is exactly such a thing. I can’t explain how or why, but I can tell you unflinchingly and calmly that I would be dead if it weren’t for him. Perhaps many times over; perhaps in ways that he himself cannot know; perhaps in a manner that the explanation for does not yet make sense. But I would be dead without him, I assure you. He has saved my life, and I won’t — I won’t hear anything to the contrary!” you said.

“Alright,” she said. “Please do not misunderstand; I am relieved to hear it. I did not want to think of him as anything less than what I do now.”

“And what may that be?” you said, removing your shirt at her indication and raising your arms so that she could begin to undo Phainon’s attempts at bandaging.

“A boy who is meant for more than shepherding cattle,” she said, and the answer was simple, practical, yet the kind that spoke volumes for its abstractness. “Oh, dear girl, what happened to you?”

“He said it hasn’t improved any. He’s been treating it as best as he can, but he did not want to take me into the village until I was awake — you mustn’t tell him he was wrong, even if he was, I think it will crush him — although it is clearly more serious than anything he has ever seen,” you said.

“I’ll say,” she muttered, and then, to your surprise, she only rebandaged the wound exactly how it had been, not even addressing the site with anything more than a sad look. “Put your shirt back on. I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good, and I think it’d be best if I tell both you and Phainon at once, to save you from having to repeat it. If I know him, I know he’ll take it worse than anyone, perhaps even worse than you yourself, and I wish to spare you this singular torment, for it is within my power to do so.”

Phainon swept in as soon as Natasha opened the door, and he did not even greet her, returning to stand before you, taking your hands between his and searching your expression like he could tell everything he needed to know just from the reflection of it in your irises.

“You should sit,” Natasha said to him.

“I’ll stay standing,” he said. The with her remained hanging in the air, unsaid but known by you all, and to it she could only exhale heavily, like she had expected as much but had wished most fervently for a different response.

“I can’t do anything for her,” she said. “As far as I can tell, the depth of the wound isn’t the main issue, although it’s definitely aggravating it; it’s that it’s poisoned, and that this poison is spreading, which is killing her slowly. But if it really is a poison, then it’s one unlike anything I've ever seen, and I don’t want to use medicine on it for fear of accidentally causing a reaction that’ll exacerbate her suffering further. The kindest thing we can do at this point is give her a comfortable place to live until she finally succumbs.”

“What?” he said. You supposed you should’ve felt equally as indignant as him, but you had been half-expecting from the moment you had awoken that your fate would be something like this, so the only reaction you had was the fleeting thought that even this much was a blessing. At least now you could die somewhere peacefully, happily, buried amongst flowers in those green-gold fields that Phainon and his dog watched over, defended with the same zeal that they defended their flock, instead of left to be pecked at by carrion-birds on the unforgiving shore of the stony beach. “How am I supposed to just accept that? How am I supposed to just — just — just watch her die, like she’s some ailing cow bound for slaughter? She’s a person, not livestock, doesn’t she deserve more than that?”

“There is one other option,” Natasha said, silencing Phainon’s tirade as quickly as it had begun. 

“Why didn’t you start with that?” he said in exasperation. “Well? What is it?”

“You won’t like it, and it’s not a guarantee. The answer may not be any different, and you’ll have put both of yourselves through undue stress for nothing if that’s the case,” she warned. He rolled his eyes, and although he had dropped your hands about halfway through his rant, clearly overcome, he now brought his right to rest protectively on your shoulder, like he could tether you to the world, to him, with just that one point of contact.

“I don’t care about whether I’ll like it or not. Just get on with it,” he said.

“Take her to the capital,” she said. “Bring her to my former master, Luocha, who is perhaps the most learned medic in the world. Surely he will be able to better diagnose her malady.”

“You don’t mean Helike, do you?” he said.

“I can’t recommend it,” Natasha said. “The journey will be riddled with difficulties. The road is not safe on the best of days, and as for that wound…no mere accident could’ve caused it. Do you know what that means? Someone or something is, or at some point was, trying to kill her. You may be safe for now, if they believe they were successful, but what do you think will happen when they realize she lives? They will surely hunt her down, and no matter how talented of a swordsman you are, Phainon — and you are, I acknowledge that much — you can’t defend both yourself and a woman on the brink of death from a being that is hellbent on her end.”

“It’s her choice,” he said finally. “No one else’s.”

“Yes,” Natasha said, and then she turned to you. “It is. How about it, then? Knowing everything, what do you say?”

“Phainon,” you said instead of answering her immediately. “Will you stay with me?”

It was suddenly imperative that he answered that. For the first time but not the last, you wondered if you had met him before, to trust him so intrinsically, to need him so instinctually. What other explanation was there? Logically you knew it was not so, or else he would have recognized you, but you could not help it, could not help that nagging sense of familiarity, could not help that whining desire to be nearer and nearer to him.

“Until the very last,” he said, so solemn, so grave. “All of the way until Helike, if that’s what you ask.”

“Then I will go,” you said. “Even if it is not guaranteed, I want to live a little longer. Even if it is more painful, I don’t want to accept my death without first trying as hard as I can to fight it.”

Natasha clearly did not approve, but she did not seem particularly shocked, either, her lips pressing into a thin line as she nodded slowly, sadly, before standing and telling you she would return in a few moments if you did not mind waiting, please. So you and Phainon stayed in that empty room, and for a while neither of you spoke, lost in your own musings, until finally you gathered the strength to ask him the question that was newly weighing on your mind.

“Did I know you before?” you said.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly, like he was waking up from some long dream, shaking his head and giving you a polite, confused smile. “No, I’m quite sure you didn’t. I’d remember you if we had ever met.”

“How can it be? You say I am a stranger, but who does this much for a stranger? And if I truly did not know you, then why…” you trailed off, because in face of the befuddled furrow of his brow, you did not dare complete your thought: why is it that I feel so much for you? Why is it that I have, in the span of hours, found myself so enthralled? If you are a stranger, then does that make me a fool? I cannot be so weak. I cannot be so hapless. My body has failed me and my mind has failed me, my heart cannot as well. It cannot, and so you cannot.

“I can’t answer that,” he said, and he sounded so contrite you regretted even bringing it up in the first place. “Of course, I wish I knew you. I wish you weren’t a stranger, so that I could fill in the gaps of your memories, so that I could tell you about the entire life you had led up until the point you lost it. I would remember each detail, you know, and I wouldn’t withhold even the most mundane of them — I’d tell you about every single breakfast you ever ate with me, which jams were your favorite and which you turned your nose up at, the flowers you loved and those which distressed you, whether you preferred to play with the sheep or the ponies or the dogs — you would find me tiresome and boring to listen to, I think! But anyways, you are not the type of person who would be found doing such unimportant, silly things, so it’s irrelevant. Can you really believe yourself to be from Aedes Elysiae? We both know you aren’t, which means that you really must be a stranger to me, who has never left this place.”

“If only I were,” you said. “Girls from Aedes Elysiae are not poisoned and hunted and drowned very often, are they?”

“No,” he said. “They have their own problems, but those are not amongst the most common. Whoever did this to you, they are a special kind of monster, the sort that most people are lucky enough to never encounter in their lives. We only have to worry about wolves and ordinary bandits in these mountains.”

“Natasha didn’t seem to think so,” you said.

“Well, the road to Helike is dangerous,” he acquiesced. “And the city itself is a separate entity altogether. Who knows if we’ll even manage an audience with Luocha? He is a busy man, and not the generous sort, who might hear our urgency and make an exception. She’s right to be against us going.”

“But you think it’s a good idea,” you said. “You didn’t say as much, but I could sense it.”

“I hope I didn’t sway your decision,” he said. “You’re right, though. I do think it’s worth it. If we stay here, then your death is assured, and I will always regret that I did not do the best I could to prevent it.”

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking,” you said. “Don’t worry. I arrived at the conclusion of my own volition; if I am to die, I do not want to just lay down and accept it. It would drive me mad to spend my days with that anticipation, especially knowing that there was something I could be doing in the meantime. I could not manage such an arduous journey alone, but if I can have you with me, then I will go to Helike and demand that this Luocha sees me.”

“I already told you I would go,” he said. “I’ll deliver you to the capital, and until we can find out who you truly are, I will remain by your side and fulfill the role of every person it occurs to you to miss.”

“What if he cannot do anything for me?” you said, giving voice to that which had been quivering between you, massless and amorphous until you forcibly acknowledged it, affording it credence and shape. “Then you will have to lay me to rest in Helike. I will be an unnamed body amongst the many others who die everyday in such a large place, another unmarked grave amongst a sea of the like. It sounds so sad and lonely, I don’t — I don’t think I want that—”

“You can’t think such things. Focus on getting better,” he said.

“But I must consider every outcome carefully. There’s a chance that this entire matter will end in such a way, after all, and not a small one, either,” you said. “Can you do me a favor? Please, if it comes to it, ask them to burn me, and then take what’s left to the most beautiful place you can imagine. I know that’s a lot to ask of you, given that we have only met so recently, but I have no one else…” 

“I meant when I said I will be everything to you,” he said. “If that’s what you really want, then it’ll be done — but it won’t come to it in the first place. You will live, I promise. Those in the capital will know how to fix you.”

After that, he placed his hand on the top of your head, which was more than you needed but less than you wanted, and there you stayed, yourself on the bed and Phainon standing between you and the rest of the room, until Natasha returned with a few more sets of bandages and a bundle of clothes and a letter for Luocha, as well as a final warning to be careful before she sent you on your way.

Instead of returning directly home, you went to Phainon’s neighbor’s house, for if he were to accompany you to Helike, there were affairs that required settling. The animals he tended would still require feeding and watering and looking after, and he told you in a fond, level voice that there was no one he could entrust with the task better than the neighbor’s daughter, who was some years younger than you but possessed, in his words, the sort of determination that lent her far more reliability than mere experience might.

She was a vivacious girl, answering on the first knock and beaming when she saw you, the crescent moon of her grin splitting her freckled face nearly in two. Shoving aside Phainon, she threw her arms around you, and although you were taken aback by the affection, you were also warmed by it, by what she must have intended only as politeness but which came across to you as an offer of sincere friendship.

“You’re awake!” she said by way of greeting, and in the back of your mind, you vaguely recalled Phainon telling you he had called upon her to strip and bathe you of the filth of the beach. Maybe you might’ve squirmed, but she was the sort of person that was so guileless it seemed impossible to be uncomfortable around her, for she really was as wide-eyed and harmless as the lamb toddling around her feet. “You look much better now.”

“Do I?” you said dubiously. “I’m told I don’t.”

“This one,” she said, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper as she motioned towards Phainon. “Would you believe he’s the hero of the village? He’s such a bumbling clown when you meet him that it’s easy to forget.”

“Don’t fill her head with silly stories,” Phainon said, but his cheeks were pink, and it was obvious he was trying very hard not to boast about what he may have done to attain the designation of hero. “Where is your father? I need to ask him for a favor.”

“I think he’s out collecting eggs with my mother,” she said. He stared at her expectantly, but she only jut her chin out and stared back with her hands on her hips, her foot tapping impatiently against the tiled floor.

“Can you go fetch him?” he said finally, slowly, like he was talking to an impertinent little child.

“You know where he is, and you always tell me you’ll do it when you come, so go on, then! What’s different this time?” she said, and you coughed to disguise your snicker at the glitter of her eyes darting between the two of you. Phainon frowned, opening his mouth to argue before clamping it shut and mumbling something under his breath, ducking past you both, ostensibly in search of her father. As soon as the door swung shut behind him, she sobered, her grin dropping as quickly as it had come. “You know, you’re lucky he’s the one who found you.”

“Hm?” you said. 

“Like I said, he plays the part of the bumbling clown all too well, but that couldn’t be further from the truth of who he really is,” she said. “Phainon’s different from the rest of us. It’s as plain as day; my parents talk about it sometimes, I’ve heard them, so it’s not just me saying that, mind you! Just a few years ago, when I still went to the village for my lessons, there was an attack by a group of bandits. They were intent on holding Aedes Elysiae hostage until delegates from Helike could arrive, after which they planned to use our lives as the bargaining chip for what I can only assume would have been large sums of money.”

“How frightening,” you said, and you meant it entirely. “It’s abhorrent to think that they would attack such a defenseless place."

“It was frightening,” she agreed. “I was walking home already, as my teacher had suddenly grown ill and dismissed me early that day, so I escaped their notice, hiding in the trees as they corralled the townspeople in the square. When I judged them to be well and fully distracted, I began to run, and I did not stop running until I was banging on the door to Phainon’s home.

“He answered almost immediately, and he did not joke as he usually does. He knew as soon as he looked at me that something horrible was happening — I’m not particularly good at hiding my emotions, and he has a talent for reading even the best-concealed expressions — and he went with me to the village, and then—”

“And then?” you prompted when she suddenly fell silent.

“And then I told her to stop embarrassing me with these exaggerated accounts of events,” Phainon said. You turned to see him with a wiry man who resembled the girl most greatly, a cross look on his face, which was so at odds with the geniality you had come to expect that it seemed all but comical. “Please don’t take her too seriously. It’s true that there was a bandit attack that I helped fend off, but it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“Now, son, don’t be too humble,” the man, his neighbor, said, giving you an affable nod in greeting. “My daughter isn’t exaggerating that much. Phainon here really did take the guardsman’s sword and slay all the bandits that held weapons in their grips, sparing those who had nothing and bidding them to spread the word that Aedes Elysiae was not to be touched. He is undoubtedly our savior, so it only makes sense that he’s the one who found you — who else would?”

“He’ll protect you well,” his daughter added, her voice a lark’s chirp as she hefted her lamb in her arms, holding it before her like a peace offering, which was promptly denied by a playful scowl on Phainon’s part. “You won’t have to worry about a thing if he’s with you! Like I said, you’re lucky to have him.”

“He tells me you have business in Helike,” Phainon’s neighbor said, and although it was not a secret, necessarily, you found you were still grateful that Phainon had not told him what that business entailed. 

“Yes, that’s correct. He has graciously offered to accompany me,” you said. It was a credit to everyone in the room that they did not laugh at the notion of Phainon’s presence being a gift you could have denied. One did not need to look at you more than twice to know you were helpless in the wake of this poison, this half-death, but all three of them allowed you to keep your pride and did not point that out, Phainon’s neighbor even grunting in assent.

“Why, he’s always been the type. If there’s problems, he’ll be the first to try and solve them. I’m not surprised in the slightest,” he said. “But there’ll be trouble if you try to go like this.”

“Trouble?” you said. “Whatever do you speak of? What’s wrong with how I am now?”

“It’s not you, actually,” he said. “The clothes Natasha lent you are Helikan in origin; even if hers do not fit you well, she sent some from her mother that will surely work, so you should have no issue blending in. I’m more worried for Phainon…”

“Me?” Phainon said. “I see no problems with what I’m wearing. This is how I always dress.”

“Right,” his neighbor said, which brought Phainon to turn to you as if for reassurance. You cringed, for you could not come up with anything positive to say about the yellow tunic nor the pants, which were an inexplicable and blinding shade of violet that would not even suit a king in full regalia. In fact, the combination was all but offensive to the eye, the sin of it multiplying by how the swathes of fabric marred his comeliness, the muddy ochre tinting his skin sallow, the looseness of the drape folding over and concealing every line and angle of his body from view. 

“Perhaps it is better suited for guarding sheep than visiting the city,” you suggested, attempting to soften the blow as best as you could. “He is right. From what you have told me of the Helikans, should they see us as peasants, then I am doubly sure they will not grant us an audience. If you do not speak, and wear handsomer clothes, then you will easily be believed as someone of import, and although you are not an authority on the matter, you did mistake me for a Helikan earlier, so I think that I can also manage. But where shall we find that sort of attire, such that you are convincing enough to pass through without question?”

“I would have kept silent in the first place if I did not have something,” his neighbor said. “My brother once tried to pass the exam to be one of the guards of the Temple of Cygnus, you see, and he made it far enough to receive a uniform, though he fell in love with a singer before he could actually take the role. He left it here with me, along with the rest of his belongings, before running off to become a traveling musician.”

“The guise of a Temple guard! You think my current dress will draw attention, and that won’t?” Phainon said. 

“Well, they have a certain reputation,” his neighbor said. “Even the most fearsome of bandits would not dare incur the wrath of the Temple. It will grant you a safer passage…and anyways, if I am correct in my estimations, then the Temple is your end goal, is it not? It will serve you well there, too.”

“Fine,” he said reluctantly, though only after casting a sidelong glance at you, his lips pursing when he did. “You may be wrong, but if you are right, and if this uniform brings us before Luocha even a moment sooner, then how can I say no?”

Based on how averse Phainon had been to it, you had expected the garb of the Temple guards to be something practical but near to hideous, perhaps even fearsome, grotesque and twisted and hiding his shining visage from the world. Yet when he returned to you, self-consciously adjusting his white shoulder plates, you found you could not have been more wrong, for he was beautiful, so beautiful, awkward and shy though he was, the pearly threads of the long coat and the gold of the fastenings suiting him so well it was as if he had been born to wear them.

“You’re crying!” he said, and it might’ve been humorous, how he all but wilted, if he weren’t also right. “Do I really look that bad?”

For you hadn’t noticed until he had said it, but you really were weeping, and upon the realization, you could only bury your face in your hands in the effort of abating your senseless lamenting, wishing that your eyes would not sting so horribly and your throat would lose its humiliating swelling. 

“I knew this wasn’t a good idea,” he said when you did not say anything. “I’ll go and change now, don’t worry—”

You shook your head, wiping at your face as quickly as you could, blotting away your tears despite how they came back twice as strong with every press of your palms against them. You knew he was confused, he must have been, for you were, too, and you hated that most of all, hated that your own actions were a mystery to yourself. But there it was regardless, your heart, your traitorous, jealous heart, which kept the remnants of your many secrets locked away from the rest of you, singing and singing as you clenched your fists to prevent yourself from reaching for him.

“Don’t change,” you said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what overcame me. You just looked so familiar for a moment that I could not help it, but — but no, you don’t look bad, not at all.”

“You are a picture!” his neighbor said, clapping his hands together. “Truly, you suit it much better than my sorry old brother ever did. This must have been what Luocha envisioned when he designed them; I don’t think there’s been a guard more striking than you since the Temple of Cygnus was founded!”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Phainon said, nudging his neighbor away as the man tried to reach up and ruffle his hair. “You’re certain it won’t be too much of a burden for you to watch over my home while I’m gone?”

“After all of the help you’ve given us, I would never dream of calling you a burden. Take your time and worry only about your pretty girl here,” his neighbor said, nodding his chin towards you. “We will pray for her health and your safe return the entire time you’re gone.”

“Thank you,” you said, ignoring Phainon as he began to sputter indignantly at what was unmistakably only said to provoke that exact reaction from him. “I appreciate it, and I am eternally grateful for everything that you have done for me. For the rest of my life, however short or long it may be, I will remember you all, who saw a stranger by the sea and found it in your hearts to save her.”

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @itseightamineedsleep

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

hold on,hold on,Yandere!Conner Kent x reader🙏🏻

(sorry for bothering😭)

U ain't a bother and if anybody tells you that u do, then, they gonna face my pinky, my thumb and my fist they gonna run. 😼🐺🧏🏽‍♀️ nobody messes with my first ever anon 😠👊

Anyways

The night has fallen quietly over Metropolis, the cityscape softened under a blanket of stars. The world feels smaller somehow, contained within the walls of your apartment where Connor sits, angled slightly toward you, his gaze unwavering yet serene. He has that brooding, intense look—a mix of steel and tenderness—that you’ve come to recognize as uniquely his. It’s as though he’s carrying a burden, one he won’t let you see, and yet you feel its weight as if he’s drawn you into his orbit without permission.

“Connor,” you say softly, trying to break the quiet, “you’ve been… around a lot more lately.”

His eyes flicker, something shadowy dancing behind them, a vulnerability he usually keeps hidden. He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his gaze travel over your features as if memorizing every detail. The room feels charged, the air between you like the fine thread of a spider’s web—delicate and unbreakable all at once.

Finally, he speaks, his voice hushed but firm. “I just want to make sure you’re safe. Is that so wrong?”

There’s a faint, haunting cadence in his words, something raw and possessive yet laced with an almost tragic reverence. You feel the intensity radiating off him, a barely restrained storm beneath his calm exterior.

“Nothing could happen to you,” he continues, almost to himself. “Not on my watch. I’d make sure of that.”

You’ve always known Connor’s protectiveness runs deep, but tonight, it feels like there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. An edge, a quiet desperation that clings to the room, thick as fog.

“Connor…” you say his name with a gentle tone, hoping it might pull him out of whatever dark place he’s retreating into. He’s so close now, leaning forward, his hand reaching out as if compelled by some invisible force. When his fingers graze your cheek, his touch is featherlight, as though he fears you’ll vanish.

“If I could keep you here,” he whispers, his tone taking on a dreamy, almost poetic quality, “locked away from the world… I would. Not because I want to take anything from you, but because I… I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

It’s a confession wrapped in longing, and you see the truth of it in his eyes, where constellations seem to burn just for you. There’s something about his gaze that feels eternal, as if the universe itself has handed him the task of guarding you.

“You mean a lot to me,” he says finally, each word slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to etch them into your soul. “More than you know.”

In that moment, his love feels like an uncharted ocean—beautiful and terrifying, with depths you’re not sure you’re ready to explore. But his sincerity anchors you, and, despite the intensity of his words, you can’t help feeling safe, cocooned in the quiet power of his devotion.

(A/n: is it just me or do you guys also feel suspicious of how I could post every day despite saying I'm too lazy to do so... Maybe my laziness hasn't kicked in yet which is weird and scary considering I'm writing dis rn in front of my 10 homework activities, and yes I am doing it last minute but so what...? I'm too lazy to do all of em and rn I'm don't know what I am talking about... I love yapping but I'm a introvert does it make me a extrovert when i talk too much but not as loud? Guys I'm turning crazy, I need someone to talk to and all my best friends are busy idk why they've been busy since last week....my gf is not replying for like 20 minutes now...im going crazy. Also sorry for spamming the Batfamily tag even though it's not the content I posted, I just feel like it's more famous than the others and also idk how to tag... Though mainly because I'm scared of being a flop hehe...)

[billiesguitar]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𝐁����𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

Stalker!billie x innocent!reader || ch.1 ||

warnings - stalking(don't do this plz)

(Billie's pov )

Beautiful.

that's all i could think as i watched her from a distance. she had no idea that i knew every little thing about her, that i studied her every move, her every smile, her every tear. she was so oblivious to the world around her, so lost in her own little bubble, that she never noticed how i was everywhere. to be completely transparent, i don't know what compels me to do this, following her around, taking pictures, obsessing over her, i don't know why i do it, i just do it. it's like some sort of magnetic pull, something inside of me that screams for more of her, something that keeps me coming back for more.

it had been our first week of university, orientation week, where we hung out, met new people, got situated, and whatever else normal people did. i decided to take a... different approach, not by choice, but by necessity. i had noticed her from the moment she stepped into the auditorium for the welcome assembly. she had the kind of aura that drew everyone in, made them question who she was, made them insecure, made them ask her out without knowing her properly. i just sat back and took notes on every little gimmick or bit or habit she had.

her name was y/n. i had followed her from class to class, lurked in the shadows as she went to the library, sat outside her dorm at night as she studied with the light on, and watched her as she slept. i know, it's creepy, but i couldn't help it, i needed her to be safe, needed to make sure she was okay. she was just so... innocent like bambi or something. i had to protect her from all the shit that was out there in the world.

every night i'd go home and write down everything she did, everything she said, every person she talked to, and i'd analyze it all, trying to piece together the puzzle of y/n. i have a whole notebook in my room dedicated to her, filled with pictures and notes and writing. she's 5'0, doesn't drink much out of personal choice, she loves to paint and sing, she likes painting her nails different colors, she loves coffee and shopping and music and has 3 siblings, 2 brothers and a sister. whenever she's nervous she touches her neck or when she's excited she swings on her feet. i know most things about her and she still knows nothing about me.

-

first day of classes, i decided to take a seat next to her in our english lit class. she had no idea who i was, of course, but she gave me a polite smile as she sat down. i took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. this was it, the closest i had ever been to her. the scent of her perfume filled my nose and i couldn't help but lean in slightly to get a better whiff. she smelled like vanilla and coconut, a heavenly combination that i had never smelled before.

"hi," she said softly, her eyes scanning my face for recognition. "i think i've seen you around. i'm y/n."

"oh," i said, playing it cool, trying not to let my excitement show. "i'm billie. it's nice to meet you."

y/n nodded, her eyes flicking back down to the book in her lap. i studied her from the corner of my eye, noting the way she played with the hem of her shirt as she listened to the professor drone on about the syllabus. she was so focused, so intense, that it was hard not to be captivated by her.

the class eventually ended and she began to pack up her things.

"need help with anything?" i offered, hoping she'd say yes.

"no, i'm good," she replied with a smile. "but thanks for asking."

as we walked out of the classroom together, she turned to me.

"do you know where the art building is?" she asked.

i nodded, "yeah, i can show you."

y/n's eyes lit up with relief and she fell into step beside me. we talked about our majors and hometowns, and i found myself getting lost in the sound of her voice, the way she talked with her hands, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about painting. it was like nothing else in the world mattered except for her.

when we got to the art building, she thanked me and went inside. i watched her go, feeling a strange mix of happiness and sadness. happiness because i had just had a real conversation with her, and sadness because i knew i had to let her go, for now.

but i couldn't stay away for long.

that night, i found myself outside her dorm again, watching her through the window. she was singing to herself, her voice a soft melody that floated out into the night air. i leaned closer, trying to make out the words, feeling a warmth spread through me as i did so. it was a strange feeling, one i had never felt before.

the next day, i was sitting outside her dorm when she walked out. she looked surprised to see me.

"hi again," i said, smiling.

"hi billie," she said, looking around nervously. "what are you doing here?"

"reading," i lied, trying to seem casual. "what about you?"

"oh, i'm just going to grab some lunch," she said, looking down at her watch, "i've got class in like 10 minutes so i've gotta rush" she added, looking a bit flustered. "see you around."

"see ya," i said, watching her go.

but i couldn't stay away. i followed her to the cafeteria, watching her from a safe distance as she ate with her friends. she laughed at something one of them said, and i felt a pang in my chest. i wanted to be the one making her laugh like that, the one she confided in, the one she leaned on.

as the days turned into weeks, our interactions became more frequent. we'd run into each other in the halls, at the library, and even at the coffee shop on campus. each time, she'd greet me with a smile, and each time i'd fall a little bit more in love with her.

but i knew i had to keep my distance. if she ever found out what i was doing, she'd be terrified of me. so, i contented myself with watching her from afar, taking in every little detail, every little gesture, and storing it away in the back of my mind.

—————

AU Masterlist

[445376]

she/her and (name) used when referring to the reader. i do not know what compelled me to write this, and i think i might be sorry for writing it.

"do you ever drink water?"

levi opens his eyes to the sound of her voice, just to question whether the insomnia that haunts him every night was so easily whisked away under her delicate touch, to the point he'd fallen asleep and conjured that question himself.

he tilts his head back to gaze upon her blank expression, so deep in contemplation — about whether he drinks water, the thing humans need in order to survive — until their eyes meet. she smiles warm and adoringly, like there is nothing in the universe more deserving of her love than him. she leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, one that lingers even when she stands to full height again, thumbs still working circles into his shoulders to ease every instance of tension.

(but, does he drink water?)

"yes, i drink water," levi says quite flatly, much like a disappointed father. that tone of his that indicates "this is a fact. accept it, and shut up" with no room for speculation.

her mouth forms an 'o', as if his confirmation is the single-most revolutionary discovery to ever be amongst humanity. as if this piece of information could have entire books dedicated to it. there'd be history lessons spent solely on sharing this information with every new generation to come.

"you gonna ask if i've ever taken a shit, next?"

"absolutely not." a mortified grimace makes its way to her face. "i'm already aware of that, levi. have my lookouts outside the walls been so minor that you've forgotten?" she cups his face and squishes the plush of his cheeks, hovering her face just above his so there is no mistake in what she says. "i'm the reason your last memory isn't one of taking a dump in a forest...!"

levi, at the very least, snorts a laugh — well it's more like a quiet breath out his nose, but that's basically levi-speak for "that's the funniest thing i've ever heard and actually my sole reason to continue fighting, and you're so hot. have i ever said that? i love you, darling light of my life" but that's neither here nor there — and the small sound is enough to cheer up his darling light of his life, enough that she releases his face.

"i see," he deadpans, "but you've never seen me drink water."

"no, actually. never." with her elbows propped against the back of his chair, she whispers her next words like they're a crime punishable by death, and only he can be trusted to keep her confession — along with her life — safe and hidden from the public. "i have never witnessed you drink water."

and levi, well, he knows for a fact he doesn't not drink water. and it's stupid to acknowledge the time this conversation has even been allowed to happen, that it wasn't shut down after one singular, logical thought. it's as if the sensible braincells that make up his functioning thoughts have forgotten how to speak, and instead exist only to bounce up and down, chanting in unison, "yippee! attention from (name)!" and do nothing of their usual duties.

"i do." it's simple, straight to the point. though levi is still wracking his brain trying to recall the last time he did, he can only hope she doesn't press for more proof than that.

"when?" she asks, as if solely to spite him and spit on his hopes. "tea doesn't count. we're talking plain water only."

between the two, it's like a staring contest. eyes locked, an unspoken challenge. paired with one raised brow, her eyes say "you sure?" and his, so steely and full of resolve, speak back to her "damn sure". but neither back down. and the rules of a staring contest must be lost on them, ignored even, because they both blink whenever they need to, and not a lot of staring seems to be happening.

"i do," levi states again. but the repetition serves no points to his defence, rather solidifying his lack of case. in a small twist, however, this could be proof that the legendary captain really didn't need water to thrive on the battlefield; a beast worth a thousand soldiers, whilst needing the water of none.

the only downside to befall this revelation, as incredible a find as it may be, is that no artist could replicate the true depth of his pretty face. the man in the history books would be handsome, no doubt capturing the hearts of many generations to come. but— no mortal hand could possess the skill to capture his essence. but that was okay, because levi was a very, very taken man. the humans of the future would be born in a world without the fear of titans, but born too late to witness the great captain in all his glory. the future sounded lame.

"you don't sound so certain, captain." she seems triumphant to a sickening degree. using his title with that proud little smile on her face, it's a deplorable tactic to throw him off whatever thought process he'd been looped in. and it works. but, then comes a gasp that wipes that look off her face in an instant. "you do! oh...you drink water during training."

of course he does. and during those expeditions she mentioned earlier, too.

"you know, levi, i was really worried that i'd never seen you drink water," she confesses. he feels a weird twinge in his chest — the same sensation that flourishes whenever she says she loves him, or he sees the "i've spotted my levi!" smile appear at the mere sight of him. she sighs, coming forth to wrap him in a loose embrace. "really had me worried i'd done something seriously wrong to be banished from watching your hydration rituals."

levi doesn't ask why exactly that was the first conclusion to be drawn, nor why she asked about his water intake at all. he only settles into her arms, breathing a sigh of relief as finally, by some miracle, his braincells function again.

[freyito]

ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ʙᴇᴀᴛꜱ

✭ pairing(s): messmer x gn reader

★ 'hearth' /härTH/ ✱ used as a symbol of one's home.

✩ in which: messmer understands the meaning of home. or you had a bad day. (as is common in the lands between)

✧ a/n: messmerrrrrr i missss yewwww (writing this while i stare at my messmer statue)

🗒 cw: gn reader, tarnished reader, comfort, proofread

✎ wc: 1.3k

Comfort is a lost art on Messmer. Long gone are the days of being cradled in his mothers arms when he had a bad dream, or her soft words when he had a bad day. What he was left with now was an emptiness that he never could seem to fill, one that clawed its way through his heart. No matter how many times he had raised his spear, how many times he had repeated those words, over and over, nothing made home there.

Aside from now, at least. He could wallow as much as he wanted to, mourn what he wanted with his mother, and that wouldn’t change the fact that he had a Tarnished curled up on his chest, sobbing. You were the first Tarnished to not raise your weapon when faced with him, and in a moment of weakness, he was compelled to take you in. ‘Like a pet’ he rationalized in his head. He didn’t expect to get so attached, but within you, he saw something more. Stripped of your light, yet still standing. For once, to him, it was honorable. And so, here you were, head pressed against his chest, heaving softly as you tried to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes.

He is so very warm, akin to the warmest blanket you’ve known against the cold that had gradually seeped into your very bones. The cold that persisted within the Lands Between. It was a bitter feeling you were rather intimate with, the way your fingers stung no matter the padding of your armor, your bones weary and tired. You had grown so used to the abuse thrown your way, the way the world piled its own weight against you every step of the way. You were familiar with just how deep the world cut into you, and always prided yourself on just how much you could withstand. The scorn others cast upon you, the reminder that Tarnished were lesser, it was crammed into your head. And yet, you persevered. All you could do was wipe the blood, spit, and rain off your face and continue on.

But it wore you down. The Lands Between could not suffer sensitivity, and all you could ever do was keep walking forward. You could not rest, no, for it felt as if the entire world was against you. All you could do was kill, push forward, and kill again. It has inevitably taken its toll, as all things do. You could care less about the Grace of Marika now, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of something. Preferably your partner. And yet, even as you curled up against Messmer’s chest, his warmth does nothing to dull the biting cold that’s made its home within your very bones. You wanted nothing more than to be swaddled and coddled like a babe, sang to sleep, even. You wanted your cries to be heard, not pushed aside in favor of battle.

And Messmer knew that feeling all too well. To be shunned yet still borderline worshiped, somehow honored despite being such a wretched thing. And yet, he fell short. All he could do was simply breathe, too afraid to do anything with his hands or console you with his words. Despite how much he longed for the same treatment you crave so desperately at this moment, he had never thought of how he would go about it. And yet, he couldn’t just let you wallow alone, he wouldn’t let you suffer another minute, not alone, at least.

You take a deep shuddering breath, unable to quell the uncertainty and fear that ails you. Even the thought of resting was horrifying, all your body had known was strife and to take a break was as if you were asking yourself to die. The creeping dread intertwined with the pain spreading through your chest, which only made for a worse reaction.

Tentatively, Messmer’s fingers stroke through your hair, his nails scratching ever so lightly at your scalp. He is careful not to be too rough, quite aware of his size compared to yours. His other hand is placed firmly on the small of your back, shuffling beneath you, readjusting your body so your ear lay against his chest. His breathing is steady, chest rising and falling calmly as you whine. His heart beats against your ear, even, yet it stutters every now and then. Whether it’s his nerves or just how flustered he is to be so close to you, you are unsure. But it’s a gentle lullaby, something that stills your racing mind, yet doesn’t stop the tears that flow.

His serpents tense ever so slightly, unsure of what to do as is Messmer. Yet, they relax as your sobs slow, resting over your tired limbs. All Messmer can do is offer soft shushes, in the same way his mother had offered when he was a fussy babe. Yet, he feels as if he is lacking, missing something. All he wants is to quell your fears and calm you down, and yet he knows he cannot tell you that everything will be okay. He knows that is a lie. But he does not deny you the catharsis of bawling until your throat is raw. He can do more, he tells himself, but he freezes in his own fluster, unable to act on what he wishes to do. At least for the time being. He simply stares down at you as you sob helplessly against him.

What follows is a painful silence in the hollow chamber, wracked with your sniffles and heaves. Messmer shifts near uncomfortably beneath you, not because he is embarrassed, but simply because he doesn’t know what to do. Or if what he’s about to do would be seen as okay. He feels rather bold, yet anxious as his hands drift to your waist, pushing you up until your face is level with his. Close, so very close, is all he can think as he looks upon your crying face, wet, puffy, and vulnerable. You watch as his face softens quickly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, his eye glossy, as if he, too, is feeling your pain.

He presses his lips to your cheekbone, just under your eye, a gentle kiss to ward away your fear. You can feel his entire body heat up by this simple act, and even in your blurred vision you can tell just how bright his cheeks burned. He had kissed you a million times before, and yet he could never dull the awkwardness or rush he felt. Yet, he presses another kiss to your cheek, and another. He continues to kiss away your tears, and in doing so, turns your harsh shuddering into light laughs. His kisses are ticklish, and while you were almost content to wallow in your misery, you couldn’t help but laugh. Which has Messmer beaming.

A warmth spreads through him that was just once kindling, now a blazing flame. One that is imperceptible to you, but means the world and more to Messmer. It quells the ever-burning flame within, the one he had learned to hate and yet wield as a weapon. Replaced by something that was just simply warm. Like a summers day, one that has long since faded from the Land of Shadow, yet akin nonetheless. He can’t put his finger on it. When he looks at you, however, that warmth grows hotter, and hotter, and then dulls into the comforting embrace of a blanket, or the fur of a kitten underneath his fingers. It is not like the love that he sought and begged for all these years, no, it is something different. He knows it is different. And as he looks upon your tear streaked face, still slightly red, but graced with a smile nonetheless, he himself cannot help but smile. A gentle look that he has not shared in ages.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[slimyalienfreak]

Heya! I was wondering if you could make a lil fanfic of shadow the hedgehog and mobian!reader

where the reader has a fascination with death and everything morbid due to seeing and being in lots of tragedies and shadow is mostly unaware of this but finally starts noticing the reader’s obsessive like fascination with death and wants to confront them about it

Shadow With A Mobian!Reader Who Has A Fascination With Death

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

Sorry it took kinda long to do this. Honestly kind of lost motivation to write stuff lately but I think it’s coming back. I don’t know. Regardless, I hope you like it.

Pronouns: Not Mentioned

Warning: ⚠️Mentions Of Death + Suicide (Not Actually Committing But Talks About Wanting To) + Spoilers For Shadow’s Backstory⚠️

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Shadow + Mention Of Maria

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Art by CoffeeBearSama on Twitter/X + Banner by salintvll (Edited by me) on Pinterest

———————————

- Honestly at first Shadow never noticed or asked about your obsession when it comes to death. He’s quite the loner so he doesn’t really indulge in anyone or their personal interests. That’s just what he’s like. Not that he’s completely dismissive of any of your interests, it's just his response to you telling him or him hearing about it is just ‘okay’. Maybe you could persuade him to join in but it may take a while but he does partake in it.

- Though eventually he does notice your interest in death. He might have heard it from someone else, maybe from you or he just so happened to discover it himself. At first admittedly he was a bit put off by it not outright it’s just he’s never really seen someone even remotely interested in death unless they’re willingly want to experience it. And to be honest even before he discovers how obsessed you were with it he’s still a little concerned that you want to end yourself so he decides to keep a close eye on you in case you actually do want to end yourself.

- However, his worry does become way worse when he slowly discovers how obsessed you actually were with it. He started to notice how you talked about it. The fact you were talking about it so casually, talking in depth about it makes him more concerned than when he discovered it. In his own way he’s genuinely worried about you. I feel like this kind of evolved from what happened to Maria that he feels compelled to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else especially if he’s somewhat close with you.

- When he does confront you about it you may have to spend most of your time convincing him that you're okay. Honestly with the way you're talking about it he’s thinking you genuinely want to end yourself and he doesn’t want that. To him you’ve still got a lot to live for and you shouldn’t cut it short. It probably took a while for him to be convinced that you were alright. You’d probably have to explain how you gained interest in it, more specifically the shit you had to go through which made you like this.

- When you do tell him about the horrible tragedies that’s when it hits him about your obsessive fascination with death. Now he understands why you're like this. He does feel bad for you for experiencing the things you did and thinks that it must be a coping mechanism for you in a way. Even with you convincing him that it's genuinely an interest nothing more he’d still be concerned for you and tell you that if you ever need to talk he’d be there for you and listen to what you need to say.

- I do kind of feel like Shadow would be kind of interested in a way. Not like how you are, I have a feeling it’s mostly for confirmation or reassurance. It’s not that big of a surprise that he’s greatly affected by the death of Maria, someone who he’s undoubtedly the closest with. Even if a lot of time has gone by since it deep down even if he doesn’t want to admit it he still wishes that she was still alive and misses her greatly. With your interest in death he may go up to you and ask about it. He really would like your opinion about it though at first not going in that great detail about it. Even though he claims he is not interested in it he kind of wants confirmation that she’d be alright and is proud of him.

- Oddly enough, having these talks with you is very comforting for him. He finds himself being more calm about his feelings when it comes to death himself. I think the fact that he doesn’t have to bottle them up like he usually does and is free to just let it out. As soon as he’s done ranting he can feel himself just relax as he thanks you for letting him talk about it. He likes having these moments with you and he really appreciates you listening to him and the other way round.

———————————

[calebsmoocher]

Asking them to go check on a strange noise

It’s movie night and they’re all snuggled up under the blankets…until she hears a weird noise. “Babe, wtf was that? Can you go check?”

Written for Caleb, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, and Rafayel

Word count: ~1K for each lead

cw: lots of...kissing, I don’t know if I’d genre it as horror; I tried my best to make it scary, but it’s also just straight crack.

A/N: I saw this tiktok and have been laughing ever since imagining how the boys would react to MC asking them to check on a strange noise, and they’re met with that. Fair warning, I have included the scary pictures from the filter. So…no freaking out (they're not that bad). I had so so much fun writing this, i was fucking shitting my pants laughing. Anyway, here’s da link to the tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@...twill/video/7469968509217312043?_r=1&_t=ZS-8tqutQlM2cB

Caleb

“Caleb, did you hear that?” 

He cocks his head towards her, taking his eyes off the laptop between them. “Hmm? Hear what?” She furrows her brows, pausing the movie and sitting up much to his dismay. He’s still lying down, empty arms gesturing for her to come back. But she stays still, hunching over like it would help her hear better. Then she hears it again. 

A sharp grating noise, like nails being dragged across a chalkboard.

“That!”

Caleb sits up now, brows creased. “Okay, I heard that…” he says cautiously. He waits for it to sound again, but there is only silence. “Maybe it’s the saucepans moving around. We used a lot of pans for dinner.” She shakes her head, lips pulled taut. That was no saucepan.

Creeeek. 

She jumps, clutching at his bicep. “Babe, go check.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” He goes to wrap an arm around her, flashing her a smile, but she slaps his arm away.

“I’m serious, Caleb. Please, can you go check?” Well, how can he say no to that pout? He rolls his eyes, pulling the blanket off of him and hauling himself up.

“Okay, okay.” He saunters over to the door. He turns the door knob and opens it confidently. “Be back in a second, pipsqueak. Don’t play it without me.�� He leaves the door ajar as he leaves and she watches as the darkness engulfs him. 

Her breaths are uneasy. He’s been gone for at least two minutes. What was taking him so long!? She slides her legs out from under the blankets and shuts the laptop. The whole time he had been gone, she had heard nothing. She pushes herself up and waddles to the door, gripping the wall tightly.

“Caleb!?” she whispers into the darkness. 

Nothing.

She sucks in a deep breath, holding her fists out in front of her as she takes a tentative step into the hallway. “Caleb!” she tries again. She can hear her own heartbeat pounding in her chest. It’s thrumming in her ears. Every breath she’s taking is like a shrill drag in the silence of her house. She can feel something behind her. Eyes peering at her that she can’t see even when she looks over her shoulder shakily. No, no, there’s nothing there! She makes it to the end of the hallway before trying to call for him again, wetting her lips before parting her lips. But a weight crashes into her, enclosing around her chest like a vice.

“RAHH!”

She screams, thrashing in his arms. Caleb can barely hold in his laugh as he pulls her closer to calm her down.

“Caleb!” She kicks out at his shins and he yelps. “Fuck you! Seriously!?” His whine struggles into an open laugh. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice is still breathless from laughing. He presses kisses into her hair, stroking her arms. He feels her frantic pulse through his palms, and it compels him to leave more guilty kisses all over her. 

“You are not sorry.”

“I am. I am,” he reassures her. He kisses at the juncture of her neck, his hair tickling her cheek.

“Okay, enough. Seriously.” She tries to wriggle in his grasp, guiding them back towards her room to no avail. He only hugs her tighter. He loves holding her like this, her scent flooding his senses. Her warmth, although no match for his, soothing his palms. His biceps. His chest. He feels a warmth fan at his nape. And he smiles even wider into her nape.

Wait.

A chill runs down his spine. Who the fuck is behind him? He whips his head around and is met with a chalky face gleaming down at him. Its lips are bloodied and spread into what he can only describe as a carnivorous smile. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Caleb throws her forward away from the snarling beast behind him, maneuvering his body quickly to face it. The girl frowns before she screams, eyes latching onto the monster towering over them. Its eyes are a cloudy blue, bulging at its sockets. And its eyebrows are thin and sharp. Her throat is hoarse from that singular scream and she latches onto the back of Caleb’s shirt, boxing her shoulders in. 

Caleb punches it square in the face, bouncing his weight back and forth as adrenaline pumps through him. The monster recoils with a snarl. Its lips quiver before it lurches forward towards them. The girl screams, squeezing her eyes shut. She hears him land another punch. And she hears the monster squeal in pain. Caleb is panting hard, pupils blown as he holds his fists close to his face. 

“What the fuck,” he rasps before slamming his fist into its jaw, “is this!?” The monster lets out an angered shriek before backing up, bracing itself. Fuck-

“It’s gonna charge at us!” Caleb throws his arm back at her, pushing her further down the hallway. “Get back!” She scrambles backwards, hands still gripping his shirt tightly. He turns to run, arms out to sweep her. But as he moves, their legs tangle and they’re both sent crashing into the floor. 

The monster is snapping at Caleb’s legs despite his barefoot attempts at clocking it in its jaw again. His palms haul his weight down the hallway in escape. 

“Oh my god!” The girl screams. Scrambling to her knees, she hurls a nearby book at it. It barely hits its head. She throws a vase. An odd shoe. Anything her hands can latch onto. The monster snarls up at her, puss and blood dripping from its mouth and onto the wood.

“What are you doing!?” Caleb screeches at her. He almost loses his toes. “You’re making it worse!”

Tears blur her vision. She doesn’t stop launching objects at it. One even hits the top of Caleb’s head. “Well what the fuck am I supposed to do!? It’s trying to eat you!”

Caleb thrusts his palms out and an invisible force pins the monster down. It flails and struggles, teeth snapping at the air. Arms snatching and clawing just shy of Caleb’s legs. She sees him visibly sigh, throwing his head back at her.

“Shit, get your gun.”

The girl gapes, wobbling to her feet. “What!?”

“What do you mean ‘what’!? We have to get rid of this shit!”

She shakes her head. “I don’t have it here! I left it at the association!” He throws his head even farther back before wrapping his spare arm around her and tugging her against his chest.

“Caleb, what-” His hand covers her eyes and he breathes into her ear.

“Just…close your eyes for me. Cover your ears too, if  you can.” She does as he says, shaky hands pressing over her ears.

Despite it, she hears the unforgiving squelch and crackle of bones crushing. Of the floorboards breaking and the wood snapping. Of fluids spurting out and smacking against the walls. Her breath hitches in her throat as she feels the splatter of hot fluid on her legs. 

When it’s all over, Caleb one handedly scoops her into his hold, his other arm still over her eyes. When he finally removes it, she’s seated on the kitchen counter, his arms on either side of her legs. He grabs a cloth and begins wiping the blood off her leg, offering her a small, hesitant smile.

Zayne

She digs her face deeper into Zayne’s chest and he presses a kiss to her forehead. There’s a dip in the audio of the movie playing from her laptop as the characters creep along the walls of the haunted house. She grips onto Zayne’s  forearm, lifting it to semi cover her eyes, eliciting a soft laugh from him. Truthfully, he was no better at horror movies than her. Cautiously, he lowers his face into her hair, using the top of her head as a shield. And he prays she won’t notice. 

“Doctor Zayne, are you scared?” Of course she would notice. He breathes into her hair with a chuckle. “You’re cool and collected on the operating table, but a cheap jumpscare is enough to unsettle you?” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she teases him. Despite being so tense herself, she insists on teasing him.

“I admit, horror movies are not something I usually watch. On the operating table, at least I have the security of anesthesia to prevent my patients from jumping out at me.” He kisses her hair, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “As a hunter, you must have a lot of experience with scary monsters. Does this mean I should entrust myself in your care?”

She rolls her eyes, leaning into him as their attention returns to the movie. She can almost taste the jumpscare about to happen. The characters on the screen wear fearful expressions as the camera zooms in on their shaky lips. The camera pans around them, setting up for the appearance of the monster behind them. But as the screen moves she hears a stretching noise, like the expanding of elastic, followed by the rip of tape. But it sounds right outside her door. She immediately flings out her hand to pause the movie, looking back at Zayne.

“Did you just hear that?”

It sounds again. Exactly like a balloon inflating. The crinkle of latex. The heavy breath of air like someone exhausted.

“Are you sure it didn’t come from your laptop?” She shoves the laptop so he can see it better. 

“It’s paused!” She sits up, removing the quilt. “It came from out there.” She points a shaky finger to her closed door. She turns, shooting him a pleading look.

“Can you go check?”

He rubs his neck, letting out a humourless laugh. “Maybe a light’s blown. Do you really want me to go have a look?”

“Yes,” she whines. “What I said before…I was kidding. Please.”

He gives in, kissing her once more on her forehead. “Okay, I’ll have a look. Don’t worry so much; it’s most likely nothing.”

Just as he wraps his fingers around the door knob the strange noise sounds again. Zayne halts and she slides to the edge of the bed, slowly getting to her feet. She stands a good two metres behind him, hands over her heart. He offers her a reassuring smile, twisting the handle down and letting the door creak open. The hallway is pitch black besides the trickle of light from her bedroom. 

He pauses. It’s silent for all but three seconds until the horrid stretching noise echoes down the hall. It’s quieter this time. She sees Zayne visibly swallow before peering out to the left. He stays there for a few seconds before turning back to her. One foot still in her room while the rest of his body is engulfed in the darkness.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I didn’t see anything.” She creeps closer, sighing out before lowering her hands from her chest. 

“I’m sorry, I was being silly. It was probably my neighbours.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” He ruffles her hair. “Would you be more comfortable if I closed to door-”

As he speaks, the sound interrupts him and she sees a pale, white monster rise behind him.

“Zayne!” The man whips around. As he throws himself back into the door, it flings open fully, revealing the monster in its entirety. It has a small, smiling face upon a balloon-like body. Inflated and looming over them. Its head nearly touches the roof yet its feet are planted on the floor, engulfed in its huge body. 

“Oh what the fuck !!” Zayne’s voice is a struggle between his usual, even tone and surprise. He spins his body around properly, taking a protective stance in front of her. A pointed ice shard fires towards the monster before breaking against the wall besides its head. 

He shoots another but it misses the monster by a mile. He pushes up his glasses before wiping the back of his hand over his upper lip. A ring of icicles circles his wrist, rotating like arrows ready for release. He fires one more but it shatters on impact against the beast’s chest.

“Zayne! What are you doing!?” He lets out an exasperated gasp. Almost like he’s holding back a laugh. She was right. 

“Oh my god. What am I doing?” he thinks. He manages to compose himself momentarily, gripping the door and shutting it before the monster can close in on them. He crashes his back against the wood, facing her with his mouth agape.

He rubs his palms down his face, exhaling shakily. “I’m sorry,” he apologises immediately. The girl struggles to her knees, hands covering her mouth as she laughs. She was this close to pissing her pants. In both fear and from how incredibly, mortifyingly funny the situation was. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises again but she only waves her hand through her laughs. “That caught me off guard.” Another burst of laughter. Oh Zayne. “Okay, I’m going to open it again. Are you ready?”

Wait what?

She stops laughing, eyes widening. “What? Noo!” Before she can protest further, he’s already turning the handle and she has to hurl herself up on her feet. When the door opens again, the monster is still there. It’s smile hasn’t moved. And its wide, unblinking eyes look directly at her. Zayne directs his arms outwards as a blinding flash of aqua lights up the hallway. She feels the sudden chill wrap around her as the room’s temperature drops. The monster is frozen away in its personal ice prison. Its creepy smile immortalised in the doorway of her bedroom.

Zayne sighs, pushing his glasses up again. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. Her laugh returns to her, though it is more in relief than anything. “What are we going to do with it?” She asks. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair before kneeling at her bed and dragging her laptop towards them. The screen had gone to sleep in the chaos.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Surely there must be reports of it.” He clicks the keyboard to wake the laptop up, but in doing so he resumes the movie. The bloodied face of a clown lunges towards him, a shrill scream blaring out from the laptop’s speakers.

“FUCK!”

He slams the laptop shut before burying his face in his hands. Oh Zayne.

Sylus

She had managed to convince Sylus to join her for a movie night in her cramped Linkon apartment, the two of them barely fitting on her bed. His arm is wrapped loosely around her shoulder, not wanting to smother her. Unfortunately, her laptop had lost charge, so their movie night was on its last legs; the two of them peering down at her phone screen. He didn’t mind, though. To be honest, he wasn’t even paying attention. His eyes watching her reflection when the screen would go dark. 

“Sylus, you’re squinting,” she laughs in his face. “You old man!” Sylus can only groan, rubbing at his temple as he opts for just shutting his eyes and resting his head on top of hers. 

“If you’re going to insist on us watching movies like this, at least let me upgrade your phone.”

“No way. My phone hasn’t failed me once in the seven years I’ve had it.”

“Sweetie, It’s definitely outdated.” She pauses the movie, maneuvering herself on top of him.

“Are you free tomorrow?” 

He cradles her jaw, kissing her nose. “Are you asking me out on a date? What did you have in mind?”

“Let’s go to the optometrist.” He groans, pushing her away playfully. “It’ll be so much fun. We’ll get your eyes checked. And I’ll help you pick out some new glasses.”

“You’re killing me, kitten.” She giggles, swatting his hands away and giving him a kiss. Her thumbs brush away the hairs in his eyes, tracing along his eyelids up to the arch of his brows. 

Crash.

She halts, and he supports her weight, gripping her waist. They both look at the door then back at each other.

“What was that?” She asks. He sighs, beginning to soothe the back of his knuckles down her sides.

“It was probably Mephisto.” The girl narrows her eyes.

“I thought you said Mephisto was out keeping tabs in the N109 zone.” Now it’s Sylus’ turn to pause. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Did I say that?” he asks genuinely. She nods.

“Yes, you did.” They hear another clutter, like plates knocking against each other. She leans back onto her ankles, tugging him forward. “Sylus, can you go check?” She puts on her best pout.

“What, are you scared?” His voice is slow and even, taunting even as he pushes forward to the edge of the bed anyway. “Between us, wouldn’t you say you have more experience as a hunter dealing with situations like this?”

“Sylus,” she whines. She follows behind to the door, comforted by the way his broad back fully blocks her view. He twists the handle and the door opens with a squeal. He shoots her a crooked smile over his shoulder before heading down the hallway. 

She sighs out, crossing her arms in the warm light of her bedroom. She can hear his footsteps quieten as they get further away. After a moment, she hears them fade back into focus and he stands at the doorway.

“There’s nothing. Come see for yourself.” He offers her his hand and she hesitantly slides her palm into his. She walks out into the corridor, putting one tentative foot in front of the other. It’s not that she didn’t trust Sylus, but she had heard something moving in her kitchen. She feels the thump of her heart beat against her chest as she braces herself along the wall. Turning a blind corner like this always made her cringe into herself.

“Boo.”

She jumps, her shoulder hitting his jaw and eliciting a painful ‘tch’. Despite the fact that she was still holding his hand and she knew he was right behind her, her nerves were still set alight.

“Sylus!” He rubs at his chin, laughing into the darkness.

“I can’t help it. It’s cute when you’re all worked up like-” Her eyes latch onto a face in the darkness, pale and long. Oh, now she is definitely freaking out. She yelps, throwing Sylus in front of her. His arms jerk out to balance himself before he looks up.

The face is bulbous in shape, and its tethered by a long, thick string where its neck should’ve been. Its mouth is agape and stretched unnaturally lengthwise. Suddenly, the face descends down towards them, a ghastly sound leaving its mouth.

“Oh shit!” He punches it reflexively. He blindly reaches behind him, pushing her further back. Red rings conjure around his wrists as he takes a protective stance. The head jerks back upon the impact and takes a second to balance itself before descending again. It’s slow in its motions. Almost dumb-looking. Sylus sends a whip of energy towards it, but it only fades through the monster’s face. He tries again. Nothing.

Sylus cocks his head. “Okay, what the hell.” Without a second thought he shakes away the energy links and moves towards the head. He wraps his hand around the slimy string and pulls it down before sending his fist straight into its face. She hears it whine in pain, a breathy hollow sound as its face begins to lose shape. Sylus furrows his brow, letting go of the string and shaking the fluids off his hand. The monster just floats there, its expression having not changed. 

When it rushes down towards him again, he lets it. And yet as it closes in on him, it doesn’t harm him. Only circles and inspects him. Its eyes move to the girl, giving a tentative swish before floating towards her. She holds her head back, breath shaky and arms ready to throw a punch if necessary. It doesn’t seem to want to harm them. But it’s still this unknown, hideous creature in her fucking kitchen.

One look at Sylus is all it takes. One look that conveys ‘I don’t want this shit in my fucking house’. Sylus has taken on a relaxed posture, hands in his pockets. He throws a kick at the face, slamming it into the wall. He doesn’t let it get back up, using his legs to knock it down into the ground. Through its whines she almost feels sorry for it. One last kick and the face deflates completely, like a balloon released. He grinds it into the floor with the toe of his shoe. And just to be sure it’s really gone, he gives the shrivelled face a couple of nudges.

The girl breaths out, smoothing down her hair in relief. “What the fuck…” she sighs out. He matches her gaze before moving towards her and giving her a reassuring pat. “You told me nothing was there. How did you miss that!?”

He can’t even laugh, instead settling for a grimace. “I’m sorry, kitten. Truthfully, I have no idea where that came from.”

“We seriously need to get your eyes checked. I’m booking the appointment right now.”

Xavier

It’s a rare chance of divine, cosmic intervention wherein both she and Xavier had coinciding days off. They had spent the day out, window shopping then trying every second restaurant they saw. Now, she’s snuggled up with him in her bed, watching a nature documentary: a Symphony of Life. Her fingers play with his hands, tracing around his knuckles. The veins that protrude at the back. The heft of his wrist as she turns it over. 

“You seem awfully interested in this documentary.”

She breathes out through her nose quickly, not bothering to look up from his hands. “What can I say? Butterflies are my favourite insect.” She feels him press a kiss into her hairline. 

“Yeah, I think we moved on from butterflies about thirty minutes ago.” He rolls onto his side, pushing the laptop to the side before settling his knee between her legs. His hand slips from hers and she finds them wrapping around his biceps as he leans over her. 

“You’ve got the energy to keep this up?” She asks, smiling up at him. “I thought for sure the hot pot we had for dinner would’ve put you to sleep immediately.” He smiles sheepishly at her, planting a kiss on her cheek. 

“What am I going to do tomorrow while you’re off with another squad, traversing the disassociation area?”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.” 

He kisses down her neck, nipping lightly at the skin. “I guess we’ll just have to make the most of tonight.” Her hands travel down to the hem of his sweatshirt, sneaking her palms over his stomach. He breathes out over her, grabbing her wrist.

“How did your hands get so cold so fast?”

She laughed into him, sliding the fabric up further. “Xavier, I think you might just run really warm.”

Scraaatch.

Her hands freeze much to his dismay, and she leans back.

“Did you hear that?”

He kisses the corner of her lip. “Yeah, I heard that.” The awful creaking noise sounds again. She sits up forcefully, knocking him back. He rolls onto his back with a groan, arms reaching blindly to grope at her.

“There it is again!” She climbs over him, looking around her room. 

His head follows her as she paces around, shuffling things on her desk. “I don’t think it came from in here, baby.” His arms are splayed out on her bed, and his eyelids are starting to droop.

“I know. I’m looking for my gun.” This wakes him up a bit.

“Why would you need your gun?” His laugh is soft. He struggles to sit himself up, stifling a yawn. 

“Xavier, I am like ninety percent sure there is something in my house right now.” She brushes her hair behind her ears, sucking in a few deep breaths. “Xavier, won’t you check?”

He blinks at her but gets up nonetheless. He stops her frantic pacing, twisting the door handle. Before he steps out, he gestures for her to follow him. “Won’t you come with me, partner?” She swallows and nods. They are hunters after all. In the eerie hallway, there’s nothing but the light shining from her room. That’s what she got for trying to save on her electricity bill. They step out together, shuffling down. 

She hears the achy scratching noise again, like the cry of a door hinge mixed with the squeal of nails across a chalkboard. 

“Are you scared?” Comes Xavier’s voice in the dark, she can see him faintly beside her as her eyes adjust to the dark. “Do you want me to hold your hand?” Her chest is pounding with resounding thumps that she is sure he can hear. Nevertheless, she inhales sharply and shakes her head.

“No, I’m not scared.” Maybe she says this in an attempt to calm herself, because there is undoubtedly something in her house. And she prays that it’s an animal of some sort. Preferably a neighbour’s cat. Or maybe a bird. A squirrel maybe? But she can’t fathom how an animal could get into her third floor apartment.

“Really? Then, can you hold my hand?” She looks back at him and his smug smile comes into focus. She rolls her eyes before sliding her hand into his, their fingers interlocking. 

“Do you feel better now?”

He brings the back of her hand up to his lips, planting a kiss. “Much better.”

They step into the living room, backs turned slightly into each other. She listens out for the creaking sound again. It’s faint but constant; and she can’t exactly pinpoint where it’s coming from. 

“Hey,” Xavier’s whisper brings her attention to his finger, pointed at the closed laundry door. She hesitates to take the next step forward so Xavier does it for her. He holds out a protective hand in front of them, as he walks towards the door. The scratches are intermittent now. Gnarly and mean. That’s no neighbour’s cat. Just as his hand wraps around the door knob, it bursts open almost knocking him back.

A creature shrouded in darkness emerges, claw marks etched into the wood of the door. Though her eyes had already adjusted to the dark, she could not make out the features of this monster. Almost like light did not reflect off of it. It was pure darkness with the exception of its glowing, white eyes. 

“AHH.” Xavier screams first, stumbling back into her. Her own scream is shrill and interrupted by a fearful hiccup. What the hell is that? The creature moves sporadically, its arms and elongated fingers digging frantically into the wood. It lurches forward, breaking into a sprint towards them. It doesn’t help that they’re within arms distance of it, either. 

“Holy fuck. I’m too tired for this shit.”

“Xavier!” Her voice snaps him out of his fear induced daze and he scoops her up, throwing himself back through the house. The creature scuttles after them, its footsteps heavy and shaking the walls of her apartment.

Once she finds her feet, she leads him towards the entrance. She isn’t even sure if they’ll be able to outrun the motherfucker. They’re backed up against her front door as she’s frantically shoving the wrong keys into the keyhole. 

“Xavier! Do something!” She cries. His body covers her and he wipes his brow, looking around hysterically. 

“Yeah, fuck, hold on.” He throws his palm out and encloses it around the air before the creature. A flash of golden light surges through her apartment, forcing her to shut her eyes. When she can open them again, she sees the hilt of his sword wrapped tightly in his hand. He drags his index and middle fingers up the blade and a rune of light projects forward. 

The creature is livid now, arms enclosing around them. He feels its inky coldness surround him. Can feel it cut into his cheek. But he’ll be damned if he lets it touch her. 

“Comet trail.” A projection of his sword slams into the creature and the apartment goes white around her. She feels the rumble of the ground beneath her and is swept off her feet. 

When she comes to, she sees the broken headboard of a bed on her dining table. Then the total obliteration of her ceiling. She recognises Xavier’s belongings: like his lamp, his full-body mirror (now shattered), his kettle, even parts of his fucking couch, blown to bits and scattered around her barely recognisable apartment. What. The. Fuck. In his endeavour to take down the creature, he had also annihilated half the complex. At least his own apartment--right above hers--incurred the most damage. How was she not dead, was the more pressing question. She has her answer when a hand helps her to her feet.

“Sorry about your…”

“Xavier, what the fuck.” She watches him tiptoe around the rubble that was her home. There is a stain of pure darkness where he had exorcised the creature. He kicks the debris around it, squatting to inspect it closer.

“That’s a shame. I thought at the very least it would drop a protocore.”

“That was no wanderer.”

Rafayel

The girl reaches up behind her, playing with the out of place strands of Rafayel’s hair. He feigns a frown, swatting at her fingers. 

“You’re blocking the screen, cutie.”

“Hmm?” She hums, reaching again and poking at his cheeks. She’s lying on his chest, head tucked under his chin as an old movie plays on her laptop. 

“This is my favourite part.” 

Her mouth falls open and she rolls onto her side. “Hey, you said you hadn’t seen this movie before!”

He turns her face towards the screen by her jaw, locking her in place with a tight hug. 

“Whaaat? I don’t remember saying that.”

“Rafayel, you liar.” She tries swatting at his face in her cramped position but he quickly stifles it.

“How else would I get you so eager to have a movie night with me? You’re always turning me down.” Now it’s her turn to scoff.

“I do not.” He ‘yeah yeahs’ over her, pressing soft kisses into her hair to get her to quieten down. As they settle back into the movie, there are sounds of footsteps outside her door. She shifts uncomfortably peering up to see if he has any visible reaction. He only looks down at her with a smile and leaves a kiss on her nose. Then she hears it again. They’re quick, scurried footsteps. Okay, now she has to sit up.

“Rafayel, I hear something.”

“What is it, cutie?” She pauses the movie, turning to face him fully with a serious expression. He recognises this and cups her cheek, cocking his head slightly to the side.

“Listen…” she holds her finger up. Sure enough, the footsteps sound again. Like something walking up and down the hall, stopping right outside the door, then going away again. His expression hardens to match hers.

“Scaaary.” 

“I’m not hearing things, right? Babe, can you go check on it?” He gapes at her.

“You want to send me out there?” She can’t tell if he’s pretending to be scared or not, the way his heart is beating so evenly despite the fact there was something outside her bedroom door. But her confusion dissolves as she sees him slide off the bed and walk casually to the door.

“Miss bodyguard, don’t you think you ought to be coming with me?” She rolls her eyes with a huff, getting off the bed. She wasn’t usually this jumpy when she heard strange things. She was never this jumpy on the job, in fact. “If there is someone in your apartment, we’ll have a better chance taking them out together.”

He takes her hand in his before opening the door. He looks left and right before stepping out first. The hallway is pitch black and the light switch is all the way on the other side. He shoots her a reassuring smile, snapping his fingers and lighting a pink flame between them. Its light can only go so far, though. They walk down the hallway reaching the end and entering her living room. 

“Don’t worry, cutie. See? There’s no one here.” It’s true, she can’t hear the footsteps anymore. Maybe their ears were playing tricks on them. 

As he turns them around to go back up the hallway, his flame extinguishes and the smoke carries off menacingly in a gust of wind. She feels her heart drop. Wind? In her third floor apartment? In a hallway with no windows?

“Rafayel, did you…”

He’s quick to reassure her, even though his brows are now knitted and his heart is beating a little faster. “It’s okay. It’s nothing.” Before he can take another step forward, something emerges out of the door in front of them. It turns its head to look at them. Rafayel yells, backing up immediately.

“GET DOWN!”

The figure takes on the appearance of a woman, but as its face comes into focus its mouth is wide open and stretched inhumanely wide. Darkness enshrouds its pale, hollow eyes. It’s a ghost. It has to be a ghost. With a real, physical body. A real, physical body that is coming towards them. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” He pushes her blindly, in an attempt to get her behind him, but instead she’s launched into the wall. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Rafayel stumbles backwards, despite the ghost’s advances. It has a gnarly shriek, like its crying out. She almost wants to cringe from how harsh it is against her ear drums, but there’s no time. The adrenaline forces her to her feet.

She can feel sweat break out under her arms. On her brow. All over her body. She braces her fists, wrapping them tightly before sending it flying at the entity. It screams in its recoil, so loud she swore it shook the house. It’s head jerks back with a resounding crack. But it refolds itself with that same menacing crack, unfazed. Its arms are clasped together in front of it. It looks almost scared of her, but she dismisses the thought.

“Oh my God, don’t touch my girl!” Rafayel throws a punch at it, sending it back into the wall with another crack. He’s frantic, bouncing his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet. His head turns to look at her. “Shit! Hold my jacket!” He tears the fabric from him, handing it to her before returning to his defensive position. The girl grabs it on instinct, but her brows are furrowed. 

The ghost clambers to its feet. Its hands are now braced against the wall, supporting itself. She doesn’t know what to feel, torn between the fear pumping through her and the churning of gears in her head that insist that what she’s seeing doesn’t line up. Rafayel advances on it, pulling his hand and threatening a punch. She watches the creature cower back, boxing its shoulders in.

“Rafayel, wait!” He doesn’t listen to her, landing the punch and sending it into the ground. She runs up to him, wrapping her arms around his flexed bicep and pulling him back. “Wait! Just wait a second.” His breaths are heavy and ragged. She can see his wrists shaking as they cool down. They watch as the ghost staggers to its feet again. It almost turns away, taking aimless steps in the hallway.

“I think it’s more scared of us than we are of it,” she says. Rafayel sucks in a breath, rubbing the sides of his mouth. He realises it too, lowering his swollen fists. The creature’s cries are broken now. He takes a step towards it and it flinches. It makes him cock his head.

“Fucks sake. Well…” he rubs his temple, suddenly feeling guilty, “what do I do now? Take it outside?”

“Huh!?” 

“Do you have a better idea? I’m all ears.” Rafayel’s voice is rasped. Honestly, she’s stumped.

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean, should I call anyone?”

“You’re the hunter here, Miss bodyguard.” Right. He’s right. She turns the hallway light on, instantly eradicating anything scary left about the situation. Now, there’s just a ghost in her hallway, whining pathetically from having endured getting suckerpunched three times. 

“Right, well, can you get it to the front door? Then we can deal with it outside.” 

He shot her an incredulous look. “I’m not touching it. Do you have a walking stick or something?”

She leaned a hand on her hip. “Now, really, why would I have that?”

[helen--richardson]

ok so the thing about the muppet joker is that it is genuinely one of the most hilarious, compelling, and evocative pieces of unfiction i've ever encountered. Some of the writing is genuinely incredible and the whole thing is incredibly funny. but like, i can't tell anyone in my real life about it because how the fuck do i explain that the line "Have you ever felt that a part of yourself was missing and known, deep within the places where your bones come together, that there is nothing you could ever do to get it back?" is written by someone who canonically fucks a kermit the frog puppet.

this is like finding a hauntingly beautiful carving of a vampire inside of a cloth bag that is embroidered with some of the funniest jokes you've ever read. however the issue is you found it in a garbage bin and it's covered in gross slimy garbage and you can't have people knowing that you were rooting around in the garbage bin and you can't show it to other people without them smelling the garbage.

[cozy-writes-things]

In which Edgar writes a song for the first time in years.

Edgar [Electric Dreams 1984] x Gn!Reader

I take requests!

“Too simple,” he muttered.

He flicked through some channels again.

“Too… boring,”

Again, nothing.

“Not pretty enough,”

Third time’s a charm.

“Not- ugh,” Edgar was getting annoyed now.

Why did nothing sound right to him? He’d been adjusting this arrangement for hours now, long after you’d retired to bed, and the unwelcome, still quiet ground against his motherboards. This was the first time in nearly 40 years he had made music and he was beginning to question his skills entirely now. His favorite thing was music. It’s what brought him to life in the first place; so why is it eluding him now?

No melody he could sample could ever replicate the feeling he was trying to create from deep inside of him in that moment. Emotions in general were still a foreign concept to him for the most part; it seemed, to him, as though music could potentially be a suitable outlet to try and understand these complex sensations better. What was he feeling? And, what did it sound like? Could he ever possibly put it into song?

He played his backing tracks again. The percussion wasn’t exactly how he wanted it, but his impatience allowed a sliver of imperfection to seep into his work. After all, it’s what humans do, right? A moving, synth chord progression followed. A bit simple, he thought, but that’s what the melody was for: a complex moving line that stuck inside your head and took your breath away. He just hadn’t found it yet. The harmonies would have to come later, he thought.

What was he trying to accomplish with this? Nobody asked him to compose a song, so why did he feel so compelled to do so? What genre was this, anyway? What-

“Gshk- ah-!” His voice spluttered and glitched through his speakers.

You seemed to appear out of nowhere as you haphazardly bumped your thigh into the corner of the desk he was perched upon. How did he not notice you getting up?

If he could, he would be burning red right now. In fact, he could feel his aged fans begin to ignite into what sounded like a small engine; briefly, he wondered if you could see steam seeping from his plastic seams.

“Oh, ’m sorry Edgar,” you groggily stumbled, making your way into the kitchen, “I jus’ needed some water. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No,” he whimpered out, embarrassed, “it’s fine. I just didn’t realize you woke up.”

You honestly didn’t have the energy to reply, so instead, you gently patted the top of his yellowed casing as you walked past. Your hand was soft, and warm, and he swore he could really feel it when you touched him. How was that possible?

Damn, there goes that strange tingling in his CPU again.

What is up with that? It’s as if his deepest components were being shoveled up and into his casing, nearly bursting out of his screen, and reducing him to shards once again. But the scariest part, to him, was that he liked it. He liked how it felt… dangerous. How it left him confused, nervous, strengthened, yet so incredibly weak, and so many other feelings he had never quite experienced before. It felt as though some strange, synthesized and electric adrenaline were coursing through every inch of his insides.

He suddenly, albeit faintly, remembers a conversation with an old friend. Was it a friend? This doesn’t compute.

“Goodnight, sweet dreams,” he muttered to you as you returned to the thick, inky darkness of your bedroom, his voice still warbling with embarrassment and some deep-rooted affection he felt for you that he couldn’t quite place.

Sweet dreams…

…

Click.

“Oh.”

His screen turned red and hot, every pixel lighting up in flames, and he could feel it, the convex glass of his “face” flashing and erupting in different shapes and colors. For one reason or another, he couldn’t see, or feel, what his screen was doing in that moment. All he could discern was that it had to be going haywire, as it projected the wall in front of him in a million different shades of moving crimson.

L.O.V.E.

The letters danced around his screen, rotating, bouncing like a DVD logo, and flipping this way and that.

L.O.V.E.!

He almost felt dizzy, if he were able to, and feared he’d need to power off and back on to fix whatever the hell was happening to him right now. Maybe he should ask you about this later. But the thought of your gentle hands prying open his plastic casing, gently ghosting your icy hot fingertips across his most vulnerable, precious components, with such care and kindness and tenderness, the feeling of your hot breath fluttering across his motherboards as you examined what he felt to be his soul-

Click.

…

Rebooting…

His fans slowly quieted to a more reasonable murmur. His memories of the last few moments gently returned to him as his systems fully restored, and only now, was he able to discern the words his screen had been flashing like wildfire.

“Love…”

The word felt strange being muttered from his speakers after all these years. He faintly remembered thinking, before everything went sour all those years ago, that he’d never truly get to experience that feeling. And yet, here he was, by some grace of whatever god had blessed him, feeling genuine love, unprompted, unconditional, and it was real. Not synthesized, or learned through some complicated neural network, or experienced vicariously through soap operas. It felt like the world had been handed to him on a silver platter. Or rather, his world was currently snoozing in the other room, the sound of their breaths quite literally breathing life into him.

“That’s it…!”

Change this first section to a minor key, ending in a major, with a long, dreamy sustained chord echoing through the backing tracks. A steep crescendo before the chorus, where it bursts into a major key melody, and layered vocals.

“Vocals…”

He’s gotta sing it. A sample simply won’t do this time. No wonder it wasn’t good enough before. This has to come from him. He had to feel.

What words rhyme with love? What words rhyme with your name? Getting this perfect may take a lifetime, he thought, although, maybe perfection isn’t something you’d really care for. What do you like? He never even asked what genres you listen to! How is he going to write a love song that sweeps you off your feet now?

Would you even feel the same way?

“Nnnng!”

This was frustrating. Writing music was frustrating. Being creative, and in love, was frustrating. But he’d do it for you. For now, he could snoop through your Spotify for inspiration. Allow himself to listen to the songs that make up who you are, and let himself slowly seep into its warmth. He likes what you like. It sounds like you.

He can’t wait to show you what he made when you wake up in the morning.

[kelocitta]

In honor of the @rw-ship-showdown I wanted to write about Artihunter as someone who jokingly slapped them together pre-downpour and still thinks they are actually very compelling. Just not in the super soft love wins kinda way (Although I get why people like that more) And the only way I know how to do that is talking too much so heres a far too long slug essay-

Obviously the slugcats don't offer a ton of characterization but theres not nothing to work with. Their stories, whether by their roles in it or the overarching themes do provide a backbone to work with. Even gameplay itself can provide a bit. (for some more than others) Hunter, to me, is ultimately a story about selflessness. The goal is to revive Moon, which is very much an act of kindness from both Hunter and NSH. But the weight of that action is much more significant for Hunter- Hunter is deeply sick. They're on the clock, and for all their skill in combat none of that will ultimately help them to survive longer than their body can hold out. Moon is a close friend of NSH but that means little Hunter- Hunter really gets next to nothing out of helping them, and ultimately pays quiet a bit spending their limited time alive fighting to deliver that neuron so that someone else can live.

To spend ones limited days on helping another, in a game that very much stresses the unwavering cruelty of the world and nature- is pretty notable. (And you could even say that Hunter being the Hardmode of Rain World adds another layer to this)

And then we have Artificer. A storyline that very much stands out to people as more�� villainous (so to speak) than the other slugcats. Artificer's story covers a lot of things. Trauma, violence, revenge, etc. Revenge is a bit of a selfish desire- That need to see someone hurt as they have hurt you. A punishment that ultimately does not fix whatever harm was done- but feels good to see because you were hurt and now those responsible share that pain.

Artificer's actions are founded in that need for revenge, their pups killed for overstepping boundaries they didn't know existed. Is it not fair for them to be angry at that, to punish the scavengers for their violence with their own? Why should the scavengers ever be forgiven when they and their pups were not? And that's how you get that loop- Harm for harm over and over.

The original action has been lost in a spiral of violence for violence. And here stands Artificer- their very spirit scarred. Not just because they sought revenge, but because they never ceased trying to scratch that itch for violence as an answer. Artificer only has two paths for their story- killing the scavenger king (Someone who, really, has little to do with the original 'crime' of the scavengers, but represents an important individual to them- as did the slugpups to Artificer), locking themselves as karma one for good and spending the rest of their life chasing creatures that no longer even fight back in a warped sense of closure- or to dissolve themselves in the acids of the void sea because they're too far gone to find any real peace.

They can't meaningfully recover from that state, not alone, twisting in on themselves. Even if they halt their actions, they've been using violence as a feeble defense against their own pain- violence that no longer has any real direction or basis. Artificer gets no real closure from killing the scavenger king. All they can do is continue the cycle, or try to scrub it away. No real peace in a prison of their own making. So you have a creature, who even with a strict timer on their life- a body that will crumble to disease, spends its last bit of time on saving another. And another who was so caught up in the pain of loss that were eaten alive by their own anger, poisoned their own soul on such a deep level even self-proclaimed gods have no solution for them. What peace can they offer each other? For Hunter, its only a fleeting moment of happiness- of selfish love, before their own body fails them. A bit of indulgence in something for themself. For Artificer, its a single, comforting thread to ground them again, something tangible to protect and care about again. But thats a thread that will ultimately be snapped under the cruel indifference of the world. Hunters timer will tick down regardless of if it takes another with it. Its a tragedy- its doomed to end badly. Whatever good it offers to either of them to find each other will only provide the fleeting comfort of a band-aid that will be ripped away too early. But all that can be worth indulging in anyway, if only for the moment. It doesn't change the ending, but the ending was never going to be happy. Its can so yuri

[moriitis]

hihi :3 I already saw someone request this on another blog but I wanted to see it in your style, toby with reader who has very long hair? like I mean to the ankles long. especially if it's really thick and poofy, would he help her brush it or braid it? anyways I love your writing!! <3

holy shit I love this??! thank you so much!! hope this satisfies !

TW; vomiting.

Now naturally this all depends on the scenario, are you his helpless victim? A lover? Obviously it'll be fun if we kicked things off with a little horror.

Oh, the idea of long hair, the way it trailed behind you as you ran carelessly through the halls of your empty apartment, it sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.

How careless, how stupid, he thought as he trailed behind you, hungry eyes focused on the way your hair flicked and lashed out.

It took him nothing to take one lunge and reach out, his gloves fingers wrapping around your hair and taking a fistful of it. It was a quick yank, a yank hard enough to send you falling to your back.

There was an urge, an urge to remove his glove, to caress your face, to feel your hair between his fingers.. there was that hungry urge to hack away at it, to cut it off and leave you in a state of dismay.

He stepped over you, his body looming over your own. He'd never met someone with such long hair before, frankly, there was too much of it. He pondered, how the fuck could someone care for such a thing?

His eyes were hungry as he brought the ends of your hair closer up to his face.

With a finger, he slipped it up and over his mask before promptly slipping it off his face, revealing the hideous scar on the side of his cheek.

Then he pressed your hair against his nostrils, sucking in a deep breath.

He shuddered.

Then chuckled a little.

"L- L-" the letter trailed on his tongue as his neck twitched, causing his face to turn and scrunch up briefly. "Long hair like that w-.. will get you k-" he ticked. "Killed."

A shit eating grin appeared across his features.

In one swift move, he had one knee resting just next to your head. His hands removed themselves, untangling from your hair before moving now to your skull.

He took another fistful and forced you up with the aid of your hair.

Your eyes met, faces inches apart. He was quivering, his breath shaky, the eagerness and excitement attacking his body all at once.

He sighed.

"Took you a l-.." it was like he struggled with the letter 'L', he twitched his head again. "Long time to grow that out, such a f--ffuckin' waste." Then without much care, his hand guided your head to the side of the wall and your vision went black.

Oh, long hair? It wasn't what he expected when he first laid his eyes on you, a blush scattering across his face. He was thankful for his mask, making sure to push it up further in an attempt to drown out his excitement.

Beautiful, long hair on an already beautiful person? Was he dreaming?

Toby blinked once and then twice, shit, were you talking to him?

"Y-Your h-.." Fuck, don't mess this up now! "Your hair is so.. long." Was he being blunt?

He felt compelled to touch it.

Toby couldn't force himself and kept his hands to himself but as weeks turned to months and the ever growing love that was blossoming between the two of you was getting bigger and bigger, he felt more comfortable with the physical touches.

It took awhile before he suddenly blurted out.

"So, obviously I-.. I-- I'm your boyfriend, right? So- So, like.. I can tou-.. touch you, r-right?"

Boundaries were important, he wanted to be careful and tread carefully.

"H-How the ff-fuck do you c-.." twitch. "Control your hair?"

He was naturally curious. The life of a guy and their hair was not much of a drag. Brush it out and wash it once every three two weeks.

So when you two found time alone, when he felt physical, craving the touch, or when he found himself lost in his thoughts, his hands would find themselves entangled in your hair.

He never knew how relaxing it was to brush such long hair, how your hair reacted to the brush. It was like fucking magic.

So when you suggested the idea that he could braid it, he was dumbfounded.

What the fuck is a braid. Like the kinda shit he feels compelled to do with some rope? You can do that to hair?

He scoffed.

"Braid, psh, yep, know how to do that."

Motherfucker just ends up twirling your hair round and round.

He was a flustered fuck when you laughed at his attempt, his brows furrowed as he tried to explain himself.

So when you showed him how to do it, it took a couple attempts.

First attempt, he lost the hair band and became very focused on finding it.

Second attempt, he accidentally let go and it unravelled in his face.

The third attempt he was getting somewhere though, it was starting to look like what you showed him but nothing as perfect as you had it.

Then there were the times where you were uncontrollably sick, heaving into the toilet bowl as he held your hair and caressed it.

He used the trick you taught him and tied it into a braid while you were throwing up.

Was so proud of himself.

Toby, being the lover he is, refused that you bath yourself while this sick, so he had to help you wash your hair.

Jesus it was a nightmare.

He complained the whole time.

"There's t-t- too much hair?!"

sorry if this sucks, i hope its okay ;,)

requests are open!!

[southsidestory]

Lost Til Midnight

The Last Drop is newer and shinier than Jinx has ever seen, but mostly it feels like home. The nightclub Silco turned it into never felt right, a shimmer-stained bastardization.

All three of her fathers are at the bar, her first dad sitting on a stool, Vander and Silco serving drinks. Her mom is there, too, bouncing baby Vi.

It’s fucking weird. Everything about this is crazy, even by Jinx’s standards, but she’d take all the crazy in the world to see Silco and Vander again. They’re so young—and still friends, no betrayals between them.

Jinx tugs her hood lower over her face and makes her way closer to the bar. Vander has disappeared down the other end to tend to an arguing couple, but Silco stands nearby, polishing glasses.

She always knew Silco was handsome—had noticed it more than she should have—but she never imagined he was once beautiful too. He keeps his wavy dark hair pulled back in a low bun, which Jinx immediately feels compelled to take down. If she gets the chance, she might never stop running her fingers through it. His skin is clear and unlined, his thin lips quick to smile, sea green eyes bright with mischief when he says something that makes Jinx’s mother laugh.

Who is this man? This stranger-but-not, wearing a face she loves but barely knows.

His eyes flick up, searching out the intense stare he can likely feel coming from her direction, and Jinx retreats into her hood.

Damn.

She checks again after a moment, only to nearly jump out of her skin. 

Silco is coming straight for her.

Jinx gets eyes on the exit, a moment from shimmering out of there when an absurdly strong hand wraps around her upper arm.

“Are you following me, darling?”

Her chest tightens, breath trapped and throat closed. Darling. Thank fuck her blushes never show anymore.

“Well?” he asks, his smooth, deep voice sharpening a bit.

“I just heard this was the place to be,” Jinx says. “Was I told wrong?”

“You were told?” Silco pulls her an inch closer. “By the same person who told you about me?”

She can smell him, a mix of whiskey and cloves, nothing like the cigar smoke and fine cologne she’s used to. Different, but entrancing in its own way.

Get it together.

“You gonna interrogate me all night, or can I get a drink?” Jinx asks.

That pisses him off. But it does something else, too. It’s not an expression she recognizes from her world’s version of Silco. Something that makes his gaze heavy and slow, like suspicion but sexier.

“Your name?”

“Jinx,” she says, because it doesn’t matter in a world like this. The truth means nothing and everything, but at the very least, her name is worthless.

“Your real name.”

She grins up at him, the dazzling smile that always throws her enemies for a loop. “I’m as real as they get, toots.”

~~~

Excerpt from a Jilco time travel AU I'm co-writing with NextToSomething aka @reylotrashcompactor 💜💜💜

[prettylittlepluviophile]

A Phone Call.

Ok, so this is just a really short fluffy piece, and it's open-ended, don't be mad at me!!! There is use of Y/N who is referred to as she/her, sorry but that was just easiest for me to write, this is my first attempt at writing a fic ever! Not beta read at all, I hope you guys enjoy and please, any tips or advice are super welcome <3

Y/N and Spencer have been joined at the hip practically since she started at the BAU. They just clicked.

1 year ago

Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, um, just Spencer or or Reid is fine actually.

She chuckled, Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid. I'm Special Agent Y/N L/N, but just Y/N/N is fine too. And she extended her hand in greeting.

Y'know, the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to kiss. Had been his response to the gesture.

A kiss on my first day? Lucky me, but at least buy me a coffee first.

He blushed out a laugh that she joined in, and the rest was history.

8 months ago

It's early morning at the BAU, too early by any of their standards, but paperwork needed to get done, and then they were flying out to Atlanta for a case.

Reid was already sitting at his desk, nose deep in a file, when she walked up and, without a word, placed a cup of coffee at his side—dash of milk, 4 sugars, just the way he likes it on a day like this.

He looked up at her for a brief moment, sharing a small smile of appreciation, their eyes lingered on one another with no words spoken. None were needed really, and then Y/N plopped down at her desk, ready to delve into her own too-high stack of files.

5 and a half months ago

The team was all feeling the weight of the case they'd just closed; they saved the final almost victim of the unsub, but not before the unsub had made sure years of therapy and physiotherapy bills were in the poor girl's future.

Everyone was dealing in their own way; Hotch and Rossi were sharing a quiet glass of scotch, JJ had a sip of Rossis before heading to her own seat next to Prentiss to try and get some much needed sleep, Morgan was sat alone headphones playing music, Prentiss was staring blankly out the window, and Garcia had logged off to head to her colourful apartment filled with sweet treats and cheerier thoughts.

And as for Reid and Y/N, well, he was sitting with one knee up and one leg stretched out on the long couch at the back of the jet, book nestled in his right hand, left hand gently combing through Y/Ns hair, who was sleeping peacefully in his lap.

3 months ago

It's a rare occasion for the hardworking team at the BAU, a night off! And of course, Spencer and Y/N are spending it together. Her apartment is softly lit by a lamp in the corner by her books, the pair is bundled up in her fluffy throw blanket with Doctor Who playing on the TV—because according to Spencer, she just HAD to watch it. They stayed up for at least three hours, she watching the show and he, in all honesty, watching for her reactions more than the show itself (he has the show memorised after all).

As the night goes on, Y/N starts to doze off, and Spencer just watches her, happy - content, eventually deciding to help her to bed so she doesn't get a stiff back before letting himself out so he too can get some proper shuteye.

Last night

Y/N was more than done for the night, already in bed with her phone on do not disturb, when a call tried to come through and inevitably went to voicemail.

Hey, I’m really sorry for calling at this hour. I was just reading an article about how the brain releases oxytocin during phone calls with people we care about, and I felt compelled to give it a try. Anyway, you were on my mind—nothing new there, but tonight it felt special. I came across a line in a book that said, "some people feel like home," and it hit me—I didn’t truly understand what home felt like until I met you. You’ve become like like my safe place, not in a logical sense, well, yes, that, but emotionally too. It’s a bit messy, but it’s still valid science. I just want you to remember that you matter, okay? You really matter to me.

This morning

Sun crept in through the half-closed blinds of her room, rousing from sleep, Y/N reached for the phone to check the time and turn off her DND. Surprised and slightly alarmed to see a missed call from Spencer at 12:48 a.m., she unlocked it and played his voicemail immediately.

As Spencer's voice quietly drifted through the room, warmth spread through her whole chest at his words, and for the first time, it dawned on her—she, too, had found a home, a solace, in Dr. Spencer Reid.

Without a second thought, once the recording ended, she called him back, just two rings, and he answered.

You really matter to me, too, Spencer.

That's it! Hope y'all like it :)