#source : you are going to hate this - the frights

[ciitedexcerpt]

I miss you and I let you down.

[nouearth]

a sticky situation.

peter parker x male reader.

summary: peter has a major crush on his roommate: you. everything unravels when he walks in on you changing.

wc: 4.1k. genre: smut. warnings: holland!peter, sub!top peter, voyeur!peter, college!au, dry-humping, grinding, frotting, handjobs, kissing, peter's first time, dubcon, cumplay, peter and reader are shooters, characters are aged up!

a bite of the cold air shuddered your damp and nude body once you stepped out of the bathroom, cataloguing the tidiness of your shared bedroom after. your shoulders tensed when the heated air and cold draft clashed for an estate of your body. but by the way your muscles eased into the green towel around your waist, you’ve figured which side won the war. a warm cheer to victory buzzed in your head.

god, did i luck out with peter… 

you found yourself repeating that observation often these days. it’s only been two months into the semester, but you’ve already concluded that peter was leagues better than your previous roommate. though, the bar was low—he was kind of a homophobe. that guy was a walking proof of evidence that opposites, in fact, do not attract.

on the other hand, peter had proven that similar interests and personalities were the foundation of beautiful, growing relationships: both platonically and romantically. still, relationships were never that black and white—a grey area. a theory that will forever be tested on, only for the outcome to come out vaguer than before, you’ve realized.

peter was like you: friendly, smart, awkward at times, funny to some. you and him basically have the same qualities of a dog, but there was more to it. 

you both shared the same liking down to the genre of video games, the magic of fantasy novels, the cleanliness of a room, the color-coded organization of study notes, and more. 

from there, the similar line of characteristics began to blur. whereas you’d prefer to learn from experience, peter liked playing by the book—sticking to it if he could. peter liked red, you liked blue. he favored savory snacks, you devoured them, but preferred sweet drinks.

opposites attract—the theory was once again, broad in your honor.

difference and similarities aside, you were lucky to have peter in your life. the bedroom was colder before you went to shower, but now it blossomed with a gentle heat.

he knew you hated the cold after a warm shower.

taking the other towel, you dried off the rest of your body while you checked your phone for notifications: a missed call from a friend and a few emails regarding construction around the building you had your classes in.

seriously? still? it’s been almost a year already…

normally, you wouldn’t have walked into the bedroom like this, baring skin and all. but peter went to get food because you both have become familiarized with what they served as food at parties.

note to self: you cannot get full off alcoholic beverages. you and peter both tried two parties ago, and it ended with you two sharing the toilet bowl, detoxing your insides of that liquid poison the entire night. the only enjoyment that resulted from that night was learning that peter was a drunk-crier, and you, a drunk-dancer. your friendship had only leveled up since.

you slid on your white briefs once you dried off before shuffling to the other side of the room, browsing through your shared closet aimlessly: he took the left side, you took the right. it was always dim at those parties, so a nice outfit would be wasted. also, you somehow became a magnet for other people’s misfortunes. it took hours to get rid of the smell of this one girl’s vomit—you threw it out in the end. 

“no, no… it’s going to be cold later…” you cycled through your clothes again, sighing when nothing caught your eye. “guess i can wear this aga-“

“hey!” out of nowhere, peter’s voice sprung out from the side of the room, followed by a quiet thud, and you twisted your bare body towards the source out of fright.

“jesus, you scared me.” the closet door blocked your view of peter, and vice versa, but you presumed he was leaning against the frame—a habit you noted. “i didn’t even hear you come back.”

“sorry- what was i saying..? oh!” his shadow loomed between you and him, growing as he stepped closer to the closet. “did you want to eat now or-“

judging from the volume of his voice, you should’ve expected how close peter was when you shut the closet. “fuck!” you jumped back, eyes widening when he was practically chest to chest with you. “dude, you really gotta stop doing that.”

on a daily basis, you always looked up at him, but you never paid it much thought to how much taller he was. 

“sorry! guess everyone’s a little antsy with the- oh.” he paused.

“what?” you curiously looked up at him, catching sight of his wandering gaze. you were quick enough to follow it, flickering between glimpses of your bare body and face several times like a tennis ball. somehow, you didn’t puzzle the pieces between his shock and your curiosity until he backed away, skittish in nature.

you were in your underwear. still in your underwear. the barrier was the captor of your embarrassment, heat rosed your cheeks as you stood frozen. and with it, the barrier was also your savior.

 “oh- OH!” the size of your eyes matched his and upon realizing he’s been staring for far too long, peter cowered his gaze to the side, a gentlemanly hand blocking his sight as he further backed to the door frame, then blindly bumped his shoulder into the door. “i’m so sorry-“ 

“no, no! i should’ve knocked. i-“ he groaned out, pacifying the sting to his shoulder with his palm. “that was stupid of me, i’m gonna-“

that was another similarity that you both valued: privacy. 

before you could reply, he scattered off. for a moment, you felt hot in the face, in the neck, even on your chest. but it would only take a few more seconds for your skin to cool, comforted by the fact that you could’ve shown more—you didn’t.

when peter scrambled out of the room, his gaze fixated on the ground, to the stripes of his socks as they shuffled to the kitchen. 

but he never made it very far, because he was easily persuaded. either by his hormones, by the shape of your body, or by his closeted feelings about you. in the end, it didn’t matter because a tightening feeling conjured him back to his original spot—it was always going to be about you. 

he was silent in his footsteps, treading backwards to the bedroom as his throat ran dry—heartbeat equally.

tonight. i should do it tonight. are my feelings that obvious? god, i hope not. wait, no- they are! they gotta be… who the fuck wipes marshmallow off of your roommate’s lips and calls them cute?!

peter does.

as his thoughts ran rampant, clouded his regularly murky mind, you were in his line of sight, perfectly captured in the middle of his gaze—now stilled—awe-strucked while he watched you change. 

quick portraits of your thick thighs and calves came and went before they were completely masked by the slide of your shorts. then your stomach and chest; pliant, moist skin that layered over the contours of your body before being covered by a tee. he exhaled, then inhaled, smelling the scent of your shampoo and body wash, and he was delighted because you own that scent.

enraptured because only peter could have his senses triggered by you on a daily basis.

if peter could frame this moment, it would be an expensive endeavor that would sacrifice all the money in the world to find the most perfect materials that complemented your textured skin. your smooth body. your handsome face. 

you. that was all he wanted. 

peter had been trapped since the day he saw you unpacking your things into the dorm. sweaty from the sun, and you knew that, because you refused to shake hands with him until you insisted on washing up first. he wished you never did—your thighs looked better sweating under those shorts.

he’s had crushes before. one in middle school, three in high school. but they amounted to nothing, he never had the confidence. rather, he preferred isolating himself and admiring from afar. rejections had already been predicted, and he was used to the feeling of defeat. if someone were to accept his advances one day, then that would lead to a disruption of events—a catastrophic end to humanity—he joked.

you were different to peter. he loved how, for once, he didn’t have to be the one initiating conversation. he also loved how you didn’t use him for answers because instead, you would help him out with his assignments.

oh, is that professor warren’s class? I think i still have the textbook for her class… let me look. 

even when it would only take five minutes to grab a drink down the street, you still invited him. not out of pity like everybody once did, but because he was your friend. parties have never been your thing, but you accompanied them with him because it made him feel better—to know someone.

maybe since he’s grown more mature since then, but now that he was off on his own, it was up to him to predict his future. it was an advice you gave him one night, and he’s kept that close to his heart since then.  not the hate that had inflicted his mind, not his peers telling he wasn’t good enough for someone—but him.  

in his imaginary world, peter could feel the walls shake when he was around you. the buildings would then fall apart, the earth would scorch civilians and planetary life with heat, and the thundering rain would only make it worse. it was a morbid image. yet, if it meant that you truly liked him, then…

aliens, come do your thing. we insist upon an invasion!

peter wanted you. point, blank, period. it wasn’t his preferred way to confess, but intense sentiments of like, love, lust—all at the same time—ate him up on the inside, and he was scared of being devoid of feelings for you.

“i want… you,” peter muttered, and you jolted again, turning back around in case you misheard him. you were bewildered at the sight of him. once again, you didn’t hear his footsteps.

“what?” you shuffled nervously on your feet. the tension in the air was thick and hot now with the way he stared back at you, frightened yet assured.

“i want you.” there was credence in peter’s tone, and he neared to the door now. 

your eyes narrowed into the deep abyss of peter’s eyes as you sat on the foot of your bed, putting on socks. somewhere in your endeavors, you found a flicker of that familiar joke. “ha. ha. very funny,” you muttered bitterly.

it haunted you. as soon as you came out, you were taunted by those same exact words by your ‘friends,’ by your previous roommate. what made you different from them became a simple reason to cease empathy and kindness, and you were baffled that this was happening again.

maybe peter was like the others after all.

you avoided peter’s gaze in favor of the floor, the legs of your desk, your rug—anywhere but him—and you could feel the color drain out of your face, out of this room—deja vu. “look, i know it’s funny to you because i like guys and for whatever reason, straight guys like to flirt with gay men to get a reaction out of us,” 

the rug cushioned the weight of a familiar pair of feet, and you looked up, a great frown etched in your face when your eyes met peter’s. he towered over you, bewildered. “but it makes me uncomfortable. and it’s not funny to-“

he didn’t know what roused him. the pain in your voice made him want to apologize without any resort to excuses. the pout on your lips made him want to cradle your head, yet kiss you at the same time. the growing tent in his pants made him want to pin you to your bed, and simply ravish you.

it was all a blur. 

his impulsive thoughts became a reality once he stole the remaining words left in your distress, and clumsily swallowed them with a kiss. you didn’t have time to process his lips on yours because you were then pushed onto your back, stilted and surprised, as peter applied his weight on top of yours—his broader build shadowed you in welfare.

“pete-“ you groaned into the hot, breathy kiss, and despite the light attempts to push him away, you were compelled to return the wet exchange. breathlessly, you repeated, “stop, this isn’t funny-“ he kissed you again. all this time, you could’ve had him, but you deluded yourself into thinking otherwise. 

“i’m not laughing,” peter muttered, and his hips began moving into yours, aimlessly trying to alleviate the stiffness in his pants. “i want you.” his voice lowered—no longer a confession, but a demand. he rocked into you harder once he felt you throb under those tight short, and you slipped out a moan, memorizing the beat of peter that pulsated against you.

you remembered him being bashful when you two talked about your firsts. you weren’t completely inexperienced like he was, but you mentioned that it’s been a while since you’ve done anything remotely intimate. school was your focus, a relationship was your reward.

“peter,” you repeated again, he wasn’t listening. “peter.” he whispered a demand; to keep calling his name, and you couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at the cliché line often heard in soft porn.

then, you cupped your hands around his temples to pull him away. he gazed into you with ardent hunger, almost annoyed that you ruined the trail of kisses he began leaving on your neck. “did you drink without me? because if you did, then i don’t think we should-“

“i didn’t,” he sobered on the softness of your lips, and like a flip switch, he snapped out of his fictional world of you. “fuck- i’m so sorry, i didn’t even ask you if you wanted to- fuck, i even forgot to say that i like you.” he ranted to himself, beginning to pull himself away. “this was not how it was supposed to go.”

infatuation had expanded into something beyond your control, and your feelings for him ignited even more. a wick bursted into powerful flames, and it warmed your body knowing that you two shared the same sentiment.

before he completely peeled himself off your body, you pulled him down by the neck, then pressed your nose to his, grinning. “I like you too.” a peck to the tip of his nose, then the center of his lips. your onslaught of fleeting kisses to his skin drowned him, pacifying every muscle in his body until it became jelly, and also making it all the more easier to roll him under you. 

“not exactly how i imagined my first date with you, but,” you straddled his lap, roaming your hands around peter’s chest, an asset of his you’ve frequently daydreamed about. “you sure?”

the applied pressures to your waist, then bottom should’ve been a definite measure of his answer, but he smiled up at you, guiding a steady pace of your hips to his groin. he was easily distracted, suddenly cascading his other palm up your shirt then down to finally feel the bare skin he had spent long showers jerking off to. fantasies had now been served onto a platter before him, and peter planned on devouring you, piece by piece. “please.”

“must have had a lot on your mind if you couldn’t even confess to me.” it was unusual to see him like this—absolutely enthralled by your presence, high off of it. aching for more of you with the way he pushed his groin into you. “how long have you been thinking about this?” being unusual always had negative connotations to it. 

you pressed into him harder, rubbing at his print with gallant grinds. not in this moment. 

he moaned, “far too long…” then fumbled with the waistband of your shorts before doing the same with the zipper. “you’ve been driving me crazy, especially these days.” it was a simple task, a daily labor that peter was great at, but his hands shook when his finger met metal. you chuckled, and placed a comforting hand to his cheek, stroking the soft skin with the amplest caress. 

take your time. i’m not going anywhere.

“mind sharing what you thought about then?” the only time you peel yourself away from peter’s groin was to help him slide your shorts off, then his jeans. peter lifted his hips, and you two were joined together again. aching together. “just curious.” you joked by pulsating your bulge, and he shyly laughed when he saw the restrictive twitch. 

felt it.

“well... where do i start?” peter’s warm hand rested on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your erection while delicately exploring your soft skin. “there’s been so many times where i just wanted to…” he was too ashamed to finish his sentence, looking away.

“wanted to…?” your body arced over his, placing a persuading kiss to his cheek, then neck. “what was it?” they lingered, sunk deep into his skin with the utmost affection, and he left the deepest, pleasurable sighs as if you withdrew it from him. you commenced his dilemma. “tell me what you thought when you first saw me. saw that i was your roommate.”

 “i...” peter began, and you could tell his nerves got the best of him, so you rocked into him again, begged with your hips. the position made it easier to feel all of him, press into his warmth more, and you couldn’t stop. wouldn’t. “i didn’t know what to feel. i was happy, that i had someone as kind as you…” you gleefully hummed, agreeing as you continued leaving kisses to his neck.

“then i was nervous, because you were so… cute. handsome. beautiful.” he moaned when you began to grind in slow, deep strides. your bulges squeezed and pushed one another, peter did the same, growing impossibly bigger against you. “but when i saw you in those shorts, sweating because move-in day was always on a hot day…”

“yeah?” you beckoned him to finish his sentence because you were closing your eyes now, remembering that very moment because you felt the same. the way peter’s chest, his muscles, were broad and stunning under his own layer of sweat, under his loose shirt, under that naivety that you would never have dreamed to think of him as such a…

“i just wanted to fuck you.”

pervert.

the shy smile he gave you messed with your perception of him. clearly, you’ve underestimated him all this time, and you kissed him again. “so, you only thought about pleasuring yourself.”

he quickly broke the kiss to defend himself. “wait, no! t-that’s not what i meant.”

“peter, relax.” your laugh calmly settled into a comforting smile, and you blindly reached down to his thick print, feeling and squeezing at whatever you can because you were desperate to explore him. “i’m joking.” his chest rose.

for the remainder of time, you spent it stroking peter through his underwear. dryly to his frustration, but he never told you because he wanted to experience you in every way. his lips never left yours, only parted to moan into your mouth when you shoved your hand into his briefs to sate your desire to feel him bare.

peter was big in your small hand. the weight felt suffocating to your palm when you grabbed ahold of his sack, fondling his balls, then stroking his cock again, and you were intoxicated in the way he melted under you, looked into you, begged for you to go faster. 

you did. who wouldn’t when he gazed at you with the most puppy-like eyes?

he had complete control of you now, because every action, every stroke, from then on had been a journey to his personal paradise. you didn’t care that you were left abandoned, that you were aching harder than he was. watching him was more than adequate.

both pairs of briefs and shirts have been tossed to the side now, and you maintained your straddle. it was riveting to watch how much bigger peter was when you took both of your cocks together and stroked. he practically enveloped you with the weight of his length, the girth of his shaft, and you wallowed in the fact that he was incredibly bashful about it. 

peter’s hand never left your body. he charmed you by his neediness. it was clumsy in execution, but he always squeezed a moan out of you with he felt your ass, your chest, your nipples, your thighs. “fuck, pete.”

everything about you was beautiful, incredibly more so when you caved into him as he dealt kisses to your bare skin and took his own turn at jerking the both of you off.

he was eager. delirious. hard, stiffening hard, against you, and you felt every vein pulsate the harder— the faster—he squeezed and stroked. you leaned back, hands planted to the mattress beneath you, then maneuvered your hips to the rhythm of his fist. you found a pace while peter kept you steady, and fucked into his fist, against his wet cock, sliming your dripping pre-cum together with the utmost fervor. 

“wait, (m/n),” he hiccuped, and his hold on you tightened, nails dug into your left waist but you ignored his plea, fucking steadily into his fist. “stop, i’m going to-“ they fell on deaf ears, and mouth agape, peter watched you with incredulity. you can feel his body flex, your balls smushed to his when you grinned up, your pre-cum sticking to his, his to yours, like a sick web. “s-stop, oh god.”

and peter unraveled before you with a guttural moan, finishing the rest of his plea with a blasting of thick and creamy ropes to his chest, like a cannon. the force was strong enough to have a few shots land on his face, then his hair, and then somewhere above because peter was a big shooter—a strong one, you’d passionately testify. “f-fuck, i didn’t mean to cum so-“

“holy shit.” you watched peter in all his glory, then in his embarrassment, while stilted on his lap and sweating, not taking notice of the delay of your climax because it crept up on you quick. a rocket broke the cloud in your thoughts with a boom, and you spilled all over him, shooting like fireworks. “shit!”

peter was your canvas, and it was your duty to paint him. debris of sex splattered everywhere, because you somehow found the strength to continue fucking yourself into the cream of fist, unloading and unloading onto him until you were dry, heaving and dripping.  

“fuck- I didn’t mean to ruin your sheets-” he mumbled, a blush stained his cheeks, and you joined in the warmth with a kiss, panting.

“where’s the fun in all of this if you aren’t going to stain at least one thing.” your brows raised at the wet stain on the wall above peter’s head, right below your wall-shelf, and peter’s gazed followed. 

he groaned, distressed by the evident he made. “fuck, sorry…” his bashfulness only endeared you even more. 

“it’s okay,” you hopped off his lap, stretching your arms into the air. “i’ll clean you up.”

“okay,” peter lay still, his hand cautiously held over his stomach to catch the drips of his cum and yours. it was fascinating to watch the mixture flow together, strands of it melding and un-webbing as he played with the sticky residue. it was the scientist in him. “my towel is on the- fuck-“

without a beat, you took his dripping flaccid cock into your mouth, sucking off any remnants of spunk. an unfamiliar taste you weren’t used to, bitter and salty. it wasn’t until you noticed how peter’s eyes glazed over you, half-lidded because he was in heaven now, that you found the taste of him delectable. peter’s caution for staining your bed sheets was disregarded, because he knew you’d clean the rest of him off. 

after you pulled away with a soft pop, he traced your wet lips with the cum on his fingers, then his knuckles, before he pushed one by one into your mouth. one finger at first, then two, then three, you moaned erotically around his digits as peter pumped, marveling in the eagerness of your mouth. he slowly pushed more cum into your mouth. the creamy residue gathered at the corner of your mouth at first but he made sure to scoop it back in, and continued doing so until he was polished clean. 

nothing was wasted. 

the taste of you and him spread in the warmth of your tongue, and you have never felt more intoxicated.

to peter, you have never looked more beautiful.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[stevebabey]

you thought it would be all sweetness??? nooo u got to have a little miscommunication angst before anyone gets any hickies. but they will. in time >:) part one. part two. this is a part three :)

Steve blames it all on the clock.

That stupid cuckoo clock on the wall of the Munson trailer. It's an absolute horror of interior design that would make Steve’s mom shiver if she ever laid eyes on it. It’s probably why Eddie loves it — and the god-awful cuckoo! noise it makes when it goes off.

Because the moment Eddie utters that delightful question, asking for a hickie, the nerve of him, Steve loves it — and Steve is more than ready to oblige him — the stupid clock goes off.

It gives them both a fright, Steve more than Eddie. He gives a whole-body twitch that shifts them both, his head snapping to the wall, a breath forced out of his lungs at the sight of the mustard-coloured bird. Shit. Stupid fuckin’ clock, Steve thinks.

But it seems to break the trance over the room. The sweet tension of their shared closeness is sucked out of the room in an instant. Steve is suddenly aware of the time the popping out bird is announcing. It’s late. Far later than Steve intended to stay over, especially considering work tomorrow.

Without meaning to, the prickle under Steve’s skin rolls through his body. It steals away the comfort that he usually feels with Eddie, tenseness filling his body. Steve hates it — hates how he can’t stop himself from tensing up beneath Eddie.

Eddie notices. He's quick to to retract himself from Steve, pushing up and back, giving Steve his space. He sits beside Steve on the couch, still close. Not close enough to touch.

It helps. The rigidness of Steve's body relaxes just a bit but Steve doesn’t want that. He wants Eddie back on him. Wants his hands gripping Steve’s side. His breath fanning over Steve’s face, cheeks cherry red and pupils blown wide. Steve doesn’t say any of that and he sure is shit isn't brave enough to ask for it.

Instead, he croaks, “It’s late.”

Steve reluctantly pushes himself up from his slumped position, eyes already searching for his scattered shoes. He misses the way Eddie’s face falls, the way he tries to tug his hair in front of his face to hide the hurt. It takes another second to school his expression.

Steve hears a cough and then Eddie agrees with a murmur. “Yeah, sure.”

The words ache. No part of Steve is relieved to have Eddie agree with him. He’s not sure what he wanted; for Eddie to egg him to stay just a little while longer? To prove that their kisses hadn’t been a heat of the moment impulsivity? There's nothing to prove they weren't.

No, it was Steve who said he had to go. It is late. But then again maybe, Eddie wanted him to leave. But, no— Eddie just asked for a hickie, he wouldn’t—

“Don’t you have work early tomorrow?” Steve’s spiral cuts short at Eddie’s voice, tinged with… irritation?

O-kay. Now Steve’s not sure what to think. What had been the source of immense joy because Steve had asked for a kiss and Eddie said yes is suddenly… tilted.

The beginnings of embarrassment begin to cling to Steve like a thick fog. He’s done it again. Been overly eager. Asked for too much, too soon— fuck, that had been Eddie’s first kiss too.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, standing and shoving his foot into the one shoe he can find. He spies the other one under the table and wiggles it out with his toe. He can’t find in it to look at Eddie, not just yet. “Yeah, uh, I should get going.”

It’s all wrong. Steve shouldn’t be leaving — not on these terms. Not when he can’t look at Eddie for fear of what he’ll find. Regret? Steve’s not sure if he could face Eddie again, not if there’s even a trace of it on his face. It would feel like Halloween all over again, a bludgeon on Steve’s too-soft heart. It’ll crumble, he just knows it.

Steve wants to stay. He really wants to. He wants to ask for another kiss, ask for a dozen more kisses. Wants to give the hickie Eddie asked so nicely for and receive one back; matching love bites, like a gentler version of their matching twisted scars adorning their sides.

But he’s always asking for more. Steve always needs more. It’s greedy. It’s embarrassing how much he wants it, how he’s already gotten patient touches from Eddie but it’s not enough. Eddie had sounded a pinch annoyed — even aggravated at Steve.

It doesn't cross his mind that it might be for any other reason. Really, Steve thinks he’s doing Eddie a favour.

“Um,” Steve clears his throat, takes the wobble out of his words. Nods to himself and chances a glimpse at Eddie. The older is staring down at his lap, locks of hair trapped between twitchy fingers. They should talk about it. Steve’s not brave enough to risk his heart tonight.

“Well, g’night.” He says quietly, letting himself out the trailer door. He closes it behind him gently, shoes tapping against the stairs on the way down. It feels wrong, it feels wrong — but it would be selfish to turn back.

He repeats the sentiment over and over, raspy whispers beneath his breath as he climbs into his car. It would be selfish. The engine turns over and he hesitates for just a moment, hoping to catch a silhouette in the kitchen window. It’s empty. Of course, it’s empty.

Of course, Eddie is not chancing for a glance at him on his way out because Steve just asked for more and more and more, and he took Eddie’s first kiss and then— He whispers it to himself again. It would be selfish to turn back.

When he thinks about it on the drive home, Steve’s sure it all comes back to that stupid fucking clock.

-

Eddie stares in the mirror.

He’s not sure why he was so convinced there would be some radical change in him upon popping his make-out cherry but… well, here he was. Staring in the mirror like he had this morning. Except 10 hours earlier, he had been unkissed.

Tonight, the difference shows. His lips are rosier than usual, a swell to them given by hasty sweet kisses. It’s the only evidence of his spit-sharing moment of passion with Steve on the couch. The rosy colour is already beginning to fade.

Eddie sinks his teeth in. He doesn’t want the only physical proof that he even got to kiss Steve to be gone so soon. Even if that fact seems terribly bitter now.

“What the shit did you do, Munson?” He murmurs to himself in the tiny bathroom mirror.

It’s got toothpaste specks splayed across it. Eddie stares past them. Stares into his own face, reading every change in his features as emotions inside him churn. It’s heading for a distraught expression, the upturn of his brows and quiver in his lips giving him away. He always was a crier. Eddie really wishes he wasn’t.

“Idiot!” He pairs the word with a bang on the wall beside the mirror, frustration leaking out. The toothbrush on the sink shudders in its cup with a clink.

Eddie hates the welling in his eyes. He hates that he ruined the first fuckin’ good thing to happen to him in this town. Loathes that he drives away the first person who actually knows him and still wants to kiss him.

Well, wanted to kiss him.

Eddie’s pretty sure Steve scampering out of the trailer is more than a big enough sign. It’s a blazingly bright neon sign — light up words that say ‘This was a mistake!’

Except, it hadn’t felt at all like a mistake to Eddie. It had felt wonderful, better than anything he had thought, the soft curve of Steve’s lips, the grip on his hands on Eddie’s face, the heat in his face, the— Eddie growls, wiping his hand down his face to shake the thoughts. Too good to be true was what it was.

It’s because of what he said. Of what he asked for. It had to be that. But— but Steve had looked eager and almost excited and then the stupid clock had gone off, scaring the shit out of them both. Maybe it was then that Eddie’s words had sunk in and Steve realised what he’d gotten into— and who he’d gotten into it with.

“You had to ask for more, huh?” Eddie scolds himself angrily, wiping his cheeks harshly when a tear streaks free. Another follows, just as fast. Eddie wipes roughly at his face to clear them. Doesn’t care about the streaks of red he leaves on his cheeks. Another trembling reprimand comes out. “You just had to push it, huh? You fuckin’ idiot.”

Eddie can’t stand his reflection anymore. He tears his gaze away as he spins and heads straight for his room.

The button on his stereo is sticky and it takes a few forceful clicks to turn it on, but when he does, he cranks it. It’s loud enough he’ll surely wake some neighbours. Eddie can’t find it in him to care, not even when the neighbours dog starts off with its incessant barking. Anything to stop hearing himself cry.

-

“Something’s up with Eddie.” is the first thing Robin says when she comes in the front door.

Steve’s mid-yawn when she does, a result of a night of tossing and turning, and he somehow manages a strange choke at her words. In a haste to shut his mouth, he chomps on his fingers covering his mouth — then hisses, pulling it away from his face. He ignores Robin’s perplexed expression, shoving the hand deep in his pocket. His ears feel a tad hotter.

“What? Why? What makes you think that?” Steve asks the questions in rapid succession. Very chill, he chides himself. At this rate, Robin would have him all figured out 10 minutes into their shift.

And it’s not like— well, Robin’s advice is usually great. A bit cut-throat, sure. She doesn’t have a problem trodding on his feelings on her way to tell him the hard truth. Usually, it’s fine. Steve could probably do with a bit of ego-bruising.

Today, he’s… It’s different. That’s what Steve tells himself. This thing with Eddie, he wants to fix it himself. And with too much meddling from Robin’s advice, even if it was with the best intentions, might mix things up too much. It’s hard enough keeping his half-baked apology that’s been brewing since last night in proper order in his mind.

Thankfully, Robin doesn’t comment on his odd demeanor. She just bustles into the back room — there are a couple sounds of her dumping her stuff. When she comes back out the front, she’s fixing her Family Video vest. It looks perfectly straight to Steve.

He checks his own — it’s sitting askew, part of the collar flipped over. He hastily fixes it, running his hands down the front to smooth it a bit.

“Just,” Robin starts, talking as she sits in front of the computer, beginning to take a crack at the admin she managed. She likes doing things as she talks, Steve knows. Helps keep her from letting words run away from her.

Steve’s thankful for it now because she isn’t looking at him when she says, “I think he might have had a bad nightmare last night, or something of that sort. I don’t know. Maybe I’m way off — you know how I am with trying to read people, Steve. I’m not good at it! But when I saw him, he just seemed…”

Robin seems to take an extra moment to deliberate her word choice. Steve’s really glad she’s still facing the computer so she can’t see the myriad of emotions that show on his face.

“…Off.” is the word she decides on.

Which means bad. Steve feels like he’s swallowed a stone. It sinks deep into his stomach. It burns, sour and scorned, twisting up his gut. It means Eddie is bad — it means disappointment, means he regretted it. That Steve had been right; that he’d been too eager, too soon. Too much.

Right. Of course, this happens again. Really, Steve had brought it on himself by asking for so much. It had been one thing to ask for a hug — who actually has to do that? — and then to expect he might get Eddie to kiss him too? What a overstep. Christ, he's an idiot.

“That’s not…” He hears himself say, still lost in his thoughts. It's only when Robin turns on the stool, brows raised, that Steve realises he hasn’t finished his sentence. “Good. That’s not good. To hear.”

Steve turns and starts shuffling around the films on the returns cart, picking them up at random. He stares at a copy of ‘The Princess Bride’ in his hands, a new release, and forces out a causal question.

“What made you think that?” He asks, shoving the film into an empty slot, like he was arranging them. He’s relieved when Robin’s clicking on the keyboard resumes, along with a dramatic sigh.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be trusted to read anyone’s emotions correctly at any given time, honestly. Remember that old lady? I thought she was being sweet that whole time and then you told me she was being rude! And I couldn’t even tell…”

Robin’s ramble is comforting and helpful to Steve in a way he didn’t know they could be. He presses the cart out, finally getting a move on with it, but delivers a quick nod to Robin when she’s looking to let her know he’s still tuned in. He listens to her get distracted by another topic and leaves Eddie’s name in the dust. It’s a silent relief.

It’s a task to multi-task, listening and devising a plan, but Steve has all shift to find the balance. It’s sometime between finishing re-stocking the action section and starting the romance that Steve decides he should apologise. He should go over today and apologise.

Eddie’s a big boy but Steve’s fairly certain now, if he regretted it, Eddie had probably felt obliged to kiss him back. Probably hadn’t minded the first kiss but- but— Something sticks in his brain; it was Eddie’s first kiss.

It makes Steve feel worse. It doesn’t matter, really, Steve should say sorry for all of it. God, he’s such an idiot.

By the time he’s clocked out, it’s all set in place. He’s got a dozen different apologies running in a loop in his head, reciting the words in time with his anxious tapping on the steering wheel. It’s not a long drive out to Forest Hills Trailer Park. The drive is well-known now. Steve tries hard not to wallow in what he might be losing today. What he lost because he’d been too greedy with want.

The sight of a brown van parked roadside yanks him from his thoughts. Eddie’s van. Steve’s stomach turns, nerves gnawing faster. He slows, trying to catch eye of the other boy as he rolls to a stop behind the van. The sun is beginning to dip closer to the horizon, the temperature going with it.

At the same time, they see each other; Eddie’s head popping around the raised hood to see who had stopped, right as Steve pops his door. Eddie retreats in an instant. Steve's chest grows a bit tighter.

Gravel crunches underfoot as Steve takes a few wary steps closer. It doesn’t take more than a couple before Eddie calls out. He doesn’t bother poking his head out again.

“Go away, Steve.”

Steve swallows thickly. Yeah, okay, he deserves that. He deserves probably worse than that. But more importantly than that, Eddie deserves to hear this. And Steve... needs to not lose Eddie.

“Can I… can we talk?” Steve asks, taking a couple steps closer. A car whizzes by on the road, hidden from Steve's view behind the van. He still keeps his distance, hovering. His hands clench nervously at his sides. Steve shoves them deep in his jean pockets, wiping the sweat off them as he goes.

“What part of ‘Go away’ isn’t clear enough for you?” Eddie snarks back. He still doesn't stick his head out, still won’t look at Steve. It stings.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve starts, another instinctive step forward taken. “I-I just, I shouldn’t have left like I did last night. I wanted to apologise.”

There’s a clattering from behind the hood like Eddie’s dropped a tool. He swears. Steve wants to take another step, wants to see Eddie — wants to read every emotion and apologise for causing any of the ugly ones.

“Well, apology accepted,” Eddie responds. There’s a bite in his words. His next words are grumblier, quieter. “And message fuckin’ received.”

What? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That—” Finally, Eddie steps away from the van, rounding the hood to march up to Steve. His arms cross over his chest, a wrinkle set between his brows that pull his face into a glare. Robin was right; he is off. This isn’t normal Eddie. Fuck, Steve had fucked up bad.

“That means message received, Steve.” Eddie seethes. He uncrosses his arms to gesture wildly. Steve misses the wobble in his bottom lip. “Message received loud and clear! I get it!”

And all Steve wants to ask is: get what? He doesn’t ask that. He should know what. That would be an idiotic question, would make Eddie more irritated. Lord knows, Steve has been enough of a fool in the last day. So, he doesn’t ask.

“Look, I just…” Steve starts, words a bit weak. They die in his throat as he tries to recall a single apology he had practiced all day and comes up empty. “I’m just- I just wanted—look, I’m sorry I took your first kiss!”

It’s not exactly what he means to say, but Steve certainly is sorry for it. Eddie’s expression wavers, some anger slipping away. Confusion takes its place.

“What?” Eddie says with a tone of bafflement. “What are you talking about?”

“And I’m sorry I kept… kept asking for more.” Steve continues on, pulling on the thread inside him, connected to the terrible stone he swallowed earlier. He tugs it. Hopes pulling it will unravel the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.

Steve scrunches his eyes shut and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I know, okay? I know that I can be a lot.” He sighs and drops his hands.

“But I didn’t mean to… shit,” He wrenches his eyes open. Eddie’s a bit wide-eyed now, brown eyes watching him intently. Steve doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, can’t tell if it’s good or worse. He continues, soft words scraping out his throat.

“I didn’t mean to be like that with you.”

Eddie searches Steve’s face, eyes darting and wild. He licks his lips. His hands are in motion, fingers twisting rings, quick and fast. It’s a nervous action.

“What do you mean by ‘like that?’” Eddie asks, voice gentler. It's lost its snarl from before.

Steve blinks, a scrape of teeth worrying his bottom lip. He murmurs his admittance lowly, just one word, “Selfish.”

Eddie doesn’t try to hide his surprise; it ripples across his face in a wave. Confusion melts away into something closer to, Steve hopes desperately, relief. Steve can feel his own heart thudding hard inside his chest — can feel the beat it skips when Eddie steps closer.

“Steve?” Eddie says, sounding unlike himself. Steve’s never heard his voice that small. He nods, wordlessly. Eddie searches his face once more — wide brown eyes scanning and devouring. Steve can’t help but do the same.

He drinks in the details of Eddie’s face; the soft scruff along his top lip, the darkness of his lashes and the way they kiss in the corner that Steve adores. The pink of his lips. The familiar ache to kiss Eddie surges up within him, still as violent and strong as it had been the night before.

Steve should really stop looking at Eddie’s lips. He’s supposed to be apologising. He drags his eyes up and meets Eddie’s gaze full-on, prepared for whatever he might say. Except, he’s not expecting him at all to say;

“Can I... try this again?” It comes out a ragged breath, Eddie's scared eyes conveying the weight behind his words.

And this time Steve doesn't even need to ask what because he knows. Because Eddie's hands are reaching up and holding either side of Steve's face so gently. Steve can't recall a time he's ever been held so softly. His own hands come up slowly, draping around Eddie's wrists to hold them, to keep them there.

Eddie's thumb traces. It draws a sweet line of that familiar fire beneath Steve's skin along til it's settled on Steve's bottom lip, resting. The blood under Eddie's thumb thrums, gloriously warm, aching with want. Yes. Steve thinks. Yes, yes, yes.

"Yes, please." Steve breathes, so sincere the words comes out as a kiss against Eddie's thumb.

So, Eddie kisses him.

now with a part four !

tags below! sry if i tagged u and u didn't want it just tagging everyone who replied <3 @they-reap-what-we-sow @impeachy @anaibis @resident-gay-bitch @ediewentmissing @newtstabber @original-cypher @invisibleflame812 @hunterbow04 @leather-and-freckles @dracoswifeandlokispet @foolofentirelytoomanyfandoms @lfaewrites @sundead @call-me-big-eyes @the-redthread @goblinmanifesto @etaka @bishopextractions @ketterfuck @persephone13 @beckkthewreck @maya-custodios-dionach @autumnal-dawn @yourstrulyjoko @gleefully-macabre @princess-eddie @savory-babby

[therealmsdelulu]

Frights and Fractures☆

Prompt☆: Character accidentally gets hurt in a spooky attraction and a scare actor breaks character to help. From this: prompt list

Summary☆: When Spencer Reid gets hurt during a haunted house, the scare actor is more than willing to lose their job in order to help.

Pairing☆: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Warnings☆: Injury (fractured ankle). Physch major hate(jokingly)Mentions of gaslighting(in a humorous way though)

A/N☆:: Guys be warned, a lot of my humor is shown through Y/N and I think I'm a comedian 😀 Also first Spencer fic!

W.C☆:1.3k

Halloween was always a favorite of yours. You loved everything spooky and you adored the fall season. Once you were 'too old' for trick or treating, you decided to sign up as a scare actor at the nearest haunted house.

You got paid a decent amount and it was a really fun job. You got to make people's day all while giving them a small scare.

Your character was a fan favorite. You played one of the nurses in the abandoned asylum. Most visitors liked you because you were attractive but there was a small fraction of visitors who appreciated your humor.

You were creeping around the long and eerie hallways searching for your next victim when your eyes fell upon a tall and slender brunette who was obviously lost and desperately searching for whoever he came with.

He was dressed in a black, oversized sweater scattered with spiderwebs and pumpkins. He was actually pretty cute from what you could see. You smiled to yourself before remembering that you were on the clock.

You followed him around for a few minutes before you decided to strike. You pressed a button on your remote which was supposed to cause a wheelchair prop to slowly roll across the floor, a tame spook to get started.

However, when you pressed the button it prompted the wheelchair to roll out onto the floor at a faster speed than it was programmed to, causing the man to topple over before he could even register what was happening.

You gasped quietly and covered your mouth contemplating whether you wanted to laugh or go help. Technically you weren't allowed to break character or interact with visitors outside of scaring them, but once you heard the man groan in pain you quickly approached him.

"Hey, you okay?" you asked kneeling down next to him.

"What just happen?" he looked around searching for the source of his injury.

"You got wiped out by a run-away wheelchair," you said quietly, biting your lower lip to stifle a laugh, not being able to say that seriously.

"How ironic," he half-smiled before attempting to stand up but he winced quietly.

"Don't move," you insisted and began to reach out to inspect his ankle but quickly retracted your hands. "Do you mind if I check it out?"

"Do you have any actual medical training?" he asked teasingly.

"I'm CPR certified," you shrugged flashing him a small smile.

"Knock yourself out," he said and you gently squeezed his ankle watching his face for any signs of discomfort. You pulled away your hand when you saw his small flinch.

"Sorry," you apologized softly. "It might be broken," you concluded even though you had no way of knowing for sure.

"Actually, it's probably a lateral malleolus fracture. That's the most common type of ankle fracture," he corrected you.

"And what exactly is a lateral whatever you just said?"

"It's the outer part of your ankle," he clarified flashing you a small smile.

"Are you a doctor?" you wondered how he diagnosed himself without even giving it a second thought.

"Not the medical kind, but yes,"

"Ooh, that's impressive," you said in genuine amazement. "So what do you do for work? Are you a professor or something,"

"I'm a profiler," he informed you.

"Really? I've always hated phsych majors, this is even worse,"

"How so?" he inquired, searching for even the slightest bit of context.

"I feel like psych majors are just training to be professional gaslighters." you explained, you were joking but there was a small hint of seriousness in your tone

"But you play a nurse in an asylum" he pointed out.

"True," you smiled, "I should ask to play a different character,"

"Did you know that clinical psychologists make up the single largest specialty area in psychology?" he asked you and you smiled at the way his eyes lit up as he spoke.

"Clinicians are psychologists who assess, diagnose and treat mental illnesses," he elaborated with a bright smile and you listened attentively as he spoke.

"Many individuals study psychology because they want to better understand themselves or those around them. Through learning psychology, you gain a deeper understanding of the many factors that affect human behavior." he added, moving his hands in dramatic motions as he spoke. You looked into his eyes as he spoke, genuinely paying attention to what he had to say, and as he finished talking he looked into your eyes as well maintaining the eye contact for a moment before looking away shyly.

"I'm rambling aren't I?" he asked with a shy smile.

"A little, but I don't mind." you flashed him a sweet smile. "Your voice is actually really calming."

"I'm not used to hearing that," he said quietly and flashed you a small smile of appreciation.

In the brief moment of silence that followed, you took the moment to take in his features.

He was the prettiest guy you had ever seen. He had soft, hazel eyes. A warm honey color with a slight hint of green. Your eyes traced the outline of his plump lips that were tinted a soft pink and he finally realized that you were checking him out.

"Were you flirting with me?" he asked, his cheeks a faint pink hue.

"For a profiler, you really suck at picking up social queues," you teased with a sly smile.

"I get that a lot" he said smiling sheepishly when your moment was suddenly interrupted by the sound of shouting

"Spencer!" you heard a deep, masculine voice yell.

"Reid?" you heard a more feminine voice yell.

"Over here!" he yelled and you discovered his name was Spencer. Suddenly, a group of 2 women and a man approached the two of you.

"We lose him for 5 minutes and he somehow manages to get hurt," the dark-haired woman said to the bald man.

"I think pretty boy did it on purpose," the bald man said gesturing towards you and the brunette man and a red-headed woman, wearing the most flashy and unique outfit you had ever seen, ruffled Spencer's hair.

"Looks like he's in good hands," the redhead said smiling at you.

"Well unfortunately, I'm not a real nurse." you smiled at the woman.

"Is it bad?" she asked.

"Lateral malleolus fracture," you and Spencer said at the same time and shyly smiled at one another.

"Right," the brunette woman deadpanned sharing a look with the man next to her. "And you are?"

"Y/N, and you three are?"

"Penelope Garcia," the red-headed woman introduced herself.

"Emily Prentiss," the darker haired woman said flashing you a small smile.

"Derek Morgan," the bald man introduced himself with a small, playful wink and Spencer rolled his eyes.

"Do you flirt with every one you see?" Emily asked with an eye roll of her own.

"So, I'm assuming you guys are profilers too?" you asked the group.

"Those two yes, I'm a technical analyst," Garcia explained.

"I feel extremely unsafe right now," you joked and Spencer shook his head with laughter.

"Unsafe?" Morgan asks tilting his head visibly confused

"Inside joke," you and Spencer said at the same time and began laughing even harder.

"You guys have been alone for like 5 minutes and you already have an inside joke?" Prentiss asked sharing a look with Garcia and curling her lips in a small smirk.

"My man," Morgan said with a smile patting Spencer on the back and you watched as his cheeks turned a faint hue of crimson.

"Are you done?" Spencer asked pretending to be irritated with the man even though he was biting back a smile.

"You should probably go see an actual nurse now," you suggested with a half-smile gesturing towards his ankles.

"Right," he said with a slight pout and it took everything in you not to kiss it away. Morgan and Prentiss began to lift him up making sure he didn't put any weight on his ankle and you blew Spencer a kiss as they walked towards the exit.

"Wait, Y/N?" Spencer blurted, he turned around and flashed you a small grin,"Could I possibly get your number? You know, In case I need a second opinion?"

☆My submission for the CM Meet Cute (or not) Challenge 📚☕️ by @imagining-in-the-margins

[ashensgrotto]

A Merfolk's Melody (Part 4)

Characters: Yan!Floyd x Reader, Yan!Jade x Reader, Yan!Azul x Reader

Word Count: 13.5 k

Intro      Floyd Leech     Jade Leech     Azul Ashengrotto (You Are Here) Epilogue

Synopsis: The sea always calls to those who feel lost and alone, wanting to fill the empty part of their soul until they are loved and full… and as such, it’s only fair that the strange creatures that live beneath its depths would want the same as well…

Author’s Note: Another 4-part fanfiction courtesy of @merakiui ‘s headcanon of the reader being stuck in a room/wall (I’m sorry, but I just enjoy your headcanons and they always give me these ideas) -> https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722393818829373440/in-addition-to-being-stuck-in-a-locked-room?source=share & https://www.tumblr.com/merakiui/722677892623056896/about-the-stuck-in-a-wall-trope-in-the-oceani?source=share

Here’s how it’s going to work: each character is going to get their own part following the intro. It is going to focus on the Octrio again (bc it’s my current liking, sorry guys). If you want to read a certain character’s part, feel free to jump around and select the one you’re most interested in. 

Again, as stated before, this is a work of fiction; I disagree with any and all behaviors that are represented in this story.

****

Memories of childhood that often replay in one’s mind had pros and cons; the pros being that of a fond memory, a happy memory filled with joy, wonder, and excitement… the cons being that of a horrible memory, a dark memory filled with anger, hate, and disgust.

One of these memories was often one from when you were approximately six or seven; you had been at the tide pools on the far side of the beaches and away from the cabin by the sea. Your friends had left for the day, promising to come and play with you tomorrow morning - allowing yourself a bit of breathing space as you watched the little creatures that lived in the tide pools. Small crabs scuttled from one small pool to the other while starfish rested along with the barnacles and sea urchins against the multicolored stones and shells that lined within the pools. You would reach out and stroke the creatures - mainly out of curiosity, but also because you didn’t want them to think you were going to hurt them. 

As wonderful as it was - as adorable as it was - a shadow always surrounded it.

Five children - maybe two or three years older than you - would often come to the shoreline, not to play, but to torment the little creatures that lived in the tide pools - the same ones you often played at. They would laugh and tease you, calling you a bilge rat or a strumpet, sometimes throwing small pebbles at you or kicking sand into your eyes. Then, they would snatch the little crabs and starfish out of their pools, dangling the poor creatures around as they slowly dried out - other times flinging the defensive animals out into the open waters, teasing that they were feeding their ‘beloved shark’ that lived in the open waters. You would cry and beg for them to leave them alone - wishing harder and harder each day for them to leave you and the little creatures in the tide pools alone. 

And as the memory fades into the background, you could’ve sworn you saw your tormentor’s faces shift from glee to fright in a matter of seconds… and tentacles black as ebony appeared in the corner of your vision.

The memory, regardless if it was real or an illusion conjured by a dream, often played in the background of your mind following your boyfriend’s betrayal - the unwanted trigger that made it replay over and over again like a bad film you had seen countless times; and it was because of that unwanted trigger that your body floated down into the waters of the sea, pulling you into a much larger version of your little tide pools.

Rocks and sand dusted the bottom of the crashing waves while large patches of seagrass waved at you with the tide, the water murky and hard to distinguish anything beyond the length of your arm. Sand and pebbles floated around you as each push from your legs forced the water to kick up more sand and pebbles along with the occasional crushed or abandoned seashell floating in the murky depths. 

Opaleyes and Clingfish swam among the reeds and seagrasses, darting to and from as your shadow passed over them, while the heads of monkeyface eels peered out from between rocks that scattered here and there on the ocean floor. Crabs and shrimp of different colors and sizes scuttled to and from along those rocks, their eyes shifting about as if waiting and watching for something while the occasional little octopus floated from stone to stone - one coming up to latch to your hand as it's little suckers poked at your skin before swimming away. Starfish lounged on the rocks where barnacles grew and sea urchins rolled slowly across the sandy floors.

It was beautiful in its own way - calm and comforting.

However, there seemed to be a lingering fear that surrounded the area - a sense that something much more dangerous than any sea creature that lurked in the depths of the ocean was around. You would often look over your shoulder before ascending to the surface, intaking a big gulp of air before diving back downward - unknown to you that you were being followed and watched. Had you looked over your shoulder twice before each ascent, you may have seen several large appendages floating in the water as well as a set of sea blue eyes watching you from the tall seagrass beneath you - following close behind you and waiting to make their move.

As you took another plunge, you decided to use this time to look for a seashell as the ocean had lulled you to a state of calmness before returning to the surface - perhaps you could find a nice one to give to your coworker who had been so supportive of you during your time of need over the past month and a half. You drew close to the sea grass, your hands curling into the grass as your fingers traced the sand, searching for a seashell that would be a perfect gift. 

You had often collected them as a child and given them to your friends - they were relatively easy to find, often washing up on the shore as many were remains from a seagull’s supper. Remains of clams, cowries, and scallops often were found and strung on string, creating bracelets that were sold in souvenir shops along with conch shells, lightning whelks, and shells of shark eyes. However, one the most prominent shells that you had harbored in your possession had been a nautilus shell - silver-white in color and was about the size of a half-dollar coin. They were rare to come by - especially on the shorelines where the Nautilidae, the creature who lived within these shells, were out in deeper waters; the shell had been a gift from one of your friends, saying that it was a good luck charm. You always kept the shell close, strung on a braided string that clung to your wrist and went everywhere you went - the shell a reminder that not everyone was as they seemed. However - the bracelet had disappeared many years ago before you left for college, a heavy tide snatching it from your wrist never to be seen again.

Perhaps you would find it again as you explored another part of the sea grass - searching for the perfect shell for your co worker. As you searched in another area, your legs kicked a little too close to the seagrass as a strand wrapped around your ankle.

You kicked your leg again to remove said strand but the strand held on tighter and… became thicker?

You looked toward your leg and saw an obscenely large tentacle wrapped around you and slowly traveling up your leg. It was pitch black in the murky depths with an underbelly lavender-gray in color - multiple suckers nearly the color of lilac kissed your skin, leaving pale red circular marks along your foot, ankle, and calf. You pulled at your leg, but another tentacle appeared, wrapping around your other leg as two more gripped at your waist. You jerked and struggled before a soft voice spoke.

"Stop fighting me, angelfish…"

Your head snapped up, feeling your lips part as your eyes met pale sea blues and horizontal pupils.

Before you, entangled within seagrass and seaweed, was an octomer.

Octomers were typically shy merfolk that preferred the shelter of large caves - or grottos - much like how their octopus counterparts were, hiding in the dark crevices as they watched and waited for prey to come by and avoiding interaction with other sea creatures. The reasoning behind this was rumors and speculation of them being casted out by the merfolk due to their heritage and greediness - possessive to the point of suffocation - and were believed to be vain about their appearances; many of them were rumored to host beautifully colored tentacles in oranges, blues, yellows, reds, and purples. Some were also in shades of pale grays and browns and often used camouflage to help blend into their surroundings. Legends of octomers were also rare and the only one you had been told about was one who granted wishes - living in the darkest part of the sea off the coast of your little oceanic village and would come to the shorelines to make deals on behalf of the sea itself. 

As much as octomers were fascinating as they were an oddity and rarity in legends and among merfolk, they were also quite deadly. It was no secret that many octopi were poisonous - with enough venom to potentially kill a man within minutes if not treated like the blue-ringed octopi that lived in the tide pools and coral reefs. Legend stated that some octomers also hosted this venom - holding the venom in sacks that were hidden within their mouths instead of the beak that hid under their tentacles, though no one knew for sure. They may be solitary creatures, but that did not mean they would back down when placed with a problem before them as they were also intelligent beyond a doubt - having the existence of nine brains at their disposal.

And the one before you seemed to know exactly what it wanted.

The octomer before you was absolutely stunning - silvery skin with a kiss of pale lavender covered his facial features, chest and hands while his neck, sides, arms, and hips were painted black with little scales of deep dove gray littered the parts of his shoulders and tentacles. Eyes of pale sea blue glowed in the murky depths as silvery hair sparkled like starlight under the sun’s rays that cut through the shifting water. Strong cheekbones defined his face, a strong nose and thin jaw made him appear all-knowing; thin lips pressed together, a little black mole perched beneath - a little beauty mark that would be the envy of many. The gills on his sides fluttered in anticipation before his eyes flashed, brow furrowing as two more of his tentacles snapped upward - one wrapping around your waist and the other pressing over your eyes.

“Don’t look at me!” the octomer hissed, his voice softening, “Please… don’t look at me, angelfish… I can’t bare for you to see me like this…”

You were struggling against him now - unsure of what the octomer wanted from you and why he was now so entangled by you. Surely, you had never met before… right?

So, why did that nickname sound so familiar?

You felt the octomer shudder against you as you struggled, his grip tightening onto your form, “Angelfish… why do you keep fighting me? Did you… forget me?”

You wanted to say that you had no idea what he was talking about, nor did you know who he was - maybe he was confused and mistaken you for someone else. However, you really couldn’t at the risk of losing the air in your lungs that you were desperate to hang onto. 

“You couldn’t have… you promised you wouldn’t!” The octomer was now becoming desperate - though you couldn’t see it, you were certain tears had started to form in his eyes as you felt his hands grip your arms, leaving bruises as his grip tightened, bringing you close to his face as he practically screamed, “You promised! You promised you would never leave me behind! And yet… you did.”

His voice became sour then, practically murmuring, “... I suppose I should do something about that, to keep you with me until your last breath…”

You felt something dig into your neck - something sharp and painful as bubbles broke passed your lips in a scream as a fire erupted under your skin - your body suddenly locking up and forcing you to remain still before something was pressed to your lips.

“Be a good friend and test this little concoction out for me,” you heard the octomer whisper against the shell of your ear, “This… will help with that problem of yours.”

As soon as the liquid hit your tongue, you wanted to regurgitate - push it out and back into the bottle that was pressed into your mouth. Lips and fingers pressed against your neck, stroking and kissing as the unknown liquid eventually made its way down your throat, making you gasp as something rattled within your core. A sharp nose ran along your neck, skin suddenly thinning and lifting like fish gills as lips pressed against them - one on each side.

“Ah… how beautiful, angelfish,” the octomer whispered against your ear again as a shiver ran along your spine, “They turned out marvelously - just as I expected… perfect for my wonderful, sweet angelfish…”

You tried struggling against him again, but your body was still trapped by the bite and by his tentacles. You whimpered softly in fear as the octomer continued to kiss your neck, his teeth scraping the edges.

“Don’t be afraid, angelfish… you know I would never hurt you. The venom will wear off and you’ll be a free fish again - but I do intend to keep you close, after all…” you felt his breath tickle the hair on your nape as bubbles caressed your skin, “...I would never hurt the person who accepted my love at first, nor accepted my wedding gift…”

You felt something small and familiar wrap around your wrist - the familiar shape of the nautilus shell bracelet that had once been in your possession now returned to its rightful place on your wrist. A gasp sounded from you as lips pressed against yours before you felt the tickling sensation of seagrass surround you.

The octomer had pulled you close, his arms coming around to hold you close to him as his lips danced across your still eye-covered features, pulling you into the seagrass to keep you hidden from the rest of the aquatic life that existed around you. Tentacles trailed around you, moving and shifting as the little suckers that ranged from the size of small pebbles to large stones kissed your skin, marking you with bruises and as the octomer’s possession. Your body could not fight the venom that was still coursing through you, keeping you still as the mer worked you over, lips trailing from your face to your neck and to the top of you chest as hands and tentacles curled at the offensive clothing that kept the two of you separated.

He tore at the buttoned shirt you had slept in the night before, the fabric floating around you as the buttons sank to the bottom - his face burying itself in your chest and his hands trailed lower, pulling at the ties of your cotton shorts and ripping them apart as well in a desperate longing to have you bare beneath him. Bubbles containing sighs and gasps left your lips, but your new gills provided by the octomer breathed in for you, fluttering with excitement at each touch and kiss that was pressed against your skin.  

There was no preparation as something long and thin slipped into your folds between your legs, nothing prepared you for the heaviness that curled into your belly as multiple suckers kissed your entrance - bringing your body to life and weeping for the creature that had overpowered you. The tentacle that was wrapped around your eyes slowly released you, curling behind you to cushion you against the sandy bottom and the octomer’s hands rested on either side of you - his tentacles pulling and prodding at you, kissing your skin as his eyes glowed brighter as he took in your contorted features with every gasp and cry as his hectocotylus made its home within your body. He pressed his forehead against yours, moaning softly against you as you met each of his thrusts with your hips, gasping aloud.

“Oh… angelfish… look at you,” he moaned softly, a tentacle slipping between you to curl and press against your stomach, making you gasp, “Look at you with my marks… ah ha - I’ll have to do this every day… keep you covered with my markings… signs that you have been taken by me, and no one else…”

You whimper in want, the fire raging in your body pushing you closer and closer.

The octomer leans forward, kissing your ear and nibbling on the lobe softly as he whispers, “You… you remember don’t you? Our little promise… our little secret… Tell me… say my name, angelfish. Tell me my name… the one you gave me… what color are my eyes, angelfish?”

The words echoed in your haze-filled mind.

What color are my eyes?

What color are my eyes…

What color…

“Azul…” you whimper as his tentacles curl within your body, forcing your hips to snap forward and arching your back against the sand - creating a little cloud of debris.

“Yes, (Y/n)...” Azul whispers, lips digging into your skin, “Yes… my angelfish…”

***

Azul watched as he held you close - keeping you embraced in his octopot as he guarded you from the dangers outside, his tentacles still tracing over your body that was now plush with his eggs. You had fainted during the last round and although he still had more to give you, frightening him for a moment but quickly realizing you needed rest before you could take any more. He would hold onto the remaining eggs until you awoke - then he would take you again until every last egg was safe within you. Once that was complete, he would take you back to his cave - keep you hidden within a special room until the time came for the eggs to hatch.

It was hard to believe he had found you again after so long - a nearly forgotten promise reminding him of how much you meant to him.

He remembered the little girl on the shoreline, crying out as a group of boys tormented the little creatures within the tidepools, begging for them to stop. At first, he - the little octo-twerp - did not understand why you were crying, why you were so adamant about protecting creatures that were weaker than you. As he continued to watch you from his hiding spot with each passing day - and how you played with the Leech twins of all people - Azul slowly realized that you were a part of the sea, someone that was born human but had merfolk qualities. He admired your strength and cried at your weakness, wanting nothing to go to you and comfort you - he knew you better than you knew yourself, after all. It took courage on his end, but he approached you - nervous about his appearance. 

At first, you were startled by his approach - most anyone would have been.

But, then, you smiled and asked if he knew Jade and Floyd - and thus the friendship between the four of you began. You all would play near the water, letting the waves crash over you and revealing their true forms to your eyes only - laughing as they splashed you and pulled you into the sounding waves. You would lounge in content by the tidepools, watching the little creatures as they lurked under the water and continued their daily lives. It was years later that Azul presented you the nautilus shell bracelet that would be your promise to him for a life together - just the two of you.

Then, you disappeared.

Jade and Floyd, who now worked with Azul as his eyes and ears in their part of the waters, indicated that your family had moved closer to inland - there was no way for the tides to reach you, nor for you to reach them. Azul had slumped for years, continuing his research and deciding to try to formulate a potion that would allow him to seek you out.

However, that was cut off when his mating urges began. All he could do was swim to shallow warmer waters, his thoughts only of you as he writhed in want and pain, so desperate to feel you beneath him - to hold him and never let him go. 

It was lucky that you had swam out to open waters and had alerted him of your presence, a welcoming sight for the octomer who thought he had lost his whole world six years ago.

His gaze flicked from the entrance of the octopot to your form resting in his arms and tentacles - bubbles appearing as you inhaled and exhaled against him. Azul smiled and nuzzled the crown of your head with his cheek, content to have you by his side again.

“Sweet angelfish… stay with me, my darling… stay and be mine…”

[amywritesthings]

SEEING YOU, SEEING ME (2/7)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: After handling a life-or-death favor for Tess, you're in deep shit. Until she can make things right, she suggests you lay low at her place for the week. The issue? It's also Joel Miller's place, and you're pretty sure he hates you.

Warnings: PRE-TLOU setting so no show spoilers, Mentions of death and violence, Age gap/difference, Slow burn, Angry!Joel, Eventual Smut, Enemies to Fuckers, Sexual tension

( Read on AO3 )

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CHAPTER TWO: BREAK IT TO ME GENTLY

The abrupt clang of a pan hitting the metal frame of a stove wakes you.

Out of your dead and delayed sleep you jolt, panicked and ready to run at a second's notice. Your chin whips around to find the source of the noise, accustomed to loud meaning bad, but you are met with the opposite:

In the open-wall divide of the apartment, Joel Miller stands only a few feet away. Dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, he sports a tattered olive rag draped over his shoulder. He busies himself with the black, worn pan in his left hand, only glancing under his brow with mild interest when the mattress creaks in the scattered fright.

“Thought maybe you died,” he greets with something that sounds almost like a hollow joke. His wrist turns, sifting the contents in the sizzling pan below.

You open your mouth to argue, but the aroma of food — fresh, real food — dissolves the thought into thin air.

He follows the trail of your eyes to the pan and speaks plainly.

“Had an extra egg in the fridge.”

Eggs.

The scent is scrambled eggs.

Your eyes round with interest. “You have eggs here?”

“Not anymore,” he says, lifting a spatula to push the food from the pan and onto a nearby plate. “Have to go grab more.”

Your stomach growls with need.

It would be rude to ask — right?

Except he doesn't give you a chance to: Joel leaves the stove with a plate in hand, half-full by a rationed scrambled egg. Without a word he sets it down at the dining table, cleared off from the night before.

At first, you don't move from the edge of the mattress. Bouncing your attention between him and the steaming plate of food, you wait for verbal confirmation.

Permission.

"Are you gonna eat it, or are you gonna waste it?" he absently asks over his shoulder when he returns to the stove, shoveling out a second egg to another plate.

You hesitate, stuck between calling a bluff and accepting what’s happening right in front of you: a gesture of kindness, even if it may not be his idea.

You slide off the bed to meet him in the tiny kitchenette, sitting awkwardly at the table once littered with drugs and alcohol.

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet. They're not good."

"Oh." You pluck a tiny piece with your fork, surveying the fluff of yellow. "I wasn't much of a cook either, before this."

Lifting the fork to your mouth, you taste test with a tiny piece.

It’s good.

Maybe not gourmet, but it’s good enough.

Melting at the taste of something rare yet familiar, you hum in appreciation and dig in for more.

“Christ, I haven’t had eggs in forever. They’re so fucking expensive at the mart.”

Once Joel picks up his own plate from the kitchen counter, the apartment is alive with the sounds of forks scraping at ceramic. It’s supplemented with a soundtrack by the outdoor hustle and bustle of the Fedra soldiers and the citizens of the quarantine zone.

It feels peaceful.

(It feels normal, in the irony of it all.)

Neither of you speak, too worried about making the food last, until he chirps up. Finished first.

“So are you gonna disclose what it is exactly that you did for Tess?”

Joel turns to discard his plate into the nearby sink, only to lean back against the counter. His arms cross over his broad chest, expectant. 

"I think I deserve to know what it is I'm housing you for," he adds.

You look up from your fork, catching his eye.

“I don’t think she’d like that.”

"No?"

"No."

“Well she ain’t exactly the one here playing babysitter,” Joel counters, gliding the tattered rag off of his shoulder and down his chest to drop it into the sink.

You roll your eyes, stabbing at the last remaining piece of egg on your plate.

“I mean…  I wouldn’t call this babysitting, Miller. I am a grown adult.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead he asks a question that catches you both off guard:

“You know my last name?”

You pause, hovering the fork near your mouth as you formulate a response.

Is that supposed to be a surprise?

(As if it's a crime to call him as anything but a stranger.)

“Everyone in the zone knows you,” you reply with apprehension. “It's not exactly a secret who people go to if they want shit done around here.” Then there’s the obvious in the room, though it’s closer to a church mouse than an elephant in size. “And besides, we… have worked together a lot, so I've heard it once or twice.”

Or twenty, give or take a shift.

He stares, hard, before clenching his jaw. 

“Yeah, I know we have. Just didn’t think you knew my name, s’all.”

Wait.

You blink.

“You mean you—”

Both of you still into silence as you cut off your question, eye to eye.

"You mean I... what?" Joel begins, suspicious.

You're going to sound like an idiot.

Eyes closed, you inhale a bit of strength before taking one last bite of what’s left of the egg on your plate.

"You know me?" you ask.

"Know you?" he repeats, and you nod. "Seriously?"

You nod again. Joel lets out a huff, adjacent to a humorless laugh.

“I know your face, sure. If I recall right, then you’ve been on a few of them jobs.”

“Oh.”

His brows knit as he re-adjusts his stance against the counter.

“Why? S'that surprising to you?”

“Very,” you admit under your breath. “I didn’t think you watched what I did or saw me at all."

He runs a hand over his face, scratching at the salt and pepper scruff lining his jaw.

“No, I didn't watch you, but I saw you,” he replies, matter of fact. “Probably the only one I get stuck with who actually puts some back into their shit."

The slight praise blossoms something warm in your belly, full from a cooked meal.

"Except," he starts with an uptick in his voice, "I didn’t peg you as the type to run around with Tess.”

You try not to smile, but it’s too late. "No?"

"Not in the slightest."

"I don't think a lot of people can peg me as any type of thing, 'cus none of these people really know me," you admit a little too honestly. "Not really in the market to be known."

(Kind of like you, you want to say.)

Joel nods at nothing in particular, contemplating with his attention to the floor. Abruptly he clears his throat and hikes a thumb back to the weather-worn refrigerator in the corner.

"I need to grab some extra food, then, if this is gonna be a couple of days."

Something flutters in your stomach; not as pretty as a butterfly, but something less twisted than a bee. Any conversation that isn't a fight is an improvement.

Maybe you misjudged the situation.

Maybe Joel just doesn't want to be known, same as you.

You shift in your seat to shuffle through the back pocket of your jeans. “I have ration papers if you need more to cover the cost.” 

The corner of Joel’s upper lip scowls as he shakes his head. He pushes off the counter to walk towards the table where you sit.

“Keep ‘em – I got plenty.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He tugs the jacket off of the back of the unoccupied chair, flicking out the collar once it’s finally on his torso. “You put that in the sink, then, when you’re finished? I’ll get around to ‘em when I come back.”

“I can clean both sets of dishes, Miller,” you argue as he passes by you to reach the door of the apartment. “It’s the least I can do while I'm stuck here.”

Hand on the doorknob, Joel turns his chin to study you one last time.

"Right."

His lips purse like he wants to say something, as if it’s tickling the tip of his tongue, but ultimately decides against it. Instead he settles with a huff through his nose; a sound of resignation. 

“Just don’t touch anything else.”

Author's Note: We've gotten the intro out of the way. Next chapter is when things start to get juicy, I promise. The response to this fic has been wonderful and the google doc is nearly 10K, so you KNOW we're in it now. As always, comments & reblogs are adored. Thank you for reading!

[actuallyfallen]

Archetropy and Personal Choice

I had heard the word "archetrope" around the alterhuman community before the OtherCon (the biggest convention for alterhumans) 2023. Although in vague terms, I had heard of it. I sort of got the vibe from the word, so I never felt the need to look into it. A vague sort of, "Identifying with an archetype, or a trope from media," vibe. What came to mind for me was tropes like the knight, the prince, the rogue. Classic roles. The stuff you'd see on tarot cards or such. The alterhuman community is known to look down on "newer" sources of identity, after all (see the long-standing hesitancy to accept fictionkin).

So, when I joined the panel being hosted by someone named Vyt (who can be found on tumblr, as @thelightfluxtastic) all about archetropy, I thought I knew what to expect.

Vyt described their archetype as "the right-hand man".

Well, Vyt mostly talked about "the paladin" as their main tropetype. But that was the sort of archetype I expected. "The right-hand man" may not be considered a "modern" archetype, but the specific phrase of "right-hand man" for it feels rather new in comparison to how I viewed archetropy before.

My mom was a pastor.

She was in charge of a very large building, which acted as a place for church services on Sundays, and as a kindergarten during the day. I remember watching my mom being up on the church's stage. I didn't learn until I was an adult that she actually had stage fright. I remember stalling whenever I went to the principal's office, because, of course I went to my mom's school for kindergarten. And going to the principal's office when your mom is the principal is certainly… a time, of sorts.

I was a good little Christian kid, though. I was a trouble child due to my undiagnosed autism making me seem "rude" to everyone around me, but I followed what my parents taught me to believe. One could hardly say I was doing so on purpose, though. I didn't even know there was any other option, after all.

Vyt went on to define archetropy as looking at an archetype or trope or such, and saying either, "I am that," "That's want I want to be," or both. Though Vyt also makes a point to say that "archetropy", as a term, was coined specifically to be both linguistically flexible and very broad in definition. It can be involuntary, voluntary, intrinsic, extrinsic, 'identify-as', 'identify-with'…

Vyt also discussed connections to kintypes for archetropal reasons. For example, being dragonkin because one identifies with how the trope of dragons are shown in media.

I can trace multiple kintypes of mine straight down to the same root. This Christian upbringing of mine. Surrounded by it. Suffocated by it.

My mom would often work late, so, as she locked herself in her office, I would be left alone in this huge building. I often stayed in the auditorium during those times. I didn't like the big, open area, so I'd often hunker down in one of the two more closed-off areas. Those two areas were surrounded by walls, but were very small and had no doors, thus, considered a part of the auditorium. One was decorated in green and black. It had beanbags, a step to sit on, and a chalkboard that covered the entirety of one of the walls. The other was pink. It had two chairs and a whiteboard. Covered with sparkly materials, it was hard to leave without some of it sticking to you.

I hated the pink room. Specifically, I hated the texture of everything. Almost everything had this god-awful fuzzy texture that was almost feather-like. The chairs, the rug, the walls. Even the pens there had a grip made of this texture. I couldn't stand it.

But every time the church children my age were there, the boys would go to the green area, and the girls to the pink. The teachers and other officials would call them "the girl room" and "the boy room". The boys and girls would often have one person standing guard near, or in, the door, just to make sure nobody of the opposite gender even got close to their room.

Even when I was alone, in that huge auditorium, I couldn't bear to enter the boy's room. It was wrong. But the first time I did, and I layed down on the beanbag, I exclaimed to my little brother, "It's no fair that you guys get these!" I was so much more comfortable there.

But, still, I rarely came in, even after the barrier was breached. I stayed away on purpose. I made my brother promise to not tell anyone I was there.

I was supposed to be a good girl. Never mind my intersex condition – a good GIRL. One who likes pink, who likes my church dress, and who likes the fuzzy, feathery textures with a smile, for the sake of how others see her. For the sake of fulfilling my God-given role.

As Vyt talked more and more about archetropy, it became clearer to me that modern tropes and archetypes were absolutely included. "The mad scientist" was named as an example. TV Tropes was named as a place to find a list of tropes and archetypes in media.

The TV Tropes page for "The Pastor's Queer Kid", describes the trope like this: "[The pastor's] kids seem to be every bit as perfect as they are, and have the perfect relationship with them. Well, except for one. You see, this one has a secret they're not sure about admitting to their parent. The secret being… Well, this kid isn't heterosexual (and/or cisgender, etc., as the case may be)."

I remember finding the page for this trope and lighting up. Scrolling right down to the "media" section, to see if there were any pieces of media with this trope that I would be interested in. Seeing one of my already-present kintypes there and giggling a little bit to myself. Oh, I'm so predictable! Of course I'd already have a character like this as a kintype.

I realized I was queer very young. Too naive to think better of it, I came out to my parents too soon. Not even a teenager yet, I had to comfort my mother as she cried over me being queer. One of the biggest God-fearers around, I was struck silent when my mom expressed that she feared me going to Hell, and her going to Heaven.

She phrased it as, "What will I do without my child in Heaven? You have scared me so much. I have given you a role to fulfill, and you have failed. Now, I must watch the one I love be punished."

She told her child that they would go to Hell, and be separated from everyone they love for eternity. Poor her.

(Pay no attention to the child, parentified and afraid. Do not look at the way its breath hitches when she says this. The look of disbelief on its face. She really thinks I'm going to Hell…?)

(Look at her, now. She is the victim. This is her spotlight.)

It took me years of purposeful work to undo the toxic mentality that I was taught. About purity, about martyrdom, about the flames of Hell licking every queer's feet. And I still get nightmares sometimes, but I'm proud of how far I've come. When I feel a surge of queer joy, when I see a queer person's smile, when I experience gender euphoria, I know this is it. This is what I've been fighting for. And I know that it's worth it.

I searched TV Tropes for other tropes that fit me, halfheartedly picking up a few more. I wanted an excuse to list "my tropes" on my website's 'about' page, just to add "The Pastor's Queer Kid" on it. I didn't care about the other ones I listed – I just wanted them to be there so I could feel like I had a reason to put that one in particular.

When the archetrope panel was coming to a close, and taking questions, I typed into the chat, "If people are certain archetypes or tropes in real life, would someone like that be able to identify as an archetype? Even if they technically just are it?"

I am my mom's child. I am queer. I struggled against the religion I was suffocated by, and came out the other side damaged, but alive. I try to let people know the sort of harm this upbringing can cause. I am purposefully open about this aspect of myself.

Vyt answered my question. "My default answer is gonna be, ‘Sure.' Like… I think there's something powerful in embracing something, on purpose."

On purpose, I am The Pastor's Queer Kid.

[crow97street]

─── ⋆⋅blurry face⋅⋆ ───

synopsis ✦‧₊˚ chan struggles with intense feelings and undiagnosed issues and resorts to the only thing that brings him relief

warning/tags ✦‧₊˚ self-harm, self deprecating thoughts, hints? of self hatred, lots of overwhelming feelings, college au, changbin is chans best friend, channie loves bin <3, hurt/no comfort (sorry…)

notes ✦‧₊˚ sorry guys feeling emo this is just a short fic i wrote cos i struggle w sh, and again, this isn’t something to fantasize about or to hope chan does any of this, simply just me projecting onto people/characters i love because i don’t enjoy writing about myself :)

word count ✦‧₊˚ 1,336

song rec for this ;)

⋆ ̊。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ̊。⋆

One exhale. Two exhales. Three. Four? Chan’s lost count, everything is starting to blur together in a jumble of colors and sounds. Where is he? Why is it so cold? A loud laugh breaks Chan out of his reverie to drag his eyes to the source of said sound. There's a few other college students laughing at some dumb tiktok the tall one of the three showed them. Chan exhales shakily again and moves his eyes back to the bus stop he's currently waiting in. The winter chill has finally set in, and it’s fucking cold. Chan enunciates his point by pulling his jacket around himself tighter with a shiver.

How many times has this happened by now? These moments of intense dissociation, fright, too much. It’s always too much. He can’t seem to keep the feelings at bay no matter how hard he tries. It’s a repeat like a broken record that won’t just stop.

The halting screech of the familiar bus drags Chan out of his own head again. He stands on wobbly legs and rushes into the bus to find his usual seat. He blinks. It’s taken. God this day could not go any worse for him. Chan forces his legs to take him to another chair. It’s just a seat, just a seat, just a seat. He repeats in his head to stave off the onboarding panic he knows is growing.

After a few more deep breaths Chan manages to quell the doom that tried to reach his exhausted mind. His head snaps up when he hears the breaks again. Changbin. Chan’s heart soothes at the knowledge his best friend will board the bus soon, Changbin always helps.

“Hyung!” Chan is greeted by Changbin’s infectious smile as he plops down next to him.

“Hey bin.” He exhales weakly giving Changbin the best smile he can muster, which is unfortunately not very good. Of course Chanbgin notices.

“You alright dude?” Changbin’s expression grows tainted with concern.

“Yeah yeah sorry, long night. You know how it is.” Chan sighs out giving Changbin a comforting expression to ease his worries. Chan never did like when people worried about him.

“Tell me about it, Professor Geon has me by the ass with this week's homework.” Changbin exhales heavily, sinking into the chair and closer to Chan’s arm. Normally, Chan would recoil and ask them to step back, he doesn’t like when people touch him without warning him. But Changbin’s touch is allowed, safe.

“Yeah I’ve had way too many late nights for comfort lately. As if it’s unusual for me though.” A self deprecating chuckle follows Chan’s quiet sentence. The hum of the bus fills the air for a moment before Changbin speaks again.

“Still struggling with your insomnia man?” Changbin’s eyebrows furrow as he speaks. Again, the worry. Ugh. It’s not like Chan doesn’t appreciate it, he does, he’s happy there's someone even on this earth who cares about Chan. But he hates anyone acknowledging that he has struggles, it’s just too much, again.

A deep sigh.

“Yeah, unfortunately. It’s fine though.” Chan trails off at the end as he spots the university approaching in the window. Chan nods his head in the direction to alert Changbin as he begins to stand.

They walk out together into the frozen air and Chan prepares himself for whatever today may bring him.

⋆ ̊。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ̊。⋆

The door slams as Chan races inside his apartment. Shit. It’s happening again. One exhale. Two. Thr- Oh fuck it.

He rips the drawer open - not a smart move on his part the thing is quite old and rattles dangerously as if proving his point - and frantically begins searching. Chan whines with frustration as a few minutes pass with no luck.

“Shit.” He cries out with a quiver in his voice. The blur is getting worse, he can hardly see where he’s going. What was supposed to be an easy day of classes, had now transformed into a horrible horrible day.

Chan gives into his desperation to stop the blurring by racing to his kitchen and searching the drawers. His hand graces over the familiar handle of his lighter. Finally. Chan exhales loudly and quickly brings the lighter out stumbling to his bed.

Guilt bubbles up in his chest like a raging campfire someone keeps adding gasoline too. He knows it’s a filthy habit he’s grown since high school but it’s the only thing that helps. It’s become a starving addiction that he can’t escape no matter how many - non harmful - alternatives he tries.

Chan slides down the foot of his bed landing on the soft carpet. Changbin gifted it to him on his birthday a few years ago as a housewarming gift. Chan spots the orange stain of bleach from the time Changbin agreed to help Chan dye his hair during one of his many mental breakdowns. He drags his eyes back to the lighter in his hand and quickly scrambles out of his jeans that suddenly feel two sizes too small.

His brain zeroes out until the comforting burn ignites on his skin. A few seconds pass before Chan puts out the flame, releasing a deep exhale. Another hot singe brands onto his thigh. Another exhale. Frustrated tears well up in Chan’s eyes, he scrubs away at them with his sleeve and stands up, still pantless. Chan slowly drags himself to the bathroom and addresses his wounds before changing into some pajamas.

He crashes onto his bed with a tired groan. He was hoping it wouldn’t come back to this. Why did it have to help? Why did it have to hurt so good? Chan punches his mattress in anger towards himself.

It’s dumb really, humans try so hard to stay alive. We weep in hospital rooms over loved ones diagnosed with terminal cancers. We fight and cry for those we’ve lost to weapons and aggression. But at the end of the day, in the silence and gloom of our homes, we hurt ourselves to fight what we can’t with our fists. Chan would like to say he’s strong, he’s survived until senior year of college, that’s a pretty good accomplishment right? But when everything is said and done, his mind is his own personal prison that he’ll never be strong enough for.

Chan laughs at the obscurity of it all before he drags himself up to trudge to his kitchen. He quickly pops his sleeping medication into his mouth and chases it with a large gulp of an old water bottle on his counter. He returns to his bed and lets the darkness of his room consume his mind.

⋆ ̊。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ̊。⋆

Chan gazes out the frosted window of the bus as he awaits Changbin’s arrival. His thighs sting with the reminder of his actions and Chan cringes at the feeling. Unfortunately Changbin approaches just then.

“You okay hyung?” Changbin asks scanning his frame for any injuries.

“Yeah all good my legs are just sore, went too hard at the gym yesterday.” Chan plays off his discomfort with a small joke.

Changbin - the ever loving gym rat - of course bites at the bait and his expression lights up.

“Yahhhh I know right! You skip leg exercises once and now you regret it for a week.” Changbin complains loudly and takes his respective seat next to Chan.

Chan zones out as Changbin rambles off about some new equipment at his gym not working. Sometimes Chan wishes Changbin would notice it’s not just a paper cut, that it’s not just him touching a hot cookie pan, that it wasn’t just doing too much at the gym. But deep down Chan knows he won’t be able to face Changbin if he knew how pathetic Chan was to hurt himself for relief. Silly, isn’t it? Oh well, Chan will accept the blur of color and sounds into his weeping mind until some part of him breaks. But for now, he’ll pretend.

He’ll pretend.

[y-rhywbeth2]

General attitude of the Dead Three towards their followers that I've observed in the Time of Troubles and sometimes other sources. Bhaal seems to like his followers the most; Myrkul would love you more if you were a zombie; and Bane:

Bhaal: Can be attentive to his followers, apparently. Bhaal loves his clique of murderous fanatics (or at least he loves their murders) and they may "personally warrant [his] attention", multiple times, if he's particularly in awe of their skill at murder. Seems to take it badly when people who aren't him kill his followers - and he's willing to resurrect his favourites if they die while in his favour. But that's hard to gauge if he takes it that badly because that "numbness", fear, then rage response seen in the novels was also in reaction to almost all of his followers getting massacred (although this being pre-3.5e, his power was not dependent on the amount of worshippers he had at this time, so it wasn't as big a deal, more of an inconvenience).

Myrkul: Seems to hate the living more than Bhaal does. He thinks you'd be much cooler if you were undead. Or - memorably - an horrific, mindless, body-stealing soul-eating abomination. Tendency to eat his follower's souls or inflict horrific withering curses on them as a show of "favour". He happily supports the dreams of his undead followers though! Still, he advises his living worshippers to take protective measures and has to look out for them, because otherwise he's rapidly going to have zero followers because he's insanely unlikable. Funny, but unlikable.

Bane: Plays favourites. Bane's interactions in the Time of Troubles were a little skewed, due to having mortal emotions at the time, but the fundamentals stay the same: Most of humanity is beneath his notice, but he does crave the attention of those few he values who may receive leniencies and such. He also refuses to acknowledge that he values them emotionally, and he will still treat them terribly and says there's still a good chance he'll leave them for dead if it's more convenient. Still, even as a god he made the decision to elevate Fzoul to demigodhood when he died instead of just tossing him aside, so some of that remains?

While this is more of an insight into the mortal who predates the God of Tyranny, imo, he has an interesting response to grief, progressing from shock to murdering people around him in a blind rage, to this:

"I will not grieve, the god decided coolly. Blackthorne was merely a human. A pawn. His loss is regrettable, but he can be replaced. Then Bane thought of his endless talks with Blackthorne. He remembered the strange emotions that coursed through him when he had realized that Blackthorne had saved him, and aided in his recovery. The Black Lord looked at his hands and noticed he was trembling. Then the God of Strife screamed a cry of grief, loud and long. All over Bane’s Dark Temple, people covered their ears and shivered at the sound of the Black Lord’s pain."

Then more murder time, so we can stop having disgusting emotions and channel it all into hate on the battlefield:

"A fire crackled in the eyes of the Black Lord and Fzoul stepped back from the angry god. Then Bane’s lips curled back in a frightful grimace. There was fire behind the God of Strife’s pointed teeth, too, as his eyes narrowed and he said, “Now.” "

[delphiealmond]

A Fallen Apple From The Apple Tree

⋆☾⋆𓅮❦⛧⋆☾⋆

Pairing ➸ Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor

Synopsis ➸ Lucifer Morningstar believed that Heaven was a sanctuary, the best place for a soul to be in. Growing up with his brothers was the easy part, until God summoned him and his older brother Michael to guard over the portal between realms. Slowly, Lucifer begins to see how frightful Heaven really was. Sought out to defend the sinners of Hell, tragedy strikes among the Archangels. But a familiar face makes Lucifer think that maybe defending his opinion wasn't the worst idea he could've had. Does this familiar face bring him peace? Or does Lucifer end up getting stuck in another twisting cycle of lies and betrayals?

Warnings ➸ 18+, swearing, depictions of death

⋆☾⋆𓅮❦⛧⋆☾⋆

MASTERLIST : Previous | Next

Chapter Nine (3.9k)

The room was swallowed in darkness. The curtains all pulled closed around the room, the only source of light was the bright candles that were lit aflame. The lights flickered with energy, the energy that was feeding the room. 

Each chair was taken, filled by a ruler who may not have wanted to be there. Hell was their sanctuary, yet Satan was the one to call all of the shots. Satan was the one to pull all the strings. And his up to no good son sat next to him. 

He started to freak some of the sins out, even. They had never heard of a hellborn becoming an overlord. They never heard of an Overlord becoming so powerful, they could potentially be stronger than the Goetias. 

Perhaps it was the way he sat, or the way he held himself. He wreaked of power, of independence. As if this little meeting was pure entertainment to him. Some of the sins couldn’t fully believe that such a sweet, little boy, could become a man who doomed almost all of the Wrath Ring. 

Yet, there he sat. Right next to his father. Hands folded on top of the table, while he awaited his father’s words. His ears, groomed and upright, his eyes red and devilish. He fit the role of a ruler's son, yet all sins knew he could never be anything close to it. 

“Extermination day is around the corner.” Satan muttered, leaned back in his chair as he barely made eye contact with the other sins. “And I understand that it means nothing to some of you. The angels don’t get close enough to affect you.” He glanced around the room. 

“Mammon, Asmodeus, Levi, and Belphie.” He looked among the tables at the residing leaders. 

“I understand that you have something to say about the extermination?” 

“Yeah, callin’ upon us to do this conversation is bullshit.” Mammon spoke. “I mean, we don’t even get a chance to see an angel in Greed, so I don’t know why we’re here.” 

“It’s not just that,” Asmodeus added, raising a hand. “To some,” He glared at Mammon. “This doesn't matter. But I know that the Gluttony ring as well as the Wrath ring go through quite a bit of havoc when this happens. And some of us, Levi and I, are willing to offer some kind of help to protect your rings.” He said. 

“Your offering..?” Satan asked, a frown on his face. 

“Of course.” Asmodeus frowned. “I hate to see our people get hurt. Yeah, I know they’re not my people or Levi’s people, but it’s important to know that we got your back. You call on us, and we can give you whatever you need to help.” He said. 

“Pfft,” Mammon rolled his eyes. “Makes me think maybe you’re a little too… Greedy, to be in the spotlight Asmo.” 

“I am not, thank you very much.” Asmodeus raised an eyebrow, glaring at the green clown. 

Satan took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. 

“Right now, all we know is that we’re being faced with the angelic army coming down to kill our sinners. But more importantly, the overlords.” He said. 

Alastor turned his head to his father, a confused expression on his face. 

“With the power overlords have, they have the chance to protect us, the six deadly sins. Angels know that. Sadly, overlords are our last line of defence.” 

“What should we do then…?” Bee asked, a frown on her face as she leaned against the table. “Do we hide the overlords…? They won’t listen to us.” 

“I say we do nothing.” Satan spoke. 

“Woah, serious?” Levi asked, looking between Satan and Alastor. “Dude, your son is an overlord.”

“And I know he’s going to be just fine.” Satan looked at Alastor. “Right?” Alastor eased into a smile, giving his father a firm nod. 

“Exorcists are mere weaklings upon the overlords. If an angel gets their hands on one of us, all of us will fight back.”

“Especially if it’s Miss Rosie, right??” Mammon smirked, shooting a look over at Alastor. The man simply ignored Mammon as he was raised to do. 

“Besides, among the overlords, we have our own way of fighting back. None of you sins need to worry about our own safety or your own.” 

“Alastor,” Asmodeus spoke, looking at the son of Satan. “That may be fine for Wrath, but… Gluttony doesn’t have that many overlords. I don’t know if they have any.”

“Barely,” Bee said, a frown on her face. “Gluttony isn’t about fighting, it’s about indulging in the many things provided. In food and drinks, passions. We don’t have overlords taking souls and calling upon them when needed. The closest thing we have to it is… I don’t know, maybe the hellhounds?” She suggested, looking at Alastor as well. 

The man looked between the two of them. He thought for just a moment before he smiled more, closing his eyes. 

“Very well then, I will talk with the overlords of Wrath and discuss a plan on how to keep Gluttony safe this time around. Maybe use the souls we have to guard you?” He suggested, looking at Bee. 

She couldn’t quite read him the way she could others. Taking a deep breath, she nodded before looking at Asmo and Levi. 

“Even with that in mind, I think Gluttony will gladly take some of your help.” 

“And Wrath as well.” Satan added, glancing at Alastor. The boy’s ears flattened against his head, an unimpressed expression etched into his face. “Even with the overlords, Al, we still gotta do what we have to, to stay as safe as we can be.”

“In Hell, of all places?” Alastor asked, looking up at his father. “We are in Hell, a dead body and a fight is nothing scary.” 

“It is for some of the rings.” Levi said. “Lust, Envy, Sloth and Greed are kind of well off. We don’t have dead bodies laying in the streets. We don’t have fights going on every hour.” He explained. 

“Exactly,” Asmodeus smiled. “Lust and Envy especially.” Alastor hummed, giving a small nod as his ears slowly perked back up. 

“Fine then.” 

Satan sat tall, looking at each sin. 

“Extermination day is in five days. Bee, Asmo and Levi. Be prepared.” 

“And what do we do?” Mammon asked, gesturing to Belphie and himself. “Just sit around and do nothing?”

“Carry on like nothing’s going on, yes.” Satan stood from his spot. “That’s all for today." 

“That’s bullshit..” Mammon stood from his spot. “That’s annoying.” 

Satan watched as each sin stood from their seat and left the room, yet, Beezlebub hesitated. 

Looking back at both Satan and Alastor, she had a few more questions. And maybe this might just be her chance to ask. 

“Satan?” 

“Bee, what’s up?” Satan asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“After extermination day, what then…? I doubt the overlords are going to want to help every year.” She gestured to Alastor. 

“Oh come now, dear,” Alastor waved his hand, a bright smile on his face. “Most of the overlords are loyal! Though I do have to admit, some of them you have to do a favour for in return for them helping, but I’m sure the overlords wouldn’t bat an eye in helping you out, my darling.” He smiled. 

Bee wrung her hands, giving Alastor a small nod. 

“What do I owe you then?”

“Me?” Alastor gestured to himself. He faded into the shadows, appearing beside her as he rested a hand against her arm. “You owe me nothing dear, hound. Think of it as a favour offered by a dear friend.” He smiled. 

Beezlebub gave a small nod. 

“Thank you, Alastor.” He welcomed her with a bow of his head before he headed back over to the table. 

~~~~

It was hours before extermination day. Exorcists were preparing, sharpening their spears and filling on energy drinks. The Heavenly sky, bright and beautiful oranges and blues as the suns began to rise among the day. 

On a day like this, Lucifer would be tucked in bed, fast asleep, Duckie to his side. Not a care in the world as he slept, dreamed of the lands he wished to touch. Yet here he stands, in front of the angelic army, exorcists behind him as he wielded the sword of God. Barely any armor covered his body as both Raguel and Zadkiel prepared to open the portal. 

Michael, beside him, held onto his sword tightly, a firm expression on his face as he readied himself. What lies ahead, neither of them could tell. The exorcists were getting riled up, ready to get their hands dirty, but Lucifer felt almost out of place. 

He wanted nothing more than to be in bed, comfortable and warm and rolling over to fall back to sleep. Yet, watching Michael, he knew he had to be here. He and Michael, it was their prophecy to do this. It was the only other way into the Hierarchy, without the years of trouble their brothers would have to face. 

“Alright,” Zadkiel looked among the soldiers, seeing their hungry movements, itching to go down to hell. Ready to shed blood among the streets of the damned. “You have 24 hours. Kill as many sinners and demons you can. Don’t get injured. Don’t get killed.” He spoke, beginning to pace back and forth in front of them. 

“You are to only touch the sinners and hellborns. If you touch any other ranking in hell, you will be punished. Take count on how many souls you’ve killed. By tomorrow, we will see who ranks the highest among you.” He continued. 

“Michael Morningstar and Lucifer Morningstar will keep the portal between Heaven and Hell safe. But, in an instance someone or something has both occupied, it is your duty to protect them with your life. I wish you all well.” He bowed his head to the army. 

Lucifer swallowed hard, grabbing onto the golden handle of the sword. He took a shaky breath as the portal opened, the symbols decorated around it, the golden glittered magic flowed like water, circling larger and larger as exorcists rushed out of Heaven, charging into Hell with no mercy. 

“Ready Luci?” Michael yelled, glancing at his brother. Lucifer took a shaky breath. He held up the sword as he nodded. 

Once all exorcists flew through the portal, Lucifer and Michael went through. Behind them, Raguel and Zadkiel stood guard from Heaven, watching among the rest of the beautiful world, unable to steal a glance down to the red, unholy section God created. 

The world around them was nearly a nightmare. The sky lingered an orange, blood red. Clouds barely drifted, almost still in the wind. The large pentagram glimmered down at them, reminding them where they were. 

Down below, the world was so large, yet seemed so small. Screams echoed through the streets. Souls begging for forgiveness, begging to be left alone. Some fought back, trying to fight against the angels, with little success. The white, angelic weapons pierced through sinners, red blood dripping and staining the streets, blending into the world of their own. 

The smell of the long dead lingered in the air, turning stomachs, and making faces green. It was a smell that was oddly familiar to Lucifer, yet Michael beside him, didn’t look well. The screams echoed through his ears, the sound of blood splattering against buildings, against roads. Michael gripped the sword in his hand as he closed his eyes. 

“You okay..?” Lucifer voiced, looking at his brother. 

“Fine.” Michael swallowed hard, opening his eyes as he looked around at the mess of what Hell really was. 

To him, it was brutal. So many sins committed, surrounding the grounds of Hell. The dirty hands of souls long lost, barely touched and reminded of what was once beautiful. He knew about this, ever since he was young. He knew the gruesome truth of Hell long before Lucifer did. Yet, looking down at it all, it felt almost fake. Like everything in the books was just a figment of words. But all around them, every inch of Hell was true. 

“How can such a place be real…?” Michael muttered. “Everywhere I look, a sin’s being committed.”

“And not just by sinners.” Lucifer added. Michael hesitated. He stole a look at his brother. The look of disgust lingered on his face, his hands gripping the base of the sword. Yet, Michael couldn’t tell what threw Lucifer off more. The sins the poor sinners were committing, or the actions of their own angels. 

“Don’t think about it.” 

Lucifer looked at Michael. 

“Easy for you to say…”

“What’s that mean?” Michael frowned. Lucifer huffed, shaking his head as he looked back down at the wrecks of Hell. 

“Don’t worry about it, Michael. Just focus.” Lucifer muttered, keeping his eyes down on the grounds of Hell. He saw things, saw souls. Saw bloodshed and murder of people who didn’t deserve it. In his eyes, at least. Yet there was no way he was going to voice such an opinion. Not in front of Michael. 

It went on for hours. The swords, though they were heavy, began to weigh more and more on their arms as they watched Angels do their jobs. Watched angels slaughter souls who were only doing what they thought was right. 

Lucifer watched as fires lit all around the city. Car crashes echoed through the streets, glass shattering as Angels forced their spears through the windshields, into the hearts of the sinners. 

The damned had no defences, not that Lucifer could see. They were either killed or to be killed. And frankly, most of them were dead before they even knew what was going on. It made Lucifer wonder what type of sins they had to commit to belong down in Hell. He wondered if the exorcist's army belonged down here instead of up in Heaven, though thoughts like that could get him reprimanded by his father. And that was something he most definitely didn’t want. 

The angels looked like they were having fun in the slaughter. Laughing with each other as they killed alongside their friends. Ruthless words spoken from their mouths that would not pass in Heaven with any chance. Things didn’t make sense. Angels didn’t make sense. 

But before Lucifer could throw down the sword, a large gold and white clocktower rang, booming through all of Hell. Exorcists stopped. Their gaze met the clock tower as some began to retreat. Twenty-four hours of hovering in the sky, watching the souls drain into the darkest pits, forced there by the angels who Lucifer thought were good. 

Some exorcists returned to Heaven with scratches, marks and bites. Some returned unscathed. Not a mark on them, yet they were covered in blood. Red and black. Colours that flashed before Lucifer’s eyes. Colours that seemed oddly familiar. 

“Lucifer!” Michael shouted. Before he realized it, Michael was in the portal, holding his hand out to his brother. Blinking, he reached up, grabbing onto his hand as he was pulled back into the Angelic world. The portal closed soon after, disappearing into gold dust that sprinkled against the ground. 

Around them, exorcists collapsed on the ground, exhausted but thrilled. Helmets thrown off to the side as smiles lingered on their faces. Blood stained their uniforms yet they didn’t bother to care. Some girls clutched onto themselves, golden blood draining from their wounds caused by the sinners who decided to fight back. 

Lucifer was careful to put the sword of God down, looking among all of the women who fought against the demons of Hell. Yet he and Michael were barely even noticed. He didn’t quite understand why they needed to be there in the first place. Not a sinner noticed them, hovering in the air. And yes, there were sinners who had wings, but didn’t bother to reach up that high. 

Sinners saw the portal, looked at the two angels and fled without a second thought, knowing their demise was imminent. 

Lucifer took a deep breath as he set down the little armor that covered his body. 

“I’m going home.” He said, looking between Michael, Raguel and Zadkiel. The two elder angels didn’t interrupt him as he headed off the platforms, away from the death he witnessed. 

“Luci..” Michael frowned, putting his own sword in its sheath. As he was about to go after his younger brother, Raguel rested a hand against his shoulder. 

“Leave him be. It’s rough to see for some.” Michael swallowed hard, watching Lucifer leave, his blue and white wings unfolding as he flew off, back to the only place he knew true comfort. 

“Is.. he's gonna be okay, right…?” Michael asked. 

“He’ll be fine.” Zadkiel said, not looking at the young archangel. 

~~~~ 

Hours had passed as Lucifer sat at his desk in his bedroom. He fiddled with his magic, playing around with the golds and blues and pinks that decorated around his fingers. Sat to the side of the desk, two little ducks that resemble Raguel and Zadkiel. Made months ago before the extermination happened. Yet, with everything that happened he should’ve been exhausted. 

He sat there though, using his magic to create the little ducks that resembled Dina and Alya. They were kind to him, and caring. He didn’t see them throughout the day, and maybe to him, that was a good thing. He wanted to still think of them as pure and kind. Not angels who murder for fun. 

Sat on his bed, a large book depicting the understanding of Hell. He hadn’t even opened it, as his fingers worked along the seams of the duck in his hand. 

He remembers spending hours working on Emily’s little duck. It mattered most to him that she received it before her big day. Perhaps a hobby that he took a liking to. Or maybe it was just something to distract his mind from the rules of Heaven. 

A gentle knock on the door didn’t even faze him as he snapped his fingers. The lock on the door turned, allowing the person outside to enter into his room. He didn’t bother to look up from his work when the soft voice spoke to him. 

“You’ve been cooped up in here since you got back…” Gabriel muttered, closing the door behind him. “Are you okay…?” He asked. Lucifer didn’t answer him. He looked down at the paper in front of him; a small doodle of Alya and Dina sat nicely on the paper. He was trying to get it right, maybe the colour of the eyes was wrong. He didn’t entirely look deep into their eyes to get the colour right. 

“Heyyy,” Gabriel knocked on the desk. “Yoohoo, big brother Luci. Are you in there?” He asked. 

Lucifer finally pulled his gaze away from the golden duck in his hand to meet Gabriel’s blue eyes. 

“Hey,” He set the duck down. “Sorry, I’ve been busy.” he leaned back in his chair, almost defeated as he looked back at the duck. “I can’t seem to get the eye colour right and I don’t feel like going back to the platforms to look at their eyes.” He explained. 

Gabriel stood there, nodding along as if he knew what Lucifer was talking about. 

“Are you gonna make one for all of us?” he asked, gesturing to the two that resembled the Elder Angels. Lucifer’s lazy blue eyes followed over to the two ducks. 

“I want to…” He muttered. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever have time.” 

“Was it that bad?” Gabriel leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “I once read about the extermination day, and how most souls don’t know about it.”

Lucifer took a deep breath as he looked at Gabriel. 

“You shouldn’t be reading about it. It’s not for children.”

“I’m not a child.” Gabriel stood straight. “I’m a year younger than you, Luci. I can read what I want to read.” He wandered around the room, looking at the small collection of trinkets Lucifer had. 

A few small ducks sat in a row on his headboard. Sitting on the bookshelf, some items from Earth he crafted by memory. A silver globe that had the land of Earth on it. On his desk, pencils and pens along with stacks of blank papers, for his hobbies. Oh a bookshelf, several other trinkets along with small and thick books, yet they were almost covered in dust. 

“You don’t read much, do you…?” He asked, sweeping up some of the dust onto his finger. 

“I just don’t have the time to,” Lucifer spun around in his chair, watching Gabriel look through his things. 

“Do you remember when you shared this room with Mike?” Gabriel asked, finally sitting on Lucifer’s bed. “The room looks so much smaller now that I’m older.”

“Tell me about it…” Lucifer looked around. “This room was huge when we were kids. Our beds were on opposite sides of the room, with enough space between them to play games.” Lucifer laughed. “And of course I’d always win.” 

“Of course you would,” Gabriel commented, looking at the book that sat on Lucifer’s bed. “What’s this?”

“Uh…” Lucifer stood from his seat as he grabbed it. “It’s just something from Father’s office.”

“Did you-?!” 

“Shh!” Lucifer covered Gabriel’s mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ll return it eventually.” Gabriel stared at him in shock. He had never known someone to steal from God himself. Especially Lucifer. 

“You know you could get into deep trouble if you don’t put it back.”

“I will!” Lucifer set it down on his desk, beside the little duck he had previously been working on. “Just not yet. I want to read it first.”

“What is it about?” Gabriel asked, wandering around the room. 

“You are so full of questions!” 

“Yeah, so what’s it about?” Gabriel went back to the desk and peered down at the red and gold book. The title's font almost threw him off but he was able to read it seconds later. 

“The Principles and Understandings Of the Underworld.” He read aloud. “Why do you have a book of Hell…?”

“I wanted to read it, to get to know what I’m really in for.”

“Ahh, the army, right?” Gabriel crossed his arms as he headed back over to the bedroom door. Lucifer didn’t say anything as he sat back down at his desk. “Was it okay…? Did you get hurt?”

“I’m fine, Gabriel.” Lucifer smiled softly to his younger brother. “Just a tiny bit shaken up, but other than that, everything’s fine.” 

Gabriel frowned, but gave the smallest nod. 

“You’re not lying right?”

“I’m not lying! Now go, I have stuff to do!!” Lucifer complained, sinking back into his chair. 

“Oh my stars, you don’t love me!!” Gabriel opened the door. “I was wondering how you’re doing!!”

“I do love you, I’m just busy! I’m fine, Gabriel.” 

The brunette hesitated at the door. He looked over Lucifer’s expression as he took a deep breath. He knew his older brother. And he knew his older brother wasn’t one to keep secrets from him. But, seeing him like this now, he understood that the older needed some time to himself. 

“Well, father said that dinner is going to be a big one. Don’t miss out on it,” He exited the room and grabbed the doorknob. “But don’t let him see the book.” Gabriel winked at Lucifer as he closed the door. 

Lucifer chuckled, a smile on his face as he looked over at the book.

[ciitedexcerpt]

Your voice is the perfect sound.

[jessilynallendilla]

So I just read Danny Phantom: A Glitch in Time and...it was ok

Had this come out when I was a kid and just watched Ultimate Enemy I would have gone absolutely feral over it

this show came out in 2004 so not quite sure how to feel about the updated technology IMO it would have been cool to have a time capsule of the show than the common floating timeline you see in comics

unlike with DC graphic novels you can tell the person that wrote this is actually a fan of the show and not a rando corporate pick the plot is plausible and the characters stay in character

A loyal tribute that brings in new lore and character growth

it also retcons the hated movie Phantom Planet

And it leaves enough to be curious for the sequel

People either seem to love it saying it's a good continuation the more serious take they wanted or hate it saying they're tired of villains being complex and redeemable and not pure evil anymore and the plot seems too much like tumblr fanfiction

I made notes as a read it so spoilers under the cut

Dash Kwan Paulina and Star are ghost hunters 

Tucker has instagram/twitter “Spectregram” fans 

The Fentons supply the town’s ghost hunting tech unasked 

Tucker’s wiki “click-a-pedia" has him listed as married to Ember 

Danny and Jazz just accept their father is such a bungler he can’t even kill a guy by abandoning him in space 

Dan was strong enough to dent the only thing that can contain him and just it being knocked off a shelf was enough for him to break out (why Clockwork the Master of Time never foresaw this happening moved it from a table to a more secure location ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  ) 

So uh... Dan just absorbed “ate” Clockwork  

Ecto energy can reach atomic bomb levels so dimension ending threat there 

Since the Disasteroid his powers have been fading their theories match their personalities Tucker-science Sam-government Jazz-trauma  

“Do you have any childhood trauma you wanna talk about?” (like Jazz as if you weren’t there) 

Vlad found a primordial source of ecto energy and just kept that information to himself for a rainy day 

Jazz has a magical girl transformation for her ghost fighting suit 

Vlad is just “ignore those clones” (there in clothes so did Vlad just buy multiple copies of Danny’s favorite outfit how did he know his size) 

Vlad is such an old man who doesn’t know how to use modern computers 

“not a place of honor” ah the nuclear waste warning (we don’t really get much more exploration of this or the seven ancients) 

Sam is a horse girl 

Valerie still holding that grudge huh 

In Pariah’s Keep Danny is suffers from bad memories and holds Sam’s hand to comfort himself 

The Keep is Fright Knight’s domain  

Danny just forgets humans are the ghosts in the Ghost Zone (in line with how often he forgets what powers he has) 

Fright Knight calls Pariah his master 

Vlad is such a loser he keeps getting his shit kicked 

Maddie “That’s not my Danny.” 

The Ghost Zone and human world were split in half an unnatural divide 

Danny is still a C student (io don't think he's going to be an astronaut)

Ghosts are manifestations of human emotions not separate entities (take that Fartman) 

Eventually they start to lose their human identity it’s why some are less human 

Vlad has his own “Where’s the rest of it?” meme 

They figured out all ghosts run on some emotional drive or purpose  

Danny realizes his purpose is protection but now there’s no longer the monster of the week threat or his parents he never asked himself what he wanted 

Now instead of constant fighting he’ll help the ghost achieve their desires they just want to keep doing in death what they did in life and heal the rift 

Fight for control Clockwork 

Vlad finally grew as a person realizing it was his action and drive for power that drew everyone away and has making amends as his new purpose 

Dan just doesn’t want to be alone (makes sense the “no more painful human emotions” +Vlad’s anger and abandonment issues so he’s all the emotions and pain) 

Dan is destabilizing flashing back to his pre Dark child form because he’s a being outside his destroyed timeline  

Danny is the GOAT 

Clockwork needs to fix what he can of the time streams and Danny has two choices Post Disasteroid+no powers or Pre Disasteroid+powers  

Danny gives up being accepted so he can fix the realms “I’m Danny Phantom, proctor of humans and ghosts!” 

They are back to being invisible losers and Sam is just happy goths aren’t popular anymore 

The city doesn’t know how they avoided the Disasteroid but the Mayor declares ghosts are responsible for everything the city will now have a branch of ghost hunters and Danny Phantom is again public enemy #1 

Clockwork transfers Dan from Vlad into one of the empty clones he’s Vlad’s responsibility now he’ll be too busy to help again 

Clockwork’s powers are finite (so he isn’t omnipotent and all powerful) but he still feels something wrong in the stitches he feels weaker now 

And Valerie has a Time Medallion and is pissed (but there was a Valerie in the crowd at the Mayor’s speech so the two Valeries might meet up in the sequel)  

Jazz is ecstatic she was right about ghosts being emotions based  

[thehollowwriter]

💀 🔥 and 👑 for Finn and Quinn, if that’s okay!!

That's perfectly okay! Thank you, Cyn! Vil answered here (

Edit: I forgot Quinn oops 💀

Sam is the only staff member Finn likes (he is neutral to Trein, though). Sam is not loud or obnoxious or irritating or a prick, and he's actually useful, unlike most people. He is admittedly quite curious about Sam's culture and would like to learn about it, but he doesn't know how to form such a demand.

Finn actually bought Sam's mystery drink, much to Azul's horror, and simply smiled and continued to drink it when Azul demanded a reason for his "traitorous act". He finds Azul and Sam's "rivalry" quite entertaining.

Sam is fond of Finn and can tell he's a curious little fella who wants to learn things. He's patiently waiting for Finn to ask about his culture. He can see the burning curiosity in those amtheyst eyes, after all.

Sam can see Finn's siblings, no matter the time of year, and they gave him quite a fright when Finn first walked into his store. Sam mentions his friends on the other side a number of times, and I hc he has a special connection to ghosts and spirits through his magic and can see them when others can't. Sam is, like some others, concerned about Finn because his health is visibly detoriating. Sam is quite sure it's got something to so with those ghost babies.

Ohhh boy this is gonna be a long one

Finn is either neutral to most of the student body because he doesn't know or hasn't met them, hates them because he unfortunately does know and has met them, or -rarest of all- likes them. Idia falls into the second option.

Finn has come to visit Azul during clubs a number of times and has subsequently met Idia. Finn does not like Idia.

Quiet? Shy? Bullshit, the bastard runs his mouth a mile a minute, no wonder he gets along with Azul. Fnnn does not like Idia's attitude, nor does he like Idia's personality. Idia's unwanted comments about his weight or teeth when Azul wasn't there does not help matters. Finn is always ten seconds from turning into Riddle's long-lost twin when speaking with Idia for too long.

Idia just rubs Finn the wrong way. He insists Azul should not be spending as much time with Idia as he does. He's even bringing gamer lingo home! (Finn doesn't dislike video games he just hates the way Idia talks). Finn does enjoy tormenting Idia at any opportunity he can.

Meanwhile, Idia is terrified of Finn and finds him incredibly creepy. It's like the little guy crawled out of an indie horror game, put on a uniform, and started going to school. And those paintings? It's like something out of a fucking creepypasta.

Finn's UM is also horror material, according to Idia. He even called Finn "a limited live action bodysnatcher experience," much to Finn's displeasure. He refused to allow Finn to touch him out of fear of Finn doing who knows what with his appearance and voice once he figured out how said UM works.

Finn is #1 on Idia's "NRC's Most Turbo Sus Background Character List, Source: Idia Shroud" (not to be confused with the turbo sus dorm leader and turbo sus vice dorm leader lists) since as much as a creepy sea mosnter Finn is, he's more of a side character in the general scheme of things.

Idia questions Azul's choice of partner (he saw Azul and Finn smooch once, it was disgusting) and wonders if Azul is broken somehow. Brainwashed, maybe.

Yeah, they don't like each other and avoid one another at all costs. Idia tries to find blackmail on Finn, just in case. Finn purposefully flashes his teeth and changes eye colour just to see all colour drain from Idia's face. He even spoke to Idia using Ortho's voice, though he will admit it was a low blow even if he doesn't regret it.

It's just best these two don't interact.

Tagging: @distant-velleity @krenenbaker @oya-oya-okay @the-banana-0verlord @theleechyskrunkly @cyanide-latte @officialdaydreamer00 for Finn lore >:D Feel free to drop on an ask!

[panicfanatic]

What A Blessing (To Meet Someone Like You).

I'd never really processed just how much my life was set to change after I'd left school. I suppose five years of sitting through the same classes with the same people all day five days a week does make it hard to acknowledge that one day, you will sit your exams, go to prom, and then never look back. You get a job, start earning money, then before you know it, you're moving out of your childhood home. You get your own place, and even though it's just some shitty flat in central London, it's your shitty flat in central London, and you're proud of it. You try your best to keep in touch with old friends, but eventually there will come a day where you get a new phone, and while you're transferring all of the contacts from your old one, you forget to add a few numbers; the numbers of people you once saw every day, but now only speak to on Christmas and birthdays. If you can even remember the latter. You grow up, and enter the world as an adult. It's bittersweet, but time marches on, and your life as you knew it begins to shape into something else entirely.  This was the truth I had to deal with. I left school, and enrolled in college, then in the blink of an eye, I was graduating university with an English Language degree and buying my own place two hundred miles away from my parents. I stopped speaking to friends from school, and I began living my new life.

Which leads me up to now. I sit at the kitchen table in my tiny flat, sighing as a headache begins to form behind my eyes. I stare blankly at the screen of my ancient laptop, silently willing the words to write themselves. I'd never managed to do much with my English degree, and now I sit here with a job at a tabloid newspaper that I secretly hate, wishing I could move on to bigger and better things. Instead of publishing gripping romance novels for the masses to read and love, I spend my time writing about music and celebrities and sports and things I really couldn't give any lesser shits about. It's my only source of income, however, so there isn't much I can do. I barely constitute as a journalist, even though that is supposedly my job title. 

I would write those gripping romance novels, but the prospect of sharing my prose with anyone, even my closest family and friends, fills me with such terror that I can't bring myself to send an email to the publisher's office, like I've been planning on doing for months now. Every time I hover the cursor over the 'Send' button, I freeze with horror and close out of the tab. It's sort of like stage fright but for nerds. 

I would write those gripping romance novels, but the prospect of sharing my prose with anyone, even my closest family and friends, fills me with such terror that I can't bring myself to send an email to the publisher's office, like I've been planning on doing for months now. Every time I hover the cursor over the 'Send' button, I freeze with horror and close out of the tab. It's sort of like stage fright but for nerds. 

I leave the block of flats and cross the road, my feet subconsciously carrying me towards the coffee shop on the corner that I frequently visit. I enter the small, cosy shop, smiling softly at the gentle scent of coffee beans and spiced syrups hit my nose. The shop is warm, and I already feel more at ease as I approach the counter. I give my order, then wait for my drink to be made. I quickly pay for it and bring it to one of the tables in the corner, near another table where a tall guy with fluffy brown hair and circular glasses sits, long legs stretched out and a book in his hand. I don't catch much of his face, as his nose is buried in the book (it appears to be a notebook of some sort, but I can't really tell), but he seems to have nice taste- he wears a cable-knit sweater with black pants, and his black rain-coat hangs over his chair. I glance away as I sit down, pulling out my phone. I scroll mindlessly through Twitter, and I actively feel my brain becoming numb as my eyes skim over the latest celebrity drama that I'm undoubtedly going to be asked to write about within the next week. I sip my coffee absently, idly wondering why I pay so much for it every day when my income isn't exactly as disposable as I'd like to believe. I push the thought away, allowing myself to just enjoy my regular spiced latte, because you only live once, right? So what if I go bankrupt over coffee? I'm going to die one day, anyway. It won't matter then, will it?

I almost jump when I get a notification from my closest friend, Angelica. (She often goes by Angel to those closest to her, which is ironic, considering she is anything but). I open the message, and I don't know whether to be disappointed or amused at the image she's sent. It's some stupid meme she probably got from Tiktok, and I roll my eyes fondly as I type my response. 'What the fuck. Weirdo.' Her response is simply dripping with disdain, and I laugh softly under my breath. After a moment's hesitation, I ask her if she wants to meet up. Her reply is immediate: 'Of course.' I tell her where I am, and she promises to be here in ten minutes, tops. I know it will take her at least twenty, but I let myself believe her as I order her a drink. 

It does indeed take her around twenty minutes to arrive, and she collapses into the chair opposite me. "You got me a drink." Is all she says as she gulps down at least half of the coffee.  "I did. I owed you off last week." I shrug, taking in my best friend's features. Her hair is a wild mess of caramel-coloured curls, matching her light brown skin. Her almost-jasmine eyes are bright, as always, and her full lips are set in a smirk.  "Oh, so it's not from the kindness of your heart then. I see how it is." She rests her chin in her hands, her bright eyes meeting mine. "How you doing, anyway? You still on that magazine shit?" "Yes, I am still on that magazine shit. Unfortunately." I sigh softly as I drain my glass. "What about you? Still living off your dad?" She snorts. "Nah. He made me get a job. Bullshit, if you ask me." "No way you have a job." I gape at her. "What is it?" "I work in a music studio now. Producing, and shit. It's actually quite fun. Plus I get money for it, so." She huffs out a laugh. "Well, glad to know one of us is enjoying their job." I laugh, then add, "So, when did you start this?" "About a month ago. I think I forgot to tell you." Angel's always been like this, ever since school. She's the only person I kept contact with from school, and never once has she changed. God, her whole house could burn down and she'd forget to tell me. I suppose she just assumes I already know, on some sort of spiritual level, everything that's happening in her life in real time.  "Of course." I roll my eyes fondly.

"We had a band in, last week. Lovejoy, they said their name was. The music they were making is pretty good, actually. The sort of thing you'd enjoy." She hums softly. "Yeah, and they're doing a show soon. You should go. You need a break, anyway."  "Hm. Maybe, I'll think about it." I fall silent for a moment, the name of the band ringing a bell. Lovejoy...  "Promise me you'll go. You overwork yourself, and you're clearly sick of your job." Angel stares at me intently, her gaze piercing, and I find myself nodding.  "Okay, okay, I'll go. What did you say the name of the band was again?" I pull up my notes app so I can write a reminder in my phone to buy tickets and research the band.  "Lovejoy." Angel supplies as I type it into my phone.  "I feel like I've heard that name somewhere..." I trail off as I search my mind. I catch glimpses of dining tables and empty word documents, of frustrated sighs and coffee shop visits. What was the article I was supposed to be writing about again? Some up-and-coming internet band? "I think I'm meant to be writing an article on them and interviewing them." "Oh my God, then going to the show is the perfect opportunity!" Angel grins widely at me. The fluffy-haired guy gets to his feet, but I don't watch him leave and instead turn my eyes back to Angel.  "Sure." I smile back, allowing myself the slightest bit of excitement that I'll get to see a concert and get some work done in the same night. Maybe a tabloid magazine isn't so bad after all.

Even after eight years of not being a secondary school student, my lack of work ethic has always remained the same. I shamelessly went straight to my bedroom after re-entering my flat and pulled up my favourite film on my laptop instead of doing any sort of work. I can feel my old teachers looking down on me, even from here. I shrug off the guilt and get comfortable in my pyjamas, and even take the liberty to make myself a hot chocolate while I burrow under the many blankets of my warm, comfy bed. So what if I have a night off? It's not like I do it every we- oh, wait, I do. Whoops.

After the film has ended, I pull up Lovejoy's website, searching for tickets to their show. I find the show nearest to me and quickly buy myself a ticket,satisfied with myself; this counts as work. I'm going to the show to interview the band I'd been asked to interview. Buying tickets counts as working. Or at least preparing to work. I'm telling myself this now so that when I fall asleep later with my laptop still open on my lap, I can feel a little less bad about it. 

I give a few of their songs a listen, and I find that Angel, as usual, was correct; it is the sort of stuff I enjoy. I fall asleep to one of them named 'Taunt,' and I feel a strange sense of warmth as I slip into the land of dreams.

[watchingspnagain]

Rewatching The Real Ghostbusters

Welcome to “In Which Dean Gets Hangry and Clenches His Butt Cheeks, Sam’s a Better Boyfriend Than God, and the Boys Go Meta: A Supernatural Rewatch Blog” with Lor and Mace!

Up today, s5e9: The Real Ghostbusters.

Whatsherbucket (who is now, apparently, sort of Chuck’s girlfriend), calls the boys with an emergency, but when they show up at the hotel, they discover it was a ruse to get them to participate in a LARPing convention based on the Supernatural books. They find themselves surrounded by people dressed up as and pretending to be Sam and Dean, plus people in monster costumes. Chuck’s there, too, of course, although he’s not having a good time (stage fright, plus girlfriend trouble - WHB is still hung up on Sammy). The boys are sort of confused, and very horrified, and pretty darn angry. And then people start dying, for realsies. A couple of the LARPers end up helping them, sort of, to find the ghosts responsible and dispose of them, and the boys come a little bit to terms with the idea of others seeing their lives as enviable. Chuck promises not to write any more books, and WHB turns out to be an unexpected source of quality info: she knows who has The Colt.

Below is a log of our real-time reactions as we watched. Remember that there may be spoilers for any part of SPN’s 15-season run here. Note also that the nature of our conversation is adult and thus it may contain adult language and themes.

 [and we begin:]

Lor:

I hate Chuck but I NEED that jacket

   Mace:

Dean’s eyeroll

   Lor:

I'm with Dean on the eyeroll

  

 Mace:

HAHAHA

   Lor:

I enjoy this ep but Becky makes me want to put a swizzlestick in my brain

   Mace:

HAHAHAHA YEP

   Lor:

OMG Sam's little startle at the scarecrow

   Mace:

omg Sam getting startled by the scarecrow

HAHAHAHA OMG

   Lor:

LOLOLOL

   Mace:

were there actual conventions going on by this time?

Lor:

I thiiiink so?

   Mace:

because HILARIOUS

   Lor:

YES

the boys' reactions. i love it

   Mace:

YESYESYES

   Lor:

omg Dean looking at Sam

   Mace:

HAHAHAHA

   Lor:

"IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE BOOKS DON'T READ EM, FRITZ"

   Mace:

YEAH, FRITZ

“SWEET LORD YES” HAHAHAHA

   Lor:

lol

 “for food and shelter?"

   Mace:

fuck you, Chuck

RIGHT?

   Lor:

I'd feel bad for him if I hadn't seen the rest of the show

   Mace:

EXACTLY

   Lor:

"leave this to the grownups" Dean, honey. come with me, we're gonna get cookies

   Mace:

SNORK

   Lor:

Dean is DONE but he also wouldn't mind the gift card to Sizzler

   Mace:

Dean’s into the sizzler card

HAHAHAHA

   Lor:

LOLOLOLOL

OMG the low voices with the dudes

   Mace:

YES

   Lor:

"how'm I supposed to vanish?"

I love the meta

Mace:

it’s pretty clever

Lor:

this is two meta eps in a row

   Mace:

they’re softening us up for the hard shit on the way

   Lor:

YEP

"but you seem different"

   Mace:

uhhuh

   Lor:

"I don't have time to play Star Wars, guys" look, Mr. Meanie

   Mace:

HA

“you have no idea"

   Lor:

"off limits to nerds" He's funny and it annoys me that he's funny because he's a jerk

   Mace:

HA

he deals with the public. I’m willing to cut him some slack

   Lor:

HA! FAIR

"if it's just me, I look stupid" and then his boyfriend's eyebrow raise

Mace:

YES

these two are adorable

   Lor:

"stay in character" and all he does is lower his voice haaaaahahahahaha

YES

   Mace:

YES

omg their gleeful giggles and smiles

   Lor:

YES

   Mace:

okay ew

   Lor:

right?

I hate scalping stuff

   Mace:

yeah

   Lor:

ew, Becky

Mace:

yup

   Lor:

Dean does NOT like it when people go after kids

   Mace:

he does not

   Lor:

"give me the map, chuckles" "you're the chuckles, chuckles" LOLOLOL

   Mace:

omg Sam really wanted to say “cool it” HAHAHA

HAHAHAHA

   Lor:

YES

they're Rufus and Bobby, omg

   Mace:

YES

Dean. Don’t yuck their yum

   Lor:

yeah

but also: FUCK 327

   Mace:

yeah

Lor:

"i don't think they care because they're FICTIONAL CHARACTERS"

   Mace:

HA

   Lor:

"you wanna win the game, right?" he's so snarky

   Mace:

he really is

   Lor:

someone needs to feed him

   Mace:

he does seem a bit hangry

   Lor:

right?

   Mace:

aw, he paid for their drinks

   Lor:

I never noticed before they repeated the pouring the shot... shot and first it was Dean and then it was the dude playing Dean

YES

   Mace:

cool

“screw you very much"

Lor:

HAHAHA

"i'd say no" OH JUST WAIT, CHUCK

   Mace:

right?!

   Lor:

gratitude and a sandwich

   Mace:

HAHAHA

“sigh” HAHAHAHA

   Lor:

OMG FRITZ read something else

   Mace:

I kind of love Fritz

   Lor:

i do too honestly

   Mace:

welp bye Fritz

   Lor:

poor Fritz

   Mace:

poor Fritz indeed

   Lor:

"how do you feel about angels?" ONE OF THEM SHOULD BE IN MORE EPISODES

   Mace:

HAHAHA YES

   Lor:

"just give her the puppydog thing, okay?"

   Mace:

YAS

aw, these guys are ADORABLE

   Lor:

YES

   Mace:

Dean, don’t call a grown woman sweetheart

   Lor:

omg he called her sweetheart

   Mace:

HAHA

   Lor:

LOLOLOL

there is one man who's allowed in my book, and it's Dean Winchester. everyone else is on notice

because he's DEAN

   Mace:

YEP  

I assume people have made much of the virginity anecdote and Chuck being god?

   Lor:

I... don't know

I know a lot has been made of him later claiming to have had both boyfriends and girlfriends

   Mace:

i don’t remember that! Ha!

   Lor:

omg Barnes and Damien believing in ghosts but not Dean

   Mace:

YES and Dean’s eye crinkle when he smiles at them

   Lor:

YAS

"who wouldn't want that?"

his reaction is so WEIRD

Mace:

“howdy partners” oh Dean. relax your butt cheeks

   Lor:

HAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

   Mace:

omg Sammy don’t make me smack you upside

   Lor:

lol

   Mace:

CROWLEY

   Lor:

omg Sam's face when she says didn't you read the book

   Mace:

CROOOOOOWWWWLLLEEEEEYYYYY

   Lor:

YAAAAAAAAAAAS

   Mace:

it’s about ding dang time

omg that Dean smile SHIT

   Lor:

YES

"it's not jumping the shark if you never come back down" haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha

   Mace:

SNORK!!!

[yournaothings]

The Nightmare

***Dark themes ahead; it's Nightmare after all.***

Reader, are you doing okay?

You are? 

Good. 

Because you won't be after this.

.

.

.

The human didn't get much sleep that night. Their mind raced with everything that has happened, from getting portaled into this AU where Nightmare and his gang of Bad Sanses lived, to witnessing their former friend and roommate dying. Killer had murdered their roommate. There was no hesitation at all, even after they had tried to tell the murderous skeletons that they could fix everything. All they had to do was talk to their roommate. They could have talked it over, they were fine with finding a new place to stay.  Even with their low funds, they were sure they'd be able to find somewhere else to live.  They wouldn't have pressed charges on their roommate. They'd move on, forgive and forget. 

You're too nice. It's going to get you killed. Came Dust's voice this time, causing a feeling of dread to overcome them. They pulled their blanket tighter around them, bringing it up and over their mouth. Their eyes wide as they realized how true Dust's words were. If Killer hadn't murdered their roommate, they could have been the one who died. Killer saved them when he killed their roommate. The back and forth of these emotions were making them feel queasy.  

Glancing at the side table where the digital clock sat told them that it was in the early hours of the morning. Three A.M. to be exact.  They hadn't slept a wink, yet they didn't dare close their eyes in fear of seeing all of the boys' victims. Every time they would close their eyes, thinking sleep would just take them, the awful sights of the deceased would flash in their mind.  They hated it. They wanted to hate Killer for bringing them here, but they were sure he didn't plan to take them on such a dangerous mission. After all, the day began just like all his videos and streams did. He wanted to just show off and have people see how great of a guy he was.  And he was great, when he wasn't busy murdering! He was fun to be around, especially when the other two were around him. Killer was best when his friends were around. Their bickering was funny and made them laugh.  If only things ended differently, they would actually be happy to be living with the trio. 

... There was a strange noise in their room. 

Snapping out of their thoughts, they picked up their head to look around the dark, dark room. There was no light to help illuminate the room, aside from the digital clock's glowing numbers.  Fear gripped them so tight, they didn't realize they held their breath until they were gasping for air. They couldn't see anything in the room that could make such a strange sound. They sat up and glanced towards the closed door to their room, the light switch was so far away, but that was the only way they could have light. There was no other light source in the room, no lamp, and they didn't have their phone. 

Taking a breath, they tossed the covers off of their body and swung their legs over the edge of the bed and pushed themselves off of their bed. Once their feet touched the carpeted floor, they ran towards the light switch, their fingers quickly and clumsily searching for it. The moment they found the switch and flipped it on, they expected their room to be flooded with the bright light from the ceiling light fixture. However,  they received no such relief. Instead, a goo like substance oozed out from around the light switch and crawled onto their fingers and up their hand. They cried out from disgust and fright, their body jerking backwards. They expected the goo to be sticky and keep them stuck to the wall, but it didn't and they found themselves falling onto their ass with a panicked yell of pain and fright. 

Their eyes snapped open when they felt the same gooey substance on the floor underneath them. With a panicked gasp, they sat up and glanced down and around them. The blackened substance grew all around them, climbing up up the walls and over the ceiling; sealing them inside of this strange barrier of goo. Terror gripped them so tightly they felt like they couldn’t breathe, their chest tightening and they gasped and choked selfishly on air. 

They scrambled onto their feet and looked all around them, seeing that there was no escape from whatever this bubble of goo was. “Oh god, what the fuck is happening?” They breathed out in a shaky voice. Their body trembled as they slowly walked closer to the wall of the goo; only to find something wrapped around their ankle that yanked them back down onto the gooey floor, face first. 

Screaming in panic, they rolled over and sat up to see a tendril of goo wrapped around their ankle and slowly wrapping further around their injured calf. They yelled in fright and quickly shook off the tendril before pushing themselves backward until their back hit the gooey wall. The rise and fall of their chest quickened, their heart throbbing within their chest from the fear that was consuming them. 

The goo seemed to shift before a dark, horrifying laugh surrounded them. More tendrils began to rise from the goo to wrap around their legs and from behind them the tendrils found purchase around their middle and forearms. The gooey tendrils tightened so they couldn’t escape. “What the fuck?! What the fuck?!” They yelled, struggling against their bonds. The laughter, this time, was right behind them. Their body froze immediately as they felt skeletal hands grip their upper arms. They slowly tipped their head up when they felt something else creep out from the goo wall they were now trapped against. They watched in terror when the goo formed a familiar skeletal upper body of Nightmare. His grin sharp and wide with sadistic intent. 

“Hello there, dear. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been feeding off of you this whole time. Your negativity is absolutely delectable.”

“Wha-What?” Their voice was small and their eyes wide as they stared up at Nightmare with such horror. “You’ve been feeding off of me? What the fuck does that even mean?” 

Nightmare laughed at such incomprehension. The goo all around shifted and shook along with his laughter, making them feel much more uncomfortable.  

“It’s as I have said; I have been feeding off of your negativity. Your sadness, fear, anger, all of it. Every last drop of your misery has provided me with a sustainable snack, it is most pleasing.”

They didn’t even realize that they were giving Nightmare anything like that. Now that they thought about it, that made sense; they helped them cause all of that death and despair in that one AU. All for Nightmare to eat. Their face paled at the realization.  How could they have forgotten? Nightmare’s boisterous laughter startled them from their thoughts. They focused back on his skeletal, black goo face. His  cyan eye light glowed eerily as he watched them figure everything out thanks to his explanation. 

“You should feel grateful that I am letting you stay here. Of course, at first I didn’t want any brainless human to live under the same roof as I, but I’m starting to like the idea! A snack on hand when I’m in need of it. You are so easy to scare, it’s too hilarious!” 

His laughter shook them to their core. Their emotions flared to life; anger and horror filled them quickly and they tried to lash out at him. Nightmare’s grin sharpened dangerously as his bone brow lifted in amusement. “Were you trying to strike me, human? How amusing. After all this time, you’ve been docile. What’s changed? Your friend was trying to kill you, yet you didn’t fight back. Killer has done enough to elicit violence upon him, yet you didn’t do a damned thing. But, when I play with you, you’re quick to strike? How laughable.”

“Shut up! You intentionally frighted me just for food? That’s cruel!”

“What makes it different from a close individual attempting to murder you because they decided they didn’t like you anymore? What about being used to fix someone’s boredom? Being used to start a deadly fight that left many monsters and humans dead? Are you really that dense? The reason you were ever brought here was to be used as a toy.”

Oh.

That did make sense. 

The human fell silent, their heart twisting in pain from heartache. A friend who wanted to kill them, yet they were willing to forgive them. A famous streamer only used them for their own entertainment, and they didn’t see a problem in that. All these thoughts piled on top of another within their mind; they were nothing but a pushover. 

They turned away from Nightmare, their shoulders hiking up as they willed themselves not to cry. They tried to ignore the Guardian of Negativity’s cruel laughter, but they couldn’t. It made them feel embarrassed. 

Nightmare released a sigh of delight, his tendrils tightening around them before releasing the human all together. He stepped out of the wall of goo as it slowly melted away, their bedroom finally in view again. Nightmare placed his skeletal hand on top of their head, giving them a soft pat.  “You will fit right in, Angel. I will be kind and let you rest peacefully. Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you.”

With that, his tentacles scooped up the distraught human and placed them back in bed. The covers were pulled over the human as they glanced at Nightmare, numb to everything that had just happened. “You have provided me with a fulfilling snack. For that, I will allow you to sleep without any troubles.” 

“What-” They began to question Nightmare, not sure what he meant. They fought the sleep that hit them so suddenly, their mind shut off before they could question  what was going on. Just as Nightmare had said, the human fell into a dreamless slumber. 

–

“Where is Angel?” Killer whined for the fifteenth time that morning.  “I told them to come join us for breakfast in the morning!” 

Horror hummed as he too was becoming impatient. He had made a delicious and nutritious breakfast for them, yet they haven’t come down from their bedroom!  “Don’t they know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day?” He huffed in annoyance. Dust simply ignored the two as he finished his own breakfast. 

Nightmare stepped into the kitchen right then, his expression contorted to one of annoyance; it was too bright in the kitchen. “I have a mission for all of you.” He said, his tone grumpy.  “My brother is causing more positivity. I need you to go stop him.” Killer perked up and grinned mischievously.  “Where to this time, boss?” He chuckled as he summoned his knife and waved it around excitedly. “The human’s AU. My brother is trying to fix the damage you fools created before Error shows up and destroys the entire AU. Go stop Dream so Error may do his job.” 

Cross stepped into the kitchen when he heard his boss speaking.  “The human’s AU is dying?”  He tossed a dirty look at Killer who pointed his knife in Cross’ direction.  “Why are you looking at me like that?! It wasn’t my fault! Dust started the fight!” 

“Shut up, Killer.” Dust snapped at Killer.  “It’s your fault for bringing the human here in the first place.” 

“Their AU was on it’s way to destruction before they were brought here. Dream may think he can fix it, but it’s already too late. Go stop him before Error comes here and starts his temper tantrum.”

“Okay, okay.” Killer huffs and puts away his knife.  “I’ve got to go get Angel first, they’ll love seeing this-” 

“They’re not going.” Nightmare said as he turned away.  “Leave them be, they had a long night.” He adds before leaving to the safety of his dark bedroom. 

Dust, Horror, and Cross all share looks. The boss must have messed with the human last night. “Ugh! That just sucks! Now I can’t show off my cool fight moves to Angel!” Killer complained, slamming his fist down on the table.  “Grow up, will ya?” Dust grumbles and stands.  “Let’s get this over with. I don’t want to deal with the Stars all day.” 

“Heh, it’s going to be a lot of fun. Maybe we’ll flatten them this time.” Horror chuckles as he too stands from his place at the table. Cross already had his weapons with him- he was always ready for everything. It pissed off Killer, every single time-

“Wait- you’re going too, Crossy?” Killer asks, his expression shifting to one of annoyance.  “Nightmare said this mission was for all of us.” Cross said with his own annoyed expression.  “Probably to make sure you don’t fuck this one up, again.” 

Killer’s expression darkened, his grin sharpening to a dangerous one; “Wanna say that again, Crossy?” Cross opened his mouth to repeat himself, when Dust snapped at both of them; “Let’s just go already!” Killer grumbles, no one cared to hear what he was saying. Cross opened the portal and led them through and into the dying AU. . .