#the curse of an alcohol demon on New Years parties

[ask-viggo-dagur-and-eret]

Dagur: How dare you!?

Eret: My, all points fit. Should I start courting Hiccup?

Viggo: Don't forget there's two of us in this category. But I'm willing to share.

Eret: You might have to. I take 5 times a week, you get weekends.

Viggo: I beg your pardon?

Dagur: I wanna share Hiccup too!

Viggo: We should think about it first and consult it with Hiccup.

Dagur: And if we end up dating him all together in one big poly, we at least don't have to be ashamed of each other nude in bed after that-

Eret: Dagur, we agreed to not talk about the New Years party night.

Viggo: He has a point Eret. However, we might have to talk about it.

Eret: Do we? It's already awkward even now.

Dagur: For fucks sake, so we had a very drunk and very passionate three-some one time, grow up!

I can't help, but think:

~ dark hair

~ brown eyes

~ strong/ muscular

~ tall

~ handsome

~ probably big-dicked

Hiccup seems to have a type is all I'm saying

(Dagur stays forever mad about not fitting the type)

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Two - Munson Magic

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

Chapter one: Cursed

Ao3 link

---

Chapter Two: Munson Magic

Rose

“It’s the most hellish day of your life,” the words trip off Eddie’s tongue with all the gravitas of a stage actor, his eyes peeping over the demon-painted dungeon master’s screen, boring into her soul. “You’ve been betrayed, abandoned, and left to face danger alone. You have one move remaining; a last gambit. What do you do, Rose? Do you take the potion of invisibility and hide from your enemies, or do you face the dragon Iymrith in its lair, ready to face your demise?”

Fight or flight. Be invisible, or show herself and take on her demons. This first Dungeons and Dragons campaign perfectly mirrored her first day at Hawkins High, and probably her whole life. There was something comfortable about being unnoticed, until you realised no one missed your presence at all. The irony of this choice was not lost on Rose.

She’d stumbled into the lair of Hellfire after school three hours ago, finding herself drawn into a campaign with six very intense, very passionate teenage boys in matching shirts. A party of adventurers, led by a manic, charismatic rocker. He could have been obnoxious with his loud personality, impassioned rants, and a decent-sized ego, but somehow he wasn’t. He was kind, with the prettiest eyes she had ever seen. God, no, she couldn’t be thinking about his eyes right now. Or his lips. Or the glimpse of tattoos on the skin of his forearms, or the ...shit . Compose yourself, McAllister.

Gareth and Mike were talking at a thousand miles an hour about hit points and odds of success as she pulled herself together. The guys were on the edge of their seats, waiting for her next move, each one of them already killed by the dragon; the hopes of the party lay upon her shoulders. Her skin prickled beneath the itchy wool of her mum’s cardigan, far too hot and stuffy for the warm September night. Be brave , she told herself. Take out the sword .

“I take the potion,” she said, defeated. “I drain the glass vial in one gulp, and seek refuge in the thick brambles of the forest. If the ice dragon can’t see me, it can’t kill me, right?”

Eddie gave her time to sweat, ignoring the debate of the Hellfire members in the background. “You sure, Lady Thorn?”

God, it really was warm in here. Rose’s hand toyed with the dice. “Yes, but...maybe...agh. I’m starting to worry that my big, completely unexpected entrance tonight has you thinking i’m brave and cool and capable of slaying a dragon. You’re probably thinking i’m Eowyn, Lady of Rohan, wielding swords and kicking arse, and about to punch the Witch-king of Angmar in the bollocks.”

Gareth, who had taken an ill-timed sip from his can of coke, sprayed it back over the table, choking and coughing until Jeff and Chris both slapped him on the back, just a little too hard.

Eddie didn’t even notice, he was staring like she was on fire, lips parted a little bit. “You read Tolkien?”

Rose didn’t hear him; she was mid-ramble, so hot and flushed she had to pull the cardigan off her head clumsily and scrunch it into a ball in her lap. “I’ve built myself up to be a shieldmaiden, but the truth is, i’m just a hobbit. I want to sit by the fire in Bag End, with a nice cup of tea and a book. So maybe I should just take the potion and run from Iymrith.”

“That didn’t work out so well for Frodo, did it?” Dustin finally broke his silence. “When he wore the One Ring he wasn’t exactly invisible, and it led to him being stabbed by the Morgul-knife, carried by the Witch-king of Angmar himself. You might wanna hide, Rose, but the fight has come to you.”

“Henderson speaks wisely,” Eddie admitted begrudgingly. “The time for self-doubt is over, sweetheart. Iymrith the dragon waits for no woman - be she shieldmaiden or hobbit. His wings beat overhead, stirring the canopy of leaves in the forest. He spies your fiery dark red hair in the tree cover, and takes aim.”

Rose panicked. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...I prize Mike’s single-handed sword from his dead, cold grip and raise it toward the dragon.”

“ Yes , I knew you had it in you,” Gareth choked out, his voice still croaky. “Take the bastard down.”

“But it's madness!” Jeff was spiralling, hyperventilating and shaking his fist. “You can’t just wield a single-handed blade against a dragon with most of its hit points remaining.”

“Jeff’s right, the physics of it would never work,” Dustin agreed, wielding his pencil like a sword. “But we don’t traverse the Forgotten Realms to debate physics, my friends. We do it in the name of adventure. We do it to be heroes!”

The cluttered drama room was buzzing with cheers and applause; Rose lurched to her feet, clutching the edge of the wooden table with her hands. She had no idea what she was doing, but she felt like the moment demanded dramatics.

“I pull back my arm, and launch the sword into the air like a javelin, in the path of the dragon.”

She looked up expectantly at Eddie. He passed the d20, and they all held their breath as she rolled in onto the table. It bounced and clattered, settling on seventeen.

“That’s high, that’s a high number, really high” she babbled. “Did it work?”

“Hold on,” Mike added. “The chances of a random sword hitting the dragon and doing anything other than bouncing off or giving it a little cut is tiny . The DM would have set a ridiculously high target, like 19 or 20. It’s what I would have done.”

Their current DM looked down at a mass of paper and notes behind his demon-painted screen.  He let them sweat, face inscrutable, leaning back in his wooden carved throne. “Kid Wheeler is correct. I’m sorry, Lady Thorn, your sword swings in a parabola through the air, skittering off the dragon’s back.”

“Motherfucker,” Rose groaned and slapped the table, earning a slightly startled look from the younger guys. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeff says, deflated. “Eddie’s campaigns are sadistic. It’s amazing you even made it to the end alone, especially playing as a nymph. They’re kind of useless, with no-”

“Hold on a minute, did I look like I was finished?” Eddie interrupted. “Cool it for a second. The sword glances off the dragon’s back, but as the blade strikes its scales something flickers...you see a disturbance, and instead of a leathery wing, a humanoid shape takes its place. A humanoid with tentacles coming from its head. Its skin is purple-grey, and covered in a film of mucus, from eating brains!”

“Aw, man, this can’t be happening,” Dustin panicked, pacing around his side of the table. “It’s a goddamned illusion. It wasn’t Iymrith after all.”

“What?” Rose cried out, way too loud.”

“I think Mike’s sword was spelled. It broke an illusion. But that means...” Gareth trailed off.

Dustin sighed heavily. “It’s a Mindflayer.”

“Fuck off!” Mike cried reflexively. “We cannot be doing this again, man. It’s been two months.”

Chris’ mouth gaped open. “Did you guys have a Mindflayer campaign over the summer, or something?”

“Or something alright,” Dustin said, serious as the grave.

Tension quietened the table. They looked at each other over the goblet and flickering candles, working out the consequences of this development. And Rose, as usual, had no bloody clue what was going on, only an instinct to let it play out naturally.

“Wait, this is good news, gentlemen - and lady.” Eddie added quickly. “The Mindflayer is working in your characters’ minds. All your characters are still alive, under the creature’s spell. If the odds are with you, you might just be able to break free and slay it. And thus, the baby-campaign continues next week.“

“Thank the gods,” Jeff sighed. “I’m too attached to my spellcaster to give him up.”

Eddie looked over at her, puppy dog eyes watching her every move, manic energy dialled right down, strangely vulnerable. “ So. That’s the whole Dungeons and Dragons thing. What did you...uh...was it good? I mean, did you enjoy it?”

She couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “Did I enjoy it? That was fucking brilliant. I know my nymph was essentially useless when we had to fight, but I did it...I stood up to the forces of evil; I wasn’t just a hobbit, I was a warrior like Eowyn. I just wished I had been better and actually slain the dragon. Not very impressive, am I...”

They rushed to correct her, all talking at once. “Hold on,” Gareth said loudest. “I saw you humiliate Carver and his letterman assholes within minutes of arriving at school, not just making fun of him personally but undermining the stupid masculine sports-thing, attacking the very pillar of his masculinity. You are totally impressive.”

The Hellfire members were laughing, looking at her in a new light.

“What?” Eddie blustered, head swivelling to look at them all. “What? Where? What? How the fuck did I miss that?”

Gareth shrugged. “This is what happens when you get detention in O’Donnell’s class for ranting about the rigidity of a reading list, man. You miss the best moment of the school year so far. I’ve never seen so many jocks scratch their heads at once.”

Rose snorted with laughter very inelegantly, and flushed red with embarrassment. “It was just like that gorilla impression Eddie did in the cafeteria today.”

Eddie gawped even wider. “You saw me, sweetheart? And here I thought the mouthbreathers juggling their big bouncy balls were the only spectators. Damn. Damn . I am speechless. Words have failed me. And there is never a moment when I don’t have something to say.”

“Clearly not that speechless. You’re still talking,” Jeff mumbed.

Eddie folded his arms over his chest, showing off tattoos, lit by the candles and spotlights. Bats. Intriguing.

“So you liked it?” He asked again. As she glanced at the others, she wondered how many new members they really took on. Six guys, most of whom seemed to know each other well. Admittedly not the type to sit at the top of the food chain in a school environment. Not a single girl amongst them.

“Liked it?” She put her hand to her chest. “I feel like I've just fought off the hordes of hell itself. My heart is racing.”

Eddie’s eyes dropped to her chest; her laughter died on her lips, as realised what she felt beneath the palm of her hand. Not the scratchy cardigan stolen from her mum this morning - that was dropped to the floor, forgotten in the throes of battle - but instead skin, with a ridge of twisted scar tissue snaking up the middle of her sternum, ending halfway to her collarbones. Shit .

She looked down, and picked up the cardigan, holding it up to her chest, but the nervous looks on their faces told her everything she’d needed to know. They’d already seen it.

“Hey,” Eddie said, soft as velvet. “You don’t need to...uh...hide yourself or anything. And I don’t just mean the badass scar, I mean... you , y’know? We’re the freaks, sweetheart. I was a little worried that this apparently perfect girl had stumbled in here, and we were gonna find out you were a preppy asshole, or something. Which you are not, by the way. Very cool. Very unique.”

Rose dipped her head, her face flushing hot. She dropped the cardigan, mustering up the courage to say something, anything. 

“This is totally unfair,” Dustin burst out, lighthearted and smiling. “Look at you, showing off your collarbones and everything. I don’t even have collarbones. Watch this...”

He flexed his shoulders forward, and they moved at an unnatural angle and almost met at his front, to the surprise of the older guys.

“Cleidocranial dysplasia,” he grinned, metal-clad teeth on display. “Had a few missing teeth, too, but these babies are new. Look out, sophomore year, Dustin Henderson is going to have a full set of teeth. I’ll be unstoppable.”

He did a little tiger-like roar, and it was the lamest, most brilliant thing Rose had ever heard in her life. She collapsed with laughter, holding her aching sides.

“I’ve seen this act more times than I can count,” Mike grumbled like an old man. “It gets old.”

Eddie was beaming at the head of the table at his little freak show. “That is metal, Henderson. Very metal. How about you, princess? How’d you get the battle scar?” His eyes widened and he made a goofy gesture with his arms. “You don’t have to talk about it, not if you don’t want to. Not an order, not that I even can order you, though i’d kinda like...i’d kinda like to shut up now.”

Rose’s head ducked down, and pulled a thread from the cardigan in her lap absentmindedly. “I was born with a congenital heart defect. Everything was fine until I was thirteen, then it wasn’t fine. I’d go blue in the lips and get breathless. They kept me in hospital for almost a year, told me I had a very small chance of survival because the deformity was so rare, they didn’t even have treatment for it yet. Between thirteen and sixteen I was in and out of hospital more than school.”

“That must have been tough,” Mike said quietly, his quiet demeanour and hidden empathy surprising for a boy of fourteen. “My girlfriend missed a lot of school too, for...uh...similar reasons. It was really hard for her to make friends.”

“You find out who your true friends are when things get really bad,” Rose admitted bitterly. “They dropped off one by one. When I was well enough to go to school they weren't mean or anything, but they weren’t really friends any more either. By the time I was sixteen the hospital had developed a very experimental surgery. Cracked me open like a lobster, gave me this beautiful scar, and - despite the bit in the middle where I died on the table - I woke up, and felt...normal. OK, I was shit for a few months, but then I was normal as any person with a heart condition can be. They fixed up the old ticker and sent me on my way.”

“Hold on...you DIED?” Eddie’s strangled voice echoed across the prop room. “Like, heart stopped? Clinically dead?”

“Yep. For quite a long time. It was a miracle that they resuscitated me, actually. I don’t remember anything. No alternate dimensions, no grey purgatory, no light at the end of a tunnel. Just a feeling of weightlessness, like I was floating in water, no sight or sound. Then I was coming around in the ward, off my head on morphine.”

“That is fucking intense, McAllister. That’s goes beyond metal, that’s...that’s fucking magical.”

“Doesn’t feel magical,” Rose glanced down at herself. The scar was the width and length of a pencil; two years had seen it fade from angry red to a pinkish silver, still standing out from the creamy pale skin. When she looked in the mirror it was all she could see, despite her mother’s words of encouragement, telling her to wear it with pride.

“Scars are fucking cool. Look, I pay to get stabbed with needles so I can have something half as cool as that. See?” Eddie dragged down the collar of his shirt; her eyes trailed down his neck - oh my god, his neck - to more ink scratched across his skin, a figure she couldn’t make out, obscured beneath a guitar pick necklace.

“Did they hurt?” She asked tentatively.

“These babies? Not really. More like a very intense tickle. Except when it went over bone, then I was crying like a little girl. Weeping, snotty, begging for mercy, the whole deal.”

Eddie was a lot . Leather chains at his wrist and on his jeans, demon on his shirt, attitude bordering on obnoxious when it came to the jocks in the cafeteria. Yet Rose could see that in the privacy of the drama room he was goofy, patient, utterly enthusiastic, and possibly even a little bit vulnerable. It was almost enough to give her whiplash.

“I thought a dungeon master would be made of sterner stuff.” She teased.

His grin was brighter than the stage lights in the background. “Oh yeah? You haven’t seen what a DM can really do, sweetheart. Next semester's next campaign is going to be mind blowing. My best yet. If you...uh...I haven’t had time to talk to the guys about this, but do you wanna stick around for it, maybe?”

Rose looked at her watch. It was nearly seven; hours had blown by, her mood totally transformed since the incident in the locker room almost four hours ago. “I don’t think I can, my mum is probably outside waiting for me.”

Eddie grabbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I kind of meant next time. We meet on Fridays, same time, same place. If you want to. No pressure; like Gareth said before, hanging out with Hellfire isn’t exactly a fast track to popularity or an easy life around here.”

“You want me to come back? Really?”

“Hellfire has had girls before, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jeff explained. “But not since Ronnie graduated in ‘84. I don’t mind.”

Gareth was also enthusiastic. “If you can voice the female characters we come across on our travels, I'm totally in. It’s not been the same since my voice dropped at the end of freshman year.”

“This is so exciting,” Dustin gushed. “We’re gonna have to create a character for you. We can run you through classes, alignments, preferred weaponry...the possibilities are endless! We could even meet at lunch or in the library or something, to flesh you out before next week’s session.”

Mike snapped his fingers. “As long as it brings balance to the party, right? I’m a paladin, that’s like a knight. Jeff’s a spellcaster, Chris a fighter, Dustin’s a bard...Lucas - you’ll meet him next week - is a ranger. We are really in need of a cleric, though. We haven’t had one since our friend Will the Wise moved to California.”

Rose was trying to piece it all together, but it was a lot of new information. “What do clerics do?”

“They heal,” Eddie said, fidgeting in his seat. “Clerics are conduits of otherworldly power. I can kind of see it, but it’s a little...predictable.”

“Predictable?”

Eddie kept her on edge, gaze sweeping over her, nodding to himself.  He leaned so close she could smell cigarettes, Old Spice, and something musky, uniquely man . Her throat went dry.

“You are anything but predictable, McAllister. You survived death; you’re probably told you should forget it, move on, pretend it didn’t happen. That shit stays with you, but you can take charge of it. Own it. You know, I can see you as a necromancer.”

It was like Eddie Munson, freak, dungeon master, could see right into her mess of a mind. Plucked out her greatest fear and twisted into a strength. 

Dustin took in a shocked breath. “Oooh, that is so perfect. You survived death, and now you raise others from the dead to do your bidding. Liches - or necromancers, same thing - are kinda evil though, and they are not usually part of the adventurers party. And I would have pegged you as chaotic good.”

“Chaotic neutral,” Eddie mused, holding onto his chin. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be.”

He was trying to kill her, wasn't he? Finish off the job, heart beating overtime.

Her lips tugged upward into a reluctant smile. “I like it. I think I really like it. But my Tolkien metaphors are going to be completely confused. I’m a hobbit by nature, I want to be Eowyn of Rohan, but i’m really Sauron the Necromancer himself? Can I even play with you if I'm evil?”

“Eh, we’ll work on it.” Eddie breezed over it, chin propped up on his hands. “I am all powerful after all. Might have to make some adjustments to the upcoming campaign, but I think it's going to work out in the end.”

The clickety-clack of footsteps echoed down the distant hall. “Rose?” A very familiar voice called out. 

“Shit,” Rose launched out of her seat. “I have to go, that’s my mum.”

Eddie looked resigned. “I get it. Parentals will be scared of the princess hanging out with the freaky cultists, huh?”

Rose barked out a sharp laugh, scrambling over to the costume rack, looking for the leather satchel she threw dramatically into the corner on entering the room this afternoon. “That’s a low roll and a miss, dungeon master. She may look like an English librarian, but...you’re the Fellowship, she’s the Balrog.”

“Balrog,” Eddie echoed, leaping over to help Rose. “Scary, Flame of Udun, lurks beneath mountains. Got it.”

“Rosebud, are you here? Is everything alright? ” Her mother called out, voice drawing closer with each step.

Eddie popped up from the costume pile with a satchel in his hand and a curious look on his face. “Rosebud, huh? Cute.”

Oh wonderful, now he knew her humiliating childhood nickname. She snatched the bag from him, and paused, desperate to say something funny, something smooth, or at least something memorable before she left. Instead, she went beetroot red and mumbled incoherently. 

“Huh?” Eddie squinted.

Okay, charisma is lacking. Honesty might have to do.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, to Eddie and all the guys all watching behind him. “This could have been a really bad day, but thanks to you, it was bloody lovely.”

“Rose!”

“The Balrog calls,” she paused at the door, taking one last look at the Hellfire boys over her shoulder. “Wish me luck.”

---

Eddie

“Uh...gentlemen?” Eddie asked, hands running through his hair. “Did I concuss myself under that table, or did that whole session really just happen?”

The prop room was somehow smaller, darker now that she had gone. If it wasn’t for the extra chair squished to the right of his throne, and the incredibly unusual stillness of the six guys behind him, Eddie Munson would swear he just experienced a three-hour fever dream. 

“I like her,” Henderson’s first to break the silence, throwing out his chipper verdict on the freaking angel that just upended Hellfire. “She was neat.”

“ Neat ?” Eddie wheeled around, revved up, no outlet for his thousand-mile-an-hour thoughts. Crap, he needed to dial it down a notch. “Yeah, neat. A little raw, but a lot of potential.”

They were laser-focused on him, but he couldn’t afford to scare the freshmen off now, not when Hellfire had two, three if you counted Sinclair, recruits who were really fucking into the game. 

Worthy apprentices, at last. Kids who could carry Hellfire forward and make sure it didn’t die next year, with only Gareth left. Cause, goddamn it, Eddie had gone through his last first day at the monkey house that was Hawkins High. There was no fourth shot at senior year, not when he’d be turning twenty in the spring, and the school board wouldn’t allow an adult over twenty to re-enroll. Three strikes and you’re out, Munson. Off the bench, out of the team, and a dozen other tired sports metaphors his old man would have used if he were here.

Gareth, Jeff and Chris were being weird. Quiet. Still . Watching Eddie as he packed up the DM’s board and pieces, gathering up his story notes and scoring sheets with a gentle tap, tap, tap of all the papers, fitting them inside the box neatly. The maps were a little smudged from Gareth spitting out all that coke, but he could let them dry out by the overworked little space heater in the trailer tonight, and trace fresh new ones this weekend.

“Well?” He snapped. “Are you gonna help pack up, or sit there like a bunch of drooling cave trolls?”

The rest of the guys were waiting for something to happen, but it was Gareth who broke first. He raised a single mocking eyebrow. “So are you planning a spring wedding? Or wanna cut to the chase, and ask her to elope to Vegas? I can see you in an Elvis jumpsuit.”

Eddie fidgeted, rings tapping against the table, mouth twitching. Keep it together.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Gareth,” he denied casually, shrugging on his leather jacket and battle vest. Armour donned, shields up, ready to deny, deny, deny. “If you really don’t want her to join we can work something out, but I think she’s like us...I think she needs this.”

More raised eyebrows from the older guys. 

A girl called out; Eddie’s heart skipped, but it was merely Wheeler’s big sister, the prissy one who ran the paper. Dustin and Mike threw together their stuff in record time, completely whipped by the voice in the hall.

“That’s Nancy,” Mike explained. “See you guys on Monday.”

“Great campaign, Dungeon Master,” Dustin saluted him at the door, over his ‘Thinking Cap’ , before disappearing into the night.

They really were good kids. It had only been three weeks since he spotted Dustin roaming the cafeteria in his Weird Al shirt, scoping the tables and cliques who sat at them, searching for his own place in the school ecosystem. Eddie had offered them shelter at the freak table, sensing kindred spirits. There was something about Dustin and Mike, they completely owned their nerdiness, in a mature way freshman Eddie had definitely lacked. Lucas was different; sure, he was great at D&D and clearly had a tight friendship with the other freshies, but he was a little less comfortable owning it. He’d watch the jocks table with envy, wince every time someone threw a joke or an insult Hellfire’s way. 

Gareth, Jeff and Chris? They’d been playing together for years. Greatest friends he had in Hawkins, or at all , now that his childhood best friend Ronnie was in the Big Apple, her book smarts earning her a place at NYU after their first senior year. Her Granny Ecker still lived in the trailer behind Eddie and his Uncle Wayne’s. They were stuck together like magnets once, but now their polarity was reversed, distance growing with each phone call; Ronnie talking about law school and all the excitement of living in Brooklyn, Eddie chiming in every now and then with a new campaign plan, the latest class he was failing, the same old crap she had left behind a year and a half ago. Poles apart. Damn, he must have paid attention in Mr Kaminski’s physics class to remember that shit. Either that, or Henderson’s insanely smart brain was rubbing off after barely a month.

But Gareth, Jeff and Chris weren’t just Hellfire, they were Corroded Coffin too. Hours at Hellfire and even more hours practising in Gareth’s garage brought them pretty close, close enough for Eddie to know they were not going to let this go, not without giving him shit about it.

Chris shook his head. “ I couldn’t pull off what you just did in a hundred years. Talking to girls one on one is...kind of my kryptonite. How do you do it, man?”

“Do what, huh?” He fired back quickly. “Make a new potential member welcome to the group?”

Gareth chuckled mercilessly, dropping his voice to imitate Eddie. “You’re good most of the time, but you can also be very bad if you want to be... I don’t recall you saying that stuff to Wheeler or Henderson, or any of us when we joined. And you definitely didn’t call us fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains .”

Eddie placed the D&D box gently back on the table, and his composure broke. He collapsed forward onto his forearms, shaggy hair shielding him from his friends and their judgement. Hidden, he could give voice to the chaotic new thoughts swirling in his already-chaotic brain. 

“Shit. Jesus H. Christ. I came on too strong. I came on too strong, right? Did I just make myself out to be a grade-A asshole? I...uh...I know i’m lacking an off switch most of the time, but was it too much? Was I bad?”

Gareth wouldn’t let it lie. His face was smug - okay, Eddie couldn’t actually see his face, but he could feel it in his voice, in his friend's aura. “Bad at what ? Say it, Eds. Come on.”

Eddie burrowed deeper into the table, voice muffled beneath all that hair. “Perhaps, maybe, it could be possible that I like the fair maiden Rose. In a...more than platonic way.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Gareth said, matter-of-fact. “It was obvious.”

Eddie sighed like it was the end of the world. “Let me just crawl away and die. Better yet, put me out of my misery, crack me over the head with that goblet. Lights out, goodnight. Nice to have known you. Jeff, you can have my Warlock. Chris, I bequeath to you my tapes and posters. Gareth, you little shit, you get nothing, not even the dirty magazines under my bed. Bury me in my battle vest. Wayne will have to make peace with my untimely death.”

“This is dramatic, even for you,” Chris gave his verdict. “It’s just a girl. I’ve seen you talk to girls before, after gigs and stuff.”

Just a girl. Sure. Just a girl whose smile lit up the room like the fourth of fucking July, fireworks spinning in his head, fizzing in his ears. Who used Lord of the Rings analogies to adorably find her place in the world. A girl who laughed at Dustin’s goofy jokes, threw herself into D&D without judgement or hesitation, totally giving herself over to the adventure. A girl who wasn’t cheerleader-pretty, but timelessly beautiful, like she should be in a fancy laced-up gown on the cover of Granny Ecker’s historical romance novels, the ones that always seemed to have a shirtless guy wearing a kilt. 

He didn’t just have butterflies in his stomach, it was like a horde of winged demons were trying to claw their way out. Brain not yet caught up, body trying to give him a warning. Girls like that don’t wind up with Eddie the Freak, resident of Hawkins’ finest trailer park, the friendly neighbourhood drug dealer. 

Gareth turned to Chris. “So how lame was he, on a scale of one to ten?”

“I thought it was kind of suave,” Chris replied, shrugging on his own leather jacket. “Like James Bond.”

“Oh, come on! Double-oh-seven has a little less verbal diarrhoea than our DM. And far cooler cars and gadgets.”

They bickered back and forth as Eddie waded in his own misery, replaying the whole campaign and how she’d reacted to it. She was nervous, yeah, but she got into it. Great improv skills.

“She likes you back, by the way.” Jeff added nonchalantly. 

Eddie’s head snapped up. “Oh, right, cause you can read minds now.”

Jeff kicked Eddie under the table. “I have three sisters, so yeah, I have insider intel into the female species. She looked at you like Tara looks at Michael Jackson when Thriller comes on MTV.”

Chris’s mouth drops open. “Ew, like the werewolf part? I guess Eddie has a lot of hair.”

“No, dude,” Jeff replies. “The normal part with the girlfriend at the movies, before he turns. Okay, after he turns too. Women are a complicated species, Chris. They’re into all sorts of weird stuff.”

A switch had fried in Eddie’s brain. “Which means?”

“Weird stuff? Like vampires and-”

“No, Jeff!” Eddie launched out off the table and grabbed him by the shoulders. “The look your sister has for Michael Jackson. What does the look mean?!”

Jeff gritted his teeth, like it physically pained him to talk about his irritating older sister, who he heard just moved to college somewhere in Georgia. “It means Rose was all blushing and smiling, hung on your every word. I’m not saying she’s crushing on you, but she isn’t not crushing on you, if you know what i’m saying.”

She didn’t not like him. That’s only one step away from actually liking him. And liking him was just one step away from a hangout, a date, maybe even move in for a kiss - and now all he could picture was her lips. Seriously good lips. Full, cupid’s bow, beauty mark near the corner of her mouth. So pretty when she smiled. Hope flared his heart, like those electric paddle-thingys had just jolted him back to life.

“I knew it,” Eddie said.

Gareth wasn’t convinced. “Weren’t you just doubting yourself?”

“Munson magic,” Eddie ignored him, swooping round the table, Reeboks tapping on the linoleum, moving to the music in his own heart. “Eddie the Bard worked on his charisma for so long, it had to pay off eventually. Ability off the charts...I got it, man. I got the Munson magic.”

Jeff stepped out of his way and almost tripped, looking over at the costume rack in the corner. “There’s something i’ve got to tell you, but first you have to promise any of this isn’t going to make Hellfire weird.”

Eddie crossed his fingers over his heart. “I will not bring girl drama to Hellfire. I promise on my wicked, hellbound soul. Now tell me!”

Jeff tipped his chin toward something in the pink taffeta dress dominating the costume rack, a chunky silver rectangle, with a cord snaking out the top. “Cinderella left her slipper behind. You might wanna give it back to her on Monday, Prince Charming.”

Eddie gasped dramatically, hand slapped to his chest. “A walkman. Rose’s walkman.”

He was over there in a shot, tripping over the costumes, slamming onto his knees by the precious object. He picked it up gingerly; there was nothing remarkable about the lump of plastic, nothing to tell him more about its owner. But what lay inside tempted him beyond belief. He clicked the button, popped open the top of the cassette holder, and inspected its contents. There were no printed stickers on the black cassette tape, only the faint shadow of a permanent marker on the clear part: Study mix.

“Holy shit, it's a mixtape,” he half-squealed at the guys. He felt like a prospector striking gold, nuggets sparkling in his hands. Scraps of information, carefully chosen slices of her mind for him to study. An introduction to the music that makes her tick. And music was the heart of everything, a window into the mind.

“You know who gives out mixtapes? Boyfriends.” Gareth, that goddamn contrarian, said sarcastically.

Eddie pointed at him, skull ring sparking in the light of the now-stubby melting candles. “That’s it, you're out Emerson. Expelled from Hellfire.”

Gareth spread his arms wide, face scrunched up and ready for a fight. “What the fuck? You just said-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding,” Eddie interrupted quickly, “Besides, she’s just moved, she knows nobody. I don’t think it's a boyfriend. If she has one back in England...well that would suck, but long distance doesn’t exactly work out for most people, does it?”

“Real classy, Munson,” Gareth shot back.

“Cool it, Gareth. I just wanna talk to her some more, get to know her. No need to invent drama that doesn’t exist.”

“Whatever,” Gareth shrugged. “Are you still okay to give me a ride home?”

“Of course, man. Gotta pay you back for using your garage as our practice room. I need your opinion on some potential W.A.S.P covers for our next set at The Hideout, we can talk about it on the way home.”

That perked Gareth right up. Eddie might have new apprentices, but Gareth was the first freshman he’d sheltered under his tattooed, scrawny wing when Carver and his jock squad singled him out for a beating a couple of years ago. Hobbits have got to stick together, and when they fought together, there was nothing they couldn’t take on, be it a cave troll, Jason Carver, or the disdain and fear of the entire small-minded town.

Still, Eddie slipped the walkman into the pocket of his jacket, and every now and then he would slip his hand in and touch it, just to make sure it wasn’t a fever dream after all.

---

Forest Hills Trailer Park was never quiet, not even on a Friday night. Eddie’s van skittered into the makeshift parking space by the trailer he shared with Uncle Wayne; the whirring engine and glam metal notes of W.A.S.P disappeared as he cut off the engine, and the dusky September night was filled with dogs barking, a screaming match between the couple in the RV round the corner, and a dog chained up somewhere near the forest edge. God knows it wasn’t the finely manicured neighbourhood of Loch Nora, or even the more modest single storey ranch homes that made up most of Hawkins, but it was home.

Eddie launched up the steps and flapped open the door, humming Love Child under his breath and tapping it on his thigh. His battle vest and jacket were thrown onto the wall hook, and he made a quick sweep of the fridge; the remains of the tuna casserole Granny Ecker brought over on Monday were looking a little sad and dried, and Eddie could not be bothered to cook up the eggs and bacon. He grabbed a can of Miller Lite and an apple, and slammed the door shut.

“Now I know your momma didn’t raise you to be a savage, Eddie Munson. Softer next time, please.” A southern drawl came from the corner of the room.

“Holy fuck!” Eddie’s arms flailed about, catching the Miller Lite mid air and dropping the apple on the patterned carpet.

“She didn’t teach you to cuss, neither,” Uncle Wayne muttered from his recliner chair, peering over the paper, lit by a cosy lamp. The trailer was so busy with mugs and hats Wayne had picked up on the road in his truck driver days that he went unnoticed amongst the clutter.

“You’re scaring the life outta me, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie laughed nervously. “It’s Friday, shouldn’t you be at the plant?”

Wayne watched the apple roll across the floor, scooping down to pick it up when it got close. “I swapped shifts with Carl so he can see his granddaughter’s ballet recital next week. Taking a Tuesday shift instead. I was gonna head out to the country bar in Carterville with a couple of old buddies but they came down with the stomach flu, so you’ll have to put up with your old uncle tonight.”

“You’re...uh...you’re no trouble Uncle Wayne. It’s me that you’ve gotta put up with.” Eddie said glumly, catching sight of the pullout bed in the corner of the living room. “I can go out for a while if you want some peace.”

That pullout bed was a squishy, metal-framed reminder that his uncle had given up his bedroom and his freedom full time after the incident a couple of years ago that led to Eddie’s childhood home going up in flames, and his ex-con of a father - okay, definitely still a con - fleeing town. Even before then, when his dad was in the drunk tank or on a bender somewhere Eddie would be left alone for days or weeks, rescued by Uncle Wayne and taken back to the unlikely safe haven of the trailer park for a while. His uncle's unconditional love and endless patience got Eddie through a clusterfuck of a childhood. He’d never be able to thank him enough for it. Guilt remained, even after he started dealing to bring in some money to help keep the dilapidated home together, and ensure he could pay for his own clothes and van, lifting some of the burden of raising a kid you didn’t even ask for.

“Hey now,” Wayne dropped his paper on the side table and fixed Eddie with a serious look. “I ain’t trying to drive you out. Trailers’ not exactly a palace, but there’s enough room for the two of us. There somethin’ on your mind, son?”

Uncle Wayne motioned for Eddie to sit on the couch next to him, so he kicked off his Reeboks and collapsed in the seat, cracking open the Miller Lite and reclining in silence as he took the first foamy hit of it, yeasty and soothing on his tongue. His uncle lit up a Marlboro Red, tip flaring orange red in the dim trailer.

“Do you think i’m like Dad?” Eddie said, looking absentmindedly at the ceiling with its numerous water and tobacco stains.

He hummed thoughtfully. “What makes you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just...I’ve been thinking about him lately. The way he is with people. He’s an asshole, goes without saying. But he’s got that charm about him, something people are drawn to. I guess I think I had something similar, but I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to hurt people the way he does.”

“Ed,” Wayne says softly, leaning on the arm of his chair. “Al Munson might be able to charm the birds from the trees, but it's a shallow kind of charming. Scrubs off real quick, and by the time people realise what my brother’s truly like, he’s split town and left behind a trail of gambling debts and broken hearts. That included you and your momma more than once, bless her soul. You might have his charm, Eddie, but yours ain’t shallow. It runs deep,” Wayne smiled a crooked smile, etched deep into his weathered skin. “Plus, Al had a receding hairline, and you’ve got a hell of a head of hair. Needs a cut, though. Startin’ to look like a shaggy dog.”

Eddie bit back a smile, touched more than he could say. “Don’t mess with the hair. I’m like Samson, it holds all my power.”

“No, son. That’s all in here,” Wayne taps the space on his plaid-covered chest, right over his heart. 

Eddie dips his head. “Don’t go soft on me, old man.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He sipped his beer, sitting quiet and peaceful as Wayne put on some Western on the little TV by the door. Gunslingers chased each other across the desert, or ran after a runaway train, Eddie wasn’t really focused on movie detail, instead just basking in quiet, comfortable companionship. Wayne asked nothing of him, and that was what made him want to open up.

“There’s a girl,” Eddie ventured, twisting the metal can around in his hands. 

“Is that so?”

“It’s nothing. Stupid, really. But it’s got me thinking about dad, and life and repeating senior year, and...everything.”

“That’s heavy.”

“Yup,” Eddie agreed, draining the can in one last swig.

Wayne cleared his throat politely. “You gonna be bringing this girl around sometime?”

“Woah, hit the brakes, Uncle Wayne. I’ve only known her for about three hours. It was a good three hours though, you should have seen me. I was smooth. She said I made her first day in American high school bloody lovely. ”

Wayne twisted around to face Eddie. “Your girl. She new in town, moved over from England by any chance?”

“How’d you guess?”

A dark shadow passed over his uncle’s face, mouth pressed into a line, eyes narrowed. “Her stepdad is Jerry Gruber, we used to run around in the same group as kids. You’d remember him, he used to head up the engineering office for the plant, left back in ‘81 to work for the Department for Energy. Got himself a job in Europe after that, and a wife and stepdaughter too. Came back last month.”

Eddie’s brows creased; she’d spoken about a stepdad, but he didn’t clock the name at the time. “Yeah, that fits. She said as much.”

“Listen,” Wayne leaned in, voice deep and rumbling. “Jerry bought the old Creel house on Morehead. He’s more foolish than I ever thought...that place ain’t right, Eddie. The only thing that came outta the Creel place is pure evil, and Hawkins ain’t a normal town, no matter how everybody here turns a blind eye to things. I don’t care if you’re sweet on this girl, promise you won’t go there.”

Jesus H. Christ. That place was notorious in Hawkins, a genuine murder house boarded up for years after some gruesome shit went down when he was a little kid. Every middle schooler had been dared to go up to that place and face the ghosts inside, Eddie included. But all that demonic stuff was bullshit. Nothing there but empty rooms, broken glass, and a metric fuck ton of dust. He didn’t even know the place had been sold. He tried to imagine Rose living in a gothic murder mansion, and came up short.

“Have you found my stash, or something? You’re not making sense, unc-”

Wayne grabbed his wrist. “Promise me, son. Promise me you won’t go to that fuckin’ house.”

Wayne didn’t cuss, and he was not physical, not even when Eddie was at his worst. “Alright, Uncle Wayne. I won’t.”

“You mean it?” “I swear on my Warlock,” he added quickly, raising his free hand up, palm splayed wide. “That place is straight out of a slasher movie. No desire to go there.”

“Good,” Wayne gruffed, as he let go. “I’m sorry, son. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie rubbed his wrist. The man’s grip was surprisingly strong, but then he did manual labour at the plant, not some cosy office job. “Don’t sweat it.”

“And Eddie, don’t get caught up in your head with the girl. A bit of that Munson magic does a whole lotta good, son, when it's coming from you . Don’t let anybody tell you that you’re not good enough. Including yourself.”

Eddie scoffed and zoned back in on the TV, cogs whirring like overtime; his uncle had gone back to the paper, totally normal. That was weird...Wayne wasn’t superstitious. He’d probably watched a few too many horror movies. It was nearly that time of year; Halloween coming up, tacky plastic decorations in the window of Melvald’s General Store, leaves crispy and golden. Something in the air, maybe.

An orchestra swelled as the shootout in the western movie reached its peak. The rogue gunslinger got the bad guy, and something about the music clicked in his brain; he’d almost forgotten about the walkman tucked in his jacket. 

Eddie pushed to his feet and crushed the beer can, tossing it in the trash can with a clatter. He padded over to the coat hook, socked feet slipping on the kitchen lino, eager hands pulling the walkman out of the jacket pocket, tapping his fingers against the plastic.

“I gotta go study,” he explained to Wayne. 

His uncle’s face had never looked so confused. “Homework on a Friday night. Are you sick again, comin’ down with a fever? We ain’t got no tylenol, but I can go out to the seven-eleven and get some.”

“I’m sick alright. But the diagnosis is looking good, Uncle Wayne.”

Wayne gawped. “What the hell are you studying, biology?”

He grabbed another beer on the way to his room, shutting the refrigerator door softly this time, little headphones and walkman clutched tight to his chest. He gave his uncle a classic Eddie wild grin. “Music 101: Intro to Fair Maidens.”

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Bittersweet

Alastor x reader + Vox x reader ( Slight Valentino x reader )

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Warnings: implied fem!reader, cursing, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex, mentions of killing / violence, Valentino being a horny bastard, Alastor calls himself a serial killer, slightest mention of drugs, drunk sex, Lilith unintentionally plays matchmaker while her man is drunk on her arm, Valentino and Vox bicker for like two seconds, smut with a bit of plot, praise kink!, name calling, P in V, no protection ( WRAP BEFORE YOU TAP )

Notes: Reference photos will be underlined with a link to the reference ! When a paragraph startles with o it’ll be in authors POV

“ I hope you all enjoy the rest of the party! Let us celebrate!” Lucifer said, Lilith smiling proudly by his side. Everyone cheered, raising they’re glasses up. Some had a hard alcohol, some had alcohol with drugs, and some filled with champagne, the prudes with water others with blood. All glasses were raised in a toast to the new year. As everyone began to split into small conversations, I took the time to walk around a bit, admiring the MorningStar estate. Lilith’s theme this year has been Masquerade. She had, so the rumor goes, a new dress made for her in honor of her daughter’s new hotel opening up. Though her daughter was no where to be seen at this lavish party.

I made my way towards one of the large doors, which opened to the wrap around balcony that went around the third floor, with stairs connecting to the second and fourth floor on opposite ends. From where I had been standing on the balcony, I could see the clear garden and outstretched further, a large body of red water. I leaned onto the railing, taking a sip from my glass as I stared at the red moon.

It’s almost time for the New Year to start. That means the angels are coming to do a bit of a… clean up. Some had started early. Not like it mattered to the higher up demons who took sanction at the Morningstar mansion every year. Keeping most of Hell’s ranks in place. Aside from the few individuals that liked to fight the angels. Usually to earn bragging rights.

I had never done so myself, seeing as it was a waste of time. Not like killing one would get me out of here anyways. However, it definitely didn’t go unnoticed how there seemed to be more people at the party this year. I fixed the back of my mask, securing it tightly onto my head.

“ You seem bored.” I heard from beside me. I didn’t give myself time to react, I simply continued to stare at the moon.

“ And if I was? What do you suppose you could do about it?” I asked, my nails digging into the palm of my hand, nerves rattling.

“ What would you like me to about it?” He said, and it didn’t take long for me to realize who I was speaking too.

“ Hello Valentino.” I said, taking a sip from my glass with a roll of my eyes. This horny bastard.

“ What gave it away?” He asked as he took his mask off with a grin.

“ You’re horrible personality.” I responded, downing the last of my champagne.

“ Never expected the daughter of a sin to be so hostile. Maybe you need someone to teach you a lesson, hm~?” He said, his finger coming to caress my face, making me look at him, his nose getting closer to mine.The flirting was the usual, but the suggestiveness in his tone seemed to strike something else in me. Something hot.

“ Keep your dick in your pants Val.” Oh goodie, a third party. How much more interesting could this get? Valentino pulls away from me with a chuckle. I huffed and spun my glass in a circle, now kind of sad I finished my drink.

“ Or what? Gonna make me~?” Valentino teased, before he was pushed to the side.

“ I think this conversation is done. I’m going back inside. Have fun sucking each other off.” I say, clearly annoyed as I let go of my glass, letting it fall from the balcony and onto the ground where a faint shatter can be heard.

“ Oh doll don’t leave so soon- ow!” Valentino says.

“ Honestly Val, control yourself.” Vox replies, now clearly over his shit. I make my way back inside, pushing through the crowds of people as I make my way to the opposite side of the room, connected to yet another balcony. Thankfully, this side seemed to be far less intriguing, which meant no disturbances.

“ Oh Y/n~!” I hear, and it’s Lilith as she pushed the door open, walking with her dead husband and Alastor behind her. “ I have someone I want you to meet.” She says with a smile, as if I didn’t know who he was. Of course I knew who he was. How could I not? “ Al this is-“ Lilith begins, but I save her the time.

“ Y/n L/n. I know who your name so you can save the introductions. What is this about Lilith?” I ask, silencing Alastor, his smile turning from friendly to now nervous, watching Lilith’s express change to annoyance.

“ Well, I wanted you two to try and get alone. However, seeing as you both already know of each other I’ll leave you both to it.” She said, turning with her husband drunkenly holding onto her arm as she brought him back inside. “ Oh, Alastor please make sure she get’s home safe.” Lilith said, before shutting the door and going back into the party. Like I needed him.

“ So… you get out much?” I asked, before Alastor smiled. This is gonna be a long night.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

“ Another one?” Alastor asks, as he hands me another glass, this time of whiskey. I cant really remember how much I’ve had to drink at this point ; nor do so care.

“ Don’t be silly. This is nothing.” I say, taking a large sip from my glass, ignoring the burning in my throat. “ Cmon have some. Have a drink with me.” I say, giggling slightly as I lean into him, the coolness of the railing helping me cool down.

“ I don’t know dear, you heard Lilith, get you home safe.” He responds. I groan and lay my head on his shoulder.

“ Al cmon, please.” I whine, setting my glass on the floor, before my arms go to wrap around his waist, pulling him into a hug. “ Have a drink, please.” I beg, and I can feel the way he laughs, his voice ringing through his chest. I press my cheek to the middle of his chest, before tightening my hold on him.

“ Dear, you know I can’t do that.” Alastor says, and I groan. Stupid Lilith for having some dumb emotional claim on me and stupid Alastor for listening to her.

“ Just have one, please, for me.” I beg, hands tugging as his, what used to be, neatly ironed vest, his jacket hanging soundly on the railing.

“ Darling, you do realize your asking a serial killer to have a drink with you. What if I kill you?” Alastor asks, as I stare up at him through my lashes, face still close to his chest. His arms move to wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.

“ I don’t mind dying twice.” I say with a small giggle, and Alastor lets a large smile take over his face, as a sound of a crowd laughing plays from Alastor.

“ Fine. One drink.” Alastor says, as I let out a celebratory squeal, throwing my arms around his neck to pull him into a hug.

“ See, you’ll have fun I promise!” I say, bending down to grab my drink as we head inside to get Alastor one as well.

A few drinks later, Alastor and I are back on the balcony, laughing as I take my shoes off and attempt to walk in a straight line, holding the sides of my dress up so I can see my feet.

“ Am I doing it?” I ask as Alastor crouches down to see if I’m in a straight line or not.

“ I think so! You’re doing great dear!” Alastor says as he throws his head back, finishing the rest of his drink. So far, at least from what I can remember, Alastor has has five drinks of a name I can’t remember right now, and I’ve had eight cups of whiskey. Neither one of us are sober enough to think of anything coherent. As I continue to walk, I wobbly a bit and Alastor laughs as I try to keep my balance. “ Almost there! A few more steps!” Alastor encourages and I try my hardest to do it correctly. I take a few more steps before I let the sides of my dress go, throwing my hands in air in excitement, I had finally made it to him.

“ I told you, I told you I could do it!” I said laughing as Alastor stood, his arms wrapped around my waist, spinning my around as my feet were lifted from the ground.

“ You did wonderfully dear! m’so very proud of you!” He said, laughing as he set me down. His praise causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach, almost knocking the wind out of me. As Alastor was about to pull back from me I tightened my hold around his shoulders.

“ Say it.” I said, my voice in a hushed whisper. I could feel him tense under my hold.

“ W-what? Dear-“ Alastor asked, confused, as his hands moved to settle on my waist, above the large poof of my dress.

“ I wanna hear it again. Wanna hear you say your proud of me again.” I say, hands running down the tops of his shoulders to brush his shoulder blades. He shivers a bit, before there’s a soft kiss on my shoulder, the strap of mg dress falling slightly.

“ I’m so proud of you. You did so good for me.” It comes as a whisper, but it’s more than enough to have me squeeze my thighs together. The air is tense, and neither one of us move for a bit. It’s quiet, the only noise coming from inside, where the guests are in a whole other world. Alastor leans up a bit, cause my hands to fall to the front of his arms. His eyes are dark, different from before.

“ A-are you okay?” I ask, stomach suddenly empty. The look he’s giving me isn’t one I can pinpoint. He doesn’t speak, leaving my question unanswered as he leans closer to me as I impulsively back up, trying to create space. Maybe I should’ve listened to him when he said he was a killer. What if I really do die twice? It’s only when my back hits the cool meta bar or the balcony railing that I realize he’s caged me in. How dumb can I be? I don’t say anything, holding my breath as Alastor get’s closer, his hands now on either side of me, holding onto the railing. Since when did he roll his sleeves up? That was new, or at least something new I had noticed. I glance from his forearms, which were decorated in lovely veins that stuck out as he held onto the metal, before looking back at him, his eyes holding a cold stare. “ Al-“ I couldn’t finish, Alastor closing the gap between us with a kiss, and it was rough. Like if the kindness I had seen a second ago was all a facade. Regardless, I kissed back, my hands holding onto the railing behind me for support. He was quick, his hand moving up my side carefully, over my ribs, up the side of my breaste up gently sweeping over my shoulder. Before I could process what was happening I felt a harsh grip on my throat.

He was choking me. I let out a small gasp at the attack, my hands letting go of the railing as I reached forward to hold onto his wrist, while he had taken the chance to quite literally shove his tongue down my throat. I couldn’t breathe, gasping for hair as he continued to kiss me, my hands holding on his wrist for what little life I had left. My eyes began to water, my throat feeling as if it was closing up, my head spinning with the lack of air and the intensity of our makeout. Just when I thought I was going to pass out, Alastor pulled away, his hand falling to my side, his kissed descending down my cheek and to my jaw. Tears had began to fall from my eyes, partially out of relief that I wasn’t dead ( again ) and partially because the ache between my legs, despite my lack of air moments prior, had grown increasingly stronger.

“ Your skin is soft.” Alastor says, kissing my cheek one last time before pulling back to stair at me. His eyes light up in amusement at my current state. Panting and catching my breath, my hair is probably a mess and my lips are sore, most likely swollen while my hand unconsciously moves to massage my neck, where his hand had previously been. “ Was I too rough?” Alastor asks, his hand gently moving mine out of the way, his hands gently massaging my neck. I nod a bit, as one of his hands moves to wipe a tear that had fallen.

“ Do it again.” I say. Alastor stops, blinking at me a few times. He seems shocked I would request for him to do it again. My hands reach up to his, forming his hands around my neck. “ Please.” I say, before there’s a shit eating grin on his face.

“ Hm, why? Why should I? Do you like it?” Alastor asks, his hands squeezing ever so slightly. I nod, quickly hoping he’d carry on with it. I begin to fidget, my legs squeezing intensely together to try to relieve some of the stress I feel. Alastor seems to have noticed, because he removes his hands from my neck, before bending down to grab his now empty glass. “ Let’s go.” Alastor says, before I rush behind him, slipping my shoes on quickly and trying to tame my hair. I follow him like a pathetic puppy through the crowds of people, determined not to lost him.

I push through the crowd of people, my mask discarded and probably the only thing i’m clutching onto. As if things couldn’t be much harder for me, everyone began to get a lot closer together, some making out with one another, probably with they’re tops off, others passing a blunt along a line, everything seemed to happen all at once. Looking up I finally realized why. It was ten o’clock. Two hours before the new year. Everyone was cramming together, trying to be at the front of the large ball in the front of the room, which would signal the new year.

I panic when I see Alastor far ahead of me, people in my way of him. He seems to be having a specific destination in mind, since he hasn’t looked back at me since we started walking. I push through the people that are in my way, only one thing on my mind. Getting to Alastor. I had finally pushed through the last few people before I had reached as far as I could to grab onto him. He turned around, looking at my quickly before his hand moved to hold mine, leading me to wherever it was he wanted to go. “ I apologize love, I should’ve done this earlier.” Alastor says, his hand holding onto mine tightly as we continue to walk through the busy crowd. It’s only when we push through two large doors that I realize he had been leading me to the garden this entire time.

“ Why are we here?” I ask, now suddenly confused. Alastor pays no mind to my question, a staff appearing at his side, now fully dressed in his tailcoat. In front of him a portal opens, and on the other side is… a room?

“ Come now dear, time to finish what we started.” Alastor said, waiting for me to follow him through the portal.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

I don’t know how long we’ve been like this. Going from a disastrous crowd to now a fit of giggles and kisses, the alcohol seeping back into my system reminding me just how much I drank. My lipstick is smeared, my dress is hiked up and bunched at my hips while my back is against the wall, my hands occupying themselves through Alastor’s hair, careful of his antlers. The straps of my dress fall as Alastor moves his kisses down to my neck, sucking at my pulse point. Everything feels that much more intense and hot, his knee between my thighs, giving me just enough friction not to come undone but to have some relief. There’s an old cd on Alastor’s record player, though it seems pointless.

All coherent thoughts leave my mind when I feel Alastor teeth sink into my shoulder, my back arching a bit into him, hips stuttering. “ Oh, oh my god. W-wait Alastor you, hmph.”My mind feels fuzzy, blank, his knee just right to rub my clit in the most delicious way my toes curl. Alastor pulls away from my shoulder, and with the way it aches I just know there’s definitely going to be a mark there by tomorrow.

“ Too much? Can’t handle it?” Alastor asked, moving to kiss the other side of my neck.

“ No no no, I can I can. I just, too quick. Too much, mm” Alastor raised his brows.

“ Too quick? Darling you won’t be thinking that when I’m done with you.” Alastor said, and it was the only warning I had gotten before I felt two of his fingers sliding down my folds.

“ Al- Oh yes.” Two of his fingers pushed, almost bullied their way through my pussy, achingly slow and almost frustrating. However, when I felt the tip of his fingers curl a bit, I knew it would be worth the wait. He gradually picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out, picking up the pace every few seconds. The sounds were obscene, almost straight out of one of Valentinos porno’s. When had he even found the time to take make panties off? We’re they even off? I couldn’t tell, handing gripping the edge of my dress, holding it up for him as my hips began to grind down onto his hand. “ Please please please.” The words fell with no actual meaning. I could feel my stomach start to turn, tightening, just a bit more.

“ Please what? What do you want?” Alastor asked, his fingers moving quicker, almost too fast. Tears began to form, my eyes watering and my vision turning hazy. My legs spread further apart, wanting more.

“ More, more I want more.” I said frantically, practically riding his fingers.

“ More what? Use your words. I wanna hear it. I know you can.” Alastor said, his thumb coming up to circle my clit, my eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

“ Mm, wanna cum, please please let me cum. Please.” I cried, tears falling down the sides of my face, head back against the wall while my back arched, his fingers moving at a brutal pace.

“ Do you deserve to cum? Do you think I should let you?” Alastor asked, before I nodded frantically, feeling drool spill from the corners of mg mouth.

“ Yes, yes I do! P-please! I swear I’ll be good, jus’ - oh - jus-t for you. All for you.” The words spilled before I could even register what I was thinking. Alastor grinned, before he slipped a third finger in.

“ I think you’ve been a good girl tonight, don’t you think? Go on, cum all over my fingers like a good girl. My good girl.” Fuck if that didn’t do it. I came, hard, all over his fingers, and he fucked me through my orgasm with his fingers, his lips catching my own in a kiss, swallowing up all my moans.

“ Mm, Alastor too much. T-too much.” I said, pushing his hand away, while his fingers continued to move in and out of me. Everything felt like so much, everything was hot and it felt like my head was spinning.

“ Let’s get this dress off, hm?” Alastor said, finally pulling his fingers out, and watching as a string of slick connected from his fingers to my pussy, almost embarrassing at how he stared, separating his fingers slowly and watching them almost stick my back together. “ Let me clean these real quick.” Alastor said, before bringing his fingers up to my mouth.

“ Suck.” He said, his tone demanding. I took two of his fingers in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, tasting myself on his fingers. With a ‘pop’ I took his third and final finger into my mouth, trying to please him as best as I could. He pulled his finger from my mouth before kissing the top of my forehead. He pulled me away from the wall a bit, his hands reaching to the back of my dress and pulling at the zipper, tugging it down. The straps of my dress had began to fall, and only now did I realize I hadn’t worn a bra, since the dress had one built in. The dress fell to the floor, and my hands had quickly went to cover myself. “ Do not. I want to see all of you.” Alastor said, that same demanding tone taking over again.

In a matter of minutes we both end up on the bed, Alastor’s clothes being messily thrown off while trying to stay as close to me as possible. It was addicting, to be so close to one another like this. His hands raked my sides, before stoping to cup one of my breasts. His kisses has faltered, moving down to my collar bone. “ Mm, c-careful.” I said, knowing that my breasts had been extra sensitive due to the confinement of the dress. Though that did anything but make Alastor gentle. From palming my breast he had pinched and pulled at my nipple, moving down to suck the other. My hips had a mind of their own, trying to find some friction while Alastor’s hips kept my legs apart in a torturous position.

“ Look at you, my good girl, so responsive.” Alastor said, before switching his assault to the opposite breast, before pinching the other, drawing a loud moan from me that was almost pornographic.

“ P-please, careful, they’re, mm fuck, they’re sensi- oh yes - mm they’re sensi, sensit-tive.” The stuttering of my words made him grin, pulling away from my breast that was now covered in marks.

“ Are they? I wonder how sensitive they are.” Alastor said, using both hands to grope them. He was rough, not caring about being soft anymore. “ Wondered how pretty they would look at that party. Stumbling around wearing a dress not knowing what eyes are watching.” He said, giving a particular rough squeeze. I hissed, back arching while my hands had gripped at the bedsheets. Spreading my legs, I felt my mind start to turn to jelly.

“ Please, I need you.” I said hoping he would understand what I meant.

“ Where? Where do you need me? Be a good girl use your words.” Alastor said, his hands moving to run down my sides, before he began to caress my thighs.

“ Need you, p-please don’t make me say it.” I begged, and it was pathetic but so was admitting to him that I wanted to be fucked. He shook his head, sliding his hands under my knees and pushing my legs up a bit.

“ If you don’t say it I’ll just leave you like this. You wouldn’t want that would you?” Alastor asked, and I shook my head furiously, not wanting to be edged. “ Tell me what you want, what you need.” He said, his eyes staring right through me.

“ Need you, need you to fuck me Alastor. Please! I’ll be good I promise! I promise I’ll be good. I jus’ need you. Need you now. Can’t wait any longer.” I begged, and Alastor smiled wide, pressing my knees back.

“ Hold your legs there. You let them go and you won’t like what’s next.” Alastor said, and he was firm as he spoke. I nodded, holding my legs where he had left them. “ Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” Alastor asked, before I nodded. He stroked himself a few times, using the pre-cum as a lubricant. He was careful when moving at first, going slow, and trying to sink in inch by inch…

so this is unfinished 😅, i got lazy but i don’t wanna keep this in my drafts so here it is!

[steel-and-fire]

Session summaries: (part 2) the Feywild

So, the party is in the Feywild, needing to find an Archfey and somehow persuade her to help them without casualties. With no information or directions, or way back.

After contemplating their situation, Ferenir, being the more experienced of the three in shit-fuckery, lays down some rules based on his vague knowledge from dealing with Fae. He urges them to not give their real names to anyone, and so Elfy, Horny(he literally doesn't need to change name) and Zaddy are born....the other two gave him that name.

Also, he urges them to treat everything like a business deal, try not to make a fuss of things, try not to get offended or aggressive, but demand repayment for any slight done to them, and be ready to offer it back for any help asked. Also he dissuaded them from thanking anyone for any reason outside of the agreement on a deal. As any fae may take their gratitude as leverage to fuck them over in the future in some horrible way, claiming they are owed.

Now, maybe it was all a little too strict, and Ferenir even admitted as such, but it was better to be safe than sorry, as fae are the most dangerous creatures to deal with, surpassing demons by a mile. Thankfully, everyone did stick to the information with surprising ease, and it helped them very much down the road.

First they met two fairies, who seemingly killed Boobie, Ferenir's pet slime, but Ferenir withheld his burning anger enough to find out that they instead had awakened Boobie more expression of personality. They encountered a treasure chest that contained more and more of them when unlocked, turning out to be a spirit weasel that fed on frustration and irritation. Sticking to the rules, Aramil, who was the one that had to unlock five different boxes, used the sleight as bargaining leverage and earned a large sum of gold.

Further down the path, they encountered a satyr that was throwing vicious mockeries around and did damage to the party, but Ferenir diplomatically offered some alcohol in exchange for information, which was a deal granted. They finally knew the path to the Archfey, the Crimson Duchess.

Making their way through a field of red roses, with the sky filled with flying fish made of gold, they were surrounded by tiny pixie warriors that served the Duchess, attacking Aramil. But they party spoke of their honest intentions, and were led to the Castle, where they met the Archfey herself.

An imposing and powerful woman, she sought to enforce her power over the party immediately, and partially succeeded. She tied Ferenir and Aramil with vines that kept them rooted, while Horny, the tiefling bard, would be the one to perform and try to earn her favor.

With a strong pep talk from Ferenir, Horny got to work, and with some very high rolls, using all his abilities, as well as excellent roleplay, not just succeeded in impressing the Duchess, but enthralled her. She didn't simply honor her word and gave the party the vial they needed, but also offered Horny a deal.

He would perform for her a new song every full moon for a year, and in return she would grant him quite a few powers. The party discussed it together, and Ferenir set the details down in practical terms, and turned Horny's perception on the deal around. It was quite the good one.

As the deal was sealed, Horny indeed received a lot of increases to his artistic ability, as well as his magic, with powerful spells and abilities. They were also kindly shown the way back, and so the party returned to the Material Plane, fully successful and alive, with Aramil and Horny only slightly traumatized and terrified-

But anyways! Turns out two entire days passed, and they are SHORT ON TIME, as their herbalist friend is literally dying. They rush, cure the cursed Willow tree with the vial, restoring the forest, and thankfully their dryad friends prepared all the herbs for them while they were away.

They thank them in a hurry and run like the wind, taking the way back through the night without a moment's rest. Of course they are extremely exhausted, but managed to make it back to the city before dawn. The party sneaks their way into the city through the curfew, and send Aramil, the rogue, to go help the herbalist out, while the other two carefully made their way to the much closer hotel.

Aramil succeeded in helping her make the potion needed to save her life (using his inspiration granted from the mission, phew, that was a nat1), while Horny and Ferenir had a small talk about the pact that was made.

Ferenir decided to share a small story about the time he himself made a pact with a devil, and how that turned out, but it was late and they were all tired. With Aramil returning, they went to sleep...

Sadly, something was waiting exactly for this moment of exhaustion and low guard to strike...

[bunkernine]

PLEASE speak abt the parents Beryl Tristan and Esperanza 🙏 🙏 🙏

Ok outside of firmly believing that those parents HAVE to be legacies (esperanza ESPECIALLY or at least she saw thru the mist) I'm just gonna blab about an AU that makes me laugh. The way I spent 30 mins writing this instead of my finals...

Quick run down: the three of them were friends, tristan and beryl as childhood friends actually, and then they accidentally kill a man (monster)

Beryl:

Grew up poor in a small town, "trailer trash", extremely critical alcoholic mother. Dad left when she was a kid. Had an older brother who left as soon as he could and never calls

Enjoyed watching movies and tv to imagine a better life she can live in

Nerdy as hell in school, wore the biggest glasses in the world. Had a huge crush on tristan for YEARS, especially when he got hot in high school, but liked him before too

Esperanza

Has the sight, can see thru the mist and it scares the shit out of her. Part of why Rosa thinks Leo is fucking devilspawn cuz Esperanza thought she was seeing demons. She moved around a lot growing up because of that fear, but also Hazel's curse

Kinda a rebellious punk, wildchild younger sibling. Her and Rosa are CONSTANTLY fighting

She moves into Tristan and Beryl's town in high school, after her mom died.

There's a satyr and demigod in her class. She doesnt think too much of it. Her teacher is weird....

Tristan

Kinda geeky, has 5 siblings but never talks about them too much. Was always a very sweet and quiet kid. Childhood friends with beryl, also poor too

Super into Ezperanza because she's different. Even when she's weird and mumbling about being chased she's still sooo cool compared to the town they're in.

Okay so now that they're in high school... I think this would be the early 80s 🙂 they essentially are together in a rag tag group, lost trio style, until they see a demigod getting attacked. Tristan hits the monster with his car. The 3 of them are HORRIFIED because they killed a man, but Esperanza keeps talking about monsters and explains it. The demigod's satyr is fucking young Hedge 💀 he's shit at his job so he just tells them about demigods and stuff.

Beryl is slowly ENAMORED by this. Starts drinking from this event but she is DELIGHTED by the idea of a new better world out there. Ezperanza feels like SHIT! She thinks this is all her fault and she's cursed. Tristan is going CRAZY, racked with grief. He is not doing well at ALL!!!!

Anyway they go to college with this in California together, mostly out of being closer but also fear of this secret (dead body) weighing on them. A few more monster and minor god encounters. Eventually, Hedge has to mist-wipe Tristan's memories because hes going crazy, which causes Hedge's issue with the Council of satyr elders or whatever. Idk its in the books lol. But this causes them all to separate and go their separate ways when Tristan can't remember the other two.

Beryl drops out of college, and gets scouted as she is waitressing. Has her big break, goes onto TV and gets famous. She begins to forget some of the little things about how much the demigod world is HORRIBLE. Once, she meets up with Esperanza and they stumble into a minor god, which makes her remember how much she wants to be in that world. She meets Zeus at a party :) and thinks he's charming and powerful, just different. It reminds her of the monster experience. She fucks that man obviously. Desire for something different to her shit life. She is CRAZY!!! 🩷

Esperanza goes to New Rome Uni because i luv that place idk if they allow mortals but she will!!!!! Because she goes to that fake school, no mortals really take her degree seriously which is why it was harder for her to get a job. Never taken seriously. She heads back to Texas eventually. She know he's Hepaestus when he approaches her at a library, doesn't like the idea of getting involved with that god stuff. Still falls in love. When her great grandfather falls ill (Sammy) she demands hepaestus to stay with her. He doesn't obviously, but he promises to come back, if not for her than for Leo. He has to. He doesn't.

Tristan doesn't go to college, he just works at like, fucking Hollister or Abercrombie because he's hot now. He meets Aphrodite a few times but she's busy and he doesnt give in. Eventually they meet at the beach surfing and she's like "I've been trying to get your attention for a while now"... She doesn't tell him she's a goddess but Tristan kinda has a familiar feeling. He's forgotten what it was but she just feels different. When piper grows up, aphrodite sends little gifts to "her favorite heartthrob" and he just gives it to Piper.

......

Anyway it was just putting little seeds together + being crazy. Beryl and Esperanza sometimes still talked. They met once when they were pregnant and talked about their kids playing together. Esperanza, seeing theu the mist, had an idea that Beryl was fucking a god, but its not like she has high standing either. Beryl and Tristan bumped into each other with their acting careers, but Tristan doesnt really remember Beryl the way he should. Esperanza and Tristan have some kind of twisted relationship I fear of will they, wont they with Beryls jealousy 🙄 such it is. Naturally the same with Beryl and Esperanza 🙏

[laughing-hellblazer]

⛥TIMELINE⛧

trigger warnings: suicide, violence, csa, death, child abuse, dark themes

the 50's

1953: John is born in a complicated birth that kills his mother and twin brother. His father, Thomas, refuses him for the first two weeks of his life, which are spent sickly in the hospital. A single nurse is put in charge of his care, and holds him to her chest to listen to her heartbeat. Because of this, John survives his infantile illness. The duty of taking care of the baby John is left to his older sister, Cheryl, who is only 8 years old.

the 60's

1961: John's father is sent to prison for seven months for stealing women's underwear, during which time John and his sister, Cheryl, are sent to live with their Aunt Dolly and Uncle Harry in Northampton, UK. John is accosted by three teenage boys who deeply burn his chest with cigarettes for being a Scouser.

1967: John casts his first spell, locking his childhood innocence away in a toy house, which he later buries in a time capsule at his school. John is later expelled from school, and his father blames this on his obsession with the occult, turning far more abusive. John curses his father by binding his soul to that of a roadkill cat corpse, but later halts the spell by storing the cat in formaldehyde. This doesn't break the spell, and leaves Thomas Constantine frail, but just as abusive.

1968: John runs away from home and gets to just outside of London. He stays with a woman named Estella, who teaches him how to use tarot cards and divination magic. He is later caught by police at a satanic party and sent home to his furious father in Liverpool.

1969: John runs away to London again, this time successfully arriving in the city proper. On his way he rides along with a serial killer ex-priest who attempts to assault and mutilate him. He meets Chas Chandler, who is a prisoner of his mother, Queenie, and her familiar, Slag. John murders Slag the Monkey, thus killing Queenie and freeing Chas. Chas owes him a debt that John never stops cashing in.

the 70's

1974: John attempts suicide at age 21, overdosing on sleeping pills with alcohol. During attempt he has visions of a purgatorial demon named Araethos, who tries to lay claim to his soul while he's dying. He is found and rescued by roommate and childhood friend Gaz Lester, who stays with him at the hospital. Gaz calls Cheryl, who comes to London for a night to visit him, even though the two are estranged. The two talk for a while and rekindle their relationship, with Cheryl and Gaz both encouraging John to take better care of himself.

1977: John and his friends Richie, Beano, and Gaz form new wave punk band Mucous Membrane. Chas becomes a roadie for the band, traveling with them across the UK as a struggling opening act. In their travels John meets Brendan Finn, a music manager who quickly becomes a close friend. The two part on good terms before their gig at the Casanova Club in Newcastle.

1978: After sensing dark magic at the Casanova gig, John investigates to find a girl, Astra, being used as part of dark rituals at the hands of the club's owner, her father. With a group of band members, roadies, and fellow magic users, John forms the Newcastle Crew, a group with the mission to put an end to the dark magic being cast over the Casanova Club. As they discover, Astra has been possessed by a demon se summoned, Norfulthing. Their mission fails when John attempts to summon a demon, but fails to bind it, and Astra is killed. John has a mental breakdown and is sent to Ravenscar Secure Facility for two years.

1979: John is tortured by the guards and doctors at Ravenscar for his assumed crime of killing a child, and he accepts all the pain as punishment for failing Astra. He is subjected to conscious E.C.T. and physical abuse every day until his release in 1980.

the 80's

1980: John wanders the North Yorkshire countryside and is taken in by traveling Brendan Finn, who then takes him across the country in a soul searching journey. John develops feelings for Brendan, but doesn't express them. The two return to England, where John meets Brendan's girlfriend, Kit Ryan.

1982: John meets and courts Emma, an American artist, the two become a steady couple, with Emma knowing about and accepting John's magic. She becomes the first girl John ever introduced to his family.

1983: John and Brendan steal the Ace of Winchesters, a demon-slaying gun, from Voodoo priest Papa Midnite for collector Jerry O'Flynn. Jerry and Brendan get into a fight, and John has to separate them. John, Brendan, and Kit have one last drink together before John sets out for London again. Once in London, John befriends a man named Seth before finding out he's abusing his girlfriend, Annette, who John then offers a place to stay and sleeps with. Annette uses his occult book collection to make a deal with the Third of the Fallen to kill Seth, then ends her own life from horror.

1984: Beano contacts John, desperate to have his house rid of ghosts. Taking Chas with him, John investigates, and he finds the ghosts of a little girl and the man who murdered her. John let's the girl's ghost go free, and she ascends to heaven, but the murderer's soul begins to fall to hell, and he drags John with him. John is able to escape from hell through a deal that he's never shared the details of, and shows up just in time to be at his own funeral. A succubus and angel turn to John for help when expecting a baby. John is able to hide Ellie, the succubus, but not Tali the angel, or the baby being born. Tali is killed by fellow angels, and the angels then take the baby.

1985: Able to sense the balance of the planet changing, and something dark approaching, John gets in contact with the Elemental Swamp Thing and enlists his help to defeat the Brujera. Over the next two years, several members of the Newcastle Crew are killed by the encroaching Darkness, including Emma.

1987: Eventually, John gathers a group of magic users including Zatara and his daughter Zatanna to form a magic circle. In this circle, two will die, including Zatara protecting his daughter. After returning from the circle, John finds his old friend and bandmate, Gaz Lester, in need of help after releasing the demon Mnemoth in New York. Turning to Papa Midnite for help , John manages to contain Mnemoth, but not without paying the price of Gaz's life. John begins to see ghosts of the Newcastle Crew haunting him, as well as his old lover, Emma.

1988: John meets Zed. The Resurrection Crusade and the Damnation Army both rise up as new gangs in London, and John finds himself entangled with the gangs through his niece being kidnapped. After rescuing her from the Damnation army, Zed goes missing. After jumping out of a moving train and nearly dying, John is approached by Nergal in the hospital with a deal to end a prophecy which would mean slavery under Heaven. Nergal gives John some of his own blood to regenerate him to perfect health. John finds Zed, now part of the Resurrection Crusade, and has sex with her. John is then possessed by Swamp Thing in order to conceive a child with his wife, Abby, who then becomes the host of the Sprout. This neutralizes the prophecy, assuring neither Hell nor Heaven have claim to Earth just yet. After finding out that Nergal is the same demon who kille dAstra in 1978, John uses his connections with the disembodied technomancer, RIchie, to destroy Nergal at the gates of Heaven. Richie then takes the body of Nergal and becomes a demonic entity who is trapped in hell.

1989: At the request of the Aspect of Dream, Morpheus, John tracks down the Bag of Sand, running into his old girlfriend after she's become addicted to the dreamstuff in the sachet. Morpheus repays John by temporarily relieving him of nightmares for the return of his item. While on the run from the police after a spurious article about him is published, he meets Marj and her daughter Mercury, a pair of Travellers who he befriends and lives with for a time. Mercury, a psychic, is drawn to a secret facility that is later found to be one of the locations for a covert operation known as the Fear Machine. This turns out to be part of a masonic plot to bring forth the God of All Gods, Jallakuntilliokan. Turning to Zed, who has become a Pagan Sex Witch, Marj, John, and Mercury are able to summon forth the feminine counteraspect to Jallakuntilliokan, and all of reality is saved by their union. John is unable to remember most of this in hie waking life, but still has vivid nightmares about it in the Dreaming.

the 90's

1990: John has a run in with a serial killer known as the Family Man, unknowingly giving him the names and addresses of his next victims. When he becomes haunted by the ghosts of those the Family Man killed, he begins to track the man down. The Family Man, in retaliation, kills John’s father, Thomas. John hunts the Family Man down and shoots him with a gun Chas got for him t put an end to his killings. At his father’s funeral, John notices Gemma is seeing the ghost of Thomas Constantine, and realizes it’s tied to the curse he cast when he was 14. John and Gemma burn the cat corpse, releasing his father into the afterlife. Accompanied by the other members of the Trenchcoat Brigade, John introduces a young mage, Timothy Hunter, to the occult. Timothy finds the time capsule John buried as a child, and John urges him to rebury it and keep the innocence locked away. Timothy reluctantly agrees.

1991: John finds out, after a horrific night of literally coughing up a lung, that he has terminal lung cancer. While touring a cancer ward he meets and befriends a patient named Matt, who is also dying of terminal lung cancer. He visits Brendan Finn in hopes that the older warlock can cure his lung cancer, only to find out that Brendan, himself, is dying from liver failure. To protect Brendan’s soul from the First of the Fallen, John tricks him into drinking holy water and breaks a bottle of sacramental wine over his head. The First of the Fallen lays claim on his soul by insult, damning him to hell. In a bid to keep himself alive and out of hell, he tries to make deals through Ellie and through the Archangel Gabriel, both of which fall through. As a final attempt, after saying his goodbyes to his loved ones, John makes deals with the Second and Third of the fallen, deadlocking his soul between the three Lords of Hell. The First of the Fallen cures his lung cancer in the most excruciating way possible, then remakes his entire body from scratch, without once killing or allowing Constantine to go unconscious. John is then made ageless to prevent him from dying and setting off a war in hell. He also meets Kit Ryan for the first time in 8 years. Matt dies from his cancer right in front of John.

1992: The First of the Fallen attempts to use Ellie against John, but she instead turns to him for protection. John carves a sigil into her soul that severs and hides her from hell. Kit and John begin to go steady with the promise that John’s magic work will not enter their relationship. Gemma attempts magic and Cheryl tells John to deal with it. He finds the boy who introduced her to it and gives him a fright, while Kit talks to Gemma about the seriousness of casting magic. In the end, Gemma decides not to pursue the same profession as her uncle, and stays away from magic. The King of the Vampires offers John immortality, but John turns him down and insults him. John and Chas go to visit Chas' uncle, only to find him dead from a heart attack. At the funeral, they discover body snatchers stealing his body, and in tracking him down, find a private militia operation testing ammunition on corpses. John releases the souls of the bodies, who then kill the director of the project.

1993: After crossing a noble-tied Neo-Nazi group, John is kidnapped and Kit is attacked. John’s friend, Dez, is murdered in front of him. John, seeking protection from the Lords of Hell, causes Gabriel’s fall and claims his heart. Due to trouble having come to Kit from their relationship, she severs ties with John and leaves him for Belfast. John spirals, having felt love for the first time with Kit, and enters into a six-month depressive episode filled with alcoholism and homelessness. During this time, he meets a young man named Davy, who is a male prostitute and homeless as well. The King of the Vampires finds them asleep together for warmth, and kills Davy. John gives in, and is fed upon by the vampire, who rejects his demon blood. As the blood dissolves his jaw, John drags him into the sunlight, killing him.

1994: After New Years Day, John has a contact encounter with the ghost of a WWII fighter pilot which inspires John to get his life back together and move on. John goes to New York for a holiday, and is poisoned by Papa Midnite and forced onto a Witchwalk through a pocket of Hell while his body is vulnerable on Earth. He’s able to escape with the help of Midnite’s sister, and the threat of her revenge forces Midnite to jump off the Empire State Building.

1995: Chas seeks John’s help with his daughter, Geraldine, who has gone into a coma since giving birth to her daughter, Trish. John finds that her soul has been severed from her body and taken to Los Angeles. Chas joins John on a trip to LA, where they confront Beroul, her captor. Beroul is keeping Geraldine’s soul inside of his own body, and demands that John hunt down a list of demons that are interfering with his business. John uses the ancient god Mictlantecuhtli to eliminate the other demons, but Beroul and Mictlantecuhtli instead make a deal behind his back. John later makes another deal with Mictlantecuhtli, who can stitch souls back together with their bodies. Restoring Geraldine back with her body, John then plays chicken with Geraldine’s soul using an ancient spell. Mictlantecuhtli relinquishes Geraldine’s body and soul in response, and John and Chas safely see her back to London.

1996: John is tricked by Ellie into opening and reading from the Fuhajd’haersk, or in human tongues, The Book of Mirrors. John is then trapped inside the pages of the book, each of which contain a gateway to another reality. For the next eighteen years, John is trapped inside of the book and the infinite realms and realities contained within its pages. Cheryl, after John's assumed death, takes in John’s belongings, storing them in her attic. These items include the Book of Mirrors, which is packed away.

the 00's

2008: During his travels through realities, John ends up in a magical realm where witches and wizards are commonplace. Here he meets a witch named Elias Blackburn, who turns out to be quite the dashing rogue. The two begin a torrid relationship and work together on a heist of the Academy library. They plan to steal a book containing a spell that could release John from the Book of Mirrors, but instead John is abandoned by Elias and captured by the city guard. Imprisoned, he slips through realities again, leaving behind nothing but the amulet Elias gave him.

2014: While emptying her mother Cheryl’s attic, Gemma’s children Sally (7), Topaz (5), and Cher (3) get into some of John’s things, including the Book of Mirrors. Through trying to read the book, they are sucked into the stories along with John, disappearing from their grandmother’s living room. John finds them and guides them through the dangers of multiple realities, protecting them from several dangers ranging from a fantasy novel’s dragons to a horror novel’s killer. Eventually, Gemma opens the book to a page they’re all on, and reading aloud from the book opens the gateway John needs to escape with all three kids in tow. Gemma is shocked to see the uncle who went missing back in 1996, and relieved that her children are safe and sound thanks to him. They try to burn the book, but flame has no effect. They wrap the book up and seal it away behind some bricks of the foundation. John stays with Gemma for a short time while adjusting to the missing years of his life, but eventually he moves back to London in search of Chas, who is now dying of lung cancer due to second-hand exposure.

[tuliproses435]

BTS Fic Recs: July 2022

More than Us by @jeongi | KTH | Summary: Taehyung had always been the common thread in the capsule of your memories, your best friend until the very end. But the thoughts had always lingered; could the two of you ever be more than this? Tags: College au, roommate au, fluff, smut

By its Cover by @crystaljins | JHS | Summary: Your annoying little brother Jimin accepts a dare and summons a demon into your living room. There are multiple problems with this.  1) Demons are the most hated species on earth. 2) That demon happens to be Jung Hoseok, the most popular guy on campus  3) The fact that Jung Hoseok is a demon is his biggest secret and  4) Jung Hoseok hates your guts. You’re in for a wild ride. Tags: Demon au, fantasy au, enemies to lovers au 

Wrapped Together by @lemonjoonah | KNJ | Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital’s annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season. Tags: Christmas au, smut

When Fire Meets Frost by @luxekook | KTH | Summary: just like a bad holiday song, you gave taehyung your heart last christmas. only in this scenario, he broke it eight months later. now you’re both back at that same damn holiday party where you first met one year ago and you’re just praying for you and your heart to leave in one piece. Tags: Exes au, angst, smut, fluff, Christmas au

Third Wheeling by @untaemedqueen | MYG | Summary: Min Yoongi is a strict man. Time is money to the CEO of Kisung Connected. He isn’t interested in conventional things or wastes of time. He’s an asshole. But, you didn’t realize until it was too late. Until you met him at the club and it changed your life forever. Tags: CEO au, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff, angst

Matters of the Hearts by @hobidreams | JHS | Summary: it seems not even the passage of half a decade can diminish the hold of Mr. Jung’s charms on your heart. but the rumors that welcome you home speak of his imminent marriage to an heiress, one who bests you in every infuriating, ‘ladylike’ fashion. just how, then, are you meant to interpret the undeniable sparks of desire in his eyes? Tags: Victorian au, smut

The Holi-date by @kpopfanfictrash | KTH | Summary: When your ex-boyfriend becomes engaged to his new girlfriend at your annual Holiday party, you admittedly are not in the best place. Which explains why you down six shots of alcohol, enthusiastically drop it low on the dance floor and – oh, yeah – tell everyone you are also dating someone. The only problem? You are obviously not. Good thing your neighbor happens to be cute and in need of a ride to work every morning. Tags: Fake dating au, neighbor au

Belong by @v-hope | KTH | Summary: one year to prove you can fend for yourself. one year to keep your parents from making the most important life decision for you. one year to still carry the perfect life for the media whilst carrying a simpler one for yourself... and way less than one year for you to realise you belong in the latter, with that cynical new roommate of yours. Tags: Artist au, heiress au, fluff, angst, social media au, enemies to lovers au, roommate au, arranged marriage au

A Court of Curses by @readyplayerhobi | JHS | Summary: For millennia, the vampires and witches have hated one another and war has raged between the two. When tensions flare up once more and spill into neutral land, peace is forced upon the two by the faeries. The price of peace sees the Witch Queen married to the Vampire Prince. One hundred years later, how have things changed? Tags: Vampire au, witch au, smut, angst, fluff

Jungle Park by @jimlingss | JHS | Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah…once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED* Tags: Fluff, coworker au

Foreverland by @jimlingss | KSJ | Summary: Just because you’re nineteen doesn’t mean you aren’t still a CHILD! So why does everyone want you to grow up so badly?! Is it so wrong to not want to work? To get married?! And for heaven’s sake, you’ll wed anyone but boring Namjoon! Little do you know, a certain fairy boy’s about to grant your wish and whisk you far away from this nightmare. Tags: Fluff, angst, peter pan au

The Singularity Theory by @dovechim | MYG | Summary: in your last year of undergrad, you find out what a gloryhole is at the expense of your final year thesis. it’s a classic example of a psychology experiment that went way, way wrong. but how were you to know that a certain min yoongi would be sticking his dick into your life? Tags: Fluff, smut

Midnight Confessions by @snackhobi | JHS | Summary: having hoseok as your best friend and co-host for your web series is a dream come true. the only hitch? you’re kind of in love with him, and it’s getting harder to ignore that fact, even if he doesn’t feel the same for you.  Tags: Fluff, smut, pining, friends to lovers

Alive Aha... Fxck by @softyoongiionly | MYG | Summary: An abandoned apartment in your building caught your attention the day you moved in. With a mind full of conspiracy theories, you’ve spent many hours contemplating what might be behind the door of Room 17. Your neighbor, Yoongi, doesn’t seem as eager as you are to solve the mystery but he agrees to help you break in anyway to get you to finally shut up about it. Also, he may or may not think you’re kinda cute. However, the two  of you get more than you bargain for when you discover something dangerous is living right next door; Little do you know that this something has quite a lot in common with your snarky neighbor… Tags: Vampire au, neighbor au, soulmate au, supernatural, fluff, angst, smut

Portraits of a Tiger by @softyoongiionly | MYG | Summary: Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth. And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature. Tags: Smut, fluff, angst

Angel atop a Prickly Tree by @randombtsprincessa | JHS | Summary: When you’re homebound during Christmas, your holiday cheer and belief in miracles is unparalleled. Planning the holiday festival this year was surely going to be the highlight of your ear. However meeting Jung Hoseok, billionaire krank was definitely not on your list. Determined to save the fest, you work with him, learn with him until the cold winds blow and your little bubble is rudely burst. Will you be able to retain your spirits with Hoseok, or is it time to grow out of your stockings? Tags: Fluff, angst, smut

Flatmates by @taleasnewastime | JHS | Summary: You need to find a spare room after deciding to move out of your flat that you share with your best friend and her boyfriend. Stumbling upon an advert for a room that seems almost too good to be true, you decide for once to not overthink and go for it. But who is the mystery flatmate you are now living with that you hardly see? Tags: Fluff, angst

Crashing Into You by @taleasnewastime | JHS | Summary: It all started because you got hit off your bike, not generally the start of a good story, and yet it’s where yours starts. Though you’re still not entirely sure if yours is a good story; it hasn’t been good till this point. Hoseok, the man that crashed into you seemed nice enough the few times you’ve met him and over text, but now, you’re not so sure. All the signs seem to be pointing at the fact that maybe he isn’t the smart businessman you thought he was. Tags: Mafia au, smut, angst, fluff

Saudade by @luffles424 | KNJ | Summary: Until now, you’d always thought that your memories of the man who lived in the woods behind your childhood home where just that, the imaginings of a bored child with too much imagination and a love of books. But a chance trip back to visit your grandparents proves that maybe he wasn’t imaginary at all. Tags: Supernatural au, fluff, angst, smut

The Bodyguard by @rmnamjoons | KNJ | Summary: You’re the daughter of the ambassador to a small, peaceful, barely-on-the-map country in Western Europe, working as a diplomat to help your mother with her endless meetings and politics. After a kidnapping attempt gone wrong, you and your protective bodyguard Namjoon are on the run across Europe, jumping from trains, stealing cars, and pretending to be a couple on your honeymoon to stay hidden. As the would-be kidnappers close in, Namjoon promises you that he’s going to keep you safe, no matter the cost. Tags: Bodyguard au, smut

Under your Spell by @rmnamjoons | KNJ | Summary: You’re a garden witch running a potion business and plant shop, and you might just have a tiny crush on the non-magical man running the bookstore next door. Namjoon is sweet, cute, and handsome, and he actually seems to like you back — but just as the two of you start falling for each other, an evil witch puts a curse on him: unless Namjoon falls in love with her instead, he will break anything he touches forever. Tags: Witch au, fluff, smut

[agustdiv1ne]

that's the spirit! — csb

pairing: choi soobin x f!reader

genre: sixth sense/ghost hunter!soobin, high school au, fluff with a lot of plot, angst, some elements of horror

wc: 14.6k

synopsis: a couple weeks before halloween, you find the quiet boy from your high school staring up into your bedroom. you're a little creeped out, and miles more scared, but then he shows you something that changes how you see, well, everything.

warnings: ghosts so...death in general, descriptions of causes of death (murder, illness, etc.), mentions of murder/serial killers, mentions of killing, mentions of stalking, cursing, some overthinking on the reader’s part at one point, a lil magic, a singular demon, descriptions of wounds/blood, gore but nothing extremely detailed

note: this was supposed to be a halloween fic but fuck it, here it is in january

⊱ playlist ⊰

masterlist

as far as you are concerned, you are a master at minding your damn business. 

so-and-so has a potential new hookup? you turn your music up a little higher. the quarterback has a new girlfriend and — oh my god, he cheated on his ex with her? you bury your nose further into your economics textbook. with halloween coming up, now a little less than two weeks around the corner, all of the hubbub has gotten worse. everyone is preoccupied with the halloween parties to be thrown, the alcohol to be drunk, and, worst of all, the couple’s costumes to be worn.

you would like to think that you aren’t a bitter, anti-romantic scrooge, but that would be a pathetic attempt at a lie. you shake that thought away.

okay, high school is a bitch, a complete and utter one, but other people’s drama is not your own, and you definitely have no intent on joining in. gossip spread like wildfire, especially in a town as small as your own; you couldn’t hide anything from anyone. and you, rightfully so, refused to let your dirty laundry be aired to the entire population. you would rather sit in the drab, gray corner of the classroom with your few friends and do your homework and ignore all of the gossip so that you can leave this hellhole relatively unscathed. not that anything interesting ever happened to you, anyway.

senior year is supposed to be the best year of a person’s high school career, but it seems to be like any other year so far. sure, everyone has grown taller and your class actually wins pep rallies now, but not much else has changed. disappointment nips at the crease between your brows. 

“what’re you being for halloween, again?” the question knocks you from your thoughts, your head swiveling so you could face your friend, selene, and half-heartedly tell her that you plan on being a ghost. yes, again. yes, with a bedsheet. no, you are not going to change your mind, it’s too late for that. 

the final bell of the day rings and bars her from interrogating you further, the topic of your conversation shifting to how your last calculus exam went. it’s all mindless chatter, really, as you walked towards the door of the classroom. “i mean, the only really difficult problem was number sev-”

your sentence is cut short when you bump into something.

you look up to see a warm, solid chest directly in front of you. it isn’t something — it’s someone. 

that someone being choi soobin. 

quiet, tall, choi soobin. he's fairly kind, if a bit odd. he doesn't speak often, nor does he have any close friends, opting to sit in a classroom with one of the english teachers during lunch (you saw him once in your own english teacher's class — silently munching away on a sandwich — when you came in for help on an essay). yet, after moving to your small town at the start of senior year, he's quickly become something of an enigma. rumors of him being a drug dealer, a rebel who had gotten expelled from his last school, an f-student with a streak of insurgent, spread like wildfire when the news broke of a new kid in town. 

these rumors, as most tend to be, were proven false the moment he set foot on campus. with his eyes down and his shoulders hunched, white earbuds snug in his ears, you remember the first time you caught sight of him. despite his towering height, he is far from what your fellow peers first whispered about. he seemed meek, almost, like a mouse (an abnormally large mouse, but you digress). he definitely wasn't bad looking — not at all. you thought he was quite handsome, still do. 

at the moment, however, he looks a bit rough.

“my bad,” he mumbles almost inaudibly, though there is a vague exhaust in his deep voice, as if there’s something heavy weighing him down. you look up further to find obvious dark circles below his drooping umber eyes, his clothes rumpled, hair windblown and haphazardly sticking out in random directions. it doesn’t even look like he’s looking at you, but through you, as if you are a ghost. it takes you a few moments to realize that you are...staring at him. like a deer in headlights.

fuck my life, you think as you scramble away from his lean body. you nearly trip on a chair leg, but manage to save yourself at the last second by slamming your hand down on the desk to your left. his empty eyes meet yours.

“no, uh, you’re good,” you chuckle awkwardly. “it’s my fault anyway.”

this earns you a small grunt and a tight-lipped smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes before he disappears out the door into the sardine can of a hallway. the lack of response makes you question every single life you've ever made up to this point.

maybe you should be a clown for halloween instead, because you just made an absolute fool of yourself.

selene frowns. “uh, what the hell was that?”

you frown back, your cheeks warm. “like hell if i know.”

the next couple days pass with no further incidents, and you gladly allow yourself to fade back into the background once again. slowly but surely, your brain shreds any semblance of the embarrassing encounter with soobin into tiny, incomprehensible pieces. 

despite this, soobin himself oddly roots himself in your mind. you can't help that your eyes seem to trail over to him every once in a while. if anything, you are concerned. appearance-wise, soobin has shown little improvement since the day that you bumped into him. the dim fluorescent lights above seem to make his dark circles darker, if that’s even possible, and you can tell they have gotten much darker. his slouch is more prominent, his pitch black hair messier. concern. yeah, that's all it is.

via your peripherals, you glance over at him again. his eyes are now trained on you, that’s new.

your eyes shoot back down to the worksheet on your desk. you don't look back at him for the rest of the day.

that same night, you see someone outside your house, staring directly up at your bedroom.

your window is wide open, your light curtains fluttering, letting in the chilly autumn air tinged with the scent of a storm just passed. noir drapes over the sky, the dim orange glow of the street lamps being the sole source illuminating the sidewalks and...soobin.

soobin?

you have no clue how long he's stood there, how long he's watched you work on homework at your desk. one glance over and suddenly there he is, in his lanky glory, draped in clothing as dark as the sky. your eyes widen, and, subconsciously, your legs scoot your chair back away from the window, only to be stopped by your bed. you curse under your breath, but you can't see him down there anymore, at least.

if anything, you're confused. why is he standing outside of your house? sure, you ran into him by accident, but he shouldn't know where you live. perhaps he lives in the neighborhood and you've just never seen him around before? 

that still didn't explain why he’s standing there, staring at your house. your bedroom window.

you stand and slowly walk back towards the window, but by the time the sidewalk appears in your field of vision once more, he's gone. your eyes shift farther down the street. you don't see him walking. 

the room abruptly grows colder. chills run down your spine, as if snow has been thrown down your shirt.

there’s an odd feeling in your chest the next morning, like someone has pumped lead into your lungs and left it to harden. you suspect that the problem might be because halloween is so close, combined with the paranoia that you sit alone in your house, a feeling that came about whenever your parents left on their business trips — but something is different. nothing feels quite right this time around. the knots in your stomach seem too tight, your skin littered with goosebumps no matter how many layers of clothing you put on. you haven’t opened your bedroom’s curtains in three days, too nervous to see what’s out there. as if the flimsy curtains could ever save your life, but it gave you some peace of mind that at least no one outside could see you, and you couldn’t see them. despite this, the heavy weight pressing on your chest doesn’t leave.

the next few days after the incident pass painfully slow, the minutes drenched in blackened molasses that is impossible to remove. you would need more than both hands in order to count how often you glance at the clock during class, or how often you wake up your phone screen to check the time once you are home. not often do you see your friends outside of school hours, so you are subject to sit in your silent house and wait. for what, exactly, you weren't sure. the sounds of your aged house creaking and settling solidifies your unease.

a muted sunset comes and goes as you cook dinner, leaving a dark sky in its wake. the chicken that you whip up is gray and bland, the vegetables soggy from being steamed for too long, but you swallow it down anyway. your bones feel like bricks and your back is sore — you ponder if taking a nap this late would be a good idea. energy has been difficult to come by recently, though the reason for that remains a mystery. the random bouts of chills that began a few days ago have become more frequent, even if the heater is turned up to its highest possible temperature. you rationalize it as the beginnings of a cold, or the house's ancient heating system finally giving out. 

you dry your hands on a towel after washing your dishes and climb up the staircase. a small lamp dimly lights your bedroom. scarcely enough for you to complete your homework, you muse. as your hand reaches for the back of your desk chair, your eyes trail over to the curtains that are still drawn closed a few feet away from you. your lips turn into a flat line. it has been far too long since you have opened them.

the thick fabric is clenched between your fingers before you can even register that you have walked over there. the queasy, gut-wrenching sensation that has been gnawing on your nerves in the background returns in its full, overwhelming glory, and the urge to turn away from the window almost wins your internal battle. 

almost. 

before you can rethink your decision, you wrench the curtains open with a flourish, your eyes moving to frantically scan the sidewalk below.

nothing.

you release the breath that you haven’t realized you’ve been holding, your shoulders relaxing. the paranoia that haunts you recedes from the forefront of your mind, nestling itself in a dimly lit corner. it’s still there, of course, but it ultimately feels liberating to open your window again and allow the cool air to brush against your face. the corners of your lips turn upwards as the breeze tousles your hair. you have nothing to worry about, you think to yourself. 

five minutes into your attempt to bully your way through a math worksheet, you doze off. 

your impromptu nap is painfully short-lived, your eyes blinking open a mere few minutes after they close. your eyelids droop considerably more than before you had fallen asleep, and you can feel the tendrils of fatigue burrowing deeper into your bones. you begrudgingly remember that this is why you don’t take naps: you almost always wake up more tired than before them. 

you groan while stretching your sore shoulders, the base of your neck aching in a way that indicates that back problems may haunt you soon if you allow this to become a habit. in disdain, you find drool on the worksheet in front of you. disgusting, but nothing that your teacher would notice.

it takes all of your willpower to lift yourself from the rickety chair, it's own limbs as creaky as your own. a few seconds pass before you decide that doing homework tonight is a lost cause. you needed sleep, especially after such an odd week.

you step over to shut your window, cautious eyes surveying the street below. nothing is out there, nothing is out there.

“nothing is out there,” you repeat to yourself out loud like a prayer. “nothing.”

a shadowed figure catches your eye. inconspicuous, staring up at your window. near a large tree, the person would be easy to miss. but you don't. perhaps you spoke too soon.

it takes you a moment to process what's going on before you nearly yelp.

fatigue drains from your bones within a millisecond as your heart drops straight to your stomach. the window is slammed shut and the curtains are drawn as tightly as possible in a heartbeat, your lungs constricting while your hands begin to tremor. 

what the hell. what the hell? why is he even here — again? has he been here every night, unbeknownst to you? this couldn't be a coincidence — he stares at you in class and all of sudden he's standing right outside your house every night? no way, not a coincidence. 

your first thought is that maybe he's a serial killer. maybe he's scoping out your house for the best route up to your room. perhaps this is a scare tactic, a way to scare you before he strikes. 

you flinch.

the front door. you almost never lock it. 

you bolt without thinking, nearly tripping and falling down the stairs, to make sure the front door is secured shut. you check, double check to make sure all the windows and doors are locked, draw every curtain shut, check every nook and cranny for any possible entrance to your house. when you find none, you finally breathe.

soobin has always acted a little strange at school, but this is something entirely different. Is it because you ran into him that he decided that your were it? is this some kind of stalker horror story? are you going to become a serial killer's victim, one briefly mentioned in a documentary made a few years down the line? 

or maybe this is all a cruel joke. yeah, a joke that you're the butt of, the punch line. you'd rather that be the case. you could live with that; you couldn't — no, wouldn't live if it's the former.

you feel bile rise in your throat, but you swallow it back down. you return to your room and check under your bed, in your closet, as if you were five years old again. 

you don't sleep for the rest of night, cradling your old aluminum softball bat like a lifeline until the sun peeks its head over the horizon. 

you wake a couple hours after you doze off, only to glance at your alarm clock and realize that school begins in a measly twenty minutes. after scrambling out of bed, throwing on clothes, and half-assedly brushing your teeth, you sprint to your car and speed your way down your neighborhood’s street. you make it to your first class with mere minutes to spare. 

the school day passes at a snail’s pace, fatigue from your lack of sleep making it feel even longer. instead of completing any work, you decide to watch the clock, glancing up from the doodles in your notebook every few minutes, until the lunch bell rings. you don’t dare look at soobin, who sits across the classroom, as you shoot up from your desk as soon as your teacher dismisses you. you can feel his eyes on you as you bolt as inconspicuously as possible.

you make it a few feet into the hallway before a hand catches your wrist. your head whips around to see who stopped you, only for your heart to drop into your stomach. 

you should have known it would be soobin. 

his stare bores into your form like a laser, and you resist the urge to gulp. “what do you want?” 

“this is going to sound crazy, but i need you to come with me,” he says, ignoring your question, and you stare at the junction where his large hand clasps your wrist. you snatch your arm away from him, your hands balled into fists hard enough for your knuckles to pale in color, fingernails biting into the skin of your palms — you think that you might start bleeding if you keep pressing. you meet his gaze and send him your best intimidating glare; you hope that he can’t see the nerves manifesting themselves in the tremble of your hands. 

“absolutely not.” 

you cringe at the shake in your voice while he heaves a deep sigh. it seems like he knows exactly what you are thinking when he speaks next. “i know you’re weirded out by what’s been going on, and i really don’t blame you, but i need you to listen to what i’m about to tell you.”

you maintain your glare as your lips form a flat line. “no.”

he mirrors your expression, but there’s a shine of conflict in his eyes. “there’s something wrong with your house.”

cracking your knuckles out of habit, you ask what he means by that. 

“if you’d hear me out, i could explain,” he deadpans, eyebrows raised expectantly. 

you concede (not without a roll of your eyes), but tell him that you have to stay where people would be able to see you. he accepts the compromise, so the two of you push your way through the front doors of the building and find solace underneath a ruby-leaved tree near a window. it’s on the chillier side today, yet the goosebumps that usually plague you have calmed down for now. you watch as soobin nervously fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie while you wait for him to speak. 

“listen, if you’re not going to spit whatever the hell it is you wanted to say out, i’m gonna go eat lunch,” you say as you turn around to walk back towards the cafeteria. he panics, pleading for you to stay and that he promises that this won’t take long. you turn back to face him, and he lets out a sigh in what you believe is relief, following it with a determined nod. 

“please don’t laugh. i, uh,” he sucks in a deep breath. “basically, i can see ghosts.”

you do a double take, blinking hard before a sardonic scoff passes your lips. “you’re kidding me, right? you really think i would believe that?” you step back. there’s no way he's actually serious. “i gotta go, i better never see you outside my house again or i’ll call the fucking cops. i’m not trying to be a murder victim, or be part of whatever twisted mind game you are trying to pull here.”

“wait!” he scrambles, but he doesn’t reach out to grab you. “i swear on my life that i’m not lying. just,” he stretches his arm out desperately. “take my hand.”

for a second, you stare at him as if he has suddenly grown horns from his head. the distressed frown that he has worn for most of this conversation has grown deeper, and you think that it might become permanent if he keeps it up. your lips twist. “and what makes you think i would consider doing that? you really are crazy.”

his expression turns pained, and his outstretched hand moves up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “you’re really not making this any easier, you know that?”

you snort, “yeah, well, you were the one standing like a creep outside of my house, so i feel like i have a pretty good reason not to trust you. would you willingly give your hand to a person you barely know after they basically stalked you?” 

“well, no,” he cringes as he scratches the back of his neck. “and i’m really sorry about that. it was never my intention to scare you, but the sheer amount of ghosts in your house is really concerning-”

your sigh cuts him off. “there you go with the ghosts again.”

“i’m serious! if you would just give me your hand, i could show you that they’re real,” he says, extending his arm towards you again. his eyes scream sincerity.

you look through the window to make sure that people could see you, steel your nerves, and make your decision (albeit not a great one).

you grab his hand. 

you blink. 

you watch a transparent girl walk straight through the closed doors of the school’s entrance.

the blood in your veins turns to ice as your eyes widen. you are so busy gawking that you don’t catch soobin’s unimpressed glance towards your frozen form. 

what the hell.

“her name was judy,” he supplies before you can even begin to comprehend what you bore witness to moments ago. “died when she was only sixteen by being pushed through a window on the third floor. the perpetrator was her own best friend — the case says she was jealous of judy’s relationship, so obsessed with judy’s boyfriend that she wanted him for herself. judy has been wandering the school ever since.”

his words knock you from your stupor. you realize that your hand is still gripping his, and you snatch your arm away once again. your eyes remain akin to those of an owl, your heart forcing it's way up into your throat. the girl's clothes weren't modern by any means; they look directly out of a 1950's fashion catalogue, all polka dot skirts and pretty blouses and kitten heels, her dark hair pinned and curled in such a way that would not be fashionable today. and the fact that she’s transparent, that is what really sells you.

soobin is telling you the truth.

oh lord, he's telling you the truth.

he continues to speak despite your sudden muteness. “there’s more of them, especially in your house, y’know. the ones in your house aren’t particularly dangerous, though — well,” he backtracks, and you blink, the gears in your head beginning to turn. “most of them aren’t. there are some that i’m concerned about after some research, and i’d rather get rid of those sooner rather than later.”

“get rid of them?” you ask.

“yeah, spirits tend to get harder to exorcize the closer to halloween you get — haven’t figured out why yet, though, might have to do something with portals to the afterlife and such,” he says offhandedly, waving his hand about as if this is a normal topic to be talking about. his eyes meet yours again. “anyways, you believe me now, right?”

you click your tongue as you attempt to put on a cool, calm, and absolutely collected front. yeah, you were totally fine. “i don’t really have a choice otherwise, do i?”

“not really.”

“figures,” you mutter under your breath. “at least i know why my house is always so cold now.”

“you wanna help?”

“if you’re gonna be going into my house, then i guess.”

“okay.” he replies. “you’re taking this oddly well, by the way.”

your glare returns. “stop talking.”

he breathes a laugh. “we’ll start tomorrow, after school.”

now that you are in on his little secret, it’s even more difficult to resist glancing at soobin during school. in a way, you are still waiting for him to say all of this is some elaborate prank, but you have a strong feeling that that will not be happening any time soon. not after what you have witnessed. 

the final bell of the day rings, and you tell selene that you are going to stay behind for some help, that the lesson didn’t click with you. she shrugs with a simple ‘okay’ and walks out of the classroom without further questioning. you sigh in relief while you take your time packing up the rest of your things. 

as soon as the classroom is relatively empty, soobin is standing in front of your desk. “let’s go, we have work to do.” 

“you sure don’t waste time,” you mumble, but follow his lengthy strides anyway. “where are we going, exactly?”

“the town library. it’s only a couple blocks away,” he simply replies.

“i know that, i’ve lived here longer than you,” you shoot back. “and why do i need to know anything if you're the one that knows how to do it already?” you find your pace next to him, looking over at his side profile. he glances over.

“preventative measures. if i’m out of commission, then you may have to take over.” he notices the panic brewing behind your eyes, and he backtracks. “i honestly doubt that will ever happen! but better safe than sorry, you know?” 

the trees above, though splattered with scarlets and golds, are starting to lose their leaves. you pluck a fallen one off of your shoulder as you process everything he has said. “are there more of you? who can see ghosts, i mean.”

he chuckles. “not many. most people who handle spirits are normal, just like you. i turned out to be one of the lucky ones. or unlucky, depending on how you see it.” 

“how do you see it?” you prod. 

“not sure. it adds a bit of excitement to my life, though it does get a little annoying sometimes. it makes my job easier, at least.” he shrugs.

you click your tongue. “fair enough.”

the library is something out of the early nineteen-hundreds, with branches of viridian ivy meandering along the cobblestone walls and the smooth concrete columns, directly contrasting with the vivid ruby leaves of the trees rooted next to the building. two windows sit on each side of the entrance, one above the other that allow a small peek into the library. 

the two of you make your way up the few steps up to the front door made from a dark species of wood, perhaps mahogany, intricately carved with flowers that you recognize as chrysanthemums and roses and poppies. small fairies flit along the edges of the carving, small wings like butterflies' amongst their twiggy limbs. it’s beautiful work, truly, and it reminds you why living in such an old town isn’t so bad all the time. the buildings that have been here for hundreds of years have a certain charm to them. you may not particularly like the people here all that much, but it’s far better than living in the suburbs full of identical houses and strip malls. 

soobin holds the door open for you to enter, the cozy air caressing your freezing cheeks as soon as you step inside. he steps in behind you, allowing the heavy door to close. the library itself has a singular floor, lined with shelves upon shelves of books. you vividly remember visiting here throughout elementary school, enraptured by the librarian's tales of fairies and princesses and knights in shining armor. your mind trails back to the carvings on the door; this place was a house of stories, of fairytales, those of which you believed oh so willingly when first told. you have since stopped believing, and yet, the thought that those stories may hold some truth to them tickles the back of your brain.

the same librarian that told you stories all those years ago is now an elderly woman. she sits behind the front desk, paging through a book of her own as the clock ticks by until closing time. her body seems as frail as paper, her hands spindly and pock-marked, but you can tell that her spirit remains unchanged, a spark that refuses to fade out. 

she gently closes the leather-bound book in her hands, looking up to see who has entered. the moment that she spots the boy next to you, her wrinkled face lights up. “oh hello, dear. back to explore the archives, i take it?”

“of course, mrs. yoo.” he sends a boyish smile her way. she lets out a small, pleased hum in acknowledgement before she turns her attention on you.

“and who is this?” she looks expectant, a glitter of mischief shimmering in her onyx eyes. you shrink a little under her gaze, realizing that she must not recognize you. it has been years since you have stepped foot in here, after all. you can’t blame her for forgetting.

you offer your name, and her eyes widen. “my goodness, i didn’t even recognize you, honey! you were so young the last i saw you.”

an awkward laugh bubbles from your throat as you tell her that it’s quite alright, that you’re glad to see that she is doing well. she offers a smile in return. “and why are you here with this handsome boy?”

soobin clears his throat, his ears tinged a slight red, pulling mrs. yoo’s attention back to him. “we were partnered up for a history project, so we’ve come to do research for it.”

“i see,” she says before she ducks down beneath the desk. she pops back up a few seconds later, and in her frail hand lies a small golden key. “well here you are, dear.”

soobin steps forward to collect it with a polite ‘thank you,’ grinning gratefully, before gesturing for you to follow him. 

“have fun researching, dears!” mrs. yoo calls as you trail behind soobin.

the town archives lie below the main floor of the library, down a set of rickety stairs and a narrow, dimly lit hallway. a musty stench coats the air like an invisible fog, causing your nose to scrunch up (and is that mold in the corner of the ceiling?). despite the library being well taken care of, you can tell that this area has seen much better days, unused and unkept for years upon years. 

you nearly bump into soobin’s back when he abruptly halts, shoving the golden key into the keyhole. one moment later, the ancient-looking lock unlatches with an audible click before the door swings open, revealing a pit of pitch black until soobin flicks a light on. a sallow orange haze fills the room, dust thick in the air, and you try not to think about how it is currently finding its way into your lungs as you follow him inside.

rows of filing cabinets line the surprisingly large basement. while you try to make yourself comfortable in one of the rickety chairs surrounding the only table in the room, soobin makes a beeline for one of the cabinets. he pulls out two manila folders, and you can make out your own address on them once he places them on the table. he takes a seat next to you. 

he doesn’t speak as he takes out several other files from his backpack, color coded and meticulously labeled. you never took him as someone who would be this organized.

“that’s…a lot of color,” you decide to say, internally cringing at how awkward it sounds. he simply chuckles in response, however, sliding the stack of files in between you two. 

“it keeps me organized,” he replies as he thumbs the top folder open. a black and white photograph of a young boy, paperclipped to the first page, is the first thing that catches your eye. he looks around five or six years old, dressed in clothes from an era long gone. the edges of the photo are yellow and worn, the picture washed out with age. 

soobin purses his lips for a moment. “this stuff can get pretty heavy. just let me know if you ever need a break.”

“i’m a big girl, i can handle it,” you sigh, your eyes still trained on the old photo. you look up towards him. “what happened to this kid?”

“he died from cholera when he was five. your house used to be owned by a doctor in the late 1800s, and this kid came to get monitored and treated, but he was already so ill that he didn’t make it through the night.” 

“my god,” you murmur, directing your frown back towards the photo. he was so young, had barely even experienced the world, when he died. a slight ache forms in your chest. “why wasn’t he able to pass on?”

most spirits are able to, even when they pass due to unfortunate circumstances, he explains. some unknowingly get stuck here if they have too strong of a connection to the human world. this reason confines this kid between worlds; the root was his connection to his mother. he has remained in your house since then, as that is where he last saw her. most spirits are unaware that they are dead, and yet they are stuck in a perpetual cycle of their last moments on earth. others are all too aware of their situation. too dead to be alive, too alive to be dead. 

“that’s horrible,” you murmur. he offers a grim nod in return.

oobin closes the folder. “there’s one last spirit that i need to gather some more info on. it’s not a pretty case by all means, so i can just tell you about the first few spirits that we’re going to exorcize while i research if you’d like.”

“what kind of case?”

“the guy was a serial killer.”

you hum in acknowledgement. “i think i’ve watched enough true crime videos to handle something like this.”

“you like true crime?” he questions as he fumbles with the stack of files, pulling out one labeled with a myriad of blue tabs and scribbled writing you can barely make out, putting the rest to the side. a stray piece of paper floats to the floor, and he bends down under the table to grab it.

“yeah, uh, it’s actually pretty interesting? i don’t know.” you do not often talk about your closeted obsession with the topic — most people find it weird — so you aren’t entirely sure what to say. who would ever want to learn about twisted people committing heinous, brutal crimes?

(you, apparently.)

“i agree, actually- ow!” an audible thump is heard, and soobin emerges from below the table cupping the back of his head. you bite your lip, hiding a grin.

instead of outright laughing in his face, you decide to ask: “you watch them too?” 

he winces, still rubbing his head. “yeah. some of the cases are connected to spirits that my parents have handled. it’s interesting to see what they dealt with.” there’s a brief pause while he places some newspaper clippings and what looks to be police records in front of you. “here’s some sources. just write down the information that you think would be important. i trust your judgment.”

you barely know me, you want to say, how can you trust me so easily? instead, you offer a small “got it,” and get to work.

the two of you work in silence, only the flipping of pages and the scratch of pencils across notebook paper filling the room. nothing uncomfortable — you're both just focused on the task at hand. it's easy to get lost in the sea of papers that he's given you, in figuring out the best method to organize your findings. the minutes that pass feel like mere seconds as you become more and more wrapped up in the sources in front of you.

your focus finally breaks when soobin huffs, slumping back in his chair. you glance up at the clock hanging crookedly on one of the walls. nearly an hour has passed since you began. 

“we probably have enough information to make a report.” he yawns as he stretches his lanky limbs, before rubbing at his eyes. the inkling of concern whispers in your mind, but you try not to comment.

with the info that you both have gathered, you learn that for years, this man was a killer at-large, a terror to your small town, as well as surrounding towns, that the police could never capture. his final killing before his death took the lives of two children. before he could flee, however, the father of the children shot him twice in a blind rage: once through the back of his skull, and once in the back, puncturing a lung. records say that he was miraculously still alive when police arrived, but medical attention was futile, especially with such a critical brain injury. he died on scene before an ambulance could arrive. 

you watch as soobin writes down the more pertinent information, along with any potential problems. his hand shifts down to the next line, and he writes out the words ‘method of extermination:’. your brow furrows. “there’s different ways to get rid of them?”

he nods. “low-level spirits, like the kid from earlier, don’t take that much effort. interference in their cycle of memories tends to sever their connection to the physical world and allows them to fully pass on. a little convincing is usually all they need.” he pauses for a second, and you gesture for him to continue.

“high-level spirits take…a little more than convincing. you usually have to trap them and forcibly sever their connection to this world via an incantation. it’s kinda like a banishing spell.”

“so, magic.”

“essentially.”

“sounds fake.”

“i can assure you it’s real. my mom taught me.”

“oh, okay, i guess,” you mutter, unsure what to respond with.

“anyways, the process of getting rid of stronger spirits really isn’t far off from that of a lower demon exorcism. the more...difficult ones will take a bit more effort to get rid of, but nothing i can’t handle,” he explains in textbook-like fashion. 

you can feel a headache coming on. “wait, so you’re telling me that demons are real, too?” 

“as real as the paper in your hands,” he quips. “all of the so-called ‘mythical’ beings are for the most part. there’s a reason the legends exist in the first place. that actually reminds me…” he digs around in his backpack for a moment, and you wonder how he’s able to fit so much stuff in there. the headache begins to spread across your temples. “here’s some notes about demon exorcisms. i’m not gonna bore you by going over them right now, but at least look over them at some point.” 

“i have a feeling you shouldn’t be telling me any of this, ghostbuster,” you say as you stuff the notes in a random folder in your backpack. 

“please don’t call me a ghostbuster,” he cringes, the shrugs. “and not really, but you seem trustworthy enough.”

“you barely know me. i could easily go tell everyone what you’ve told me,” you shoot back. how can you trust me so willingly? rings through your head once more. the headache settles between your brows.

“i mean, no one would believe you if you tried to tell anyone. you don’t have any proof, they’d think you’ve gone crazy,” he says, tilting his head with one eyebrow arched. “plus, gossip spreads like wildfire in this town. everybody knows everybody, do you really want the entire town to think that you’ve lost it?” 

ah, that’s why.

you look down sheepishly, your eyes ghosting over the notes in front of you, but your brain doesn’t process any of the words on the page. “not really.”

he walks you back to your car soon after.

at a ripe eighteen years old, you never expected to spend your free time exorcizing ghosts from your own house. nor did you ever expect ghosts would be real, let alone have so many in your house. 

(you guess it could be much worse.)

“...hello?” a hand waves in your face. you flinch, snapping out of your thoughts. soobin retracts his hand, an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips. “you good?”

“just peachy,” you huff, focusing back on the road in front of you. driving while lost in thought is definitely a hazard, but it is quite difficult to focus given the situation. having the boy that you, just a few days ago, thought was a serial killer now sitting in your car is weird. taking him to your home and trusting him to help you hunt the ghost inhabitants is weird. 

soft music from your speakers fills the silence, your fingers tapping against the steering wheel as the car turns the corner onto your street. it doesn’t take much longer to reach your home. the familiar sight of your driveway and the large oak tree next to it is a welcome sight, despite what you now know about what inhabits your house. putting your car in park, you both step out, soobin trailing behind you as you walk to your porch.

you shut the front door behind him before moving to flop on your couch. you fiddle with the tv remote while soobin sits stiffly on the opposite end. “alright ghostbuster, what’s the plan?” 

he winces at the nickname but says nothing about it this time, instead digging through the contents of the backpack sitting between his legs. he sets a thin folder on the coffee table in front of him before flipping it open. it’s the same file that he had shown you the other day, of the boy with cholera. “we’re gonna start off easy.”

you nod, motioning for him to continue.

“um, if you’re willing, you could talk to the kid, convince him to move on. children tend to trust women more so than men, so your word is probably better than mine here. that reminds me, uh, i have someone you should probably meet beforehand.”

soobin shifts to look at the doorway to your kitchen, empty as ever. “taehyun, you can show yourself.”

you squeak when a boy materializes in the once-empty doorway. he looks maybe a couple years younger than you, dressed in black robes with a stoic expression hardened on his angular face. his hair matches his clothing, black as the night sky. his eyes are wide, but cold. you can only muster a shocked stare. 

the boy is silent, questions swirling in his eyes as he looks directly at you. a shiver crawls up your spine. 

“this is my friend, taehyun-” soobin begins.

“i’m not your friend,” taehyun flatly responds.

soobin offers him a shrug. “whatever you say.” he turns back to you. “he’ll be helping the spirits pass through the afterlife. we’re basically doing his dirty work for him, he gets the easy part.”

taehyun stays silent at that, still staring at you. you shift in your seat. soobin must notice your discomfort, because he returns his focus to taehyun. “she lives here, and she’s helping me with some of the spirits here.”

the only acknowledgement that soobin gets from him is a curt nod.

“right. um, anyways, you just need to convince the spirit to go with taehyun here, and that’s basically it. pretty simple,” soobin says. 

you nod. “alright. i can do that.”

“i’ve seen him lurking around the window by your front door before, so we should check there first.” he stands up and motions you to follow him. taehyun floats along behind you. it’s at that moment that you notice the boy has no legs — his robe morphs into a thick, black fog at the end that trails behind him as he glides along. first ghosts, and now this? 

“he’s right there.” soobin points to a random area near the window. you raise an eyebrow.

“i can’t see ghosts, y’know.” you swear that you hear taehyun snort from behind you.

“oh yeah, uh, that’s right. sorry.” soobin blanches. “i can hold onto your wrist while you talk to him, so that you’re able to see him. if that’s okay.”

“sure.” you extend your arm out to him. his fingers loop around your wrist. sure enough, the child is right where soobin pointed. a spike of nerves surges up to your throat. you gulp it down. you could do this. it’s simple.

your feet feel as heavy as cinder blocks as you walk towards him, one apprehensive step after another until you stop right next to him. the boy's expression swirls with pain, misery, as he stares out the window into the beyond. emotions that a boy his age should not have to endure. 

you kneel down to his height next to him, soobin following suit in order to keep hold of your wrist. you gulp once more before finding it in you to speak, placing a kind smile on your face.

“hello there.”

the boys eyes widen. he appears to be on the verge of tears as his gaze shifts between you and soobin. his arms hold his stomach, his form slightly leaned over. “do- do you know where my mummy is?”

no. you think. i have no idea. “yes, honey.”

his face lights up instantly. “you do?”

“mhm,” you hum, gesturing towards the robed boy standing behind him. “you have to go with him, okay? he can take you to your mummy.”

he swivels his head over his shoulder before he turns back to you with a deep frown. the young boy's transparent eyes — you could tell they once were the color of rich soil, the hue now dull in his suspended state of being — search your face. for what, you aren't sure. you can see the apprehension behind his gaze. you can’t blame him; you are unsure if you would trust yourself if you were in his position, to be honest.

“he can?” he asks, a glimmer of hope now accompanying the dull uneasiness. he glances behind him, towards taehyun, then back to you. “but he’s scary.”

the corners of your lips lift, trying your best not to scare the poor child off. “a little,” you agree, ignoring taehyun’s stormy gaze trained on you. you ignore the ache in your chest forming as you speak. “but he’s very kind, and he’ll take good care of you while you go find her, okay?”

“o-okay.” the boy nods. he turns and hobbles weakly over to taehyun. before he takes the stony-faced boy’s hand, however, the young boy faces you once more with a genuine smile. “thank you, miss.”

he takes the robed man’s hand, and they vanish. your hand reaches up to feel your face. it’s wet.

it takes you a moment to register that it’s because you are crying.

your hand moves to your lips to muffle a choked sob, further sinking to the ground. guilt begins as a spark in your chest, growing and spreading until your entire body is consumed in it. soobin scrambles, his fingers slipping from your other hand as he tries to figure out what to do. what to say. “what- what’s wrong?” he manages. 

you heave a shuddering breath before speaking. “i lied. i lied to that kid, and now he’s never going to see his mother again and it just,” you hiccup. “it makes me feel so horrible—”

he sinks to his knees in front of you, unsure what to do with his hands. should he touch you? “hey, hey no. you did the right thing. he was going to be stuck here, between life and death, forever. he was never going to see his mother again here, either. you were able to get him to move on and find peace. that’s exactly what you needed to do.”

“it’s just,” you heave a shuddering sigh, wiping your tear-stained cheeks on the sleeve of your sweater. “the way he looked at me, it was so innocent, you know? so trusting. and i straight up lied to him just to get him out of my house. it feels wrong.” another sob rips from your throat, and he decides to take action. 

"look at me.” his hands grip your shoulders. through blurry eyes, you look up at him, trying to quell your tears but ultimately failing. “it’s difficult, i know. i know it seems wrong, selfish even, to want to get rid of these spirits. but they deserve to be at peace, and you are helping them find it. you need to remind yourself of that. you have done absolutely nothing wrong.”

he’s right. you know that he’s right. that child would have been trapped in this world forever if you did not interfere. he is able to move on now, perhaps to be reincarnated, perhaps to find his way up to heaven. you are unsure about what the afterlife entails, but it has to be better than living between worlds for eternity. 

but god, does the guilt continue to eat at your conscious. 

soobin remains at your house, a random netflix show playing on the television as he finalizes the child’s report. as he works, you mindlessly munch on popcorn, your cheeks now dry and the red hot guilt within you subsiding, a dull shade of embarrassment growing in its place. soobin remains unfazed, however. you’re probably not the first to react so strongly in front of him. 

the boy in question sighs, his plush lips biting at the tip of his pen. your eyes gloss over the television, vaguely taking in the scene playing on the screen as you reach for another handful of popcorn. “um, so what was that taehyun guy, exactly?”

“a reaper.”

you stop chewing. “so, that dude is like…the grim reaper?”

“the grim reaper is more of an archetype than an actual being. there’s more reapers than just taehyun.” 

“oh,” you murmur. “he looks so young, for someone who has to deal with dead people.”

“he’s been around for over a millennium, at least that’s what he told me,” he says. “he can change forms as often as he likes. i guess that’s the form he decided on to meet with me.” he scribbles something down on the report.

“the more you tell me, the more i feel like everything i’ve ever been told is a lie,” you say, wiping your buttery fingers off on your jeans. you’ll have to wash them later.

he snickers. “you’ll get used to it eventually.”

you fall into a clunky routine of school, ghost exorcisms, and sleep. halloween continues to creep closer and closer as you and soobin slowly spend more time together, mostly preparing for certain spirits, him giving the gist on each one to aid you in your unofficial job as a spirit convincer. you continue to call him “ghostbuster,” much to his chagrin.

the second ghost that you speak to is a teenager who looks not much younger than you, with curly, ashy brown hair and round glasses that are too big for her face. she’s on the quieter side and a bit flighty, barely speaking as you explain that taehyun can help her move on. the nods she gives are short, frightful as she glances between you, soobin, and the somber boy that stands in the corner. you try to soothe her to the best of your ability, but taehyun’s doom and gloom demeanor proves the task difficult. 

“do you trust me?” you ask her. she responds with a shaky nod. 

you motion for taehyun to come closer. he extends his hand out to the girl, and she gingerly takes it. her body visibly trembles. then, they’re gone.

the third spirit is a pot-bellied man slumped against the far wall of the basement. 

“he was a raging alcoholic, neglected his family for the bottle,” soobin had explained to you before you both traversed down the stairs. he had pointed down into the room. “he passed away from alcohol poisoning down here.”

soobin’s fingers grab yours as you step closer to the man. with one blink, he comes into view. his face reminds you of selene’s father, round with a large nose and brown, almond-shaped eyes. and yet, her father could not be more different from the transparent being that sits before you. while her father was a jolly man, constantly cracking jokes with a bright smile on his face, this man held not a droplet of joy in his face. ghastly, drooping dark circles lie below his emotionless eyes. he looks as if he hasn’t slept nor showered in weeks. 

squeezing soobin’s hand, you inhale a deep breath before you speak. “hello, sir.” 

the man slowly looks up at you, his eyes shifting to soobin for a moment before returning back to you. “are you angels?” he slurs. “or are you here to drag me down to hell?”

you share a look with soobin. he’s aware that he’s dead; this is going to be a lot easier.

“neither,” you say softly. “we’re here to help you pass on. you shouldn’t have to be stuck here forever.” 

he seemingly ignores you to begin a brief monologue. “i abandoned my kids, my wife, just to drink my life away. i regret all of it. maybe i should stay here and suffer, just like i made my family suffer.”

“judgment will happen when you fully pass on. staying here will not fix anything,” soobin says. the man sends him a weak glare. taehyun appears in your peripherals.

“what do you know, boy? i’ve been here for decades, this is my repentance. i’ve come to accept my fate.”

“in the end,” you counter, “nothing will change if you stay here. taehyun.” the boy acknowledges you with a nod. “what happens when you pass on?”

“reincarnation.”

you turn back to the man. “you can repent by becoming a better person in your new life. being born anew…i believe that would be miles better than sitting here in self-pity.”

taehyun floats over to him, silently extending his hand out. the man eyes it suspiciously. he looks back at you as his grubby fingers find taehyun’s. “you better be right, or so help me god.”

tears begin to fall once they’re gone. soobin holds you tightly through it all. 

soobin handles the next few spirits alone. he says it’s because they’re more difficult to take care of, but you know the truth. 

ice cream becomes a post-exorcism ritual with him. he always gets chocolate, to which you like to call him ‘basic and boring.’ it’s hard to defend yourself when you habitually order mint chocolate chip. 

(soobin decidedly calls you a ‘toothpaste-eater.’ you decidedly smack him on the back of the head every time he mentions it.)

“why couldn’t i help with the one today?” you ask as you dig for another scoop, plopping the minty deliciousness onto your tongue.

he briefly wrinkles his nose at the sight, muttering ‘toothpaste’ under his breath before replying. “he was unaware, volatile, a little dangerous. it was better that i handled it by myself.”

“are you insinuating that i would have just gotten in the way?” you stop munching on your ice cream to send him a hard stare. he raises his hands defensively. 

“no! no, i, um, i didn’t want anything bad happening to you. i care about you- your safety. i care about your safety. i couldn’t have put you in danger like that, okay?”

your lips twist. “whatever you say, soob.”

“earth to y/n? hello?” beomgyu, one of your friends out of a grand total of two (three? if you include soobin) shakes you a little by your shoulders. he’s always been a bit loud, somewhat of a thorn in your side. he’s like the annoying little brother you’ve never had, but he’s fun to be around, no matter how often he tries to rile you up. he has been there for you through thick and thin, and that’s really all you could ever ask for. 

you blink hard before refocusing your gaze on the junior. “what?”

“are you okay? you’ve been a lot more spacey lately.”

“yeah, i’m fine. just haven’t been sleeping well. homework has been kicking my ass lately.”

“tell me about it. you think you have it hard? try being a junior-” 

you begin to space out again, wondering where soobin is right now.

“what did you get for the total consumer surplus?”

you sit across from soobin in a booth at a small café. the chilly autumn air seeps through the window next to you, the sun hidden behind gloomy skies. the music playing from the speakers above and the clank of the idle chatter between coworkers behind the counter provide idle white noise. it’s your ‘designated break day from ghost hunting,’ as soobin likes to call it. you tell him that it’s not much of a break when you’re spending it catching up on homework. you’ve seen your grades slip more in the past week than you would both like to admit.

you flip the notebook next to you to face him before focusing back on your laptop. your fingers fly across the keys as you race to finish the english essay you have procrastinated on until today. you work and rework the same sentence over and over, to no avail; the urge to tear your hair out rises from out of nowhere. you nudge his leg with your foot. he looks up. “soob, could you read over this? i just can’t get the wording right.”

he sets his pencil down and nudges his notebook to the side. “yeah, give it here.” 

he scans the document while mouthing the words to himself before handing the device back. “break it up into a couple sentences, i think. the sentence is a little wordy.”

“okay, yeah. thanks.”

“mhm.” 

you stare at him for a second, taking in his features, how his cocoa-colored eyes narrow when he’s concentrated, the crease between his brows when he’s really stuck on something, the pout that comes and goes as he works his way through problems. it’s at this moment that you realize that you’ve never really looked at soobin, at least not this intently. he’s handsome as you have always thought, yet he’s no longer an enigma to you; he is someone who you would consider more than an acquaintance. a friend? no, you’re not sure that he sees this situation the same way as you. this whole deal is going to end soon enough. you may become strangers again. this may very well be just a business transaction — you may be a sad charity case to him, you don’t know. in the end, you refuse to ask.

“hello?” his eyes widen playfully as he sends a small wave, a shine in them that you’ve never really seen on him before. a small grin stretches his plush lips. “you’ve been spacing out for a few minutes. you okay?”

you blink hard. has it really been a few minutes? you’ve been staring at him for a few minutes? your entire face warms, the heat spreading down your neck. 

“yeah. yeah, i’m fine, um, just a little frazzled. i didn’t think i had this much to catch up on, y’know?” you recover quickly. 

he sighs, pursing his lips in a way that reveals his dimples. you try not to look down at them. “tell me about it. i didn’t realize how much spanish homework mrs. ramos gave us this week until today. i have to memorize a bunch of conjugations in two days.” he groans. 

“gross.”

“i know.”

a comfortable silence falls between you — him going back to his econ problems, and you resuming your frenzied typing. 

“you know what? you should be mermaid man and barnacle boy with me!” beomgyu exclaims as the two of you walk to the cafeteria. 

“it’s a little too late for me to change my costume, don’t you think?” you raise your eyebrow at the junior. “halloween’s only two days away.”

“yeah, but your costume is so boring—”

someone calls your name from behind. both you and beomgyu turn in tandem to see who the source of the voice is. soobin visibly brightens when you make eye contact, a wide grin stretching on his face that causes his dimples to deepen. you unknowingly mirror his expression. beomgyu notices, your reaction piquing his interest. 

“hi, soob,” you greet. “did you need anything?”

he opens his mouth to say something but pauses. his shoulders tense a little when he glances over at beomgyu. he recovers quickly, however. “yeah, actually. i was wondering if i could talk to you about something?” alone, he thinks to himself.

beomgyu raises an eyebrow, hints of understanding in his eyes as he stares at soobin. he doesn’t bother to turn to you as he speaks. “i’ll meet you at our usual table, okay? selene is probably waiting for us.”

“oh! uh yeah, sounds good,” you reply, breaking away from soobin’s gaze. beomgyu sends you a strange look. you shrug in return.

“cool,” he says before addressing soobin. “nice seeing you, dude.”

soobin jerks his chin towards him. ”you too.” 

as beomgyu runs off, soobin signals for you to follow him. you easily fall into step by his side as the both of you meander through the halls until you find an empty classroom. 

soobin shuts the door behind him as you sit on top of one of the decrepit, wobbly desks. you would think that your school would replace these hazards that they call desks, but alas, four years in this hellhole and no changes have been made. soobin sets his backpack down on the desk beside yours, pulling out one of his many folders. “you know that one spirit? the serial killer that you helped me research?”

you shift on the desk until your body is fully facing him, curiosity painted across your features. “of course i do. what about him?”

his eyes are wide as his hands frantically wave around. “i found a report from the previous family who lived in your house. the wife was pretty spiritual and had noticed misplaced items and slamming doors and the like. she thought a priest could expel any bad energy from the house, so she hired one to come do so. she left him alone so he could do his job, but when she came back, she found him laying in a pool of his own blood, a kitchen knife lodged in his throat. dead.”

a frown nips at the space between your brows. “what’s so significant about this, exactly?”

“a knife through the throat, that’s how that guy killed his victims. every. single. one.”

“no shit,” you breathe, your mouth agape. “so a ghost killed a living person? how does that work?”

“with enough energy, some ghosts are able to pick up actual items, and some can hold them for longer periods of time than others. i’m assuming he was able to hold a kitchen knife long enough to stab the priest, maybe even multiple times.” soobin begins to pace back and forth across the front of the classroom while he explains. “the strange thing is, the same thing never happened again. and never had happened before. it’s so weird.”

you chew on your bottom lip, pondering what he has told you. it truly is an odd circumstance, especially given the fact that it never happened again, nor ever before. some spirits are aware of their situation, you remember from the ones that you dealt with. some are willing to move on, others not so much…

“if you ask me,” you start off slowly. “i think he’s aware that he’s dead, and he refuses to fully move on. that’s why he killed the priest; he was gonna force him to move on to the afterlife.”

soobin stops pacing, stopping right in front of you. his hands rest on your shoulders as his lips pull back in a grin. “have i ever mentioned that you’re a genius?”

“it’s not rocket science, soob. you probably could’ve figured that out on your own,” you argue, though a smile creeps up on your face. 

“but i didn’t. you’re the one who figured it out.” 

you roll your eyes playfully at that, brushing his hands off of your shoulders. you pray that he can’t feel the heat radiating off of your face at his proximity. “when are we gonna get rid of this guy?”

“today, if that’s cool.”

with a determined nod, you stand from the desk. “let’s do it.”

after bidding soobin farewell as he went to work on homework in the school’s tiny library, you make your way to the cafeteria. beomgyu and selene are suspiciously quiet when you finally sit down with them, the idle chatter of the crowded space doing nothing to quell your nerves as beomgyu looks towards you with trouble sparkling in his eyes. 

“what did soobin want?” he first asks. an innocent enough question, but not coming from him. your eyes narrow into a glare.

“just a question about econ. he needed clarification on something before class.” the lie comes easily enough. as much as you love your two friends, they don’t need to know why you’ve been spending so much time with the lanky boy. you would never put soobin in danger like that, no matter how much you trust them.

he shoots you an incredulous look, as if he’s offended by your answer. “and he couldn’t have just asked that in front of me? there’s no need to lie, all of us here know you were probably sucking face in the corner of a hallway, or something.”

heat rises up to your face, and you’re left scrambling for a retort to his claim. “we did not do that, idiot. i’m telling you the truth!” 

“sure, because disappearing for over half an hour with him isn’t suspicious at all—”

“don’t worry, i believe you,” selene butts in with a soothing tone, effectively halting beomgyu’s verbal bombardment, all the while nudging the strawberries on her tray around. beomgyu begins to pout. 

“no you don’t! you were just saying how often you’ve seen them together!” he slumps over the table with a loud ‘thump!’ this boy and his dramatics, they would be the death of you. 

“he has a point there. i’ve seen you two together a lot lately,” selene comments through a mouthful of mediocre cafeteria burger, all the while ignoring your mutual friend’s tantrum. “he's a little weird, no? super quiet." 

“he’s quiet, yeah, but he’s really nice. you,” you point an accusing finger at her. “need to not be so judgemental. we’re not exactly social butterflies, either.” 

before either of them can rebuke your claim, the bell rings. you bolt from your seat with a quick ‘see you later!’, disappearing in the small crowd that files out of the exit.

beomgyu sits up. “they’re definitely dating.”

“i think you might be right, as much as that shocks me to say,” selene remarks.

“this guy is pretty dangerous, so i would really prefer if you stayed out here instead,” soobin tells you on your front porch. you scoff.

“you really think i’m gonna let you go in there alone? i’ve helped you with all the other ghosts. and you didn’t even let me see the other dangerous one,” you shoot back. “i helped you with this guy’s report! at least let me watch.”

he lets out a deep sigh. “fine. just stay close to me.”

he enters your house first, you a mere few inches behind him. a heavy, dark energy coats the inside of your home, far from the usually bright and welcome aura it usually exuded. something heavy presses down on your chest. was this fear? anxiety? you can’t place your finger on it, but you know that it is not good. 

silent, soobin makes his way towards the kitchen doorway, stopping just before the entrance. he reaches back to take hold of your hand. you blink. a gasp rips from your throat at the sight before you.

the spirit is staring at both of you, near the knife block that sits atop the counter. a large, gaping wound protrudes from his skull, courtesy of the bullet that shot clean through his skull, in one side and out the other. it seems the bullet stole an eye from him, but the remaining one is raging a sea of emotions: rage, hatred, bloodlust — there’s something that reminds you of pure insanity swirling in his gaze. his lips pull back in a feral snarl. “you two really have some fucking nerve trying to get rid of me. i’ve been watching you since you started getting rid of all the others.”

his voice is gruff and low as he speaks, nothing pleasant in his tone. your heart races in your chest, your body instinctively moving to hide more of you behind soobin’s large frame. soobin, unfazed, takes one step into the kitchen. you scramble behind him, his hand still laced with yours. his voice is even as he speaks. “you’re not welcome here. i don’t know what made you stay here, but it’s time for you to leave.”

the snarl morphs into a nasty grin. “the old man upstairs can’t rain judgment upon me if i never truly die. i’d rather kill you both than face his wrath.”

a jolt of courage flows through you. despite this, your voice shakes as you speak. “if you’re so afraid of how the afterlife will punish you, then why’d you kill all of those people?” 

his one eye trains on you, and you resist the urge to recoil further behind soobin. “you stupid girl, why does anyone do anything? it made me feel good. and killing you is going to make me feel wonderful.”

his arm shoots out to the side, the scrape of metal against the wood of the knife block ringing in your ears. before you know it, you are yanked to the floor, nearly losing your balance and toppling into soobin. you sit there in shock for a moment, your eyes slowly trailing up the wall behind you.

a knife is lodged right where your head was. 

soobin keeps his gaze focused on the spirit as he addresses you. “i can fix that later. you need to get out of here.” 

“i’m not going to just leave you here—”

“that wasn’t a question. go.” he yanks his fingers out of your own, shoving you through the doorway into the living room. you tumble backwards before scrambling back onto your feet. the itch to go back in there and help him overwhelms you, but you pause.

you can’t see ghosts. you barely know anything about trapping them. this spirit is something that you have never dealt with before, something unwilling to pass on and willing to murder to remain between worlds. the others were tame compared to this. you would only become a hindrance, something in soobin’s way.

you decide to stay in the living room, just beside the kitchen entrance. hidden enough to stay out of his way, close enough to jump in if needed.

a booming crash causes you to flinch, but you stay still. the house is suddenly void of sound, the pounding of your heart the sole thing racing through your eardrums. a horrible sense of dread presses upon you. is soobin dead? a knife stabbed through his throat?

you push through the fear welling up in your throat in the form of bile, and step into the doorway.

there is no dead body, no pool of blood. instead, you find something very different.

the block of knives lay scattered across the floor next to the counter. soobin stands tall, faced off against the spirit now invisible to your eyes. a stream of words that you do not understand pours from his lips. it’s a language long deceased, no longer spoken and its existence forgotten by many: latin. it’s the banishing spell that soobin had once spoken of.

across the kitchen, a glaring white light begins to grow, it’s shape ever-changing as soobin continues to utter the incantation. it explodes in a cacophony of thing threads that wrap around the invisible form of the ghost. 

“taehyun, now.” 

the robed boy apparates behind the white-hot light, taking hold of the spirit. him and the light vanish as quick as taehyun appeared.

it’s over. 

you rush over to soobin, who has fallen to his knees, breaths coming out in shallow pants. you kneel beside him before engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug. 

a few minutes later, you stand across from soobin on your front porch, watching as the sun sinks lower and lower below the horizon. there’s a small semblance of sorrow in your gaze as the sky melts from creamsicle orange and bubblegum pink into inky darkness. now that this is over, now that the ghosts are gone, you are not sure where you stand with the boy next to you.

your foot kicks at the ground as you break the silence. “well, uh, now that all the ghosts are gone, i guess we’re done here. it was nice knowing you.” you wince. “that came out wrong, i didn’t mea—”

he chuckles with a confused shake of his head. “it was nice knowing me? what are you talking about?”

“i just. i thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me after this was all said and done? i don’t know,” you whisper, suddenly self-conscious. you crack your knuckles against your thighs, your gaze trained on his shoes.

“you really thought i’d stop talking to you once all the ghosts were gone?” he asks in humorous disbelief. when you nod, his gaze softens. a faint call of your name prompts you to look up at him. “i like spending time with you — i consider you my friend, y’know? even without the ghosts. so get that silly idea out of your mind.”

“okay,” you say before sheepishly biting your lip. “um, i’m sorry i, you know, ever thought you would do something like that.”

his lips curve upwards, the dimples that have haunted your dreams (in the best way) appearing. “it’s fine, really. i probably would've thought the same thing, if i was in your shoes.”

you breathe a laugh. the mood suddenly feels lighter than it did just a second ago, though a lingering voice in the back of your mind repeats the same thing over and over: friends, just friends. your vaguely developed feelings for the dimpled boy fester an ache in your chest. you shove them away. 

“not to change the subject or anything, but can we fix the knife-in-wall situation? my parents are gonna kill me if they see that,” you say with a grimace painted across your features. 

“sure,” he chuckles. his fingers reach down to grab your own, loosely threading them through the empty spaces between your fingers. it’s like any other time that he held your hand while you communicated with spirits, but something feels different this time. the feelings you shoved away crash over you in full force, but you don’t wrench your hand away from his own. he begins to drag you to the the front door. “c’mon. do you have any spackle i could use?”

halloween follows the final ghost extermination two days later. you and soobin spend the afternoon munching on candy and watching cheap eighties horror films. 

“booo!” you throw a handful of popcorn at the screen. “why did she go and investigate the noise? that’s like rule number one in a horror movie, idiot!”

soobin leans against the back of the couch beside you, chuckling at your commentary on the mediocre horror movie characters. “it’s an eighties slasher horror movie, what more can you expect?”

“that’s true.” you visibly deflate, the two of you falling back into silence once more.

as another character gets brutally murdered via axe, you see movement out of the corner of your eye as you bring another handful of popcorn up to your mouth. you pause, realizing that it’s another ghost. transparent, all black clothes, piercings along his ears and one on his lip, and bright pink hair. he looks like a modern emo. and he’s staring straight at you.

“uh, soob? didn’t we get rid of all of the ghosts here?”

he glances over at you, stealing some popcorn from your bowl. “we did, yeah. why?”

you frown at the far corner of the room. soobin follows your gaze. “there’s one over there just…staring at us.”

he squints. “there is? i don’t see anything.”

“well, he’s there. wait.” gut-wrenching awareness hits you like a truck. 

“how can i see that one without holding your hand?”

the supposed spirit’s mouth splits in a frightening grin far too wide for his face. his teeth are as sharp as knives, eyes suddenly a luminous yellow. your hands begin to shake just as he disappears. 

“fuck.” this is the first time you’ve heard soobin curse, but you don’t have enough time to process that. “we’ve gotta get out of here, that’s a demon. i never thought-”

he cuts himself off when he wrenches you up by the arm, pulling you towards the front door of your home. you almost reach it, fingers just centimeters away from the door knob when the demon spawns right in front of both of you, visible to soobin now, effectively blocking your escape route.

“boo.” he grins ferally, eyes sockets a terrifying pitch black. his clawed hand snatches soobin’s throat, digging in enough to make him wince. the pink-haired demon hides himself once more, still holding onto soobin. his grip on your arm loosens as he rises higher and higher in the air, arms struggling to tear the being’s claws off of his face. you freeze in sheer horror when soobin suddenly is flung across the room, slamming into the wall opposite from you. 

there’s claws marks on the side of his neck, blood bubbling up to the surface and falling in rivulets down his throat. the white shirt he wears begins to stain a ruby red as the blood reaches his collar. 

“soobin?” you call. bile rises in your throat when you receive no response. his eyes are shut. “soobin!”

your attempt to run to his aid is cut short when the being grabs you by the shoulder hard enough for you to feel his claws through your thick hoodie. soobin’s hoodie that he had let you borrow when you said that you were cold. 

“not so fast, sweetheart.” the wretched pet name makes you want to curl in on yourself. “we’re gonna have a little talk first. sit.”

you aren’t sure what comes over you, but you heed the demon’s order, sitting stiffly on your couch. tears well in your eyes as you eye the unconscious boy slumped against the wall. the front of his shirt is soaked in blood now. you need to help him, and fast.

“what do you want from me?” you ask the being towering above you, curiously watching your reaction with a twisted mirth. 

he ignores your question. “do you know why that boy over there can see ghosts?”

“no, i don’t. could you please let me help him-”

“his parents stole my sight from me in order to give him that power. right now, i see nothing but darkness. i can only hunt you down by the sound of your breathing, your heart rate, your scent.” one his claws traces your jaw. 

“then why don’t you just take it back, then?” you question, trying to hide the quiver in your voice. you fail.

he bares his needle-like teeth once more. “if it were that simple, stupid girl, i would have done so a long time ago. the binding contract his parents manipulated me into prevents me from taking it back. so instead, i think taking something he cares about away from him will suffice.”

“something he cares about?” you frown, the cogs in your brain chugging at a mile a minute.

“you, sweetheart.”

your heart stops for a moment. 

take you? soobin cares about you enough that this demon sees you as a fair compensation for what was stolen? this couldn’t be real. you glance back over at soobin. he’s grown paler over these past few minutes. at this rate, he might die from blood loss. you scour your brain for a way to get out of this. come on, come on…

“what’s this?” you ask soobin, pulling a gray, rectangular box out of his backpack. you never meant to snoop around his belongings, but when it’s sitting there underneath the file he asked for you to fetch, it was difficult not to be curious. 

“oh, it’s a specially-made dagger for demon exterminations. my parents gave it to me when i was ten. they said i might need it someday. i’ve never opened the box, though…”

the memory passes by as fast as you remember it. a plan formulates in your mind soon after. 

you look up at the bored-looking demon. he senses you movement, head tilting. “what is it, human?”

“i will go with you,” you bargain, “but please let me tend to his wounds first. he’s going to die if i don’t help him.”

“that’s not my problem,” he says. “he can die for all i care. one less human scum i have to deal with.”

your lips form a straight line, desperately searching for a reply that will let you help soobin whilst biding you time for you to grab the dagger. “if he dies, he’ll never be able to miss me. this will all be in vain.”

“fine.” the demon grits out. “you have five minutes to fix that brat up. after that, you’re mine.”

you nod, snatching soobin’s backpack by the couch and running over to him. you rummage around for the first aid kit you knew that he carries around. you locate the antiseptic, dabbing it on the wounds with shaking hands. the bandaids you place on top do little to stop the bleeding, but it’s the best you have for now. 

the gray box comes into sight, your fingers closing around it to pull it out. when you flip the clasp open, the lid flips open automatically. a scrap of paper floats to the floor. you nearly ignore it, fingers going directly for the sharp object. the dagger is long, the blade made of shiny black metal and the handle wrapped simply in a black leather. it’s not ornate, by any means, but you don’t think it was ever supposed to be.

when you realize that there is writing on the paper, however, you halt your movements. 

‘yeonjun. decapitate to kill.’

the demon’s name, it’s yeonjun. the pink-haired demon currently whistling on your couch is named yeonjun. 

you have to cut yeonjun’s head off with this blade. 

you have to find a way to do that without getting yourself killed. getting soobin killed. 

you could do this. you have to do this.

“yeonjun,” you call, standing up with the blade in your hand. you stand in front of soobin’s still unconscious body. yeonjun stands. 

“how do you know my name?” he questions as he stalks towards you. predator stalking towards prey. “tell me, or i’ll kill you right here.” 

he’s only a foot away from you now. you shift to your right, away from his sharp claws, remaining as silent as possible. you are sure he can still hear your movements, but this needed to work. you tiptoe towards the couch, shoving your phone off of the coffee table as a distraction before jumping out of the way. 

yeonjun leaps towards the table, crashing into it with enough force for it to snap in half. before he can recover, you leap on top of his chest, knees pinning his hands down. he’s stronger than you, you know that, but you will have to make do with his lack of vision and a fragile element of surprise. 

that’s all you need, in the end. 

the blade meets no resistance as it slices through the flesh of the pink-haired demon’s throat. you push down with all of your strength, tears welling in your eyes when you feel the blade meet the wood floor below. you witness no blood pour from his neck, nor his severed head. only grainy black ash as he crumbles into nothing. the hatred behind his pitch black eyes crumbles away with his head, lips parted in pure shock fade into nothing. 

when all is said and done, you lean over absolutely nothing at all, no trace of the demon present in your house besides soobin’s wounds.

you sprint back over to soobin, shaking him and shaking him and shaking him to try and wake him up. the tears you have been holding back finally spill over when you witness his eyes slowly blink open. 

your lips are on his an instant, your fingers gripping his blood-soaked shirt without care. he freezes, but melts into your touch a moment later. you are unsure how long your lips are on his, how much of your tears fall onto his cheeks as much as yours. his hands grip at your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

he winces when you accidentally graze one of his wounds, pulling away from your lips. when you pull back, his eyes take in the carnage of the coffee table and the bits of black ash that has not quite disappeared littering the floor. 

“what happened? are you hurt?” he frantically asks, his hands coming up to your face to check for any scrapes and scratches. your hands move to cover his, stopping his movements. 

you tell him everything. what yeonjun revealed to you, that the demon wanted to take you away for revenge, how the box held a piece of paper telling you what to do. you tell him everything, sparing no detail about how you decapitated the bastard, how no blood was to be found, how terrifying it was to have to do that. 

his arms come around you as you sob. “i thought, i thought i was going to lose you, y'know? i thought that thing was going to kill both of us. the absolute malice in his eyes when i killed him, i don’t even know how to explain it-”

he shushes you, allowing you to cry and cry and cry until your tears finally run dry. you are left sniffling against his chest. 

“i like you,” you breathe after you calm down. “this is a really bad time to say this, but i like you. a lot. more than a friend. it’s okay if you don’t feel the sa-” 

his lips interrupt your rambling. your eyes widen in response as you place your hand on his chest. when it comes up covered in blood, however, everything stops for a moment. 

“oh my god, we need to get you to the hospital! come on.” you scramble up, slowly helping soobin up as well in his weakened state. 

“just take me to my house. my dad’s a doctor,” he says as he shuffles out the front door and into your car. “thank you for, you know, saving my ass back there.”

as soon as you sit in the driver’s seat, his hand comes over to lace with yours. you look over at him. he’s covered in blood, deep cuts on the side of his neck, but there’s a smile on his face, his dimples visible as he looks at you with pure adoration swimming in his eyes. you look back towards the road, your heart racing. 

“oh, and y/n?”

you squeeze his hand to let him know you’re listening.

“i like you, too.”

taglist: @boba-beom @day6andetcetera @kamikazemission @belle643 @seonghwanotes @etherealcherrie

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Hii!! Can you do Blitzo, Loona, Moxxie, Striker and Octavia with a ghost rider s/o but their fire colour is blue

With A Ghostrider S/O

Blitzø

As far as back stories go, yours wasn't all that unique.

You had wanted to help a loved one, your loved one dying from an uncurled disease.

And hearing you pleasure of help, the devil appeared before you and offered you a deal.

Your soul for his help.

But then you were double crossed, losing the one you loved and being cursed to be Lucifers weapon, the "Rider", to carry out his will on earth.

And once you'd finally finished all your tasks, Lucifer took you, dragging you down to Hell.

Hell was... different then how you thought it'd be. Even more so when you found yourself still in your 'Rider' form.

So there you were, a flaming skeleton, although the transformation from red to Blue flames were a nice touch, in a not quite eternal punishment.

And of course, you kept your bike. That sweetheart was too loyal to let something like Hell get in its way.

Now your relationship with Blitzø began with a brawl.

You being in a bar, wanted to see if alcohol had any affect on your new form, only for the bar to break out into a brawl.

And while you initially ignored it, your rather nice looking brink got knocked over.

Then you went off, leaving nearly everyone of them a charred husk of a demon.

And while most demons would piss themselves at the sight, You found a peculiar little Imp seemed to think it was badass.

So you had an odd back and forth, the two of you ending up actually having a nice chat.

The Imp, Blitzø with a silent O, happily told you about how he killed people for a buck, rather proud of his killing of the living.

You told him, rather bluntly I might add, about your deal with the Devil.

Going on to explain the many years you'd spent killing and carrying out Lucifer's will on earth.

In a way, you shared a strange connection. The both of you having made a lifestyle out of bringing suffering to the mortal world.

You ended up in bed, which was... an ordeal.

Granted the fact he was fireproof removed some of your concerns. And actually preforming the act was strange, even for you.

Especially since you weren't aware you still had the... 'Equipment'.

A relationship would steadily build between you. The Imp thinking you were the Coolest thing ever, while you found the Imp incredibly lovable. In a narcissistic, 'I'm a dumbass. Love me!' kind of way.

Needless to say you had an odd dynamic.

It was a strange sight.

There was you, this rather sombre, flaming skeleton dressed in all leather get up with your flaming Hell Harley.

And then there was Blitzø.

This goofy lil Imp who loves ponies, with his adopted Hellhound daughter and just all around overly joyous.

You would help out about I.M.P, your experience on earth giving you quite the edge.

Plus, you could even market your penance stare, the act actually burning one's soul, completely destroying it. Which would be I'm rather high demand.

You and Loona had a... strained relationship.

Although it was greatly improved when you started showing her how to drive your bike, the girl thinking it was the Coolest thing ever.

Youd even let her borrow it on occasion. Given that it can more or less watch out for her, you didn't have to worry.

Blitzø loved riding with you.

Either nuzzling into your back, enjoying your warmth, or sitting in front of you, his little arms holding onto the handlebars.

You would give him a few lessons, having to stop when he almost pancakes you into a bus.

But still, riding about with your little Imp was one of your favourite pass times.

Stolas was... an interesting hurdle.

You see. You were more or less a weapon. More or less.

A weapon custom made by Lucifer to carry out specialised missions on the mortal plane.

So, going toe to toe with say, A Prince of Hell versus Lucifers weapon.

That was a battle even you wouldn't know the outcome too.

Loona

You met at a party. Or more accurately. You were chilling out on your bike, just burning for all eternity.

You know, just chilling.

When dozens of people showed up, setting up speakers and such. And the next thing you know, your in the middle of a party.

So the party was pumping, you just sat back watching a bunch of drunk idiots dancing and flirting with each other.

Most of which were failing horribly.

And then, some asshole on his own bike, began flirting with a young Hellhound.

You watched him try and Flirt, showing of his Bike. Openly laughing at the guy when he proclaimed his bike to be the best in Hell.

Hearing your mockery, said guy getting rather aggressive. Doing his best to be intimidating.

You laughed again, telling him you had the best Bike in Hell, no question.

So the guy challenged you, you simply agreeing.

It was a race, around the Block. First one got the others bike.

You reved your engines, did the usual motorbike shit, and when the time came, the flag being dropped. Although this flag was actually a woman's top, you stepped of the bike.

And the bike shot off as you introduced yourself to the Hellhound.

Loona was her name, the girl seeming quite Impressed with your strange abilities and well, I wanna say emmense fear factor.

You won of course, your bike pulling up over a minute before the other guys did.

And of course he was pissed, saying you cheated.

But no matter how much he hissed and whined, crowd pressure caused him to hand over the keys.

Then you walked over, touching his bike, mealting the whole thing to slag.

Getting on your own bike, you asked if Loona wanted to get out of there, the girl eagerly jumping on.

You found somewhere to chill out, on the outskirts of the city, the two of you just having a good time together.

Youd run into each other a few more times, each time youd hang out a for a while, the two of you becoming rather close.

You coming to really enjoy your time with the girl. And well, the girl kinda thought you were Hot as Hell.

(He he, double pun.)

And while it was a little strange initially, with you being a flaming skeleton and all. You actually had a fairly romantic relationship.

Luckily enough, you had enough control to at least make your flames none harmful to the girl, so you could still hold Loona close without hurting her.

The Hellhound actually came to greatly enjoy your warmth. The young lady often ending up nuzzling up to your warmth.

Your meeting Blitzø was a spectacle.

Being the over protective clichè of a father he was, he was instantly hostile. Openly threatening to turn you into a pile of fucking dog treats.

You stayed pretty chill, letting the Imp ramble on about grinding you into bonemeal if you harmed even a hair on her head, before Millie asked you about your past.

You of course, took the chance to go into extreme detail on your past, telling them all about your experience as Lucifer's "Rider".

Needless to say, Blitzø froze. The Imp shocked speechless.

You of course played it off, not taking any of it seriously. You understood he was just being protective of his daughter, you could understand that.

After that initial hostility, you and Blitzø seemed to get along pretty well.

You even let him have a ride of your bike, the Imp thinking it was pretty badass.

And speaking of Bike. Loona absolutely loved your bike.

She thought your whole 'damned biker aesthetic' was sooo badass.

The girl even began wearing her own leather jacket, both for practicality, and well... she liked the look.

Plus you loved the look, so of course she was going to keep it.

Moxxie

Honestly, when you'd first met, Moxxie was quite intimidated by you.

You, this tall imposing flaming skeleton and him being a Sime Imp.

Who could blame him?

But he had to admit, it was a shock to find out just how casual you were.

You were a fairly chill guy, especially for a sinner.

He'd missed the bus trying to get home, and being an Imp, no taxi would stop for him.

So he just walked. The little imp ending up in a bad neighbourhood. Not that there are many good ones in hell.

And after hearing a particularly anguished cry, he picked up the pace.

The little Imp, not watching where he was going, ran right into you, the Imp falling on his ass.

He stared up at you, the Imp freaking out at the flaming symbol of death before him.

Moxxie clamping his eyes shut as you reached down, sure this was his fate.

And then... he was picked up and held against something warm. A warm hand going through his hair as you asked if he was alright.

He froze, for several moments before he answered with a stiff 'I'm okay.'

You asked if he lived around here, your current location not being a very hospitable place to inhabit, even for you.

He told you honestly that he was just trying to get home, and got lost and had to go through a bad area to get home.

Hearing this, you naturally offered him a ride, your bike quickly pulling itself up besides you.

He was hesitant at first. Not really sure if he could trust you, but people in Hell weren't the subtle sort. And if you wanted to hurt him, you would have done so already.

So he accepted, you quickly picking him up, and unlike he had expected, you placed him against your chest, not your back, the little Imp nestled between your arms.

The ride was a quick one, Moxxie understanding why you put him in your chest.

Although it was slightly disturbing when you pulled up to his place without him telling you where his place was. And when he asked you, you just told him your bike knew these things.

And that's how you began driving him to work.

Youd would be waiting in front of his place, on flaming bike as always. The Imp always curling up against your chest, holding on tight as you drove drove him to work.

The Imp couldn't deny, holding onto you, pressed against your warm leather jacket, keeping him warm as cold air whipped pass.

This became very normal.

It became routine, the Imp coming to enjoy your rides, so much so, he had drifted off once or twice while holding on to you.

Eventually he just asked if maybe, you wanted to hang out. You know. Not when you were driving him to and from work.

You agreed of course, and the two of you went out.

It was an adorkably cute thing. The Imp wanted to go apple picking.

You didn't even realise they grew apples in Hell.

He honestly thought you'd say no. But you just went with it, the two of you having an incredibly dorky day out together.

The little Imp seemed to fall right into your arms. Moxxie literally ending up in your arms many nights, the two of you seeming to have such an affectionate bond.

The little Imp loved nothing more then curling up into your chest, just basking in your warmth.

You began living together, something strange for you as you'd basically just been living wherever you happened to be at the time.

But you didn't have to worry about Moxxie.

Sure he was kind of meek and often Timid. But he could also take command when the situation arises.

Although you made sure to meet Blitzø, making sure he knew just what you were.

And what you could do If Moxxie kept coming home with bruises.

The Imp was surprisingly flexible with your existence, and being an Imp, you never had to worry about hurting him with your flames.

And surprisingly, or well, it wasn't that surprising. But much of the clothing in Hell, was actually fire proof.

So that was nice.

You found the Imp loved your warmth, the Imp always curling up into your inferno of a body. Although it had cost a pretty penny to get a bed that wouldn't burn with you on it.

But even then, you faced those problems together. As a couple.

A strange couple.

A but a loving one none the less.

Octavia

Octavia was determined.

Tonight, she was gonna sneak out and go to that party she'd been able to hear for the past few days.

So putting her plan in place. She put a false body on the bed, door locked, music blasting and a rope made out of sheets.

She got out easily enough, slipping past the guards and running off into the night.

She managed to find the party.

Not very hard as one could hear it from miles away. And quickly lived out her rebellious fantasies.

She drank and partied, acting like an idiot.

As a teenager should.

So, being set upon by these demons, she was only saved a rather grizzly fate by, well you guessed it, You.

The problem was, a pretty young thing like her was an easy target for the... less then reputable type.

You got her out, the girl still shaken, having a slight breakdown.

You took her home, the girl holding tight as you drove to the Goetia Manor.

She got off slowly, thanking you for saving her before asking if maybe... she could see you again.

You agreed, telling her she could find you around, or maybe you'd find her. The girl had laughed at that.

And so, that began a trend for the girl.

Multiple nights a week, Octavia would sneak out. You managing to find her about.

Eventually you just picked a meeting spot, the two of you spending increasingly longer periods of time together.

It was awkward, to say the least. When you finally became a couple.

The fact you were a skeleton made some things rather awkward, such as simple intimacy.

Kissing was an ordeal.

But you still cared for each other deeply.

After that, your nights out together took a more narrative driven purpose.

You would take her out, sometimes getting money together in order to take her somewhere nice.

You spent many night together, the Owlet curled up against you, bathing in your warmth as you just ran a hand through her hair.

The girl would vent to you. Opening up to you about her home life and the internal issues she's been enduring.

You just held her close, allowing her to release all the frustration and pain. Doing your best to be there for her.

Her parents would figure it out eventually, the girl fessing up and them about you. And of course, they insisted to meet you.

So, polishing your leather attire, kindling your flames and bleaching yourself, you went and met them.

Stolas for his part, was more tolerable then Stella, with him actually trying to at least be civil. For the most part.

However when you mentioned your time as Lucifer's "Rider" in life, there tunes seemed to flip on a dime.

Stolas knew exactly what you were, and well, Stella was very impressed that you, even if it were involuntary, served the Lightbringer Himself.

Needless to say, there opinion of you was rather positive after that revelation.

After all, they were all servants of Lucifer, you were just a little more coerced.

They would still be ever so hesitant, particularly Stolas, the two wanting only the best for their daughter.

But with their blessing, you and Octavia's relationship bloomed. You being exactly what she needed at the moment.

You were freedom.

You could show up, the young lady jumping on, holding on tight as you went on the road.

With you she could forget about her parents crumbling marriage.

All the stress and trouble.

Just enjoying the wind through her feathers.

You would also teach her how to ride, the girl seemingly a natural, with a bit of confidence at least.

You had a very playful relationship, the Young noble lady making endless jokes about your lack of flesh, while you mocked her for being a spoiled noble girl.

She definetly calls you "bone head", thinks it's fucking hilarious when you just stare at her. Unable to think of a comeback.

You could also protect her course, so she was never in danger with you, which was a major Boone for your relationship with her parents. The two able to trust their daughter with you.

But you had a weird, fun and free relationship. The young lady utterly addicted to the joy you had brought into her life.

While you just loved having her in your life, the girl bringing you something you hadn't known you could have.

Love.

Striker

You were quite the anomaly as far as 'sinners' went.

For one, as it would turn out, due to your previous service to Lucifer, you could actually travel the other rings.

Which was a major Boone because you had already grown incredibly tired of Pride.

The whole Ring feeling like earth if all the Assholes had no filter.

So figuring that you finally had something to do with yourself. You went on a road trip.

Travelling from ring to ring, city after city, just cruising. Seeing the sights.

Killing the occasional asshole.

It was as you were driving about Gluttony that you ran into a rather large group of demons.

It looked like a funeral of some kind. The whole mob wore Mafioso esc attire. Fedoras and striped suites.

There leader doing their best 'Godfather' impersonation.

Although you didn't remember the part where the 'Godfather' head fucking exploded.

Looking about, you found the glint of a scope, the sniper quickly running off.

You of course rode off too, easily catching up with said sniper.

And while he was initially hostile, understandably so. He was undertandibly surprised when you just offered him a ride, asking to get out of there.

The little demon hesitantly, but hearing others getting close, he took you up on it, jumping aboard.

You would ride off to some seedy bar, the two of you hiding out as you got to talk.

The mysterious sniper was an Imp. Which made sense, as the Imps were everywhere on every Ring.

He was dead set on being the deadliest freelancer in Hell, regardless of his Race.

You explained how you were essentially the Grimm reaper. Collecting souls and putting overly ambitious demons in there place for Lucifer, so you'd succeeded Aaand here you are.

Striker chuckled, finding it kinda funny and after a rather cold moment, you burst into laughter as well.

The two of you having a hearty chuckle at your expense.

But you were invested now. You wanted to see if this Imp could really be the best.

So, you offered to be his get away driver.

And after catching up with him, he was inclined to accept.

And so, that's how you, the former weapon of Lucifer himself, became the get away driver for a particularly ambitious Imp.

And so I would happen just like that.

The Imp taking a contract, going off and killing said demon, and you getting him the Hell out of there.

You worked as a pretty good team, although Striker was insistent on you not interfering with the actual job, wanting to do it personally.

And you respected that, being sure not to step on his toes.

So you just acted as a passive observer. Driving and celebrating a job well done.

You didn't ask for anything. Didn't need it. You were just happy for the entertainment.

But as you became a better team and Strikers infamy grew, you found yourselves becoming quite fond of each other.

You were very close alread, the Imp trusting his life in your skeletal hands, and you just being very fond of Striker's sometimes overly cocky nature.

And while it was rather awkward, you would never really say it out loud, never having a big moment where you confessed your undying love.

Instead, it was a rather soft moment.

Softness not being something Striker allowed often. But with you it was sweet, the two of you just holding hands, finally open with each other.

Your relationship wouldn't change all to much, you still being the get away driver.

Although now you often have him sit against your chest, the Imp to confident to find it embarrassing. You would even let him drive on occasion.

The Imp liking the challenge.

You also became more active on the job, with on occasion, you actually openly helping him.

And, well, let's say Strikers just happy you were on his side because you utterly anhialated your enemies.

Destroying soul after soul, only to then walk out and give him your usually playful little wave.

Your relationship was...

Strange?

Yes.

But full of love and respect?

Absolutely~

[yandere-sins]

I’ve had this scenario in my head for awhile based on obey me’s chapter 20 when Asmo is drunk and begging the MC not to leave. I’ve always imagined an alternate scenario where the MC has to take him home and put him to bed because he’s drunk, but it’s all just an act to get the MC to have their guard down so he can grab them, mark them, and claim them. so he can prevent them from leaving the next day. (You can write this as either a scenario or your thoughts because I really just wanted to share my ideas with someone and I enjoy your characterization of him ❤️)

Ooooh, that’s a good one for Asmo, really fits him! Thanks for requesting, I am glad you enjoy my characterization ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««    

“Noooo~!”

A sigh fell off your lips as you had to listen to Asmo’s whining. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy having his full attention on you, all the way from Hell’s Kitchen home to the House of Lamentation. But Asmodeus was such a needy drunk that once you helped him sit down on the bed, you realized you really could need a break from his clinginess. However, he only kept grabbing on to the sleeves of your shirt, keeping you awkwardly leaning above him.

There were tears in his eyes, and you were pretty sure that even drunk, Asmodeus wouldn’t risk ruining his make-up with crocodile ones. Even if you wished he wouldn’t react so harshly to it, you kind of understood his reaction. You two had become so close over the last year, it wasn’t easy for you either to have to say goodbye to your friend, now that you had to go back to your world.

Only an hour before had he admitted that he didn’t want to lose you, and you didn’t either, but both of you knew that friendships sometimes drifted apart when there was distance between two people. At least for you, life went on, and new adventures would rise before you, and Asmo wouldn’t always be part of them. It was the painful truth that every human had to learn at some point, and it seemed to scare Asmo even more than it scared you. His life was different from this, and the unknown was something a demon didn’t deal lightly with.

“Heh, what are you thinking about?” Asmo asked, letting go of you with one hand to instead bring his finger up to draw over your features. “You’re getting wrinkles here-” he tapped your forehead, “- here-” the outer corners of your eyes,” - and here.” This time he didn’t let his finger linger as he reached your lips, instead pinching your chin and pulling you down unexpectedly, bodies colliding as he led you to his own lips.

Before you had the chance to gather your thoughts, Asmodeus flipped you two over, pinning you down as the kiss stayed locked in place. You only realized briefly that he had way too much experience when it came to laying on beds, this being a dangerous terrain in favor of your - not really - enemy on hand. Even if this wasn’t how you wanted to end things with him, you could feel the vibration in his lips, the longing, desire, fear. Asmodeus didn’t care about losing his one-night stands and flirts, but he was scared of losing you, the only one he ever let close enough to his heart to challenge him to new heights and hurt him more than insecurities ever could.

This kiss meant everything to him, even if it didn’t mean the same to you.

Even if you thought about pulling away, you weren’t in a position to easily slip out of the caress. You listened to his heavy breaths, felt the pressure of his lips doting on yours, and tasted the bittersweetness of the alcohol in the cocktails he drank. But once the initial height of the kiss passed, Asmo managed to snap back to his senses all by himself. At least, that’s what you thought when you caught his eyes as he finally opened them again. He almost seemed hurt, and by seeing your own reflection in his irises, you recognized that you didn’t seem as into what he was doing as Asmodeus was just a moment ago.

It was probably the moment he realized he had nothing to keep you by his side with. The pact you had would disappear once the year was over, you didn’t reciprocate his love the same way, and your mind was set on leaving instead of staying with him. All this was what Asmodeus could make out and seemingly hadn’t realized until right then.

“I’m sorry...” he mumbled, his eyes darkening. His hands pinning you vanished, but he couldn’t be bothered lifting his weight off your hips. “It’s okay,” you mumbled, turning your head away, unsure what to say. Part of you wanted to comfort him, but you knew it would only make it harder for you two if you reassured him now.

Asmodeus slowly folded into himself on top of you, head falling to your shoulder. For a moment, you wondered if he had just fallen asleep on top of you. But you rather quickly noticed the shaking of his body and the feeling of wet, hot tears soaking into your shirt. “What do I do?” he asked, even his sobs sounding elegant. He was pretty even when he was crying, and you couldn’t help but find that ironic. “I know I should, but I just can’t let you go...”

Raising your arm to his back, you calmly comforted him. It was hard not to join his crying, but you reckoned Asmodeus was drunk and overly emotional. You should save your tears for when the real goodbye would be and not confirm him in his fears and sadness. “I’ll come visit!” you promised, trying to sound chipper. Asmodeus, however, was quick to shake his head, muttering, “That’s not enough.”

“We can see each other on the weekends! You can come and sleep over at my place!” But even that suggestion was met with a headshake and a curt, “No.”

Sighing, you realized you were talking with a wall. It was hard enough to convince yourself everything would be alright, but he acted like a child trying to get his will.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice Asmodeus stirring on top of you. At least, not until you felt rows of teeth dig into the supple flesh between your shoulder and neck. You flinched, the pain only worsening, using your hands to shove Asmo hard, but he wouldn’t let go, as if his jaw was locked in place. “What the fuck-!” you cursed when he finally let go, sitting up straight. The sight of tears still rolling down his cheek didn’t fit the menacing or even crazed expression he had on his face, and it made your blood freeze all over as your eyes fell to his lips.

Even though he quickly licked it up, the unnerving sight of blood was enough to freak you out more. Your hand rose to the bite immediately, and as you drew it back, you clearly had the fluid smeared all over your palm. “What’s the meaning of this?!” you yelled at him, but Asmodeus remained calm, only grabbing your wrist before licking the blood off your fingers. Ceremoniously even.

“I don’t want you to leave, and I know you don’t want to leave me too,” he announced as a matter of fact.

“Well, I am sure as hell reconsidering that--” you tried to retort, but you were quickly interrupted by his face closing in only inches to you, Asmodeus eyes glowing as you realized he had involved magic in all of this. Even if his charming eye contact didn’t work on you, you could immediately feel the tingling in your hand where he had licked the blood from, and glancing at it, you saw the outlines of a pact.

“Let’s never part, okay?”

An unhinged, eery smile crossed his lips, the pact lit up as it finished, and you couldn’t think quickly enough before it settled in your palm, the permanent sigil embedded in it. Asmo sighed in satisfaction, bringing your hand to his cheek and nuzzling into your still tingling palm as you stuttered, “How could you do this?!”

“Blood magic is strong,” he chuckled. “Stronger than anything. Strong enough to go through everything, and if I unite it with my lovely magic, it’s strong enough so only one party needs to seal the deal. Lovely, isn’t it? So now we can be together forever, isn’t that what we always wanted?”

“N-No, I didn’t want it like this--” you tried to argue, but he turned his head towards you, and you froze. With streaks of blood sullying his pretty face, it suddenly made you realize that this was no lighthearted miss-step or him being silly. This had been planned, conducted, and completed. He had always wanted to bind you to him and wasn’t even bothered by how ugly it made him look - he, of all people!

“I just love you so much, you know? We have to be together, and now we can! I will always be with you!”

Leaning forward, your eyes shot to his mouth, and you could see the tiny rip he had made himself to his lip to form the blood pact. Everything he stood for, everything he embodied, seemed to have disappeared now that it came to you.

“My Darling ~” he sighed and kissed you again, letting the heaviness of the situation sink and fester into your brain.

You wouldn’t get out of this pact anytime soon.

Maybe even not in this life.

[kingdumbass]

Nobody asked yadda yadda… Here’s a list of spooky and or unsettling fics of mine in honor of Halloween weekend. Please heed the tags listed on ao3 the latter half features noncon, but I tried to list them in order of intensity. (The last three are not for the faint of heart.. dead dove etc.)

All Hallows’ Eve | T | 12.2k | fluff

In which Dean and Cas confess their undying love for one another and decide that maybe this year it couldn't hurt to celebrate Halloween. And what would Halloween be without a few cavities, right?

Lost Boys | T | 2.7k | fluff

(Autistic) Cas is dragged to a Halloween frat party

Like a Thief in the Night | M | 28.6k | creature au

Plagued by nightmares since the death of his mother as a small child, Dean Winchester is no stranger to grief. After the sudden death of his brother and the unexplainable disappearance of Sam’s fiancee Jessica leave Dean reeling, the former detective turns towards alcohol to cope with the loss, but when the news of another missing peron’s case all the way out in Pontiac, Illinois jogs Dean’s memory of an old unsolved case with possible connections to the mysterious note his brother left behind, he feels compelled to pick up where he left off. Though once he rolls into town, he encounters more questions than answers. Namely: what’s real and what’s delusion? And how is the creature from his nightmares tormenting the residents of this small, suburban town?

Silk Flowers | M | 2.8k | creature au

“What are you, then?”

“The same as you are now,” Castiel suggests, “A vampyr.”

Dean awakes in an unfamiliar room with a seemingly indelible hunger and he finds he isn’t alone.

Dirty Words and Other Curses | E | WIP (33.1k so far) | case fic

Team Free Will 2.0 are on a standard hunt when things get a little dicey and Dean lands himself in a bind. While Sam, Cas, and Jack search for Dean, Dean is blissfully unaware of his surroundings, existing instead within a fabricated, strangely familiar reality inside his own mind… Except for one thing. Soon this milk run ends up being a bit more than meets the eye.

Glass Houses | E | 26.5k | serial killer au

Out one night at his usual hunting ground, Castiel finds the challenge he’s been searching for in a attractive stranger named Dean, but before he can make his move, Dean’s gone and someone else has to take his place. Over the coming weeks, he can’t stop thinking about him: about the one that got away. And as it happens, the man from across the bar is relatively easy to hunt down, but what he doesn’t account for are the feelings he begins to develop for him or the fact that Dean Winchester has secrets of his own.

Come Softly to Me | E | 14.8k | demon possession au

The devil comes in threes: An allegory in three parts.

A Shot in the Dark | E | 13.3k | demon dean & crowley alternate canon

Dean’s a demon on the prowl and Crowley’s his glorified babysitter, but when Crowley finally convinces Dean to taste the rainbow, he finds that, above all else, his favorite color is red.

[obeymebutcursed]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU BEAUTIFUL PERSON 🎉🎉🎉🎈🎈🎈🎈 🍰🧁🎂🍰🧁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

I have you had a amazing day! 🥰

Hopefully it's not too late to send this

Because demons live so long families with multiple children will let the birthday child choose what sibling they'll hunt for sport that year. Ya know as a "treat".

Diavolo was actually sad during the brothers first hundred birthdays or so, he thought the bros were rejecting Devildom tradition by not wanting to slaughter each other. When young feral Satan found out he thought it was his right to kill one of the older ones and move up the birth rank. Ya know normal preschooler shit.

Angels don't celebrate themselves on their birthday but their father for giving them life. All seven of the brothers (including Satan bc fuck grandpa G) make it their jobs to curse God on their birthdays especially Lilith's.

It's working because God gets specifically 7 horrible headaches throughout the year, the one on the twins birthday is especially head splitting.

Solomon somewhere between the fun immortality wearing off and him becoming less frantic to die, started throwing birthday parties for others at the sorcerer's society to celebrate their mortality. It's now a tradition for new members to have at least a handful of birthday parties catered by Solomon, the birthday wizard has to try and kill him before Sol presents the cake he made... This was Solomon's idea... He kinda thought he'd be dead by now... 🙃

And we can't have a birthday without weed man Jesus! Jesus gets really, really, REALLY fucking stoned at the HoL, legend says the luck of the human world for next year depends on if the weed gives him a good or bad trip. 2019 was NOT a good trip RIP 2020

Thank you! 😭😭😭

My birthday honestly had its ups and downs. I got 2 new stuffed animals, went to a really nice restaurant, got a gator Loki shirt because why the fuck not, and then got guilted by my own mom into gambling and drinking for the first time. (Which was not a vibe because I absolutely hate the taste of alcohol and totally didn't want to but she insisted I try it because haha 21st birthday in Las Vegas you have to! 😒)

ANYWAY BACK TO THE CONTENT WE ALL WANT INSTEAD OF ME TALKING ABOUT MYSELF

Wow this is just uh something.

We're starting off real strong with Devildom tradition of hunting for sport, I like it, that makes sense. I mean hell, Diavolo IS an only child :)

Now that the brothers have fallen instead of calling them the 7 deadly sins up in the Celestial Realm they are called the seven deadly headaches.

I can totally picture Solomon saying "Happy Alive Day" instead of saying "Happy Birthday".

LMFAO WAIT WEESUS IS BACK HELL YEAH! Weedsus getting real fucked up and predicting the years is a whole ass mood and absolutely hilarious. Its like February and the groundhog and winter or whatever but instead its Jesus high as fuck predicting the new year.

[softinkshadows]

㊙️Secret facts㊙️, or Things the JJK sorcerers would rather die than tell anyone (*ノ▽ノ)

Headcanons, crack edition, of our favourite sorcerers! (partly in homage to @snk-headcanons)

Some extensive contextual references to both the anime and manga ahead ~

----

Itadori Yuuji

Itadori has had a six pack since elementary school. He has also remained at the bottom of his cohort for academic grades since elementary school. Itadori isn’t actually good at cooking; meatballs are his only specialty. His wardrobe only contains hoodies. Itadori really ate his boogers as a kid. Itadori is so bad at reading cursed energy he still can’t tell the difference between a curse and a sorcerer. Nanami once asked him if he considered therapy. Itadori’s favourite mode of transport is Fushiguro’s demon dogs. On some days, Itadori thinks Fushiguro looks better than Jennifer Lawrence. 

Megumi Fushiguro

Fushiguro once tried to pick up smoking in middle school. He gave up because he was irritated at how popular it became amongst his schoolmates when he did. He has a drawer full of un-replied confession letters. Fushiguro can’t sleep without a bolster (he gets touchy in his sleep). Fushiguro cuts his own hair. His go-to drink is strawberry milk. Fushiguro is so unused to smiling he practices in front of his room mirror before giving up. In reality, when he’s genuinely happy his eyelashes grow by 3 centimeters. On some days, Fushiguro admits that Itadori is the person he will always count on to save him.  

Nobara Kugisaki

Nobara likes to dress up in her room and pretend to be a cover girl or fashion model. She once found Inumaki-senpai attractive. But this was probably because he was quiet. Nobara actually got lost in Harajuku station before meeting Itadori and Fushiguro for the first time. Nobara only processes emotions by yelling. Nobara does not feel pain. Ever since arriving in Tokyo, she has been scouted for several television shows. They were all makeover specials. Nobara has a personal grudge against the mirror in Shibuya’s UNIQLO store. She has a private photo folder in her phone dedicated to snaps of city lights, skyscrapers and Maki.  

Inumaki Toge

Inumaki likes to visit convenience stores to look for new onigiri flavours. He assigns expletives to a different flavour every week, and enjoys swearing at others without them realizing. His uniform collar serves a dual purpose of concealment when he sticks his tongue out at people he doesn’t like. Inumaki likes flirting. Inumaki secretly stocks up Yuta-senpai’s favourite snacks just before he returns from missions. Inumaki longs to be kissed (on his beautiful, cursed mouth). He keeps a written diary of things people say to him and and things he would like to say back to them. Inumaki’s favourite verb is “susumu” (keep going). 

Panda

Panda is intrigued by meat, particularly fried chicken, even if they cannot eat it. Panda does not like cooked vegetables. Panda gets PR packages from apparel and household brands with panda designs; they do monthly unboxing videos for over a million subscribers. Panda’s favourite tv shows are Oprah and Japanese crime dramas. Panda reads religious texts on Shintoism in their free time. Panda’s third core is a koala. 

Maki Zenin

Maki once lost her glasses at a party and almost burned down an entire restaurant to look for it. Maki does not like spicy food because it makes her blush. Maki giggles at memes. She has timed crying breaks in the bathroom. Maki secretly names her cursed tools after her favourite celebrities. Maki always buys herself two birthday cake slices. 

Aoi Todo 

Todo drinks protein shakes more often than he would like to admit. He has never won Maki in an arm wrestling match. Todo’s IQ fluctuates between 80 and 155. He has only been part of Takada-chan’s fan club for 6 months. 80% of Todo’s memory is fabricated fantasy. Todo’s teary face has made both children and grown men cry, out of fear. His dream is to open a pancake house. 

Ijichi Kiyotaka

Despite his looks, Ijichi is skilled in Jujitsu and Aikido. He pre-orders extra sets of Itadori’s uniform every month. He has at least 3 Fast and Furious movie posters in his bedroom. He likes to daydream about being part of an A-list sorcerer team with Nanami, with Gojo as his personal chauffeur. Ijichi keeps a treat money jar for every time he feels slighted or overly stressed at work. To date, he has used the jar to visit 3 Michelin-star restaurants. 

Geto Suguru 

Geto developed a sweet tooth after enrolling in Jujutsu High. His first kiss was stolen by Gojo in a supply closet when they were both sixteen (the latter did it for fun). Geto was once dared to shave off all his hair and had to stifle a sob at the thought. Geto’s non-sorcerer disinfectant spray is coincidentally a rose-scented line of luxury cologne called Infinite Love. On a bad day, Geto finds himself indulging in dessert. 

Gojo Satoru

Mostly shameless, Gojo feels the most self-conscious with his eyes uncovered. Gojo gets turned on by an exquisite pair of sunglasses. Gojo doesn’t like drinking alcohol. Gojo once injected sugar into his blood, partly in jest, partly because he was curious. Gojo reads critical theory. Gojo uses SK-II facial treatment essence. Gojo likes reading fanfiction written about him. He keeps a scrapbook for deliberately ugly doodles of Jujutsu society’s higher ups. He is the owner of tabloid news twitter account @jujutsushits. He is also the owner of twitter account @RealNanamiKento. When he has a bad day, Gojo scrolls through old, defunct chats between him and Geto.  

Nanami Kento

Nanami has never suffered from hair loss problems. He earned a university degree after leaving Jujutsu High, where he majored in economics and minored in comparative literature. Nanami freelanced as a poet-writer for 2 months. He is so respectable in jujutsu society that he once sold (more like auctioned) his pair of men’s leather shoes for 500,000 JPY. The buyers were all women. He has a drawer of XXL condoms. He did not buy them (Gojo did). He keeps a slogan t shirt that reads ‘Hot Stuff’. He did not buy it (Haibara did). Nanami is fluent in 5 languages. Nanami’s hobbies are ironing his blue dress shirt and getting into existential crises. Nanami has an excel sheet detailing his weekly expenses titled ‘letsgetthisbread.exe.’ When embarrassed, Nanami is prone to hiccups.

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna has a personal list of ‘Top 10 Sukuna Badass Moments’ playing on loop in his head. He sings when Itadori is in the shower to spite him, but mostly because he likes the sound of his own voice. Sukuna has a bad memory, having been alive for more than a thousand years. Sukuna hates contemporary fashion, but has a fascination for Crocs. He prefers jazz to imperial court music. Sukuna delivers lengthy, oftentimes ultraviolent monologues to Itadori when he is bored. He thinks he would make a good university professor. Sukuna is still terrified of motorised vehicles. 

----

Notes: writing this was so fun, but some of it made me sad... 

----

Taglist (っ˘ω˘ς ) : @encrytpta @wilddreamer98

[thehuntersmoondiscord]

MASTERPOST for the Hunter’s Moon Creation Exchange!

Til Morning Comes by @miss-shiva-adler (Jalec)  At Jace’s award winning celebratory party for being one of the most renowned chefs in America, and in exchange for a flawless cake Jace designed, Alec finally gets what he wants: Jace, naked and hard, in a bed ready to fuck and make love to till the morning comes.

Tied Up by @aceonice (Malec) Alec follows a demon into a club and meets a gorgeous warlock— who just so happens to also be a powerful Dom.

God’s Chosen Angel by @sivan325 (Malec)  There had been rumors that a new guardian angel would be joining them. There was also a rumor that the guardian angel was a human killer, and that he had killed two under his guard. This angel would be marked by a distinctive silver aura, unlike the normal gold feathers and auras that other angels had.

Finding Home by @moonlight-breeze-44 (Malace)  For years, Jace had felt like a stray. Alec Lightwood was the first person to show him that he could be more than that. Magnus Bane was the first person to show Alec that he deserved to exist and love without reservations. Jace was grateful for both of them, but in recent months, his feelings had started to develop far beyond gratitude and into something more. Unable to let his own selfish desires collide with Magnus and Alec's relationship, Jace forced them aside, at the cost of his own heart.  But when his parabatai makes a startling confession in the height of battle, well, it might just mean that Jace could have what he hadn't dared to even dream about.

Malec Story by @s-a-b-i-n-e Alec is reading when Magnus returns from a shower. The book cover gives Magnus an idea...

All The Legends Are True by @polarnacht1 (Jalec) Alec meets Jace in a bar during a mission and is instantly drawn to him. Though Jace is a mundane, and relationships between Shadowhunters and mundanes are strictly forbidden by law, Alec cannot help but fall for Jace.  Even though Alec tries his best to hide his true identity, Jace is soon caught in the middle of a drug war between rogue Vampires and the Clave. Will Alec be in time to save him - and their love?

Jalec Stories by @mewsiex (Jalec)  I really loved the request from Jessa, it had so many goodies that I couldn't decide for only one. There's a bit of alcohol in there, but not much, and it's used responsibly between two people who trust each other. There's elder Jalec, young Jalec and current Jalec.

The Masquerade Ball by @jevan (Raphael/Jace/Simon) Some people just don't understand that you are flirting with them. Raphael, Simon and Jace find the way to their first time together, with a lot of bad flirting.

A Masked Desire by  ayesir_theflyingcat (Malec) "Take a picture, it'll last longer." Alec finally said teasingly to break the thick silence, Magnus's mouth twitching upwards as he held in a laugh.   "You may have a point there, I suppose."  ~ ☆ ~  In which a Masquerade Party leads to something decidedly more fun for our favorite shadowhunter and warlock.

Malec Art by @jesssssah

A Light In The Darkness by  Nadja_Lee (Malec) After Max’s rune ceremony Maryse tells Alec what she thinks of his efforts of planning said event. Alec spirals into self-doubt, resulting in him hurting himself. Luckily, Magnus is there for him, his love helping, guiding, healing and protecting Alec, also from himself.

Face to Face by @the-ghost-of-william-herondale (Clizzy, Malec) In a world where every person is cursed to wear a mask until they find someone with a matching mask, Simon Lewis has his hands full trying to help his best friend, Clary, match masks with her girlfriend. How far will he have to go? What horrors will he have to face? Featuring a Downworld Soulmasquerade Ball, said girlfriend attempting to matchmake her brother, and the infamous mask of one Magnus Bane. Nothing goes as planned, and the fact that Simon has to spend the night with Jace, of all people, makes it a recipe for disaster.      ...Though then again, maybe getting stuck with Jace isn't so bad after all...?

would things be easier if there was a right way? (honey there is no right way) by @high-warlock-of-brooklyn (TWI Malec)  After that fateful party at the Institute, Magnus's magic is not the only thing that comes back. His soulmark feels alive again, and this time, Magnus is not alone.  Alec feels like an idiot, betting his heart like that, especially after the sting of an almost rejected soulmark pains him worse than a broken heart. So he does the only thing he knows the best, he throws himself into work.  Little do they know that the universe doesn't make mistakes, and will keep pulling them together till they both truly see the truth for themselves.

The Betrothal Masquerade by @supernatural9917fic (Malec) 'This is stupid,' Alec mutters under his breath as he continues to graze from the huge buffet table. 'What kind of stupid king throws a masquerade ball to choose a spouse for his son? Shouldn't you want to see the face of the person you're forcing your kid to marry?'

Awkward Beginnings by @forensicsisabelle (Jimon, Malec) Jace met his soulmate at a coffee shop and wasn't able to say anything. When he drags Alec back for a second try, Alec also finds more than he expected.

As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you by @fanfic-fugue (Jalec, Malec) All his life, Alec had been the strong one. He was the older brother— a protector. There was never room for weakness when he was the one taking care of everyone else. He bottled things up and pushed them down as much as possible. It was better that way.  The malicious spell at Max's rune ceremony affected everyone, but for Alec, it took on a different level of intensity. He'd jumped from the roof and lived to tell the tale thanks to Magnus' magic— but that didn't mean his struggles could be ignored forever.  And so, he ends up in the Basilias

Fall For You by @phoenixstar73 (Malec) Sometimes --- the one you are destined to meet, comes at the least opportune time, and/or pretty much just falls into your lap, so to speak...

Love and Duty by  codenamepenguin (Malec) Egypt shimmered and glittered in the heat of the sun; beautiful, intimidating and dangerous; very much like her Queen, the mighty Cleopatra. But the queen is not the only Egyptian, in love with a roman officer

Soulmates by @jadegreendragon (Malec) Everyone has a soulmate. This one fact holds true for everyone, no matter their race, sex or sexual orientation. This is a story about two young boys whose soulmate bond was more special than most.

The Soulmate Ball by @livinglifebehindthemask (Malec)  Alec Lightwood does not want a soulmate and has been able to get out of the trendy Soulmate Balls for years, until his sister finally drags him to one. Alec tries to hide in the shadows only to find the man he never really wanted.

After the high of the mission by @moni26 (Clizzy) Clary didn't lose her memories and start a new life after she and her friends defeated Jonathan. Instead, she had to deal with the toll it took on her, and the way it changed many things. - (set after the end of season 3, with details altered to fit the story)

Not Another Fairy Tale Story by @sparkles436 (Malec) A not quite fairy tale AU of two young men who were destined to love each other no matter the obstacles placed in their path

scrape up the bruise i wear by @incorrect-malec (Malec) In a brief and sudden moment of clarity, Magnus feels Alec’s palm against the right side of his face. He blinks in the direction he thinks Alec is, but his vision is a whirlpool of dull colors. Magnus presses his cheek against the reassuring coarseness of Alec’s training-roughened skin in an effort to ground himself.

Magnus & Alec art by  Skyffable

This means we’re family now by @ispeakmorelanguagesthanyou (Alec & Jace) Alec Lightwood has never seen Jace Wayland fly. He knows he must be flying, because his wings look healthy, but he's been very careful to never do it where others can see.  As they grow closer, Alec's determined to find out why.

Paper Faces on Parade by @new-mexicunt (Malec)  The teens of the New York Institute want a prom.  What is a prom, you ask?  They're not sure. A fun, mundane thing with fairy lights.  (And who is Alec Lightwood to deny them such simple pleasures?)  "...Alec cut in again, panic turning over his expression. 'Prom! What’s a prom? And why are my new recruits so adamant about having one?'  Izzy and Jace looked at Alec, then each other, then Alec again. There was a long silence before they both burst out into squealing fits of laughter."

A Blast from the Past by @tobythewise (Jimon) Simon goes to one of Magnus Bane's parties, not expecting to come face to face with someone from his past.

[let-it-raines]

I Hope We Never See October (6/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

ao3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

August

“I come bearing food.”

No one responds, and Emma knows there has to be at least five people in this house. And while David and Mary Margaret live in a really nice place thanks to Mary Margaret’s dad, it’s not so big that no one can hear her when she walks in the front door.

“Hello?” she repeats, shifting the bags of food in her arms. She’s got approximately eight hundred pounds of appetizers in her car, and she needs help carrying them in. “Hello, it’s me, the lowly caterer. Should I have used a separate entrance than the front, or is someone as lowly as me allowed to use that one? What if the neighbors see?”

Still, no answer, and Emma walks down the hallway until she’s in the kitchen. Every inch of the countertop is covered with food, drinks, cutlery, and the works. It’s an organized mess, much like Mary Margaret herself, and Emma puts the bags she’s carrying on the kitchen table before looking out the window to the pool.

“Oh my God,” she whispers to herself. “Like, oh my God.”

Killian Jones is standing on the pool house roof with what looks like garland or bubble lights or some kind of string object, and David is standing below him to...catch him. It looks like David is there to catch Killian.

Emma pushes open the French double doors and steps outside. “What the hell is happening here?”

Killian drops one of the strings he’s holding, causing David to move to catch it, and Emma swears she sees Killian’s life flash before her eyes before he catches himself on the flattest part of the roof.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he gasps, out of breath, “warn a man.”

“Consider yourself warned.” She closes the door behind her and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s ridiculously hot out today, and she can already feel the sweat gathering down her back and underneath her bikini top. “What are you doing here so early?”

“Ah, well,” Killian starts as he picks up the dropped string of lights and starts adjusting them again, “I ran into Dave here at the market, we got to talking, and since I had nothing else to do, I’ve agreed to risk my life to hang his lights.”

“He’s more nimble than I am,” David says, like that explains all of this.

“Trust me, mate, Emma knows that.”

“Oh my God,” Emma whispers to herself as Killian and David keep talking, not paying her any attention.

Emma opens the door back and steps inside, away from the madness. She doesn’t know what’s happening out there, and she doesn’t want to know. Some things are better left not talked about or questioned, and this is definitely one of those things. She knows her friends all know Killian. The night at the bar where he met Mary Margaret and Ruby really snowballed things, and it’s fine. It is. She swears it’s fine. Except.

Except, well, they usually never meet the people she’s sleeping with. They’ve met her boyfriends, if only because it was nearly impossible to keep them away after so long, and they liked...Graham. They really liked Graham, not so much the others, and Emma feels the exact same way. But her casual flings, like with Killian, her friends don’t meet them. They don’t meet them, and they really don’t invite them to their big almost end of summer parties. They don’t ask them to help hang they string lights and get ice. She bets they asked him to get ice.

What is happening?

This is…this is a lot, and Emma doesn’t know how to feel about it.

She doesn’t know how to feel about a lot of things, mostly Killian Jones, but there are other things included in there. Those things just aren’t quite so in her face.

Shit.

When Mary Margaret invited him to the party a few weeks ago, Emma was fine with it. It’s just a party. There are going to be a lot of people here, and what was the harm in inviting one more? Besides, it’s not like she could have said no when Mary Margaret asked. That would have been rude, and despite what a few select people say, Emma is not rude.

Emma picks at a grape on the counter, popping it in her mouth, and then gets another one as she watches David and Killian outside. Killian takes another string of lights from David and hooks them over a nail on the roof.

He’s different from her past few flings. They’re usually as big of a mess as she is, and while she assumes Killian is as well, she doesn’t know enough about him to truly know. They’ve got a pretty good deal with their one personal question of the day thing. She knows it’s usually more than that, little things coming out in bed or when he stops by the Blue Dog, but she has comfort in being able to veto any question that gets a little too personal.

If Emma could have a veto in most things in life, it’d be a hell of a lot easier.

Emma grabs another grape and then starts unpacking the food she brought. Mary Margaret must have run to the store to get something else, but Emma knows how she’ll want to arrange things. She’s been to enough Nolan parties to know what happens. If she focuses on this, she’ll be able to ignore the man outside and all the pesky little thoughts in her head.

“Swan,” Killian says from behind her, and Emma lets out a little curse. “What are you doing, love?”

“Helping out in the air conditioning instead of outside.”

He hums and steps up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist as his scruff scratches her neck. It’s a contrast to the softness of his lips that are running down the side of her throat. Arousal rises in her veins, quick like lightning, and it continues when one of his hands glides down her body and cups her ass as he presses against her.

“Killian,” she whispers, biting her bottom lip, “this is not the place for this.”

“What? Your friends’ kitchen isn’t the place for us to have a little fun?”

“No,” she laughs as she tilts her neck to give him more space, “it’s not. They may know we’re sleeping together, but I don’t think they want to witness it.”

He laughs and twists her around. His fingers skim her collarbone, lifting up the strap of her bikini. “I like this.”

“You’re such a man.” She pushes against his chest and moves away, going back to arranging the charcuterie boards. Multiple. “I’m sorry David roped you into helping. You could have said no.”

“It’s fine. Can I help you in here?”

She wants to say no, to send him back outside, but it might be nice to have company that’s okay sitting in silence with her. The rest of the day is going to be filled with people celebrating the near end of summer, even if it tends to linger for another month midway into September, and Emma could use a little quiet time before the chaos.

“If you could slice those apples for me, that would be great.”

“Aye, love, no problem.”

They work in silence setting up the boards. Killian catches on quickly, copying her arrangements, and eventually Mary Margaret comes home with more fruit and cheese and a car full of hamburger buns. She takes one look at the mess in her kitchen, has a bit of a meltdown, but then Ruby shows up with Mulan and it all starts coming together enough for everything to calm down.

For about five minutes before the neighbors start showing up with their own food and alcohol, and suddenly all the quiet, familiar voices are drowned out by loud new ones. Emma pours herself a glass of lemonade and sinks into a corner of the kitchen before moving outside. It’s miserably hot, the sun warming her skin immediately, but she knows it’ll cool soon. Until then, she finds her spot in a rattan chair in the shade, curling her legs up with her, and she watches as more and more people begin to filter in.

Emma doesn’t know how any two people have this many friends. She keeps a small circle, and they’ve been around for years. She’s slow to trust after spending her entire childhood in foster care, and while she likes to think her past doesn’t define her, she knows sometimes it does. Right now, when she’s cornering herself off while everyone else is having fun, she knows it’s a time where some old demons are knocking at the unlocked door waiting to get in.

She twists the lock and tells them to go away. She doesn’t need this today.

Ruby jumps into the pool, splashing everyone around her, and Emma laughs to herself. Ruby is one of the people that’s allowed in her head, and sometimes when Emma thinks her life is falling apart, she remembers being eighteen years old, desperate for food and a place to stay, and Ruby and Granny taking her in. they gave her a job and a place to stay because Ruby told Granny she would throw a fit if she didn’t take Emma in. So, it was a threat, sure, but it worked.

It’s good. Emma’s life is good. It’s messy and confusing, but it’s good.

Mostly.

Killian walks toward her, tilting his head in question, and she nods, scooting over on the cushion to give him room. Killian takes it, his thigh warm against hers, and then offers her a beer.

“No thanks. Not quite late enough in the day for me to want something to drink. I’ve got to save it all for when David starts telling the bad jokes once he’s finished cooking and can get plastered.” Killian chuckles then puts the bottle down on the grass. “What? You don’t want it either?”

“No.” He wraps his arm around her, letting it lightly fall on her shoulder. His fingertips pull on the ends of her hair, and a shiver runs down her spine. She’s always loved when people play with her hair. “It’s too early for me to be drinking as well. I try to stay away from the stuff when I can.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Have you now?”

Emma nods and leans a little further into him. She shouldn’t. This all feels a little too couple-like, but she does anyway. “You tend not to drink and when you do, you’re very calculated. You don’t just drink a bunch of wine like I will. It’s almost like you measure it out, literally.”

Killian clicks his tongue and yanks on her hair a little more before he draws his nail over the bare skin of her arm. He doesn’t answer, though. He stays silent, so Emma pulls her legs up and curls into herself while staying next to Killian. Ruby is jumping in the pool again, and Mary Margaret is walking around the pool with a platter of appetizers Emma brought from the Blue Dog.

When Killian still doesn’t answer, Emma decides to change the subject.

“So, tell me, how did you end up being some kind of soccer superstar?”

Killian chuckles and scratches at his chin. “Ah, that’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time. I don’t plan on giving up this chair any time soon. And it’s my one legitimate personal question of the day, so answer or veto.”

His brow raises, like it’s tempting her to take back her statement. She doesn’t. She must be really good at asking the worst questions possible today. They never really talk about what he used to do for a living, mostly because she doesn’t care, but she never thought it would be a sensitive subject. Then again, she should know better. She’s got enough sensitive subjects herself.

She waits for the veto, but it never comes.

“My mum got me into it as something to do after school to keep me active, and I loved it, mostly because Liam, my brother, did it too.” Killian smiles, one of his more genuine ones, and Emma leans back to get a better look at him. She likes the little lines around his eyes much better than the ones around hers. “Long story short, I was bloody good, my father learned there was a way to bet on children’s matches, and he kept me in it to make money. I nearly quit when I found out about it, but then I was too invested in the camps and in training. I loved it, and by some miracle, I ended up being able to do it for a living. I got the dream.”

“So why’d you stop?”

He laughs, but she can tell he finds nothing about this funny, especially when his fingers tighten around her arm. “Well, my brother died, I fell apart, and by professional standards, I was too old to have any kind of time to redeem myself. I nearly drank myself to death, which answers your earlier question, so I’m careful about how much I consume now. That’s actually why I came here...to get away from it all.”

That was...that was much more than Emma was expecting, and she doesn’t know what to say. That’s a common theme in her life. She knows what she feels, but she doesn’t have a damn clue how to express it. So she leans over and wraps her arm around Killian, matching him, and presses up until she can slowly glide her lips over his. It’s soft and sweet, just a taste of how they usually kiss, and she knows it goes against every rule she has for herself.

He’s leaving soon.

This is okay because he’s leaving soon, and when they leave, Emma rarely has to worry about the consequences.

“I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid,” she says against his lips, foreheads pressed together. “I never took a class or owned a tutu, but all I wanted was to be able to do the Nutcracker dance because that’s what they did at the community theater. I didn’t have any money as a kid, and I just thought it was the most luxurious thing in the world.”

Emma pulls back. She can’t believe she said any of that, but she did. It’s out there, one tiny piece of the gigantic, five-thousand-piece puzzle that is her life.

“You would have made a hell of a ballerina with those legs of yours, Swan. What an apt last name as well. It could have been a match made in heaven.”

“Ha,” she scoffs, getting up from the chair. “You haven’t seen me dance. Unless it’s, like, in a club where all I really have to do is grind my body on a man, I can’t do it.”

“It’s easy. All you need is a partner who knows what he's doing.”

“And what if I want to be a soloist?”

His brows go up at that. “Well, then you need a teacher because apparently you make a poor excuse for a dancer.”

Killian stands from the chair, and in two quick steps, he’s next to her with his hands on her ass lifting her up. She doesn’t register what’s happening quickly enough for her legs to go dead, and by the time she’s in the air over his shoulder, she doesn’t care enough to fight what’s coming.

It’s a party, she reminds herself, might as well have a good time.

“Get my phone out of my back pocket before you throw me in, would ya?” she asks, and Killian slips his hand in and gets her phone. “Thank you. I’m totally getting back at you for this later.”

Killian stops as Ruby wolf whistles, Mary Margaret gasps, David chuckles, and everyone else starts whispering about whether or not Killian is actually going to throw her in.

He does.

The water is cold at first, like a shock to the system, but by the time she rises to the surface, it’s just the burst of energy that she needed. Killian is sitting at the edge of the water smirking, and yeah, she’s definitely got to get him back for this later.

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @marrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @elizabeethan @jrob64 @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @galadriel26 @galaxyzxstark @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo @captain-emmajones @ilovemesomekillianjones @taylrsversion @dramioneswan @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @gloriousfemaleworrier @spartanguard @snowbellewells

[finleycannotdraw]

Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.

Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.

Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show

Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter

Crowley apologizes

By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.

Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!

The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)

My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is

War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration

Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution

Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.

Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.

Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time

Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot

Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.

“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.

Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently

Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)

Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”

“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”

Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it

Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself

Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton

COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD

Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”

“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses

Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall

Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried

“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”

When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams

Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone

the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks

The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...

In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War

Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently

Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear

“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”

“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”

“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)

Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs

Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes

Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too

Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances

Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.

Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone

Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals

Adam is wayyyy too good at video games

Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable

Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)

Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.

Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast

“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.

Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.

The fuckin’ footnote on page 227

“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.

It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.

Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.

Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)

Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.

The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.

Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel

Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”

I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.

“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*

The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck

War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979

“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM

“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.

“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”

“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).

Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.

“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”

“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.

Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno

Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell: 

Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”

The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.

“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene. 

I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on

Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene

ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?

The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.

I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.

I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman

R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults

“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.

“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”

“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”

Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)

Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun

Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.

I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY

I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH

Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t