#the haunting of derek stone

[polarpuppet]

Has anyone ever read the book series The Haunting of Derek Stone??? I DESPERATELY need someone to talk to about it 😭😭😭

[yuurivoice]

Okay, random question, but in honor of Spotify Wrapped, what will the boys' top artist and song would be???

You know what, I typically dislike the "the boys'" questions but I'm procrastinating and literally have Spotify open so let's do this shit.

Seth: Coal by Dylan Gossett (also biggg BS4 banger)

Faust: Black Sheep by Metric (Brie Larson version)

Finn: Birthday Suit by Cosmo Sheldrake

Charlie: Calling After Me by Wallows

Auron: My Boy Builds Coffins by Florence + The Machine

Dark Mode Alphonse: Don't Let Them Throw Me Away by Korn

Alphonse: Cigarettes & Feelings by The Haunt

Lucien: The Only Thing They Fear Is You by Mick Gordon

Jack: Big Jet Plane by Angus & Julia Stone

Derek: I Drink Alone by George Thorogood & The Destroyers

Jessie: Hand In My Pocket by Alanis Morissette

Mark: Float On by Modest Mouse

[christinesficrecs]

do you have any stiles who is pregnant with derek’s pup or pups? no surrogacy pls. :)

Oh my goodness! I promised you fics! And then life happened! So glad you didn't give up on me. ❤️

let’s see where this thing goes by EvanesDust | 5.4K | Explicit

When Derek moved to Beacon Hills on a whim, he never expected to see Stiles again. He certainly never expected to find out that he was a father, and after a rocky start, he never thought that they’d be a family. But six months later, Stiles and Derek have moved in together and are raising their son, Jake.

They’ve planned for the future, but after Stiles reminisces about his pregnancy, Derek realizes he doesn’t know if Stiles wants more kids.

The answer is yes.

…or the one where Stiles and Derek are parents and discuss having more kids. Featuring fluff and smut, with a side of breeding kink.

Desperate Measures by SylvieW | 25.1K | Mature

Alone and away from his pack on an international business trip, Derek finds company in a local omega. He didn't realize that Stiles' desperation--and the outdated laws of his country--would turn their one night stand into so much more.

You'll Be Mine and I'll Be Yours by tearsandholdme | 87.3K | Mature

“Oh my god!” Stiles hissed, his back colliding with the door. “Oh my god! I slept with my boss, oh my god. I'm a walking cliché!”

It was supposed to be a one night stand. No complications, no feelings, no baggage. But then a missed doctor's appointment in his childhood comes back to haunt him and Stiles is left with a lot more than one very good night.

if it's meant to be, it'll be by DeancebraArt, EvanesDust | 27.5K | Explicit

Following a chance encounter with an irresistible and alluring omega, Derek wakes up in bed alone, with no way to contact the man he met the night before. Over the course of the next year, Derek finds himself wondering: how can he miss someone he doesn’t even know? And, more importantly, how can he find him again?

After a one-night stand with a mysterious alpha werewolf leaves Stiles pregnant, he resigns himself to raising his child as a single parent. It’s not until the man he’s been pining over for the last year shows up at his doorstep, does he realize there might actually be something more complicated than raising a child on his own: love.

You Plus One by Unloyal_Olio | 8.8K | Explicit

Stiles didn’t beat around the bush. “Can werewolves get man-pregnant?”

Deaton dropped the cat he was holding.

You'll Grow Into Your Skin by crossroadswrite | 11.8K

“So funny story,” Stiles winces, “Remember when I joked you couldn’t get me pregnant?”

Derek nods his head. He remembers pretty much everything from that day.

“Right,” Stiles bobs his head, stops himself and does a little ta-da gesture towards Jacy, “Surprise?”

(Once in a) Blue Moon by clarkoholic, skywardsmiles | 60K | Explicit

Stiles and Derek are getting along, but they’re not a family, and they’re sure as hell not mates. Christ, they’re basically just two stupid guys who happened to get pregnant because of a full moon and sheer dumb luck.

The Lighthouse Keeper by tugela54 | 75K | Explicit

On a rural island just off Alaska’s northern Inside Passage, stands a centuries old lighthouse - the perfect sanctuary for its keeper to hide when the moon is full, to burn and rage through its cycle with the townsfolk being none the wiser.

But then a new resident comes to Beacon Harbour – a bright-eyed young student chasing an elusive whale species – and all of a sudden those thick stone walls seem paper thin…

Like the Sun Holds the Moon by IAmAVeronica | 118.1K | Explicit

Stiles is an omega, and he's supposed to be obedient. He's supposed to mate with the stranger chosen for him and quietly disappear. He's not supposed to talk to alphas, or have sex, or fall in love. Then he meets Derek Hale. Obedience was always overrated, anyway.

My Life is not a Horror Movie, Derek by DiscontentedWinter | 38.9K | Explicit

Stiles keeps dreaming of people in robes with knives. With chanting. In Latin. And he mentioned the knives, right? That can't be good.

monday i can fall apart but by friday i'm in love by tryslora | 5.6K | Mature

It's just past five in the morning and Stiles is barely awake, wearing only sleep pants that hang low below his pregnant belly, and he can't get the damned brand new jar of decaf coffee open. But he has a neighbor, and he's too tired to think that waking someone else up at this hour might not be the best (or politest) of ideas.

[disneyvillainbracket]

Disney Villain Bracket

basically how this works is we have brackets a, b, and c. c is a tricky one, hopefully ill explain right

it’s basically a bracket and a half, and the villains in the half bracket will go across and meet in the middle, and the winner of that goes against the two villains on the bracket above

once we get to the middle two in a and b and have that vote, and once the double elimination in bracket c happens, the three villains will all go head to head… to head. it’ll be the three winners of each bracket in one final poll

am i explaining correctly? oh well, y’all will see what i mean when we get there

im sure a lot of y’all have opinions on how this was put together but keep in mind ive never done this before and i did my best. so

also! voting criteria is you picking your favorite of the villains in each poll. not the movies or shows or whatever they’re from, im talking about the characters themselves

i will be posting the polls on the left side of bracket A first, on Monday, April 17 at 12 PM CST! after that, i will post the left side of bracket B the following day at the same time. then the left side of bracket C the next day. the day after that, i will post the right side of bracket A, then B, then C. you get it

hope y’all have fun with this poll!!!

here’s a breakdown of the brackets below the cut, with the names and fandoms of each villain:

Bracket A:

LOVEMUFFIN (Phineas and Ferb) VS Randall Boggs (Monsters Inc)

Derek (Milo Murphy’s Law) VS The Core/Darcy (Amphibia)

Dr. Drakken (Kim Possible) VS Lady Tremaine (Cinderella)

Magica de Spell (Ducktales) VS Malleus Draconia (Twisted Wonderland)

Bill Cipher (Gravity Falls) VS Prince John (Robin Hood)

Professor Z (Cars 2) VS Oogie Boogie (Nightmare Before Christmas)

Prince Hans (Frozen) VS Governor Ratcliffe (Pocahontas)

Professor Ratigan (The Great Mouse Detective) VS Shan Yu (Mulan)

The Sanderson Sisters (Hocus Pocus) VS The White Witch (Chronicles of Narnia)

Emperor Belos (The Owl House) VS Zira (The Lion King 2: Simba’s Pride)

Mother Gothel (Tangled) VS Assistant Mayor Bellwether (Zootopia)

Charles Muntz (Up) VS Constance Hatchaway (The Haunted Mansion - Disney Parks)

Due (PKNA) VS Kalabar (Halloweentown)

The Walt Disney Company VS The Fairy Godmother (Shrek 2)

Tusk (Club Penguin) VS Edgar Balthazar (The Aristocats)

Ursula (The Little Mermaid) VS Morgana (The Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea)

Bracket B:

Cruella deVil (101 Dalmatians) VS Man/The Hunter (Bambi)

Turbo “King Candy” (Wreck it Ralph) VS Hopper (A Bug’s Life)

Queen Narissa (Enchanted) VS Clayton (Tarzan)

The Queen of Hearts (Alice in Wonderland) VS Lotso Bear (Toy Story 3)

Madame Medusa (The Rescuers) VS Lord Hater (Wander over Yonder)

Maestro Forte (Beauty and the Beast: An Enchanted Christmas) VS The Horned King (The Black Cauldron)

Tamatoa (Moana) VS Second Dimension Doofenshmirtz (Phineas and Ferb: Across the Second Dimension)

Captain Hook (Peter Pan) VS Captain Hook (Hook)

Scar (The Lion King) VS Chick Hicks (Cars)

The Underminer (Incredibles 2) VS Gaston (Beauty and the Beast)

Hades (Hercules) VS Captain Gantu (Lilo and Stitch)

Madam Mim (Sword in the Stone) VS Dr. Facilier (Princess and the Frog)

Villain Recruiters (Disney Parks) VS Tina Harwood (Ice Princess)

Harrison Hightower III (Tower of Terror - Disney Parks) VS Professor Parenthesis (The OWCA Files)

The Sea Witches (Festival of Mystique - Disney Parks) VS Marina Del Ray (The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning)

Janet Smythe (Best Friends Whenever) VS Meredith Blake (The Parent Trap)

Bracket C:

The Evil Queen (Snow White and the Seven Dwarves) VS Scroop (Treasure Planet)

Chernabog (Fantasia) VS Jafar (Aladdin)

Toffee (Star VS the Forces of Evil) VS The Blot (Epic Mickey)

Syndrome (The Incredibles) VS Stinky Pete (Toy Story 2)

Phantom Blot (Disney Comics) VS Sa’luk (Aladdin and the King of Thieves)

Trauma (PKNA) VS The Beagle Boys (Disney Comics)

Royal Pain (Sky High) VS Demona (Gargoyles)

Yzma (Emperor’s New Groove) VS Judge Claude Frollo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame)

Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty) VS Ernesto de la Cruz (Coco)

Commander Rourke (Atlantis: The Lost Empire) VS The Headless Horseman (The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad)

Emperor Zurg (Toy Story) VS Miles McDermott (The Even Stevens Movie)

Professor JT Wu (The Nightmare Experiment - Disney Parks) VS Henry Ravenswood (Big Thunder Mountain Railroad - Disney Parks)

[velathetanager]

More Payday Plush AU

The dolls were given their own names to differentiate them from their big counterparts. The ones I have set in stone are as follows (ideas for the rest appreciated).

Dallas - Nate

Hoxton - George

Wolf - Pup

Chains: Nick

Houston - Derek

Clover - Lily

Jacket - Ricky

Sokol - Ivan

The dolls are not, in fact, murderous. However, the heisters believe they are, and sometimes they don’t help with this idea. Wolf once saw Pup with a nail gun. No one knows where he got it or what he was going to do with it.

Ricky came with two other dolls. One is a girl in a green top and pink pants, along with a horse head (still plush). The other is a guy in a white suit and blue shirt, along with an owl head (still plush). When the three travel together, Ricky is able to speak perfect English, and so are the other two. Jacket is terrified of them in this state and has been known to lock himself in the restroom when they show up like that.

George and Derek don’t hate each other or anything; they actually get along pretty well and will cuddle sometimes. That being said, they do hate each other’s big counterparts and will go to great lengths to make their days worse. The same is true between Ricky and Ivan.

Derek will squeak and cover his face around Lily.

Nate once pulled haunted BS on Dallas for a week after the latter picked up a medic bag the doll had been trying to take. How did Dallas handle it? Bought a toy doctor kit somewhere and gave it to Nate. Nate was immediately satisfied and guards that thing with his life.

[just-another-busy-fangirl-writes]

Haunted, Sterek, 100w, teen [AO3] @sterekdrabbles 3/29/23 (inform, stone, demon) theme: consent

Derek’s skin had turned pale, and if he weren’t shivering, Stiles would’ve thought he was turning to stone. His lack of improvement informed Stiles exactly how sick Derek was.

“Derek,” Stiles said loudly, still a step away. “Open your eyes, now.”

There must’ve been something in Stiles’s tone because Derek obeyed. The eyes that met Stiles’s were haunted, sad, and hurt. Stiles was going to murder the demon who’d done this.

“Let me help you,” Stiles begged. With one more rough shiver, Derek nodded. Immediately Stiles took him into his arms, pushing his magic into the wolf to heal him.

[because-she-goes]

aphrodite’s rage

warnings: swearing, nora being angry, drugs (weed), breakup. Enjoy!

author’s note: meet nora! can’t wait for everyone to see more of her :) Also, sorry about the song change, just thought this fit nora and matty’s story and plus george produced it!

“Nora, don’t be ridiculous! We’re good, we’re us. I still love you.”

“But thats the thing Derek, I don’t. You don’t value me, you don’t even let me talk about my job for gods sake! All we do is sit around and talk about you, your needs, your wants. Well, what about what I want hmm? Has that even crossed your mind for a second in our relationship? Have you ever for even a minute not thought about you?” Nora’s voice echoes around the apartment, voice as sweet as ambrosia, but tongue sharp enough to wound the devil. It has been exactly 19 days since she came home from Vegas, from Matty.

Oh Matty. The only person to make her feel seen, heard and understood. The only person to make her feel like a human again. The only person to actually love her.

“This is about him, isn’t it? That guy you met on your trip?” Derek dares, Matty’s name alone enough to strike fear in his veins. Derek doesn’t dare say it.

“So, what the fuck if it is, Derek? So what if I felt special for once? So, what if it somebody made me feel good enough for once? Hmmm answer me when I talk to you!” She spits back at him. A wildfire in her eyes. “Derek, I need you to get this through your thick, dull skull. I don’t love you. I haven’t for awhile.” She thunders.

He stands and looks at her, not a thought behind his eyes. Just a big, dumb idiot. Why did she even fall for this oaf, she thinks. He couldn’t be more opposite than Matty. Matty, she sighs again. Sweet, caring, spontaneous, funny, smart, interesting, fashionable and a menace with the smile of a saint. Nora shivers at the memory of him in that suit the night in vegas, goosebumps flood her skin.

“Matty… if you can even stomach his name… is the greatest person who has ever come into my life, you dick!” Continuing to reign hellfire on her now bumbling boyfriend.

“Oh please, Nora get real! He (Derek still refusing to say his name) just met you like two weeks ago and I have known you since you were 20.” He tries to reason with her, seeing her slip away.

“Hey dipshit, people change! If you think I am still the same young, naive, stoned-out-of-her-mind girl from all those years ago then you are more hopeless than I thought.” Her words like venom. “Derek, may these be the last words I ever have to say to you: we are over.” The final words getting lodged in his psyche. Haunting him.

And with that, she grabs her stuff and walks out of the apartment head held high. She’ll have movers come get her stuff tomorrow and get it to her apartment in Brooklyn.

Stepping out, she inhales the new sense of freedom that surrounds her. Taking out the celebratory joint she kept hidden in her tote bag, she lights up and makes her way towards Walt Whitman park. Puffing on the herb as she struts down the street, she feels reborn. A new, fresh woman. One totally disconnected from her old life, Derek being the final string to it. Derek being the only thing tugging her back in life, towards childish things. He never did understand her now thinking about it. He never got her desire for a career, always telling her she had him to fall back on and not seeing any issue with her being totally dependent on him. He never got her taste in music or her new friends, always suggesting they hang out with people from high school - people who may as well have been taking bets on her downfall and selling tickets to her demise. Her only thought regarding those people, and now Derek was fuck ‘em.

Joint now halfway gone and Nora’s head feeling light and hazy, she gets to the park. Deciding to sit on an empty patch of the lawn and finish her celebration. Digging in her tote bag, finding her phone. Going through her texts she finds one from Matty from two days ago when he got back to the UK. Checking the time, its 7pm in London.

One ring, then two.

“Hey Nor, whats up?” He asks, voice perfectly husky. She relaxes and melts at the pet name.

“Guess who is a free woman, Handsome?” His heart stops. Smile erupting across his face.

“No way, gorgeous. You finally did it?”

“Just got finished, think he is still shell shocked. Now celebrating.”

“As you should. He seemed like a fucking twat anyways.” He remarks.

“I think you’d like to know he couldn’t even say your name. Couldn’t even stomach me saying it.” She tells him, he smirks on the other end of the phone.

“Can’t believe you even liked him, honey. Sounds like a total wanker.”

“Trust me, he is. Anyways, I don’t have much tying to me to New York now and I’m sure I can find a place in London to work out of. Was gonna take a flight there next week and shack up in a hotel-“

“Or, you could stay with me. Save the money plus you could wake and bake with me.” He offers, smiling at the idea of waking up with her every day, of playing house.

“You got yourself a deal, Healy. But, no funny business mister! I’m single, I wanna have fun for a bit.”

“Oh trust me darling, you haven’t known fun until you’ve been in London at night.” He reassures, mouth salivating over the thought of her in a club dress and running around with him at night. Fuck, he is a goner.

The next day, Nora books a one-way flight to London and starts shopping, trying to pick things she deems as being especially tantalizing, deciding she is gonna torture Matty for however long she is there. A mischievous giggle leaves her throat, oh this is gonna be fun.

— 1 week later —

The double decker plane touches down in Heathrow airport. It is late and Nora slept terribly on the flight. Texting Matty that she landed safely and giving him the arrival information, she stands up to grab her overhead bag. Her hoodie comforting her and baggy sweatpants pool at her ankles. She pulls her headphones around her neck as she walks in the direction of checked luggage and grabbing her suitcases. Next is customs, thanking the lord she didn’t pack any weed betting on Matty having a full stock at his house. The customs officer asks her if she’s staying for business or pleasure and she responds by pausing and then decidedly saying pleasure and adding that she got a visitor’s visa approved by the UK embassy in New York last week. He nods sternly and confirms that yes, she did. Stamping the US passport and sending her on her way to the pickup location.

In the crowd of families reuniting, soldiers rushing to their partners, siblings hugging and lovers kissing she spots a card.

“Thee Ms. Nora Downey.”

The man behind the sign looks positively drool worthy. First off, he has stubble that dances across his defined jaw accentuating his features. Secondly, he’s wearing an old Yankees hat low hiding his eyes from anyone who may recognize them and as a way to tease Nora, fully knowing she prefers the Mets. Third, he’s wearing a tight crisp white shirt letting his iconic tattoos creep out from the hems and sleeves hugging his defined biceps. Finally, she sees a pair of baby blue adidas track pants hang low from his waist with a pair of battered gazelles. If she could jump him, she would. She composes herself, trying to get her voice to be even when she greets him.

From his view, she could not look any cuter. Hoodie tied at the neck, brunette hair creeping out from underneath and black headphones cover her neck. He makes a note to himself to litter it with hickeys at some point during her trip. Her grey sweatpants adorably too long for her frame and black sambas barely visible. She softly smiles at him as the escalator descends, her nerves increasing at he grows closer. He reciprocates.

Finally being within arms reach of her, he pulls her to his chest. Wrapping his arms around her and breathing in her perfume - coffee and vanilla with a little smoke - he hums. Content to have his favorite girl in his town and getting to be her personal tour guide for however long he is lucky enough to have her. He already scheduled for them to go on a guided tour of the Tate Modern tomorrow night and grab some dinner. The guys were gonna meet her in a couple days - Adam being the most eager since he was a fan of her work.

Her head is tucked into his shoulder, smiling ear to ear as she feels his shoulder relax under her arms. She breathes calmly - smelling the lavender and mint cologne she has come to love. She marvels at the fact that she was ready to go to bed just 45 minutes ago when she landed, but now feeling wide awake in his presence.

“Hi, honey. Missed you, can’t wait to show you just how…fun… I can be.” He smirks, ready to be just the most enchanting version of himself.

“Oh, you’re on, Handsome. I was born to be…fun.” She teases, mirroring his smirk.

She feels him shudder. Oh she’s got this in the bag.

[nightafternightpod]

It's finally time to talk about one of the more infamous (and sponsor-losing!) episodes of the show! NEW POD, FOLKS! :D

Laverne & Shirley are delighted by the arrival of rockers Derek DeWoods (Eric Idle) and London (Peter Noone) from chart toppers London's Bridges at Cowboy Bills one afternoon. Starstruck fans that they are, they introduce themselves to the fellas, reciting snippets from the back of their record jackets all the way. Charmed, the boys invite them to a house party (on Blue Jay Way!) they're throwing.

At the party, Derek and London, encouraged by bandmate Malcom (Stephen Bishop), soon realize there's an easy solution to the tax troubles they've been having -- dueling green card marriages. That'll free up their finances so they can buy some castles! Sniffing about for easy marks, they set their sights on the girls -- after Laverne and Shirley have accidentally imbibed one pot brownie too many. Stoned to the gills, the girls are whisked away to Vegas for a fast wedding. Will they say those two little words or will their inebriation keep them from marital bliss once more?!

Meanwhile, Lenny and Squiggy meet mary jane at the party's 'jolly room,' and only Lenny enjoys the encounter.

On pod, we talk the '60s scene of the time, some backstory trivia thanks to one of the episode's writers (thanks Cindy Begel!), and pontificate what '70s director these rock n rolla's would be involved with.

Find at the usual haunts, y'all, even if Anchor has been ingested by Spotify properly now.

YT: https://youtu.be/U0jMyK1x7Bg Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/i-do-i-do-s6e13/id1511414778?i=1000603566545 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/1ztHQ0pU2P0zIYE0I6UGZ3?si=vqPwRI3jQAeGLw2tyIQs3A Anchor: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/nightaftnightpc

[docrotten]

THE STONE TAPE (1972) – Episode 227 – Decades of Horror 1970s

‘Before I forget, sir. Them conservation inspectors was here again. In there a long time, they was. They said there would be a summons. And before they went, one of them said, “Did you know about the room?”… Just that, sir. Just, “Did you know about the room?”’ Obviously, they didn’t know about the room. Join your faithful Grue Crew – Doc Rotten, Bill Mulligan, Chad Hunt, and Jeff Mohr – as they learn about the room in The Stone Tape (1972), a science fiction horror movie written by Nigel Kneale!

Decades of Horror 1970s Episode 227 – The Stone Tape (1972)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

Decades of Horror 1970s is partnering with the WICKED HORROR TV CHANNEL (https://wickedhorrortv.com/) which now includes video episodes of the podcast and is available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, and its online website across all OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop.

Synopsis: A research team from an electronics company moves into an old Victorian house to start work on finding a new recording medium. When team member Jill Greeley witnesses a ghost, team director Peter Brock decides not only to analyze the apparition, which he believes is a psychic impression trapped in a stone wall (dubbed a “stone tape”) but also to exorcise it, with terrifying results.

Directed by: Peter Sasdy

Writing Credits: Nigel Kneale

Produced by: Innes Lloyd (producer)

Sound Department: Desmond Briscoe (special sound effects: BBC Radiophonic Workshop)

Music Department: Desmond Briscoe (composer: electronic music) (uncredited)

Selected Cast:

Michael Bryant as Peter Brock

Jane Asher as Jill Greeley

Iain Cuthbertson as Roy Collinson

Michael Bates as Eddie Holmes

Reginald Marsh as William Crawshaw

Tom Chadbon as Hargrave

John Forgeham as Maudsley

Philip Trewinnard as Stewart Jessop

James Cosmo as Cliff Dow

Neil Wilson as Sergeant Paterson

Christopher Banks as Vicar

Michael Graham Cox as Alan

Hilda Fenemore as Bar Helper

Peggy Marshall as Bar Lady

Derek Chafer as Man in Suit (uncredited)

Leave it to Grue-Believers to identify excellent films the Grue-Crew knows little or nothing about. Such is the case with The Stone Tape (1972), a BBC TV film written by Nigel Kneale, directed by Peter Sasdy, and shown on Christmas Day in 1972.

Kneale, as can be expected, weaves an excellent story, blending science fiction and supernatural elements that solidify a subgenre of ghost stories. The Stone Tape overcomes the expected shortcomings of videotaped production and 1972 special effects through story and performances. Michael Bryant, Jane Asher, Iain Cuthbertson, and Michael Bates ain’t no slouches. Thanks again to all those who recommended The Stone Tape. Your 70s Grue-Crew loves this movie!

At the time of this writing, The Stone Tape (1972) is available to stream from Shudder, AMC+, and PPV Amazon. The film is scheduled for a December 9, 2024 release as The Stone Tape (1972) (Limited Edition), a standard Blu-ray formatted disc from 101 Films.

Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror 1970s is part of the Decades of Horror two-week rotation with The Classic Era and the 1980s. In two weeks, the next episode, chosen by Chad, will be The House of Seven Corpses (1974), starring John Ireland, Faith Domergue, and John Carradine. Yeah, baby! A haunted house, corpses, and ghosts!

We want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: comment on the site or email the Decades of Horror 1970s podcast hosts at feedback@gruesomemagazine.com. 

Check out this episode!

[lnkedmyheart]

Hi! I really like reading your take on FMA 03 🤗 Also in a post you mentioned that some of your favorite books aren't well known. I got curious and I wanted to ask you about them if that's okay.

P. S. : You have posted about HeiEd and FMA 03 before? Because when I got into HeiEd a few years ago I think I saw your username around. Or maybe I'm confused and I'm thinking of someone else lol Sorry

Thank you for saying that. I don't know if I have anything new to say because I don't even know what has already been said by other people. Also no, I haven't posted about fma before this month mostly because I wasn't all that involved in fandom culture at the time. When I did wade in I avoided the fma fandom cause of the general hostility towards 03. I don't even know how I ended up getting dragged back into 03 iin 2024 and started a rewatch but I blame CoS Ed and his general pretty sad boy vibes. I also never interacted with HeiEd (or the fma fandom) outside of reading angsty fanfics which is funny because the only ship I have actively shipped while watching fma was scar/lust but the only ship I have looked up fics for is HeiEd.

No worries about the books I like. I wouldn't necessarily call them obscure because I doubt they are but they are less talked about on socmed from my experience. Some of the ones I can remember are:

Maynard's House by Herman Raucher

Demon by Samantha Lee

Elric of Melniboné series

The Plague Dogs by Richard Adams (I think this one is popular but I haven't heard it mentioned all that often and mostly it gets overshadowed by Adam's better known Watership Down)

The Coins of Judas by Scott McBain, again i don't know how well known this one is but I found it in mum's collection read it once, became obsessed, then promptly lost it in a move, never found the book again

Droll Stories by Honoré de Balzac, I found this 1901 print in my grand dad's old stuff. It's literally falling apart. Reading it was a task but luckily it's so old it sort of just opens flat now. Good too cause if I bend the pages too hard they start crumbling. Luckily the pdf is also available.

Peter Darling by Austin Chant

The Haunting of Derek Stone (used to be my favorite series as a kid)

The City and the City by China Melville

The Curious Incident of the Dog at Night Time by Mark Haddon

My tastes in media/fiction is a bit more sombre and melancholic. Borderline boring if you want to call it that because most of my friends can't make it through Maynard's House. I like a slow plot that takes its sweet time setting the scene and mood, particularly in horror or thriller stories where the discomfort builds and builds till you're ripping your hair out. I like climaxes that involve philosophical discussions and introspection as opposed to high octane action. A lot of bitter sweet and outright downer endings too. I love unresolved endings with the hero failing to achieve their ultimate goals.

[boundforhale]

Derek  notably  lacked  focus  throughout  the  day.  He  noticed  Boyd  throw  him  a  look  of  concern  when  he  barely  deflected  a  blow  from  the  knight  he  had  been  training  with  at  the  time.  He  tried  to  pay  attention  but  constantly  found  his  mind  drifting  to  Stiles  and  how  he  should  lead  the  conversation  that  they  were  going  to  be  having  later.  He  laughed  it  off  with  his  men,  saying  that  he  was  feeling  generous  today  and  was  giving  them  an  advantage.  It  was  a  thin  defense  but  most  of  them  seemed  to  buy  it.  At  least  the  patrol  had  been  uneventful.

He  climbed  the  stairs  to  Stiles'  usual  haunt,  left  hand  pressed  to  his  right  shoulder  as  he  rotated  it  slightly  with  a  slight  hiss.  All  those  last  minute  movements  during  training  had  sent  more  pain  through  his  sword  arm  than  usual.  The  aches  slipped  from  his  mind  as  he  took  in  Stiles  frame  upon  pushing  through  the  door,  his  lips  pulling  into  an  easy  smile  as  he  crossed  the  distance  and  leaned  against  the  stone  beside  Stiles  so  he  could  look  at  him.  

"What  is  it?  What's  wrong?"  Derek  queried,  frowning  as  he  could  see  something  on  Stiles'  face.  He  was  normally  so  happy  to  be  up  here.  Had  something  happened  after  they  had  parted  ways  to  upset  him?

Stiles wasn't sure how things would go later, but he was happy enough to pass time until they could reunite--he just wasn't excited about talking. There were definitely other ways they could get their points knows, and he feel like this morning had done an awfully good job.

He returned to his own room, which he was beginning to spend less and less time in, and freshened himself up before changing into much more comfortable and practical clothing.

As he was changing, however, he managed to catch the leather strap of his necklace on the awful fancy tunic, and the leather band that had definitely seen better days snapped on him.

Stiles took a moment to try and mend the two ends back together, but the longer he tried, the more distressed he started to become--his comfort item, the last thing he had of his old life, and he'd always kept it close to his heart.

As hard as it was for him, Stiles put it away in the small chest at the foot of his bed. It pained him to be without it, but if it couldn't be secured and safely around his neck, he didn't want to risk losing it wearing it some other way.

And then he found himself heading up to the tower--his tower, where he climbed up on a parapet and sat down. He busied himself with the old book he'd been trying to work through for the last few weeks. It was all quite basic, but he still struggled with the words, and stringing them together into something sensical. It seemed even more difficult today, after breaking the strap of his necklace. Nothing felt right without it.

[rubykgrant]

Because I like making lists and sharing info about stuff I like, I decided to share a small group of a few of my favorite books; specifically, ones that are SPOOKY somehow (some are about magic, some are about more sci-fi stuff, but all still a bit spooky). These are all books that I own, so this isn’t like a “top 50 best spooky books ever” kind of thing, just what I have on my shelf in no particular order. Also, these are all children and young adult books, I’ll save the grown-up horror books for a different list (these books vary in levels of spooky, from mild to hard-core, but are still generally safe for most people to read)

If you like to read and have some time to hunt these down, you might enjoy them. If you are into spooky stories, these might inspire you and provide ref for writing ideas-

BUNNICULA by Deborah and James Howe

NO FLYING IN THE HOUSE by Betty Brock

STONEWORDS A GHOST STORY by Pam Conrad

THE HALLOWEEN TREE by Ray Bradbury

MALICE by Chris Wooding (also, the sequel HAVOC)

CORALINE by Neil Gaiman

HECK: WHERE THE BAD KIDS GO by Dale E Basye (seven books total in the series)

HOW TO DRIVE YOUR FAMILY CRAZY… ON HALLOWEEN by Dean Marney (originally titled “The Jack-O-Lantern that Ate my Brother)

SKULLDUGGERY PLEASANT by Derek Landy (nine books total)

THE HAUNTING OF DEREK STONE by Tony Abbot (four books total)

SCORPION SHARDS by Neal Shusterman (part of the star chronicle series)

WELL WITCHED by Frances Hardinge

(some descriptions of the books under the cut)

BUNNICULA by Deborah and James Howe

Told from the perspective of Harold the dog, we are introduced to a new family pet; a cute little bunny found in a box at the theater (that was showing Dracula). After the important task of naming the little fluff-ball Bunnicula is over, the family is content to have their new pet. Though, he is a little odd… he sleeps all day, and they never see him eat. The family cat Chester, Harold’s dear friend, is suspicious that this bunny isn’t all that he seems. Clues of what Bunnicula truly is begin to pile up, literally, when other members of the family discover vegetables that have been completely drained. Chester is convinced that when it comes to Bunnicula today it might only be vegtables, but tomorrow it could be the world! Harold isn’t quite so sure the “vampire rabbit” is dangerous, and Bunnicula might be the one who needs help.

NO FLYING IN THE HOUSE by Betty Brock

A mysterious child has come to live with a very rich woman, in her very big house, and brings with her a very tiny dog; Gloria, a talking dog and Annabel’s guardian, is looking after her. Annabel doesn’t think Gloria is strange. To her, this is a normal life, and she loves everything in the house… except the strange, tiny cat that appeared and started telling Annabel secrets. Annabel learns she is actually very strange, because she isn’t an ordinary little girl, she is half-fairy and can even fly! This isn’t all good news though. Annabel has to choose between different parts of who she is, and whatever she decides can change her life forever

STONEWORDS A GHOST STORY by Pam Conrad

Zoe’s mother brought her to live with her grandparents when she was very little, and on her first night at her new house, she could feel another little hand holding hers even though nobody else could see her “imaginary friend”. Zoe Louise and Zoe spend every day together, they play, they talk, they grow up together… well, Zoe grows, but Zoe Louise stays the same. Sometimes, Zoe Louise disappears up the door of the back stairs, and Zoe is afraid to follow her. As Zoe gets older, she finally takes a trip into her friend’s world, and realizes her friend needs her help, but she needed it a long time ago. When Zoe visits a cemetery and sees her name, her friend’s name, on a grave stone, she finally has the courage to go through the door and into the past, hopefully to change a terrible tragedy

THE HALLOWEEN TREE by Ray Bradbury

On Halloween night a group a friends meet to go trick-or-treating… but someone is missing. Pip, the best of them all, is supposed to be in the hospital for appendicitis, but his friends are sure they saw him run toward a creepy house, so they follow him. This is where they meet Mr. Moundshroud, and where they see a tree full of pumpkins on every branch, carved faces that range from looking almost human to ghoulish, candles glowing within them. Mr Moundshroud tells the kids that Pip has stolen a pumpkin from this tree, and has fled not just to another place but another time. In order to save their friend from a mysterious fate, the kids go on a journey to different eras around the world, where they learn meanings behind different traditions about life and death   

MALICE by Chris Wooding (also, the sequel HAVOC)

Part illustration and part language, this book blends comics with the novel, as well as fantasy and reality. You see, there is a mysterious comic book, hard to find, and even if you get one the pages go blank after time passes… it depicts a strange and horrifying world called MALICE, full of monsters, and also children who have been transported there from the real world. An urban legend says if you gather the right ingredients and say the right words, Tall Jake will come and take you away. It turns out to be very real, and soon two kids begin a search and rescue mission to find their friend. The thing is, not everybody survives being the star of the comic, and you might only make it into one issue

CORALINE by Neil Gaiman

Coraline is an explorer; she has explored the garden, she has explored her room, she has explored the hallways, she has explored everywhere in her new house… except whatever room is behind the strange locked door. Once Coraline finds the key, she goes down a dark corridor and comes out in… the same room. The same, but different. This is the same house, but it is another house. She also has an Other Mother, with black button eyes, who promises that Coraline will find this world much more interesting. She does, but Coraline still wants to go back to her real home with her real parents. The Other Mother doesn’t like that; she wants Coraline to stay with her forever and always, she wants Coraline to love her, and all Coraline has to do is let her sew the buttons… to save her life, the ghosts of children who came before her, and her parents, Coraline stands up to the Other Mother with some unexpected help from her crazy neighbors and a Cat that doesn’t need a name 

HECK: WHERE THE BAD KIDS GO by Dale E Basye (seven books total in the series)

Bad kids get punished, even if they aren’t alive anymore. Milton and Marlo Fauster find this out the hard way. Down in Heck, there are many different types of “punishment”; like Wise Acres for the sassy kids, or Snivel for the whiny kids. There are seven circles of Heck, so you’ll fit in somewhere. Full of demons and puns, Heck isn’t just a place for bad kids, it is a very bad place for kids. Some of the punishments don’t really seem fair, and some kids never learn a lesson. Could there be a way for Milton and Marlow to go up, to heaven or at least back to the land of the living? Or will they just keep going down

HOW TO DRIVE YOUR FAMILY CRAZY… ON HALLOWEEN by Dean Marney (originally titled “The Jack-O-Lantern that Ate my Brother)

Lizzie is annoyed that her parents never listen to her, she’s annoyed that she’s getting teased about her name (getting called “Lizzie Borden”), but most of all she is annoyed by her little brother. She wishes she could just enjoy Halloween all by herself, but her parents are making her take him around the neighborhood. Lizzie tries to look out for him, especially when a woman dressed as witch offers him some shifty candy. Lizzie told him not to touch it, but do little brothers listen? Now Lizzie is being put to the test by the witch, who is in fact, an actual witch. She has to rescue her little brother from a haunted house, full of everything Lizzie is afraid of

SKULLDUGGERY PLEASANT by Derek Landy (nine books total)

Stephanie’s uncle left her a mansion full of his possessions after he passed away, and she also seems to have inherited a few problems; strangers demanding she give them the “key” and attacking her. She is saved by a skeleton, held together by magic, with the ability to conjure fire balls. If that doesn’t work against his enemies, he does also have a gun. Stephanie becomes part of this secret world full of sorcerers after meeting the magical detective Skullduggery Pleasant, deciding to help him solve the mystery of her uncle’s death and locating the key. She learns a lot about magic, the power of names, meets many other magic-users, and uncovers a sinister plot that could destroy the world

THE HAUNTING OF DEREK STONE by Tony Abbot (four books total)

14-year-old Derek thought he was the only survivor in his family after the train accident… but eventually, his older brother turns up. His brother doesn’t seem quite right though. He doesn’t remember much about his life, but does talk a lot about things he does remember. To Derek, it sounds like the life of somebody else. Eventually, Derek figures out that the person in his brother is someone who died many years ago, in another train crash in the same place. The dead are coming back, and some of them are very dangerous. Derek’s new life dealing with the dead takes him all over New Orleans, through the bayou, and to some places he’d rather not go

SCORPION SHARDS by Neal Shusterman (part of the star chronicle series)

Six young people who have never met have something in common; they aren’t normal. They have odd abilities, strange powers, and unfortunate afflictions that cause them pain, fear, and suffering. Slowly, they begin to meet each other, and figure out what is happening to them… and what they really are. It isn’t just their bodies that are hurting, it is their souls; they are all pieces of a star that went supernova long ago, and within their large star-sized souls are parasites that are killing them. They have to learn to work together, overcome their fears, battle their demons, and find the courage to save themselves

WELL WITCHED by Frances Hardinge

At some point, almost everybody has tossed a coin into a well and made a wish. Nobody really expects the wish to come true. You just have to find the right well… or the wrong well. To pay for the bus, three kids stole some coins from an old wishing well, and become responsible for the wishes connected to the coins. If they resist their duty, they are visited by the spirit of the well; she might be a witch, or she might be an old forgotten goddess. Either way, she torments the kids until they do what she wants. You see, she has a hard time understanding some of the complicated things people wish for in the modern world, but the kids do. She even gives them special abilities to complete the tasks. It is almost like doing good deeds… but once certain things are set in motion, they don’t stop. There is an ebb and flow to wish-granting, give and take, and coins are only part of the price

[slashingdisneypasta]

Supernatural!MultiVillains x Reader || Drabbles

Plots / Includes: I wanted to do some more traditional monster/victim stuff so here we go! Okay so Bowzer isn't exactly traditional but he's serving as the sorta dragon-type. Let me have Bowzer. Sort of fairytale/black and white movie feels hopefully.

Basically- MONSTERS.

Bowser x reader || Monstrous Captor ||- Your Prince Charming is on his way- but maybe the way the monster gets your heart beating, and the size of his hands; the total non-humanness of the thing, and the honest way he talks to you... will get to you first.

Ghost!The Deathslinger / Caleb Quinn x reader || A Ghost ||- You work at what used to be, the Hellshire Penitentiary, which is now a hotel rather then a prison. Not all of the place is used, and what isn't is creepy as hell and rumoured to be haunted because of its terrible history, but these abandoned depths are exactly where the laundry room is. And you are in charge of laundry... which leaves you plenty of time, with the mysterious ghost you know i truly real, and who sometimes reveals himself to you; Caleb Quinn.

Duke (The Night) x reader || A Vampire ||- You've always wanted more then this plain, typical life that's been set out for you by the universe. And he's offering you so, so much more... but you know just as much will be taken away if you accept. Still, its getting harder and harder to hold out.

Hades x reader || The King of the Underworld ||- Some people get proposed to by men with dowries, and flowers, and a nice townhouse. Some people say yes the first time. Some people's suitors stop asking after they say no. In none of these ways are you some people.

Inkubus x reader || An Incubi Demon ||- You meet a mysterious fellow on your walk home from work, late at night. And he says all the right things.

*PLATONIC Seedeater x reader || A Wild Beast ||- You're out camping one night with an insufferable man, who you refuse to even consider as a suitor though your family desperately want you to, when a wild beats tears into your camp ground and an interference from you causes your suitors bullet to miss- and the monster to kill him, instead.

Ursula x reader || A Sea Witch ||- You make a deal with the devil, and now you belong to her.

Warnings: Monster loving (Perhaps some monster fucking... later... ). Kissing. And Duke must drink your blood a lil. Just a tad. A LIL. A sIP.

Song recommendations: Just A Little Peck (I Kissed A Vampire), Twisted Teeth (35MM), Enchanted Ballroom (Derek Fiechter), any part of Danny Elfman's Alice In Wonderland Soundtrack, Queen Of The Damned (Richard Gibbs)

Bowzer || Monstrous Captor ||

"Let me out! Let me- Edward will come." You assure your captor, a tone in your voice that is demanding and proud- just as royal as your ancestors had been. His glowing golden eyes grin at you from the darkness beyond the bars you're locked behind- they force you to feel their stare. They demand that you know, he's looking.

Nevertheless!- "He's going to come save me, and when he arrives he's going to slice your head off!"

"Hm," The monsters deep voice reverberates throughout the room, ricocheting off the stone walls as he turns and heads for the door. "Graphic language for a young royal. You've haven't been here an hour yet and you talk like that? Heh, you'll fit in perfectly."

You gasp, outraged and scowling as your fingers encircle the cold metal bars- tightly. "Go to hell."

"Ohhh, scary." He rolls his eyes, opening the tower door and slipping through it. His parting words, though, seem to hang in the air even after his heavy, stomping footsteps disappear down the stairs.

"Aren't we already there, sweetheart?"

~

He came back hours later when the sky is a deep blue, and the stars are out and you have an oddly lovely, calming view from your tower prison, with dinner- some blue sludge and chunk of bread. The monster slides it under the bars of your human-sized cage

That calm feeling from looking at the sky disappears the moment he looks at you; Replaced by a powerful, aching feeling all over your body.

Bowser's voice is akin to massive, heavy tires carrying a dense load slowly over the ground. That crumble and growl of slowly crunching stones under rubber.

He also sounds amused. "Sorry, your highness. But you'll get better to eat once you start behaving yourself; Actin' like the consort for me that you're going to be- for now, though, chow down. That's the best you're going to get from us."

"Consort for you?" Your head swims, but your eyes narrow like you're stable, and not shocked. He wants you be to what now!?- The corners of his strong mouth lift up an evil grin. "Like hell."

His face twists up in a mischievous grin, now, reminding you of what he had said earlier.

This is hell as far as you're concerned... as far as he knows.

As it should, be...

You press your lips tightly together and kneel down to your food, not quite sure what to say. What is there? There's no point! All you can do, is wait for Edward to come. He's probably close, just trying to get into the castle... figuring out where you are... As you tear off some bread and eat it, you find a little spark of dread blossoming in the pit of your stomach at the thought.

Despite being locked up, the last couple hours here have been peaceful, to be entirely truthful. Not that you don't want to leave this cell, but... at least nothing has been expected of you. Nothing except for you to be you, in your rawness. Just sit, and be alive, and be the person some people call Y/N.

You haven't been expected to talk like you know what the hell your talking about, or to think like those stuffy old goats that call themselves royal advisers... or worry about getting married to a virtual stranger...

Yes, Edward is lovely. Or he, seems, lovely. You've only known him since his parents shipped him over a few weeks ago, and most of your meetings have involved your parents. But while he's very handsome, too, and also admittedly has quite a decent sense of humour, and you do like him - you may even develop a crush on him one of these days, - , your relationship is certainly in no shape resembling engagement!

... But you are engaged. Neither of you have a choice.

And so he makes your stomach turn a little bit every time look at him, no matter how much you might like him otherwise.

As you're contemplatively chowing down on your bread, slowly making the chunk disappear, Bowzer is watching you... wondering what you're thinking. You're so lost in your thoughts, which are so full of dread and misfortune, that you somehow completely miss the monstrous form slipping across the room and into your cell- only getting your attention when he clicks the cell lock loudly into its place again. Your head snaps his way, eyes widening to see the creature in your cell now, with you. It makes your heart start to beat rapidly with panic as your eyes resemble dinner plates.

"You seem pretty lost in thought there, Y/N." He says your name casually, lightly, like he's known you for years. His eyes narrow, then. "Care to talk about it?" The corners of his tough, gnarly mouth lift up in the smallest grin, looking out the little window. "S' not like I'm gonna tell anyone- no one listens to the monster."

You roll your eyes, immediately dropping your shoulders in frustration and muttering through grit teeth, before you can think through what you're telling him. "Yeah well no one listens to me, either." He just seemed so right- he's separate from your normal life. If you're going to talk to someone, it would have to be him.

It might be a mistake... but now words are tumbling out of you and there's nothing you can do about it. "Everyone seems to know what's best for me without my input!... " Suddenly you get quiet, eyes downcast. "At least that's what they say... - my parents, - that what they do," The decisions they make without you. "is what's best for me... but sometimes I think its more like; What's best for the kingdom. Not, me."

The King Kooper is contemplatively silent for a few moments, still gazing out the little window - that shows little more then starry night sky and ocean, - , his big leathery arms held behind his back in an uncharacteristically thoughtful pose- eyes calm looking. Its a weird way to see the violent Kooper King, that you've been told for so long is noting but filth and fury... act calm, and thoughtful.

And its because of something you, said. You told him something and he's stopping to actually, really think about it...

That makes you feel powerful, for the first time in who-remembers-how-long. Maybe ever. You feel like you aren't just talking to a wall... like your parents. And the ambassadors, and the advisers, and the maids and cooks and everyone else that tells you what to do back home.

Eventually he shifts, and you listen to his words with an entirely knew outlook on him for the first time. Really wondering what he has to say. Really considering any proposition he may have come up with.

"... So you're saying, that if I promised that you would be made involved in decisions, and whatever, that you would be more inclined to... say yes?" He peaks over his shoulder at you, dangerous, dark eyes narrowed and lips pressed firmly together, watching you for any physical responses. He looks so imposing at this moment - well, he always does, - but in this moment it doesn't scare you. Rather, it intrigues you. Impresses you.

He really is impressive to look at, you find as you finally allow yourself to really look... He's spiky and tough, from head to toe, with a shock of red hair atop his head. He looks like one of his hands wrap around your body very damn nearly, and lift you up all on its own- easy. Muscle bound and... monstrous, yes. But is that such a bad thing?

Really, you aren't so sure that it is. Certainly not enough to stop you from wanting it, even just secretly.

You tilt your head to the side. "What kind of decisions?"

You watch his imposing - which is a word that can so easily turn into magnificent, - shoulders roll back, as the penny finally d r o p s, - along with your remaining inhibitions.

"All of them?"

~

When Edward comes, its already far too late. This is days after your capture, days after you agreed to stay with Bowser,

Days after you married him.

He comes thrashing in, outfit torn and sword dirty- mud leading all the way up to his shoulder and from his feet to his knees, and face stuck in a concerning state of... shock. Maybe it would soon turn into unabashed fear - As far as you could tell, Edward was never the type to pretend when he was anything other then charming. Its one of the lovely things about him. But you wanted more then lovely, - , but right then he had a job to do.

And you saw this look, and you understood it... too bad you weren't going with him to complete that job. You didn't need to be saved. And you didn't want to go home.

Still, as soon as you saw him break in through the front doors - as Bowser had let you out of your cell the moment you were married and allowed you free reign of the castle, - , you rushed over - nearly tripping down multiple stairs but not really caring, - and catch him before he slipped to his knees from exhaustion, and brush back his hair- assessing him for any serious wounds. "Edward! Are you okay??"

He lifts his head to assess you in turn, finding you perfectly fine and being slightly confused- bust mostly relieved. "I'm fine... I'm fine... Are- are you alright?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." The words the slipped so easily out of you cause you to cringe- maybe you should have lied a little bit? Here is Edward, clearly worn and tired from fighting his way to save you... and you're 'fine'? Damn.

Edward lifts his head again, then, and raises a brow. "You're fine? Well, uh, that's good. Um... " Carefully you lift your hands off of him, and he straightens up as you both quickly calm down from seeing each other- returning to your typical polite awkwardness around eachother. The way it would have always been, if you had married him. You watch his -lovely, - green eyes slip over the scenery, focused and looking for the threat as you chew the inside of your cheek, hugging your arms to yourself now- how do you break it to him?

And how do you do it before Bowzser realises he's here?

"So um, come on. We should get out of here- " Edward goes to pick up your hand and lead you out, but you flinch away from him... and he seems to finally gather, at that, that something here is off. Or, he already knew, but now he admits it to himself. Something is not quite right. You're not quite right. His brows furrow and knit together, lips pressing together as he tilts his head to the side in bewilderment, and concern. "Are you okay?"

"Edward... I... " You run your bottom lip through your teeth, looking around for any signs of the King Kooper yourself; Nervous he might turn up and hurt Edward. And even more nervous about telling Edward... what you've done. "I'm not going back with you."

"Wait- what?" You had his full attention from the start but now you can feel it- his scepticism and his patience. Waiting for you to tell him why- why he has just made it through miles and miles of fiery earth and fought through monsters to get to you and save you... just for you to tell him it was for nothing. Why he's going to have to return to your parents empty handed.

You want to explain it to him, you do. But how do you even begin? "I'm sorry, Edward- " You suddenly hear heavy movement down a hallway to your right, and your wide eyes snap back to Edward who's mirroring you, but gripping his sword- ready for a fight. "- But you have to go. I'm- I'm really sorry- " You turn him around by the shoulders and guide him out the door, shutting the huge, grand front doors behind the both of you and leaning against them and listening out for any sounds inside.

"Y/N- " Edward looks seriously at you, slightly miffed but easily controlling himself - because he's a genuinely good guy. - , searching for an answer. Waiting for it. "You need to tell me right now, why I stuck my neck out for you on a journey that is going to be just as hard on the way back, just so you could tell me to bugger off."

"I'm- " What can you say? I'm married to him now? I'm happy here? None of that sounds quite right. Maybe there's no way to say it. Your cheeks are aflame in embarrassment, and you're looking away to the ground beside his feet in unsureness. You just want this all to be over.

Then, finally, your eyes flicker up to Edward's, and slowly raise your hand. His eyes widen and he takes a step back.

On your ring finger sits a ring made of igneous rock, and Edward realises what that means immediately- and one look at your face tells him all he needs to know about your willingness in the union. He lowers his sword.

Neither of you say a thing for a few moments, just looking at each other. Its an odd thing, two people who were supposed to be more then they are or ever would be, who could have been more, looking at each other with fresh eyes and knowing neither of those things are ever going to happen. You have no clue what's going through Edward's mind, and you wish he would say something. Just say something, so you know where you stand. What you should be doing. Should you disappear quietly or explain yourself more?

Finally, finally, he opens his mouth. For a moment no words come out, and you're afraid he's going to close it again, when he takes a deep breath. "So- "

Then the doors behind you suddenly open and, as you were leaning on them, you plunge backwards- before a huge almost-familiar, but certainly not unwelcome, hand catches you and pushes you up right- and when you look behind you and up, Bowser is glaring daggers at Edward. That huge hand rests on your shoulder and his tail sets itself on the ground around you, protectively. "What's happening out here."

Edward, not a fool, takes up his sword again at seeing the threat, eyes hard. He does not swing though. He does not make a move as stupid as that. Bowzer smirks, his bumpy, gnarly lips pulled into a grotesque, obnoxiously dangerous grin. You take in a deep breath. "He's leaving."

"Doesn't look like he's leaving. Looks, like he's threatening me."

You look up at him again, craning your neck to do so, and crossing your arms. The look on your face determined, and firm, and just slightly annoyed. He said he'd listen to you- he better not be going back on that deal. It takes a few moments, but eventually he gives up on stubbornly keeping his gaze averted from you, looking down his chest at your little face that demands so much respect, and eventually love, from him, and rolls eyes deeply. "He's leaving." You repeat sternly, hissing out the words. Showing your meat as a Koopa royal yourself, now, and he cant help but listen.

You look back to Edward, who's eyes go from Bowzer to you... surprised. His sword arm slowly lowers again. "Fine." Bowzer growls out, in displeasure as your eyes soften on Edward. In goodbye. "You can leave alive, prince. But don't come back."

"Trust me, I wont." Edward agrees, flashing Bowzer a glance half-respectfully, but mostly just glad to leave. Then he looks at you one final time, not-quite understanding why you're doing this, but understanding that you are. And that you want to. And knowing that's enough, and that he has no stake in the matter. "Goodluck."

You cross your arms over your stomach, flashing him a warm, hesitant smile, and return to sentiment wholly. "Goodluck." For even though you're staying back in the Koopa Kingdom, with Bowzer... he's got to return to your old lives, and fix up your mess. In both your minds, the other has the worst situation.

Then finally, Edward turns his back on you, waives and walks off- along with the life you never wanted. And you feel total relief.

Because while he is lovely, and fancy foods are lovely, and your parents, are lovely... Lovely isn't for you.

As Edward slinks off, Bowzer returns his full attention to you, a small victorious grin on his face. His eyes flicker deliciously over you, and you turn around all to happy to sit and splendour under his attention. "Now your majesty... what shall we do with the rest of our day?"

Your flash him a dark, mischievous look.

Ghost!The Deathslinger / Caleb Quinn || A Ghost ||

"Oof," You moan, as the load of sheets in your arms is dropped off into the washing machine, and you're released from its burden weighing you down. Throwing the door closed and listening to it click shut, you press a few buttons on the top of the machine and turn a dial before walk away listening to it rumble awake.

As you walk back towards the centre table, you feel that familiar prickly feeling, the nauseated sick feeling, the unmistakable inkling that you're being watched crawl up all over you suddenly, where it hadn't been for the first ten minutes of you being here. It means that someone, a ghost certainly, and Caleb hopefully, is watching you. A smile slips across your lips as it always will at the notion of Caleb, and even better the idea that he's near, but you do not say anything- lest you scare him off.

He does that, sometimes. Your ghost; Caleb. He makes his presence known - by grazing his fingers over your skin, or hair, or sliding and clicking the barrel of his shotgun into place,- , but apparently doesn't want you to respond, so quickly then disappears again when you call out to him.

And you're no fool- you've picked up on it. And you wont act like a ditz and try anything too accelerated for his tastes. Not if seeing him is on the line.

So you just hop up onto the folding table, your legs hanging off the end and swaying slightly, and pick up your book. You bring it for times like these, when you're stuck doing laundry for hours and you know you'll have to wait out Caleb - assuming he comes out at all, - , to make the time go faster. Or- not faster. Because you enjoy this time, in the spooky, dark depths of the old penitentiary turned bed and breakfast. The place has a gruesome past, which is the whole reason you went out for this particular job, and the foreboding feeling of terror that climbs all over you and makes an almost stifling home on your skin like ectoplasm that comes with feeling that... and all the ghosts watching you, wondering about you... is really entertaining. In fact, its the only time you truly feel alive- so close to death.

Especially sweet, horrifying, cranky, secretive Caleb.

Humming, listening to the washing machine toss and turn the pretty flowery sheets so mildly violently, you read. You don't know for how long you read, but it felt like an all-consuming while, though not long enough for the washing to be done,... before, finally, you get a sign.

See, the laundry room is made up of a couple of rooms - they used to be cells, - and the hallway between them which is where the folding table is situated. The bars had long been taken away from most of the old cells and inside them live various washers, dryers, and basic storage. To anyone sane, the place would be far too horrible and scary to sit in so calmly - and don't get yourself wrong, you do find it to be both of those things... even unbearable at times... but it just so happens that that sets off a dangerous heat between your legs, and delicious excitement in your soul, -. But anyway, a few feet in front of where you're sitting, is a cell that still has its bars attached. In fact, the door is still locked, and no matter how hard or what the construction workers had tried- it would not budge.

You assume, nowadays, that that was Caleb's cell. And he doesn't want anyone else trespassing.

In that cell, right now, you watch out of your peripheral vision as the dust kicks up off the floor and the bed suddenly, in the dark of the room, and leans back as it shapes itself slowly into the vague image of a man. At least, you assume its a man. You're afraid if you look up now, he'll dissipate and wont return again for hours; You wont risk that, so while your attention is on the movement inside the cell, your eyes are glued to the pages in front of you.

Excitement fizzes in you like fireflies. Dead, swarming, dimly lit fireflies; But fireflies none the less. Zooming and flittering around in your chest- aching for you to look up and risk it all. Just to get a glimpse of him, which you've never done before. Although you've 'met', many times before now... you have never actually seen your ghostly companions face.

You assume that its grizzly, and perfect in its disgusting, gory messiness, of course. And you do ache, to your very core, to look him straight in the eye... but you're also terrified of him leaving. Of him leaving you to the rest of these other, B-Level ghosts. Spirits that don't make you feel nearly as heightened, as he does. He's like a drug, like cocaine, and these other ghosts... are but morphine. Not enough. Not, nearly, enough.

But... still. You cross your ankles, swinging them back and forth underneath you in badly kept excitement. Surely, a glance... wouldn't ruin everything...

You can see him too-vaguely, as you strain your head to continue facing your lap but your eyes to be pushing their limits, upwards. He - this figure, made entirely of the dust that in its absence has left the rest of his cell perfectly clean, and like new, - is sat on his old bed, legs spread like he owns the damn place, with his gun set over his thighs; Sitting in companionable silence with you. Even so, you feel his coat brush against your hanging legs as if he's standing closely, in front of you.

For minutes, you fight with yourself over whether to look up... what could happen if you did... when finally, his voice sounds around the cell block. Err, the laundry room.

"Y/N... sweetheart... " His voice is nothing but a pained whisper at this point, but still- you can hear the subtle huskiness to it that must have been its totality at some point and the deep, old-fashioned southern accent that leaks into every word he makes, and must squeeze your thighs together. "C'mere."

That one contraction causes you eyes to widen, and your fireflies to freeze. The darkness, the fear in your heart at his very presence builds and you finally look up, and over at him.

He's moved back, into the darkness of his cell so you cant quite see him... but that doesn't disappoint you. Not when he's asked you closer.

Hopping off the table and leaving your book behind, not caring that you've lost your page, you walk deftly over to the bars of the cell and press yourself gently to them, wrapping your hands around two. "Caleb?"

"You look... " In the darkness you see his outline, and watch his head tilt to the side. You feel fingers run through your hair and graze your neck, and shiver. You know this is dangerous, you're well aware. "Mighty nice today... "

You grin broadly, unable to help it. Most compliments you get are nice, but they never quite hit the spot... you never quite believe them... but Caleb's- oh, Caleb's. His are everything. They light up everything in you for days. "Thank you... and how're you today?"

He pauses for a moment, thinking about it, before you hear the sound of fabric rustling from his direction. "Unsure actually sweetheart...

That's up to you."

You tilt your head to the side. "How so?" How can I make it good for you?

"I wanna... try something... Think I'm... strong enough, now... "

This time you aren't able to say anything, before he speaks again. "Close your eyes."

You're all too willing to do as he commands, eyes shutting closed quickly, tightly so you see nothing.

A few moments later, and your anticipation, and anxiety, is building up in your chest like the pyramids thousands of years ago, to unimaginable, and terrifying, heights... when you feel the texture of his cold non-tangible fingers graze over your cheek again. You feel his whole body, in fact, behind the bars. Close to you. Not just his fingers, and not just his coat. His whole, fricken, body.

To your utter surprise, you feel those hands - rough, and freezing cold, and more like air from a fan then actual, physical body parts. But pleasantly enough, not at all like dust, either, - on your neck; His thumbs on your jaw. They tilt your head back, forcing your face to look upwards, almost towards the ceiling. It would be uncomfortable, if you weren't nearly shaking with excitement.

A moment later, he's dragging your face slowly closer to the bars, till the cold metal bites at your cheeks, and lips - cold and not-totally-real, like the hands, - press ever so gently... against yours.

A gasp slips out of you, as this is all you've wanted for a while, and you immediately kiss back, aching for nothing but to pull his body flush against yours and experiment with all the things maybe you could do with him, if he can kiss you like this. You cant help your thoughts spreading out to other things, as he slowly, deliciously deepens the kiss- an icy, slimy tongue sliding over the tip of yours.

If he can kiss you, surely he can touch in other places, cant he? He can let his fingers stray from your face, and towards your chest? Or lower?

What about his cock? How would that feel; Cold, and hard, within your walls?

And on top of that, regarding just his kissing skills, if he can do this much, turn you to mush with just his kiss, then there's no doubt in your hopeless, dumb, horny little mind that he could totally wreck you in a bed.

When he lets go of the back of your neck with one hand though, and wraps it ever-so-softly around your throat- feeling your pulse beat-beat-beat... you forget everything. Your mind goes empty.

In fact you go so totally dumb that you snap your eyes open-

But before you can see him, he's gone.

The cell is covered in dust again, and you cant feel him kissing you anymore; You're left pressing against the bars of the cell he wasted away inside in life, missing him already.

Duke || A Vampire ||

The feeling of having blood literally sucked out through little pierces in your skin, never gets less weird. The pain of having your wrist bitten into, does. The ticklish feeling of having Duke's lips attached to your wrist for a prolonged amount of time, does. But the weird, slightly nauseating feeling of having him siphon and guzzle your life force out of your veins, will never ever get old- unfortunately.

Still, every once in a while - which is becoming every week with all of Dukes nagging, honestly, - , you'll sit down and flick through Tumblr, letting him sit next to you, hold your arm in his hands and carefully drink- not too much, he knows when to stop. But just enough to sate him.

Then, like now, he'll slip his fangs outs from your skin and veins - coming out perfectly clean and white like they never touched anything but apples and bananas, -, a smug, pleased smirk on his lips as he cleans up his mess. And while you're wrapping up your own wrist, he sweeps off to get you juice and a plate of cookies- like when you donate blood for hospitals.

"Well you did donate." He teases, holding your juice and your cookies for you while you stick down your bandages, rubbing your thumb over the sore spot. "For a really good cause, too. Huh? Keeping your, uh," Duke glances at you, mischief pulling the corners of his lips up. "Snuggle bunny, going?"

Rolling your eyes, you yank the plate of cookies from his hands as he chuckles and take a chomp out of one. "Ugh, Duke... I was sleep talking! Let it go!"

He just giggles, fixing his collar with one hand and continuing to hold your juice for you as you quietly chew on your cookies.

As you do so, Duke turns his head to watch you. There's nothing extraordinary about the way you eat, nothing particularly sexy or gross, but as a vampire - an old one, at that. One that certainly doesn't remember the taste of normal food like a newer one might, vaguely, - one of the things he does enjoy watching his human mate do, is eat. Its adorable. So delicate, so human. Especially if one day, hopefully someday soon, they'll allow him to turn them.

Speaking of... His eyes narrow as a cheeky grin spreads his lips. "So, love... " You take the juice from him, giving him a suspicious look. Yes? He shifts closer to you on the couch now that his hands aren't occupied, and your sceptical expression - because you know him, - deepens. "Have you put anymore thought into my proposition?... "

Immediately you make a 'Pfft' sound and snort, bringing the glass up to your lips. "Ah, yeah. No need. We are never, ever doing that in the bedroom."

Dukes expression immediately falls, and you laugh at his scowl/pout, before taking a sip of your juice with a smile. Oh, he's an idiot. But he's also very cute. "Well- while I think you're making a huge mistake on that front, love, and this is not over- I wasn't talking about that proposition." Looking back at him at that, you watch his eyebrows raise meaningfully up his forehead..., and realise.

"... Oh."

He nods. Then his eyes flicker down to your hand, laying on your lap by the now empty cookie plate, and picks it up. Then gives you an uncharacteristically gentle smile. "I'd, really, like to do it." He presses the brim of his hat to your forehead affectionately. "To experience eternity with you, has been my dream since- "

An easy grin slides across your lips and you chuckle, nudging the brim of his hat back. "Lemme guess... the night I suggested you mix chocolate syrup with your 'Bloody Mary' drinks?"

He snorts, squeezing your arm gently, and lacing his fingers through yours. "Well, with ideas like that, how could I resist you?" Then he presses forward, taking the juice from your hands and setting it on the coffee table, before crawling over you, hovering over your body. "But I was thinking of a different night... " He raises your chin up so you're looking at him, and your brain wants you to push his annoying, horny ass off you and off the couch too, but the part of you that really likes him wants you to kiss him- so you just end up looking perturbed.

"Duke... " You whine, relaxing into the couch. "If I become a vampire... if I say yes... what's going to happen with my other relationships?" Your eyes flicker from everything but him, to his eyes finally, where he sees how reluctant you are, and sigh. "I don't want to lose them."

Duke shrugs. "But you'd have me, forever. They're all gonna die, anyway."

You promptly push his insensitive ass off of you, to the floor, and step over him as you head towards the kitchen- picking up your drink on the way. You're going to put tequila, in this-

Before you can get through the kitchen door, its slammed closed in front of you and Duke's cornered you against it. "... Okay maybe that was rude. Still working on my manners, Y/N, my bad. But I am working on them, huh? I get points for that!"

"Points?" You ask, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes over your shoulder to him.

Dubious and dumb, Duke raises a brow. "What's improvement without a point system?"

"Ugh- " You try to open the door again, but Duke uses his strength against you this time- turning you around and swiftly pinning you to the door.

His eyes catch the glass, still halfway full, and despite your disagreement, taps the bottom. "Drink that juice." He tells you firmly. "You lost quite a bit of blood, and I don't need you collapsing at any point."

After a stubborn moment, you sigh and do as he said, gulping down the juice at a steady pace as to not shock your system. Its also a good excuse not to think about the conversation you're having.

Because... its just... the hardest decision, you've ever had to make. The hardest decision you may ever have to make. It depends on hope so's (Will Duke stay in love with me? Will I stay in love with him? Will I like being a vampire? I hope so.), and faith, and not having faith in what if scenarios, too (What if I never see my family again, what if we come upon a hunter, what if Duke gets staked and I'm still there forever?), even if they're just as dependable as hope so's. And on one hand, staying human means you get to stay with your family, and your friends. You may not get Duke as well, but... he's just a guy, right? You can meet someone else... you cant replace your family, quite so easily. Right? You would be hard pressed replacing them, but guys... come and go... right?

But on the other hand, you're in love with Duke. You've never felt this way before, you cant even take it sometimes how irreversibly, unexplainably in love with him you are including everything obnoxious about him. You know you'll never find another Duke. You tell yourself you can, and you might have to so you will... but under the surface you know he's the love of your life. He's it. And there's no replacing him.

Ugh. Thinking about this does your head in... Your gaze lifts up from the window over his shoulder, to his face, and you knit your brows together. In frustration and apology. You know he's been patient... and you do feel bad for that... but this is also a huge decision, and you're not going to make it out of want to make him happy. "I don't know yet... I'm sorry... "

For a moment, he doesn't react... but then he sighs, and collects you up against him in a hug. "Take your time, love... we have a long time, to go... " He squeezes you tight, and you relax under his affections, totally. "But there is a cut off date, so, just try to make your decision before you die okay?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."

Hades || The King of the Underworld ||

Rolling your eyes, you kneel over the campfire and sprinkle the seasoning on the roast instead of kicking those two 2 foot tall dwarf's to Tim Buk Tu like you really want to do. Alas- making your dinner delicious and refraining from taking it off the hot fire, and throwing it at Pain and Panic, will have to do.

And this is your reaction from just noticing them hiding in a bush nearby. They haven't done anything yet, but you just know. You know, that when they turn up, it has something to do with Hades. Usually, that he's not far behind. And you're so damn e x h a u s t e d, by turning him down. Over, and over, you have to do this. Tell him no, you wont marry him, thank you for stopping by now go home. Thanks...

And after the last time he did this, you really aren't in the mood to humour him this time. You get a prickly feeling all over, just thinking about looking at him, after what he did.

~

A week ago, you had just finished getting ready for a date, and the one who was taking you out was surely close by, and you were giddy. Excited, to for once, not be working, or fending off the Lord of the Dead, or falling down drop dead exhausted in bed every night. Tonight, you were going to have a good time, for once. You were so, so excited.

But, then Isa was late. And a few minutes... turned into an hour... and that turned into two... and by that time you had totally given up. The ass had stood you up!

You were so looking forward to this, and that bastard left you all alone at home, looking hot, waiting for absolutely fricken nobody. What a dick. How could you have been fooled, into thinking they were worth your time? Your rare quiet night, at that?

"Gods!" You cursed, throwing your shawl down on the kitchen table and wiping a hand up through your hair. "I should've known. I feel like such an idiot!"

Then their was a knock at your front door, and you snatched up your shawl and raced off to get it. Maybe they had an accident???

You swung the door open, and

immediately, deflated.

"Hades... its you."

An amused grin graces his features as his gaze licks up and down your form. You're all ready for a date, and you look gorgeous. "Well don't sound quite so ecstatic about it babe, I might forget you don't actually like me- or so you say."

"I don't. And especially now, I'm having a terrible night. Thanks for stopping by, no I don't wanna marry you, no, no, no, did I cover all the bases? Great, so please go home-" You attempt to close the door on him, but smoke shoots out from the mysterious whatever's-under-his tunic and shoves itself, solid, between the frame and the door. A deep groan escapes you as you roll your eyes, opening it again. "Drat." You hiss, letting go of the door and leaning against the frame instead, crossing your arms. "Look Mr Lord of the Dead, I have had a bad night- "

A smirk creeps across his lips, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Or was it worse? Yes, you think. Its a lot worse then mischief. Still, you don't let up your cold, blasé front, nervous - afraid? - of his reaction to anything else. How might he use your discomfort? "Oh yeah, you got left all high and dry t'night, huh? Yep... Shame."

There's something about the way he's talking... that just sets you at total unease. How did he know? You lift carefully, slowly, cautiously off the doorframe, confused. "Um... yes... he did. How did you know?" Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. "Stalking me?"

"Oh, of course. How else am I supposed to get to know you? You sure as hell wont sit down for a dinner with me, you've made that clear." He runs his bottom lip thoughtfully through his teeth. "At least- without a little sweetener, eh? And I am a great deal sweetener- if I do say so myself. So!" You watch him turn around, clapping his hands together firmly- a call; A signal.

And sure enough, a moment later, the bumbling fools Pain and Panic came tottering out of the woods beside my house, whipping a poor, squealing pig ahead of them.

Your brows furrow at it- something really not quite right at all, about any of this.

You watch the pig for a few moments, unable to figure out why it makes you feel... something; You aren't quite sure what... until a sharp blue finger touches the underside of your chin, and guides your head up to look at the face of Hades, instead. Another evil smirk presses his smug face. "That's what happens to little fuckers that try to touch what will be, mine." At that, your eyes widen and snap back to the pig. Is that... Hades grabs your jaw now, dragging your attention back to him, this time uncaringly. "Remember that, sweetheart. Its up to you how many poor sods I turn into swine."

"Hades- " You gasp, horrified.

"I'm a God, Y/N." The fire sparking as head flickers orange, well-hidden fury showing itself for just a moment- enough to terrify you. "We're notoriously bad at taking rejection."

~

"You gotten over your little human melodrama yet, Y/N?" Hades voice rings out through the clearing in front of your house, and you feel your skin prickle all over; Knowing he's here again. After that awful thing he did, last time. "I had to do that, showed you who's boss I guess. But I'm sick of staying away from you... " He appear across the fire from you, but you refuse to look up at his face. "So... what? You want an apology?"

Wincing, you wrap your arms around your knees and press your nose into your dress. "No."

"Whadaya want from me?"

"I want you to go away," You mutter, still not looking at at him; Rather into the flames flickering up under and over your dinner.

"Well, that's not gonna happen." Through your peripheral vision, you see Hades disappear from across the fire, and a yelp come out of you when suddenly he yanks you up by the arm, straight to your feet. Then he gathers your waist in one hand and presses you to him, leering down at you. You don't fight it, just deftly lean away; Afraid of how he might react to anything more. "So what'll it be? An apology? A present? A kiss maybe?"

He leans in, but you jerk your head back.

"What makes you so sure you can win my affections with pain, and bravado, Hades?" You finally snap, eyes flickering up to his pupils, which stare back at you in that familiarly amused way he always does when you get the courage to stand back up to him. "Making people I like into pigs, making me hurt... and then smiling about it? Thinking you'll just get away with it? That wont make me like you, you bastard. That's not sexy."

"Oh sweetheart, you're sexy enough for the both of us... " He grins, tracing your lips with a thumb. Marvelling at you even as you're mad, even as you're telling him such cold, hard facts.

Knitting your brows together, you tighten your lips into a confused scowl. "Do you even want me to like you?"

"Oh I want you to love me, Y/N... " For a moment, you see genuine in his eyes... before he turns it off again. And yet you believe him. "I promise you, one day I'll make you. One day you'll be death's partner, in sickness and in health. Just, you, wait." With those last three words, he boops your nose.

For a few moments... you just stare at him. How, in his deluded mind, does he think that's going to happen if first of all, he isn't forcing you, luckily enough, and second of all, he refuses to even try. Try, to be a genuine person. Try, to make you enjoy his company.

Its amazing how entitled Gods can be.

"... Maybe you're right. Maybe I will marry you one day,...

but first you'll have to make me like you- and that wont be such easy a feat. Not even for a God."

Inkubus || A Incubi Demon ||

Walking down the street late at night will always set you a little bit uneasy no matter how many times and how often you do it. Around any and every corner could be a monster waiting for an easy kill, a simple little victim to grab and run with.

But that doesn't change the fact at all that its just something you have to do, as long as you don't have a car and refuse to spend money every night on an Uber ride. So you collect your wits and take out your headphones as you hop off the bus, holding your keys between your fingers like wolverine claws like a back alley street fighter; And a cheater, at that.

Hey, you're brave, for sure- but you're not stupid.

You must keep your ears open, your eyes focused, and your senses as heightened as possible. And if someone's going to jump out at you, you couldn't care less if being prepared with sharp tools at the ready is not exactly sporting. If someone is going to try and hurt you, then they're about to get the rudest slap-in-the-face of an awakening of their goddamn lives.

Also, though... the quietness, can be peaceful. So while your senses are open to any hint of a threat, the rest of you... enjoys it. The quietness, the stillness, the all-together aloneness, despite the constant, faint feeling that someone is near. In a world where everyone is connected, its a really valuable feeling; Of being on your own. With no one watching, or listening, or even thinking about you.

You just get the moment, to be... To be. Just, to exist.

So happily you walk down the street, slipping into the darkness of your neighbourhood and enjoying the peaceful, slightly terrifying time.

Until you run into something your senses didn't pick up on even the slightest bit- you didn't even see him, which is weird seeing as he turned up right in front of you. "Oh!"

You have a mind blank and don't even think of the keys between your knuckles or the idea that this is a threat. Especially not when you look up, and see his face.

Every almost-suspicion and near-scepticism disappears from your mind.

"Oh hello, I'm sorry. I should have been watching where I was going." He steadies you, before taking his hands away from you. For a split second, you find yourself wishing he hadn't.

"That's okay!" For a moment, you get caught up in the mans eyes, before managing to break yourself free, and step back from him. Awkward... Your eyes purposefully turn downcast, avoiding his gaze that had so oddly swallowed you up a moment ago. "Um, anyway, enjoy the rest of your night!" Slipping past him, you continue on your way down the path towards your house, when you hear a gentle whooshing noise behind you, and turn your head to find the man walking casually beside you, like its not a red flag at all. Surprised, your eyes widen.

"Sorry to seem a bit of a creep- "

"Oh no, you're fine!!" Why, on earth, are you so eager to assure him?

His lips curl up in a pleased grin, his handsome - yet... somehow, oddly disconcerting, - features lifting pleasantly in the dark, and all you think is... that's why. Shadows leave shade all over his face and it is a bit frightening but its like your body has a mind, and ideas, of its own. Your footsteps are slowing down, your heartbeat's relaxing to a calmer velocity then even before this strange man turned up, a gentle heat is rising up your neck.

"That's good to hear, I wouldn't want to scare you. You know, an odd man following you late at night... some people mind find that a tad bit threatening, you know?"

A spark of nervousness, the first since you've been with him, lights up inside your chest. "Well... y-you're not wrong... "

Just as quickly as it ignited though, your anxiety is stripped away with just a kind smile, from him. "But don't worry- I bare no ill will." Your eyebrows lift up at that.

"And I'm... just supposed to take you at your word?"

Exactly, you think. Finally, your body is catching up with your mind! Isn't this precisely what you were just scared about, getting off the bus at this late hour? That a terrifying stranger would turn up??

Well now one has- so why aren't you doing anything? Why aren't you slipping away? Why aren't you running?

God, you want to... But... you cant. Even as the words leave your lips, you feel your feet be leaden to where he wants you to be- beside him, and only slowly walking. Easy to guide, easy to control.

His grin turns mischievous as you watch, a speckle of darkness flickering beyond poisonous green eyes. "Of course not. You're a clever little mortal." Your brows knit together now, confused. Mortal? The green hues flash to yours again and one side of his mouth quirks up a tiny bit higher; Revealing wisdom and wickedness beyond his appearance. "Then again, mortals have always been intelligent. Its how we've survived for thousands of years, right?" He gives a well-humoured wink.

... Yet... you find, that the way this man said 'we've'... just didn't sound right. Like the word was heavy on his tongue. Like a lie.

Still- you don't find yourself feeling the urge to raise your fist, at all. You're almost... hypnotised. You witch every movement he makes, take note of every calculation. From the way his coat whispers in the dark wind to where his hands are.

"I... guess... Um, what's your name?"

His eyes narrow but a corner of his mouth curls up in another mischievous - devilish? Demonic? - smirk that sends your head rushing. "Hmm... lets go with... Klaus, for now... And oh, you're free to tell me a fake one as well if you'd like. Its a tad reckless to give away your real information, like names and telephone numbers, in a situation like this, isn't it?" You cant argue with that- "But, whilst acknowledging that, I still cant help myself sweetheart," Sweetheart- your heart plummets down to your feet and your eyes widen; You can't help but love the sound of that. "I'd really like to get to know you a little bit. Would you please allow me the honour, please?" Oh my goodness- he just looks so pleading at you! Its adorable. How could you possibly, say no?

Every word that comes from him solidifies the hold he has on you already, too, that he so easily took in the first place with just his presence. Arousal and intrigue sinking into you like fangs by the second.

You cant help smiling; And saying yes.

The predatory look that takes over his face now causes a pit in your belly- but it only excites you. Suddenly he puts a hand on you- just the crook of your arm, stopping you in your tracks immediately, like you knew in your very workings that that is what he wanted from you right at that moment. "Is this your house, dear?"

... Oh, um- You shake yourself of whatever trance you're stuck in just long enough to look over at the house your passing, in wonder. How did you even get here... God, you just feel so disorientated... "Uhuh... "

"Wonderful; Now, I consider myself a gentleman dear so I shan't invite myself inside- especially not even having a name for such a pretty face. But... " 'Klaus' shrugs a bit, a perky little knowing look on his face- because he knows, what you're about to offer him.

"Of course, you can come inside!" You smile. "And- " Don't give your real name, don't do it. Pick any other name. Please- "I'm Y/N." The words slip out easily, like there was absolutely nothing inside you begging you not to.

And, just like that, there isn't.

Seedeater || A Wild Beast ||

"- Oh I should tell you about that summer. Ah, Y/N darling you would have just loved to be there, trust me! Once I've told you all about it, you'll wish you were, I promise you. So! Let me set the scene... "

This man has been jabbering on to you about who-knows-what for far... too... long... God, you're afraid to pull out your pocket watch, for fear of discovering you are nowhere near the acceptable moment to excuse yourself.

Because for sure you are not about to engage in any more courtship with this insufferable peacock of a man but also- you would rather die right here then go home early and have your parents nag at you over insulting the Duke' right hand man like that.

Even as... you long... so so very deeply... for your bed...

Oh, perish the thought. To be in your warm, cosy bed. Wearing nothing but your nightgown, with the fireplace roaring nearby and a book open on the pillow in front of you... perhaps nibbling at pilfered muffins from the kitchen.

You're just relaxing into your fantasy world - whilst managing to make yourself seem interested in your... eugh... 'suitors' story, with well-placed hums and 'Oh please tell me more's. - when suddenly the slow hum that his droning voice had become to you rather then actual vocabulary, just... stops. Your eyes flicker to his form on the log next to you, to see him perked up. Alert. Like a meerkat.

"What happened, Nigel?"

"Shhhh!"

Hmm... well, you certainly aren't crazy about that... Brows furrowing deeply and lips creasing into a severe frown, you straighten your back more so and take a deep breath with which to give him an earful, when-

You hear it, this time. What's concerned your date so.

Its a rustle just outside of the clearing the of you are set up in, and its definitely not just the wind. Or a bird.

Its slow, and heavy. A twig snaps as if under some huge, terrifying, calloused foot.

Immediately your freeze, gazing around slowly, cautiously for whatever is out there. You like to think its a beast, rather then a man. A man would be far, far worse. You've always thought so. A beast could hurt you, for sure. Scratch you to death or eat you alive... but a man, a man could take you. Steal you away, and sell you for drug money. Or humiliate you... Yes, you've always thought; To be ripped apart by canine teeth, would be better.

But then again, a beast is not ideal either.

You want to live!- and that has never been quite so blatant then right now as your heart hammers in your chest and you feel your cheeks grow cold as ice, despite the raging campfire before you. You want to life, in order to get past this terrible date and go on better ones. Or far better yet- never go on a date again.

Even so, though, when Nigel slowly picks up his shotgun, raising up to his feet and carrying it with purpose- you feel the most impassioned, ardent repulsion towards it and total, striking fear bang in your chest. He's going to kill it??!

I mean... if its a man, go right ahead, but if its not-

"Nigel." You hiss, making the man jump and look down at you in a mix of horror and anger. It reads clearly to shut up, but you aren't concerned with Nigel's needs. "Put that bac- "

A horrible screeching sound fills the campsite and you immediately slap your fingers over your ears, pressing into them firmly to keep the sound out and squeezing your eyes shut. Oh, that's terrible-

Then a beast emerges from the tree line, growling and blowing steam out of its bar-boned nostrils. Your eyes crack open to see Nigel lining up his gun with the monster's head, which surely wouldn't work in the first place as it seems to have some kind of helmet made out of bones. Or maybe that's just its head. either way your eyes widen to the size of saucers, and leap to your feet; your hands on Nigel's gun before you even realise the danger of your actions. "Let go!" He snaps, but you refuse.

"You will not kill this creature!"

"I most certainly will!- " His finger presses down accidentally on the trigger, and immediately a loud BOOM sound crashes from the gun, making you gasp. "Look what you made me do, woman!!"

The creature suddenly rears back on its hind legs, frightened by the noise, before slamming back down like a horse and rushes forward- all gangly, uneven movements as he's too heavy to really move as fast he's going but doesn't care at all. It brushes by you and all you can do is hold your breath and grip the gun like your life depends on it, so you don't run and startle the beast even more. Embedded in its fluffy hide are sticky substances - tree sap, supposedly, - and leaves, and little sticks, and a lot of dirt.

It tears through the camp site, crazed, and when its done - now huffing and puffing and still furious, standing at the side, - the little tent that Nigel had set up and cooking equipment is all ripped to pieces. Destroyed. Your heart's beating a million miles a moment inside your chest, hoping you aren't about to look like that, too.

After a few silent moments, apart from the monster's hard breathing, you turn from the creature to Nigel. Both your hands are still on the gun. "... Nigel... " You breath out in a whisper that is only as loud as a breeze. His eyes flicker up to yours, terror gleaming in them; And he's breathing pretty hard, too. "You need to let... go... of the gun... now... "

"No... Y/N... I have a plan,... don't worry... "

Ugh! You think. Even scared out of his wits, he thinks he knows better then me. If only he would just stop-

Suddenly, all far too suddenly, he wrenches the gun out of your hands and turns its aim upon the beast again. Your face goes slack at the too sudden, too jerky, too cocky motion and look from him- to the gun- to the beast and its glowing red eyes, staring down the barrel.

No!

"Now stay still, monster... this wont hurt but a moment... "

And in that second before Nigel presses the trigger again- you see all your futures before it even happens. The beast will tear you both apart with the bullet submerged in its skin. You will not survive, this way. And neither will it.

Just as Nigel is pulling his finger against the shotgun's trigger, you lunge for him. Pushing the barrel of the gun upwards, instead. Another terrible, crashing BOOM sound bangs against your eardrums as the bullet ricochets out and into the air. As you're wondering, horrified where it's going to come down, the beats roar accompanies the thumping sound of your heart in your ears and your head whips around just in time to see it gallop forward-

Its powerful jaws wrap around Nigel's entire face, and they both go crashing down to the ground as Nigel is ripped from you.

You can do nothing but watch, as in a matter of seconds it seems Nigel stops screaming in hat blood curdling way you do when you're being gnawed at alive... and goes limp. As soon as he does, the beast backs up off of him, a gentle and calmer woof coming out of it as it... just... sits back.

It sets its behind down the ground, and using a long... bear-like, tongue, licks at its paws. Cleaning itself.

Calmly.

Blood is still rushing hotly in your ears as you shake like leaf, between this beast and your date's mauled body and turn slowly to look at the hideous, petrifying monster.

Its eyes are no longer red, so they're but shadows hidden inside the bone coverage that is his head, and for all intensive purposes, the beast looks... relaxed. Like you aren't there at all. But you feel its gaze on you, even so. And your skin tingles creepily at the feeling.

After a few more minutes of just standing there, being scared - and maybe going a little bit insane, - you open your mouth slightly. Jerkily, slowly... and whisper. "I- I'm sorry... th-that Nigel... he... t-tried, to kill you... "

Another growly woof is your answer, its response to hearing a foreign noise. Your voice.

But it isn't a threatening noise at all, so you relax a little bit.

Then, suddenly, the dog... bear... monster, creature, gets up again. Its shakes off its behind of some of the dirt there from the floor, and creps closer to you. Its so huge... you have to crane your neck to look at its face.

Or, more specifically, its teeth.

You hear a sort of... fluttery sound, over your beating heart and look around curiously. There are no birds, or anything else that would normally make a noise like that, that you can see... The clearing is still, and empty.

Then your eyes catch sight of something, dark, fluffy and long flying up and down against the ground, behind the creature. When realisation occurs to you that the thing is its tail, and its wagging, you cant help the tiny smile that slips across your face. Gaze slipping back up to the creature, deciding it has no ill intent in the moment, you decide to try something.

Reaching over with one hand, you tentatively slip it through its main. There's so much black fur there that you're unsure that it even feels your touch at all - and there is certainly no reaction as it just looks around the clearing, keeping watch, - and your hand disappears entirely in the surprisingly wonderfully soft fur.

Smile widening, you enjoy the feeling with one hand for a while, before getting adventurous. Your take your pointer finger, and lean up to carefully stroke the bone of its face-

And as soon as you start, the creature startles you by moving- but you don't pull back far before you realise what is actually happening. It isn't readying to attack, its preening. It stretches its neck up, shaking itself slightly, before lowering its head for you. As if to ask; Please, again.

The smile comes back full force, and you do as it so politely asked; Stroking down its smooth snout over and over again. You can feel its warm breath on your arm and various bits of the forest stuck in its fur but you don't care. You just enjoy the feeling- its actually like a big dog rather then a monster!

"Aw... you're a good one, aren't you? ... I'm so sorry we frightened you earlier... "

Ursula || A Sea Witch ||

"Yes, yes... " Ursula rolls her eyes, sighing out her words in an irritated way; Getting tired of going through the deal, over and over again. But you cant stop wording it slightly different- as if it will ever get better, for you. Because its quite simple. "I'll save your precious baby brother, let him live on happy and healthy and all that rubbish for another 30 to 40 years... and you get to come down and stay with me, eternally. Happy?"

"... yes." You force the word out from between your lips as soon as you've worked yourself up to agreeing, not allowing yourself to back down again. As you suspected, the moment that word makes it into the open air, materialising into steam from the cold air as you kneel by the murky, foggy morning waters and the monster waiting for you in their depths- you regret it. You want to take it back... but you forced the word out for a reason.

For him.

And you refuse to even try to take it back, because the one thing you desire in life is to keep him safe... and this is the only way you can do that.

Tears well up in your eyes, as a wet hand curls around your own outstretched one, long red nails scraping into your skin as you shake. Bright eyes with pitch black pupils and wicked intent not-at-all hidden away gleam back at you, as thickly painted lips pull back on either side in a pearly, sinister, grin. Like a switch, your heart suddenly plummets down to your feet, and the cavern of your chest feels as cold as the unforgiving waters, below.

"Its a deal, then, doll~ " The sea witches voice is rough, that black heart of hers and ill intent bleeding out unapologetically through in her tone, and you know you've made a terrible mistake for yourself.

But the right decision, for him.

And as Ursula's hand slips out from yours and she disappears back under the water, the gentle waives slipping over her violent tinted skin until she's gone, your eyes slip closed; You must remind yourself, of that fact. He will be safe now. That's all that matters. It has to be.

Because you know, that she'll be back soon enough- and you'll be hers, for good. Just as she wanted it to be.

These are your last few moments of freedom, before she comes back with a disgusting tonic or filthy ointment or horrible scent, or something, that'll make you like her,... tied to the sea rather then the shore... and you use them to think about him.

Taking a deep breath, you think; You'll be okay now.

Take care of yourself, because I cant anymore. Create a good life, for yourself.

Don't miss me too much, please.

The fear striking sound of waives lapping harder against the rock you're perched on alerts you that she's back, and when you open your eyes she is indeed there; An expectant look on her face, and a closed clam shell in her hand. "Well? Come on in, darling... I promise I'll hold your hand, if it gets too rough."

"Y-you want me to come in... to the water?? Now??" Before you've changed? Before you have a tail, and gills? Surely it'll be freezing- you're cold just looking at that water.

"Well I wouldn't want you convulsing too hard when you transform and hitting your pretty little head on the rocks! Trust me, honey."

Trust her...

The concept repulses you, but what other choice do you have anymore? Taking a deep breath, you dip your legs in first- before shuffling off the shire for the last time and dipping silently into the frigid sea.

Your eyes are squeezed tightly closed as your head disappears under the waives, and the only feelings you know are the freezing fucking cold and, and thick tentacles wrapping gently around you. Holding you still.

Under water.

"Now, now~ Don't panic, that'll just make this worse for you." You're starting to run out of air - you've never been good at holding your breath, - , and as Ursula's thumb brushes over your lips you struggle, like an impulse, away from her. You try to wrestle out of her hold- reach the air, again. To breath- Air- God, fuck- Need to-

But her grip just tightens around you, her new play thing, constricting like a boa constrictor until you cant fight anymore. "I said don't panic, lovely...

now open that lovely mouth, now."

[whump-town]

Don't Let Me Down

Hotch is retired and Emily's struggling to come to terms with the loss of an old friendship, an old relationship, only to find Agent Hotchner has been haunting the same building as her. Teaching down at the academy... only a mile away every day.

Word Count: 7k

Pairing: Hotch/Prentiss

At my core, I am a fool for Hotchniss

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

I don’t dream. 

Nose to nose, their heads sharing the same pillow, Emily had decisively told Aaron this. Aaron had attempted to remember a few of his own dreams, incoherent nonsense though they were. Adventures he couldn’t imagine what prompted them. He smirked as she said this, shook his head, everyone dreams, Emily, you just don’t remember them. That’s all. Dreams are overrated anyway – unless you're Freud. Then they’re perfectly logical, our deepest desires, the things we’re ashamed to admit to wanting. 

The sudden shift in his tone had made her laugh, even at his implication, what he’d said about Freud only made it funnier. Is it your deepest desire to go to a Doctor Who convention with Garcia and Reid? Because that’s what his most coherent dream was, Garcia and Reid leading him down the side-walk talking so quickly he couldn’t keep up. 

No, he chuckled. I don’t think so. I don’t know what Doctor Who is.

Well, you said things we’re ashamed to admit to wanting, she shrugged, sounds like you feel left out.

Her dreams are persistent now, agonizing in every specific little detail her mind can come up with. Hallways filled with screaming, they call for her to protect them and she can’t. Derek is already dead when she gets to him, skin cold to the touch. She runs down the side of the road, cold rain smacking her face, and she’s still too late. On her knees, concrete biting the skin, she holds JJ in her arms and sobs as she listens to her last breaths. Jack… She knows this memory well, running up the stairs of Haley and Aaron’s home to try and find the missing toddler, listening to Aaron’s stuttered breathing as they stumble towards his office. She runs up the stairs, the carpet beneath her feet. He’s in his bedroom, the one in Aaron’s apartment, screaming in a pool of his father’s blood.

So now she doesn’t sleep. Her vision is swimming, she’s dizzy. She can’t fucking sleep and the roof is not nearly interesting enough to contain her boredom. It’s not even like spackled in an interesting pattern it’s just flat white. 

She sees a man every bit of his height and with those gangly legs. He knocks her off her feet, off her game. Ruins the one thing she was ever good at, dries her mouth out, and twists her stomach up. She’d know it anywhere, him anywhere. The nearly sweet, distinct scent of his aftershave and cologne – winter rain. The sharp scent when he passes, hand brushing her back or an arm, felt hours after he’s passed. It’s not hysteria. Ahead of dark, crazy hair. A fine suit across broad shoulders. Her entire body turns to stone, hand twitching to recognize the whole man in front of her. The way she’d know if it were him by just a touch – the muscles in his back, the sharpness of his vertebrae, and the chill of his skin. She’d known blind just as she knows, with a single breath of the man in front of her, that’s it not Aaron. 

She refuses to even acknowledge him when they bring him up. Turns a cold, indifferent shoulder to any mention of his name. The distance between them is uncontrollable and she has nearly no control of it – by intellectualizing the problem she can confidently remove herself from it. Part of it is her, she can recognize that, but mostly it’s him, that much she can excuse. Compartmentalization; Aaron Hotchner himself had commended her ability, not that she gives a shit about what he thinks. It’s harder to push him away when the others don’t want to forget him. Every time she turns around he’s there, not in-person, but engraved into her office and in the bullpen and around every conversation. She tells herself over and over she has no memories of this man, his existence wiped from her memory. “Mmm, what was it used to do with his straws?” JJ leans over, squints, and tries to get Emily to tell her but Emily just shakes her head, shrugs. 

She doesn’t know. 

They’re in Nebraska, she reminds herself cruelly. Don’t be stupid. 

“I thought it was him.” Dave appears at her left side, materializing out of thin air in that mysterious, authoritative way he does. His hand wraps around her shoulder, jostles her warmly as their breaths condense in plumbing clouds above their heads. “I miss him too, kiddo.” He looks down at her, returning her somber smile.

Instead of sharing in the sentiment, she shrugs his hand away. Indifferent. “Miss who?”

He bites straws. That question JJ asked where she couldn’t remember what that weird habit Hotch did with these straws – he’d bite them. Chew them. It had bothered Emily at first but he never had a clue he was doing it. He never drank out of straws for that very reason. But then a straw would be in the take-out cup of sweet tea Morgan would bring him despite his clear and concise “I don’t want anything” or in a drink, he ordered from the bar and he’d get distracted. 

Stupid, stupid habit. 

Nasty. 

Vile.

Weird. 

God, he is so weird. 

Was. Past tense. No longer her problem and what a relief. 

Karma. 

This is karma. 

She’s spoken too soon. Overestimated her abilities. 

She’s storming out of a way too long “could have been an email” meeting when she sees him. More grey now than she’d ever seen in his hair before, relaxed and soft when she’d only known it slicked back and controlled. Longer, more like it had been when they were younger. She didn’t look at him twice, he looked nothing like himself. Standing in khakis and a dark green sweater, no suit or tie. His shoulders relaxed. 

That unmistakable laugh, that’s how she’d known. He chuckled at something and she turned around, he was leaning against the doorway. Everything she swore she’d forgotten standing right there.

Nearly three years. 

He’s been gone for three years and then he just… appears out of nowhere. 

She wants to be mad at him to hate him and walk away from having seen him with the bitter relief that she never has to talk to him again. For a week she’s completely satisfied by just seeing him going along. This little game he doesn’t know they’re playing. She sees him everywhere. Learns his schedule. He takes office hours in a cafe down the street, well-loved by his students. Tuesdays and Thursdays from 2:30 to 4 he takes his office hours in the cafe three blocks from the academy. His class meets on Monday and Wednesday from 11:10 to 12:35. Agent Hotchner and Professor Hotchner are very different – cadets whispered his name the same way drunk teenagers talk about Appalachian horrors at midnight and his students praise him the way young adults talk about people they revere, as larger than life.

She’s already way too into this, has his schedule written down on a sticky note, and then she sees him at the cafe. It’s nothing really, she knew he’d be there, and she was just walking by not stopping in. No students were with him, it was just him in and his laptop. She didn’t even see his face. 

Leaning against the booth, against his leg was a cane. 

She’d never seen it before. The cane gets to her. In a way that has nothing to do with him. It’s complicated. Two days later he doesn’t have it. He’s walking across the street talking to a student, a young man, and it’s not there. It sparks insanity in her. It makes her crazy, stupid. The next day it’s back and for a moment she almost walks up to him and says something but she doesn’t, she can’t. He walks slowly from his classroom, pained. She doesn't see him for a week after that and she thinks maybe he saw her and just ran away again. 

He returns to the cafe on Tuesday like nothing happened, his laptop on the table and his cup to the left. 

The cane is the perfect excuse for how… well, how crazy she knows she’s being about this. She’s watching him to check in and make sure he’s okay.

Wednesday she’s making coffee when she hears Garcia talking about him, trying to stir in sugar when she realizes Garcia isn’t talking about something Hotch did two years she’s talking about something he did last week. Last week. Her heart is beating so loud, so hard she can feel it in her fingers. 

“What do you mean?” she asks. 

The laughing stops, and everyone looks at her. Garcia’s still smiling, “huh?”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Garcia opens her mouth, going to respond, but Emily just keeps talking. “You talk to him? You’ve talked to him recently?”

Reid is the first to respond, the only one unaware of the complete meaning of Emily’s distress. “We went to Shakespeare in the park,” he says brightly. “In June. Now we grab a coffee on Saturday mornings.” 

“June,” Emily repeats, nodding. “June.” It’s December. 

Garcia stands, hurt written across her face, “Emily, I’m sure –”

Emily shakes her head, chews on her lip, and turns her head. Hides her tears. “It’s nothing,” Emily assures her. Because that’s what Garcia was going to say, it’s nothing. But nothing with Aaron Hotchner is ever nothing. “Don’t worry about it,” she says, waving away their concern. “Sorry, go back to your conversation. I’m sorry for interrupting.” 

Dave says nothing. Nothing about nothing. Not about how Aaron has reached out to everyone but her. Not about her defensiveness. The way she glares at the others for mentioning him by name. Stupid things. Things like how he took his coffee – sugar and no creamer or was it creamer and no sugar – and that story Haley told Morgan, who then told everyone, about how in their first apartment Hotch broke his collarbone falling down a flight of stairs because a cockroach flew at his head. The last of which is a story that had never failed to make her laugh before but now draws immediate silence, a deep, intense glare. 

He can’t put a finger on specifically what it was between them that made her like this but maybe that answers itself – that there isn’t a single answer but a thousand. Quitting their jobs to protect one another. The tears in Aaron’s eyes as Benjamin Cyrus beat her. Too many Emilys where a Prentiss should be. Emily’s lingering touches. And it blew up in their faces. Erin Strauss. George Foyet. Ian Doyle. Peter Lewis. Wedge and wedge drove between them until they had more separating them than they ever had bringing them together. Witness protection, both of them. London for her, all across the middle east and Germany. All of her favorite places because Aaron put it in, remembered every place she ever dreamed of going or wished she had the time to visit again. Afghanistan, another of his stupid ideas, and the fall out of the way the desert affected him. Traumatic stress neither could shake. They don’t even know what places he visited in witness protection, the names he used, or the stories he acquired. 

Dave distracts the ache in his chest, all this thinking about Aaron, by telling others about the stupid stuff he used to get into. For the others, he’s a barely attained memory. A ghost held within the bullpen. Reid can pitch in every once in a while and JJ edges into these conversations, only the outside looking in. And Aaron Hotchner is a stupid, stupid man so Dave has endless stories, interesting stories, and yet something else is far more interesting to him. 

He sees the fluttering around happening in Emily’s office, he knows that distinctly rushed panicked thing she does when she’s doing something stupid. Turning back to the others, making his daily rounds of keeping them off task with adventurous stories of the past, Dave answers the question he vaguely heard Luke ask. Something along the lines of “how do you even get out of a situation like that?” Dave hadn’t even realized he’d corrupted Luke into his storytelling until he looks back and finds Tara, Luke, Matt, and Reid all attentively hooked. JJ sneaking her way down to join.

He’s nearly at the climax of his story when Emily comes through the bullpen, walking too quickly to call it a relaxed pace and far too excited for him not to say something. “Where are you going in such a rush?” He’s not the only one, Tara immediately frowns but Dave beats her to saying anything.

Emily pulls up her sleeve, turning to answer but her face widens and instead, all she says is: “Fuck! I’m so late.” It’s 12:40 and his class ends at 12:35, she’s missed him. Missed her chance to storm down there and give him a piece of her mind because he’s a dick. He’s a fucking asshole. Yes she’s thrilled he reached out to Penelope and Spencer, they adore him and it’d be cruel, she’d think so little of him if he didn’t say something to them if he could. But her? Fuck him. 

Fuck him. She knows what’s she’s going to say. He left her in this job that stole blindly from him. Asked her to come home and she always did for him, because he asked, and that love drove her across the Atlantic countless times, and he the gal to say nothing to her? To live right under their noses. To reintegrate himself into their lives and say nothing to her? 

Fuck him.

Then she managed to get to that hall, red in the face and breathless, and he was still standing there. Jeans today. And sneakers. Sneakers. Her brain goes to mush but he’s still functioning. His face betrays nothing and all while she stands there sweating and freaking out. 

“It was lovely talking to you,” he says, smiling in a way she never saw out of him in this building as Agent Hotchner. His student nods, eager and pleased. “Email me if you have any more questions or concerns.” They exchange a few more brief words and the student leaves and then there’s nothing, not a thing separating them. 

He moves first, smiles shyly, “Emily–”

“Don’t Emily me.” She shakes with the emotions tearing through her. “Reid. Garcia. Dave.” Aaron says nothing. “Why didn’t you –” she shrugs, shakes her head. Say something? They have plenty of equal ground to meet on. What makes her so different that she doesn’t even warrant a hello? 

He tilts his head, “because you saw me.” Shrugs, “why didn’t you say anything?”

“I saw you two weeks ago!” He saw Spencer six months ago. He’s been home for at least six months. “Reid saw you in June, Hotch. June!” But that’s not what she’s really bothered about. Why did it take so long for him to see her? Why didn’t he say anything? She runs her hands down her face, lets out a rush of anxious air as her fluttering chest hammers on. “Why didn’t you… How come…” 

He has no answer. Not a good one or even an answer at all. He’s still stewing, trying to force something close to the truth up when she walks away. A quick furious walk away just blows right past him. 

His hearing has seen better days, not even a hearing aid truly fixes the damage he’s done to them, but he saw her. Unmistakable. Residual lavender from the path she made and that quick, places to be, walk she does when she’s nervous or thinking too hard. The first time he saw her all he wanted was to run after her. He couldn’t, not even if he really wanted to, but he did want to. Rush after her. Make a show. Scream her name. Wave his arms frantically until he caught her attention. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to bother but, really, he was afraid. 

Before he had something. He could lure her to Virginia with the pleasant fondness she feels for the others, for the promise Jack would be around for her smother. Then he could find a way to make himself someone she’d be interested in spending time with, offer to buy her coffee or to listen to whatever Clyde has done to piss her off. Now she has his team, a new team. She has his office. She has his job. He has nothing to offer her. He’s just an old man with too much time on his hands and she’s still hunting serial killers across the country. She chased them across the globe just a few years ago. She’s well beyond out of his league. 

To Reid and Garcia, he’s still Agent Hotchner no matter what state he presents himself in. Hospital gown. Suit. Sweat pants. They still look at him like they would have when he was still their boss. They adore him in a very predictable way – sure, he doesn’t think it’s fair, he doesn't deserve it, but he knows it. Dave sees him as the thirty-something-year-old kid he was when they first met. A moron. Morgan is a nervous first-time dad who finds a weird comfort in him, happy that someone understands his fears and can assure him the weird things that Hank does are pretty normal. 

But Emily? 

He has nothing. 

She’s the sun and the moon and the sharp, stinging wind before it rains and what could he possibly be for her?

He has no classes on Friday so they completely miss one another, Emily has three days to go without the possibility of seeing him. Which means seventy-two hours of guaranteed Aaron Hotchner free time, if she can distract herself from him that is. In the same process of folding dough, she wraps her mind around her anger, forgives him, and decides she’ll never speak to him again. He’s as good as dead to her. 

Dead would actually be easier. 

A case takes them to Orlando on Friday night and he’s effectively wiped from her mind. Three dead women, another missing, and the imminent threat of Garcia’s departure from the team keep them buzzing with energy. The topics of conversation come quick and endless, with no time to think about old friends. It’s the rush she needs so she doesn’t anticipate the crash. The way that everything comes back to a calm, rocks back into the gentle motion things is set to be in. They have a night in Orlando, half of them go out for fun and the other half lay low. Luke stays in the hospital, grumpily begging for the company until Emily shows up with Chinese and the threat to leave if he annoys her. 

Which she makes good on the second he won’t let the subject of Hotch drop. “Garcia said you guys were close– Wait, I didn’t mean anything by it,” and she can’t bring herself to care. To even play this cat and mouse game of information. Back and forth about things she doesn’t want to talk about and least of all with Luke. It’s mean, she knows, as she leaves Luke laying there by himself but she can’t. 

She doesn’t want to talk about Hotch and it’s starting to piss her off that everyone else has so many opinions about their relationship. Close. Complicated. “More went on than they told us…” 

Coming back to Virginia was a relief and all she wanted was to go to the cafe and hunt him down but it’s 9 p.m. and he’s not there. She knows what she wants to say, what she wants to know. Why? He’s lying somewhere to himself or to her. Of all people, why fear reaching out to her? Just as he had done for her, she had known every agent placed on his case. Several she reached out to personally. Every step of the wall, she had him pinned down as close as she could. Always one move behind him. He had done the same. Recommended places for them to relocate her, places she’d mentioned only once or twice in the years they had known one another. In the same sense, she’d sent him to places he hated, the same declaration of love as him sending her to Egypt (a place she loves), because he needed to be reminded there were still people waiting for him to come home. 

They have fallen into one another so many times, she can’t understand why he fears that return. 

It’s always been about reciprocation. Knowing eventually something would happen and only the other could understand the decisions they made. 

And, for the first time, Emily can’t understand him. 

And it scares her. 

She also can’t find him. Before she brushed it aside, inconsistencies in his schedule could be for any number of reasons. Besides managing a job as a professor there’s also Jessica, Roy, and Jack that he’s at least partially or completely in charge of or in some position of care for. But she loses her patience. She misses Monday because of the case and then he isn’t in his office or the cafe on Tuesday so Wednesday when she can’t find him again, she loses some of her self-control. This is between them, she tells herself, but also…

Spencer leaves his phone unattended all the time and she finds it by the coffee maker, doesn’t think twice about hunting through his contacts to find Hotch’s phone number. He’s down as Aaron Hotchner so he’s really not that hard to find. The problem is she’s not sure what to do next besides… call him. 

Hotch is sleeping – it’s 1:52 p.m. or maybe 1:32 but his vision is blurry and his head is starting to hurt so he’s not going to further strain himself trying to make out the exact time. It’s one, that’s the point, and all he wants is to go back to sleep but his phone is relentlessly lighting up and buzzing across his nightstand. The grip of the sleeping pill he took is still strong but not nearly enough to distract his mind from the ache in his leg. 

“Hello?” he lets the phone guide itself, gravity doing most of the work. His hand just… keeps it in the right place. 

“Where are you?”

He didn’t check the caller I.D. when he picked his phone up, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make out who it was anyway. “Um–” he let two or three calls go, maybe four. He wasn’t counting just ignoring, knowing any too invasive questioning about the dropped calls could go under his hearings fault. A shrug and a sorry, I don’t wear my hearing aids around the house so I didn’t hear it going off. That’s not particularly a weakness he wants to admit to but you can see the hearing aid and admit to something is better than the truth. It’s easier. 

“I called you twice?” it’s Emily. “Where are you?”

He wasn’t aware he was supposed to be answering her, that’d she’d be calling. To the best of his knowledge, the team was on a case. Spencer called him and said as much, they missed Saturday morning coffee but Spencer still sent him a lengthy email giving him a general rundown of the case they were working on. Monday and Tuesday went by and he saw no general signs that they might be back yet and, then, he also just thought Emily was mad enough not to show up again. Not to wisp by the cafe or show up at his office to yell at him. 

So, he’s not really ready for this. 

“Hotch?”

He clears his throat, trying to force his brain to work. “I’m home.” Pressing the heel of his palm into his eye is not doing the trick of kick-starting his brain. The Advil he took before his nap hasn’t touched the pain in his leg which is what he was afraid of. This flare-up is bad and it’s his own fault. He’s spending too much time on his feet and he should have reached out to his doctor after the last flare-up, they’ve happening too frequently and for too long. He needs new meds. 

“Home?” she repeats. “Why are you home? You have–” she catches herself. About to comment on his schedule before realizing that is a detail she really shouldn’t know. “Don’t you have a class or something to teach?” 

Getting comfortable is a nightmare. “Uhm, no I canceled it.” Hotch tries to shift his weight, move the pillow under his knee but every angel he thinks to lay at sends fire coursing up the nerves in his leg. Pillows do nothing. Pain killers do nothing. Ice will lower the swelling and braces will keep his knee tight but nothing will touch the pain. It won’t go away until it’s run its course. Or, rather, until he’s stopped stressing about this thing with Emily. The guilt he has about not speaking to her. Of not knowing what to say to her. 

He canceled tomorrow’s classes already.

His students know the procedure, he doesn’t have to be too crazy with instructions. The PowerPoint is uploaded and anything he has to say someone on YouTube has already said and probably better. A few of them have sent him emails about assignments and one, at least, that’s asking if he’s alright, but that can wait. 

“Why?”

More questions than Jack and frankly he has no patience for it. “Can’t stand,” he answers, indifferently. He can stand. He had to stand to get out of bed and stood while he tried to piece together the point of her phone call but that’s about all he’s got. That’s not enough stamina to make it to campus or to his office or even to his class or to repeat that process to get back home. But that is the easiest way to put it, the most accurate way too.

“You can’t stand what?”

He groans, face down to attempt to muffle the sound. Five years ago he would have just gone to work. Came in hours before the others so that they wouldn’t see him use his cane, to prevent them from seeing how badly he needs the cane. He would have stayed there at his desk, sustained off of the single mug of coffee he might have managed the strength to withstand going to get, and the snacks Jack used to like to pack in his briefcase or a sleeve of crackers or something adjacent. And he would have left only once they all cleared out when no one would be around to see him leave. 

Now he has students – twenty-year-olds who haven’t yet learned what they are and aren’t allowed to ask or talk about – and they like him, unfortunately. 

Explaining all that just doesn’t feel like something he has the energy to deal with so he answers simply, “I’m… I’m not feeling well.” Revealing a slight discomfort really stops most people from pushing further, honesty goes further than he previously realized. 

“Oh.” 

The sound she makes surprises him, she’s disappointed. He didn’t expect that, disappointment. Perhaps a little twisted joy, him suffering as a penance for being such a dick the last few months. “Why? Did you need something?”

She sighs and mutters something he can’t hear. “Nothing, I was just, um, bored. Have some time off before the next case rolls in.” She went to the cafe and he wasn’t there. He’s not always there but she was kind of hoping that he would be. Give them the chance to talk. “No one else was around,” she adds, trying to stress that he is her last option even if that isn’t true. 

“Oh.” The next sentence rolls off his tongue a little too loosely, the sleeping pill rolling over him, “I can meet you somewhere or you can come here?” He’s greatly over-estimating himself – his physical ability to walk and tolerate the pain. He also doesn’t want to end the call, to apologize and leave it at that.

“I don’t want to drag you out, you don’t feel well.”

He nods, eyes creeping shut. That’s nice, really. He shouldn’t go out. 

“Are you up for eating?” Emily isn’t actually sure she wants to be nice to him. Aaron right now is her least favorite person but… Somewhere else he’s also her best friend. He’s fought at her side. Protected her. Told her things he’s never told anyone else. “I’ll bring you soup.” 

“Mmm,” he is hungry. 

“Alright,” it’s a plan, set in motion. “Where is…?” She’s very nervous now. “Where is here?”

“My apartment.”

His answers are a little too short but she’s still pretty fluent in Hotchner. “Your old apartment?” she asks and then frowns. “The apartment?” 

He’s not really listening. His blind searching turned up his blankets and he pulled them back around himself, tucked under his chin. “Yeah.”

“After all this time…” he’d been exactly where he always was.

He hums, it’s probably not great but also no one touched the place when he left. No one wants this apartment and he doesn’t mind it. 

“You better let me in when I get there.” 

Hotch grunts, he thinks what he means to say but has to really think it out before it comes out of his mouth. “Locks haven’t changed.” 

He does not answer the door when she rings but he does hear her cursing in the living room. She’s dumping bags out and her keys are falling out of her hands and she’s a real mess all topped by the fact that he should have let her in and he didn’t. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” she greets, tone dripping with sarcasm, hearing him rather than looking up as she picks up her keys and the bag she dropped. “You didn’t let me in.”

His mouth is hot, thick – he needs water and food and more medicine. 

He looks awful. Even his professor regalia hides so much of him under large clothing but in nothing but a worn down t-shirt and black sweat pants that hang off his hips, there is nothing to be deceived by. His grip on his cane has made his knuckles bloodless, white with strain. His elbow is straight and his body tilted all to one side as he leans, taking all the help he can from it. His hair is standing up, it’s obvious he hasn’t looked at himself today, has made no attempt to calm his hair. 

“Christ,” she whispers, eyes moving from the ground up as she takes in the state of him. “You didn’t say you were dying.”

He keeps himself upright with the help of the couch and then the kitchen is only one step away. After he got out of the hospital after he nearly died from internal bleeding, on some serious drugs, and under the strict instructions to try and move as little as possible, he’d watched Jessica move his furniture around. He was in and out of a nap, waking up as Jack or Jessica backed into the couch, or when one of them throw something at his head or legs. Always a little anxious about him sleeping so still, so calm. 

They had torn everything apart and walked through it to make sure at nearly every walkway, he’d have something to lean on/against. They never bothered moving anything into another order, which was smart, obviously.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” The kitchen counter is at a very nice edge, a proper place to lean his body into. Right into his hip which both makes the pain worse but also changes the pain enough to make it more tolerable. “Is there something you wanted?” He misses the immediate frown Emily gives him, leaning his head down and trying to strong-arm the need to get sick. His answer is the bag of food she brought landing with a solid thud to his right next elbow. He opens his eyes and looks at it. Then at her. 

Fuck. 

“Emily–” 

She’s already at the door, throwing it open with a force that surprises them both. 

“Emily, I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” He follows her. He’s sloppy, moving too quickly, and clips his foot on the wall. Mumbling curses and now limping harder he makes it to the door just as she’s stepping through it. “Emily, please. I’m sorry.” He throws his hand up and that stops her – the way his hand trembles is what gets her attention. “I lied.” He drops his hand, closes it. “I’m – I’m not… I’m not sick.” Standing, even leaning, is making his leg hurt so intensely he can’t think past the pain. It’s just a mental block, one he can power through. “My… leg is, I’m having a–a hard time at the moment.”

Her eyes move up and down, x-ray eyes trying to pick out the damage by sight alone. 

“Boston and then New York.” He shifts, body overriding his mind and moving against his will to move his weight off his leg. Two bombs. One leg full of shrapnel. “Humans are not built to withstand surviving bombs.” 

Emily nods, “especially not two, huh?”

“No,” he agrees. The seriousness of which she finds just a little funny. Dark eyes pinched in that scathing way he regards everything. She… missed it. 

She missed him. “It’s pretty bad then?” She comes back into the apartment slowly, leans back against the door she shuts behind herself. More interested than forgiving. Arms crossed over her chest, head tilted, expecting answers.

“Yeah,” he’s a little breathless, getting dizzy so he motions her closer and goes to the couch. A slow process, painful but careful movements. 

Emily nods push herself back into movement. “I got Matzo Ball soup,” she says, stepping to the counter. “Bowls in the same place? You can tell me more and get some food in your stomach.” Hotch is of an irrational variety, someone who firmly believes medications work best on an empty stomach. She’s not actually sure if it’s a belief he holds but it’s something he practices and those two things might as well be the same. She could irrationally hope he’s strayed from his habit but she’s hopeful, not stupid. 

He doesn’t answer her question about the bowl because they both know that he hasn’t moved anything. In the face of constant change, Aaron Hotchner is unwaveringly constant. He doesn’t say anything while she worries about the soup which doesn’t surprise her. He obviously hadn’t wanted to tell her what he did so he isn’t going to expand on the subject until she’s settled down and he’s certain she’s listening. 

“Here,” she hands him the bowl, “both hands.” 

There’s not much in it which is a safe bet on her part about how much he’s actually going to eat. 

She gives him a moment, has some soup in the place of all the silence. He doesn’t have any, just holds his hands around the bowl collecting its warmth. Trying to remain as still as possible. If he doesn’t move perhaps his bones will turn to stone and stones have no nerves, no feeling. It would be a merciful transcendence. 

“I know you’ve been back in Virginia since June.” 

Sitting still isn’t working very well – he’s exhausted and itching to move even if thinking about moving makes his hip ache with a strange vengeance. “May,” he corrects. His voice hoarse, grated by the constant pain. It’s a flat five or so but the fact that it doesn’t change, that it gets worse without getting better, is making him feel flushed. The rest of his body responds to the pain. 

“Wow,” Emily mumbles, shaking her head. “You are a dick.” 

Eyes closed, smirking, he lays his head back on the couch. “I know.” He does feel bad about it. He didn’t know what else to do. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” she dismisses as soon as he says it. “Yeah, I know. You’re saying that an awful lot.” 

He opens his mouth to say it again, reflexive to apologize, but catches himself, hums, and nods. He has a lot to be sorry for. All around but no one more than her. “I have a lot of apologies to make.” He looks up at the ceiling and, only because he can feel her watching him, turns his head to look at her. “I don’t have an excuse, Emily.” He looks so tired, worn down that she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t cut him off, dismiss the direction this conversation is headed. “If anyone deserves one… but I have nothing.” 

She isn’t sure what to say, every thought struck from her mind. It takes a moment to even nod, to let him keep talking.

“I actually thought you would be the easiest,” his smile is tinged with sadness, no real comfort can be drawn from the gesture. “I had everything I needed to say to you planned out because… because I knew what you would say.” He looks away from her, starts to fidget with his hands. “I came to the office and I saw everyone in the bullpen,” he glances over and quickly averts his gaze again. “You among them. Laughing.” He blinks his eyes hard, forces his tears away. “I couldn’t do that. I… I think forgot how.” 

He was jealous, heartbroken, and ashamed. He thought he’d come back and she’d share in his frustrations. Meet him with twin tears, and agree with his sentiments about how impossible it is to manage work and friends. To have those two things roped into the same dynamic.

He’s just a crazy old man now and he’s not thinking very clearly, his meds are making his head too fuzzy.

He clears his throat and picks up the spoon at the bottom of the bowl. He doesn’t lift any of it to his mouth but he messes with the broth. Distracts himself with its color. It’s going to be good soup, he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to have any.

They lapse into one of their pleasant and predictable silences – even with distance and time and hatred, the natural flexion of that muscle has not eroded. Too much silence. The soup is warm in his lap, soothes an ache in his hands he wasn’t even aware of. Pain registers poorly. But his hands are so warm, he’s relaxed. The pills he took earlier start to come back, his heart rate slowing again and his head getting fuzzy. 

“Hey,” Emily shakes his shoulder. “Come on, lay down.” He’s far too groggy, too disoriented to do anything besides exactly what she says. His head spins as he leans back but he hits only pillow, soft forgiving pillow. “You need water?” Its’s reflexive, she knows everything about him. “Medicine?” She isn’t sure about… He’s only half on the couch and she needs to either lift his legs up or he needs to but she’s not certain which. He’s half-asleep, not moving them on his own. “Hotch–” She moves his legs gently, pausing as he makes a groaning convulsion. Tensing as pain stirs him back to consciousness. “You’re fine, easy.”

She leaves him the soup and a note. Scratchy cursive – finish this soup, you look like shit. Call me when you wake up, Emily

It takes him a week to call her. 

He still doesn’t feel well when he wakes up, too weak to do more than move back to his bedroom. Jessica pulls him out the next day. Saves him from his never ending misery, hours of agony on repeat because he can’t and won’t move. She throws his bedroom curtains back and bullies him into showering, you stink. He moves around, inching slow and steady in the direction of the amazing smell coming from the kitchen. 

It’s Emily’s soup.

Jess hands him the sticky note. She assumes he’s done what they’ve been talking about for months. Finally gotten in touch with Emily. Not true. But he holds that sticky note for so long he misses the chance to tell Jessica that it’s not true. 

He calls her from his office. One of his students has just left and it puts her on his mind. She doesn’t answer. 

He worries his knee, digs his fingers into the aching joint as he tries to think about what it is he should do now. There is no answer. She says to call. He calls. Now he waits. 

He’s eating a muffin when she storms into the cafe. Today she is the whipping wind, the kind that scared him as a kid. Snatching hats and scarves with its severity and what always made him think of hurricanes and tornadoes.

She gets a coffee and he watches her. He realizes he’s staring but he can’t make himself look away. Afraid that if he does she’ll disappear. She gets a sandwich and his heart starts to hurt with how hard it’s pounding when he realizes she’s coming to sit with him. She sits down across from him, and settles heavily into the booth. `Emily raises an eyebrow but says nothing, just takes a bite out of her sandwich. 

He taps his fingers against his cup, he feels like a teapot. So much energy has been contained inside him. Like he’s going to boil over or burst. “Thank you.” Bingo. That was the right thing to say, her attention goes to him. She stops chewing for a moment, catches herself, and moves back as if nothing has happened. “For the – the soup?” They never knew what to say before, they didn’t have to speak. They were always a glancing pair, unspoken. 

He looks down at the napkin his muffin is sitting on, and fiddles with it. He has no idea what to say. Making excuses feels wrong and unfair but he has to say something. He opens his mouth but startles jumps when Emily reaches over and touches his wrist. “What’re friends for?”

[kitchenisking]

Fic Rec Passover Day 1❤️

Hello! Tonight is the first day of passover. Following jewish law our days start with sunset and end the next day at sunset. And I thought it would be cool to post a rec for each day of passover☺️ I'll be posting evening my time! Chag Shemach to everyone who celebrates! Happy Easter for those who celebrate!💚 (im sorry that I don't know when it is exactly🙈) that that everyone have a great weekend and an even better week!😁❤️

Magic Potion by mysecretashes - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1762, sterek)

After ten years together, Stiles and Derek are happily married and ready to have a baby.

You Smell Like Mine by bleep0bleep, marguerite_26 - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 13420, sterek)

People talk about the alpha instinct, an alpha's head being swayed by a nice-smelling omega, or the desire to drop everything and show off. Derek's never felt any of that. He's just not that kind of alpha.

Then he meets Stiles.

I'm Keeping The Hoodie by kits_lightning - (Rating: Mature, Words: 4250, sterek)

“Hey Der, your alpha’s here.” She whispered and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Derek felt his eyes widen and chanced a look behind him catching the sight of the blue jeep pulling up to the garage.

“Shut up, Erica. He’s not my anything.” He looked away before Stiles could notice him and cleaned his hands on a rag trying to calm his sudden nerves.

Erica placed her hands on her curved hips. “Uh huh. It’s like you both enjoy deluding yourselves.”

When we're the best of friends by Emela - (Rating: G, Words: 1698, sterek)

“Momma," Stiles squeals, splashing a little. "Derek said my tail was pretty and I said he was pretty. Are we married now, momma? Do I have to live here all the time now?”

Or the one where kid!Derek meets kid!Stiles and proposals happen.

A Tale as Old as Time by Leslie_Knope - (Rating: T, Words: 5931, sterek)

Derek wakes up 12 years later in a world where, for some reason, Stiles is naked. 

Well, at least the sheets are comfortable.

Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of by Lissadiane - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 14953, sterek)

It's a cold, snowy night and Stiles is halfway through his shift at the campus coffee shop when a tall, dark and handsome stranger walks in, one who seems unaware that he's being haunted by a wolf.

In which Stiles Stilinski sees the ghosts of animals with unfinished business, and Derek Hale is unaware that his dearly departed sister left a few things unfinished.

the background by murderdocks - (Rating: T, Words: 2322, sterek)

Stiles decides this is it, the walking out of the door. It finalizes the end of twelve years of friendship and trust, built up with glass instead of stone. It hardly lasted long enough.

Savor With Me by sparkandwolf (thatnerdemryn) - (Rating: T, Words: 3884, sterek)

Stiles wasn’t sure when the change had happened; when they could sit together and not want to punch the other, when they actually seemed to authentically enjoy the other’s company. When he went to leave, Stiles was extremely aware of the lack of warmth Derek had provided to him throughout the night. 

Or, 5 times Stiles doesn't notice how close he's become to Derek and 1 time he savors it.

Twisted Gifted by idyll - (Rating: T, Words: 2953, sterek)

Some gifts really need to be returned. 

Written for a prompt by itwassoup on Tumblr: Stiles gets “blessed/gifted” by a witch to be like super attractive to everyone.

Fly a Little Faster by mirrorkill - (Rating: T, Words: 32052, sterek)

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn't step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain? 

Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That's easy as pie, right? Right?

[marvelmusingsbyhertz]

Boy In New York

A/N: Okay, so this has kind of been sitting in my brain, literally haunting me, and now I can’t handle it any longer - I have to write it! Hope you’ll like som Soft!Boy Bucky and some angsty, fluffy goodness (flangst?)!

Feedback feeds the soul, darlings, and requests are always open!

MASTERLIST

BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Soft!Boy!Bucky, a little angst, fluff, Bucky with a guitar, language, implied smut, Bucky singing (which, yes, is a warning)

Boy In New York

You were wandering the streets of New York, the darkness settling over the city as a thick blanket - the street lights lit up as you walked aimlessly, and the city came to life.

You didn’t know where you were going, just wandering - it wasn’t more than a night in the city before you had to leave again, and though it didn’t leave you much time, you were determined to at least experience some of New York.

You walked through narrow streets full of jovial people until you found a small, dingy bar - Memphis written in flaking letters on the brown, wooden door. You could smell the stale beer from outside and hear the chattering of voices, clinking of glasses and the soft tones of a guitar ebbing out from under the door. You made up your mind on the spot.

The smell of beer attacked your nostrils along with an underlying smell of sweat and pretzels. Perfect. You walked to the bar and ordered whatever they had on tap, sat down in the empty barstool closest to the small, makeshift stage where a man with long, brown hair coming out under a baseball cap, face covered under the shade of it and the dark lighting in the bar, strummed a tattered guitar. You observed his fingers nimbly dancing over the strings, wondering how he could play as softly and perfectly with his chord-hand covered in a dark glove.

The bartender placed the cold beer in front of you, and you took it with a smile, throwing a few extra dollars in the tip jar. He winked at you.

You turned your attention back to the man, who was strumming gently.

“I still press your letters to my lips and cherish them in parts of me, to savour every kiss…”

You frowned. That song was probably not bar-material, but you fell into a trance as his voice picked up, the soft timbre of his voice falling over the bar, that became hushed whispers, all eyes to him.

“I only wish you weren’t my friend, that I could hurt you in the end…”

You took a sip of your beer, trying to drown the sound of his voice out. A real, raw hurt swelled in his voice, unspoken words now pressing against the strings of the guitar, wailing his sadness along with his voice.

“So break yourself against my stones, and spit your pity in my soul….”

You closed your eyes, drinking deeply. Whoever hurt the man with the guitar deserved to get their heart ripped straight out. You ordered another beer, grabbing your phone as he picked up another, just as woeful, song and strummed his heart out from his fingers.

You saw several messages from Derek and your stomach lurched.

D: Y/N, come back, this is fucking ridiculous.

D: IS this how you want to play this out? Answer.

D: Y/N, I’ll find you no matter what, you know that. Stop being a bitch and get back home.

D: I’m not going to fucking ask again.

D: Y/N.

D: Y/N.

D: Y/N. You’re being fucking stupid. This is fucking typical of you, I ask one thing, you don’t do it and I get reasonably upset and you fucking run off??

D: Fuck you, Y/N. I’ll find you and drag you by your fucking toenails back home. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

You clenched your jaw, deleted the messages and blocked his number. It was the best you could do right now. Your face must’ve given you up, because the bartender had simply put a shot on the bar in front of you with an understanding smile.

“Been there, girl.” He said with a shrug. You reached for your wallet, but he shook his head and pointed at the amber shot in front of you.

“No money. Not with that face. You need this more than I need money, honey.” You downed it gratefully, the liquid burning your throat - it felt cathartic, like it was burning the taste of the words you'd said before you left, away. “Thank you.” Your voice was hoarse from the shot and the minimal talking you'd done over the last few days.

The bar had emptied out pretty massively, as you drank and read through the messages your ex hand sent you - you guessed it was the permanent clientele that stayed behind, dropping down slightly in their chairs, the more beer they got handed.

The guitar was silent for a little while and you glanced at the stool, the man had been occupying just a few moments earlier. He was standing with his back turned to you, clearly retuning the guitar, and you leaned back, watching his shoulders roll with each screw tightened in the guitar.

He turned back and sat down again, strumming gently, a soft, very well known song filled your ears. You hadn't heard it since you were a child and you felt your breath stutter, as his voice flowed through the microphone and directly into your very soul.

Moonriver… Wider than a mile…”

An image of your mother singing and stroking your hair came over you, and you closed your eyes, relishing in the sweet familiarity the song gave you.

“Wherever you’re going, I’m going there too….” you sang along softly, your voice barely perceptible over the hushed chatter and his voice, but his head shot up, searching for you as he strummed on, his fingers gliding by memory, as his mouth formed the words, yuo knew by heart.

You caught his eye and your heart stuttered.

He was beautiful.

Eyes as blue as Robin’s eggs, full of years lived harshly, were trained on your face as his perfect lips formed the same words as you did. Soft stubble shadowed his chin and cheeks, and you could only recognize the way his face fell too well. It was like looking in a mirror, a world of hurt, betrayal and distrust hiding behind soft spoken words and those blue eyes as the final notes soared through the bar.

“Moonriver and me…” You finished with him, although not really sure if you were just imagining him hearing you - it would probably be impossible over all the other noise in the bar. His chord hand fell from the neck of the guitar and he nodded at you - the corner of his lips twitched up, the hint of a smile on them, before he fell back into the familiar shadows of hurt.

“I haven’t seen him actually have eye contact with anyone before.” The bartender said softly, raising an eyebrow at you. Your eyes flicked back to him, but he was occupying himself with a bottle of water. You hummed.

“What’s his name?” The bartender shrugged.

“Nobody knows. He kind of just shows up every once in a while and then disappears for weeks. We don’t pay him, he never drinks, I think he just needs somewhere to play.” He sighed and rested his elbows on the bar, pointing to the mysterious guitar-man. “Besides, if it keeps him out of the streets of New York at night, I’m good with it.” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek.

It was somewhat comforting that you weren’t the only one running from something.

He sat down again, eyes flicking back and forth from you to his guitar, as he started strumming again. His eyebrow quirked up as he looked at you, almost silently asking you know this? As he began to sing.

Another memory. The soft tones of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac filled your ears, and you were briefly reminded of your childhood home, where your mom had danced slowly with your dad in the living room. You nodded at him with a gentle smile.

He bit his lip and jerked his head back, a silent invitation for you to join him. You shook your head. He shrugged and his eyes bore into you, almost like he was trying to see through you.

Finally you relented as his voice once again filled the nearly empty bar.

You walked a few steps up to the small scene, grabbing the extra microphone and eyed the bartender - he gave you a surprised thumbs up, letting you know it was good to go.

Your voice flowed effortlessly next to his and he dipped lower, going into a harmony that reverberated in your very being. As you sang with him, you could feel an invisible string tying you to his fingers, to his guitar, his song. You’d never be able to let him go, not really.

As you sang, his voice faded out, simply relying on his guitar and his lips turned to a soft, tender smile.

You serenaded his smile, while the simple melody of the guitar told your stories - your voice echoed his hurt, as the words of Landslide tumbled from your lips in a way a memory only can.

As the song finished, the lingering tones of the guitar and your voice faded into the room, he stretched his gloved hand out to you uncertainly. You grabbed it, marvelling over how cold it felt, even under the glove.

“Bucky.” He said with a shy smile. You returned the smile in the same, faltering way he had.

“Y/N.

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

You left the apartment quietly, your shoes in your hand and bag slung over your shoulder. The early morning was bright, clearly becoming a warmer, spring day full of sunlight - not that you’d know it. You had a bus to catch.

You glanced back at the bed where a tousled head of hair was splayed out against grey linens, his naked back full of fading, pink scars. You stopped with your hand on the doorknob, truly taking him in.

The metal of his arm shone in the soft, morning sun and you felt a weird sentimental feeling settle in the pit of your stomach as you remembered how unsure and shy he had been as he took his shirt off - and how his eyes had fluttered closed as your fingertips danced lightly against the plates. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as you remembered his soft lips, as light as a butterfly’s wings against yours, not daring to hurt you.

You knew you couldn’t stay. You knew it would do you no good, you’d never feel peace if you let go and settled truly. Your heart tugged against your ribs as you turned the doorknob, as if it was willing you to stay with him.

It didn’t matter. Love would come, love would go.

At the last second, you left a scrap piece of paper with your name and number on it and turned on your heel, opened the door and left. As soon as you were at a safe distance from the Brooklyn apartment, you let out one, broken, tearless sob - once allowing yourself to feel.

When you finally reached the bus and settled in the seat, you closed your eyes, your body reliving the feeling of his body against yours, his soft whispers against your skin and the way he had looked at you, so fearfully, so trusting, as he finally let himself go. You bit the inside of your cheek and your eyes opened as the bus turned, leaving New York behind you.

The journey ahead and the journey behind. It was now a before and an after Bucky. It didn’t give you a warning, as New York faded into the horizon, that a part of you would never leave that small apartment and grey linens.

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