#if jonah is old enough to talk...........

[alliseaisfandom]

this will probably be disproven across episodes but I have the Gwen brainrot so indulge me.

I know a lot of people hope that Elias is out walking around happy and high, but see the Magnus institute burned down in 1999. Jonah took Elias in 1996.

So don't imagine Gwendolyn coming 'home' after a few years studying on daddy's money, daddy's name and daddy's contempt that his youngest daughter seems perfectly fine with ignoring what is expected from a Bouchard.

Don't imagine Gwen running into her brother one night after he himself hasn't been in their family house for weeks. And realising the thing in front of her isn't Elias.

The stone cold sober, easy smiling man with impeccable posture is not the man who taught her how to play their parents to secure a peaceful life and a place in the will at the same time.

The eyes looking back at her never winked at her from across the dinner table, never shed tears of rage at the golden chains around both of them, never looked at her at her lowest and told her everything would be okay one day. Because those eyes do not belong to Elias.

'A promotion' it tells her, with the same pride Elias used to talk about a student strike that would absolutely wreck their name if it were printed on papers, but this thing wouldn't do that because this thing is. Not. Her. Brother. But she's almost as good at acting as it is, so she plays along. 'Head of the Magnus Institute'.

And Gwen knows very little of the Magnus institute. But she knows enough about Elias Bouchard. She knows about Allan and the eyeless thing that got to him, tale whispered in a panic on the night she first saw her brother as a child instead of a role model. She knows about the letter that arrived unprompted. She knows the stories of what goes on inside the too old building.

And she knows how easy it is to get her hands on gasoline for the bits of it that aren't already flammable.

When she's called in as his emergency contact, she feigns shock at the fire, throws the bone that 'the idiot couldn't even keep his fucking lighter straight' between tears.

She throws the ashes off a foggy cliff onto the sea and attends the empty casket funeral with the same expression she learns to carry from that day on. And after years of clipped conversation, she does what she promised Elias to never do.

'Get me in.' She tells her father. And his smile of relief at 'still having a worthy heir' on the day of his son's funeral sickens her. But she keeps the same expression.

Because she may have killed the thing that took Elias. But the OIAR is the place that can tell her what she killed exactly.

And she won't make her brother's mistakes.

[thonkphonk]

Spideytorch high school sweethearts AU except Johnny breaks up with Peter after he gets back from space. Johnny's still in love but his family's safety is now banked on public opinion, and Johnny's terrified what being out as gay would do to that.

Unfortunately he completely botches the explanation to Peter, who only hears that what they had doesn't mean anything now that Johnny has to leave and go be a celebrity. His boyfriend's too good to be with humdrum ol'Peter Parker with the ratty shoes and dead parents. No, it's probably going to be supermodels and brand deals for the Human Torch from now on, and at best Peter gets to be the old friend from high school who calls sometimes. Not even good enough to be seen hanging out together. Well, if that's the case, Peter's not interested in being "just friends" with Johnny who still gets to "talk on the phone sometimes". In fact, he's perfectly fine with never hearing from him again.

Johnny flies away from that conversation in anguish, heartbroken that he has lost the first and only friend he's ever had, his first love. Peter develops a level of spite towards the Human Torch that rivals the future animosity of J. Jonah Jameson towards Spider-Man.

When Johnny later learns about Spider-Man he's enamored with the idea of befriending him, someone who understands what it's like to be a young superhero struggling through life. This hope crashes and burns upon them actually meeting, when Spider-Man makes some extremely personal attacks completely unprompted. Their rivalry is started with the verbal equivalent of tossing a lit stick of dynamite, and from then on it's so bad that Spider-Man is often identified as a member of the Human Torch's rogues gallery.

What really, really doesn't help is Johnny and Peter's reunion a few months later. Johnny, feeling guilty of how it all went down and struggling to get over Peter, apologizes and asks if they can be actual friends again, not that half-hearted stuff he'd initially proposed. Not only does this get turned down, Peter hints that he's been seeing other people after Johnny, and he's not naming any names, but Spider-Man's a better kisser than the Human Torch.

Johnny doesn't take it well.

[agoldenblackbird]

Here it is, the first chapter of the Buck's Bakery AU from @peppermintquartz's prompt!

I tweaked the timeline a little bit and have Buck choosing not to go back to firefighting after the lightning strike, mostly because me writing a 3a/lawsuit era fic where Buck doesn't or can't return to firefighting would be action-packed with angst and have at least one scene of either suicidal ideation or Buck yelling at everybody. And I mostly want this to be a cute happy fic about tevan making heart eyes at each other and Buck letting himself have a career with low risk of physical or emotional trauma.

Of all the times he's almost died, for some reason it's the lightning strike that's changed him the most.

He doesn't love the random muscle spasms, or the sudden shooting pains or pins and needles that come from nowhere, that the doctor calls 'peripheral neuropathy' and Buck calls bullshit, but both are already lessened compared to when he first got out of the hospital and will most likely continue to improve. He's not firefighting fit right now, but it's only been four weeks since he woke up from the coma. It took him longer just to be allowed to start weight-bearing after the ladder truck, or for Eddie to get the sling off after the shooting, and he actually died this time.

It's the 'actually died' part that's messing with him.

The past six, almost seven, years have been the best of his life, because of finding a purpose in firefighting and a family in the 118. But from the standpoint of emotional and physical trauma, they've also been some of the worst.

Every single member of the team has survived attempted murder. So have Maddie and Athena. Buck, Eddie, Maddie, Hen, Chim, Harry and Josh have all been kidnapped or taken hostage – for Maddie, twice. Most of them have either attempted suicide or had to be prevented from making an attempt. They've had to watch or listen to people die, been drenched in the blood of the injured or dying.

And the things that have happened to Buck himself, well. He's thirty-one years old – just – and some mornings, especially when the weather changes, he feels sixty. The crush injury and the lightning strike are the most seriously he's ever been injured, but there's been myriad strains, sprains, broken ribs, dislocations and concussions over the years, too, and sometimes he feels every single one of them.

The emotional toll weighs more heavily. Devon still haunts him some nights, all these years and hundreds, thousands if he counts the tsunami, of losses later. He still finds a purpose in helping people, saving them. He's just beginning to wonder if there's some other way he can do it that doesn't involve meeting them on the worst day of their life.

He's no longer convinced he'll lose his family if they don't work together. None of them gave up on Eddie when he went to Dispatch, or wrote off Chim or Maddie when they left the state, out of sight, out of mind. When Hen was considering leaving, after Jonah, to do med school full time, he'd known he'd miss her, but he hadn't been scared of losing her. He knows, now, that they might argue or even get mad enough to not talk for a bit, but they'll always come back together eventually.

So if he doesn't need to be a firefighter to keep his family, or to feel worthy of love – the coma-driven revelation that he's Buck and that's enough has stayed with him – then it comes down to, does he still want to be one?

And the answer is that he doesn't know. And as annoying as some of the lingering symptoms from the lightning strike are, the extra time to make up his mind is useful. He's been doing a lot of walking, soothing Maddie's sisterly worry with the excuse that both Dr. Copeland and his GP recommended it and his neighbour Mrs. Cleary's dogwalker quit so he'd be taking her labradoodle out anyway.

Really, it just gives him time to think and an excuse to be unreachable. He needs both, right now. Everyone trying to make up for how isolated he was after his leg was crushed by smothering him – Maddie denied the existence of a schedule but Buck knows from how twitchy Chim got that there is one – is sweet, but also lowkey driving him crazy.

Buck finds the place on one of his walks, when Noodle stops to sniff at a sickly sidewalk tree for long minutes. It's a second-hand bookstore called The Borogoves. Clearly not a very popular one, given that when he peers in the window, he sees nobody there on a Saturday afternoon. The fact that the two storefronts to the right of it are empty might have something to do with it. On the left is a Chase Bank.

Something about those two empty storefronts with their papered-over windows and For Sale Or Lease signs with the matching phone number piques his interest. There's offices above, but when he looks up the notary public on his phone, Google lists the business as permanently closed.

Huh.

——————————————————————————————————

Tommy doesn't usually have time on his commute to look around. He's got to pay attention to what the other drivers are doing. But when he's on his way home from his first night shift after two months of days, he's cruising down the nearly empty streets at just after 6 am with nothing else to do but look.

He understands why the schedule is the way it is, pilots can't do 24-hour shifts because they risk being too sleep deprived to fly or maxing out on flight hours before the shift is over or both, and that means 12-hour shifts in a 4 on, 4 off cycle, switching from nights to days or vice versa every 8 cycles. It makes sense, but god is it a pain in the ass.

The older he gets the harder it is to switch, plus it's a nightmare for dating guys who have a regular 9-to-5. Tyler had a lot to say when Tommy spent all of his last four off switching his schedule around and couldn't go with him on a business trip to Seattle. (He may have used the switch as an excuse to decline being dragged to schmoozy work dinners, but nobody, especially Tyler, needs to know that.)

Tommy goes past what he's pretty sure was two empty storefronts when he was last on nights. They're not empty now, lights are on and the paper's taken down from the windows, and he can hear the sounds of a table saw and a pneumatic nail gun. There's gold paint on the windows. First Javawocky, then Looking-Glass Cakes.

Huh. He'll have to keep an eye out for the grand opening. If nothing else, it'll be handy to have a coffee shop on his commute that isn't Starbucks.

——————————————————————————————————

No promises on when the second chapter will be out, (comment below to be added to the taglist for updates if you want!) but I think I've finally found my rhythm with doing one bit from each POV so that's helpful. Also I haven't made a moodboard in YEARS and I really had a lot of fun with it, so that's helping with motivation!

And if you believe that in this AU, after his heart attack Bobby chooses to stay retired and joins Buck at the bakery, and then Gerrard dies of a circular saw to the head bc his completely unrealistic face turn and unearned HEA was bullshit, Hen becomes Captain because she deserves it and Chim had previously said after his turn as Interim Captain that he never wanted to lead again, and no one dies of super-ebola because SoCal utilizes basic lab safety and security procedures and also does background checks and psych screenings on their employees, you are so sexy and correct and that is absolutely what happens!

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Roadkill | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of smut

Word Count: 4772

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“Alright,” Dean began, cruising down a darkened road. “Tell me about Highway 41.”

You leaned your head on your arms between the shoulders of the two boys on the back of the front seat as Sam began to talk.

“Twelve accidents over fifteen years,” the brunet explained. “Five of them fatal; all of them happening on the same night.”

“So, what are we looking at— Interstate dead zone? Phantom hitchhiker? What?” Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head, continuing to flip through his notes. “Not quite. Year after year, witnesses said the same thing made them crash. A woman appearing in the middle of the road, being chased by a man covered in blood.”

“Two spooks?” you asked.

“Sounds like it,” Sam responded.

“Any idea who this chick is?” 

“I think I might,” the brunet said, handing you a clipping from an old newspaper he’d printed off online. “Molly McNamara. Killed in a car crash fifteen years ago tomorrow night. She took another guy out with her; Jonah Greely. Farmer who was out in the road, and Molly couldn’t slow down in enough time to stop.”

“So, what? She haunts the road now with Greely chasin’ after her?” you questioned.

Sam shrugged. “I guess.”

“I say we go talk to the husband. Only survivor of the crash.”

And that was just where you went. You discovered she hadn’t been buried; she’d been cremated.

“So, what’s keeping her here?” Sam wondered aloud as you left the survivor’s house.

“I don’t know,” you replied. 

*** The next night, you, Dean, and Sam headed down Highway 41.

“Please don’t run into the bitch and kill us all with your stupid driving,” you implored Dean, who shot you a look in the rearview mirror.

“I’m a great driver, what are you—” He cut himself off as something in the road caught his attention. “Holy—!”

You braced yourself on the back of the front seat as Dean slammed to a stop in front of a young blonde woman with scrapes and bruises littering her body. “You have to help me!” she yelled, crying.

“Dean, I don't think she knows she's dead,” Sam realized.

Molly started banging on the window of Sam’s door. “Open up! Please!”

Sam obliged, holding his hand up to try and create some distance between the two of them as he opened the car. “Okay, okay! All right, all right. Just calm down. Tell us what happened.”

You hung back with Dean while he parked the car as Sam walked ahead with Molly. 

“What is he gonna tell her?” Dean asked quietly.

“Knowing Sam? Probably the truth,” you replied.

“She's gonna take off running in the other direction,” Dean sighed.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I— I swerved,” Molly was telling Sam, sitting against a tree stump, “ A-And we crashed. And when I came to, the car was wrecked and my husband was missing. I went looking for him, but that's when the man from the road, he- he started chasing me.”

“Did he look like he lost a fight with a lawn mower?” Dean questioned.

Molly looked up at Dean, shocked. “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess,” he shrugged.

You played dumb, keeping what Dean had said earlier in mind. “Hey, what's your name?”

“Molly. Molly Mcnamara,” she said.

Sam looked over at you knowingly. “I think maybe you should come with us. We'll take you back into town.”

“I can't.” The blonde suddenly panicked. “I have to find David. He might have gone back to the car.”

“We should get you somewhere safe first. Then the three of us will come back. We'll look for your husband,” Sam tried.

“No. I'm not leaving here without him. Would you just take me back to my car, please?” she begged.

Sam hesitated a moment. “Of course,” he said finally. “Come on.”

The four of you clambered into the Impala, and Molly directed Dean toward the crash site. You were incredibly uneasy with a spirit just casually sitting next to you in the backseat, and every instinct was screaming at you to pump her full of rocksalt. However, you knew better and fought your gut feeling.

“Stop,” Molly told Dean. She was jumping out of the car before he’d fully come to a stop. “It’s right over there.”

She led you to where she thought the car would be, but there was nothing there. 

“I don't understand. I'm sure this is where it was. W-We hit that tree right there. This— This doesn't make any sense,” she rushed out, running a hand through her hair. She started to head further into the woods.

Not willing to let her out of your sight, you followed. “Molly, wait!”

She turned around. “I know it sounds crazy, but I crashed into that tree. I don't know who could've taken it. It was totaled. Please. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you,” you said. “But that’s why you gotta get outta here.”

“What about David?” she protested. “Something must have happened. I have to get to the cops.”

Dean came up behind you. “Cops! That's a great idea. We'll take you down to the station ourselves. So just come with us. It's the best way we can help you and your husband.”

“Okay,” she replied.

You shot Dean a look and headed back to the car.

As the four of you drove, Molly spoke up. “We're supposed to be in Lake Tahoe.”

“You and David?” Sam asked.

“It's our five-year anniversary,” she nodded.

“A hell of an anniversary,” Dean muttered, almost making you laugh. However, you were too focused on keeping a hand on your gun in case she made one wrong move.

“Right before, we were having the dumbest fight,” she sighed. “It was the only time we ever really argued; when we were stuck in the car.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah. I know how that goes.”

Dean scowled at him, making you smile.

“You know the last thing I said to him? I called him a jerk. Oh, god. What if that's the last thing I said to him?” she cried.

The younger Winchester turned to face her. “Molly, we're gonna figure out what happened to your husband. I promise.”

Suddenly, the radio started flickering. Its whirring and crackling soon turned to the opening notes of “House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals.

“Sam, you didn’t—?” you started.

He shook his head.

Dean sighed. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

“This song…” Molly trailed off.

“What?” you questioned.

“It was playing when we crashed,” she breathed out.

The radio crackled again, and settled on another disturbing station. A voice began to fill the car coming over the radio. “She's mine,” the voice taunted. “She's mine. She's mine.”

“What is that?” Molly asked.

Jonah Greeley suddenly appeared in the middle of the road.

Dean began flooring it straight at him. “Hold on.”

“What are you doing?” she shrieked as Dean drove into Greeley, who disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“What the... What the hell just happened?” Molly breathed.

“Don't worry, Molly. Everything's gonna be alright,” Sam coaxed.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” you quipped as the Impala began to shudder. It coasted to a stop on the side of the road.

Dean tried to start it again, but the ignition sputtered. “I don't think he's gonna let her leave.”

You got out of the car, hand still on your gun. 

Dean put a hand on the small of your back, cooly saying, “Relax” into your ear. A shudder went through your spine at the contact, but you did your best to release the tension you were holding in your body.

“That’s my girl,” he said, more to himself than you. 

Your heart swelled with pride just as Molly started to panic on the other side of the car. “This can't be happening.”

“Well, trust me. It's happening,” Dean remarked. He moved to the back of the car and started pulling weapons out of the trunk.

Molly came around and noticed the arsenal, immediately backing away. “Okay. Thanks for helping, but I think I got it covered from here.”

“Wait. Molly, Molly, wait a minute,” Sam begged, chasing after her.

“Just leave me alone.”

“No, no, no. Please. You have to listen to me,” he told her.

“Just stay away!” Molly started walking faster.

“It wasn't a coincidence that we found you, alright?” Sam told her.

“Oh, here we go,” you told Dean.

“What are you talking about?” the blonde asked defensively.

“We weren't just cruising for chicks when we ran into you, sister,” Dean snarked. “We were already out here. Hunting.”

“Hunting for what?” Molly questioned.

“Ghosts.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it for her,” you deadpanned.

“You're nuts,” she laughed in disbelief.

“Really? About as nuts as a vanishing guy with his guts spilling out. You know what you saw,” Dean pressed.

“We think his name is Jonah Greeley. He was a local farmer that died fifteen years ago on this highway,” Sam explained despite Molly begging him to stop. “One night a year, on the anniversary of his death, he haunts this road. That's why we're here, Molly. To try and stop him.”

It seemed like this was starting to make sense to her. “Now, I suppose this... ghost… made my car disappear, too.”

“Crazier things have happened, huh?” Dean replied.

“You know what? I'm all filled up on crazy. I'm gonna get the cops myself.” She started away.

“Not to be harsh, but you’re not gonna get far,” you called after her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she scoffed, turning back.

“Means that plan A was trying to get you out of here. Obviously that didn't go over too well with, uh, Farmer Roadkill,” Dean informed.

“Molly, we're telling the truth,” said Sam. “Greeley's not gonna let you leave this highway.”

“You're s— you're serious about this, aren't you?”

Dean nodded. “Deadly.”

‘No pun intended there, I’m sure,’ you thought.

“Every year, Greeley finds someone to punish for what happened to him. Tonight, that person is you,” Sam told Molly.

“Why me? I didn't do anything,” she cried.

“Doesn't matter. Some spirits only see what they want,” Sam shrugged.

“So you're saying this ... Greeley, he took my husband? Oh, god,” she wailed.

Sam caught her gaze again. “Molly, look, we're gonna help, all right? But first, you gotta help us.”

“Help you?” she questioned. “How?”

*** Molly led you over to a deteriorating hunting cabin where she saw Greeley. You walked in behind Dean, only slightly unsettled by the numerous blood-stained tools scattered around the room. Hunting ghosts, chopping them up— sure, no problem; Animals? They were off-limits in your mind. 

“Huh. Seemed like a real sweet guy,” Dean commented upon taking in the bloodstained metal table.

“No markers or headstones outside,” Sam told you and Dean.

“You're looking for Greeley's grave?” Molly asked.

Sam nodded.

“Why?”

“So we can dig up the corpse and salt and burn it,” Dean responded nonchalantly.

“Oh. Sure, naturally,” the blonde scoffed.

“It's a way to get rid of a spirit,” Sam told her.

“And that'll save David?” Molly asked.

“Well, this is what'll help both of you, provided there's a corpse to be found,” Sam replied. You could tell the truth was burning on his tongue.

“So how do we find it?” Molly continued.

“I'm not sure. After Greeley died, his wife claimed the body. And that was the last anyone saw of her. So good guess she brought him back here. But they had a thousand acres. He could be buried anywhere on 'em,” Sam said.

“So this is really what you guys do? You're like Ghostbusters?”

“Minus the jumpsuits,” you remarked.

Briskly, Dean started, “This is a fascinating conversation and all, but this highway is only haunted once a year, and we got till sun-up to wrap this thing up. What do you say we move it along, okay? Great.”

You followed Dean outside to search for Greely’s corpse or his house.

“Can’t say I’m enjoying babysitting Casper,” you whispered to Dean.

“Me neither,” he chuckled.

“Any thoughts on what’s got her stuck?” you asked.

“Probably the fact that she doesn’t know she’s dead,” he shrugged.

“But… why would that matter?” you questioned.

“I guess you can’t move on if you don’t even know you have to,” he said.

“Makes sense,” you considered. 

“David? David? David!” you suddenly heard Molly screaming behind you. She then yelped in shock, and you immediately raised your shotgun loaded with rocksalt and shot above Molly’s head at Greeley, who was holding her above the ground. He disappeared upon the round’s impact and dropped Molly.

“Nice,” Dean told you.

“Thanks,” you grinned.

“Hey! Are you alright?” Sam asked Molly.

“What has that son of a bitch done with my husband?” Molly shrieked.

“Just take it easy, alright? You're gonna see David again. You will,” Sam told her.

You noticed uneven cobblestone starting under your feet. “Hey!” you called to them.

Dean jerked his head in your direction. “Follow the creepy brick road.”

You followed closely behind Dean, blocking out Sam having to recap how ghost hunting works to Molly.

“You know, just once I'd like to round the corner and see a nice house,” Dean commented as you turned toward a slowly decaying house. It was similarly built to the smaller hunting cabin you’d first stumbled upon. You stumbled around the house, searching for any sign of Greeley or his body.

Molly and Sam stuck together at the back of the pack, and Dean stayed outside to look around. You headed up the stairs to look around. Upon doing so, you found a slew of papers strewn about. You searched through a few of them, only finding receipts, scrapbook pages, and to-do lists; nothing about a potential burial site. 

Sam and Molly soon made their way into the room and you tuned out their conversation about vengeful spirits as you poked around a wall that seemed strange to you. 

Dean appeared at the doorway. “Sammy's always getting a little J. Love Hewitt when it comes to things like this. Me, I don't like 'em. And I sure as hell ain't making apologies for 'em. There's nothing downstairs. You find anything?”

“Uh, just about every piece of mail or receipt they ever had. Looked through a couple, but nothing about a grave so far,” Sam explained.

“There’s somethin’ back here, though,” you said, referencing the wall. You tossed your flashlight to Sam. You dug the balls of your feet into the floor against the adjoining wall and shoved the cabinet in your way over a bit. You revealed a small hidden door, and you dusted your hands off on your jeans as you crouched to it. “It’s locked from the inside,” you announced.

“Move over,” Dean told you. When he saw you were clear, he threw a back kick at the door. You were surprised to see the door still upright. So was Dean, to your amusement. He gave it yet another kick, and it finally fell inward.

You crawled through the opening with Dean hot on your heels. “It smells like old lady in here,” he grimaced. 

You stood, shocked to see a woman hanging by her neck from the ceiling. “Jesus, that explains why,” you cringed, covering your nose with the back of your sweater sleeve. 

“Well, now we know why nobody ever saw her again,” Dean commented.

“She didn't want to live without him,” Molly cooed sadly.

Sam found a chair the woman had assumedly knocked from under her feet when she passed away. “Dean, give me a hand.”

“Really?” Dean scoffed.

“What are you gonna do?” Molly questioned.

Sam gave his brother a scolding look. “We can't leave her like this.”

“Why not?”

“She deserves to be put to rest, Dean.”

You gave Dean a look as well, and he reluctantly agreed. He moved toward the woman’s body as Sam cut her down, cursing under his breath when it dropped into his arms; either at the smell or the fact that he was holding a corpse.

You helped the boys dig a grave for the woman, and Dean gently laid her in it.

“So... So, if you manage to put Greeley to rest, too... What happens to them?” Molly asked. 

Dean chuckled. “Lady, that answer is way beyond our pay grade.”

“You hunt these things, but you don't know what happens to them?” she pushed.

“Well, they never come back. That's all that matters.”

“Agreed,” you chimed in, but you knew the answer wasn’t satisfying her. “Look, once we get ‘em to let go of whatever’s keeping ‘em here, they just… go. Honestly, I hope some place better, but I don’t know. No one does.”

“What happens when you burn their bones?” she continued.

“Well,” Sam began, “my dad used to say that was like death for ghosts, you know? But… the truth is, we still don't know. Not for sure.” He looked over at Dean. “Guess that's why we all hold on to life so hard. Even the dead. We're all just scared of the unknown.”

“The only thing I'm scared of is losing David. I have to see him again.” Molly paused for a long while. “I have to.” ***

You stood next to the two brothers after you left Molly in a room next door to the one you were in the house. Sam said he needed to talk to you both. 

“I think we should tell her about her husband,” Sam sighed.

“Oh, hell no,” you told him. 

“(Y/N), it's cruel, letting her pine for him like this. I don't like keeping her in the dark.”

“It's for her own good.” Dean got up from the chair behind you. “Man, I know you feel guilty, all right? But let's just stick to the plan. Let's get her out of here. Then we'll tell her.”

Molly suddenly appeared at the door. “Tell me what? What aren't you telling me? It's about David. You know what happened to him.”

“Molly—” Sam began.

Dean cut him off. “Sam, don't.”

“Don't what? Don't tell me because I'll mess up your hunt? You don't care about me or my husband,” the blonde angrily said.

“That's not true.”

“Really? Then whatever it is, tell me, please.”

The younger brother swallowed, hesitating. Before he could say anything, a radio distantly went static. Then, it played “House of the Rising Sun.”

“Oh, great,” you grumbled.

“Stay with Molly,” Dean told Sam. He jerked his head at you to get you to follow him toward the sound. You followed the sound toward the living room, getting louder with each step. Dean stooped next to the radio and picked up a frayed, broken power cord. You heard another noise and headed to the door. It frosted over, revealing the words “She’s mine.”

You heard a scream and ran back to the room you left Sam and Molly in.

“He's got Molly!” Sam pointed out the broken window.

You jumped through it, running through the woods. You ran for a few minutes before you cursed under your breath, chest heaving. You returned to the house and started flipping through a scrapbook.

“This guy is persistent,” Dean said, coming up beside you.

“We gotta find Molly,” Sam huffed.

“We gotta find Greeley's bones,” Dean added. “And, uh, no pressure or anything, but we got less than two hours before sunrise.”

You noticed something in a picture of the hunting cabin with the Greeleys standing in front of it. “Hey.”

“What do you got?” Dean questioned.

“ 'February 6, 1992’,” you read aloud.

“That was, like, two weeks before the accident, wasn't it?” Sam chimed in.

“Yeah, but… something seems off. I swear there’s a tree right where they’re standing.” You tapped the picture.

“I should've thought of it,” Sam scolded himself.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“It's an old country custom,” Sam explained. “Planting a tree as a grave marker.”

Dean chuckled. “You're like a walking encyclopedia of weirdness.”

“Yeah. I know,” Sam deadpanned somewhat bitterly.

You broke off in a sprint toward the hunting cabin with a shovel in hand. You immediately began digging around the tree. You suddenly heard a scream as the brothers came up beside you. 

“Go get Molly,” you instructed Dean, who nodded and headed inside.

Sam began helping you dig around the tree. You dug in silence feverishly until Sam said, “Hey, I got something over here.”

“Hurry up, guys!” you heard Dean distantly yell.

You looked into the spot where Sam was digging to discover a set of bones carefully laid in an open grave. You ducked down to the duffel bag beside Sam and handed him a container of salt as you searched around for the kerosene. Quickly, you stood back up and emptied the kerosene on top of the body as Sam finished salting the bones. Sam lit a match he’d grabbed and dropped it on top of the bones which immediately ignited into a roaring fire.  

Dean came out of the house with Molly, and you noticed a deep gash on Dean’s cheek. You ran to him as Molly continued ahead to Sam. You gingerly touched the wound, and he hissed in pain.

“When this is over, I need to patch that up,” you told him.

“I’m fine, (Y/N),” he insisted.

“Stop being so hardheaded. I need to fix it up before it gets infected,” you argued.

Dean grumbled, “Fine,” and followed Molly and Sam to the Impala. He patted the hood of his car lovingly. “Oh, baby, it's been a long night,” he cooed, dropping his bag in the backseat and climbing into the driver’s seat.

You rolled your eyes at him, and got down into the seat behind him.

You saw Sam arguing with Molly outside of the car, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. You then saw her smile in relief before eagerly climbing into the car next to you.

Wordlessly, Sam and Dean exchanged a look. You figured Sam told her he’d take her to David. Dean then drove a route you’d taken before to the man’s house. You pulled up to the lovely suburban home, light emanating from it into the dark night.

“He's in that house, right there,” Sam told Molly.

Her shoulders dropped and formerly cheery expression changed. “I don't understand.”

“You will.”

You got out of the car and stood next to Dean. 

Molly’s breath quickened. “That's— not— It can't be.”

You watched the woman carefully, and for the first time, felt bad for a vengeful spirit. You watched as David stood dressed in a bathrobe holding a steaming cup of liquid, sipping it before a woman came up to him and pecked him on the lips.

“What's happening?” Molly questioned. “Who is that?”

“David’s wife,” you answered. 

She turned back to the house, confused, before turning back to you and the Winchesters.

“I'm sorry, Molly,” Sam began softly. “Fifteen years ago, you and your husband hit Jonah Greeley with your car. David survived.”

“What are you saying?” The blonde’s voice wavered.

“We're saying there isn't just one spirit haunting Highway 41,” Dean added. “There are two. Jonah Greeley and you.”

“For the past fifteen years, one night a year you've been appearing on that highway,” explained the younger brother.

“No, that's not possible. It was our anniversary… February 22nd—”

“1992,” you cut her off.

“Yes,” she responded, looking at you like you were stupid.

“It’s 2007,” you finished.

“Oh, god,” she cried. “And Greeley?” 

“Each year he punishes somebody for his death... ah, chasing them. Torturing them. And each year, that somebody is you,” the brunet explained.

“But I don't remember any of it.”

“Because you couldn't see the truth, Molly. Some spirits only see what they want,” Sam told her.

“So that's why he won't let me off the highway. Because... I killed him. I killed us both.” Molly shakily moved over to the front steps of the house. You followed her over as she inquired, “Why didn't you tell me when you first saw me? Why wait until now?”

“You wouldn't have believed us,” Dean replied.

She looked up t0 Dean, stating accusingly, “And you needed me for bait.”

“Well, we needed you,” Sam chimed in.

“David,” she breathed out.

The younger brother sighed. “Molly, we brought you here so you could move on.”

“I have to tell him—” 

You cut her off. “Tell him what? That you love him? That you’re sorry? I’m sure he knows that. You go in there, you’re gonna scar him for life. He’s already grieved you. Let him move on.”

“David's already said his goodbyes, Molly,” Sam continued. “Now it's your turn. This is your unfinished business.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she sobbed.

“Just... let go. Of David. Of everything. You do that, we think you'll move on,” he explained.

“But you don't know where.”

“No, but that’s okay,” you said. “You don’t belong here.”

“Haven't you suffered long enough? It's time. It's time to go,” Sam finished for you.

She nodded sadly, then slowly stepped away from you and the brothers. She moved down the road toward the rising sun, and allowed herself to become absorbed by the light dawning. 

“I guess she wasn't so bad... for a ghost,” Dean remarked. He turned to his younger brother. “You think she's really going to a better place?”

“I hope so,” he shrugged.

“I guess we'll never know. Not until we take the plunge ourselves, huh?” Dean quipped.

“Doesn't really matter, Dean. Hope's kind of the whole point.”

“Alright, Haley Joel.” He smacked Sam on the shoulder. “Let's hit the road.”

You and the brothers decided you needed to get some sleep a few towns over before searching for another case. These periods of down time between hunts were always bizarre; driving with no particular destination would always feel foreign to you no matter how many times you had done it.

***

You forced Dean to come to your motel room to let you patch up the few wounds he’d sustained from fighting Jonah Greeley’s ghost. 

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” he grumbled.

“I think it is. So, tough,” you said firmly. 

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but he thankfully said nothing. You set to work bandaging his cheek, standing between his spread legs as he sat on the bathroom counter. “How’s your shoulder?”

“What?” he asked.

“The gunshot wound, maybe?” you remarked.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” you giggled, half-mocking him. 

“It’s fine. Barely even feel it,” he shrugged.

“Then I guess it won’t be a problem if I give it a once-over,” you challenged.

Dean cut his eyes back at you, but decided against arguing. He shrugged off his leather jacket, then his canvas jacket, then pulled his undershirt over his head. No matter how many times you’d seen Dean shirtless, the sight would always make your breath catch in your throat. He seemed to note your reaction, smirking at you wantonly.

You rolled your eyes, fighting an amused smile as you unwrapped the wound on his shoulder. It was getting better, but you were still concerned about the wound becoming infected. The bullet had lodged in him several inches deep, and it was certainly going to take more than a month to fully heal. Gingerly, you touched the skin around the wound, and Dean hissed and grabbed your wrist.

You looked up at him apologetically, but still mockingly said, “ ‘Barely even feel it’ my ass.”

He rolled his eyes at you and released your wrist. When you had it completely wrapped up, your fingers lingered over the edge of the dressings. Dean grabbed your wrist gently once more, bringing it to his lips and kissing the inside near your pulse point. Your breath hitched as he did so, and he stared at you intently. You shrank under his gaze, heat spreading through your cheeks, and his self-satisfied smirk returned to his face.

“There you go again,” you joked quietly. “Always cheapening the moment.”

He smiled, using his free hand to wrap around your waist and bring you closer to him. He took the wrist he’d been holding and wound it around his neck and leaned forward to kiss you. You responded eagerly, pushing him back down onto the bed. You grinned against his lips, getting lost in the feeling of his body against yours. However, the two of you didn’t have sex that night. It was just enough to be with each other. The idea of that was foreign to the both of you— especially Dean— but you were grateful all the same.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[heartstringsduet]

Happy Wednesday. Have more of the Teenage-Jonah fic. Thanks for tagging me @whatsintheboxmh

Officer Stevenson strokes his handlebar mustache. He looks older these days, thinner but sharper for it.  “You owe me one, Reyes.” Turning his attention to Jonah, he puts his thumbs in his belt, draws himself up taller. “And you, young man? I don’t want to see your or your friends out vandalizing this town, you hear me? Your dad can’t always bail you out.”

There used to be this reflex, this bracing each time someone mentioned Carlos being Jonah’s dad like they would surely be corrected. Carlos? God no, he’s not my dad! 

It never happened. Not even when Jonah was little and he could hold his tongue even less than he can now.

Carlos stopped bracing for it. Maybe he should have, because Stevenson turns to his car, only to turn one more time to say, “Don’t let him off too easy. You know, your pops would have never let you off with just a warning. You’d be in the back of my cop car, stewing there longer than most kids, just to teach you a lesson.”

The worst thing about this is that Carlos immediately believes Stevensn’s words. There’s no proof for it, no trouble big enough that Carlos or his sisters ever got into. For all he knows, his dad would have called in a favor too. Years passing by and he still feels confused about his childhood, about his relationship to his father.

But it pales in comparison to the old wound of what he was robbed of. He wishes he could call him up now, ask him what he would do. What he had said to Luisa when she came home drunk, because Carlos had to leave the room back then. What he would say about Carlos being a father-figure and if he thought he did a good job.

He feels Jonah move under the hand Carlos kept on his shoulder. “He’s-- he’s a real asshole.” For a moment Carlos is angry before he understands Jonah means Stevenson, not his father. “Don’t listen to h'm.”

“Don’t insult law enforcers,” Carlos chides, because he has to. He also has to kiss his kid’s head to thank him for the bit of solidarity that comes so naturally to Gwyn’s sons. “Now come on. We’ll talk in the car.”

OPEN TAG &

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[strandnreyes]

“Why are both of you here?”

TK looks at him from the passenger seat as Jonah throws his backpack across the seat of Carlos’ truck and climbs in. “Hello to you too.”

He winces in apology. “Hi. Usually it’s just TK picking me up.”

Carlos shrugs as he pulls away from the curb. “I finished a case this afternoon. Got home early. We were…”

They share a look. “Running errands,” TK finishes for him, and Jonah cringes.

“Yeah.”

Jonah is fifteen and those two are not as subtle about their sex life as they think they are. Jonah doesn’t want to think about it. He wrinkles his nose and looks out the window as he leaves his high school and Maggie Peters behind for the day.

“Who was that you were talking to?” TK asks. “I don’t think we’ve met her.” He looks to his husband for confirmation, who shakes his head.

“You don’t know her.”

Carlos meets his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Okay,” he draws out slowly, and Jonah huffs. It goes against everything in Jonah’s fifteen-year-old boy nature to not deflect and bottle up, but he’s been in this family long enough that he knows that’ll only cause worry. He’s not really in the mood for TK’s concerned glances and Carlos’ well-intentioned, but overly mushy invitations to talk about anything.

Jonah would rather just be out with it. Plus, deep down, he likes that his family is so close.

“Maggie. I want to ask her to the dance.”

Another look is shared between the front seats before TK smiles. “That’s great! Are you afraid she’ll say no?”

“No, we’ve been totally flirty in Mrs. Lakes’ class all year,” he dismisses. Before he can receive a lecture on paying attention—he’s getting an A in the class, thank you very much—Jonah throws his hands up and groans. “But I don’t know how!”

Carlos looks back at him when they hit a red light. “I think you just say ‘will you go to the dance with me?’.”

Jonah groans again. “No. You can’t do that. That’s boring. It has to be Insta worthy.”

“Boring?” TK says with a laugh. “It sounds sweet to ask someone sincerely.”

“Yeah, but you’re old.”

Carlos barks a laugh and TK scowls. “Okay, ouch. Listen, bud. It might not be some perfect world with unicorns and rainbows, but if it comes from the heart, that’s what counts.”

He sounds so hopeful about it and it’s nice, but his idea of romance is so skewed. He and Carlos have been together like, forever. He doesn’t know a thing about dating. Or girls.

“You guys are hopeless. I’ll just ask Max for ideas.”

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Most Familiar Color

Charon x Fem!Lone Wanderer

TW/CW: NSFW, Periods/Menstrual Cycle, Period talk, blood, period sex, cramps, blood, violence, mentions of slavery and brainwashing

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is entirely self-indulgent. I am suffering from unusually horrible cramps and boom! This came to me. You guys can't tell me Charon will shy away from this sort of thing. Enjoy this... Word vomit lmao.

(caps divider by @/saradika-graphics. Check out their work, I recommend it!)

You really missed your dad right about now.

With each stabbing pain, you remembered your time in Vault 101. You remember when Amata sat you down as preteens and helped you through your panic when you first found traces of blood in your underwear.

Amata herself had hit puberty a little young, and seeing as how you were best friends (and neither of you had your mothers) you confided in one another with everything either of you could fathom; best friends til the end. So, when the pains started and you bled more, Amata told you that you should probably go get your dad, seeing as how he was the resident doctor, and all.

The very thought had mortified you, embarrassed beyond all get-out at the thought of talking to your dad about something like this.

Amata had shrugged, "I had to talk to him about mine. He even gave me tips on how to lessen the cramping. Trust me, your dad is not going to think you're weird or gross."

You rolled in your sleeping bag, the faint memory of more pleasant times overshadowed by the pain you were feeling stabbing low in your abdomen.

You focused on the rest of your memory. As it played out behind closed eyelids.

"This is perfectly natural, sweetie." James had told you as you laid in the sterile-smelling clinic. His eyes, the same color as yours, smiled gently and with infinite patience as he explained what was exactly happening to you.

"It means you're going to be a woman now. And, when you're ready, you could have a baby, if you wanted to."

Your nose had crinkled, the worst of your cramps having died down thanks to the pain pills he'd given you. "I don't want to have a baby."

"I should hope not!" James had laughed. "Not yet, anyway. I'm not old enough to be a granddad yet."

You rolled your eyes and turned onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin as you peered at him while he continued to explain what would happen, what to expect, and how to take care of it.

He'd given you these weird things... pads, "sanitary napkins"... and these other cotton contraptions you didn't very much like--tampons. They looked uncomfortable, and when he explained how to use them, you did not like it. Apparently the Vault, when built, took into consideration the female residents and had mandatory cotton growing and harvesting alongside their usual crops for this very reason.

Since this was all new to you, your father suggested the pads and napkins first, and did a short demonstration on a piece of spare cloth how to apply it and wear it comfortably.

All this however, was drowned out when a horrible cramp bled past the barrier the painkillers had built up for you. James had frowned mid-way through his explanation and demonstration, his heart squeezing at seeing you--his only and beloved child--in so much pain. He reached out and gently squeezed your shoulder, "I'll get you some muscle-relaxers, sweetie. I'll have Jonah tell Mr Birch that your schoolwork will have to be done back in our suite until your cycle ends."

"Can you not say that part?" You moan, feeling shame bubble up in your chest. You weren't sure why, but you felt horrified that so many people might be aware of what was going on with you. "Just say I'm sick."

"Okay, if it makes you more comfortable." James said softly. "But I want you to know, that I've seen several of your other classmates about this very situation, honey. It's not gross, it's not strange; and it most certainly is nothing to feel ashamed of."

Your silence stretched in the room, the sound of the air system and rattling of air vents the only thing that filled the void of speech.

"You know... your mother had rather painful periods, herself." James finally spoke up.

Your eyes widened and you lifted your gaze, intrigued. Oftentimes, the only thing that he would mention about your mother was her favorite Bible verse, and her love for you, spoken in her last few moments of life.

"Yes, yes, she did." He continued, seeing your awe and curiosity. "Sometimes they would get so bad, the pains, that she would snap at anyone. She was also prone to mood swings." James chuckled fondly at a distant memory, one he did not voice aloud.

"So, I just want you to know, that I definitely understand how much this can hurt you, sweetheart. Especially when I would have to help massage her belly to ease the cramping."

"...I wish Mom was here." You mutter softly, barely audible. But James picked up on it, smiling bitterly and fixing you with a gaze of love.

"I do, too, sweetheart... God, I do, too."

Yeah, you definitely missed your dad right about now... You missed his gentle words, you missed when his hands would help ease the hot water bottle into your grasp; you missed his ever-patient and comforting presence.

"You're tossing and turning a lot." A gruff and grating voice rumbled from nearby, stoking the fire he had lit hours ago in the tiny, decrepit house the two of you had taken shelter in.

Charon. The ghoul who said few words, the man who had been a slave to the cruel man in Underworld: Ahzrukhal. Charon had been brainwashed ages ago, forced into servitude and to obey the orders of whomever held his contract.

Which, after a difficult bartering session... was now you. Mere moments after buying said contract, Charon had gunned down his malicious former-"employer" with two taps of his hefty shotgun. The second shot completely unnecessary, as the first pull of the trigger completely obliterated the man's head; brain matter and blood and bits of skull painting the dingy walls a deep red.

During your travels, you had even gone so far as to hand Charon his contract to him, telling him he was free, now. He could go where he wanted, when he wanted. You'd even tried to give him a few caps and tried ordering him to buy his own contract from you. But, he explained that, infuriatingly, it "didn't work like that".

And in the stressful months you'd traveled together, things changed. The dynamic between you two. Eventually... that changed, too. Became something personal--intimate.

Before, you would merely knock back some painkillers here and there to offset the pain, exercise to mask the cramps, and hastily wash any blood from your clothes to conceal what exactly was happening to you every four weeks; that shame your father insisted wasn't necessary, ever present in the back of your mind.

"Sorry." You mumble.

"It does not bother me." Charon mumbled, his hazy eyes slowly gliding from the glow of the fire and towards you as you rolled to your other side so your back was too him. You just couldn't take his intense gaze. Not right now.

"Were you hurt in the fight earlier?"

And yeah, the two of you got into a rather violent melee when you were ambushed by a few raiders hyped up on psycho. You'd taken a bat to your gut, which, you swore, is what made your cramps worse, today; aside from the bruise that was likely there, now.

The wind rattled the boarded up windows, whistling angrily through cracks unseen as the first heavy winter storm swept over the Capital Wasteland.

"Yeah. I'm just--just sore." You mumble, tucking deeper into your bedroll.

That's when Charon said the words you had really hoped he would utter: "Let me see. We still have the ointment from the coots back in Oasis. It'll help with the bruise."

"No--Charon, I'm fine." You blabber out nervously, fingers gripping the thin fabric wrapping around you as you wished you could sink deeper into the ruined cushions of the rather questionable old couch you laid on.

You should have known better. Aside from your budding and confusing relationship, Charon still had his driven mentality to ensure the safety of his employer. You. Even if you didn't like it at the moment.

"No. Let me see." Charon insisted.

The shuffled of dirt and trash on the old wooden floors, coupled with the soft squeak of his old leather jacket and patchwork armor soon followed.

"Charon, I'm--" Your voice is cut short when his large hands are placed on your diminutive body. Or, well. You were average. Charon was... large. He was nearly as tall as someone in a suit of power armor.

You couldn't fight him as he gently manhandled you, unzipping your warm trappings to free you from your cocoon of privacy. His hands stayed at your sides, resting softly on your hips as he looked at you expectantly, his poker face, as usual, was absolutely impossible to decipher.

But you knew. He was waiting for your consent, or for you to start.

You sighed and began unzipping your vault suit. A bit flashy in the wasteland, for sure... but in the winter it served very well to keep you warm. You felt a flush rise in your cheeks as the chilly air in the house covered your bare skin as you shimmied the top half of your suit off, revealing the threadbare tank top you wore beneath.

Charon gently guided you back down, so you were laying flat on your back as his calloused and scarred fingers gently hiked your shirt up to your ribs, to peer at the injury he suspected you had.

You had turned your head, chewing the inside of your cheek as his absurdly hot hands smoothed over your belly. Yeah, you definitely had a bruise.

"It doesn't look that bad. The ointment from Oasis might help with the soreness." He grunted, turning to rifle through his duffel bag. After a few moments, he pulled back a brown jar from the depths of his things. He unscrewed the tin lid and the acrid smell greets your nose; the pungent ointment smelled awful. But you couldn't deny that it worked great in terms of pain relief.

He scooped out a glob of the murky-white slop and gently began to smooth it down, rubbing and pressing in soothing circles to cover the blossoming purple that covered your midsection.

And, honestly... it helped. Not the bruise, but your cramps. The weight and pressure from his heavy hand massaging your abdomen eased the throb your reproductive organs wrought within you. You sighed in relief at the touch, welcoming his easing of the tightness in your belly.

But, almost as soon as the relief began to seep into your weary body, Charon slipped his hand away. Your smaller hand gripped his thick wrist, "Wait."

He tilted his head, a ruined brow quirking up ever so slightly as scraps of rusty red hair flopped over his scarred and pitted scalp.

"I... can you... keep doing that? It helps. A lot." You say vaguely, looking away from him and biting your lip.

Charon eyes you for a few more seconds, before his hand began to press and soothe once more. As you relaxed into the cushions, Charon's cloudy gaze studied you intently, the gears within his mind grinding and turning.

"You're bleeding, aren't you?" He finally said, bringing your bliss to a screeching halt.

You move to sit up, cringing, "No, no that's not it. I'm just sore, and..."

His hand slid a bit lower, pressing down over the spot that hurt the most, right between your bones poking delicately through your skin. He grunted softly, "You should have said something. Especially if it's hurting you this badly."

"I--It's nothing, Charon." You say, trying to shove his hand away; but his strength did not waver. He continued to press his fingertips down into your smooth skin, rubbing short, tight circles as if he could feel every contraction and throb through your skin.

You groan deeply in relief, unable to contain it as the pain begins to slowly bleed away. "We're out of painkillers."

Charon grumbled in acknowledgment, nodding as his eyes focus on the task his hand was undertaking, the give and slight stretch of your skin as he pulled and pushed; fighting the waves of pain that swept up your body, engaging in a sort of combat with your cramps.

"We will stay here for a few days." Charon continues as his hand smooths flat briefly, before massaging the last echoes of your aches away. "The storm will likely hang over us, and it isn't smart to go out in a blizzard, if this turns into one. We have plenty of provisions to last us until the storm passes."

You nod, your eyes slipping closed as, even though the cramps had lessened to almost nothing, Charon continued to massage your abdomen with his massive hand; the pain blooming into something... else. A fire, not unlike the one that burned in the rusted fireplace, glowed hot and low inside of you, making your body go slick with something other than the blood you knew soaked into the cotton strip in your underwear.

The heat thrummed in your chest and you swallowed, your hand squeezing his wrist once. "I... Y-You can stop, now."

Charon immediately halted, something his palm once again as he looked at you.

This sudden shyness was completely unlike you. You were loud, boisterous, giddy and able to talk down even the most hard-headed individuals; not this... shy little radrabbit.

You groaned again in frustration, gripping his wrist tight as you rode out a fresh cramp.

"There is something," Charon said slowly. "That might help."

"What is it?" You sigh, looking at him with pinched brows.

The moment your eyes fell on him, you swallowed a new lump in your throat as Charon leaned in over you, dwarfing and caging you beneath his massive body on the couch.

"There are ways to help the pains. Basic ones." He said softly, resting his forehead against yours.

You shivered, the heat rolling off of his body triggering a nervous sweat on you. Or maybe it was your body as your temp Rose ad fell--just as your father warned you would happen from time to time. Either way, the smell of him, the lingering ghosts of his touching, and now his innate closeness to you had that heat pool once more lowly in your belly.

"I... Charon, I don't think--" You began to awkwardly bumble out.

It wasn't that you were afraid of the prospect, not at all. You had had sex with each other once or twice already. But sharing your body in such an intimate matter, especially with the... mess going on with your lower half right now... let alone with someone who was, up until recently, your "employee" as he put it, had your stomach flipping with angry butterflies.

His hand that was used to massage your belly braced him up so he could stare down at you. That ever-steely gaze fixed against yours, your lip quivering a little in some sort of shame you cursed yourself for feeling.

"I can help you. It's my job." He says, his voice softer than usual; the deep grating almost missing from him altogether. This was... gentler, as if he was talking to a scared animal.

"Charon, you don't have to... this is..." You struggle out, a deep sigh heaving from you as you tried to come up with an excuse, your fingers toying blindly with his leather belts looped around his torso in an effort to calm down. "It's... gross. Messy."

Shockingly, the ever-rare smile slowly curves his lips, twisting his marred features in a humorous glow as he looked down at you further, a dry chuckle tumbling from him as though you just said the funniest joke on the planet to him.

"Doll..." He whispered to you, leaning in to press his lips on your jaw, just beneath your ear. God, that pet name sent shivers down your spine...

"I have been marred with death and grime for dozens of years. A long fucking time. I'm not afraid of a little blood."

"I..." You hitch, feeling his free hand slide down your front, his thumb sweeping over your pebbled nipple, feeling it through the thin fabric of your tank top. The ache you felt there, too, eased somewhat as he gently rolled and groped at the fat, wrenching something between a grunt and a moan from you.

"Let me help you. And it will help." He growled deeply, sucking a bruise into your throat in such a way that had your back arching and your walls fluttering at his promise.

"...Okay." You finally consent.

The moment you gave your permission, Charon reached down to grab at the edges of your suit, tugging it down your thighs enough to give him space to work while his hand worked its way past the worn elastic of your underwear.

The moment his fingers touched your aching clit, you made a shuddered sound, your hands gripping his leather jacket tight, gritting your teeth as his mouth worked at your throat; the callouses and pitted texture of his hand providing the perfect friction to your throbbing little nub.

Charon groaned against your soft skin, his crooked teeth scraping at your pulse as he spread your lips, his fingers moving to trace your leaking hole.

"You're forgetting that I've had many employers. Women included. I've done this before for them; an orgasm will help." He murmurs, sliding a thick finger inside of you, his thumb circling your clit mercilessly as you walls squeezed down around him.

His tongue traced a bead of sweat that rolled over the knot in your throat, "...you're the only one I'll enjoy doing it for."

The throb in your cunt matched the one in your chest; feeling humbled and happy that he trusted you so entirely--accepted you so fully that anything he did, that could bring you joy or relief, was his own; as though you two were the same person in separate and anything that helped soothe you did the same for him.

"Charon." You moaned weakly, your hips rolling in time with his fingers as he pushed another one inside of you, pressing and curling in the delicious pattern he already knew made you weak in the knees. He was a fast learner, figuring out all your bells and whistles after that first fleeting and awkward sexual encounter the two of you had back in your house in Megaton.

You panted and wheezed, his hand moving wonderfully slow in the best way, massaging your contracting walls as you pressed your legs wider for him; brushing against the rather intimidating bulge in his jeans that he neglected in favor of you.

Almost as soon as his fingers pressed on that spongy spot inside of you that had you seeing stars... A throb of pain overwrote it and you whimpered, your thighs squeezing tight around his wrist as your belly flexed once more.

Charon pulled his mouth free of your neck, looking down at you, his brows furrowed hard as he studied your pained expression. "Another one? How bad?"

"Hurts..." Was all you could sniffle out. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." He growled, leaning down to kiss you deeply, his tongue gently brushing your lips before pulling away again, pushing up on the couch until he stood on his knees and looked down at you.

"Don't ever. Say sorry. To me."

You looked up at him, feeling guilty as you dared spare a glance down at his hand as it withdrew from your heat, smeared with your blood. Your cheeks burned and you tried to hide your face behind your arm.

Charon wiped his hand on his pants and sighed down at you. It didn't surprise him, not really, that you felt shame regarding your monthly cycle. A lot of women had grown up being shamed; especially if any blood was visible on their clothes. Shit, even before the War, women and young girls faced a stigma if they spoke openly about their menstrual cycles.

He despised the fact that somehow, that shit survived into the apocalypse. He hated the fact you apologized for feeling that pain your body was inflicting upon you naturally; that you felt bad for being "messy".

But what irked him most in the moment, was the fact that his touches weren't enough for you right now. Charon grunted, pressing the heel of his palm into the bulge in his pants, hissing out a sigh between his teeth.

He leaned down, gently pushing your hand to the side so he could look into your watery eyes. Mood swings were common, too. That he knew obviously. His chapped and rough lips grazed yours softly in a gentle and well-rehearsed dance.

"Relax for me. Getting upset won't help you right now, doll." He whispered sweetly to you, his eyes softening as your gazes locked.

"I--I don't know why, I..."

"Hush." He says, hastily undoing his armor and jacket, lazily draping them over the back of the couch; reaching behind him to pull off his thin gray shirt over his head, revealing the twisted, marred, and damaged tissue of his body to you.

Many people were disgusted by ghouls, finding their skin (or lack thereof, in some cases) gross and unappealing. While yes, there were the scant few who found them attractive; both sexually and in general... The vast majority were uncomfortable with the prospect of having sex with one.

Your eyelashes flutter as you blink, swallowing hard; your tongue felt like all moisture in your mouth was absorbed, the muscle swollen so much that you couldn't find anymore saliva to moisten it. He had an amazingly built body. Not an inch of fat on him (but then again, very few even had fat anymore, given how scarce food could be from time to time) Charon was a solid wall of muscle and scars from past battles; both physically and mentally.

And he knew you loved every bit of him. Maybe you were naive, maybe you had just been lonely at first... but he was well aware of how intensely your attraction and affection burned for him.

His fingers slipped his belt loose, the buckle tinkling as the worn leather slipped free; before unbuttoning his jeans.

Charon looked into your eyes, his cock throbbing at the way you bit your lip, your soft eyes staring with heated want at the bulge that was so prominent in his confining clothes. But, as before, the look of doubt flickered in that little flame within you; shame.

He couldn't help but feel a small sense of smug pride, smirking down at you. "I know you might not want to do this... But--" Charon sighed as he freed his cock, holding the fat length of it in a tight grip.

As scarred as the rest of him, the sheer size and texture promised a head-spinningly good time.

"Let me help you." His other hand pinched your chin between thick fingers, making you look up at him and match his eyes. "Please."

Your heart squeezed in your chest. He was asking you, making sure above all else that this was what you wanted.

And... you did. Nodding as another new cramp slipped through your abdomen, you cringed a little. "Please..." You repeat back to him.

Charon nodded, pulling the rest of your suit off and tossing it to the floor, his thumbs hooking your bloody underwear down your legs, the coppery scent hitting his lack-of nose as he carefully set them aside. He kicked off his boots and pants before caging you against the couch once again, looking briefly at the slick of crimson that shone on your smooth thighs, the short hairs on your sex sticky with it.

He gave you another kiss, this one more heated than the last, your tongues twining and dancing as he aggressively fought to seek dominance over yours. He won, of course, you were helpless against him.

"Take deep breaths." He muttered against your lips, reaching down between you to notch his gnarled tip at your entrance.

You let out a shaky puff of air, before sucking in a tight lungfull as he pushed in, the stretch of his cock absolutely filling and oh, so pleasant. Your heels dig in to the muscles of his glutes, your nails biting into his pitted skin as he slid inch by torturous inch into your tight, clenching walls.

Charon tossed his head back with a groan, "Fuck. You need to relax as much as you can, doll... You're fucking tight."

You nod frantically, whimpering as you try to force your muscles to ease up their vice-grip on his shaft, mouth hanging open in hungry pants of air as he slowly withdraws, his cock painted a macabre red before thrusting back in.

It hurt, not just from the cramps you were feeling, but from the fact that Charon was going so slow, so gentle with you. You understood his concerns, yes, but... fuck. Your body screamed, your ovaries practically beat against your womb to just have him fuck you relentless, to pump you full of seed that would never take root.

You wheezed as his hips arch and press down against yours, rubbing your walls in a painfully erotic way, "Harder."

He stilled, then, bracing himself on his elbows to look at you, his scruffy scraps of hair hanging down like tattered curtains as your eyes locked once again. "You're sure?"

"Yes." You sob softly. "Fuck--yes. I--I need you to... to just..."

He growled, his mouth twisting into a snarl as he pushed up on the couch, leaning back as his hands reached around you, hoisting you up by your ass so his cock could angle blissfully within your cunt, wordlessly following your plea before settling into a bruising pace, rutting into you like a man possessed.

Your soft breasts bounced as he grunted, his cock stretching and fucking you so utterly it almost knocked all rational thoughts free from your brain; almost knocking your brain loose as you sob, tears prickling your vision as your eyes crossed, a wanton moan wrenched free from within you in concert with the howling winds that swept the wasteland outside.

The fire crackled and popped, dying down to lame embers, darkening the room as Charon pounded your sore and twitching cunt, the lewd sound of skin slapping on skin a constant sound going off like a gunshot in your ears.

Hell, each punch of his hips felt like a gunshot to your cervix; the pain mixing in a wondrous cocktail of euphoria as you felt your orgasm flutter from deep within you.

Your walls crushed down on his cock, your blood and slick letting him slide in and out of you with no effort as you whimpered and cried with every arch and fuck of his hips.

"Ch-Charon," You hiccup, your blood rushing so loudly in your ears it nearly drowned out the lewd sounds your bodies made as Charon gripped your hips in such a way that you were sure to have bruises in your ass cheeks tomorrow. "Charon, 'm gonna--"

"Do it." He groaned, his head hanging back and his mouth open in wet, hot pants; eyes screwed shut. "Cum for me, doll."

You arch your back, your nails digging into the frail fabric of the couch cushions, tearing the seams almost audibly as your climax rippled through your, your womb clenching finally in a way that blacked out your mind with not pain, but pleasure.

Blinding, searing, burning pleasure as your body turned to jelly in Charon's hands, letting him manhandle you through your final ebbs of nirvana as your pussy clenched around him.

He slowed his thrusts languidly, slowly easing you down onto the couch once again. Your blood would surely stain your bedding... But right now you couldn't care less; finally, blissful oblivion was granted to your cramps. Pain completely dissolved, you sighed in content as you heavy lids drew open to look up at him.

Charon let out a heavy sigh, his hand gripping your thigh softly, squeezing the fat there affectionately. "Feel better?"

"Yeah..." You sigh again, happily, your hands sliding up his shoulders to rest on the back of his neck.

But... some part of you roared to life, awareness spreading through your sex almost instincively.

"I... You didn't--"

Charon smirks at you, once again, the promise on his lips making your pussy flutter around him.

"This can last up to a week." He jerked his head towards the door he barricaded shut against the storm raging outside.

He snapped his hips into yours, grinding his cock head against your deepest reaches.

"So can this. I have plenty of time to get off. Right now... we're focusing on you."

You whimper as his teeth nip at your ear; "...And I think I feel you cramping again."

[dandylion240]

Eli stomped up to the house. Dropped his school bag on the floor before going out the back door.

Jolene followed him outside. “Eli,” she said, sitting down beside him patting his back sad because he was.

“I thought he liked me,” he wiped a hand across his face. “Thought we were friends.”

“I’m your friend,” she offered, patting his back like she’d seen her parents do when one of them was upset or sad.

“I know Jolie,” he sniffed “I just thought he wanted to be my friend too.”

Not understanding she continued patting his back crying with him. 

Sometime later Jonah joined them under the tree. “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

Looking up frowning “should you be doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asked, ruffling his son’s hair. “You’re like your dad, you worry too much. I’m fine. So are your siblings,” he put a hand to his stomach.

Staring at his dad’s stomach wondering what it’d be like to have someone growing inside him. “Siblings?” Eli asked, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Twins,” he grinned. His stomach was just beginning to grow but he was already bigger than he was with his other pregnancies at this stage. “Is Stephon up to his old tricks again?”

Shrugging Eli shook his head “no worse than usual.” He looked away knowing how much it upset his dad when he found out the things Stephon did to him. He didn’t want him worrying with the babies coming. He’d been silent too long and he knew he had to say something. “Awan says he doesn’t want to come over next Friday. I don’t understand why not. I thought we were friends.”

Rubbing his chin Jonah thought a moment. He knew how close Eli had become with his new friend over the last several weeks. “What did his dad have to say about him staying the weekend? Maybe he said no?” 

“I didn’t ask,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. “His dad isn’t very nice. I saw him shaking Awan pretty hard one day after school.” He looked away trembling slightly at the memory “Awan said his dad was stressed out and didn’t mean to do it.”

“But you don’t believe him?” Jonah asked his heart already going out to the boy he hadn’t met yet.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, picking at his fingernails “why would he lie about that?”

“I don't know,” Jonah said except a little voice inside his head was telling him Awan was afraid. “Maybe he’ll change his mind between now and next week,” he suggested.

Looking up with hope filled eyes, Eli said “you think he might.”

“Anything’s possible,” he said grinning as Eli threw his arms around his neck.

Meanwhile Awan finished the last of his homework. Putting his books away ready for the next day. When he couldn't avoid it anymore he picked up his violin. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He detested the violin. His father insisted he play it since he was old enough to hold the instrument in his arms. It was the talent that got him accepted into the school he was attending. With an inward sigh he picked up the violin touching the bow to the strings preparing to hear the usual squawk that accompanied his practice sessions. The sound that always set his father on edge. Tonight was different. He managed to play with neither screech or squawk earning himself a tiny smile of approval from his father.

Encouraged by this display he carefully put the violin away. “May I…” he hesitated, licking his lips suddenly afraid to ask. “Um … a friend at school invited me to spend the weekend. May I go? Please. I promise to be good.”

“No,” his father shook his head.

“Please I won’t tell,” he snapped his mouth shut, sensing by the change in the air around him that he was treading on dangerous ground.

“Tell?” he asked, his eyes narrow slits “ tell them what?”

“I uh about magic,” he stammered “I know it’s bad. Evil. I won’t ever talk about that stuff ever again.”

“That’s a relief but how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

Drawing himself up straight “you have my word.”

“Why do you want to go to this boy’s house so much?” he peered intently into his son’s eyes almost as if he were trying to peer inside his mind.

“He’s my friend,” he met his father’s eyes “having friends is normal. I want to be normal.”

“So do I,” he nodded with a slight smile “you may go.” As Awan turned to go to his room he added “don’t make me regret it.”

“You won’t, I promise,” he said, feeling almost lightheaded with joy. He could go. He couldn’t wait to tell Eli.

A few months later

“Cute kid,” a dark haired man observed tossing the faded scrapbook at his inmate. “Is he your boy?”

Smoothing the crumpled page the irreverent toss caused. Grunting his fingers tracing the boy’s face. There was a sadness in the brown orbs staring up at him…”he owes me.”

His inmate’s eyebrows rose “is he the reason you’re in here?”

Slapping the scrapbook closed “mind your own business,” He stored the scrapbook beneath the mattress where he kept it hidden.

His inmate shrugged indifferently, lighting his cigarette in the semi darkness. He didn’t much care why his cellmate was in prison. Eventually he’ll find out. He always did. The brooding type always felt the need to talk, to explain, to air their grievances. 

“I had a buyer lined up for him,” he mumbled glaring at the bars that kept him locked inside like an animal at the zoo. “Might still be interested if I could just get out of here and broker the deal.”

A smirk played across the man’s face a plan forming in his mind. He could use the man’s greed against him. Take the money to further his own interests. Taking out an old creased picture from his shirt pocket. Staring at the woman’s face he chuckled at the way the photographer had caught the haunted look in her eyes. The dread that his soul hungered for. “I’ll be seeing you soon,” he promised her photo before putting it into his pocket once more.

“How much?” he asked as if no time had lapsed between them.

“How much for what?” he asked, confused.

“For the kid,” he snapped biting the end of his cigarette.

“Enough,” he grunted annoyed.

“How much is enough?” his teeth clenched on the end of the cigarette his own annoyance rising. 

“Why?” the ancient springs of the bed he sat up on groaned in protest.

Smirking he blew a smoke ring “what if I could arrange for you to get out? Would it be enough to be worth my while?” 

“My client has very particular tastes and was willing to pay top dollar” he paused momentarily wary but his desire for revenge and money won out as he tossed his concerns aside. “He was willing to pay a hundred thousand dollars at the time.”

Whistling softly in the darkness “I’m in the wrong business.”

“Do we have a deal then?” 

Smirking in the darkness he put his cigarette out before lying on his bunk. “Not until you make the sale. Once you do, we’ll talk.”

“He may not be interested anymore. He likes them young. It’s been years. The kid has to be in his mid twenties by now” There was a distinct whine in his tone now as if he felt the man’s stipulations were unreasonable.

“If you want out of here you’ll find a way,” the man shrugged “either way I’m out of here whether you come with me or not.”

“You’ve got to give me time,” he whined.

“I don’t have to do anything. If I didn’t need the money I wouldn’t even have offered you the chance.” Rolling to his side clearly over the conversation he closed his eyes and ears to the man’s stream of profanities and complaints. Smirking a little at the images of what he was going to do to his annoying cellmate once he no longer needed him helped him fall asleep and filled his sleep with satisfying dreams of his hands wrapped around the man’s neck.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Ethan asked, coming up behind Jonah as he stared intently out the window. Frowning he followed the direction Jonah was looking in trying to see what had so captivated his attention.

“You see that car?” Jonah asked.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Doesn’t it seem odd to you? They’ve been sitting there for a while…” Crossing his arms, “I think they’re taking pictures.”

Turning Jonah away from the window Ethan tilted his chin upwards. He could see the fear in the gentle brown eyes “it’s probably just an adoring fan. You’ve been gaining a lot of fame and popularity after taking your dad’s place in the orchestra.”

“I suppose,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “I don’t remember anyone sitting outside our house taking pictures when I was a kid though.”

Grinning Ethan gave him a gentle kiss “of course not. You were just a kid and probably didn’t even notice.”

Shivering a little as he felt Ethan hug him close and lead him away from the window. He knew Ethan could be right. It could be just a fan. He had this feeling that it was more than that. He reached out “you don’t think…” his mouth went dry and he couldn’t bring himself to say his fear aloud.

Stopping Ethan looked down into Jonah’s face. He noticed the way Jonah’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as his breathing escalated. Pulling him close, kissing the top of his head “it doesn’t make sense for him to come here. He’s on the run. This would be the first place the police would look for him.”

“But I owe him…”

Ethan's arms tightened around him “you don’t owe him anything.”

“He thinks I do,” his voice was muffled against Ethan’s shoulder. “What if he comes here to collect? What if he hurts the kids? You? I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

Ethan felt the first tremors run through Jonah’s body. He felt the tension as it stiffened Jonah’s body as he fought to breathe. “Jonah honey, listen to my voice. You’re alright. I’m here. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. That’s right just like that.”

“Dad,” Eli’s voice preceded him into the room as he opened the door into his parents bedroom. “Cory and Courntey are here.” His smile faded upon sight of his parents. “Is daddy alright?”

“He’s a little upset,” Ethan assured him. “Why don’t you stay with him while I get his anxiety medicine.”

“Ethan no,” Jonah shook his head “I don’t need it and the twins definitely don’t. You know what the doctor said.”

“Alright” he agreed knowing the doctor was concerned at the weight Jonah had been losing. They were all concerned the babies were underweight “then you better lie down for a while. I’ll go talk to our guests and Eli can read you a story.”

Cory jumped to his feet upon seeing Ethan walk into the living room. “Is he …  resting?” He almost said alright but Jonah would never be alright as long as that guy was on the loose.

Shaking his head Ethan glanced over his shoulder “he thinks someone is watching the house. Taking pictures.”

Cory heard the concern in the younger man’s voice “could he be right?”

Turning to face the older man he nodded. “There was a car out front earlier. I didn’t think anything of it until now…”

“After Jonah saw the car” Cory sighed, guessing that Jonah had a pretty bad anxiety attack.

“Yeah,” Ethan sighed, scratching his neck “why now? It’s been years.”

“Revenge,” it was a statement of fact. “Look I don’t want to alarm you but Jonah doesn’t make things up.”

Anger surged through Ethan’s veins. Clenching his hands he bit down hard enough to make his jaw pop. “Do you think I’m not taking his concerns seriously enough?”

“If I thought that I’d take him and the kids with me tonight,” there was an edge in Cory's voice. Ethan’s unfounded jealousy always so close to the surface was getting old and potentially harmful if he rejected his help. Taking a firmer grip on his own emotions Cory tried again “I care for him. I won’t deny that. All I want to do is help.”

“How?” the word exploded from Ethan's lips loud and angry. “We don’t know where this guy is or if he’s the guy watching the house. It could be some random fan…”

“You don’t believe that,” Cory snapped like he wanted to shake some sense into him.

“It’s what I want to believe,” he murmured softly. “I want it to be that because then I’d know how to protect him. If it’s not” he looked up looking as helpless as he felt “this is Jonah’s worst nightmare! The one that wakes him up screaming in a cold sweat in the middle of the night.”

“Let me help,” Cory offered “I have contacts. I can find out what that guy is up to.”

“What do I do in the meantime?”

“Live your life,” he gave him a reassuring smile “take him out for a romantic dinner. Eli mentioned how much Jonah likes to dance. Take him out dancing. Show him he’s safe. Loved. That he doesn’t have to hide.”

Hugging himself, Ethan nodded. “I can’t lose him. Not like this. Not now.”

Putting a hand on his shoulder, Cory said “you won’t lose him. Give me a few days to make some inquiries. Looking out the window where his daughter was pushing Jolene on the swing he smiled “together we’ll keep your family safe. Tell Jonah we’ll get together another time.”

“Thank you,” Ethan tried to smile but it felt flat. “I’ll tell Jonah we rescheduled for next weekend.”

“Sounds good,” he said, turning to greet Courtney as she brought Jolene inside “I promise we won’t let anything happen to him.”

Leaving the house Courtney glanced at her dad “you didn’t tell them, did you?”

Sighing he glanced over his shoulder towards the house “I couldn’t. Not now.”

“You’re going to have to some time,” she pointed out, yanking the door open on the car.

“Don’t you think I know that,” he snapped facing her. “How could I? Jonah was already upset enough and Ethan has all he can handle with that asshole running around loose.”

“I care about them too Dad,” she glared at him, “what’s going to happen when you’re not around to help?” She gave him a thoughtful penetrating look “you still have feelings for him. After all this time you still love him.”

“Courtney don’t look at me like that,” he held her stare. “He’s special. He always will be.”

“Does he know how you feel?”

“No,” he shook his head “and you’re not to tell him either. He’s made his choice and I’ve made mine.”

“You’re still gonna marry her?” she turned away “unbelievable.”

Shaking his head, his shoulders stiff and straight “I had my chance and I choose to let him go. He’d have stayed out of a sense of loyalty to me but it wouldn’t have been love. I didn’t want that. He deserved better. I deserved better.” Opening his door he continued “we both got better. Once I make sure he’s safe I’m going to Sulani to start a new life.”

“Uh huh,” she raised an eyebrow at him “you really like her that much?”

“I do,” he grinned, “are you ready for a new mother? A little brother?” he asked. 

“I’m too old to need a mother,” she retorted, getting inside the car “I’m almost a college graduate.”

Getting in beside her “don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

“You’re still my number one girl,” he assured her “I’ll always be your dad. That will never change.”

“Dad, I’m not a child,” she protested “you can do what you want.”

Previous/Next

[satansapostle6]

Angel With A Broken Wing | Jonah Simms

And if I may just take your breath away / I don't mind if there's not much to say / Sometimes the silence guides a mind / To move to a place so far away / The goosebumps start to raise / The minute that my left hand meets your waist / And then I watch your face / Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste, yeah / These hearts adore, everyone the other beats hardest for / Inside this place is warm / Outside it starts to pour

Warnings: Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Chapter One

Chapter Two: They Just Seem A Little Weird

“Stop looking at her!”

“Wha—I’m not looking at her!”

“Yes, you are, now stop it, it’s getting weird!”

Garrett McNeill was getting more tired of Jonah’s childish dilemmas by the day. The day before, Jonah had made the mistake of trying to ask out Sophie, one of the new hires at Cloud 9, which ended tragically for him. Not only had Jonah inadvertently harassed a coworker, but he had also accidentally asked a single, working mother of a five year-old if she had a ‘wild side’. Needless to say, Jonah felt humiliated and apologetic. This, of course, seemed to work out for everyone except for Garrett.

“Dude, I get that you like her, but I’m gonna be honest, man… I don’t think she likes you!” Garrett pointed out to Jonah, “And not even in the kindergarten like-like way, I mean I don’t even know if she considers values you as a human being after what you said to her yesterday!”

Jonah’s face falls with regret, “I know. What I said yesterday was… Horrible. A total lapse in judgment. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not even thinking about trying to get her number anymore, I just… Wish there was a way I could at least apologize to her. You know?”

Garrett looks down at his lap, actually feeling sorry for Jonah, and understanding his perspective.

“I don’t know, man,” Garrett provides, “She might just not wanna talk to you anymore after that, and you can’t blame her.”

Jonah nods, listening as he understands Garrett’s point.

“Just… I don’t know. If you get the chance to apologize to her, just leave it at that, you know? No pick-up lines, no asking her out. Something tells me an apology gets cheapened for a woman if it’s followed up by male gross-ness.”

Jonah nods understandingly. “Yeah, I just… hope I didn’t offend her.”

Garrett scoffs at the idea. “Dude. It’s Sophie. I play video games with her sometimes. You could’ve called her a slur, and she’d be fine.”

Jonah makes a concerned face, “Okay, well… I don’t think I wanna do that…”

Garrett just sits there, looking in front of him at Sophie working the cash register. He feels sorry for his friend, but starts to regret his involvement as soon as he hears a light bulb go off in Jonah’s head.

“Wait. If you and Sophie are such good friends… Can you help me out? Please?” Jonah begs.

Garrett just sighs, muttering to himself as he rolls his chair back to the customer service desk. “This is what I get for getting involved…”

*****

Later that Thursday, just as I was about to leave the register and clock out, I look up as I hear Garrett’s voice over the loudspeaker, with a weird lack of enthusiasm, even for him.

“Sophie Phuong to customer service… Sophie Phuong to customer service…”

I stop in confusion, not sure why Garrett would have needed me. I just shrug it off, abandoning my workstation as I head towards customer service at the front. Sure enough, as expected, sitting at the desk with an odd look on his face is Garrett. But standing by the customer service desk is Jonah, with a sad look on his face like a kicked puppy. I took a deep breath as soon as I saw him, bracing myself for one long conversation.

“Jonah…” I begin awkwardly.

But before I can continue, he cuts me off. Shocker.

“Sophie,” Jonah greets me, smiling hopefully, “Hey…”

I cross my arms expectantly, waiting for him to embarrass himself yet again. I knew at this point that Jonah was a pretty nice guy who just happened to be very awkward, but still, I needed him to at least give me something to work with here.

“I’m, uh…” Jonah fidgeted uncomfortably, “I’m really sorry, Sophie, about—”

Garrett and I both watching curiously.

I just stared, “About…?”

Jonah just looked at me guiltily, knowing he fucked up. “…Everything?”

I raised an eyebrow at his uncertainty.

“Everything. Yeah. Every single thing I have said to you, in the past twenty-four hours, has been… awful,” he apologized wholeheartedly, “Yesterday, I was rude, and… gross, and icky, and… I wish I could take back all the things I said to you,” he sighed.

Garrett looked to me for my input, wondering how I would react to this. I gave Garrett a ‘it’s whatever’ kind of shrug, not really having too big of a reaction to any of this. At this point, all of this was pretty pointless to me, and therefore required none of my energy at this point.

“Jonah…” I begin uncomfortably, “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t offend me, it’s not a big deal at all… Let’s just move past it. Okay?”

Jonah seemed ecstatic at this, thrilled that he was no longer in the doghouse.

“Oh! Uh, wow! Yeah! Great,” he laughed, still processing the entire thing. “Thank you! I’m… glad I didn’t ruin your day…”

I just give him a polite smile. “It’s cool. We’re good.”

An intimately touched smile spreads across my face, as he seemed way too happy about this.

“Thank you, Sophie,” he told me kindly, “That’s… really sweet of you,” he said softly.

I just nod, awkwardly glancing back and forth between him and Garrett.

“So… am I dismissed?”

Jonah looks around awkwardly as Garrett just offers me an indifferent smile, empathizing with me.

“Uh, yeah,” Jonah said quickly, “Yeah of course, I don’t mean to… keep you…”

I give them both a tiny smile and wave as I disappear, heading back to the break room for my stuff.

*****

After work, I headed out to the parking lot of the store, waiting for Ryan to drop Gigi off. He got here around 5:45, which I was pissed about, having had to wait an entire forty-five minutes for him to finally show up. I immediately ran to Ryan’s car the second I saw him pull up, feeling extremely impatient. Of course, I didn’t notice Jonah and Garrett coming out of the store.

“Ryan!” I practically shouted at my baby daddy.

He looked over at me nonchalantly, showing up in his stupid beanie and hoodie, not seeming to be aware of the fact that that I had a reason to be angry at him, let alone the fact that I was angry.

“Hey, Soph!” he greets me casually.

I scowl at him, doing my best to keep my composure in front of Gigi, who runs over to me in excitement. I bend down to look at her first, dealing with her before Ryan.

“Hey, baby, do you wanna wait in the car while I talk to Daddy?”

Gigi nods, fine with that idea. “Okay.”

I watched her as she ran off to my car, making sure everything was okay. I looked back, seeing Garrett sitting in his wheelchair by the front of the store, looking at me as Jonah awkwardly stood by him. He gave me a questioning thumbs-up, trying to gauge whether or not I was okay, given my impending spat with Ryan. I just gave him a thumbs-up, seeing him nod as I went back to being pissed at Ryan the second she’s out of earshot.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I hiss at him.

“What the fuck did I do?!” he exclaims defensively.

I scoff in disbelief. “‘What did you do’?! You forced me to wait a half a fucking hour, when you promised me you’d be here at 5, when I actually got off!”

He gave me an extremely annoying groan, not bothered by the reality of how he had inconvenienced me, again. What I didn’t notice, however, was that we were being watched by both my coworkers, and some of the customers in the parking lot.

“Dude, calm down, it’s not that big of a fucking deal!” he yelled at me.

“It’s not a ‘big deal’?!” I cried. “I’ve been waiting here for you for a half an hour!”

Garrett and Jonah wait by the front of the store, not necessarily wanting to be there.

“Alright,” Garrett sighs, watching the argument break out as he starts to wheel himself toward his car. “I’m out—”

Jonah automatically tries to stop him. “Wait, shouldn’t we just make sure she’s okay?”

Garrett sighs as he stops. “It’s okay, man, it’s just Ryan.”

Jonah looks over at him curiously. “You know her ex?”

Garrett nods. “Yeah, he’s a cool guy. He’s not a dick, this isn’t some ‘battered wife’ situation, alright? They’re just arguing. Stay out of it. You can get off your high horse, and take off your shining armor. Sophie’ll be just fine.”

“But, what if this is the one time she’s not fine?” Jonah questions.

Garrett just sighs, knowing he can’t win this one as he just gives in, keeping his chair parked as he watches his friend argue with her baby daddy.

“How the fuck is that my fault?!” he demanded, waving his arms lazily, “You could’ve gone home!”

I nearly scream at him, in complete awe of how both stupid and inconsiderate he can be at times.

“You’re right, asshole, I could’ve gone home,” I agreed furiously, “And maybe gone back to school and gotten my bachelor’s degree in the amount of fucking time I’ve been waiting in this fucking parking lot for you, but no, I had to wait here, because you kept saying you’d be here soon!”

“Oh my God, stop being so fucking dramatic!” Ryan Pollina yelled, “You always get pissed at me over the littlest fucking things! I’m just a little late! I’m sorry!”

“No, you’re not a little late, first of all,” I shouted, “Five minutes is a little late. Ten minutes is a little late. Fifteen minutes is acceptably late. You, sir, are almost an hour late! And you do this all the time! You tell me one time, you lie and make me wait, and then you show up an hour fucking late!”

Jonah looks at Garrett, seeming worried as Garrett still just shakes his head at the whole situation.

“This is getting a little heated…” Jonah observed.

“Not ‘heated’,” Garrett replied, “Just ghetto. Can’t you just let them work it out?”

Jonah doesn’t listen, remaining vigilant as he keeps his eye on Ryan.

“Oh, sorry, I just wanted to spend time with my fucking daughter!” Ryan spat at me.

I laugh, trying my best not to smack him upside the head. “You think I’m mad because you wanted to keep Gigi for an extra hour?! You’re her father! I don’t care if you wanna spend time with her, just don’t make me wait up if you’re not gonna show up! If you had texted me an hour ago saying you were gonna bring her at 6, or whatever, I would’ve been fine with that! But, no! You kept telling me, for that past forty minutes, that you were ‘on your way’, when I could’ve just waited for your ass at home!”

“Fuck you!” he shot back.

Jonah looks back at Garrett, growing increasingly concerned. “Should we do something?”

Garrett looks up at him incredulously. “What is there to do? They’re just bickering.”

Jonah looks back at the pair uncomfortably. “It seems like more than just arguing…”

“Oh, ‘fuck me’?!” I exclaimed at Ryan. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You come late and leave me waiting all the time, and it’s fuck me?!”

“Yeah! Fuck you!” he pointed at me angrily, “You’re always picking apart every single thing I fucking do!”

“Because you’re constantly fucking doing insane shit!” I gasp. “Like, why the fuck do you lie, and tell me you’re on the way, for an hour instead of just letting me fucking go home?!”

“I don’t understand why this is such a big problem!” he complained. “This was just one time—”

“No!” I laugh, “You’re not listening! It wasn’t one fucking time, Ryan, it’s all the time! It’s a pattern, it’s the principle of the thing, dude!” I reasoned.

“Fuck you, Sophie, I’m not listening to this shit!”

“I don’t like this…” Jonah grimaced.

“Dude, you never fucking listen to anything I say!” I reminded him.

“Because you’re always fucking bitching at me about this or that!” he argued.

I scoffed angrily. “‘Bitching’?! You think me expecting some fucking common decency from you is bitching?!”

“Yeah!” he nodded. “You’re constantly fucking bitching at me, about everything!”

Jonah stared. “I think I’m gonna say something…”

Garrett just shook his head, knowing nothing good could come of this. But before Jonah could even figure out what exactly his plan was, he was thrown off by someone else running out behind him. Jonah and I were both surprised to find Marcus running out to my defense. At first, I was somewhat touched by the gesture, until I saw him say fuck it and punch Ryan in the face.

“Oh, fuck!” Garrett slowly turns to Jonah, who’s still in shock. “You were saying?”

Jonah just shakes his head, grimacing. He wanted no part in that.

“Shit!” I exclaimed.

I heard Garrett yell. “Damn!”

“Oh, my God…” Jonah murmured, running over in shock.

Jonah just stood there, in complete shock as Garrett rolled up next to him, watching the aftermath. Ryan struggled to stand up, his nose bloody and possibly broken, but before he could catch his breath, Marcus started absolutely whaling on him as I just watched, unable to do anything about any of it. Ryan tried hitting him back, but it wasn’t looking good. Garrett quickly rolled back, wanting to get as far away from the situation as possible.

“Guys!” Jonah yelled, not really sure how to break up the fight, being far too polite about it, “Guys…!”

“Marcus!” I yelled, panicking as more and more bystanders gathered around, “Marcus! Stop it! Fuck!”

I watched, mortified, as Marcus eventually got off of Ryan, a stupid grin on his face as he walked up to me, while someone checked on Ryan. Marcus walked over to me, seemingly weirdly proud of himself for what he’d done.

“Oh, shit,” Jonah breathed, traumatized as he and Garrett stood around.

“Marcus!” I exclaimed, a distressed expression on my face.

“It’s okay,” he promised me, hands running up my arms, “I got you, babe.”

Before I could stop him, Marcus leaned in to kiss me, seeming overjoyed as he wrapped his arms around me. In my perplexed state, I accepted the kiss for about a single second before I pulled away, not knowing how to deal with this.

“Oh, shit,” Jonah stared at us, before I groaned with embarrassment.

I gave Marcus a dissatisfied look. He just stood there, expectantly, raising his eyebrows excitedly as he waited for another kiss.

-

Chapter Three

[alibasnur]

Jonah taking Anne to visit her old family home

As Annie's condition got worse, Jonah always hoped that in every owls that he received, it wouldn't be about her last wish.

That day, she made a request, asking him to take her to her old family's house, one that she left after her parents' death, and it happened to be in Aranshire, the same hamlet that Jonah had lived in for the past six years.

He had heard about the family that used to live in that house, but he never knew it was the Sallows. As the house became vacant, another family moved in.

They were kind enough to receive Annie as their guest. They knew her parents once, and they spent over an hour talking about them over a cup of tea.

That time, her pain never came back, as if to let her cherish that moment.

Jonah could notice how light came back in her eyes as she took a stroll inside the house.

The new family hadn't got rid of the height mark that her mother scratched on the wall, Anne laughed as she recalled how she used to make fun of Sebastian being shorter than her.

It was only a couple of hours at the Hamlet, but it was enough.

~~~~~~~~

HL MC: Jonah Wilkinson

My best friend made this for me as my birthday present (it was in December). ❤️

I wonder if i should post this in my Annie fic when i finally do a revision 😭

[subparcarrion]

Greetings again TMA fandom, would any of you read a fanfic that featured a lonely-pocalypse versus the eye-pocalypse? (Recently finished season five, I am screaming, crying, and throwing up. How are you lot?)

Im talking about full on lonely avatar Martin as well. Not sure exactly how it happens, but Peter probably pulled some shit. (Smth smth he betrays Elias/Jonah to enact his own ritual and we can have some toxic old man yaoi content.)

It also brings up the question of what in the everlasting fuck happens to Jon if the world is centered around the lonely. A can of worms we sorta explored in cannon, minus the lonely-pocalypse part. But something we haven't really seen brought to full fruition. (Idk, it's really interesting to me.)

Also purely on an asthetics level, the lonely-pocalypse would be so fun to write about.

Like imagine, we sort of have this thing kind-of like the panopticon, but it's a light house instead. (The light is also never pointing at you somehow, no matter where you go, or how it spins. It just will never shine on you.)

It also always seems just out of reach, even if you're close. Not in the way that you wouldn't reach it eventually, but it would always seem dishearteningly far away. Probably enough to convince someone lost, and well, alone to give up trying.

As far as anyone can see it's just all foggy. Just enough that you can see general shapes, but if you're not right next to someone or something you can't make out details. You know it's there, but it's not for you. It's also just ridiculously hard to navigate, you always feel lost.

It would probably also be raining nearly constantly, even if just a light drizzle. As you can imagine it does start to collect and add up, and most low to the ground areas are at least somewhat flooded.

I imagine that most bodies of water increase in size, and a lot of land ends up turning into these islands, with shallow waters separating them. (Most islands end up each housing a domain.)

You could probably wade or swim through most of the water, but it wouldn't be fun.

I thought it would be an interesting idea, even without going to deep into potential character things/ideas. Obviously I don't even have a draft for something like this yet, it's still purely in the concept/brainstorming phase.

But lmk if I should write up a draft or smth like that, if yall are actually interested I could cook up some concept sketches. Character designs aside, the landscape would be crazy fucking fun to draw. :3

[darryscrow]

Hi hello how are you!

Point 1: OH MY GOODNESS!!! I'm a Darrel girl personally so *waves hands frantically* A DARRY BUDDY IN THE WILD

Point 2: If you're up to it could I possibly get more of the Darry Spiderman AU? I've decided it's my favorite thing ever

1) If you're a darry fan you're gonna love my account. I talk about him sm & repost a lot of stuff about him too!! 2) I'm glad you asked. Below are headcanons specific to each character in the gang!

Darrel Curtis Junior.

Darry had a side gig as a photographer at 18-19, taking pictures of villains and himself for J. Jonah Jameson. He used his father’s old prized camera.

Had an internship at Hoscorp for a year, from 17 to 18, until dropping it to do spider-man more often.

His life at school was basically the same as it had been in OG outsiders back in Tulsa. He’s popular, football captain and ‘in’ with the rich kids. He toes the lines with the rich kids, still being from the poor side of the city and more caring than they are. 

He’s more nerdy in this au, being into science a lot more than I think OG Darry was. He’s not outwardly nerdy though, but sometimes his interest in science comes out and he gets teased and made fun of.

Ever since his parents died, he keeps their apartment locked. There’s a spare key hidden for the gang to come and go as they please, (maybe set up something with their fire escape?) as he still wants them to have a place to lie low, despite his paranoia of someone breaking in again.

Whenever he gets really mad, from a fight with his brothers or an overall bad day, he goes out as spider-man so he can throw some punches around and blow off the steam.

Ponyboy Michael Curtis.

Ponyboy picks up the photography gig in The Daily Bugle that Darry left behind, having quite the knack for taking photos. Sometimes he messes with the drafts about spider-man when he walks around the office because he hates their takes on his older brother.

Has almost walked right into traffic more than anyone can count, he’d be pulled back sharply and look up from his shoes to see a car zoom past where he almost stepped to. It leaves everyone’s hearts drumming.

After the accident, Pony hates getting into cramped spaces, getting reminded of hiding in the closet. He feels like something bad is about to happen.

Asks Darry all about the villains he fights & his suit and everything. Darry is actually very excited to show off his smarts when it comes to designing his suit and fighting his enemies. Pony keeps a journal and writes down everything he knows, so he can help Darry if he ever forgets (he wouldn’t)

Sodapop Patrick Curtis.

Asks Darry to swing him around the city after finding out he’s spider-man.

Actually pretty apprehensive of Darry being spider-man, even if he doesn’t do it often, the times he does, it’s extreme scenarios. He’d hear about a bomb or something on the station’s radio and bite his nails down worrying about if Darry went to it or not. 

Works at a DX (yeah it's still DX don’t care) station pretty far from their house so he has to get up as early as Darry for work. 

Always, ALWAYS waits up until Darry comes back after a night patrol as spider-man with a first aid kit ready.

Eventually got his own police radio that Dallas stole for him, and listens to it while at work in case he hears “spider-man” on it. When he does, he runs to the scene if it's close enough, and Steve covers his ass for skipping work.

Johnny Cade.

He hangs around the Curtis house the most.

Found a friendly sheep dog stray and it follows him everywhere. It eats about everything so it’s the gang's compost bin!

Was the first to go against the newspapers calling spider-man a danger. He felt vindicated when they found out it was Darry.

INCAPABLE of lying. Would be Darry’s worst nightmare if he were ever to get in contact with a spider-man enemy. His face always gives away when he’s lying.

Has low blood sugar.

Talks with Cherry outside of school, Ponyboy nearly killed him when he found out, as he wanted to be friends with her ever since he found out she wasn’t just a one dimensional rich kid.

Found Darry’s spider-man journal with suit designs, and actually helps him with adding new tech to it. Smart tech-y boy.

Has put on Darry’s suit before to imagine himself as spider-man, but that suit is built for a 6 feet 2 muscular man. It slipped right off.

Dallas Tucker Winston.

Has OCA1 albinism! I think I’ve seen this headcanon somewhere once and knew I had to add it to this au.

Night person. He prefers going out at night but would hang around outside at day if tempted to by anything.

Has actually fought with spider-man before, he did a job for the Tombstone once and never again because Darry stopped him. After finding out that Darry’s spider-man, he realized maybe he shouldn’t be as buddy buddy with the crooks he knows, in case it puts him or the gang in danger for simply being close with spider-man.

Originally from Tulsa (switcheroo) but he’s basically the same.

Keith “Two-bit” Mathews.

The closest to Darry like I imagine in canon, and the closest thing that Darry has to a support system as he’s the oldest in the gang. 

Is the one who tells him to be the spider-man the most, as Darry had helped out a lot of people Two-bit actually knows, and he knows what a positive impact spider-man makes, despite his image as a menace to society. 

Darry always brushes off his begs to be spider-man, telling him that he needs to work and get money as they’re always behind on some bills. Two-bit tries to earn money at some point to help out, but he does everything but get a job so it doesn’t quite work out.

Steve Randle.

Moved to NYC a little earlier than Dallas, they had known each other back in Tulsa and were pretty close.

Has a sweet car he had saved up months for & fixed up from a bad condition. 

Rides Sodapop to and from work a lot, even if it gets him late for school when he does. 

Covers Sodapop shifts A LOT.

Asks Darry the stupidest questions after finding out he’s spider-man. “Do you lay eggs?” “Do you see everyone as ants from above?” “Do you have eight eyes?” Darry always fucks with him when he replies.

Belinda "Scout" Jenkins.

Moved to New York from Poland in 19, her English is very rough. 

Babied by the whole gang, but she throws a fit every time because “she’s 13 and a teenager!”

Scout and Ace are very close for being the only girls in the gang. 

Ace.

Sees Scout as a little sister, Steve as an older brother.

Also close with Dallas and Steve from back in Tulsa, moved to New York a few years after Dallas.

She and Two-bit run into a lot of mischief together, shoplifting, talking too much and causing havoc anywhere they go together. 

HAS stolen clothes from the gang and cut or sewn them to make them more her style. The only time she got in trouble for it was when she took one of Darry’s fancier shirts (from Paul).

[liminalmemories21]

Belated WIP Wednesday Thursday

tagged by @paperstorm, @carlossreaders, @whatsintheboxmh, @strandnreyes, @nisbanisba, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @carlos-in-glasses, @reyesstrand, and @jesuisici33. Thank you

Belated WIP Wednesday after recovering from Christmas yesterday.

He fiddles with the edge of the legal pad he has in front of him. "Adoption is," he waves a hand, "it feels very final."  She doesn't say anything, and he keeps going.  "I know that practically speaking whether we just have legal custody or we actually adopt him it'll be the same thing - we'll make him dinner, put him to bed, read to him at night, take him for his first day of school.  But," "But Enzo giving up the right to be his father isn't the same as you taking custody because Enzo can't," she fills in. He nods, although she can't see him.  "Yes."  He remembers what it was like to feel like an outsider in his own family, to believe that his father would rather have had a different son.  Paul hadn't been wrong, learning how badly he'd been mistaken doesn't change how he'd felt then.  "I don't want Jonah to feel like it was something he did, like there was something he could have done differently and his father would have wanted him." Luisa makes a noise of distress. "Enzo loves Jonah.  Everyone can see it.  But, Jonah's three, he's not going to remember that when he's ten or thirteen and wondering why his father didn't love him enough to keep him." "You won't let that happen."  It's a flat statement of fact from Luisa, and it makes him smile. "No.  We'd talk to him about Enzo, about Gwyn, about how much they loved him. About what happened, and why.  But, Luisa, thirteen year old boys are not logical."

open tag to anyone who wants to join in on a belated Thursday.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Don't ask me what this is, I needed Jon and Elias at the end of the world

Here and there Jon’s eyes twitched as if he wished they would close; a faint, last echo of blasphemy that Jonah soothed easily with a gentle stroke of his hair. Neither of them talked much anymore — to each other, at least. There was plenty to say and to record, endless horrors to witness and exchange from one mouth to another, but that hardly left time for basic conversation.

Not that they needed it. They were beyond such simplistic notions. They were Gods.

Or, well. Jon was. Jonah was quite content to be the shepherd that had guided him there. After all, who was more powerful? The man who held the whole world in his pupil, or his creator? The monstrous divinity, or the king who’d trapped it in the gaze of his beloved and kept it well-fed and well-loved at his feet?

Jon’s chant against his thigh was melodic, decadent and terrifying; Jonah was not getting tired of it — he knew he would never get tired ever again, for all of eternity. Let everyone else outside weep with fear. Jonah and Jon’s tears were made of ecstasy.

Soon it would be his turn again to carry the voice of the Watcher. Just for a little while — a gift, for offering Jon and the rest of the world to it. A small respite for his archivist, as well; a quiet lull to think, to itch ever closer to Jonah, grasping at him with the hunger of a starving man, cursing him and begging him all at once. Wishing for death. Wishing for more. Remembering that outside, somewhere, there was still a pocket of darkness that escaped their Eyes and not knowing anymore whether this was a threat or merely hope.

Under his fingers Jon shuddered, speaking faster. Jonah licked his lips, curled his hand around the smooth leather of Jon’s collar, and pulled it with no real strength. This, too, had become unnecessary. The smallest gesture built a whole picture that both of them knew and understood in a single heartbeat.

Jon raised his head to meet his gaze; immediately Jonah felt breathless, falling into the beautiful endless dark of Jon’s pupils. He acted fast, bending over his seat to swallow the words right out of Jon’s lips, and they both gasped as more knowledge poured in their heads. Oh, Jonah thought, how hungry he still was, and how powerful they both were, like this, right now, in this perfect equilibrium. Jon whimpered, rising from the ground to get closer. Jonah helped him up, well practised now in manhandling him until Jon was sitting on his lap, his two burning palms pressing over Jonah’s cheeks.

The heavy chains locked over their wrists were long enough for Jonah to wrap his arms around Jon’s waist, nails grazing over the length of his naked back. Jon rocked against him — out of instinct, with no real desire for completion as the God he’d become craved that sort of pleasure even less than his old human self had, and Jonah kept still, too busy devouring all he could from the never ending feast that lived unto Jon’s tongue.

The pain of being granted a small part of the divine was worth it, of course. Eventually Jonah let his head fall back, his throat taken over, his eyes filled to the brim with the beautiful nightmare that their world had been twisted into, and it was only distantly he heard Jon take a sharp breath, forehead falling into the crook of his neck. 

“Jonah,” he whispered hoarsely against his skin. “Jonah, they are coming again.”

Let them come, Jonah thought.

“They think — fire. Fire. They made sure we couldn’t run.”

“Would you run?” Jonah’s mouth asked. “Would you preserve this, what we have become, if you could?”

“I— Yes,” Jon breathed. It sounded wretched and guilty and absolutely certain, the horrid truth ripped from him like everything else. “Yes.”

Let them come, Jonah repeated. If we burn, they will burn with us. And if we don’t — all the more to gorge ourselves with, my love.

[the-voldsoy]

First to preface this, I don't ship lonelyeyes. However, it is interesting to me. So here are my thoughts.

Elias is a very lonely person by practice — his body hopping means he isn't able to connect with any sort of family, and wouldn't see much of a point in putting down roots and making new connections, except with people who know him as Jonah (Simon Fairchild and the other survivors of the Regency era, for example, or other Fear Avatars).

Elias knew Mordecai, and probably knew quite a lot of the Lukas line — his loneliness would've helped and been influenced by that. This would be how he met Peter in the first place. Elias is younger than Peter, which would mean that Elias may have known Peter as a child when he was still Wright. Does Peter know about the bodyhopping? I assume so, but if not that could add another layer to their relationship.

I think they would've been friends from there (when Jonah became Elias), or at least had some sort of connection. Love? I don't think so. I can't think of a better way of phrasing it but I don't think Peter is capable of loving in that way, and neither is Elias (kinda?).

I think Elias loves in a way that is obsessive and self-centred. He loves what is like him and what is his. Peter is a creature of the Lonely, so it's questionable to what extent he is in-touch with his emotions enough to make the kind of connections that a loving relationship requires.

Could they have been in a loveless marriage? I suppose. But Elias would be in it for gain, and Peter...for what? I don't know, I've never really thought about him that much. Maybe just to feel the Loneliness that the relationship generates by being so miserable.

I do think Peter might be one of the closest things Elias has to a friend, though. That's not to say they enjoy each other's company; just that they are fairly familiar with one another. The way they interact and talk about each other shows that they have some sort of rapport between them. I don't disagree that they act like an old divorced couple at times, but that contempt is similar to that of a long-lasting acquaintanceship, especially one that has always been competing and working against each other. What we see of their relationship is built on manipulation and deception and bets.

This is what Peter says about Elias (in e159):

There isn't any love there. Their relationship is built on business and what they can gain from each other. The way Peter talks about Elias is pretty explicit in how much he did not — and still does not — like Elias. And maybe that's shame of an ill-advised and regrettable relationship, and he's magnifying the negative feelings to cover up that potential relationship. But the compulsion doesn't allow a person to lie, and would Peter be able to redirect what he is saying so it's technically true but not the whole truth? Maybe ?? If Elias had used his Beholding on Peter then maybe he would be more ready for it, and have practice deflecting it. But I don't think Elias would've, and I don't think Peter would've had the forethought in that moment to change what he was saying.

However, he does resist Jon's compulsion at the end and refuses to tell him Elias' plans, ultimately leading to his death. Could this be lingering respect for Elias? I suppose. But more likely, I think it's just Peter being petty to Jon in the only way he can.

I believe this is all Elias says about Peter (from e160), but I could be wrong. In his entire statement, this is all that is dedicated to Peter, and it is only about one instance that Peter has done something for Elias' benefit. This does not suggest a particularly close relationship.

This is mostly speculation, to be honest. Their relationship isn't really shown in canon -- they only actually share 1 scene, if I remember correctly, and they certainly aren't nice to each other in that (e158). Who knows, maybe they actually had a long and prosperous relationship off-camera. But I digress.

I'd love to hear anyone's thoughts on it :)

[tahelms85]

You know what pisses me off? So called Carlos fans. So called Carlos fans that are SO offended that they adopted Jonah. So called Carlos fans that are SO offended they adopted Jonah and act like TK forced him into it. Newsflash, Carlos has a voice. Carlos can USE his voice. Carlos HAS used his voice, several times, when TK's pissed him off. Let's stop acting like Carlos is some wilting flower that needs a bunch of idiots on the internet to get pissed off in his defence because TK 'forced' him to go along with adopting Jonah.

How about we think about the fact that even though Carlos said he didn't want any kids, he changed his mind. That's a person's prerogative, to change their mind. I've never wanted kids, I'm 39 years old, I may never want kids, I may finally get to the point where I do. But it's my prerogative to change my mind.

Also, let's not act like this was some fucking random ass adoption either. The kid we're talking about is TK's BROTHER (and shut the fuck up with the specifics of their relationship, don't get snarky on me, I'm not in the goddamn mood), that changes things. Obviously Carlos loves TK enough to go along with this, and he probably has grown to love the hell out of Jonah as well. I mean, the kid's fucking cute. Like I said, I don't want kids, but even I can admit that Jonah is one hell of an adorable little boy.

It baffles me. It honestly baffles me that so many people are so fucking butthurt over this storyline because of poor widdle Carlos saying ONCE UPON A TIME that he didn't want kids. I'm sure if we had another season or two of the show, maybe they could've expanded this storyline. Maybe we could've seen more of Carlos' struggle and then coming around to the idea.

Maybe we could've seen his journey of bonding with Jonah, struggling to take care of the little boy and then finding his groove with him. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But we didn't get that luxury. We got what we got. And what we got was fucking GREAT for what it could be. Goddamn you whiny little bitches "it was too cut and dry, they didn't earn..." BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. Shut the fuck up. It's over now, so you don't have to worry about it anymore, and if you're so butthurt over it, write a fucking fix it like I'm sure is already going up on AO3.