#tentative start for... spooky season...

[luxmoogle]

Anti/Darkform Ava..

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Hello lovelyyyyyy!! I hope you’re well and having a lovely spooky season! I saw that you haven’t gotten Lando requests and I find that unacceptable so here goes: lando x driver!reader - a bunch of the drivers end up piling up in someone’s hotel room watching a scary movie. Reader doesn’t want to be a chicken because she knows she’ll get teased, but she’s terrified. Lando notices and tries to comfort her. Maybe covers her eyes during scary bits? Maybe spends the night in her room bc she’s scared to be alone after? Idk go crazy girlie!

Not That Scary - Lando Norris

<word count - 2987>

This was such a dumb idea, but you went along with it. You went along with it since you didn't want to seem like a chicken, even though it now seemed like a very small price to pay in order to get out of this. 

As you all piled into Max's hotel room, ready for the scary movie suggested by the smooth operator himself. You hated scary movies just as much as the next normal person, but you couldn't think of a viable excuse to get out of this. 

There was plenty of room for all of you as you huddled around the TV, some poor souls having to take spots on the floor, or dragging dining room chairs over and trying to get as comfortable as possible. You were one of the first ones in, and you took your spot on the couch in the corner.

Lando and Carlos nearly got into fisticuffs for the final spot on the couch, that was next to you. "Carlos, you can sit here, Lando can sit there. I don't mind taking the floor," you said, wanting to get the film over with, and the longer they took, the longer you had to wait until you could go to your hotel room and forget about this stupid scary movie.

"No no, I'm a gentleman, ladies first. So Lando, the seat is all yours," Carlos quipped with a mischievous smirk on his face. He knew how to rile Lando up, and this was his one way ticket to starting an argument that he knew he'd somehow win. 

"Whatever," Lando mumbled, instantly backing down and flopping down next to you. Carlos chuckled to himself and sat on the floor, his head leaning back on the arm rest beside you. "Can we share the blanket? You're kind of hogging it," Lando said, tugging at the soft, white blanket you had wrapped around your shoulders. 

"Fine fine, just make sure it's definitely half and half, yeah?" you said, draping half over him as he shuffled closer to you so that you'd both be warm. 

"Sure, I can do that," he smiled, keeping to the rule you had set out for him. "Max, what are we watching?" he asked, itching to get the film started. You, on the other hand, were sat there, nervous out of your mind. 

You were hoping they would say a mild-mannered horror film, but Carlos just had to go and ruin the night. "Let's go for it, The Shining," he announced, and there were a lot of approving words as Max found it on the TV. 

"Oh shit, here we go," you mumbled, grabbing a pillow to hold onto through the particularly scary moments. You had your arms wrapped around it, ready to squeeze it instead of screaming through the jumpscares and gory bits. 

"You alright?" Lando asked, hearing your mumbles. He leant in as not to alert the attention of anyone else, since he didn't want you to be uncomfortable if you said you weren't alright. 

"Yeah, yeah, scary movies just aren't really my thing," you smiled, nodding. 

"Neither, but you can squeeze my hand if it gets too scary," he chuckled, moving even closer to you so that you were shoulder to shoulder, and the blanket completely covered the two of you so nobody could see if you did in fact want to squeeze his hand. 

"Thanks," you said as Max started the movie, and a lull fell over the group. For a short while, you all sat there, silent as the movie was still rather tame. Your knee was bouncing up and down out of nerves, and you were slightly jumping at the smallest loud noise or frame change. 

"We can go if you want, you're not enjoying yourself," Lando whispered, placing a tentative hand on your leg to try and stop you from shaking it so much.

"It's OK, I'll settle into it," you dismissed, making no effort to move his hand. Out of habit, his thumb swiped up and down over the skin on your leg. It did offer a small amount of comfort to have his hand there, grounding you. 

"Just let me know if you want to go, we can go," he whispered, leaving you to watch the movie. It was nice to know that he'd make an excuse, but there was no way you were tapping out now. You were locked in, and there was no backing off.

"Thanks," you told him, glueing your eyes back to the screen. You were coping, just about. The pillow was being squashed to death, and you were jumping at even the most minor of scares. Lando thankfully knew when the big ones were, since he had watched the movie before. 

Without warning, Lando covered your eyes with his hand and all you could hear was Jack trying to break down the bathroom door while Wendy screamed in terror. You flicked your eyes over to him, and smiled. 

You mouthed a 'thank you', and he proceeded to mouth back a 'no problem'. Lando took his hand away from your eyes, before swiftly covered you back up again. The sounds alone of whatever was going on on screen was enough for you to take hold of the hand he had on your thigh.

"You're fine, it's not real," he softly chuckled, trying to bring about some sense of solace to you while the movie drew to a close. As the last few scenes played out, you just let yourself lean into him while you held his hand, squeezing every time you got a little scared. 

As he looked around, making sure no one was looking at you, he gently planted a kiss on top of your head before resuming the regular position. You felt yourself relax instantly, even if the movie was still scaring the living hell out of you. 

It was just nice to have someone to lean on, figuratively and literally as you watched the worst thing you had ever seen on TV. Every time you even slightly gripped his hand, he squeezed back, just to remind you he was there.

You were trying to put on a brave face while everyone else was looking relatively stoic. Well, apart from Charles. He had been hiding under the blanket for at least fifteen minutes, and whacked Max every time he laughed at him. 

You didn't want to be subject to any teasing or anything, so you gripped Lando's hand and hoped to god that he wouldn't run around, telling the whole grid how much of a chicken you were being throughout the whole movie. 

As the final shot of Jack, frozen to death flashed on the screen, you let out a tiny squeal of terror, and everyone's eyes turned to you briefly, a few of them giggling away to themselves. "Out of all the things that we have seen, that's what gets you?" Carlos laughed, turning his head to look at you. 

"It was a shock," you said, glad that Carlos hadn't been able to tell how terrified you had been throughout the entirety of the movie. It wasn't before long that everyone was being hauled out of Max's hotel room. 

You would have rather driven 100 laps in Qatar than sat through another minute of that goddamn movie. It felt hot and stuffy in there, and the corridor was like a refrigerator in comparison. 

"Hey, you OK?" Lando asked, catching up to you on the walk back to your hotel room. 

"Yeah, yeah. That movie is going to keep me up all night," you lightly laughed, not looking forward to the impending nightmares that you knew were going to be plaguing your sleep tonight. 

"I can come stay with you if you want, might take the edge off," he offered without a second thought, and you couldn't tell whether he was being actually serious, or taking the cake. 

"Really?" you asked, trying to confirm his intentions. 

"Yeah, it'd be my pleasure. Maybe we can watch something a little less scary, take our minds off of whatever the hell that was," he chuckled with a sincere smile. If he was completely honest with you, he was scared shitless as well, and he wished he had multiple hands to hold your hand, cover his eyes and yours during the movie. 

"I'm in 216, so we'll have to take the elevator or the stairs. But at this point, pretty much everything scares the life out of me, so either is good," you said, starting to walk down the carpeted corridor as people dispersed to their rooms for the night.

"OK, stairs sound a lot better than the elevator right now," he said, causing you to laugh slightly. Lando was clearly just as unsettled as you were, and it would be nice to be scardycats together, as you defended each other from the imaginary monsters that you'd surely be dreaming of. 

The pair of you walked down the stairs of the eerily quiet hotel, and there were a couple times you could have sworn you had seen those two creepy little girls standing at the end of the hallway, but you knew it wasn't real. 

"We're keeping the lights on," you stated when the two of you walked into the hotel room, and Lando wholeheartedly agreed. 

"Absolutely, sounds perfect," he nodded, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He didn't want to just take his shoes off and crawl into your bed, he thought that would be pushing it a bit too far. As if you had read his mind, you hopped in. 

"You can get in one one condition," you smirked, eyeing up the mini fridge in the corner of the room. You were also watching the snacks that were on the table top, and you weren't getting back out of the warm confines of your bed now that you were in.

"Already on it," he sighed, picking up the bags of snacks and throwing them to you. "What drink do you want?" he asked, opening the fridge and seeing what you had. You looked at the selection, and just settled on a mango juice. 

Lando collected your drinks and tentatively got into bed next to you. "Thanks, do you want to sleep or watch a movie?" you asked, cracking open the mango juice and taking a sip. 

"Well, if we sleep, I'll scare the monsters away, I'll protect you," he giggled, nudging you slightly. 

"My knight in shining armour," you rolled your eyes, turning the light out and getting comfy. "If I wake you up in the middle of the night, I'm sorry, OK?" you said, closing your eyes and instantly feeling tiredness take over. 

"Don't worry about it," he chuckled, also feeling really tired. The two of you fell asleep almost instantly, but it wasn't long before you grew restless. 

All you could hear was the sound of Wendy screaming as Jack tried to bust the door down, and you jolted awake, seeing nothing around you but darkness. Sitting bolt upright, you took a couple deep breaths, as you felt stupid for how scared you were of a movie. 

Lando felt the sudden shift, and opened his eyes. Through the darkness, he saw the outline of you, sat up straight and he could hear you breathing. "Hey, you OK?" he whispered, and you turned your head to look at him.

"Yeah, yeah, just... a little on edge. It's stupid, really," you shook your head, fidgeting with your fingers as he held his hand out to you. 

"Don't make this weird, but c'mere," he mumbled, still very clearly half-asleep as you shuffled closer. As you led down beside you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you so that your back was flushed to his chest. 

"It's not real, yeah? You're safe, I've got you," he quietly rambled as you put your arms on top of his while he held you close. "I won't let anyone hurt you, I'll protect you," he continued to ramble, peppering kisses down your neck as if he had completely forgotten that it was you in his arms. 

The gesture was small, yet intimate and calming and it lulled you into a sense of warm comfort. You mentally scolded yourself for not telling him to stop or pushing him away, but you loved how his lips felt against your skin. He kept them light, but you couldn't help but close your eyes as sleep tried to take you away.

"There you go, you're OK," he mumbled, sensing you were falling asleep as your body relaxed against him. "That's it," he muttered against your neck as you lost consciousness, and it wasn't long before he followed suit. 

You were relaxed, and there weren't anymore interruptions throughout the night. The pair of you were woken up by a loud wrapping on your hotel room door. "Y/N! Wake up!" As you and Lando woke, still entangled in each other's arms, you both looked at each other in horror at the realization of who was outside. 

"What do you want, Carlos?" you groaned, making no effort to move away from Lando as you snuggled further into him. 

"Is Lando there? He's not in his room!" he shouted through the door and Lando groaned into your neck. "Can you open the door please?" Carlos continued. 

"Yeah, one second," you nodded as Lando tried to pull you back into bed with him.

"Just tell him to piss off," he mumbled, nestling himself back into the covers as he instantly felt cold and unsettled without you beside him.

"I'll be quick," you smiled, leaving him in bed and going to open the door for Carlos. The Spaniard was stood there, arms crossed, a slight smirk painted on his face. 

"Is he here?" he asked, trying to look past you and into the room. Your body blocked the view, so he wouldn't be able to see that lump that was Lando under the duvet. 

"No, he's probably gone down for breakfast."

"We already checked, he's not there. We've looked everywhere," he told you as he walked straight into the room, peering around. You held your breath as his gaze turned to the bed, but it was empty. It was obvious where he had gone, but you just prayed to god that Carlos wouldn't check the bathroom. 

"Sorry to intrude, we just thought that he could be in here," he shook his head, not seeing any signs of Lando in the room. He started to walk back out, before turning and opening the bathroom door, and then the shower curtain. 

"Oh hello Lando, didn't think you'd be there," he laughed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. The smirk on Carlos' face was not going to be wiped off any time soon. Lando sat there, cowering in the bath after his poorly thought out idea to hide from Carlos. The effort was commended. 

"I guess the moaning and groaning we all heard last night wasn't from the ghosts and ghouls," he winked as Lando turned bright red. 

"No, we were both scared from the movie last night, so we kept each other company," you explained as Lando sighed. He didn't want Carlos to know he was scared of the film, but he also didn't want everyone to think you two were sleeping together. Well, not in that way. 

"Oh yeah? Calming each other down with the devil's tango? Surely that gets the heart rate going more, no?" he listed, using all of his self-composure not to just laugh in your faces. "You just going to sit in there or are you going to come out, Lando?" Carlos continued. 

Without saying anything, Lando pulled himself of the empty bath and stood next to you, eyes flicking between you and Carlos. "Go get dressed, you two. A couple of us are heading down for breakfast. Wait, Y/N, did a vampire bite you? You've got something on your neck," Carlos said, peering at you. 

You clapped your hand over the area, thinking Lando had gotten a little carried away and you just hadn't noticed. "Kidding," Carlos laughed, knowing he had gotten the reaction he was looking for from you. "No more bone rattling you two, I'll see you in a bit," he giggled, leaving the two of you in the bathroom in silence. 

"I should, you know, I should, uh-" he mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Yeah, me too," you nodded, walking out of the bathroom. Lando wanted to stay - he didn't want to leave your side just yet. "I'll see you at breakfast, thanks for last night," you smiled as he approached you. 

Lando opened his arms out as you hugged him back, not wanting to turn out of his embrace. Just as you went to leave the hug, Lando couldn't help but move his lips down to your neck and softly bite his teeth into the flesh. "Lando!" you exclaimed, racing to the mirror to see what he'd done. 

"Wait, Y/N, did a vampire bite you? You've got something on your neck," he chuckled, leaving you gobsmacked as he went to get ready for breakfast. 

"For fucks sake," you mumbled, instantly reaching for the foundation to try and cover up the red teeth marks that were printed on your skin. Your heart was racing, but you couldn't tell whether it was the fear of it being seen, or the thrill of it happening. 

A/N - Yes, I know it isn't spooky season, but I wrote this aaaaages ago and wanted to post it since I actually really like this one. I have more requests coming in, and I am writing quite a few of them at the minute! Keep them coming, hope you're having a wonderful day, and love you 💖

@chilichilichilipep This one is for you my lovely! Your requests are honestly some of my favourites that I get, and I adore them all, even if it takes a few decades for me to write them 🤠

|masterlist|

[childrenofcain-if]

Happy Spooky Season, Axel! This might be a little unusual but with the spirit of Halloween coming up, how would the ROs react to MC being a werewolf?

Maybe it can happen in a camping trip, similar to The Quarry? Maybe not separately bcuz I would love to see how they handle it as a group, but I won't complain with individual reactions either. Do whatever would be more comfortable, dear Author. Happy Halloween in advance!

rural connecticut had a way of making everyone feel a little uneasy. perhaps it was the countless urban legends people told around it, perhaps it was the way that the state was where the nation’s first witch trials occurred—three decades before they happened infamously in salem, massachusetts.

the air was crisp with the sort of chill that lingered in your bones but didn’t quite feel threatening yet. the fire crackled softly as you stoked it, watching the flames flicker against the growing dusk. everyone was scattered around the camp, still settling into the space.

D was busy doing what they did best—getting under C’s skin with sarcastic jabs, teasing them about the way they kept folding and refolding the map as if it would magically change the directions. M, ever the stoic one, was trying to ignore them, but you could see the slight twitch of their lip, an indication that D was close to getting on their last nerve.

V was standing beside you, hands in their pockets, looking vaguely amused by the whole scene. W, on the other hand, just shook their head and smiled, the picture of someone used to D’s antics by now. it was a strange mix, this group—too many strong personalities in one place—but it worked. everyone knew their role, how far to push, when to back off. at least most of the time.

D had started flicking small rocks at C’s back and making loud, obnoxious comments about how they were overpacking again. “C, honestly, it’s a camping trip, not a three-week expedition. You don’t need an entire suitcase for a weekend.”

C shot D a venomous look from over their shoulder, folding the map they’d been fussing over with a little more force than necessary. “keep it up, and you’ll be sleeping outside the tent tonight.”

“i’d love that, thanks,” D fired back, their smirk relentless.

you fed the fire another branch, staring into the flames as V leaned closer.

“you’re quiet,” they said, voice so soft that it was almost drowned out by D’s exaggerated laugh in the background.

you shrugged. “just thinking about all the coursework i still have waiting for me when we get back. feels like i should be doing something instead of sitting here.”

V smiled, the kind that crinkled the corners of their warm brown eyes. “it’s a holiday. you’re supposed to be relaxing. the work will still be there when you get back.”

M wandered over, looking unusually tense. “you lot heard about the wild predators around here lately?”

you glanced up, the firelight reflecting in M’s eyes, giving their worry an edge.

“what do you mean?” V asked, straightening up.

M ran a hand through their hair. “there have been some sightings—wolves, maybe coyotes—attacking other animals around these parts. i was checking for some news around the area and it showed up on my phone.”

D chimed in before anyone could respond. “oh, come on, your highness. it’s connecticut. we’re not in the middle of the appalachian region or yellowstone. we’ll be fine. plus, this place was ranked one of the best camping spots in the state. we’re practically in a five-star resort.” their grin was wide and mischievous, but you noticed the slight edge to it, a crack in the usual rodomontade.

W, usually the voice of reason when M couldn’t be, spoke up next. “we’ll stick together either way. there’s strength in numbers. we’ve got a fire, flashlights, and C brought a hunting rifle. if anything comes near us, we’ll handle it.” they squeezed M’s shoulder reassuringly.

but M’s worry lingered in the air, a quiet tension settling over the group despite W’s calm reassurance. you noticed it—the way M kept glancing at the treeline, how they kept rubbing their arms like the air had turned cold with every passing minute.

you had nodded in agreement with W, trying to push away the strange feeling that had settled over you. It was probably nothing. this was just camping—people did it all the time. and yet, something about the stillness of the woods, the way the sun was sinking so fast behind the trees, left you uneasy.

as the sun sank lower and the sky shifted from blue to deep indigo, you all gathered around the fire for dinner. D had somehow managed to snag a pack of white claws, and C cracked open a can of pepsi, glaring at D as if it was their fault no one had thought to bring more non-alcoholic options.

the fire felt like a buffer between you and the world, the flickering light casting shadows over the campsite. the mood was light, despite the earlier worries. cheeriness spilled out from the group in bursts, warming the cool night air. but as the conversation started to smooth out more, a sound rose up from the woods behind you—a long, eerie howl, distant but unmistakable.

it came from far off at first, just a faint sound on the wind, but it was enough to make everyone pause, the laughter dying in your throats. V’s eyes darted toward the tree line, and M’s face went pale.

“that’s probably just—” D started, but their voice faltered, betraying the nervousness beneath the joke. “i mean, it’s probably some sort of a mating call, right?”

no one answered.

then, another howl. closer this time. too close.

W stood up, their face pale, hands clenching nervously. “we should probably—”

“i’m getting the rifle,” C interrupted, standing abruptly. their face was tight, their jaw set, as if they were angry more than scared. “whatever’s out there, i’ll scare it off.”

“we should all go with you,” M said quickly, grabbing their flashlight. “like W said, strength in numbers, right?”

everyone nodded, uneasy but moving in unison, as if drawn by the same invisible thread. you grabbed your flashlight, the cold metal heavy in your palm, and followed as C led the way into the woods.

the flashlights carved weak paths through the dark, illuminating only fragments of the trees and underbrush. every step felt wrong, like the forest had swallowed you whole. you could hear the rustle of leaves, the crunch of dead branches, but no animals. no insects. it was too quiet, and the silence buzzed in your ears.

“where are all the animals?” M whispered, their voice barely more than a breath.

and then, just as you turned to respond, there was a sound—a low, guttural growl, so deep it seemed to shake the ground beneath your feet.

it came from behind you.

you froze, heart slamming against your ribs. the others turned in slow motion, flashlights swinging wildly through the dark, their beams landing on a pair of glowing yellow eyes. the creature was huge, hulking, its fur bristling in the cold air, muscles rippling beneath its skin. it wasn’t a coyote. it wasn’t even a wolf, not really. it was something else, something too large, too wild, too impossible.

“shit! C, get your fucking rifle no—” D exclaimed, but the creature was already moving. in one fluid motion, it lunged toward your group, its teeth bared and its claws extended.

without thinking, you shoved W out of the way, just as the creature’s jaws snapped inches from their face. before you could react, you felt the searing pain of teeth sinking into your arm, claws ripping through your skin as the creature dragged you backward into the underbrush.

the world seemed to wobble around you, the flashlight slipping from your grasp as you screamed, thrashing against the weight of it. the burning, tearing pain spread like wildfire through your body, but the more you fought, the deeper its teeth sunk into your skin.

“shoot it! C, shoot it!” V’s voice cracked, desperate, as they, D, and M scrambled to pull you free.

there was a crack—a gunshot—and the creature jerked back, snarling in pain. C had fired, the rifle smoking in their hands. the beast staggered, blood dripping from its shoulder, before it let go of you and fled into the night, vanishing into the trees as quickly as it had appeared.

you were left on the ground, panting, clutching your arm as the pain pulsed in waves, so sharp and overwhelming you could barely breathe. blood soaked through your shirt and jacket, your vision swimming in and out of focus as the others rushed to your side, their voices a blur of panic and urgency.

“oh shit, oh fuck,” W rambled, dropping down beside you, their eyes filling with tears and panic. “hold on, we’ll need to get you to a hospital. now.”

nobody argued. they packed up the camp in minutes, the fire doused, gear thrown haphazardly into the car. you were half-conscious by the time they bundled you into the backseat, your arm throbbing in time with your heartbeat, every movement sending fresh spikes of pain through your body. you could feel the blood seeping through the makeshift bandages they’d wrapped around your arm, could hear D’s voice, low and tight, muttering curses under their breath as they sped toward the nearest hospital and probably broke many speed limits.

but beneath the pain, beneath the terror, there was something else. a heat. something wild and feral curling low in your chest, spreading through your veins, something you couldn’t name but felt terrifyingly real.

***

the fever started small. just a dull, persistent heat behind your eyes that made you squint against the light of the hospital room. at first, you thought it was something else, something ordinary—a delayed reaction to the bite. the doctors had warned about infection. C had been furious, pacing the length of the small room with that same tight look they always got when they were trying not to say something filled with rage. they were pissed, but more at themselves than anyone else. they’d been the one to insist on bringing the rifle, after all. M kept a hand on your forehead, their fingers cool against your overheated skin, and whispered reassurances, half to you and half to themselves.

“it’s probably rabies,” M had said, voice low and steady like they were trying to convince themselves more than you. “you’ve got the shots. it’ll be fine.”

W and V exchanged a glance over your bed. you didn’t miss it, the way their eyes flicked toward each other, something unspoken passing between them. you’d noticed it before, during those first few days when they’d both taken turns sitting with you. they weren’t saying it out loud, but you could tell—they didn’t think this was just rabies. and part of you, the rational part that had clung to M’s words, didn’t think it was either. but you weren’t ready to ask.

the fever crawled through your body, starting in your chest and spreading to your limbs like fire under your skin. it wasn’t normal. you knew it wasn’t, but there was no explanation that made sense. the doctors couldn’t find anything except for signs of a violent infection. but that didn’t explain the dreams, the way your senses had started to shift in ways you couldn’t fully articulate.

at night, when the fever hit its peak, you’d wake up drenched in sweat, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were trying to break free from your ribcage. your skin felt like it was too tight, like something inside you was pressing outward, demanding to be let free. there were flashes of something more—brief moments where your senses sharpened, where you could hear footsteps down the hall or smell something faint, metallic. but those moments came and went, and you told yourself it was just your mind playing tricks.

M and C were the ones to step in with the rational explanations, repeating the same things over and over until you almost believed them.

“it’s just an infection,” they said. “you were bitten by a wild animal, after all.”

D, though, tried to lift your spirits, as they always did. they’d show up with bags of sweets, grinning, trying to make you laugh even when your head was throbbing and your skin was burning up.

“maybe it’s not rabies,” they’d joked once, tossing a gummy bear into the air and catching it with a quick snap of their teeth. “maybe you’ve been cursed. like some old angry spirit or whatever. we should get a shaman.”

that had gotten a weak laugh out of you, but it had been hollow, thin. there was no shaking the feeling that something was wrong, that whatever had bitten you had left more than just physical wounds.

but eventually, after days of burning and aching, the fever broke. your body cooled, the heat fading into a dull memory, and the doctors were quick to say that you’d recovered. you’d survived the infection. but you knew better.

when they discharged you, your friends were there waiting, trying to make light of the fact that you looked half-dead. you could see it in their eyes—the way they studied your gaunt face, your hollow cheeks, the way your skin clung too tight to your bones like you’d been starved for weeks instead of days. D had tried to joke about it, something light-hearted about your diet, but no one had laughed. not really.

you didn’t say much. you couldn’t. because something in you had changed during those fevered days, something you couldn’t put into words. and you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had happened wasn’t over yet.

***

the first full moon passed without you realizing it. you’d felt strange for days—restless, anxious in a way that didn’t make sense. there was this pull, this quiet urging in your chest, like something was trying to guide you somewhere. but you couldn’t pinpoint it, couldn’t find the source.

then one night, after a long day of feeling like your skin didn’t quite fit, you found yourself wandering through the campus. it wasn’t intentional—you didn’t decide to go out, but your feet carried you across the quad, past buildings and students, and toward the woods on the outskirts of the grounds. it was like something was calling you there, something you couldn’t ignore.

the woods were quiet, eerily so. the usual sounds of campus life—the chatter of students, the distant hum of traffic—faded into the background as you entered the trees. you didn’t know why you were there, but your body did. and then the pain started.

it began as a dull ache in your limbs, like the kind you used to get during growth spurts when you were younger, but sharper, more insistent. then it spread, climbing up your spine and into your chest until every breath felt like you were inhaling fire. you dropped to your knees, gasping, clutching at the ground as your body twisted and contorted in ways that was decidedly inhuman.

your bones cracked, loud in the stillness of the woods, like twigs snapping underfoot. your muscles shifted, stretched, and you could feel your skin pulling, stretching over something much bigger than you. it was agony, every nerve ending on fire, your mind screaming in protest as your body changed. you tried to hold on to something, some shred of yourself, but it slipped away as the beast took hold.

your hands, once familiar, turned into something else—claws, long and sharp. you felt your teeth elongate, your jaw stretching into something animalistic. your senses exploded, everything around you suddenly too loud, too bright, too overwhelming. you could smell the earth, the dampness in the air, the faint metallic scent of blood from somewhere in the distance. the hunger hit you next, sharp and undeniable, driving you forward.

you didn’t think. you couldn’t. your mind was gone, lost to the beast moving on autopilot. all that mattered was that you were starving. you ran, your new body moving faster than you’d ever imagined possible, every muscle coiled and ready to spring.

there were livestock near the edge of the woods—sheep, maybe, or cattle. you couldn’t tell. it didn’t matter. you didn’t care. all you knew was the hunger, the need to kill, to tear something apart. you leapt over the fence, your claws finding purchase in the soft flesh of a sheep. it struggled, bleating in terror, but it was no match for the strength coursing through you. you tore into it, your teeth sinking deep into its neck, blood hot and thick in your mouth.

you didn’t stop until the animal was still, its blood staining the ground, the scent of it filling your nostrils. by the time the moon began to sink below the horizon, you had lost track of time, of how many animals had fallen to your claws. your body felt heavy, exhausted, but the hunger had been sated, at least for now.

***

when you woke the next morning, you were back in your bed with the window of your room open. naked. covered in blood and mud, leaves clinging to your skin like some reminder of the night before. you stared at the ceiling, your heart pounding, your chest heaving with every breath. you didn’t remember getting back. you didn’t remember much at all.

the memories of the night were fragmented—flashes of pain, of running, of blood. you didn’t know what had happened. you didn’t want to. but the evidence was there, on your skin, in the way your muscles ached, in the taste of blood still lingering in your mouth.

you couldn’t tell anyone. how could you? you didn’t even know what had happened. and you didn’t want to freak anyone out. so you kept it to yourself, burying the truth deep inside, hoping that whatever had happened would go away. that it had been a one-time thing.

but deep down, you knew it wouldn’t.

***

it was subtle at first, like a creeping shadow that you didn’t even notice was there until it had fully swallowed the light around you. you started to look tired all the time—bags under your eyes, your face pale and drawn, as if sleep didn’t offer the relief it was supposed to. the first person to notice was M, of course. M was always the one to notice. they didn’t say anything at first, just offered quiet glances whenever they caught you staring blankly off into space or saw you rubbing at your temples as if that would shake the lingering headache you couldn’t seem to get rid of.

“you okay?” they asked one evening. the two of you were studying in the library, the lamplight casting long shadows on the dark wood of the table.

you forced a smile, shrugging like it was nothing. “yeah, just tired.”

but the truth was, you weren’t just tired. you were exhausted—bone-deep, soul-deep tired in a way that made you feel hollow. your body was fighting something, that much was clear. but fighting what? you didn’t know. you told yourself it was the aftereffects of the fever, that maybe you hadn’t fully recovered yet. but even as you said it, you knew it wasn’t true.

then the cuts and scratches started showing up.

you’d wake up in the mornings and find a fresh gash on your forearm, or a thin, red line across your cheek that hadn’t been there the night before. they were never deep, never serious, but they were constant. every week it seemed like there was something new—an unexplained bruise on your ribs, a scratch across your neck. at first, you brushed it off. maybe you were thrashing in your sleep, scratching yourself without realizing it. but then C saw them.

“what the hell happened to your face?” C asked one morning, frowning as they reached out to touch a thin scratch running down your jawline. “did you fall or something?”

you shook your head, pulling back before their fingers could graze the raw skin. “i don’t know. it was just there when i woke up.”

C’s eyes narrowed, concern creeping into their voice. “you sure you’re okay? you’ve been… off, lately.”

you wanted to brush it off, to tell them you were fine. but the truth was, you weren’t fine, and you had no idea why.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted quietly, and it felt like the first real thing you’d said in days.

C sighed, running a hand through their hair. “maybe you should see a doctor again. this… this isn’t normal.”

you nodded, though the idea of seeing another doctor made your stomach turn. what were you supposed to say? that you were waking up with scratches and bruises and no memory of how you got them? that something felt wrong inside you, like you were losing control of yourself? no. they’d throw you in the loony bin faster than you could say “stop.”

but it wasn’t just the tiredness or the scratches. it was the way your body had started craving things, strange things. like meat.

you’d never been picky before, but now, every time you sat down to eat, all you could think about was meat. not just any meat, though. it had to be rare. blood-red, almost raw. the first time it happened, you’d been out with your friends, grabbing dinner at some burger joint near campus. you ordered your usual, but when the burger came, perfectly cooked with a slight char, the sight of it turned your stomach.

“you gonna eat that?” D asked, eyeing your untouched plate. “or are you saving it for later?”

you frowned, pushing the plate away.

“it’s overcooked,” you muttered, even though you knew it wasn’t. it just wasn’t what you wanted.

W raised an eyebrow, glancing at your plate. “it’s medium-rare.”

“yeah, well, it’s not rare enough.”

C snorted. “you want it raw or something, starkid?”

you didn’t respond, because the answer, disturbingly, was yes. you didn’t want it cooked at all. you wanted the blood. the thought made you feel sick, but it also made your mouth water in a way that scared you.

from that night on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. every time you sat down to a meal, you found yourself staring at the meat on your plate, wondering what it would taste like if it hadn’t been cooked at all. you started ordering steaks rare, almost raw, the blood pooling on the plate, and when you ate, it was like nothing had ever tasted so good.

“you’re getting weird,” D said one night, watching you tear into a steak that was practically still mooing. “like, seriously. are you okay?”

you glared at them, your fork clutched tightly in your hand. “i’m fine, D.”

D raised their hands in surrender, chuckling nervously. “alright, jeez. just checking.”

but you weren’t fine, and D knew it. they weren’t the only one. everyone had started to notice. it wasn’t just the way you looked—paler, thinner, with dark circles under your eyes and fresh cuts on your skin every other week. it was the way you acted. you were on edge all the time, your temper shorter than it had ever been. the smallest things set you off.

one afternoon, D asked you a simple question—reminding you about an assignment for one of your classes that was due the next day—and you snapped at them, yelling about how you didn’t need them hovering over you all the time. the words came out before you could stop them, and the look on D’s face—hurt, confused—was enough to make your stomach twist with guilt. but you couldn’t take it back. the anger had bubbled up out of nowhere, hot and irrational, and once it was out, you couldn’t control it.

“i was just trying to help because you asked me to remind you of it a month ago,” D said quietly, staring at you like they didn’t recognize the person standing in front of them.

you wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in your throat. instead, you just muttered something under your breath and walked away, leaving D standing there, hurt and confused.

after that, things got worse. you started pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself without even meaning to. it was like you couldn’t stand to be around them anymore, like their presence irritated you in ways it never had before. every little thing set you off—the way M asked if you were feeling okay, the way W smiled at you with that concerned, worrying look in their eyes, the way C hovered like they were waiting for you to explode.

you didn’t want to explode. you didn’t want to be angry all the time. but you couldn’t help it. it was like something inside you was constantly simmering, waiting for a reason to boil over. and the worst part was, you didn’t know why.

***

it was V who finally brought it up, one night after you’d barely spoken to anyone all day. they found you sitting in the common room of your suite, staring blankly at the TV which wasn’t even turned on, your mind a mess of half-formed thoughts and simmering frustration.

“hey,” V said quietly, sitting down beside you. “you’ve been… different lately.”

you didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the TV, hoping they’d drop it. but V wasn’t like that when it came to their friends. they weren’t going to drop it.

“i mean it,” they said with all the firmness they could muster. “we’re all worried about you. you’ve been acting strange. D’s scared to talk to you now, after what happened last week. C’s been trying to keep it together, but even they don’t know what to say anymore.”

you swallowed hard, still not looking at them.

“i don’t know what’s going on,” you whispered. it was the truth, and saying it out loud felt like admitting defeat.

V sighed, their hand resting lightly on your arm. “maybe you should let us help. we all want to. you don’t have to go through this alone.”

but that was the thing, wasn’t it? you didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. how could you ask for help when you couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even make sense of it yourself?

“i’ll be fine,” you said, pulling away from them. “i just need some space.”

V didn’t push anymore. but you could see the worry in their eyes, the way they wanted to say more but didn’t. instead, they just nodded, standing up and giving you a small, sad smile.

“alright,” they said. “but if you ever want to talk…”

you didn’t respond, and they left, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your guilt, and the growing fear that whatever was happening to you, it wasn’t going to stop.

***

your friends decided to keep an eye on you after that, though they tried not to make it obvious. you noticed it in the way C watched you out of the corner of their eye during study sessions, the way W lingered after class to ask how you were doing, the way D, despite your outburst, kept showing up with snacks and stupid jokes, trying to make you smile.

but none of it helped. because the truth was, you didn’t know what was going on, and that terrified you more than anything else. you didn’t want to be around them, didn’t want to hurt them, didn’t want them to see what you were becoming. so you did what you always did—you pulled away. you stopped answering texts, made excuses to avoid hanging out, buried yourself in your coursework.

what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

***

the night of the next full moon came quietly, as if it was trying not to disturb anyone. but the air held something heavy, something ominous, that felt like it was waiting just beneath the surface of things.

the group hadn’t planned to spend the night together—it was a tuesday, after all—but V had been restless all day, pacing their room, chewing on their nails, staring at their phone like it held all the answers to the questions swirling in their mind. something didn’t feel right. it had been gnawing at them since morning, a nagging anxiety that wouldn’t let go. and then, just after sunset, they’d gone to check on you, only to find your room empty.

you’d disappeared again.

their heart raced as they dialed W’s number, each ring on the other end making their throat tighten. W picked up on the second ring, sounding out of breath. “V? What’s wrong?”

“it’s... it’s them. they’re gone again, W. i think something’s wrong. i don’t know, i—” V’s voice cracked, panic bleeding through. “we have to find them. i have a really bad feeling about this.”

W didn’t hesitate. “i’m on my way. call the others.”

V nodded, even though W couldn’t see them, their fingers already flying over the screen to call M, then C, then D. within minutes, the group had assembled, all of them tense, worried. they didn’t need to explain why they were worried—everyone knew. the last time you’d disappeared in the middle of the night, you’d come back with fresh cuts and bruises, looking like you’d crawled through hell and didn’t remember any of it.

they couldn’t let it happen again. not tonight.

the group spread out, flashlights slicing through the darkness as they searched the familiar haunts around campus. the woods near the edge of campus were always a good place to start—isolated, quiet, and easy to disappear into. but as they ventured deeper, the silence began to settle over them, thick and unnerving. no wind, no birds, no rustling leaves. just the sound of their own footsteps crunching on the forest floor.

a dreadful sense of deja vu hit them all at once.

“i don’t like this,” D muttered, keeping their voice low, as if speaking too loud might make something worse happen. “it’s too quiet.”

M, who’d been leading the way, stopped in their tracks, holding up a hand. “did you hear that?”

everyone froze, straining their ears. for a second, nothing. and then, faintly, the unmistakable sound of chewing—wet, visceral, like something tearing through flesh.

V’s stomach churned. “we need to move. now.”

they followed the sound, their footsteps quickening, hearts pounding in their chests as the chewing grew louder, more grotesque. and then, as they turned the corner of a clearing, they saw it.

a massive creature, hunched over the carcass of a bull, its fur matted with blood. the moonlight glinted off its golden, beastly eyes as it tore into the animal with sharp, deadly teeth. it resembled the same creature they’d saw during their ill-fated camping trip. its muscles rippled under its coarse fur, claws like knives glinting as it gripped the bull’s body. and then it stopped, its head snapping up, eyes locking onto the group.

they didn’t have time to react, didn’t even have time to scream, before the creature snarled, baring its teeth.

V took a step back, heart slamming against their ribcage. “did... did it follow us?”

but W, standing frozen beside them, didn’t answer. they were too focused on the beast’s eyes, those glowing golden eyes, which seemed to flicker with something—recognition? for the briefest moment, the beast hesitated, its snarl faltering, the wild fury in its gaze dimming. it stared at them, unmoving, like it was trying to remember something it had once known but had long since forgotten.

“what’s it doing?” D whispered, their voice barely audible.

the creature’s breath came out in ragged, heavy pants, steam rising in the cold night air. for a moment, it seemed almost human, that look in its eyes. then, with a sudden jerk, it turned and bolted, vanishing into the darkness of the woods, leaving behind the bloody remains of the bull.

“we need to follow it,” W said, their voice trembling but certain.

“what?” C snapped, still staring after the creature. “are you insane? that thing will kill us.”

W shook their head. “it didn’t, though. it recognized us. i’m telling you, something’s amiss here. it’s not the same creature from our camping trip.”

for a second, no one moved. they were all too stunned to process what had just happened. but then V nodded, their face pallid but determined. “W’s right. it didn’t attack. it... it hesitated.”

C opened their mouth to argue but then closed it again, sighing heavily. “fine. let’s go. but if that thing turns on us..."

“it won’t,” D spoke up firmly, though their hands shook as they gripped the flashlight tighter. “i... i think W has a point.”

they followed the werewolf’s trail, moving quickly through the dense trees, their breath visible in the cold night air. the deeper they went into the woods, the darker it became, the flashlights barely cutting through the gloom. hours seemed to pass as they searched, the group growing more and more exhausted. but none of them would give up. they couldn’t. not after what they’d seen.

just as the first hint of sunlight began to break through the trees, M stopped, pointing ahead. “there. look.”

lying on the forest floor, half-hidden by a tangle of leaves and branches, was you. naked, covered in blood and dirt, shivering uncontrollably. you were mumbling something under your breath, your voice hoarse and broken, words slurring into nonsense.

V was the first to reach you, dropping to their knees beside your trembling body.

“oh my god,” they whispered, brushing the matted hair away from your face. “you’re freezing.”

C was right behind them, shrugging off their coat and immediately wrapping it around your bare shoulders, trying to cover the worst of the cuts and bruises on your pallid skin. they crouched beside you, their expression a mix of anger, fear, and helplessness.

“you idiot,” C muttered, their voice rough, almost choked. “what the hell happened to you?”

you didn’t answer properly, your lips trembling as you mumbled something incoherent, your body curling in on itself. you couldn’t stop shaking, your eyes unfocused, glazed over, like you were still caught somewhere between the transformation and waking.

W knelt down on your other side, handing C the scarf they’d brought with them.

“here,” they said softly, “wrap this around their neck.”

C took the scarf, wrapping it carefully around you, their hands surprisingly gentle despite the frustration etched into their face.

“you’re gonna be okay,” D muttered, though you could hear the doubt in their voice.

W leaned in closer, slipping their arms under you and pulling you against them, ignoring the blood and dirt smearing onto their own clothes.

“shh,” they whispered, their voice soft and soothing as they held you close. “it’s okay. we’re here. you’re safe now.”

you whimpered, the sound low and pitiful, like an animal in pain, your body still trembling uncontrollably as they held you.

“hey, hey,” W murmured, rocking you gently, their fingers brushing through your hair in an attempt to calm you. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

the rest of the group stood around you, their faces concerned and drawn, their eyes wide with fear and confusion. no one knew what to say. no one knew how to explain what had just happened.

M stood off to the side, their arms wrapped tightly around themself as they watched you, their expression unreadable.

“what do we do now?” they asked quietly, their voice trembling.

“we get them back to the suite,” V said, standing up and glancing around at the others. “they need help. medical help.”

“no hospitals,” C said sharply, standing up as well. “we can’t explain this. we just... we just need to get them somewhere safe.”

D nodded, though their eyes were filled with worry. “i agree, C. but we also can’t leave them like this.”

C sighed and closed their eyes for a few seconds. “we’ll take it one step at a time.”

together, they lifted you, supporting your weight between them as they made their way back through the woods. the sun was fully up now, but none of them noticed. they were too focused on getting you back, on making sure you were okay.

as they walked, V kept whispering to you, their voice soft and reassuring, though you weren’t sure if you could hear them.

“you’re gonna be alright,” they kept saying, over and over like a hymn. “we’re gonna figure this out. we’re not gonna let you go through this alone.”

but deep down, none of them could really tell what would come up next.

[sunlightmurdock]

AETERNA | Four

Three | Masterlist

chapter synopsis: rooster gets a glimpse of what he’s been waiting for.

warnings: bradley bradshaw x reader x jake seresin. supernatural circus au. smoking; the fic takes place in the 70s and so 70s era things will happen; this fic has mature themes and is intended for adults, minors pls dni. spooky stuff. word count: 8.8k

There is a river on the O’Malley land that comes from way up in the mountains, spilling down into the valley that Atwood was built upon. Across some pastures and some trees, there’s a quiet spot where nobody ever comes — not even the seasoned pros who got their fishing licenses direct from Mr. O’Malley himself.

In the early mornings, Rooster gets antsy. He tosses and turns in the swelter of his camper for a while, counting the rays of gold that pass across the weathered ceiling. He can hear everyone else tossing and turning too. 

He hears Paulie and the guys still up talking from the night before. Waylon snoring wildly from a few rows away. Erin and Tomas feeling each other up in their tents.

It has become his common routine to now give up sleeping once the morning sun crests the roof of the farmhouse up on the hill. On those mornings, he goes walking. 

He came across the spot where the horses are buried. Where the blackberries grow and brambles have started to consume an old chicken coop. Then, he came across the spot by the river.

As he plucks at the strings of his beat-up, old guitar on Monday at noon and tries to pretend that he’s all alone, Rooster regrets ever telling his chosen few about this place.

It had been fun, at first, when the eight of them had taken the walk out there and spent a couple of hours cooling off. But now, he’s stuck with the sound of Jake’s voice while the others play in the water in front of him.  He should be grateful that the rest of camp hadn’t bothered to invite themselves, too.

The next place he finds, he won’t be as quick to share.

Jake basks in the sun, his skin shining gold. He’s laying in his boxer shorts on the smooth rocks that verge the O’Malley’s access to the river, his arms crossed under his face and his eyes closed.

Rooster sits at the edge of the rocky riverbank with sunburnt shoulders and a guitar in his hands, strumming absently at something old. He’s watching his friends swim; Natasha sits on Bob’s shoulders and Callie sits on Rueben’s as they chicken fight in the clear, moving water around them.

The conversation between himself and Jake fell stagnant a few moments ago. His brown eyes track the blue dragonfly as it plays around the reeds that stand tall, out of the water, thinking of what Jake had last said. He can’t let it go.

There isn’t a lot left for them to argue about, these days. Something shiny and new comes along and the habit strikes back up. 

“If she’s got any sense, she’ll stay away.” Rooster sounds much older than he is sometimes, and that’s why all those lonely older ladies love him so much. Jake doesn’t bother to lift his head, but Rooster can hear his smile through his words.

“She’s got a sense of adventure, old man,” Rooster is only a year and a half older, technically. Jake teases him anyway. Rooster plucks at the strings like it doesn’t bother him. “And the sweetest tits. She’ll be seein’ me again.”

Rooster misplucks. 

Jake grins against his arm, a beaming smile from under his sunglasses, content with the idea that he has gotten under Rooster’s skin. 

The sun scorches above them, one of the first days in early May where the sun dares to be this hot. There’s still a light breeze, one that makes the heat just about bearable outdoors, but one that makes the river a straight godsend.

Callie shrieks as she topples off of Rueben’s shoulders and crashes into the cool water, sending droplets of water flying over Rooster’s thighs.

It’s a very unassuming scene, these town newcomers playing at such normality, right as the Redbrook River fishing season picks up. It’s far from secluded, just not frequently stumbled upon this far out.

Jake lays undisturbed, grinning against his arm, as Rooster tries not to picture your tits — more specifically, Jake’s hands on them. It’s bad enough he had to listen to it all. It’s a conflicting thing to have enjoyed so much about what he was hearing, and to have known it was all for Jake’s benefit.

“Keep dreamin’, bud,” Rooster answers right back. Their group of friends continue to splash in the water, long past the days of being fazed by Jake and Rooster’s competitive streak. “She thinks you’re a freak.”

Jake’s lips quirk and he twists his hips and rolls onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. The sun covers his chest gladly, bathing him in mid-morning light. “I can work with freak. She thinks you’re a stick in the mud with an attitude problem.”

Maybe I am, Rooster acknowledges bitterly.

“If she likes you so much, why’s she chasing me?” Rooster counters.

Jake takes his arm away from his eyes and props his elbows against the flat, warm surface of the rock under him. As he lifts his sunglasses, the light catches on the green of his eyes, twinkling daringly as he looks across at Rooster. His grin stretches wide across his lips, dimpling at just one cheek — practically the only thing not symmetrical about his face.

Rooster stops plucking at the guitar. He fucking hates when Jake smiles at him like that. Smug and daring— and Jake knows how much he hates it. 

He sets the guitar down swiftly and stands up, shaking his head. “Fuck you.” 

They’re joking, but Rooster knows you won’t come chasing after Jake as easily as he would let on. He scared you last night; really scared you. Gave Rooster the impression that you’re smarter than he gave you credit for when you had first come poking around out here, all by yourself.

From the second things felt wrong, you had hauled yourself out of that truck like your hair was on fire. And, you hadn’t left your friend behind.

You had gone home last night, and you had checked that the latch on your bedroom window was locked. He had heard it click from across the fields, but only because he had been listening out for it. 

In theory, he likes you. He’s sure that the two of you would get along just great. But, way out here is no place for a lady.

“You act like it’s my fault your balls haven’t seen action since Roosevelt died.” It’s a slight exaggeration. Rooster’s moral compass sometimes loses its true north, and he winds up rolling out of someone’s bed before sunrise once again. It’s easier when he knows he’ll never see them again. 

Jake tends to be a little more… sentimental, about things. 

Rooster opens his mouth to speak. He’s standing there with water droplets drying like flecks of gold on his freckled shoulders, his curls wet at the nape of his neck and his blue boxer shorts clinging to his thighs and what hangs between them. Jake looks him over, pushing up onto his elbows, venom on his tongue.

The words die in Rooster’s throat as he looks up the riverbank and finds where the faint ringing in his ears is coming from. 

Upstream, nestled in the shade of the pines, Amelia watches them all. He wouldn’t notice her if he wasn’t specifically looking for her, tucked halfway back into the treeline and sitting down, her sketchbook open wide in front of her.

Her hair is wild and messy, like it always is. She must know that Rooster is watching her, but her eyes are on the ones in the water, cold and blue. Too calculated for a girl her age. 

“I’m going into town,” Rooster decides, not speaking to any one of them in particular, but loudly enough for them all to hear. Amelia looks at him. Her pale skin and sharp eyes remind him of a porcelain doll sometimes, and not in a good way. “Don’t need me.”

They will, undoubtedly, need him for something around camp. Everyone around here earns their keep, despite frequently having no place in the world to be but right here. Given that Rooster no longer performs, his duties around camp look a little bit different to everyone else’s.

He breaks up the fights, and man there are plenty. He’s the one who heads into town; he can keep his head down and get what he needs, a polite face and someone not interested in finding new friends. He keeps the customers where they’re supposed to be on show nights. 

Rooster pulls on his jeans and he takes his guitar.

On his walk back to their settlement, through the trees and across the fields, he gets to thinking about how much this sprawling land reminds him of fuzzy childhood memories.

He remembers his parents in shades of blue. The broken porch swing at the front of their house that his mother wasted away in. His parents’ bed with the slight dip in the middle. The car rusting away in the back, while he was still too young to drive it. He remembers everything about his mother and her sickness.

His feet brush across the grass and he thinks about his existence back then. Growing like a weed, always feeling hungry and always being too tall for his jeans. Playing with the neighboring boys in the street out front. Looking at that picture of his father in his service wear on the mantle, wondering what he would look like at that age.

Far beyond it now, Bradley hasn’t much considered his similarities to his parents. In some ways, his life is better than theirs ever was. Hell, he’s seen more of the continental United States than they ever could have dreamed of from their West Virginia trailer. He has time, which they never seemed to have enough of.

That being said, he’s glad they never got to see who he would become.

“Mornin’.” The voice startles him, which is a surprising feat in itself. Jeans unbuttoned and his shirt fisted in the same hand as his guitar, Rooster spins on his heel to look, finding Gus O’Malley himself sitting on the front porch of the Big House that Rooster had been passing by.

“Oh. Good mornin’.” Rooster tries to find it in himself to be polite, like he doesn’t know the kind of man who sits in front of him. He saw the fist-shaped hole in the house’s back door. “Sir.”

Gus is an average-looking man, with thinning hair and sun-reddened skin all over. Sun damage across the tip of his nose and his forehead, wrinkling him beyond his years. “Where are you headed?”

He looks Rooster over with an especially spiteful kind of envy.

“Just back from the river, I cut through the field.” Rooster explains with a quick gesture back over his shoulder.

Gus, red-headed and sitting with his hands on his rounded stomach, gives Rooster a look over.

“Yeah, I saw y’all out that way,” Rooster tips his head slightly, studying the amused shift in Gus’s tone. “That one with the dark hair, she your girlfriend or something?”

A pang of protectiveness strikes him. It’s not just about the fact that Natasha, who had been sunbathing on the large, flat rock that protrudes from the middle of the river, is like a sister to him. It’s that Rooster hadn’t once spotted Gus.

He hadn’t heard the heavy rattle of his strained breathing, or the lazy thudding of his heartbeat. It prickles at him like heat. 

As much as Natasha can care for herself, and take care of men like Gus, Rooster doesn’t want his bulbous nose poking anywhere around their digs. His mouth tips toward an aloof smile, disarming.

“Or somethin’.” He tells Gus with a soft nod, despite having never touched Natasha in his life. Gus smiles back at him approvingly.

“How are you finding it here? — I heard Maggie was putting you to work.” Rooster knows that Gus considers this question to be a test, and that he’s gauging exactly how close Rooster has been getting to his wife.

“Quiet. Nice to have somethin’ to do sometimes.” Is all that he offers up.

Gus’s mind ticks over the answer. He leans back in his rocking chair and nods his head. “Well, you kids stay outta trouble.”

The saying is that trouble tends to follow — and that isn’t quite the case for Rooster and his crew. They usually just happen to be where the trouble is already occurring. Well, that isn’t quite the case either. There’s nothing incidental about those two things.

You too, Rooster dreams of saying aloud. Instead, his eyes spark with a calm and polite smile as he nods his head and takes that as his dismissal. “Yes, sir.”

It plays on his mind as he pads his way back to his camper, images of Gus leering at them from his truck, probably drooling something fierce. Had it been while Rooster was teaching himself that Ray Charles track, or was it while he had been bickering with Jake? — What had he been so distracted about that he hadn’t noticed?

Gus hasn’t been around much since their tenancy began, and Rooster hopes that things will be that way for the majority of the summer.

His trip into town requires more clothes than are generally needed around camp. Shoes, for one, are a must, and shirts that are actually buttoned and paired with a tidy undershirt are appreciated too. He combs some tacky, woodsy-smelling pomade through the sides of his hair to tame the air dried, river-mussed mop of curls.

Perfectly presentable to go into town and hang fliers all afternoon. He could have taken Jake and Javy with him, maybe some of the others, cut his task load in half. But the alone time is worth the hundred or so extra papers.

As some kind of sick testament to the joke that Rooster will never really be rid of Jake, Elvis on the radio accompanies him into town. 

He hears you before he sees you. Smelling of daisies and cheap cigarettes and a fresh pack of gum, he twists his neck around at the stop sign and starts to wonder if he’s losing it. It’s not until the truck comes around the bend that he finds you.

Perched on the back steps of a large, brown-stoned building with a cigarette in your hand and a worried little frown plastering your face. Your hair is scraped all the way back, tucked into a neat updo, and you’re wearing a candy-striped tunic with white knee socks and Keds. Perfectly presentable.

It makes him think of the first day that he saw you, on the seats of that truck on all fours and waving at him in those little shorts.

“Maybe not branded,” You muse, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you while Olive studies the new baby blue colour on her nails. “Is there another word for when someone burns a shape into your skin?”

You don’t notice the green pickup truck pull past and head for town as you fret to Olive. It’s been a while since you had a man to complain about, but this isn’t your usual kind of conundrum. 

She smirks. “Maybe it’s something freaky-deaky.”

The back-and-forth repertoire thing that brought the two of you together fails today. The witty remark dies on your tongue with a wistful sigh. You wish you could laugh with her. He laughed it off pretty easily, waved you goodnight like nothing had happened. 

It just doesn’t… feel right. There’s an unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach that you just can’t shake. “D’you think it’s like a cult thing?”

That’s no joke. You hear the stories about the hippies still hanging out in the countrysides, girls going missing across the country. Mansonites that didn’t wind up on death row. 

Your folks let you get away with a lot, but joining a cult might push the boat out a little.

Olive doesn’t seem half as fazed. The miserable guy who named himself after the least impressive animal on the farm hadn’t seemed too worrying to her, beyond his attitude. “His hair was short. Guys with crew cuts aren’t in cults.”

She’s still kidding. The comment wasn’t meant to reassure, and it doesn’t.

“Yeah.” You guess, knees tucked up to your chest as you mull over the idea. He looked tidy. Smelled good. His hair was certainly a little longer than a crew cut. Rooster’s hair was longer again. Neither of them looked particularly unkempt — Jake had smelled like a piney, masculine cologne. 

Cultists surely didn’t take such a pride in their hygiene.

Now, Olive knows not to joke with you too much. She had seen the dazed way you had stumbled back into the bar, colorless and rendered silent. It hadn’t taken a genius to figure out that whatever went down in the cab of that truck wasn’t a joking matter.

She just hadn’t expected it to be so strange.

You hadn’t been expecting him to let you go. Surely if he was so dangerous, he wouldn’t have helped you back into your shirt. Maybe you’d had too much to drink, but you don’t remember the last thing he said to you.

Something along the lines of taking care of yourself, making sure you got home alright. Entirely unthreatening, as he had remained in the cab to buckle his belt and wait out his boner, you guess.

“Why didn’t you just ask him what it was?” She frowns at you, plucking her cigarette from her lips and stubbing it out on the wall. Break time is over and soon Conrad will come looking, 

You don’t remember that either. 

You must have made such a fool of yourself scrambling out from under him and offering no explanation as to why his tattoo gave you the jeebies so bad. But then, he hadn’t exactly offered to settle you about it.

Your nose wrinkles as you straighten out your dress and follow your best friend back inside. 

The Pines has this perpetual kind of dust smell. Olive joked once that it was something to do with all the time running out around here. It’s a joke that sticks with you sometimes when those years of dust are making your sinuses itch.

Faded yellow walls and deep blue carpet. Stock-image paintings on the walls. It’s an okay place to send your parents, in the grand scheme of things.

Your mind is far, far from the Pines today. Out past Airport Road, following that narrow winding road up the O’Malley driveway. You think of the two strange, strange men who live out there now.

“It could’ve been really traumatic.” There can’t be a lot of ways that someone winds up with a cross branded into their skin that aren’t traumatic. Olive doesn’t think that way. She gets her answers when she wants them. She would have asked him then and there. She’s braver than you, like that.

“Yeah. You wouldn’t want him asking about Wes.” Olive sometimes speaks without thinking. His name hits like a ricochet, which is a strange thing. You spent your first seventeen years hearing it every day. It’s a shame that now his name is tainted— it will always bring sorrow.

You’ll never scream it when he’s taunting you again, never again write a gift tag addressed to him. You swallow. You almost have to shake your head to bring you back to what the original conversation had been about— not your big brother.

“No.” You agree. Atwood knows what happened to Wesley. The story spread like wildfire that late July. In a way, you’re glad that it had — you hadn’t ever had to explain a thing for yourself because everyone already knew.

She’s back on the topic of Jake quickly. “So, you think you’ll see him again?” 

You linger in the hallway as she knocks on to Mrs. Palmer’s bedroom door. “Didn’t give him my number.” 

“But you know where he is.”

“Yeah,” You mull over the idea. Seems a little pathetic to drag yourself all the way out to the O’Malley farm for the third time this week. Not very ‘California’ of you to spend your time stressing over some Carnies. “I dunno.”

“Maybe it’s just a war thing.” She considers, closing the door behind her and leaving Mrs. Palmer with her morning meds. You watch Mrs. Palmer’s blue rinse disappear behind the wood, her head turned toward the window. “He was over there, probably.”

“Probably.” You agree. It’s hard to find a guy born before ‘55 that doesn’t have a thigh full of shrapnel or a jagged scar somewhere he can’t hide. But you’ve never seen anyone with a wound like Jake’s.

Teetering on the verge of hidden and displayed. He covered it up, technically, with the ink and the necklace — but he wears both on top like a badge of honour. You just can’t shake the grin on his face when he noticed that you had noticed.

Like he was excited by it.

Rooster, three blocks away, feels eyes on him from before the heel of his boot first hits the sidewalk. It’s nothing too new for him. These small towns are always filled with people who like to stare, and people who like to ask questions. 

Jake’s the entertainer of the bunch, not him. 

He’s got his to-do list crumpled up in the pocket of his Lee’s and that’s all he’s here for.

Hanging fliers always comes last. He has found that townsfolk don’t generally take too well to strangers coming and sticking up what they consider to be trash all over their streets. First, comes the library to get those books that’ll keep Amelia from getting bored. 

The door opens with a jingle, the bell above it swinging wildly to alert the aging, half-deaf librarian of the stranger in his midst. Rooster’s boots are silent across the worn carpet, heading for the fiction section. 

“Afternoon.” He nods towards the staring librarian as he passes him by, earning himself a sound of acknowledgement at least.

Amelia reads a lot, and she passes her books around camp once she’s done. She must have library fees all across the Continental US by now, but they keep her put— out of trouble. 

She’s the youngest of their settlement. Maverick’s daughter when the cops come asking, just the kid he had found on the side of the road when they don’t. She’s not like the rest of them. Rooster knows that she likes him, she finds him funny and he doesn’t treat her like a baby — but he steers clear of her when he can.

She’s too curious for her own good. That’s landed them in trouble before. Trespassing seems to be in her nature, and Maverick usually has better things to do than to keep the twelve-year-old occupied. Their crew doesn’t exactly roll with too many babysitters, either.

In spite of all of that, she’s a good contortionist. Rooster watches every weekend as people in the audience gasp and lurch away from the way her joints bend and pop at will. They don’t even notice, half the time, that she’s the same grinning kid who does the aerial tricks in the first quarter.

She’s been good at making people squirm for as long as he’s known her.

“Could I check out these three, please?” He sets down the three dust-covered novels, broken spines and peeling covers included, and looks the gentleman in the eye. 

“You’re into thrillers.” The man comments, picking up the top book from the small pile and inspecting it. Rooster doesn’t care to make conversation, or to correct him. He smiles and nods like that’s the case. “I’m not going to ask if you’ve got a library card with us, because I know you don’t. Are you new to town?”

Rooster bites back a sigh.

He smiles something polite, albeit tight-lipped. “Yeah. Working just outside of town, got a lotta downtime during the day. You need my name first?”

Bradley taps on the counter as the man takes down some vague details, asking his small-talk questions each step of the way. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Atwood’s desolate Main Street, where the afternoon heat has driven people back inside.

The whirring fan behind the librarian's head kicks out more dust and lint than it does cool air, growling in complaint with each circle of the fan blades. 

Perspiration beads at his weathered, wrinkled skin. The long arm on his smudged watch face tells Rooster that the seconds are ticking on as normal, even though everything here feels so much slower.

He’s grateful for the heat because at least it means fresh air; leaving the librarian behind with another abrupt jingle of the bell above the door. 

With barely enough time to walk back to his truck, Rooster realizes that you’re heading his way. Thoughts are buzzing around your head like radio chatter, almost enough to make him wince. He doesn’t even realize you aren’t alone until he catches the scent of Old Spice walking next to you.

He lifts the tailgate and swings it shut with a bang. You notice him as he turns his head. Walking in your cute candy-striper uniform with your bag on your shoulder and a guy at your side.

He almost smiles. This wouldn’t be the first time that Jake’s kissed a girl with a boyfriend and suffered the consequences. But, he knows better than to assume. Plus, the step that you take away from the boy at your side is instinctual.

Barely even a conscious decision, but Rooster sees it and understands what you’re telling him. The blond in the coveralls at your side is not your boyfriend. 

In no mood for a conversation, or to upset the poor kid who probably thinks he’s got a chance with you, Rooster opts to give you the same polite nod he had wanted to offer everyone else that has crossed his path today, and turns his back. He walks around to the cab and flings open the glovebox, grabbing the red fliers. 

Shoes tapping delicately across the pavement. Perspiration and Old Spice beading along the back of your friend’s neck. The thoughts whirring around that pretty little head as you sneak closer. You’re leaning against the truck when he straightens back up, one elbow popped against the side and your brows furrowed through the glaring sunlight. 

Rooster gives you the benefit of pretending that you got the jump on him.

“Hi.” It’s a greeting by nature, but there’s something accusatory to your tone that tells him, yet again, he seems to be being held responsible for something Jake did. 

“Afternoon.” Rooster answers you, lifting his head to check on the sulking guy about a foot behind you, watching this exchange with his hands in his pockets. His train of thought isn’t half as pissed off as it could be.

“Are you by yourself?” You ask him, subconsciously reaching back to feel for your updo, smoothing back some humidity-stoked stray hairs.

“Jake’s a big boy, I figured he could watch himself for one day.” He replies, not sounding exactly kind in the way he refers to his buddy. 

Convenient for you at least, to be able to corner an inside source. The thought does cross your mind that maybe Jake is being punished in some way for his behavior last night, kept at their camp like a grounded kid.

“So, who’s watching you?” You poke at him, trying to get a feel for the type of mood he might be in today.

He turns his head and looks at you, his expression serious. Maybe it’s the look on your face, or maybe it’s that he likes you, but his hardened expression cracks and he breaks a smile.

“Looks like that would be you, doesn’t it?” He replies, tilting his head to the side, flashing you his stack of papers. “It’s gonna get pretty lame, just warnin’ ya.”

You turn your head and shoot a glance back at where Billy stands a couple of feet back. His hands are balled into the pockets of his overalls and he might as well be tapping his damn foot at you, but he just sulks instead. 

Rooster had this look on his face when you’d left last night, just this knowing expression— a real ‘I told you so’ kind of thing. He’s more of a straight shooter than his buddy is, maybe you would get some real answers out of him.

“Well, you need some help?” 

She thinks you’re a stick in the mud with an attitude problem, and yet, here you are offering to traipse all over town with him sticking these things up. Rooster looks over the top of your head, glancing back at your friend.

As much as he would get a kick out of watching you hop into the truck and stick with him, Rooster knows better. He’s already shaking his head before he speaks, certain. There’s a place for you, and it’s not with a guy like him — or a guy like Jake, for that matter.

“No, you two look like you have plans and I’m starting way out by the Shop’N’Save. I’ve got this.” He shakes the papers once and leans back against the door of the truck. He isn’t expecting you to give up easy, but he isn’t expecting you to step around him and grab the handle either.

You’ve already made your mind up. “Well, I actually wanted to talk to you, so y’know— two birds, one stone and stuff.” 

Rooster stands up and watches with furrowed brows as you pull the door open and step up into the cab. Then, he looks toward your friend. Your forearm grazes at Bradley’s, your skin against his as he stares ahead. 

Billy. Closer to a family member to you than a boyfriend with the tepid attitude you’ve got towards him. There’s a loyalty and affection there that Rooster would be grateful for if the roles were reversed.

Rooster looks between you, settling down onto the tan leather seat, and Billy, blue eyes are narrowed and he looking just about ready to rush him. Rooster catches the handle of the door. He considers telling you to get out. He should.

You hit him with an expectant raise of your eyebrows, and crane your neck back to look at Billy. “I’ll call you later. Take Lori out on that date!”

Billy’s mouth opens and closes. Rooster presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, his decision made for him. Even if he’s your excuse, he’s not going to make you get back out and walk home with the kid when you’re so clearly trying to ditch him. It’s just not gentlemanly.

Your mouth twitches, equally surprised at his compliance as Rooster swings the door to the truck shut with a resigned smile, walking around to his side without much acknowledging your friend at all. You’re watching Billy through the side mirror as Rooster starts the grumbling ignition. 

“He’d follow me around forever if I let him.” You mumble quietly. Then, it’s like you remember yourself. You shake your head and sigh. “That sounds conceited, and I don’t mean it like that, but girls ask him out, y’know and — he just— he’d rather pick me up from work and sit in the same diner we’ve always sat in.”

There’s quiet on the other side of the cab, Billy is already walking away in the rearview mirror. You turn your head and he’s watching you, one hand on the wheel and the other out of the window. 

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about?” He prompts you, knees spread and his thighs straining against the blue denim, fingers drumming against the exterior of the door. He cocks an eyebrow at you, waiting for your response.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, you’re sitting in the cab of this truck and your mouth is watering. But, you’ve got better sense this time.

“Okay, fine. Look, I want you to give me a straight answer,” You turn in the seat, tucking one knee under you and creasing your features sternly. “About what’s up with you guys. Did Jake say anything after last night?”

He considers relaying the comment about your tits, just to further ruin Jake’s chances, but he plays dumb.

“No, but I figured you didn’t have the best time when you came running back in like that.” Rooster shrugs.

“He just gave me the jeebies,” You admit, fiddling with the hem of your uniform. Your tone is light but your skin is prickled like you’ve somehow found a chill on this warm summer afternoon.  “Like that tattoo on his neck, it’s like a scar, right?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” You’re studying him from your side of the bench, and you’re good at it, looking for the smallest little tell. Eyes on the road, he gives you nothing but a shrug. “The scar’s what freaked you out?”

“No, like — it’s weird. How’d you end up in a circus? — Are you on the run or something?”

His mouth twitches. He turns his face toward the window, smiling at the scenery rather than at your face, shaking his head all the while. 

“Maybe some folks just get their kicks juggling,” He taunts you with a shrug of his broad shoulders, craning his neck as he turns off of Main and toward Third. “You don’t hear me questioning your career choices.”

“Okay, fine,” You’ve seen Jake drop an entire marquee into stunned silence with his act, he’s undeniably good at what he does. You swipe through the fliers absently. “I just— I got this weird feeling from Jake last night.”

Clearly today, he’s in the mood to play. He quirks one eyebrow and smiles out at the road ahead. “Yeah, they usually tell you all about that feeling in Health Class, I think.”

You swing out a hand and smack at his arm, scoffing out a distinctly unimpressed and unladylike sound. “Shut up! I’m not talking about that, I’m talking… like that tattoo on his neck? — Was that— Was it a burn? — What was that?”

He pulls over to the side of the road coolly, killing the engine and looking across at you like you’re asking him to explain the intricacies of geometry. The Shop’N’Save is dead empty this time of day, feels like you’re the only thing around for miles. He reaches for the door handle and leans back, itching for some space, needing some fresh air.

“Means that Jake’s an idiot who’ll do just about anything on a bet.” He answers as bluntly as one can, taking the fliers from the middle of the seat and the shiny new staple gun from beside them. “He wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

You’re hot on his heels as he steps out of the truck and heads for the telephone pole, taking the fliers as you duck around him.

“I figured that much.” There’s a bite to your tone as you take the page and hold it up against the wooden pole, narrowing your eyes at him. He lifts his brows, unimpressed but amused. “I mean, I’m standing here, aren’t I?” 

Standing on a stretch of road that you’ve driven by a thousand times but never once walked down, the breeze catches your skin and makes your white and pink striped skirt blow around your thighs. His gaze flickers between your face and your hand on the pole with a beat. 

His boot tucks itself between your tidy white sneakers, his shoulders seeming to stretch wider as he steps up close. 

He places his hand over yours and tugs it upwards, readjusting the flier to a height that he deems appropriate. Pinning your hand with his palm, he lifts his other hand and strikes a staple into the wood.

“Call it baggage. Things with us tend to get complicated,” He nails another staple into the other side of the flier, and turns to look at your face, a grin ghosting at his lips. “Hell, why don’t you put that kid you were with out of his misery and go out with him?”

As you open your mouth to argue back, he drops your hand back down to your side with a squeeze and takes a look towards the two buildings to his left. Anything to cut this conversation short.

He jerks his head toward the stores behind him. “Feel like helping a guy out and asking to stick these in their windows?”

“Fine.” You thought he was a lot cuter when you couldn’t hear what he was saying that day out on Airport Road. He leans back against the door and watches you walk inside in your uniform, thinking to himself that you’re plenty cute right now.

Just like he had expected, both the gas station and the liquor store allow you to hang the fliers without so much as a question about why. Rooster wouldn’t have gotten the same treatment. 

He lifts his fingers and waves them at you as you cross the small parking lot back towards him.

“Let’s go, unless you want to be out here all day.” You hear him laugh to himself as you walk around the truck and pull yourself into the passenger side. He fixes his smile, knowing that it’s just likely to provoke you. 

As much as he’d rather not have you in his passenger seat, you’re useful when it comes to navigation. He wouldn’t have even tried half of the side streets that you point him down. He humors your questions for two hours, giving you barely there answers as the beat-up, old truck rattles down oak-lined streets. 

The afternoon sun fades from golden to gray somewhere between Sixth and Elm. The sky hangs low, darkening, a covering of dark clouds threatening a downpour. 

By the park, Bradley pulls over and hops out with a stack of fliers, offering you little more than the instruction to, “Stay there.”

He slaps the red papers up where he can, smoothing the papers out with his palm and working them into wooden surfaces with the staple gun. You are left with the rather cushy job of sitting pretty in the cab, while he does the hard work.

A couple of kids whizz past on their bikes, calling out loudly as they cycle home. Atwood is the kind of place where mothers are more than fine with saying goodbye to their children after breakfast and not seeing them again until sundown in the summers.

While following them by, you catch sight of a glinting metal at your feet. Just to check, you feel at your earlobe. Sure enough, your earring sits in the footwell.

As the driver’s side door creaks open, Rooster stands on the sidewalk and frowns at the way you have folded yourself downwards and are reaching for something under the seat. His brows knit together as you strain uncomfortably.

“You okay down there?” He prompts.

You huff, still struggling. “My earring. I hit it all the way under the seat when I was trying to grab it— I must’ve left it last-“

Last night. When you were sprawled across the bench with Jake’s tongue in your mouth. Rooster smiles at the way you stop mid-sentence, like that’s going to save his feelings. Like he hadn’t stood inside and listened to every last part of it. 

“Got it!” You pop back up, holding the dainty thing between your fingers and smiling at him. It stretches across your cheeks and your eyes glint with delight. The afternoon sun seems to brighten with you, despite the clouds rolling in from the east. 

His eyes widen with a dramatism that tells you you’re being mocked. “Thank god.” 

Caught somewhere between shooting him a glare and laughing, your face settles into a reticent smile as you fold your arms over your chest. “You’re a jackass, you know that?”

“So I’m told.” He agrees, settling back into the driver’s seat as the rain clouds decide to make good on their promise. Clicking his tongue, he sits back in his seat and glances across at the very much paper fliers he had just hung. “You hungry?”

“Hungry? Mm, a bit,” You shrug your shoulders, he nods, the answer spurring him into action as he heads back towards town. “Does that make this a date?”

He huffs out a small chuckle, which wounds your ego more than you would like to admit, reaching across your body to tug open the glovebox. “Depends if you’re as scared of me as you are of Jake, doesn’t it?”

Now, that’s the type of comment that doesn’t deserve an answer. You’re not afraid of him. He’s too honest to be frightening. Raw and witty, maybe a little grumpy, but man — that smile is one worth working for. You like him, a lot.

Your lovey-dovey thoughts come to a sudden stop as you track his hand. More aptly, you track what his hand nudges out of the way.

Unfazed, Rooster reaches past the box of Trojans and fishes, instead, for cigarettes. He plucks one from the pack and sets it between his teeth, then looks across at you. Watching him with an unimpressed expression that’s halfway to being a full-blown scowl. 

He smiles around the cigarette.

“What? — Did you forget how that earring wound up on the floor?” He taunts you, reaching back across with little regard for your personal space, in search of a lighter. 

You knock his hand out of the way and hand him the silver flint-wheel lighter from your own pocket. “It’s a big box, is all.” 

He steadies the wheel with his knee, cupping his hands around the flame to ignite his cigarette, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not my truck.” 

“Hm.” 

He looks across at you, one brow quirked, and a smile of disbelief toying around the cigarette.

“I’m not saying anything,” You answer, defending yourself with little conviction, arms still folded over your chest. “Just didn’t realize this passenger seat was such a tourist spot.”

He coughs out a laugh around his cigarette, his cheeks warm and crinkling around his endlessly deep brown eyes. His freckles are darker under the gray clouds, dotting his nose. He reaches across the cab and swats at your arm as you had gone for his.

You press your tongue into your cheek; keeping yourself from beaming as his hand comes up and covers your mouth, smelling of the cologne on his wrist and the cigarette he had held. 

“Cool it, kid — that spot’s all yours,” He’s still laughing as he talks to you, glancing across at you. Blinking at him with his hand settled across your jaw, the gold ring on his pinkie finger sitting against your chin. He pulls it back to hold his cig, his touch leaving you longing. “Now, what do you want to eat? — I’m buying.”

You crane your neck to look at the brown leather watch on his wrist, already knowing that you’re going to be in the weeds for missing dinner back home. Damage already done, you decide to introduce him to Atwood’s finest— the shitty little diner owned by Billy’s uncle that has had the same shitty menu for thirty years. 

It’s the perfect spot, in a hometown kind of way.

You hold your head a little higher than usual as you stroll through the place.

There are a couple of girls who work at Louie’s that will just die when they see you with the tall stranger, and you enjoy that just a little. Rooster enjoys it a little, too.

He’s busy looking around at the decor as he slides into the wooden booth, not exactly critical of it but not impressed either. He shucks a hand through his dampened curls and settles down into the seat, spreading his knees and kicking one of his feet between yours under the table.

“That’s the bridge out by us, right?” He asks, pointing to one of the paintings on the wall. Just another oil canvas in a dusty frame that you’ve never taken much time to critique. You purse your lips as you study it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” You come to realize, glancing back at him. “You’ve been exploring out there?”

He sits back a bit, as a tall brunette comes to fill your water glasses, brown eyes on you and a small smile on his mouth. “Yeah, a little. It’s quiet out there.”

“Lonely?” You prompt, lips stretching into an amused grin. Man, it almost gets him again. He bites at the inside of his cheek to keep from matching your look, rolling his eyes as he looks back towards the painting.

“Get real.” He mutters.

He watches you resting your chin on your palm and batting your eyelashes and simply shakes his head.

“This isn’t a date, by the way,” He’s cool as can be, staring back at you like you hadn’t seen the look in his eyes when you had him laughing. “You did me a favor, so this is me bein’ nice.”

“Well,” You hum, tapping your fingers along the edge of your glass, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Louie’s isn’t exactly a busy spot at the best of times, but especially not on a Monday night. It’s just the two of you, the waitress who was rude to you in the playground all those years ago, and maybe a couple of line cooks in the back. 

The entire place is wood-paneled three quarters of the way up the wall, with green paint covering the rest. There are family photos and mass-produced paintings on the walls, and dust on the lampshades. Roy Orbison playing on the jukebox. A candle in a glass jar lit on the table between you.

He pays attention as you recite your usual order, finding the items on the menu as you go. Then, probably to make this thing easy and over sooner, he decides he’ll just take the same. 

Begrudgingly, he has to admit that your choice and your order is better than he had been expecting. Good, even. It feels good, being out and sitting across from a pretty girl, picking at fries that are a little too salty, like nothing had ever happened. Trying not to laugh too hard at her jokes, even when his lips keep twitching around the straw of his ice-cold Coke. It has been a long time. 

It’s almost disappointing to settle the check, and to have to see you walking ahead of him back to the truck. The rain has stopped and the air is grassy and piney, the sky a fading lilac, casting shades of blue across your skin. 

Cooler breeze passes you by, bristling at your skin just enough to make you appreciate the fading heat of earlier that day.

He starts by turning up the radio, tires rolling through a deep, mud-splattered puddle as he pulls out of the parking lot. You should feel exhausted after being at the Pines from the crack of dawn, but he’s got your stomach alight. Tapping his foot to the drum beat absently, one hand on the wheel, his jaw set and his shoulders straight. 

“Which way?” Like he couldn’t piece it together. You were walking home today, you’d hightailed it to the right after leaving Dutch’s last night. It would take him minutes to find his way to your front door.

Stretching your arms above your head, you sigh and settle back against the door. “Next left and then right at the lights.”

He was right. The guesses in his head would have led him to the Post Office near the park, and then he spots that station wagon in the driveway. He lets you direct him to the right house anyway.

Sturdy car in the driveway, flower boxes on every window, and the greenest lawn on the street. It looks like a nice place to have grown up. If he had grown up in a place like this, he wouldn’t be itching to leave half as badly as you are.

He looks back to you, watching him and trying to figure out how to route the conversation back to what had happened in that dark parking lot last night.

“Thanks for helping me out today.” The plain white fabric of his t-shirt stretches around his arm as he cards his fingers through his curls. 

You bite at the inside of your cheek. Fingers skimming over the stitching in the seats as you try to figure out your next move. Late already, he’s in no hurry. 

“I guess I’ll see you Friday.” You decide.

His brows draw together. “Friday?”

You smile, pointing down at the significantly smaller stack of red papers now between the two of you. “Uh-huh. Friday at eight.”

Friday at eight. You’ll stroll through those lit arches, looking for him. His brows knit a bit, but he doesn’t tell you to stay away, that’s not in the rules. 

He flattens his mouth a little, almost a smile but not the same kind where his eyes had lit up so bright.

“Right,” He nods. “Friday.”

You smile at him, reaching across and giving his arm a quick squeeze before you turn and hop down from the truck.

If this was a date, he would walk you to your door and sneak a kiss before your overprotective mother found an excuse to come to the door and introduce herself to him, which is when he would be charming enough to impress her but cool enough not to embarrass you. 

Your heartbeat ticks steadily in your chest. You’re already thinking about what you’ll wear on Friday night— whether you’ll bring Olive, or Georgie— absolutely not Billy. He watches you climb the porch steps and let yourself in through the creaking, blue door with the glass pane in the middle, not stopping to look back at him because you’re worried that your parents will notice it was a stranger who brought you home. Your mother greets you from the kitchen.

His mouth dries as he pulls away from the curb.

He could be like Jake, and let himself enjoy the feeling. Pretend that he hasn’t done the things he has, pretend that he hasn’t sat and listened to all the thoughts you have about him. 

He could pretend that he really doesn’t want to see you at the show this weekend.

But, the sun has already set on his day of normalcy. He turns the sound dial, tapping his foot to the only radio frequency that doesn’t drop out on the backroads out of town, windows down and the scent of fresh-cut, wet grass and new deliveries of hay carried by the evening breeze.

Fingers draped loosely around the cracked leather of the wheel, shooting the occasional glance over to the empty passenger seat. 

Lilac skies casting shadows across the rolling fields all the way out of town. 

It’s forty minutes before the truck pulls onto that gravel driveway with a growingly familiar crunch. He stops it in his spot by Jake’s trailer and steps out onto the mulchy, wet grass, following the sounds of conversation until he gets to the yellow RV. 

The yellow RV houses Natasha, Bob and more recently Mickey — but that’s just until he apologizes to Reueben. Most nights, that’s where you can find the guys. It’s the furthest vehicle on the row, and Natasha always lays out rugs and the camping furniture that’ll fit in the storage space.

Like he knew he would, he finds his friends busied with a game of poker, settled into the chairs they could scrounge up, illuminated by a couple of camping torches.

Jake’s tall tale about one of their times back on the West Coast falls flat, trailing off until it stops all together. He watches Rooster cross the lot, headed right for them.

Wordless, Rooster greets his friends with a cool smile as he steps right by them and plants himself into a wooden chair at the far side of the circle.

“You were gone a while.” It’s Javy that comments first, meaning well, not doing the best job at hiding his cards as Natasha studies them shamelessly from his side.

“Yeah.” Rooster agrees, sitting forwards as Callie kicks her legs up and stretches them across his. “Deal me in.” 

Jake’s brows draw together, their round seemingly dead in the water as Bob starts to collect the cards back in. He studies Rooster through the warm light of the lantern, narrowing his eyes just a bit.

“You want to play?” Jake scoffs.

Rooster rarely plays with them. He usually makes a point of keeping to himself, when they’re all together. He likes Natasha, and he’ll keep her company, when he’s not with Maverick. Everyone knows that he likes to pretend that he’s stuck with Jake, rather than accompanying him by choice.

Rooster’s mouth twitches, reaching out and letting Bob set the cards in his hand, meeting Jake’s gaze for the first time since he sauntered past him and sat down.

“Scared you’ll lose?”

…

NEXT CHAPTER

TELL ME WHAT YOU LIKED

tags: @sunflowercharlie13 @spinning-away @eloquentdreamer-blog1@a-reader-and-a-writer@breezyweazybeezy@mel119g@hersuitisbanana@one-sweet-gubler@atarmychick007@ximehs@nnatel@topherwrites@seitmai@yepyeahuhhuh@cherrycola27@ohtobeleah@roosterbruiser

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

hey mouse, hope you're doing well. Since it's almost fall and Spooky Season I had an idea. What would a fall date with the bachelors look like?

I'm fine, thanks for asking, dear anon! ☺️

It's finally fall, and although I still have the summer heat now (damn 🥲), the autumn-themed headcanons give me comfort and realization that the colder weather will soon arrive.

Anyway, enjoy! 💕

_________________________________________

SDV bachelors and their ideas of Fall date with Farmer:

Autumn is the season for spooky films to start rolling, dedicated to the upcoming Spirits Eve, so of course Sebastian will ask Farmer out on a date to the cinema. And the cinema is also an option if Farmer doesn't like the horror genre. Autumn is also the season of frequent rains in the Valley, so one of the unusual ideas of interesting pastime of this couple will be sitting in the cave of Mines on the ground floor. Relaxing and chatting about anything, listening to the falling raindrops through the entrance... If Farmer likes to walk in the rain, then Sebby is all for it (with umbrellas of course), and they both can look for frogs in the pond before it gets too cold.

It's definitely the season of fragrant honey fungus and chanterelles in the woods, and the bushes are downright teeming with ripe blackberries, so one of Harvey's date ideas is a mushroom/berry hunt! Both a nice time in the beautiful woods, and a full basket of delicious nature gifts that are sure to brighten up a romantic dinner later. If the weather outside is too cold and unpleasant, the doctor and his partner will arrange a date at home, over a hot cup of tea/coffee, a marathon of films, the pleasant warmth of the fireplace and the sounds of rain outside the window. And cuddles, of course. Warm and cosy!

Considering how beautiful the Cindersap Forest becomes in autumn, Elliott is sure to invite his dear Farmer on one of the walks there. The trees are coloured in various shades of gold, red and orange, the crisp fallen leaves underfoot, and a pleasant companion... Ah, what a lovely date, and Farmer is also delighted! And if they are both too lazy to walk, the writer will come up with a wonderful idea for a picnic: a bottle of wine, tasty appetizers, the sounds of the forest and sunny weather, etc. Also parts of the date would be all sorts of mini-events in the Valley, like community pumpkin picking or ripe wild apples.

In addition to the Stardew Valley fair, neighbouring towns and Zuzu City have folk festivals celebrating autumn, with big tents and attractions. Shane felt that attending such a festival as a date with Farmer would be a good option. And he's right! Big tents with different kinds of beer and cider (he drinks in moderation, don't be afraid), the smell of delicious comfort food, fun contests, songs and dances. Chicken man and his partner had a blast! And after such trips, Shane can offer dates without leaving the house, as let's say joint preparation of caramel apples. Also not a bad pastime at home will be horror games, with a soft blankets and autumnal goodies.

Hiking with Sam! Oh, he's been waiting for a long time for the summer heat to end and cooler weather to arrive. Generally speaking, this date idea is appropriate in almost any season, but Sammy thinks it's much cooler amongst the autumn beauty. The lovely couple will make a bonfire in the forest or mountainous area, and while Farmer will roast marshmallows, Sam will pick up a guitar and the forest will be filled with beautiful music, creating pleasant memories. In addition to looking at the beautiful things, he and Farmer will have a photo shoot, filling their album with pictures of their autumn adventures.

It may not be easy for Alex to find his way out of the corn maze, but he and Farmer came here to have a good time, not to win. They still came out first, though, and got some nice prizes, making the date ending even better. The athlete will also invite Farmer to a haunted house at a carnival in one of the towns. And no, he wasn't the one who shrieked like a little girl when someone's hand touched his shoulder ("Come on, Farmer, don't laugh!"). Scary and creepy places, ooooh! But Farmer and Alex had a great time, so the date was a success!

[screaminglygay]

KINKTOBER day 8

pairings: ringmaster!yelena belova x fem!reader

summary: you and yelena are getting ready for a big circus night.

warnings: smut!!!, bootworship, leg humping, yelena being mean, like really mean, slight kicking, yelena is being harsh, not proofread, if anything else let me know

word count: 2.2k

an: she´s so mean i love her, also can we all agree that florence is rocking every look? im so gay, i need her asap, also this is very much dedicated to the one annon, who was really happy that i´m writing yelena, sooo if you´re reading this, i hope you like:)

(italics = your thoughts)

!MDNI!

Enjoy this spooky season and be safe!

As you sit nervously in Yelena's luxurious office, your palms are sweaty and your heart racing, you can't help but feel a surge of anxiety pulsating through your veins. Today is the night of the grandest show, and you are waiting for your boss, Yelena, who is the ringmaster of the most magnificent circus in the whole country. Even though you have to put up with Yelena's severe attitude in order to fulfill your demanding duty as her assistant, it's an honor to be a part of her world. But today, she seems to be acting much more furiously. 

The tension in the room is palpable, and you can't shake off the feeling that tonight's performance is more critical than any that came before. Yelena's office has a harsh professionalism that contrasts dramatically with the vibrant circus outside. Dark-colored walls, a finely polished wooden desk, and leather chairs create a refined and serious atmosphere. The few decorations that adorn the room are carefully selected and maintained. Instead of vivid colors, the office is dominated by shades of deep charcoal gray. 

On the walls, there are a few framed photos displaying new costume ideas and sketches. These costume concepts, though they carry the potential for vibrant and dazzling displays, appear as muted pencil sketches, that she made herself. 

The door to the office swings open, and Yelena enters, her vibrant costume and piercing gaze commanding the attention of the room. Her red and gold attire shimmers under the soft glow of the office lights, her face adorned with black make-up, her hair is slick back, and her overall look screams that she owns this place. And much more... she owns the people here too. 

"Finally," she snaps, her voice as sharp, a growl, and you flinch at the acidic tone that cuts through the room. 

Your racing heart threatens to betray your composure, but you hold your ground, offering a tentative smile. "I'm sorry, Yelena. I was just making sure everything was-" 

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. "No excuses, just be useful for once. The spotlight is on me tonight, and I will not tolerate any mistakes. Make sure the costumes are in order, the animals are ready, and the performers are sharp. We can't afford to falter." 

Her words sting, and you swallow your pride, nodding obediently. Despite her harsh exterior, you understand that tonight means as much to her as it does to you. The circus is her kingdom, and she is the reigning queen. You cannot help but wonder if her anger is just a shield, a way to cope with the immense pressure she carries on her shoulders. 

You´re in for a long night under Yelena's watchful, unrelenting eye, but it's all part of the mesmerizing, chaotic world of the circus. As the ringmaster departs for her preparations, you steal a glance at the eager audience beyond the office window, ready to be dazzled.  

As Yelena gazes out of the office window onto the bustling circus grounds, her expression remains stern. Her crimson-gloved fingers drum impatiently on the window shelf. With a cool, calculating voice, she turns to you, and says, "The show starts in twenty minutes, and I see you've managed to mess up nearly everything, as usual." 

Your heart sinks, and you find yourself on the receiving end of her relentless critique. It's not uncommon for Yelena to be demanding, but today, her tone cuts deeper, her words more vicious than ever. 

She continues, "The costumes were wrinkled, the animals look dispirited, and the performers have that 'couldn't-care-less' attitude. It's no wonder I had to come and check on you, because you clearly can't be trusted to get anything right." 

You struggle to hold back tears as her words strike like daggers. You have poured your heart and soul into ensuring that everything runs smoothly, but Yelena's critical remarks have the ability to destroy your self-confidence. 

Her piercing gaze remains fixed on you, her face says it right away, no trace of empathy at all. "You're lucky you have a boss like me to catch your countless mistakes. If it weren't for my watchful eye, this circus would have fallen apart long ago. There's no room for error, especially not tonight. Do you understand?" 

As you nod in silence, the weight of her criticism threatens to crush your spirit, but you know that, in this world, in Yelena´s world, perfection is the only standard. With trembling hands you put your fallen hair behind your ears, trying to regain your composure and make sure tonight's performance lives up to Yelena's exacting standards. 

Yelena fixes her gaze on you, her eyes still piercing but with a faint glimmer of something resembling compassion. "You know, I could fire you right now if I wanted to," she says, her tone less venomous but still firm. 

You nod quickly, unable to meet her eyes, "Yes, I know." 

A hint of a cynical smile crosses her lips. "I'm being kinder to you than you deserve, you know," she continues. 

Again, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, I know." 

Yelena sighs, her frustration evident, but there is something in her eyes, that you don´t understand, yet. "You might be a mess, but you're my mess," she admits, almost grudgingly. 

Your heart flutters with a mix of relief as you nod again, saying, "Yes, I know." You understand that, for all her harshness, you occupy a unique place in Yelena's world. In this chaotic, enigmatic circus, you're her right-hand, for better or for worse. 

Yelena glances at the ornate clock on her office wall, a rare hint of anxiety crossing her features. "We have just 15 minutes before the show starts," she says, her tone monotone. 

You dare to seize this fleeting opportunity. "Yelena," you begin hesitantly, "Can you please-" 

She raises an eyebrow, clearly irritated but willing to listen for once. "Go on," she snaps. 

You take a deep breath and finally ask the question that has been lingering in your mind for far too long. "Can I have... can you touch me?" You don´t dare to look into her eyes, “you´ve said that if I´ll be good for the next few weeks, you will let me-” you quickly stop yourself before saying the word, that felt so naughty to you.  

 “Cum?” She smirks, but her composure still stays still. 

You simply just nod. 

“I didn´t say I will let you cum, I´ve said I will think about it,” she tilts her head. “And you think you did such a phenomenal job, that you deserve to be touched by me, let alone cum?” She chuckles. 

“Yes, I do.” You mumble, but it was loud enough for Yelena to hear. 

For a moment, Yelena seemed taken aback, as if your answer wasn't what she was expecting. But she likes you being more confident and direct. Then, with a reluctant nod, she agrees, "You have 13 minutes. Get on your knees,” she said it like it was such a bother to her, which it was in a way. 

You instantly drop to your knees. 

Yelena takes a step closer to you. In that moment, you glance down and notice something – a pair of classic Doc Martens boots on her feet, an elegant choice, they also look very new, so she must have bought them for tonight's occasion.  

Yelena notices your gaze fixated on her boots and a sly idea takes root in her mind. She smirks and, maintaining her stern demeanor, she speaks, "You can get off on my shoe." Your eyes instantly meet hers. Before you can say anything, she adds, “12 minutes.” 

“I-” you don´t even know what you want to say to her. 

“Fine, if you don´t want it, then don´t waste my time.” Yelena turns away, ready to walk out of her office. 

“Wait!” She can feel that you crawl on the floor to grip her leg. 

Yelena just looks down and stops in her tracks, “I´m waiting, but the people are not.” She sighs, “11 minutes.” she once again checks the clock. 

As for Yelena´s request, months ago, you stopped wearing panties, first it was just around or in the office rule, but now it´s been almost four months since you´ve seen your panties.  

You simply raise your skirt and get to work. Being wet around Yelena was basically your main task as her assistant, so none of you are surprised when her new shoe is already covered with your juices. You also didn´t want to waste any more time as you knew very well, she would kick you off of her and leave you there without zero pity.  

So you had to do it quickly, it was a week without her touch and even more time without you being able to cum. Yelena is saying “cumming is too distracting, when you need perfection.” And of course, her little stupid toy can´t do more than one thing at the same time. 

“9 minutes.” Yelena says with something that sounds like disgust in her voice. 

Your hips speed up at her words and your nails digs into her calf, which she won´t admit aloud, but she is enjoying this moment a lot. To have power over someone's life was on her daily basis, but it is different with you. She knew you would do anything for her, even if it meant it would hurt you. 

Many times, she wanted to direct her emotions on something, especially her rage and that was a moment where you´ve volunteered and she knew right away, she's going to keep you as her little stupid punching bag, that she will occasionally award with little touch or maybe an orgasm, when you would behave.  

“7 minutes.”  

You know you have permission to release, but you still want to show her how good you can be. “P-please, may I cum?” you let out soft whimpers. 

“Are you that stupid? Do you want me to write a blessing?” She aggressively moved her shoe up and down, and because Yelena was really strong and her thighs could kill people, it wasn’t hard to lift you up.  

“S-sorry...” you whine out loud this time. 

“Did I tell you to speak?” Her gaze met yours and you immediately look away, bitting your lower lip to stay quiet as possible. 

You continue of rocking your hips, feeling how your clit is getting more sensitive, as her shoe is the perfect material for you to hump.  

“4 minutes.” And with Yelena´s words, you come. Your juices being everywhere, on her shoe, on her pants, on your skirt, on the extremely expensive carpet, just everywhere. 

Yelena looks down on the mess you´ve made and with a big sight she says, "Your incompetence is almost a talent in itself." She moves her feet, and you fall as you´re not even fully back from your strong orgasm.  

“3 minutes.” She is still counting down. But to what? You´ve already came. "Is it too much to ask for a shred of intelligence from you? Apparently, it is." She moves her feet in the air, hoping you will finally get it.  

Still nothing. 

Her patience fading, observes the mess you have made and finally mutters, "The shoe won't clean it itself, you know. Or perhaps you were expecting a miracle?" Her tone, as always, laced with disdain and a hint of mockery, serves as a reminder that in her world, only immediate action and perfection are acceptable. 

Oh.  

You quickly lower yourself as you know that you do not have much time, so you open your mouth and your tongue kitten licks her shoe clean, at least you are trying to. Tasting the mixture of yourself and the leather bring you shivers right to your pussy, as you would want to cum again and again and again-  

“1 minute.” Yelena put her foot in the air, for you to clean even the bottom of her shoe. Now tasting only plastic rubber, which wasn´t the most tasteful thing, but your only wish right now is to do a decent job for Yelena and her satisfaction. 

“Get off.” She put her foot down and inspects your work.  

Yelena inspects the work you've completed, and after a long pause, she remarks, "Well, it's not a bad job. I might be a little impressed." 

Your eyes light up with excitement, and you ask, "Really?" 

Yelena smirks and adds with a hint of sarcasm, "Oh, don't get too carried away. I did say 'a little,' after all. We wouldn't want you to think you've achieved mastery, now would we?" 

Coming from Yelena herself, not on paper, but in person, this is a compliment. 

 Yelena continues, "Next time, I expect you will do without being told what to do, a concept known as 'initiative,' in case you're unfamiliar." 

She smirks, "But then again, I wouldn't want to deprive you of the joy of my guidance, would I?" 

Yelena turns to leave, her Doc Martens shoes thudding against the floor with an air of firm authority. She strides toward the circus arena, ready to show the world once more, who the true master of the show is. 

Ahhh so what do we think?

Also thank youuu for reading!! 💕💕

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

Hi there, I've been wanting to start a new podcast and seen a lot of people talking about Malevolent and The Magnus Archives (I thought they were the same podcast for the longest time...). Anyway, it seems like maybe you've listened to both of them? Do you have a recommendation of which I should start with? I know almost nothing about either of them lol

hi! i'm far from a podcast connoisseur, but i have listened to the entirety of both tma and malevolent and i'm a huge fan of both, so i'd be happy to give a pitch for them haha. i will try to give the vibes without spoilers.

i listened to tma first, and the premise is that everything you hear is being recorded onto a tape recorder, primarily by the head archivist of the magnus institute, which is a private facility that collects and researches statements of paranormal experiences. each episode is jonathan sims, the archivist, recording one of these statements, and then giving his (usually skeptical and scathing) opinion at the end, along with what his assistants' research has turned up on the events of the story.

it's a very slow-burn show, as it takes 20 episodes to even hear another voice and 40 episodes before Shit Gets Real. things shake up a lot at that point, but i don't want to give spoilers.

it's extremely well-made, and i think one of its biggest flaws is also one of its biggest accomplishments, which is the incredibly intricate, non-linear web of characters it weaves through all 5 seasons. a name will be mentioned in passing in a statement, a description of a person mentioned in another, and then a couple seasons later it turns out they're the same character and vitally important to the plot.

(i call that a flaw bc my adhd ass had a HARD time keeping track of all these names, remembering who was who and what happened to them, and mixing up names pronounced similarly. you can consult the wiki, but that will also give you spoilers.)

the story-telling is superb, the characters are great, the romance subplot is wonderful... i think the only thing that isn't exciting for me is that i'm not really a horror fan for the sake of horror itself, so i don't absolutely love listening to the all the standalone statements, which make up the majority of the show. i really like the plot and character work that surrounds the statements.

now, malevolent is often put in the same category because they're both about english men experiencing The Horrors, but the listening experience is VERY different. while tma is like listening to a repressed autistic man tell you a spooky bedtime story, malevolent is being thrown into the shoes of a blind man running for his life while a demon screams in his ear to run faster because the monster is about to eat them.

malevolent is about arthur lester, a 1930s private investigator who comes to in his office, suddenly blind, with a voice in his head and a corpse at his feet. he's just opened a book that was imprisoning an eldritch being, who has subsequently taken up residence in his head and stolen his eyesight.

arthur and the entity, who later chooses to name himself john doe, have no choice but to work together to navigate the world to both figure out what just happened and how they're going to separate, and outrun the powerful forces that want to kill arthur and take john back.

since arthur is blind, john has to narrate everything he sees and describe what arthur needs to do, which works extremely well for an audio drama format. it also works really well to inflict a very visceral type of horror, as we're in the same position as arthur, "blind" to what's happening until john tells us.

while the plot is interesting and the messages are, imo, good ones, the main selling point for me is entirely john and arthur's relationship. they start out as unwilling allies, arthur terrified and john manipulative. slowly, they work their way toward tentative friendship, as they bicker and discover that their love language is being just absolute cunts to each other and divorcing every ten minutes. by virtue of being forced together in their "get along body", they figure out how to sand down those rough edges, how to understand each other and work out their problems, how to apologize and open up and trust each other.

eventually, they become so entangled that they are essentially one being, with enough love for each other to defy the gods and crawl through a blizzard on broken legs in the mere hope of being reunited.

where tma is the asexual podcast (since jon is canonically ace), malevolent is sort of the aromantic podcast. arthur is not quite canonically aro (i have a rant for why i think it's creator-confirmed, but it's not confirmed in-text), but he's as aro-coded as i've ever seen, and him and john are as qpr-coded as i've ever seen. the creator says that they're never going to be confirmed romantic (though he's fine with shipping), but they've also said "i love you" to each other, and it just really warms my little aro heart.

the same as tma, i think malevolent's biggest flaw is also it's biggest strength, which is that it's literally a one-man show. harlan guthrie writes, edits, soundscapes, and voices EVERY single character, which i think is incredible. i only call it a flaw because there are times when i do think he could have maybe used a co-writer or editor on some rough areas, and because it's a common complaint that there aren't more women in the podcast.

i'm not sure i can recommend which one to start with, as to me they have very different vibes. maybe just listen to episode one of each and see which one fits your mood better. i think they're both excellent, just not actually as similar as we like to joke they are.

so yeah, that's my long schpiel about my two favorite podcasts lol 😊 feel free to ask if you have more questions!

[snek-eyes]

Good Omens fic recs

Hello all! Wanted to share a few of my longtime faves. These are all pre-s2, might do another with my post-s2 recs? Narrowed it down to 10, since that's the max links tumbl lets you have in a post.

Any Way You Want It

Author: Justkeeptrekkin Words: 27,500 Chapters: 5/5 Rating: Mature Mood: Vacation, soft but introspective After finally getting heaven and hell off their backs (at a cost) Crowley and Aziraphale go on holiday to a cottage in Scotland. Fluffy with fun snappy dialogue, the two really feel like best friends here! Aziraphale struggles with his tendency to go slower than even he wants.

Instructions Not Included

Author: Atalan Words: 68,000 Chapters: 13/13 Rating: Teen Mood: Detective / Gen (There are feelings but it earns that slowburn tag) My "if season 2 isn't good, this is my season 2" fic. Now, I liked season 2, but this is still SO good. After the notpocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley start a detective agency investigating supernatural happenings together. New characters include Raphael (who totally missed the apocalypse haha whoops), and a big spooky dog (whomst I adore). Note that while this fic stands just fine on its own, there is an unfinished sequel that imo doesn't leave off anywhere stressful.

When in Rome

Author: Kedreeva Words: 4,000 Rating: General Mood: The liminal space of nighttime conversations What happens after Aziraphale invites Crowley to oysters: Wings and reading. Tentative and innocent in those early days.

the deft, sweet gesture of your hand

Author: deadgreeks Words: 12,000 Rating: Explicit Mood: Hurt/Comfort, introspection A few years after the failed apocalypse Crowley shows up badly injured at the bookshop. Aziraphale has to help heal Crowley and save them both, and still finds the time to knit his feelings.

Chemistry

Author: Twilightcitysky Words: 122,000 Chapters: 19/19 Rating: Explicit Mood: Y'ever want a side of learning something with your romcom? After realizing they might need their own corporations to heal themselves now that they're not working for heaven and hell, Aziraphale and Crowley turn on all their bodily functions. All of them. What could be a silly premise is played out very satisfyingly, the actual biology of hormones at play here is fascinating. (this is not really at all related but: has anyone else read Peeps by Scott Westerfeld? Because the format reminded me of this in that it did a similar thing of playing straight the concept of "what could cause vampires to be real" that drew on inspiration from real life parasites interspersed between the chapters. I dig it. Anyway!)

Reservations

Author: AnnetheCatDetective Words: 10,000 Chapters: 3/? (Technically unfinished, but leaves off in a satisfying spot) Rating: Not Rated Mood: Meta (Character study as story) “There's some competition for Aziraphale and Crowley's usual table at the Ritz…” A couple of miracles bend reality and, well… you ever been like, “The boys need therapy, but who could possibly give it to them?” I love crossovers where the TV boys meet other versions of themselves, this one is my favorite.

i can't say the words, so i wrote you into my verse

Author: mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday) Words: 5,000 Rating: Teen Mood: Snapshots through history "Crowley has tattoos and every few centuries, Aziraphale discovers a new one." Simple and paints a lovely picture.

By Definition

Author: idiopathicsmile Words: 3,000 Rating: Explicit Mood: Smutty but fond A night together after the Ritz fic where Aziraphale is asexual and Crowley isn’t and how that works for them. The dialogue here is positively delightful.

Bark Dust

Author: rfsmiley Words: 8,000 Rating: Mature (mostly for injuries) Mood: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Historical Crowley is very badly injured in a battle, and Aziraphale has to figure out how to save his life.

Tell Me A Story

Author: brilliant_or_insane Words: 5,000 Rating: Teen Mood: Soft and warm Aziraphale likes telling stories and Crowley likes to listen. But when the demon is dissatisfied by sad endings and can't relate to the happy ones, Aziraphale decides to move them forward by telling a new story. (Of course, Crowley isn't entirely satisfied with the angel's perspective on that one either.)

[kmomof4]

Rainy Sunday CS Spooky Season/Autumnal Bingo

And that's BINGO!!! Hope you enjoy this short and sweet CS meeting! Many thanks to @hollyethecurious for the bingo idea and to @jrob64 for her beta services.

Summary: Killian Jones waits inside a coffee shop on a rainy Sunday afternoon for his blind date, Emma Swan, to arrive.

Rating: G

On ao3

Words:

Tags: Spooky Season Bingo, Coffee Shop Fic

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells  @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite

@jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779

@kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love 

~*~*~

Prompt: Coffee shop on a rainy day

Killian Jones sat at a small table inside the warm and cozy coffee shop, watching the frigid, late autumn rain come down in sheets outside. He’d been waiting a few minutes already - long enough for his order to be called and for the warmth of the fire along the back wall of the cafe to reach and warm him deliciously.

He sipped his coffee and looked back out the window to see a woman rushing down the street. Her long blonde hair was covered by a knitted navy beanie with a puff at the top, and she wore a black windbreaker over a deep red turtleneck sweater. Her features weren’t terribly clear through the rain, but he could see enough that he couldn’t help but hope she might be the blind date he was waiting for, one Miss Emma Swan.

When she rushed through the cafe door, his breath caught. He stared, completely gobsmacked, at the gorgeous woman as she shook her head and her arms, flinging off at least some of the stray water droplets that made her look rather like his dog Roger after a bath, than someone meeting a date.

She took off her beanie before making her way to the counter and ordering. Once finished, she turned around and her eyes scanned the cafe until they landed on him. Killian swallowed hard as a bright, but still somewhat tentative smile broke across her lips as she started making her way toward him. When she was still about six feet away, he stood and scratched behind his ear in nervousness.

“Emma Swan?” he asked, holding out his hand to her. “I’m Killian Jones.”

She took it as her smile widened even more and shook it and sat down across from him. Killian took his seat again as well.

“It is very nice to meet you, Killian Jones.”

The End

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I'd love to hear what you think! Don't yell at me too hard, please! I wanted to get a bingo and I figured y'all had good enough imaginations that you could figure out what came next!

[bloodycyrano]

I come bearing dragon age trivia and headcannons for this spooky season!

So, the equivalent of Halloween in the realm of Thedas would probably be "All souls day", or "Funalis"

It was named Funalis originally, and dedicated to the old god, Dumat, God of silence. Yet, when Dumat fell victim to the blight and rose as the first archdemon, the vast majority turned a blind eye to any remainder of what it once was for the old god. Thus renaming it "All Soul's Day", to be celebrated as a day in somber remembrance of the dead.

In northern parts of Thedas, All Soul's Day is spent dressed as spirits for parades after dark. And the Chantry uses the day to honor the death of Andraste, with public fires that mark her own burning, and plays that depict her death.- Creepy.

Now for the headcannons.

Zevran- Zev is from Antiva, which is up north. I have full confidence that our favorite assassin dresses in full costume on All Soul's Day and tries to start drinking games with the rest of the party.

Alistair- He.. takes time to himself. He's quieter than usual, and you realize why when you find him at the edge of camp. He's having a drink by the river and practically cradling Duncan's blade. He's carved the names of the Wardens lost at Ostagar into a tree. He pours one out for his fallen friends and spends the rest of the day trying to crack jokes like usual - but you can tell he's just thinking about the battle again.

- Zevran takes extra care to try and cheer up Alistair. Perhaps begrudgingly; it works.

Oghren- takes any and all opportunities to get drunk. He's interested somewhat in learning about the Parades in Antiva and Orlais and such, but mostly just because "Whatever it is the elf is doing" looks fun. I do believe he'd take the time to sit and think about Branka.. She was his wife, and he did care for her all things considered.

Sten- the Qunari prayers for the dead. He's quiet, he's by himself. He doesn't speak a word to anyone, but if you get close enough when he doesn't realize you're there, you can hear him praying. He looks sad, beneath the stoic exterior. But there is solace in his practice all the same.

Leliana- She has her prayers for her mother and for Andraste, but she's also fairly lighthearted about things. She probably wears a mask for the occasion, and is more than happy to tell tales and sing songs about the holiday. She will take time on her own, however. To pray and pick her mother's flowers.. Andrastes Grace.

Wynne- Wynne prays. She's probably fairly quiet, all things considered. She wonders when she'll finally pass.. If the spirit will leave her on a day like this one. She isn't afraid, but she is.. contemplative. She likes to observe the practices of everyone else on the holiday, quietly from her own tent. Perhaps she judges quietly, but she also finds amusement from some of the antics from Zevran, and Oghren. She's even delighted to find that Alistair is able to cheer up a bit.

Morrigan- She isn't going to be bothered with odd practices from her odd party members. Morrigan finds the culture to be interesting, but aside from that, she sees no need for strange beliefs. She doesn't care for Leliana's tales or songs of Andraste, and she certainly isn't going to dress up. This being said, she does secretly enjoy watching and observing from her tent, off at the edge of camp. She probably goes off on her own for some sort of magical practice, or even changes shape to frolic in the woods with the spirits.

Shayle- Shayle doesn't know what to do with the holiday.. But they have a list of names. Names from the Cadash thaig, and bitter memories of being reunited with Caridin. They think they will pray for Caridin, and maybe even the family they do not remember.

The warden- My warden is Dalish.. I believe she covered her mirror with a black cloth and got up early that morning to hunt. She doesn't like using bows, but Tamlen always did. He insisted upon it, even. And with his absence, she still felt the pull to do so. Who was she to argue with a spirit? She felt a particular guilt this time, knowing what he had become. Knowing she might've been able to save him. But the show must go on, and the mask must remain. She doesn't let the others see her suffer. Instead, she pushes herself to partake in whatever her companions wish of her. The only one who seems to see past it is Sten, but he will not disrespect her by calling attention to it. What would the need be, anyways? And he has his own prayers to attend to.

- When given the opportunity, the warden dresses up as the archdemon.. Perhaps in poor taste.

Barkspawn- The best pupper has a costume. Barkspawn has been dressed up as a Griffon! He tried to eat the fake beak..

[leatafandom]

🌸 2025 Spring Update 🌸

Happy Spring everyone! I was trying to plan out my writing year a bit more yesterday and got to thinking I'd make an update, especially when I realized I might not be posting that many new things for a bit after posting the two stories I'm working on for @fanficocean's Coffee Shop Writing Challenge. It's a little because of life but a lot because I… I actually need to write the words. With that said, below the cut is a rough look at what I'm hoping to work on this spring and probably continue to work on into summer… maybe fall too.

For all the updates for the season, see below the beautiful divider made by @silkhollan.

Spring Prompts/Fic Requests - You may have noticed I closed my main askbox last year after the spooky season. It just got to be too little asks and way too much spam. It's been a few months, and I am considering opening it up again for prompt requests and games, 'cause I miss it. I might run a poll at some point about it, but I'm still just not sure. Feel free to let me know how you feel about it, or if you just generally have a request. We can chat, and I'll do my best ❤️

Spring Cleaning - The WIPs! Every spring I always partake in a Deep Clean and that also counts for all the WIPs that survived the Winter Purge. There are quite a few half finished one-shots this year, and I'm hoping to take some time to finish them all. Mainly: Searching For the Sun (Clex vampire Lex story), Pinocchio and the Trickster (a continuation of Choke Me Like it Matters), Like Poetry (a cold flash tale), and Like a Romance Novel (a continuation of Its Always Something in Smallville). I have more, so many more, but these have caught the Muse's eye lately.

Lost in Translation, Part 2 - I have been working on this! It's been like pulling teeth, but I do have a more defined outline and actual scenes drafted. I also have decided how it's gonna be formatted. Which will just be a continuation of the original story that ended with Chapter 12, meaning that whenever I'm done writing it, it'll start at chapter 13. The next update will probably be when I update the chapter number. I really have no timeframe of when I'll be done with it, but it is on my mind. I really want to thank everyone again for comments and kudos, they have really driven me back to this story.

Monster Eater Verse - I know it's so early to be talking about my sweet bloody babies but working on the next two arcs are taking a lot of my mind space right now so it merits a mention. This year's I feel like I've mentioned The Boy King's Destiny a lot, but it's nearly done as far as writing. The last chapter just needs work and looks like it's gonna be happening on schedule for October 1st. It's super plot driven and a major story arc in the series that has been referred to on more than occasion within the series. I'm excited to share it!

But not completely the update I wanted to make about this verse, because the next part —oh the next part I am excited about. It has a lot of flushing, and I've been flushing ever since writing Songbird, to go, but the next major arc will be what happens directly after that. I feel like I've made it very clear throughout the series, especially with Taste of Cherry, that this universe is different. That the rules are different, that it's darker, that it's very clearly not canon divergent or adjacent, but this next arc makes it very clear just how different. Tentatively titled Sing For Me will be a multi chapter story that focuses completely on Loki telling Sam the story of Gabriel, the archangels, and the creation of their universe. It is so fun, and it has officially moved into my brain and started taking over from the back burner.

[ansonghq]

come one, come all, to enjoy the fall fun at the annual ansong fall carnival!

held every year towards the end of october, many residents are not only excited for halloween, but for the fun that the carnival brings. hosted in the central park, just like always, it lasts for a week, with it falling between october 24th to the 31st this year.

after a week of being shut down in preparation, the park is now re-open to the public, showcasing tents, booths, rides and other attractions! the entry fee is cheap and seven day passes are available at the front kiosk for those who wish to purchase it! the carnival is open every weekday from 10am until 9pm, and every weekend from 10am until 10pm. on halloween it is open from 11am to midnight.

some things to do around the carnival is:

enjoy various seasonal foods, drinks and more at food stalls and booths, sponsored by the local shops and residents!

hop on to different rides and visit different attractions, including the gyro drop, bumper cars, the hall of mirrors, photobooths, the ferris wheel, house of horrors, and more!

plenty fun games to play, including water gun shooting, ring toss, rope ladder climbs, ring the bell, and more!

there will also be jack o' lantern carving, apple bobbing, and a spooky maze tour to explore!

firework shows will be held every night after 8pm and live music performances will be held on monday's, thursdays and saturdays from 11am until 7pm.

on the 31st fright night will be in full effect where scare actors will be walking around the grounds to spook residents. a costume contest will be held that all can enter, with cash prizes and other goodies to be won for the best ones!

we hope you have fun and stay spooky, friends!

✽ ooc.

welcome to ansonghq's first event, the annual ansong fall carnival! this is a optional event that lasts a week in character but runs until november 7th at 11:59pm est out of character! you may continue threads after the event ends, but you cannot start any new ones!

please tag all starters, threads & edits that relate to the event as #ansongfallcarnival!

if your muse would like to be a vendor, please dm the main to let us know!

all players who want to have their muses participate in the costume contest may also use the hashtag #as:costumecontest. please make sure the post includes your muses name, who/what they're going as, and if they're matching with someone else (please also tag the muses blog, as well!). the deadline for these will be october 31st @ 11:59pm est.

we will reblog all muses who participate on our community blog @ansonghub! we will compile a masterlist of all that entered, which will also include information about the voting categories and a include a link to submit your votes! voting will begin november 1st and end on november 3rd. winners will be announced on november 4th.

[moonshine-nightlight]

2024 Writing - Plans

similar to last year, i wanted to post a little look forward at my plans for writing this year are. the necessary disclaimer: this is 100% high level, optimistic, ideal situation and subject to change but i still like thinking about it and posting for anyone who's interested. see this post for last years!

so, i like separating things out it mini goals/sections so see below:

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: with DSM self-published under my belt, I'd like to focus on the NWWD publishing journey next! The main obstacles/costs are time and money. Hiring an editor and a cover artist are the pricey-est part of the process but my own edit (first to convert everything from 2nd POV to 3rd POV and then another high-level edit/revise once i've got it in the right POV) will take the most time and needs to be done before i hand it over to an editor. Then after the editor takes their time (and NWWD is much longer than DSM), and finally i need to process all of their edits as well. And i need to do all of this while i do my day job lol.

i've already converted the first 11 chapters to 3rd POV (i hav some IRL friends/betas who only read that version, so if u feel like the tumblr version took a lot of time lol). the timing of being able to publish this year will all end up depending on how quickly i can do all that and kick off the part of the process that depends on outside parties. Even if i manage to self-publish in this year, i don't expect it to come out until lik December and even that's ideal, super best case scenario.

Long Stories: I want to outline both A Perfectly Ordinary Research Position and Shadow Diplomacy and then pick one to be the new long story on here. I do what i call a chapter outline and a scene outline, which is confusing to not!me because the scene = a chapter on here. i should probably rename that process lol. (NWWD was 11 'chapters' and 35 'scenes' for reference).

once i pick a project, i just hope to post as many chapters as i can. Since this will be new, long, and likely just building steam, i actually think it'll be my lower priority after the Short Stories and NWWD publishing, but we'll see. i'd like to start putting that up in June, according to my tentative 2024 schedule.

Short Stories: Since i didn't get as many of these done in 2023 and they've been haunting my brain longer, i want to for sure get some of these shorter stories done. learning from last years overestimation lol, i plan to post 3 short stories: Courtship Confusion, Feral, and finish Free Piano: Haunted, in that order. i'm excited about all these stories and will let me cover 3 different types of pairings (although technically all are Reader) which is fun. All have been outlined and have parts and pieces written. I wish Feral and FPH could both happen in the fall but the timing just doesnt work out so summers gonna b a little spooky lol.

The schedule i worked out makes it so all this will be possible, but also basically has no breaks in sunday postings after my haitus which is beyond optimistic but i lik to start overly confident lol

Hiatus: this is also your reminder that my work has a specific Busy Season which honestly started already (lucky me) and i will b beyond busy Jan-March at a minimum. i hav more projects than ever with my promotion, a lot to learn, and a lot to juggle so minimum 6 day work weeks will be the name of the game - but hopefully all goes well and i'll get a nice bonus i can feed directly to my editors lol

anyway, that's where i'm at right now and I'm looking forward to all the exciting writing and publishing to come in 2024!

Feel free to send in any asks about upcoming/current stories!

Thanks again for all your support in 2023 and Happy New Year!

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (11) - Try to Keep the Truth From Showing Up

Hi!! Sorry for the delay!!! I've been having fun learning how to make gifs and things for this fic! It's been a blast, but that's why it's taken so long!

✧˖ Please remember, the update schedule has been adjusted to every other week - Chapter 12 will come out on 10/20! ˖✧

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 9,535

I have some screenshots below, as well as the non-spoiler version of the art at the end of the chapter on AO3! Please enjoy and happy October!!!

Behold! The spoiler-free version of this artwork! Just in time for spooky season!

+Blighted Village shenanigans and sucky, angsty stuff.

✧˖Tag List: @khywren

Opening under the cut!

“Won’t you try? She likes you.” Astarion scowls at their annoying half-elf cleric, going back to sewing.

“While it feels good to hear you say it, Shadowheart dear, I’m afraid she isn’t taking visitors. She didn’t even bat an eye when young Wyll’s patron turned him into a devil. I’m sure seeing my face wouldn’t cheer her up much.”

“Ugh, you’re such a prick, you know that? Imagine just trying,” She turns heel, complaining the entire way back to the fire. He snickers, finishing up the filigree near the edges of the piece. It’s adequate, hardly his best work, but it’ll do. It’d surprised him that he’d even started the project, to begin with. He’s hardly ever been one for sentimentality but… well, he’d never been given the choice before, had he? She may think it’s shit craftsmanship, anyhow. Either emotional reaction would be satisfying.

“Knock, knock, darling.”

“Go away.”

“Please let me in, everyone’s worried about you and expects me to do something about it. Nonsense, I know, I told them you hate my guts and wish I’d die.” She flings the flap open, her hair a wild mess winding around her head. Furious eyes glare daggers at him, dark kohl smeared beneath them.

Quite a sight.

“What? I never said that!” Her high-pitched voice makes him snicker and she rolls her eyes. “Right, a joke. Very funny. Look, I told Wyll I was sorry about what happened to him. I gave Karlach an air hug. I told that blue-winged bitch to take a long walk off a short pier. Not that it’d work, she can fucking fly...” Her expletives make him smirk, watching her wave her arms around her head as she turns back to look inside her tent. “Now can’t I just brood in here about what stupid Raphael said, in peace, without everyone trying to butt in?” He smiles, thinking she looks rather ridiculous, before stepping inside and making himself at home atop the little stool she keeps in there. She doesn’t protest further, meaning she’s begrudgingly happy he’s here, and won’t shoo him out.

“You know, when a devil tries to get me to take a deal by dangling things in front of me they’ll know I would want to hear, I don’t take it too seriously. He was only offering it to see if you’d take the bait.”

“Gee, you don’t think I didn’t know that?” She grimaces after she says it, eyeing him apologetically as she sinks down onto her messy bedroll. “Sorry… I just… how else would he have known those things to even offer that?” Astarion waves a hand dismissively.

“They know all, but it’s only to get you to accept their offer. They’ll provide, but once that’s done you’re indebted to them for eternity. Never forget that.” She looks down into her lap, gaze troubled. When she looks back up at him it’s with those wet round eyes that he abhors.

Perhaps they’re starting to grow on him, however…

[thiswasinevitableid]

Kepler Kreeps (Indruck)

The winner of the "sweet more than scary" prompt poll was: You and I are both haunted house actors and tonight is a slow night

Duck’s tent is covered in blood. 

Fake blood, but still. If he ever needed an excuse to buy one he hasn’t had since 1998, this is his chance. 

His room is one of the darkest, with only a tipped over lantern in the corner and glo-strips to help people safely find their way through. Squinting at his watch, he sees there’s still two hours to go before they close.

“Shoulda brought a card game or something.” He whispers.

No response from the darkness across from him. 

“‘Drid? Hey, mothman, don’t conk out on me now!”

There’s a sharp trill and then two, red eyes glow in the corner, “Oh dear, I was trying so hard not to fall asleep. If it’s any consolation, we will not be seeing another group for at least fifteen minutes. Not to mention the screams from Minerva’s scene would have woken me up.”

“True.” They’ve been using the alarm from his friend’s alien abduction sequence as their cue to get in position. After all, they want Kepler’s one and only haunted house to be worth the ticket.

Duck had worked with Kepler Kreeps a few times, usually when they were short volunteers and needed an extra zombie or ghost. The profits always went to the youth center, and Duck liked the chance to goof off a bit. So when he got back from Brazil in need of ways to get back into the swing of things in Kepler, volunteering for this year’s haunted house was a no-brainer. 

He’d been surprised to find Indrid seated in the folding chairs along with him on the first night of planning; last he’d heard the Sylph had gone home, leaving Leo to take up the Winnebago in his place. 

“I tried it for a while. But I was not speaking hyperbolically when I told you I was fond of earth. I missed it terribly and Sylvain…she has another, younger seer. So when the gate re-opened I decided to move back.”

This was how Duck also learned Indrid had been living in the apartment beneath him for three months. He’d taken Leo’s spot on the lease. Given that Duck had never seen him coming or going, he’s mostly just glad the mothman is getting out of the house. 

The group settled on “Haunted Monongahela” for the theme, with each room being a different scene of horror or carnage unfolding in the national forest. As people were chatting amongst themselves about what rooms they could do, Indrid had flapped his hands, grabbed Duck’s arm, and said “I have the perfect idea.”

So now here they are, in the second weekend of the house’s run, waiting for some kids to scare. The first weekend is always busy as the haunted house die-hards and people ready for the spooky season to start flock to the gates. His guess is it won’t get really crowded again until a week or two before Halloween. 

Screams from the front of the house. Now that Sylphs are an open secret, a few are more comfortable being seen in their monstrous forms. In this case, it’s Barclay’s second cousin, Franklin, who after a bout of being feral in Texarkana moved up to Kepler to work as a bartender. Franklin starts the house off in style by chasing guests up a corridor, teeth and claws bared. 

Soon enough, there are horrified shouts from the room closest to them, courtesy of Minerva slicing open the chest of a dummy and sending fake blood everywhere. Duck slips back into the tent and readies himself.

Once the cluster of teenagers is over the threshold, he shakes the frame and scratches at the canvas, screaming like he’s being torn apart. This scares the group away from his side of the room and keeps them from noticing the massive, feathery shape rising up behind them.

All Indrid has to do is open his wings and shriek to send them running to the next room. 

When no more groups come through, Indrid perches on the block he’s using to get further above everyone’s heads and drums on it with his claws as they wait for more victims. 

“You doin’ anything fun for Halloween?” Duck crawls out and sits up in front of the tent entrance, stretching out his back. 

“Most likely joining Barclay and the others at the Lodge for a double-feature. Ooh, unless-”

“Unless?”

“Unless we get many trick or treaters at the complex?” Duck can just make out the lines of his antenna twitching. 

“Decent number, since we got plenty of kids in the apartments and in the neighborhood. Crap, that reminds me, I gotta get the place decorated so they know to come up the stairs and knock.”

“Do you prefer classic decorations or more of a theme?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Usually just do lights and maybe a skeleton or two. I do got this one idea I think would be fun, but it’d take up more space, maybe even get in your way.”

“Duck, you saw where I was living, do I strike you as needing everything neat and tidy?”

“Guess not. It’s kind of a cheesy idea though…”

“I insist you tell me. Please?” The disappearance and reappearance of glowing eyes suggests Indrid is trying to bat his eyelashes at him.

“Okay, okay. I was thinking I could decorate like it’s a haunted tropical island. Put aloha shirts on the skeletons, see if anyone makes a skeletal parrot-”

“Put out some Jimmy Boo-fet records perhaps?”

Duck laughs, “Exactly!”

“That sounds delightful? Would you like some help? We could even decorate both apartments in the same vein for a stronger impact. “

“Hell yeah. You wanna stop by my place after work on Monday? I was gonna run out and get stuff then.”

A flash of teeth in the darkness, “It’s a date.”

—------------------------------------------------------

Duck tosses a few more leis into the shopping cart. He’s debating whether to get a spinning projector that casts ghosts over the walls when Indrid appears, hands behind his back. 

“I have the perfect costume for you.”

Duck leans on the cart, “I swear, if those are bear ears-”

Indrid gasps, mock affronted, “How could you suggest I would sink so low as a Smokey the Bear joke?”

“Smarter than the a-ver-age bear.” Duck swipes the ears from Indrids hand and places them atop silver hair, “besides, you wear ‘em better.”

His friend smiles as he removes the headband, “That’s high praise. Unrelatedly, if we go by the thrift store we will find some shirts that are perfect for the skeletons.”

Indrid’s foresight is spot on, and they also score a “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere” hat and some unopened skull lights. He’s having such a nice time that he doesn’t think twice about asking if Indrid would like to grab dinner, though he slightly regrets his offer of a ride when his friend discovers the Jimmy Buffet C.Ds in his car.

“You truly contain multitudes, Duck Newton.”

“I had a case of the Mondays!”

—------------------------------------------------------------

“This really was a way better idea than me just playing dead.” Duck says as he and Indrid get into their haunted house positions. The doors open in fifteen minutes, and the presence of an actual line suggests a busy night.

Duck adds, “But I’ll have you know I was always real good at playing dead. Played so many dead guys in emergency trainings.”

Indrid makes an amused face.

“I’m serious. Watch.” Duck lays down on his back, closes his eyes, and goes limp. 

After a moment, Indrid says, “That is rather convincing.”

Duck says nothing. 

“That is also very convincing.”

The lights go out, signaling that it’s time to get in final positions. 

“Oh dear” Indrid sighs, “visitors are soon to be upon us and my fellow scare actor is deceased. Whatever shall I do.”

Duck manages not to laugh as Indrid crosses the floor. 

A tongue mlems onto his cheek and he slaps a hand across his mouth, giggling as he opens his eyes. Indrid is bent over him, grinning.

“Dang, you figured out my trick.”

“Indeed I did.” Indrid flicks him on the nose once with his tongue, then sneaks soundlessly back into his spot.

 Duck’s just glad it’s dark; he’s not ready for the mothman to see him blushing. 

—---------------------------------------------------------

“I expected the Friday before Halloween to be much busier.” Indrid sits on the floor across from Duck as the haunted house stays quiet around them (except for the atmospheric music from Kirby’s room).

“They got that Zombie fun-run over in Huntington. Think a bunch of folks from town went there since it’s a one-night thing.”

Indrid shudders, “I cannot say I’d enjoy such an event. Zombies are…they feel too close to what happened with the Quell at times.”

“I get that.” Duck scoots forward an inch, “I always get freaked out by vampire movies. Something about the biting, all the teeth going into necks, ech” he shivers, “no thanks.”

“Perhaps we should be grateful Reconciliation never sent a vampiric abomination through. Not that I can remember anyway.”

Duck’s hand bumps Indrid’s in the darkness, “Ain’t sure I ever been more scared than when I saw them tryin’ to make a mimic that looked like Jane. Figured it out quick and then I was just pissed but…but there was a second before all that when I thought they’d taken her too. That even though she was far away from this whole mess, I hadn’t been able to protect her, y’know?”

Indrid nods, “I am sorry you had to see such a thing.”

“‘Drid? Can I ask you something weird?”

Another nod and a chirp of assent. 

“What’s the most scared you’ve ever been?”

A rustle of wings, then the lilting voice replies, “When I was young. Before I learned how to manage my abilities. If you can see the future and you are not careful, you can look too far ahead, see the end of everything. When you are a little mothling, huddled in the dark after bedtime, there is nothing more terrifying than to let your mind wander where it need not and see the day when the planet goes dark.”

“Oh fuck, ‘Drid, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” Duck takes his hand, feels cool chitin as the other three join it, clinging to him. 

“I learned quickly to be careful. But there will still times, times like when I was driving back to Kepler to warn you all your plan would not work, where I could not stop seeing the end.”

“What did you do?” His heart cracks at the thought of Indrid hurtling down some empty highway with no relief from the image of the sky ripping away. 

“I looked to better futures. To the ones where you succeeded. To the little moments that came after, even as the chances of them faded. I took comfort where I could” he lets out a weak laugh, “though I never foresaw such a comforting moment coming to me in a haunted house.”

“Me neither.” Duck thinks on the last weeks, on hushed conversations waiting for guests to come through. He’s about to say he’s glad the haunted house has let them spend more time together, but then he remembers the evenings decorating the apartments together, remembers Indrid appearing at the park to draw, remembers calling through the floor to ask if the mothman would like to come up and share the pizza he got for dinner. 

“Got another weird question for you.”

Indrid’s hands tense. There’s a chirp Duck’s never heard before, unsure and hopeful.

“I know we both got plans late Halloween night to go to the Lodge. But, uh, before then…maybe we could hand out candy together. Since we made the outside of the apartments look so damn good together, seems silly to make trick or treaters climb the stairs.”

“The answer is yes. To both.”

Duck smiles, “I ain’t asked the second thing yet, sugar.”

“The answer remains the same.”

Duck raises onto his knees and kisses Indrid once, gently, and has the unique pleasure of a seven foot tall cryptid turning to butter in his arms. 

Indridr nuzzles his forehead, “Is this the part where I am to say something clever about you being my treat?”

Duck snickers and kisses him again, “Nah. Just warn me if we need to stop kissing and scare folks instead.”

Indrid purrs and cuddles him into his lap, “Consider it done.”

[screaminglygay]

KINKTOBER day 7

pairings: clown!carol danvers x fem!reader

summary: everybody is talking about this amazing show, so you needed to check it up for yourself.

warnings: smut!!!, public play, edging, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, mentions of anal, sucking fingers, kinda dom!carol x sub!reader, intoxication!, alcohol (one drink, but strong one), not proofread

word count: 2.5k

an: sooo, here it is, we´re almost in the end, i feel like this carol is really clumsy and cocky, which was fun to write, it´s not that long cuz my motivation is no where to be found, but i promise the last fic will be fire!:P thank you for reading!

(italics = your thoughts)

!MDNI!

Enjoy this spooky season and be safe!

“Step right up and prepare to be dazzled by the spectacular world of the Femme Fatale Circus! Under the grand, colorful tent that stretches towards the sky, a mesmerizing extravaganza awaits you. The Femme Fatale is more than just a one-time occurrence, it's a lifetime's trip into a thrilling and positively stimulating place. So come on in and have fun!” Was heard from the big speakers next to the many food trucks there.

As you fully enter the circus grounds, you're immediately greeted by the enticing aroma of popcorn and cotton candy, setting the tone for the entertainment. The lively atmosphere is electric, with children's laughter and adults' chatter filling the air.

Before the show started, you decided that you wanted to have something to drink, so you went to this food truck area, where anything you could think of, was there.

Because you´re too indecisive, it took you a while to choose, what you wanted to drink. But after some minutes, you finally bought a cherry vanilla drink, called "Sweet possesion" which you found later on that had 27% of alcohol in it. It was the worse type of drink, too sweet to realize that it has some alcohol. And of course you didn´t eat the whole day, so the affect was very quick.

As you turn around to walk back, you realize that all of the people, who were there with you just a minutes ago, were now no where to be found. Maybe the show have already started.

So you quickly tried make your way back, until something caught your eye. You stopped and tried so see what it was, or who it was.

And because the alcohol started working on empty stomach you didn´t second thought anything at all. And of course you had to see what or who it was.

As you were walking behind the food trucks, you stumbled over various cables, pieces of wood, and other debris scattered on the ground, making it a rather hard path to navigate. When you made your way to the back of the tent, you didn´t see anyone or anything, that got your attention before, util you hear what sounded like a horn of an ice cream truck.

Oh man, I´d like some ice cream.

What your drunk self desired, you´re drunk self will get. So after following that noice, you notice a big ice cream truck with a lady dressed as a clown. But as soon as you come closer, she spoke, "I´m sorry, we´re out, hun."

"Ah man, really? You don´t have even one last ice cream, I could buy?" You were genuely really sad, you really creaved some chocolate chip cookie.

"Everything is sold out. Sorry." She noticed how sad you´ve looked and she hated it, she´s a clown, she is supposed to make people laugh, not the other way around, "but if you come with me, I could look if there is anything back in the freezer, I´m very positive we will find something." She smiled at you.

"Really? That would be perfect!" You waited for her to come out of her food truck. Her costume is a delightful riot of colors, mix of reds, yellows, and blues. The oversized polka-dotted bowtie around her neck adds a touch of whimsy, and her suspenders hold up her dotted pants. Despite the playful outfit, her natural beauty shines through, her sparkling captivating eyes and radiant smile contrasting with the costume. Her makeup was also on point, nothing too loud, just simple makeup with a red nose on top of the whole look.

"Aren´t you supposed to be in the tent? You know, the show already started." The blonde lady giggled.

"I wanted something to drink and now I want ice cream, I´ll watch the show after my needs are secured." You giggled as the alcohol now hitting your system like a train.

"Oh?" The clown laughed, but you could sense that this was her genuine laugh, it didn´t felt forced at all. "Secured your needs? I can tell that you already managed the first one." She smiled at you as you two walked back into the circus tent. You could hear the thrilling show has already begun, with the crowd's excitement and the mesmerizing music filling the air.

"Are we in the backstage now?" You looked at the woman in front of you.

"You could say that, yes." She nodded and looked at you. "What?"

"This was one of my childhood dreams, see the backstage of a circus. It´s... not what I´ve imagined, but still very amazing!" You looked around as you notice all the colorful mess everywhere, many costumes, props, wigs, cages and lots of other circus tools.

"Well I´m glad I could be at your service." The clown smiled and opened a freezer. "Would you like a vanilla, chocolate-" before she could continue with describing what flavors are avalible, you cutted her off.

"Oh my god! Really? Um... do you have a chocolate chip cookie by any chance?" You were so happy, that there are some ice creams left.

"Yup, the last one," the blonde took it from the freezer and gave it to you.

"Thank you so much, how much is it?" You looked at her, already with the ice cream in your mouth.

"It´s on me." She winked.

"What? Are you sure? I could pay it-" This time she cutted you off.

"Let´s just say that I´m here to make all of your childhood dreams come true. Sounds good?" She chuckled at you, seeing the chocolate on your chin.

"Very." You nodded.

As you were eating the ice cream the clown just stared at you, with a smile on her face. She once again made someone´s day better, she´s wondering when it will be her turn, of being the one taking cared of.

It didn´t took you long to finnish the ice cream and when you did, you notice the look on the lady´s face. "I´m sorry, are you okay?"

She immediately smiled, but you could tell it was fake. "Of course, hun. I am," she stepped closer and wiped the chocolate on your chin.

"You know, I don´t even know your name, but I know one thing..." You threw the wooden stick into the thrash can, hoping she didn’t notice the blush on your face.

"And what´s that?" You definitely got the clowns attentions now.

"You´re a shitty liar." You giggled.

"Oh? Is that so?" She tilted her head.

"Yup, pretty much," you smiled at her, "even clowns needs their time to be sad sometimes," you added.

"There are some sad clowns." The blonde pointed out.

You just groaned and came closer to her. "I don´t mean it like that..." you looked at her waiting for her name.

"Sunny, Sunny the clown." She siad, what seemed like an automatic answer.

"I meant your real one."

"Carol." She mumbled out. "I´m basically breaking the clown law right now."

"What law exactly? That you can´t tell me your real name?" You tilted your head.

"Basically yeah, plus I let you come to the backstage and I gave you free stuff." Carol chuckled.

"So you´re basically a criminal, because of me. How noble of you." The drink made you very flirty and you didn´t mind it at all. And neither did Carol.

"But the real question now, can I help you? Somehow, anyhow. Let´s say as the payback for the icecream." You smiled at her, genuinely want to help her, even if it´s just a talk.

The circus show is still in full swing, the resounding cheers of the crowd and the lively music reaching your ears, as you´re standing basically next to it.

"The icecream was on me, like I´ve said before."

"And like I´ve said-" you finished your whole drink now, "is there anything I can do to make Carol be happy Carol without having to fake it?" Your whole sentence was rambled out, due to you trying to absorb the sweetness of the drink.

"I have few things in my mind." Carol smirked and stepped closer to you, then laughing it off right away.

"I mean... if it would help." Now it was your turn to move closer to her, very close.

"Oh?" Carol was shocked by your answer, since you didn´t looked like someone that outgoing, but one drink can do a lot.

"Oh." You smirked and met her gaze.

"That would certainly help." The two of you were so close that you berely whispered.

"I think so too." Since when are you this flirty? That drink must have been strong strong.

Before either of you could say anything else your lips crushed into hers. The time seemed to slow down, and your lips met in a tender, sweet kiss that felt like a gentle caress of two ladies who broke the "clown law" once again. But it was a moment filled with affection and genuine connection, that the both of you felt. Thanks to your drink, you had the courage to do such a thing.

As much as you were trying to fight over being the dominant one, Carol made sure to show your place right away. She pushed you against one of the boxes and immediately pinned your hands above your head. "Keep them there."

You simply just nodded.

Her hands didn´t waste a second and Carol grabbed your tits and gave them a tight squeeze. "You were so right, this is the best way to calm neerves." She kissed you again, this time bitting your lip. Overall you could feel the energy shifting into this harsher more needier way.

A sound of a cheering crowd made you tense up, you were still backstage, behind a black curtain, that might have been big cover up for you two, but anyone could walk in on Carol kissing you. This thought send shivers right into your pulsating pussy.

You wanted more of her, so you ran your fingers through her hair and even it felt amazing Carol stopped you. "What did I say?" She looked into your eyes. Being in this fuzzy state, you didn´t understand, what she was talking about, util you she took one of the ropes and started to tie you up to the hook, that was the whole time above your head. "Wait- Carol!" You realized what she was doing.

"Shhh, if you can´t keep your hand up, let me help." She kissed your neck as she finishes tying you up to the hook. "If someone walks in, we´re just preparing a new trick, got it?"

"Y-yes." You felt so good, but so needy at the same time.

"Besides... the way your moving your hips, trying to grind on nothing at all, tells me, that you wouldn´t mind anyone coming," she whispered into your ear. "Am I right?"

"N-no." You basically moaned out.

Carol chuckled quiete out loud, "You know, I don´t even know your name, but I know one thing..."

You roll your eyes, exactly knowing, where is thig going and because you want to be a brat your smile turned into a smirk and your head was slightly tilted. "Oh yeah? And what´s that?"

"You´re a shitty liar." The blonde whispered and bite your neck.

"Fuck-" You moaned loudly.

"Shhh, I know that you´re attention seeking little girl, but I want to have you for myself, at least for now. So shush your pretty mouth." Her words were harsh, but you didn´t mind at all, you just needed her.

"Hmmpf..." You bit your lower lip, hoping it would shut you up.

Carol hands slipped past your pants, into your panties. "Is this all for me? Oh my!" She smiled. "Wow, pretty girl. This is definitely making me feel better. You´re this wet from few kisses? You will explode, after your orgasm." She smirked agaist you, knowing how much she affected you.

Her strong hands made your legs open some more, so she has a better acces to you. Her middle finger tracing up and down your clit, she was teasing you and you truly felt like exploding right now on the spot.

"Carol-" you moved your hips closer to her, trying to grind on her finger, but it didn´t help at all.

"Yes?" She looked at you.

"Please, more-" You tried to move closer to her.

"You still didn´t told me your name." She had this cocky grin on her face.

"(Y/N)! It´s (Y/N)!" Her hand was put over your mouth.

"Pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). But if you want to cum today, you better shut it. Or you can´t and want me to put your mouth for better use?" Her finger was still on your clit and when she felt your pussy pulsate at her words, she didn´t need a verbal answer.

Her right hand was in your pants, still teasing you as much as she could, but her left hand slowly made it´s way up to your mouth. You instantly opened and sucked on the two fingers she put inside.

Carol smiled at you, finally pushing the middle finger inside, her thumb making circles on your clit. You were so resposive to her touch, bucking your lips right away, sucking her fingers harder. This was really helping Carol to ease her nerves.

She sped up her movements with both of her hands, two of your holes were so full, you just wished your third one would be too.

You closed your eyes, feeling so close, with how her fingers curled up inside of you. And on top of that she added her second finger and after few push in´s and out´s she added even her third.

You were a mess.

Letting someone, who you basically don´t know, fuck you in the backstage of a circus, while the show is in it´s finalle, letting to see you being a easy slut, who cums from almost nothing at all.

But before you could leap over the edge, you heard the announcement, "Let me intoduce you our lovely, sweet and most importantly funny clown! Sunny the clown! Everybody make as much as noice as you want!"

"Oh fuck!" Carol looked at you as you quickly opened your eyes, "I need to go, pretty girl." She kissed your lips quickly.

"No, no, no, no- I need you, please, please, please!" You whined.

"You just have to wait, I have to go, I´ll be right back." She kissed you once more and pull out her fingers, which your body responded with a flinch right away.

"Carol!" you whisper yelled at her.

"Oh right-" she took some blanket and throw it over you, so if anyone comes, they won´t notice you. "I´ll be right back!"

You have to be kidding me.

This moment made you sober up real quick, as she left you there naked, tied up, but mostly needy. And on a top of that, she threw a fucking blanket over you.

As you heard the crowd go crazy over Carol stunts and laughed at her jokes, you just wished she would be done soon, but after you heard people chant her name all over again and then again, you knew that you will be stuck in here for a long time.

Thank you for reading and don’t forget to drink! 💕🫶🏻