#A Patch of Fog movie

[snazzydwarf]

DP X DP Prompt: A White Robins Visage

We all know about the AUs of Danny being Jason's alternate version aye?

Well what about Danny being the ghost of Jason. More specifically the ghost of his Robin.

Picture this:

When Jason was killed at the hands of the joker he appeared within The Zone. Wearing his Robin uniform that was now covered in blood and soot. The greens barely seen underneath all the burgundy red.

However when he was revived/resurrected he wasn't quite... whole. Things of his past escaped him, almost as if the memories where covered in a thick fog.

It was assumed this was because of the pits. That it somehow scrambled his brain and caused not only the pit rage but also the slight memory loss and cloudyness.

However what no one knew was that when Jason left the zone to the mortal world. Something or rather someone was left behind.

Robin, now called Danny, has only ever known a life within the Ghost Zone. The small boy would be often caught running around with a large smile despite the large, gaping wound on his temple. Right bellow a large patch of black hair, the rest being stark white colour.

Somedays his form would flicker to that of someone older, in a brighter set of clothing. Almost of that you would see in a superhero movie, the once eyecatching colours have been speckled with blood. It's unknown if it came from his bleeding head or there was more injuries underneath his clothing, but no one had the heart to ask. Only Frostbite, the best healer in the Far Frozen knows the answers but refuses to speak of them. His eyes would sadden whenever it was asked, so the topic was dropped.

But one thing was certian. This boy had been so brutalized, so beaten and damaged it reflected in his ghost form. It's known that Ghosts can heal from almost anything given enough time and rest, but sometimes there where wounds that could never heal. Not unless you scared over those in your mind first.

An example of this would be Ember. The burns that once covered her body has slowly faded over time as she has come to terms with her own passing. Now only the ones on her back remain, the most important one as a flaming beam had fallen on her before she could escape the burning inferno. The smoke took her mind, but the fire took her body.

Seeing little Danny run around with the forever gushing laceration caused a grave sense of sadness to sweep those who saw him. How young, a little spark blown out before it had the time to be the light they all knew he would've became.

So it was rather a shock when one of the Bats saw the face of a younger Jason infrount of them. Sitting upon the grave of their brother humming a tune long forgotten by the older version, but forever remembered by the younger.

Flowers dropped from their hands as the second Robin turned around, domino mask wide beneath the white and black hair.

Wait... didn't they just see Jason a few days prior? Who is this? Who is wearing their brothers clothing that they swore was still displayed within the tube in the Batcave.

Their hands shook, and body trembled. Blood, oh oh god there was so much blood. The boy, Jason? was covered in it. What happened?

They knelt on the wet soil, plams held up and outwards towards the kid.

"Hey, are you oka-" right as they where about to place a hand of the child's shoulder it just... passed right through. A cold sensation washed over their body, their hand was through his shoulder but crimson stained their knees in the pool bellow them.

A voice whispered in their ear, light and airy, almost as if a passing breeze has blown through the graveyard.

"Who are you?"

[steviewashere]

Your Body is Warm Next to Mine

Rating: General CW: None Apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Steve Harrington Likes Back Scratches, Eddie Munson Likes Giving Back Scratches, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Domestic Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, Tired Steve Harrington, Sappy, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names

Based on This Tweet

(Two Times Eddie Scratches Steve's Back)

😴—————😴 1.

“Getting tired, baby?”

Steve hums. He wants to feign wakefulness. Pay attention to the rest of the movie that Eddie put on. Keep talking and cuddle in close and eat junk food. But he’s wiped. A long shift at Family Video earlier in the day with the addition of a few errands he had to run afterwards, tired doesn’t even cover what he’s feeling. Something more akin to mush. Just a heavy fog. Partially floating. Partially sinking into his spot on the couch. “Could say that,” he mutters.

The movie’s dialogue comes to an abrupt stop, most likely from Eddie pausing it. Then, the player whirs as it rewinds the tape. The TV crackling when it gets turned off. Hands wrap around Steve’s, warm and welcoming. They squeeze and tug lightly. “Alright, Stevie, let’s head up to bed,” Eddie murmurs.

He follows in a sludge. Through their apartment’s hallway, past the bathroom, and straight into the center of their bedroom. Steve shucks his pants off, replaces the polo he’d been wearing with a plain grey t-shirt, and unceremoniously collapses into bed. Behind him, Eddie chuckles, still carefully getting dressed into his pajamas. His hand gently taps at Steve’s left calf, ushering him to move up the bed and over to his spot. The left side meeting his skin like an early morning breeze.

Once Eddie lays on his side, Steve grabs for his right hand. Places it on his back. And then shimmies down into the mattress. One arm under his pillow, the other laying between them. He opens his eyes, raises his eyebrows slightly, and tries for his best pleading glance to where Eddie’s hand lays on his back.

He sighs into his position when Eddie lightly rolls his eyes, but immediately works his hand under Steve’s t-shirt. His eyes flutter close again, but he doesn’t fall asleep quite yet. Instead, he quietly requests, “Tell me about your day?”

With the tips of his fingers, Eddie begins by tracing the edges of Steve’s scars. Over the thick tissue, around the planes of sensitive and plush patches. He takes an easy breath and begins to whisper, “Well, I woke up while you were in the shower this morning. And I didn’t want to interrupt your little concert that you were having—“

“I don’t sing in the shower,” Steve feebly argues.

Eddie chuckles under his breath. “Hmm, must live next door to George Michael then,” he muses. His thumb presses into the top of Steve’s spine, running down in a single line. “But I didn’t want to interrupt, so I went out for a little walk around the complex. There weren’t any strong winds. Nobody was outside that early except for a couple smokers. The light breeze was on my face. Felt amazing,” he murmurs. His hand flattens against Steve’s back, swiping up and down and over his shoulder blades. Pressing more firmly where resistance meets his touch.

Continues, “But then, my little walk was interrupted. By the couple that lives in apartment 6A, y’know, on the second floor? Screaming and hollering at each other. They were arguing about—“

“Her dirtbag husband cheating, which was obvious from the start,” they say in unison. Steve snorts and nuzzles his head further into his pillow. His eyes droop more with exhaustion, but his breathing doesn’t completely slow. Still looking on at Eddie for more.

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “Told you about it when you got out. You then called Robin and told her all about it. I went to the kitchen while you guys talked. Smiled to myself as I poured coffee into our special mugs.” Steve’s mug is a yellow one that says ‘Keep a Smile on Your Face’ in red text. Eddie’s is a Seattle Pike Place Market mug—white with an array of colorful fruit on it. “Put creamer in mine, the vanilla one that you complain is way too sweet. Splash of whole milk in yours. Set it out on the dining table and made you toast; heavy coat of butter, thin layer of strawberry jam—not jelly.”

During Eddie’s recount, Steve has shuffled closer. Squishing his left arm between their bodies. Nearly nose to nose with each other. Eddie drags his blunt fingernails in counter-clockwise circles on Steve’s lower back, almost tickling him with how light the pressure is. He hums in delight.

“Grabbed oranges for us. Sat at the table and waited. Did the daily crossword in the newspaper before you had the chance, which made you slightly annoyed, but not furious.” Eddie leans into Steve’s space more, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of his nose. Grins to himself when Steve closes his eyes and smiles back. “Gave you the sports page. Which you read while peeling our oranges. And then you passed me yours, I removed the pulp from it. We ate in silence. I sat and thought about how much I love you,” he whispers almost like a confession.

Steve doesn’t say anything, instead basking in the soft touch he’s been given. Soaking it all in, letting himself be drenched with it. His chest warms pleasantly and his stomach flips at Eddie’s words.

Eddie taps his index finger over several areas of Steve’s back. Counting with the lowest and gentlest voice he can muster. Takes the edge of his fingernail and traces lines between the spots. “What’re you doing, Eds?” Steve sleepily asks.

“Making constellations,” he mutters. Eyes watching where his hand moves. “See, here’s a star—“ His finger pats. “—And here’s another,” he states, drawing another line. “There. That’s one constellation. Here comes one more.” Steve lets him do this. It’s the first time this has happened, but he certainly doesn’t want it to be the last. There’s four more constellations that he makes before running his palm heavily against the whole of Steve’s back. “Anyway,” he sighs. “Then, you went to work. And so I cleaned a bit. Did the dishes, wiped the table, organized our movies. Watched a couple reruns of Family Ties. Took a nap and dreamed about you.”

“Dream?” Steve mumbles.

Eddie kisses his clothed shoulder. “Kissed you in it,” he answers. “But I woke up. Made us some dinner. Spaghetti, your favorite. Even grated the parmesan by hand. I know—I’m a very fancy guy, it comes with the name.” Steve makes a half-hearted snort, too muffled by his exhaustion to be a real sound. “You came home. Made my dream come true, kissed you by the door. We ate. Started watching Animal House, with my insistence, even though you tried to protest.”

“You don’t like it,” Steve sighs.

“I do,” Eddie insists softly. “I just like to tease you a little. But I didn’t tonight because I could tell you had a very long day. Dead on your feet, sweetheart. Then, before I knew it, you were half-asleep against my shoulder.” He kisses Steve’s forehead this time. On his cheek. The lobe of his ear. Another to his shoulder. However, he doesn’t go in for one on the mouth. Steve’s breaths have completely slowed, his lips puffing slightly with each exhale, and his eyes remain closed and relaxed. There’s already a line of drool creeping to run down his cheek.

Eddie drags his hand one more time down Steve’s spine. “Night, baby,” he whispers. But it’s washed out by Steve’s soft snores. He tucks the comforter around them, tighter than it was before. Lays himself half over Steve’s back. And kisses the back of his head. Ready for the next time he’ll do this all over again.

——— 2.

Eddie draws him in a little closer. Pressing them against each other’s sides. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. Sets his head on his shoulder. And Eddie digs his chin into the top of his head.

They’re an hour into The Labyrinth when Steve gives a sleepy nudge to Eddie’s hand. Reaching behind himself to place Eddie’s palm on his back.

“Over the shirt or under?” Steve is asked.

“Over,” he answers through a sigh. Leans his full body weight into Eddie and watches the next several minutes of their movie knowing Eddie has him. Enjoys the way the dull scratches move his t-shirt, the soft rustle of his clothing being shifted. How his nails dig into him a little bit more on his softer parts, but how they traverse the scarred blades with caution. The circular motions of his fingers a gentle lull.

He hums at the sensation. Falling into it all a little more.

Eddie always enjoys giving Steve back scratches if only to see him fall asleep. Even if it’s on the couch, while they’re watching one of his favorite movies. He switches between etched lines and tracing the shape of Steve’s shoulders blades. Goes from circular scratches to whole palm sweeps. Just to make sure that Steve continues his late night nap. He can always tell when it’s been a long day by two things: when Steve takes a nap, and how he asks for his back to be scratched.

Sometimes, Steve will just ask the question. Usually when he’s more lucid or if he’s still slow to waking up. But, typically, it’s forcing Eddie’s hand on his back. Leaning into the touch. Nuzzling in close and all too warm.

It’s forty minutes later when Steve does wake back up. Rousing gently, slowly. Instead of startling awake like he does with a nightmare. His shoulders shift, shimmying nearly. Arms tighten around Eddie’s waist. Rubbing his cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, lips smearing on his shirt, the drool wetting Eddie’s skin a bit. “Mm, sorry,” he mumbles, “fell asleep during the movie.”

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs right back. “Back scratch must’ve been good.”

“Should get a job as a professional back scratcher,” Steve says. But his words slur slightly, as if he’s already trying to go back to sleep. It probably doesn’t help that Eddie is still moving his nails over Steve’s shoulders, up to the base of his neck, down his spine.

Eddie snorts. “Getting sleepy, baby?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits with a sigh.

“Alright, Stevie, let’s get you to bed.”

And he starts their nightly routine all over again. Shutting off the movie. Hauling Steve up. Indulging when he wants a back scratch. Telling him about his day.

“It was a great day,” he begins, “because I was able to love you.”

😴—————😴

[soapyghostie]

Hi!! I was wondering you could do a legion (Frank or Sally will do just fine?), ghost face, and The Knight with a killer s/o whose like that Jack Goodman guy from An American Werewolf in London or Beetlejuice,, from Beetlejuice? Obviously dead as hell but still a sarcastic and joking person while looking like torn up teddy bear. Just reacting to pieces of themselves just falling off as an inconvenience while talking about some stupid shit.

Also, Love your writing man, hope to see more of it!! Hope you have a nice day/night :)

Awwwww! Thanks Anon! I’m glad you like my writing! I hope you have a blessed day/night as well! ❤️ Here’s your request. Enjoy!

The Legion/Frank Morrison

Frank would be taken aback and stare at you in confusion as pieces of you fall off your body. He might even express concern before realizing that being dead, you're not exactly endangered. Once he comprehends the situation, Frank would chuckle and shake his head. He appreciates your dark humor and the fact that your dismembered state doesn’t seem to bother you. 

Frank loves sarcasm and teasing. He’ll engage in lots of teasing and corny jokes about your ‘shedding’ (Frank’s word for your body parts falling off). He’ll playfully ask if you're molting or suggest giving an offering of some of your pieces to the Entity for extra bloodpoints to enhance your abilities in trials.  

Frank gets used to the sight and starts making casual remarks when parts of you fall off during conversations. It becomes a normal part of your dynamic, and he finds it oddly endearing. In the midst of chases or trials, Frank will point out your ‘trail’ of fallen pieces, turning it into a morbid joke between the two of you.  

Frank will collect some of the fallen bits as ‘souvenirs,’ which is kinda gross in my opinion, to display a twisted sense of affection that he has for your torn-up teddy bear appearance. If he is in a mischievous mood, he may playfully remove a piece and run off with it with you chasing after him. It becomes a game of hide-in-seek between the two of y’all as you struggle to get the piece of your body back from Frank’s grasp: he’s pretty fast. 

Frank will come up with a lot of creative nicknames for you such as ‘scatterbrained sweetheart’ or ‘lost limbs baby” as a form of teasing, but also a form of affection. 

Frank, in a strange way, becomes protective of you, patching you up if needed or giving you words of affirmation due to your unique condition. He wants to make sure you feel loved and accepted for who you are. Despite all the teasing and jokes, Frank’s growing affection for you remains genuine, proving that even in the fog, unconventional relationships can thrive.

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

Danny would be startled at the sight of pieces falling off of your during y’all’s first encounter. His wide-eyed mask might express shock wherever he goes, but he immediately recognizes the absurdity of the situation. The Entity brings some really freaky shitters for killers. Sorry no offense…

Once the shock of your appearance lulls away, Danny will quickly adopt a deadpan sense of humor about your dismembered state. He’ll compare you to horror movie tropes, such as “Beetlejuice” or “An American Werewolf in London,” or crack jokes about your unraveled state. He’ll be surprised when you reciprocate his dark humor with the same dark humor, taking his jokes very well. Danny’s mask may hide his facial expressions, but his body language suggests he’s amused by your dark humor. He may even mimic laughter through his voice changer to join in on the joke.

When seeing you perform in trials, Danny will playfully comment on your ‘trail of bits,’ distracting you from your chase. To throw him off, critique and make fun of his strategy style in trials. You’ll get him to shut up that way because joking about his killing style destroys his ego. He deserves it for distracting you from your chase. 

Danny will propose a horror movie marathon, making light of your undead state and turning it into a movie night, complete with popcorn and snarky commentary. He’ll comment a lot on how you look like the villain of most of the movies y’all watch.  

Danny likes to mess with you and will definitely hide some of your fallen pieces during trials, challenging you to find them later. Also with Danny being the king of puns, he’ll weave a lot of puns about your torn-up teddy bear appearance into y’all’s conversations. From ‘losing your head over something’ to ‘falling for you in pieces,’ his humor takes on a morbid charm that gets you laughing every time.

Despite all the macabre jokes, Danny’s actions show a peculiar form of affection. He’ll retrieve your fallen pieces, even if he’s the one who stole them and hid them around, delicately place them back in their proper place on your body. In quiet moments, Danny will lean in and confess in an eerie whisper, “You’re the only one who can make dismemberment look charming.” Fucking bastard! However, you and Danny form a unique bond built on y’all’s shared dark humor that is a testament to the resilience of y’all’s connection in the Entity’s realm. 

The Knight/Tarhos Kovács

Tarhos would be surprised at the sight of pieces falling off of you. Despite your undead state, Tarhos expresses a gentle concern for your well-being, regardless of his usual stoic and knightly manner. He’ll even try to ‘repair’ you by placing the pieces respectfully back in their right places on your body that fall off.  

Tarhos engages in polite teasing about your dismembered state. I don’t know how he does it, but he knows how to do it respectfully. He’ll make chivalrous jokes, like offering to be your ‘knight in shining armor’ even if you're a ‘teddy bear in tatters.’ Additionally, Tarhos’s knightly code will take a twist as he discusses ‘dismemberment etiquette,’ establishing proper behavior for you when pieces fall off during conversations. 

Tarhos will incorporate swordplay into y’all’s dark humor, making light jabs at your falling pieces with his sword. He’ll even suggest a jousting match with your fallen pieces as targets. It’s a fun game y’all play in your spare time. 

While y’all are walking, Tarhos will be behind you retrieving any pieces that have fallen off and will hold all your pieces in his big hands, like flowers, until y’all get to your destination where he’ll try to ‘reassemble’ you. It is a cute and comical site, yet it shows his genuine desire to care for you. 

Tarhos will serenade you with medieval ballads, incorporating humorous lyrics about your ‘torn-up teddy bear’ appearance to lighten the mood. 

Tarhos’s chivalry extends beyond physical protection, he becomes your emotional shield, navigating all your worries and insecurities through words of affirmation and hugs. As time goes on, you and Tarhos embrace the absurdity of your appearance through humor and y’all’s support for each other, forming an unconventional partnership in the dark embrace of the fog.

[poemnic-tarot]

Channeled Message from Your Soulmate’s Higher Self

(Disclaimer : This is a general reading please only take what resonate. For entertainment purposes only)

🧚🏻‍♀️ 💕 🍀 🌷 🌸 You are Loved 🌸 🌷 🍀 💕 🧚🏻‍♀️

Pile 1🌠 “Twin flames”

“I want to acknowledge your mastery of your own emotions. I love that you’ve learned not to control or shame your emotion but accept them for what they are. Your inner strength really shine through and it wasn’t easy so I want to congratulate you on that hard earned achievement, my love. Now your emotion can’t hold you back anymore from taking action. They do not dictate what you can or cannot do because frankly, there is nothing you can’t achieve in this world. You can basically manifest anything.

You are very intuitive and even psychic when we first met and I noticed that about you. I was surprised by how much you were able to pick up on. My feeling particularly because I was not that expressive. You’ve showed me how to balance between true inspired action and just doing things for the sake of doing it. It was hard for me to give something up or abandoned things I’ve started, even when I know it was passed due to do so. Leaving things,letting go of attachment is hard for me. I am the type to keep on reading a book or watching a movie till the end even when I am dead bored of them. There’s no reason for me to continue but there wasn’t a reason for me to leave either. So I’m stuck I guess, I’m very good at getting myself stuck, in the middle, hanging in- between staying or going. But you told me you found that endearing for some reason and gently took my hand and guide me out of my self- imposed prison. You have helped me heal my wound of abandonment, maybe that’s why it was hard to say goodbye to things and leave them, even though they do not serve me anymore.

I admire your sense of adventure, you are the most expressive person I’ve ever met. Even if you don’t know that about yourself. I feel quite a strong kinship with you, like this is not our first rodeo on this earth. Perhaps, we often have more adventures in our dreams, I know I do dreamt of you quite often. I just want to let you know that I love you, I love who are and who you were and who you are trying to become. Every versions of you amazed me cause your true strength alway shines through every time and I will alway recognised your bright essence anywhere.”

Love,

Your Soul Family

Signs: Rose, Lion/big cats, 111, Infinity, Pine trees,Crescent Moon

Love Quotes: "In the end, we all just want someone that chooses us over everyone else under any circumstances."

Song: I See the Light from Tangle

“….And at last I see the light

And it’s like the fog has lifted

And at last I see the light

And it’s like the sky is new

And it’s warm and real and bright

And the world has somehow shifted

All at once everything looks different

Now that I see you

Love Poem verse : Twin flames by @cant-find-my-name

…I recognised negative traits needed

To be discard,

When we met, I think I’ve found myself

The missing piece, part of my soul

Ah, you’re my Twin flames

When I met you I know

We’re one and the same

🧚🏻‍♀️ 💕 🍀 🌷 🌸 You are Loved 🌸 🌷 🍀 💕 🧚🏻‍♀️

Pile 2🍄 If Magic Was Real

"I hope you are taking time to fully sit in your emotions and grieve. It is okay to express your emotion, in fact, it is crucial if you need to cry or break down or just lose it emotionally. Give yourself that permission to do so. You might think that it's strong of you to keep it together for the sake of others or yourself. That it is so mature of you to do so but darling, there need to be a balance. You need to heal but you won't be able to heal if you won't let yourself feel all of your sadness. If you need to cry, cry it out I will be here with you. You are not alone in your sorrows. I would like to give this song to you, maybe it would help "Chiquitita by Cher". It seem you have broken a feather but don't worry, we will try to patch it up together.

I want to tell you that a renewal is coming to you. It was a hard chapter that you just experienced and I hate seeing you pretending to be fine. But your sad eyes is not fooling anyone. It is okay to be sad,to be angry, to let it all out ( in a healthy way not in a self destructive way please). I admired you for holding it together for this long, but more than anything, I want you to let go. Be vulnerable with yourself, I think that is the most beautiful thing. Witness the spectrum of human emotions, it is beautiful. It is time to rest in your nest for awhile until you’re able to fly again. Take all the time that you need, grieve all that there is, broken relationships, friendships, nostalgia. Whatever it is, I am alway there. Listen to music because I love sending you messages through these songs, it has really helped me through my hard time. So I’m hoping music could be a little comfort to you at this time. Take some time for yourself love, cause you definitely need it. Trust me that the sun will rise once more, and all that happened will just been a hard learned lesson and you’ve definitely learn a lot from it.

I know that the real you is not a sad person. You are the most vibrant, radiant, happiest soul I know. And sadness doesn’t suit you one bit, as well as pretending to be happy. You shine best when you are true to your feeling. Winter is over and I cannot wait to welcome you back into the season of spring.”

Love,

Your Soulmate

Signs: Black feathers, birds, 55, Tears drop

Love Quote : “He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Song : Chiquitita by Cher

Chiquitita, tell me the truth

I’m a shoulder you can cry on

Your best friend, I’m the one you must rely on

You were alway sure of yourself

Now, I see you’ve broken a feather

I hope we can patch it up together

Love Poem verse: If Magic Was Real by @cant-find-my-name

.. The world seem kind

When you’re around

To believe again

Is easy

When you’re with me

If Magic is real

It is where you’ll be

🧚🏻‍♀️ 💕 🍀 🌷 🌸 You are Loved 🌸 🌷 🍀 💕 🧚🏻‍♀️

Pile 3🫧 I’ll Never Forget

“You’re working so hard and so am I. We’re trying to do our own work, slowly building strong foundation for the future. Maybe out of fears than anything. This anxiety to keep on going, to do better and better, to improve, constantly striving for a better future. I get it, I feel it too, however, if we keep on going like this eventually our life forces will run out. And physically we can become ill and I really don’t want that for you. So I’m here to let you know that you can slow down, what you feared will not come true. Your deep, dark fears will not come alive. If you think you can’t stop because you think that the fears you feel will transpire. No, it will not, you’ve work hard enough. Outwardly and internally, I’ve watched you tried and tried and alway striving to do better. To be better, but honey, you are already enough for me. You alway will be, regardless of what you did or what you didn’t do or what you will do. I will alway believe that your existence alone is enough for me. To sooth my soul, to lift my spirit up. You don’t have to do anything for me, I am happy just to be with you, to exist with you, to be by your side and bath in your lovely presence

I know you have struggled from a lack mentality, I don’t know if you notice that about yourself. And that is nothing to be ashamed of , I‘m struggling with it too. I understand how you feel, no matter how much you have or how much you do, you just feel it’s never enough. True abundance come from the inside. And you are already enough with the proof that your heart beats for you, the blood flowing in your vein is proof that we meant to exist here as we are. No more, no less.

Please rest assured love, and take a break once in a while. Do something that’s not related to work. I want you to practice winding down, practice letting go and relaxing. No one ever teach us how to truly relax and it is a skill, it doesn’t come naturally to us and we can help each other relax. We can practice together, practice just existing without shame or guilt, or a pit in our stomach that things will go wrong if you don’t do anything. I want you to learned to have fun because when we’re together, it’ll become a skill that will help our relationship a lot. I want to have fun together with you and for you to tell me all about your adventures, your travels and your crazy journey. I can’t wait to just sit down and be with you. Take a vacation with you and have the time of our lives. You are my vacation home.”

Love from,

Your Honey bear

Signs : 88, Roses, Games, Festival, Spider, Designer brand

Love Quote : “I know from that first moment we met. It was not love at first sight exactly but familiarity. Like ‘oh hello’, it’s you. It’s going to be you.”

Song : Voyage by Kep1er

“The sound of waves surging in

Far beyond the horizon

Between the clouds, we going high

Follow me in my way

When the gentle breeze blows

Close your eyes and feel it

We arrived to an unfamiliar island

slowly open your eyes

Love Poem verse: I’ll Never Forget by @cant-find-my-name

Loneliness is a disease

But I think you’ve just cure me,

You make me so happy

I don’t recognise myself,

You warmed my hand

Around your coffee mug

And asked if I’m alright

Your voice sounded worried

And there’s concern sincerity’s in

Your eyes.

🧚🏻‍♀️ 💕 🍀 🌷 🌸 You are Loved 🌸 🌷 🍀 💕 🧚🏻‍♀️

Pile 4🌙Each Night

“Good evening, I hope to meet you again in our dream. I know you dreamed of me and questioned it. Believe in yourself my little star. Your dream is not lying to you. It is alright to hope, to wish, to believe in the impossible. Please don’t think that it’s ridiculous or childish to believe in true love, in soulmate and fairy tales. Because you’re not wrong to hope. Your soulmate exist and you know that but your fears trying to convince you otherwise. I am your soulmate and my message to you is to believe in me. I want to validate your feeling, your extraordinary senses. Your wish in that little star?, I heard it, the universe heard it too and we listen. To all of your wishes and it was not ridiculous of you to wish for love, true love. It is not unrealistic, or rose colour glasses. It is just something that you know you deserve and want to feel. We do not shame or guilt ourself for asking for more love.

I am alway with you, in your dream, in your waking life, in our past lives. That is why you can feel my presence so strongly. It is not just from your imagination. I want to assured you that, it is real. I am as real as the bark of a tree. I can feel you too but truthfully, my 3D self is not as intuitive as you. I tend to brush things off when they don’t make sense, so please don’t be like me.Things doesn’t need to make sense now,it will eventually come together. Unfolding naturally, beautifully. I know you see my signs everywhere and is questioning reality. You are not going mad, just a head up from me. We will meet soon, in a way that you won’t believe. I won’t either but we both know that we wish for this desperately. Earth has been achingly lonely for me. And knowing you exist have helped alleviate the ache a bit. I want you to take your time with life, don’t rush cause when we come together, we can continue this journey together in an even pace,step by step.

Love,

Yours

Signs : North Star, Dove, Diamond shape, Cocoon of a butterfly, 8910, 2020

Love Quotes: “He loves you very much” she said, but more than that, he cares for you. Sometimes love is not as important as truly caring for the other person.

Song : Surefire by John Legend

“Let me breath you in ‘till gravity bends

And we fall through the hole in the light

Make this our kingdom

Somewhere where good love conquers and not

Divides”

Love Poem verse : Each Night by @cant-find-my-name

Oh distance shore

I beg of you

Please no more,

Please don’t keep us apart

I can’t take it

This is destroying my heart,

We are one and it’s time to be

Together again

Next to each other

Hand in Hand

Feel you touch my skin

Smell your scent

I breathe you in………

🧚🏻‍♀️ 💕 🍀 🌷 🌸 You are Loved 🌸 🌷 🍀 💕 🧚🏻‍♀️

Thank you so much for reading!. If this resonate please leave a tip if you like. See you soon!

Check out more of my original poems at @cant-find-my-name .

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 14: Strong Enough]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, sexual content, violence, angsttttttttttt (but what else is new 🥰).

Word count: 5.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @bearwithegg @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @elsolario @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @tillyt04 @cicaspair418 @fan-goddess​ @ladylannisterxo​

Only 1 chapter left! The series finale will be very...eventful 💜

Ice clinks in Aegon’s rum and Coke, his fourth in an hour; lemon juice and crystalline sugar is a halo around your appletini. The sky is a watercolor painting blending from lavender to violet to indigo, clouded, moonless. Downstairs inside Ursa Minor, shadows grow longer, slanting across the red-brown hardwood floor: hands turn into claws, men into beasts, skeletal and reaching. If this was a movie or a book, you would be able to see the Northern Lights, just like you did the first time Aegon brought you up here. It would be a full-circle moment that would soften a goodbye with a homecoming. Instead, the sky offers no consolation, no hint of any grander design. Sometimes things just blink out of existence like an eviscerated star. Sometimes things are just over.

You stand together on the rooftop patio in a patch of snow that is only shin-deep, exhaling white fog that evaporates into the nightfall, drinking. You don’t speak, because speaking of the end will make it real. You don’t look at each other either. You gaze out over the channel, where dark waters ripple and boats bob in easy waves. When Aegon offers you his rum and Coke, at first you don’t understand; and then you realize he wants to trade.

“I thought you hated these,” you say as you pass Aegon your appletini, Dale’s newest addition to his repertoire. You taste the rum and Coke: solid, heavy, bitter, biting.

“Figured I shouldn’t miss my shot. How often does someone get the chance to enjoy an appletini with an Appletini?” He gives you a wry, off-balance smile as he sips it, saccharine and emerald green.

You down the rest of the rum and Coke, haul up your courage like a body from the silt of a lake. And then you ask him: “What if you went with Aemond?”

Aegon stares at you in disbelief, in betrayal. “What?”

“Back to Miami. What if you actually went?”

“Whose fucking side are you on?”

“No, really, think about it,” you plead. “They can afford to get you the best treatment, take you to the best doctors. You can go to rehab and then, maybe, maybe after you’re better—”

“You want me to go crawling back to my parents after—?!”

“Then don’t do it for your parents!” you shout, your breath short-lived mist in the Arctic wind. “Do it for Aemond and Helaena and Daeron, do it for yourself, do it for me. You’re young, you’re brilliant, it’s not too late for you to start over. You could stop running, you could make amends.”

“I killed three people. How can anyone make amends for that? Aemond lost an eye, he’s maimed for life. How could anyone make amends for what I’ve done? What would me being home do for anybody except serve as a constant reminder of the fact that I got to walk away without paying for my mistakes?”

“You’ve paid,” you say. “You’ve paid for six years.”

He shakes his head, peering into the channel. “I can’t go back.”

“You really think you can run for the rest of your life? You’re never going to get married, have children, own a house, file taxes, start a business, go back to school, keep the friends you’ve made? Aegon, think about it! You can’t even play in a band good enough to book a spot at a festival or a club without there being advertisements, magazine articles, Google search results. You can’t disappear, not in the world that exists now. You can’t disappear and have any life worth living.”

“I’ve made it this long. I’ll find a way.”

“You’ll die,” you tell him, cutting like glass, like the splinters of a broken window. “You can’t keep doing this or you’ll die. And what then?” What about me, Aegon? “What was this all for?”

“I can’t go back.” It’s an echo, mindless and reflexive, a survival instinct. There’s no reasoning with it. He drains the appletini and pitches the glass off the roof, out into the darkness.

You hear footsteps on the staircase, and again you are reminded of the night Aegon kissed you for the first time, the night he sang Everlong, the night under the Northern Lights. Then it had been Heather who interrupted you. Now it’s Kimmie. She bursts through the door, panting from the effort of scaling the steps in five-inch hot pink heels.

“She’s here,” Kimmie informs you and Aegon from the doorway, her face an exaggerated, childlike pool of sympathy, all soft edges and slick eyes. And then she hurries back downstairs.

Heather, sitting in the usual booth, is inundated by well-meaning spectators who offer sympathy, support, thinly-veiled prying so they don’t look quite so much like kids gawking at a zoo animal. They hug her and pat her back reassuringly; they buy her drinks. There is a small army of Sex On The Beaches on the table. Kimmie climbs nimbly into the booth, snuggles up beside Heather, and rests her head on her shoulder. Heather, for once, does not seem to regard this as an intrusion. Aemond, attempting not to encroach, is sipping a Caipirinha at the bar in his black Armani suit. Dale has apparently at last tired of Shania Twain songs. From the stereo drifts the wistful acoustic chords of Sheryl Crow’s Strong Enough.

You slide into the seat across from Heather and take her hands. Joyce is beside you, no book to be found. Brad and Rob are standing a few yards away, both drinking heavily, both murmuring in dazed, conspiratorial voices. “Guess the Hulk jokes aren’t so funny now…can you imagine…he did get kind of aggressive sometimes…the best quarterback Juneau’s seen in decades…but the boots…who would have guessed…?”

“I can’t stay long,” Heather sniffles. Her eyes are red, her face puffy from crying. “My parents are calling around trying to get a good lawyer. They’re in shock, they’re fucking devastated, we’re all just…just…” She crumbles into loud sobs, shoving a fistful of tissues against her nose.

“Shh,” Kimmie says, stroking Heather’s hair. “Shh, shh…”

“Heather,” you begin, not knowing how to put it delicately. “Were there any…you know…any signs? That Trent could be the Ice Fisher?”

She shrugs despondently. “You know how he is. He’s a dumbass sometimes. He gets angry…he says the wrong things…but he doesn’t kill people!” She starts crying again.

“He does fit the description,” Joyce says softly. “He’s big, he’s athletic.”

Kimmie marvels: “I can’t believe we spent all that time around him. We were totally clueless. Out in the woods with him? Hanging out together at night? Trent could have gotten any of us.”

Heather wails, mopping the tears from her face with the damp mass of tissues.

“So he’ll stay in custody?” Aegon asks Heather. “Until the trial?”

“That’s what the cops said. There’s no way he’s getting bail.” She shakes her head. “Chief Baker came to the house to talk to my parents about what was happening. What they had found in Trent’s apartment, what the next steps would be. He looked so sorry to have to deliver the news. That was nice of him, wasn’t it? He didn’t have to do that.” More sniffling, more tears snaking down her cheeks.

“Heather, please,” you say helplessly.

“I hate this,” she sobs. “I hate this!”

Kimmie holds her tighter. “Shh, shh. I know.”

“It’ll kill my parents. They were always so proud of Trent, they loved him so much…they still do, I mean, but now…now…”

“Did he say anything to you?” you ask Heather. “After he was arrested? He got a phone call, right? Did he confess, did he give a reason why? Did he say anything?”

“Yes.” She gazes across the table at you, eyes murky with bewildered, immutable horror. “He said he didn’t do it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Heather, somewhat mollified by a number of Sex On The Beaches, asks Joyce to drive her home. As Aegon bids goodbye to Rob and Kimmie—a permanent goodbye, a remorseful one—you retreat to the bar to give him space. Brad must know about the transitory Kimmie-Aegon situation; he glares at him as he knocks back glass bottles of beer misty with condensation. Aegon is working on his sixth rum and Coke. He sways, he slurs, he blinks in slow motion.

“Can you believe it?” Dale asks as you sit next to Aemond, sliding you a fresh appletini. His bushy eyebrows are raised: incredulous, inquisitive. “Trent? Our very own hometown hero?”

“It’s disturbing, for sure. But he was prone to…outbursts.”

“Yes,” Dale says, a little vaguely. “I had noticed that.” He lumbers away to take orders. Ursa Minor is full of locals clamoring for gossip, theories, commentary, self-medication.

Aemond nips at his frosty Caipirinha, his eye fixed on Aegon. “He’s stalling.”

Why lie? There’s no shade of dishonestly that he can’t see through. “Yes.”

“It won’t work.”

You watch Aegon from across the room: the way he talks with his hands, the way he smiles crookedly beneath sad eyes, the way that lock of white-blond hair falls over his face. He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. “Show me more pictures from Miami.”

Aemond smirks. “Now you’re stalling too.” Regardless, he produces his wallet and starts leafing through a small stack of photographs. He plucks out the ones you haven’t seen yet with lithe and yet curiously dangerous hands. There are more images of Vhagar, several mansions and yachts, some of a young woman who must be Helaena—slight, delicate, intensely vulnerable—and a boy in his late-teens playing golf.

“Daeron?” you guess.

Aemond nods. “He’s the most balanced, the least damaged. He would have been Dad’s choice to inherit the leadership of the company if he was older. He’s the best of us.”

“I doubt that.” You sift through the photographs until one stuns you: an olive-skinned, black-haired man, perhaps thirty, with his arm around a woman’s shoulders. He wears a modest, strangely burdened smile, but his dark eyes are warm. “Who’s this? He’s gorgeous. And he actually looks Greek. Don’t tell me you have yet another brother. If so, I fear I might have allied myself with the wrong one.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” he says with just a dusting of sarcasm like flurries. “No, he’s Criston Cole. He’s been Dad’s bodyguard since before I was born.”

You squint at the photo. “How old is he?”

“He’s in his forties now. I know he looks younger.”

“And the woman is…his wife? Girlfriend?”

“My mother, actually.”

You raise an eyebrow. Aemond smiles bashfully, averts his gaze. “They share an affinity. He’s helped her immensely through Dad’s illness, through…well.” He gestures to Aegon with his glass. “Everything.”

“I mean…yeah. I’d probably find an excuse to fuck Criston too.”

Miraculously, this works: Aemond laughs, the first time you’ve ever heard him do it. It’s a joltingly beautiful sound. It’s like the earth waking up again at the end of winter. He gathers up the photographs, places them safely back into his wallet, sips his Caipirinha contemplatively. “You’re not stupid,” Aemond says. “You have to understand that there’s no way this ends with you and Aegon together.”

We were supposed to have two more months. And maybe I even dreamed of more than that.

Aemond continues: “He has to get better before it’s too late. He has to get sober. I can’t give him a new liver. Dad’s the only one in the family with Aegon’s blood type.”

You turn to him, bemused. “You’ve already thought about that.”

Aemond is annoyed, like you haven’t been keeping up. “Of course I have.” His BlackBerry beeps, and he slides it out of his pocket. He reads the onyx pixels on the screen, his eye widening. He reads them again. And then he says: “I need a phone. Immediately.”

“Okay, um, well there’s a payphone outside, and Dale has one behind the bar—”

Aemond flags down Dale, expresses that he has an emergency, is swiftly ushered to the phone. While he’s gone, Aegon makes his way back to you. He finishes his latest rum and Coke, bangs the glass down on the counter, kisses you with unaccustomed roughness, his calloused fingers cradling the arc of your jaw.

You tuck his unruly lock of hair behind his ear. “Aegon—”

“We have to leave now,” Aemond says. He’s reappeared, and he will not be ignored.

“Go buy a newspaper and jack off to the business section,” Aegon flings at him, bringing his lips to yours again, burning with dark rum.

Aemond grabs the neckline of his brother’s royal blue sweater and drags him away from you. Bar patrons glance over. You’re beginning to attract attention. “We have to leave. Now.”

“Okay, okay,” Aegon agrees; but there’s something flighty and devious in his eyes, like an animal too sly to be caged. The three of you walk back to Aegon’s apartment together, stepping in footprints already left in the snow. Each time Aegon staggers, you catch him and haul him upright again. You can’t even resent him for it. Soon you won’t be able to touch him at all.

Sunfyre is waiting when Aemond unlocks the door. He gives the golden retriever an absentminded pat on the head as he glides past him. Aegon lurches into the kitchen, where the mugs are still waiting on the counter for the hot chocolate he never made. And then he just stands there unsteadily under the goldenrod florescent lights. He’s run out of room to run. He’s a rat at the end of a maze, not an open door but a brick wall.

“Pack your things,” Aemond orders.

“No.”

With one powerful hand, Aemond shoves him against the refrigerator. Magnets—Las Vegas, Phoenix, Baltimore, San Francisco, Portland, Denver, Chicago, Dallas, San Diego, many more—go flying in every direction. “Pack your fucking things.”

“No,” Aegon repeats.

“Dad’s in the hospital,” Aemond says. “He was admitted this morning. It’s bad, he has a pulmonary embolism. He might be dying. I need to be there to handle things.”

“So go,” Aegon replies dismissively.

“Not alone.” His only eye is an icy blue, sharp and ferocious; but it’s heartbroken too. “Not without you.”

“I’m not going.”

“Aegon,” he implores, he begs. “Mom can’t make these decisions alone, Helaena doesn’t have the spine for it, Daeron’s too young, we need to be there!”

“You need to be there. Not me.”

“Pack your things,” Aemond says again.

“No.”

“Then you can leave as you are.” And he lunges for Aegon, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. Sunfyre barks franticly.

“Aegon, no!” you shout, because you realize what he’s going to do. He grabs the green mug off the kitchen counter, shatters it against the stovetop, and wields a thick, five-inch-long shard of it like a dagger as Aemond grapples for him. Aegon’s arm is lightning in the air, striking blindly. The jagged sliver of the mug connects with Aemond’s face.

“What’s wrong with you?!” Aemond roars, touching his palm to his forehead and seeing the blood. “What’s your plan? To cut out my other eye too?!”

“No.” Aegon brings the shard to his own throat and starts slicing: not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to show he’s serious. A trickle of blood flows down his neck like a string of rubies.

“Stop!” you and Aemond shriek together. He gets to Aegon first. Aegon careens away from him until his back hits the wall. Aemond knocks the piece of the mug out of his grasp; it clatters over the hardwood floor like a rock skipped across water. Aegon slaps at his brother’s face ineffectually, then finally slams his elbow into Aemond’s nose. Blood rockets, blood flows like a river. With an open palm, Aegon smears it upwards into Aemond’s only remaining eye. Aemond screams in anguish and frustration, fumbling blindly for the kitchen sink. Then Aegon reaches for his brother.

You shout: “Aegon, don’t hurt him—!”

“I’m not.” As Aemond twists on the faucet and splashes water into his eye, Aegon thieves his few consequential possessions from Aemond’s pockets: his keys, his wallet, his cash. And then he retreats to the other side of the room. His message is clear. He doesn’t want to fight; he wants to run. He wants to start running and never stop. Sunfyre scurries over to him, claws clicking on the floor, examining Aegon like a fretful mother.

You yank a dishtowel out of a drawer and go to Aemond. “It’s me, it’s me,” you say gently when he flinches away. You help clear the blood from his eye, assess his nose. Not broken, but bleeding like hell. Aemond doesn’t even look angry. He looks exhausted, he looks hopeless. Aegon watches from across the small apartment, holding his belongings, clutching them to his chest, a coward and hating himself for it.

“Six years,” Aemond says, his voice clotted with scalding blood, with an ocean of time. “For six years I tried to find you and this is what I have to show for it. You didn’t miss me at all. Not even sometimes. Not even for a second.”

“I never said I didn’t miss you.”

“But you won’t come home.”

“No,” Aegon says, like an apology.

Aemond readjusts his suit, smooths his hair. He doesn’t seem aware of the blood still streaming from his nose, his forehead. “I have to go. I have to be there.”

“Then go, Aemond. That’s where you belong.”

He stares at Aegon with a vacantness that you can feel in your own bones: excavated marrow, howling void. “This isn’t over,” he says. “All I’ve ever done is live in your shadow. I don’t know how to stop.” And then he gets his green Louis Vuitton suitcase and vanishes through the apartment doorway. You bolt after him, chasing him out into the darkness, a starless night with a cold wind that slits into your lungs like needles.

“Aemond!” you call, and he stops. “Where are you going?”

“Home. The jet is waiting.”

“But you can’t walk to the airport from here. And I’ve had one too many appletinis to drive you.”

“I’ll call a cab from the bar. You do have cabs here in Juneau, I assume?”

“Yes. Two, I think.”

“That’ll do.” He stands in the weak beam of the streetlight, heaving in labored breaths. He wipes the blood still pouring from his nose with the back of one hand. “Good luck with him. You’ll need it.” And then he’s gone, his suitcase bumping over thickets of snow and ice.

Upstairs, Aegon is dragging his own suitcase—black, tattered, Samsonite—out from beneath his unmade bed. He opens it and starts throwing in clothes: band T-shirts, sweaters, jeans, flannel. Sunfyre, whimpering, crawls under the bed and stays there.

“Aegon—”

“If my father stabilizes, Aemond will come back. If he dies, Aemond will come back. He might try to bring my mother up here, or Helaena, or Daeron, or Criston, or the whole fucking family, who knows? I have to be long gone by the time he returns to Juneau.”

“Aegon, please, think about this—”

“I already have a guy lined up to buy the Nova…I think I still have his phone number…I don’t have enough cash yet, but I will once I’ve sold the car…” He’s mostly talking to himself. He’s not really in Juneau anymore; he’s in the future, he’s in the past.

“You don’t have to go—”

He says suddenly, looking at you: “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. We’ll do this together.”

And for a second, you almost say yes. You can see it in one of those flashes, brief and inescapable like lightning: sand, surf, wild children with white-blond hair. Then reality roars back in like a storm. “What, so I can drag you off the floor, clean up your messes? So I can have a front row seat to your self-destruction? So I can burn all the bridges behind us as I follow you into exile? There’s no place for me in a future like that. That’s not a future at all. It’s a cage. It’s a different kind of cage than the one I’m in here, but it’s a cage nonetheless.” Your voice isn’t harsh. Perhaps it would hurt him less if it was. You sound patient and sad and old, like you’ve already seen it all and returned as a ghost, wearing decades of regret instead of white sheets. “And you’ll drink away the money I make, or you’ll inject it into your arm, or you’ll buy pills with it, and I’ll resent you, at first just a little bit, and then more, each time stacking up like pennies in a jar, getting heavier and heavier until I can’t feel all those reasons why I fell in love with you, I can only feel the crushing goddamn weight.”

He can’t even tell you that it’s not true. He wants to, he wants to desperately, but he can’t.

“Tell me you’ll get better,” you say in a whisper thinner than a knife’s edge. “Tell me you’ll try, at least, that you’ll go to rehab, that you’ll face your past, that you’ll make amends. Give me something, anything to hold on to. Give me a reason to leave with you. Please, Aegon, please, just give me one fucking reason.”

“I’m not capable of what you’re asking for.”

“Then I can’t leave Juneau.”

“If you walk out that door, it’s over,” he says, his eyes glassy, tiny barren oceans. “I can’t wait. And I won’t be here tomorrow.”

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

“Then get out,” he hisses. “You want to go so bad? You want to get away from me, you want to start forgetting? Just get out. You don’t need to make polite excuses. You don’t need to placate me. I understand. I understand perfectly.” And he doesn’t hit you, but it feels like he does. “Go find some painfully ordinary Juneau boy that you won’t give a fuck about. Maybe he’ll be a logger, maybe he’ll work on a fishing boat, it doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ll play pool with him and you’ll stroll through Blockbuster together and you’ll let him order you beers you don’t want and sooner or later you’ll be lying underneath him, and he’ll be fucking you, and you’ll be amazed by how it’s possible to be so close to another human being and yet so far away. And you know what? The whole time you’ll be thinking about me.”

“Yes,” you answer, dripping with cold venom. “I’ll be wondering what morgue you ended up in.”

“Then get out,” he says again, he dares.

But you don’t turn to go. You don’t even move. Aegon’s gaze sweeps over you: face, down to your boots, back up to your eyes.

His lips curl up at the edges, not in a smile but something stinging, boastful, cruel. “I know what you want.”

Don’t touch me, you wish you could say, you wish you could stab him with like a blade, all the way to the hilt. I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you at all. But Aegon has learned every one of your languages, and he can read lies on you like scrawls of ink.

He crosses the room, buries a hand in your hair, holds you still as he skates the other into the front of your jeans. You cry out, opening your thighs for him, surrendering, ravenous. One last time. Yes, oh god, please, one last time. He yanks your jeans down to your ankles and unbuttons his own. Then he turns you to the wall. You brace yourself against it—a palm pressed to fraying wallpaper—as he slips into your wetness, becoming a fleeting visitor rather than one with you, a lover without a name, a face.

And you want it, yes, yes, there’s no ambiguity there, but still it’s agony, because it’s nothing like it was before. Aegon doesn’t whisper to you, doesn’t kiss you, doesn’t touch you anywhere that isn’t necessary. He makes you come, yes; but quickly and mechanically, like it’s a necessary task to be checked off a list, a patched roof, gasoline into his Nova. He doesn’t leave bruises on you, yes; but that doesn’t mean anything. He never left bruises on Kimmie either. When you reach back—instinctively, without thinking—to touch his face, his hair, he catches your hand and pins it to the wall. You could be anybody, and you will be: soon enough the girl standing in your place will be from Des Moines, Modesto, Scottsdale, Buffalo, Plano, Durham, Wichita, Knoxville, Fargo, Ann Arbor, Hartford. It doesn’t matter where she lives, because he won’t be there long. It doesn’t matter who she is, because that’s not why he wants her.

Aegon finishes with a shuddering gasp, is still for a moment, and then recedes from you. The sensation of abrupt emptiness is forlorn, sickening. I feel worse than I did before. How is that possible?

“Now get out,” he says, zipping up his jeans in the sepia florescent light. He can’t even look at you. He stares down at the floor instead, pretending to be scrutinizing something, a scuff or an indentation. You both know he doesn’t care about things like that. You both know he’s done with you. You dress yourself, grab your purse, and break out into the freezing darkness.

You go to Ursa Minor and clean yourself up in the bathroom, a tear-streaked ghost under stark white lights. Then you go to the usual booth. You don’t order anything, not even when Dale swings by to check in with you, his forehead crinkled with questions and worry. You don’t talk to the few locals who are currently drinking their January evening away. You just sit there, staring at the wall, not feeling time as it breathes through you: an invisible truth, a string that ties the past to the present like an anchor. Eventually, you get up and leave, climb into your Jeep, drive back to the place you’ve always called home.

You walk into the house, into the nightscape silence. Your purse drops off your shoulder and thumps against hardwood. And you stand there, not speaking, not seeing, just feeling the ionic bonds between your atoms being snipped, your veins and ligaments unweaving, pieces of you falling away until you vanish. You can feel yourself becoming transparent. The pigment of your eyes, your hair, your skin evaporates—boiled water from a tea kettle, steam off a bathroom mirror—and is replaced by the muted grayscale of Juneau. Your eyes are puddles of melted snow on asphalt, laced with salt and stray earth. Your hair is wisps of fog. Your skin is the Gastineau Channel, a silver-cold river deep with bones. It’s not that you can’t imagine a future. It’s that you’ve forgotten how to imagine anything at all.

“You’re home already?” Your mom steps out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a dishtowel. “Dad went to the Foodland. I found this neat new cookie recipe but we’re out of baking powder—”

You look at her, and she sees you, really sees you. And the totality of the understanding on her face is like you’re under a spotlight, like you’ve never had a secret and never will. “How did it happen?”

“He’s leaving Juneau. I can’t go with him, not the way he is now. That’s all.” You show her your palms, empty.

“Well, it’s not necessarily goodbye forever, is it? I mean, you can still stay in contact with him. Make phone calls, send letters…”

“There’s no point, Mom,” you say, with more despair than you intend to. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Ladybug…” She hesitates, wringing the dishtowel. “Your dad and I…we want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you? And we like having you here. We love having you here, it’s the greatest gift we could have ever hoped for. But if you need to change things to be happy…if you need to see other places, experience different things…we would want you to do that. We would want you to do whatever it takes for you to feel that you’re truly living.”

You stare at her like she’s speaking a dead language: Egyptian hieroglyphs, Gothic, Illyrian. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

I could get out of Juneau. They would want me to. “But even if I did leave one day, I couldn’t go with Aegon.” Your voice breaks, your lips tremble. “He’s too damaged. He’s too much like Jesse.”

“Oh, ladybug,” your mom says, smiling with tears in her eyes. “Aegon isn’t like Jesse.”

Of course he’s like Jesse. He’s exactly like Jesse. And that’s why he’s going to end up dying the same way Jesse did. “He’s…not?”

“Well, he is, but he isn’t. Aegon is more defenseless, more gentle, more kind. Aegon would never hit you. There’s more good in him, I think. There’s more of a chance.”

You want to believe her. It shocks you how much; you’ve never wanted to believe in anything this badly. “So you think I should go with him.”

“That’s something you have to decide,” your mom says. “And only you. Because you’re the one who has to live with the choices you make. All I can tell you is that if you see potential in someone, even a glimmer of possibility, and you don’t try with every shred of yourself to make it work…you might regret it for the rest of your life.”

A question occurs to you that is so horrible you almost can’t bring yourself to ask it. “Do you regret being with Dad?”

“No, never,” she says, and the relief rolls through you. “But I think that if I had handled things differently with Jesse, he would still be alive. I had given up on him by then. I had stopped trying to help him, I had stopped believing him when he told me he wanted to change. I wasn’t there for him at the end. And I should have been. Because it really did seem like he was getting better.” She embraces you, warmth and unconditional harbor. “If you want to run after Aegon…if even the smallest part of you does…then I don’t want you to ignore that because of your love for me and Dad. We’ll be alright. Do you hear me? As long as you’re happy, we’ll be alright.”

“Okay.” You kiss her on both cheeks and hug her one last time, your arms slung around her neck, clinging to her like a child. “Okay, Mom. Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you.”

“I love you too, ladybug. Now go. Go, if that’s what you want.”

So you go. You snatch up your purse, bolt for the door, run through the frigid darkness to your Jeep. Dim gloomy streetlights flick by overhead as you drive, snow and ice and salt crunching beneath the tires. The channel is a glistening ribbon to the west, the mountains vast ancient shadows to the east. And you think about what you’ll tell Aegon, what perfect confession you’ll make; but the truth is, you won’t need to say anything at all. When he sees you, he’ll know.

You swerve to a haphazard stop under the streetlight outside Aegon’s apartment building. You dive out of your Jeep, sprint up the steps, rattle the spare key he once gave you in the door. It opens. So does the rest of your life.

Inside, Aegon’s apartment is silent and still. The refrigerator magnets have been collected from the floor like seashells from frothing surf. The battered green electric guitar is missing. His closet is bare; the blue mug has disappeared from the kitchen counter. There are pawprints in the dust on the hardwood floor. But there’s no Sunfyre, and there’s no Aegon either.

He’s gone. He’s just gone.

[qingxin-dream]

As the World Falls Down

a/n | this is partially inspired by one of my fav scenes in the 1986 movie labyrinth, i just really love the imagery and bowie’s song (literally the title haha). always got me daydreaming🥰 hope you enjoy!! (art credits: @/myu-chan on deviantart)

warnings | poisoning, suffocation, profanity, hallucinations, reader wears a dress, implied death, crying, vague references to scara lore, not really proofread it’s 1am

genre | angst, romance

word count | 2.6k

pairing | scaramouche x reader

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“I found some mushrooms and berries,” you announced upon returning to camp, a hand-woven basket tucked into the nook of your elbow.

“Good. We can have fowl with it too,” stated your nonchalant traveling partner, the rogue Balladeer, who nods. His eyes were lost in the growing flames of the fire he was tending to, not caring to spare you a glance as you take seat next to him to sort through your basket.

An amusing thought crossed the puppet’s mind and past his lips with haste, “It’s not poisonous, is it?”

The crackling of the fire grew louder amid the absence of your answer, reaching up to the darkening sky in a flurry of hot ash. After flipping a log over in the campfire, Scaramouche begrudgingly looked over at you, annoyed and prepared to chew you out for ignoring him. “Hey, what are you—”

“Sc-Scara… c-can’t—” you struggled to put words together as suddenly a dense fog settled over your mind. Eyelids unbearably heavy and jaw becoming slack, your consciousness was fading rapidly.

“(Y/N)?” his voice nearly cracks out of surprise, lunging toward you to catch you as your limp body collided with the ground. A single purple mushroom tumbled away from your grasp when you collapsed, the mark of your teeth engraved on the cap of the little fungus.

Scaramouche tried to shake you out of your delirium to no avail. He cradles you closer in his arms, curses pouring over his lips in a panicked state, trying to find your pulse. “Fuck, fuck… idiot, how could you be so careless!”

His fingers against your dainty wrist did not feel a thing. You weakly rolled your head toward the frantic puppet, it seemed you were blissfully unaware of how the puppet was scrambling to save you. A glittery haze swirled ominously behind your eyes—you certainly weren’t lucid—almost as if you were admiring the man holding you tightly on your deathbed.

Grazing the back of his index finger along your neck, you were still warm to the touch. It wasn’t until Scaramouche placed an ear against your chest did he hear the faint thump of your heartbeat and feel the rise of your rib cage as you breathed slowly.

You were still alive, but who knows for how long? He cursed once more, scanning over your features frantically. You no longer fought against the wave of drowsiness crashing over you, eyelids beginning to close and the small smile disappearing from your lips.

“H-Hey! Are you listening? What the hell did you eat?” the puppet growled, lightly slapping your face awake. Your eyelashes fluttered momentarily, but it was evident you weren’t comprehending anything that was happening. “Where is it? Don’t you dare close your eyes, (Y/N), I swear.”

Scaramouche recklessly searched through your basket of foraged items, tossing aside every last godforsaken wild flower, mushroom, and berry you worked so hard to collect. Looking you over, a small sparkle caught his eye.

A violet little shroom, glimmering under the setting sun, sat half-eaten on a patch of dirt next to you. It sported a mesmerizing pattern, twisting and contorting into the strangest unrecognizable shapes. His eyes trailed them through and through, a deceptively beautiful tango that drew him closer and closer with promises of pleasure, but what lurks beneath the surface of such an alluring potion?

A comforting warmth spreads across the puppet’s cheek, snapping him from his thoughts. You were cupping his cheek, half-lidded irises glistening with the reflection of a faraway realm. Scaramouche blinked.

“Where did you go?”

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The echo of a grand piano was just within earshot, weaving a gentle melody so lovely your ears would happily weep if they could. A few string instruments join in, a sweet violin contrasted with a deeper cello sound, if only you could find them. Light laughter swirled about, amid the clink of wine glasses and romantic whispers.

Pulling the lavishly purple curtain back, you are faced with the extravagant ballroom packed with guests. Each of them exuded pristine elegance in their magnificent, jet-black suits adorned with freshly bloomed flowers. It was a sight to behold, truly, with their faces masked behind brilliantly intricate Fatui-esque designs, boasting tall feathers or shiny rhinestones.

As they led their beautiful partners draped in pastel ballroom dresses and the finest jewelry, something was familiar about them yet no one appeared to recognize you. Was it the soft white Cecilia clipped to the raven-haired musician plucking away at the harp? Or the exquisite Glaze Lily on the tall gentleman nearby whose ponytail faded to a golden caramel hue?

The ebb and flow of the dance pushed you to and fro, distracting you from your thoughts. It was difficult to weave through the crowd, you find it quite suffocating with no exit is in sight. Then, without warning, a small clearing was made as the guests silently danced around you and the lone man who stepped into your path.

His mask was unlike the others: an angelic shade of white that shimmered like gold under the chandelier, dotted with tiny diamonds beneath the eyes in the shape of a tear. Deep indigo locks of hair perfectly framed his face, and as your doe-like eyes took in his ethereal form you noticed his boutonnière was unique—a vibrant, wine-red dendrobium rested upon his breast pocket.

He lowered the mask, yet no one seemed to pay any mind as they swayed to the surrounding symphony. Your jaw dropped in shock, the act of revealing his identity like breaking a sacred oath. Twinkling lavender irises rested on you, drinking in your immaculate visage dolled up in an exquisite, lacy ball gown that rivaled the purest snow on Dragonspine.

You were utterly and completely awestruck, lips parted but words would never take form.

It was him—Scaramouche in the flesh.

He approached you, leaning in until he lingered but a few inches away. You swear by the Archons if someone had said he was ambrosia incarnate you would have believed them without question. It was intoxicating, the way he made your cheeks burn with warmth and searched your eyes endlessly as if it were truly the window to your soul.

His hands delicately brushed against your waist, moving to guide you into the rhythm of the crowd. Your arms wrap around his neck, just as lost in him as he was within you. The mesmerizing serenade of the orchestra drowned out any banter around you, and you felt safe in his hold.

Your voice softly broke through to him, “Who are you?”

An amused hum escapes his lips. Scaramouche gazed at you with adoration, pulling you closer against his torso like he never wanted to let you go. His husky voice answered into your ear, “Who do you think I am?”

You bit your lip. Part of you had secretly dreamed of Scaramouche returning your feelings one day. All of this felt too good to be true. Was this reality? Would he embrace you like this? Would he—

“(Y/N),” he quietly chastised, seeing you lost in thought. Strands of violet hair tickled your face when his nose brushed yours, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at his lips that were so close to meeting your own. You could hear his breath hitch, a tint of pink dusting his cheeks. “Tell me what you think of me.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” you nervously replied, averting your eyes as the butterflies in your stomach began to become unbearable under the weight of his affectionate and alluring gaze. “And why does it matter? You never cared about what other’s think anyway.”

“You are correct, but… you aren’t like the others, now are you?” Scaramouche smirked, a glint of mischief flickering across his features before pulling away to twirl you around.

As you returned to him, dress flourishing in tandem, you flash him a sly smile. “Well, if you must know, I do think of you fondly when you are away.”

“And what of when you are here with me?” he teased, joining the two of you at the hip again. He could practically hear his heart pounding, desperate to leap out of his chest. Scaramouche tucks a loose tuft of hair behind your ear, whispering into it once more, “You are in the presence of a god, after all. It only takes three words and I am yours.”

An insatiable rush of heat flusters your face at such a proposition. Your hand cupped his cheek and you caressed it with your thumb, committing his every perfect curve and edge to memory, as if confirming he was real and not made of paper mâché. He leans into your touch lovingly, a prince hopelessly enamored by this chance encounter.

This was really Scaramouche, and he wanted you. He chose you. In what world would you possibly deny him?

The sweet sound of the string quartet marked the end of the musical piece, drawing your attention as the crowd fell to a low hush awaiting the beginning of the next song.

When you turned to answer him, he disappeared. You flicked your head around, searching the ballroom for his face, his mask, his unusual violet hair, anything that resembled his unmistakable aura—but ultimately found naught. The guests spared disapproving looks at you through their masks, though you couldn’t discern if it was pitiful or mocking.

Your adrenaline began to kick in, not caring to push through the crowd just for the opportunity to catch a fleeting glimpse of Scaramouche’s beautiful mask. The orchestra began to play faster, heightening your sense of anxiety as guests moved in tune and nearly fought against you.

Was it something you said? Was he no longer satisfied with you? Were you just a plaything to him and nothing more?

Finally, you broke through the edge of the crowd and found yourself face-to-face with a distorted mirror of the room. Your reflection curved and blurred as if the ballroom itself was contained in an iridescent bubble. You were wrong. So horribly wrong.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the electrifying stare of Scaramouche watching you from the outskirts of the crowd. Your skin crawled with goosebumps once you noticed he was sauntering toward you, mask covering his expression.

You had to find a way out of this nightmare. Grabbing a chair from a nearby table, you held it above you, prepared to burst out of this false dream.

Suddenly a firm hand gripped your wrist painfully tight and yanked you away from the mirror, causing you to fall backwards into the perpetrator. Scaramouche growled in anger through his teeth, “I won’t let you do this. You can’t abandon me!”

“You lied to me!” Wriggling under him, you attempted to pull away with the chair but he was too strong. He ripped the chair out of your hands, toppling you over on the floor helplessly. You scrambled to stand up, carelessly tearing through the frills of your dress with your heels.

Scaramouche threw the chair aside and reached for your arm again, this time pleading with you, tears pricking his pretty red-lined eyes. “(Y/N), please. I’ve turned this world upside down and I’ve done it all for you. Stay here with me. Devote yourself to me. It’s all I ask.”

You hesitate at the sound of desperation evident in his voice, looking back at him one more time. He had lost his ephemeral sheen, hair tousled and scattered messily across his pale face. He was hanging on to your every word, hoping you would reconsider an eternity in paradise with him. It hurt to see how sad of a state he was reduced to, begging you to be with him.

He was right. This was everything you wanted—an endless night in his arms as lovers, but this was not how it was meant to be.

“I’m sorry,” you hoarsely choked back tears, smashing the mirror into a million pieces.

Infinitely small shards reflected the horrified look of betrayal on Scaramouche’s face as the dream was lost to space.

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You woke to the sound of crickets and a crackling fire. A cool, wet rag sat on your forehead, contrasting the warmth of the campfire and causing you to scrunch your nose as you stirred. Your heart raced when you were squeezed by the shoulders into someone’s chest, wet drops falling on you.

“Hm?” you mumbled against the fabric of their clothes, resting your hand against the left side of their chest. After a moment, you realized this person lacked a heartbeat. Your eyes shot open. “Scara… mouche?”

Your eyes took a moment to adjust, eventually focusing on the man who was cradling you close and gently rocking you back and forth. His divine features were contorted into despair, eyelashes speckled with the glistening residue of his tears. You spoke up again, “Scaramouche, what happened?”

“I thought you fucking died, that’s what happened.”

Oh. Your memory proved to be fuzzy—you remembered foraging for dinner, picking all kinds of edible berries and mushrooms. You remember returning to camp, but trying to think of anything beyond that worsened your headache. Were you attacked?

“How long have I been out?” you asked apprehensively.

Scaramouche swallowed thickly, hollow eyes wandering up your form to meet yours. It was gut-wrenching, he was never this vulnerable—this exposed—with you. “Six hours.”

He told himself he would never allow foolish mortal feelings to defile his heart again long ago, but you had gotten under his skin more than he realized. You sunk your claws into his heart so easily, so readily, and he was complacent in it. Maybe part of him wanted to believe it would be different despite his deep-rooted cynicism.

When you passed out cold and lifeless, you might as well have gored his heart right out of his fragile puppet body.

Scaramouche wanted you to, for all of the self-hatred, regret, love, and mourning he felt over you eating a stupid purple mushroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered shamefully, gripping his robe in your fist. You really fucked up this time. Had he held you the whole time, wishing you would come to or saying his goodbyes? The thought welled hot tears in your eyes.

He gave you a bewildered look, appalled by your pathetic apology. “I should kill you.”

“I would understand.”

The puppet had enough. After suffering in the depths of darkness and despondency for hours thinking you had succumbed to your mortality, Scaramouche could bear it no longer. You were alive, your heart was beating, and you were breathing—you were in his grasp once more and he wouldn’t dare waste this newfound chance with you.

“To hell with it,” he swore with a hasty whisper ghosting your pink lips, cupping your cheek softly, taking in how beautiful you looked in the moonlight even as you laid ill. “I love you, (Y/N), and don’t you dare do this to me again.”

Scaramouche brushed his chapped lips, salty with the remnants of his tears, against yours, relishing in the sensation of how plush and warm you felt. He rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone and down your jaw delicately like you could break underneath him at any moment. His hand trembled slightly on your skin, prompting you to hold his palm to your face to quell his fears.

When you moved your lips and pressed further into him, reaching up to lace your fingers in his hair, he swiped his tongue to ask permission before deepening the kiss. You tenderly smiled, greeting his tongue with your own. Scaramouche treated you with the utmost reverence, dedicating himself to tasting every saccharine drop you would offer.

He poured his heart into you until you were desperate for air and had to break away, much to his dismay. You were more than addicting. Indulging in you was beyond euphoric, to feel complete and whole at last was indescribable.

Recovering your breath, you huffed out a contented laugh and sealed your fate with one more peck on his lips. “I love you too.”

For the first time in hundreds of years, the puppet genuinely smiled, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“So… what did you dream of after you ate that mushroom?”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[cosmal]

hozier—

omg tell me what you think about hockey player!steve

omg ive done baseballplayer!steve but this is amazing shut up.

he's definitely a douche at first idc. that king!steve hockey player rep.

he's good. really good and he fucking knows it too.

he doesn't take shit from the ref. he'll yell about an unfair call or what he thinks is unfair.

he can get violent. fights about things that he usually starts. god. the bloodied noses. and when he gets pulled off some other guy, he's all smartass smiles with blood in his teeth. panting and shit ughhhhhhhh.

and then he notices you, of course, how could he not. you come to most of his games. he wants to believe you come for him.

then he finds out you're the coach's daughter.

how he's never met you before is beyond him but he really wants to. it's embarrassing really.

eventually, after a game, he runs into you leaving the coaching box.

because he's a charmer, he gets your number after a ten-minute talk he was lucky enough to get out of you.

you go on a few dates. the movies. the park. the arcade at your request. and he finds out, much to his delight or not he's not sure, that he genuinely likes you.

you're smart, way too smart for him, he thinks, funny, fucking hilarious, shy went you want to be and loud around your friends. worse than him, he thinks.

you're much more than the past girlfriends he's had.

when he finds out you've never skated before, he's amazed. being the coach's daughter.

he finds you a pair of skates straight away and takes you out on the ice.

"steve, im gonna fall on my ass."

"I won't let you. promise."

you shake like a leaf, gripping way too hard onto his hands as he guides you out onto the ice.

"alright, now stand up a bit - yeah that's it, baby. straighten your legs up."

"I can't."

"yeah, you can."

you do as he says and honestly, he's shocked you trust him this much. it hits him right in the gut.

"Im sorry, your poor hands."

"im fine, promise. had worse."

"I've seen the black eyes, steve."

"exactly."

he gets you so wound down, you don't even notice when he lets go of you.

he skates away from you, cheering.

"that's it! look at you go!"

"steve! what the fuck, come back!'

'you're doing so well, baby!"

eventually, you fall on your knees and feel like a complete fool.

he helps you up and he has it in him to feel a little bad.

"you okay? your knees okay?"

"just a little embarrassed."

"right. well, let's go get some food, yeah?"

eventually, you go to all his games just for him.

he blows you kisses before the game starts and comes up to the plexiglass after to fog it up and draw little hearts like a total cornball.

you've totally turned him into some lovely fool that puts king!steve to shame.

still, he gets into fights because he cant help himself.

he feels bad, really, awful, when he finds you on the sidelines looking a little upset.

he gets patched up by a medic and goes to find you straight away.

"your nose is bleeding."

"I'm okay."

you reach up and cup his face. "your lovely eyes, steve."

"I promise I'm okay."

"that's gonna bruise."

he lets you take him home and ice him up. he takes the scolding and the warnings because he deserves them.

"did you really need to hit him once he was down?"

"probably not."

"probably not. stop getting into fights, steve. you're gonna end up seriously hurt."

he promises to never get into another fight once he sees you crying.

he doesn't.

-

stopping the read more glitch <3

[serene-sun]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖞 𝕺𝖓 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓, 𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖎𝖉𝖌𝖊 𝖁𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖊

Summary: After a multitude of wrong doings at your catholic church, you and four other nuns are sent on a mysterious transfer to a ministry nobody dares speak of. On behalf of the Count Copia, you are welcomed after a suspenseful journey. Author Note: This is the first chapter to my new series based on some of my favorite movies like Dracula, The Phantom Of The Opera and Labyrinth. You might even get some references to some others as well as a few ghost lyrics. This is going to be a build up to smut, and this will be a romance one obviously but beware this is major corruption kink coming your way. If you need some help, the ghoul in this chapter is Aether, and half of this is quite literally the exact script of Dracula. You can even look it up and see! Please enjoy, all feedback in my inbox is greatly appreciated.

Chapter one of my new series, “𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕱𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘”

In a Coach in the Carpathian Mountains, a young woman reads to four passengers from a travel brochure.

“Among the rugged peaks that frown down on the Borgo Pass are found crumbling castles of a bygone age.” The woman is knocked from her seat by a bump in the dirt rural road.

“I say, driver, a bit slower!” Another woman says, her black veil crooked as she shakes in the mobile. 

“No, no! We must reach the mountain before sundown!” The driver says, a crack in his voice as the silent erie sound of the forest starts to swallow all sounds.

‘And why, pray?” One of the female passengers asks, closing the bible in her lap.

“When the sun sets the demons start evoking the mountain side like raging wolves and hyenas, desperate for any vulnerable being to feast upon!” The driver replies as they are enveloped in a cloud of fog, the steep road getting more bumpy.

You held tight onto the rosary in your hands, a charm of Jesus Christ on the cross between your palms as you listen to the man speak.

As the vehicle stops in the center of the small village on the ridge, the passengers eagerly step out of the transport and into the rich moist soil. This is a small village of three homes and one or two inns, mainly farmland and water sources as it fits in a small acre. 

A woman from the nearest inn steps out of the entrance as chickens follow, her hair is in a messy bun and there is soot smudged across her face and clothes with a few patches holes in her dress and apron.

“Oh dear, let me help with your luggage sisters.” She says, wiping her hands on her sides to rid of the grim.

“Oh do not worry madam, we are to arrive up top the mountain by tonight.” you say as she grabs a leathery bag.

“Tonight? But the sun is already half set? The gate keeper, he is afraid. Good fellow, he is. Wants me to ask if you can wait to go on after sunrise.” She says as she sets the luggage back into the trunk.

“Im dearly sorry but im afraid we have specific orders from our adviser to be there by sundown, and I fear we are already late.” You reply, hands still clasped together.

Was what the driver said true? Why would it? Perhaps he was only trying to scare the group of young women.

“And who needs you on the mountain? Who sent you faithful young holy women to the dark abbey?” The innkeeper says in disbelief, she studies the very christian and catholic constant theme on the luggage and clothes.

“Count Copia, I assure you, we are here on holy deeds.” You say, willingly ignoring the description of the abbey, surely it was not truly an unholy place, it was an abbey after all.

‘Count Copia? And to the ministry?” She hides her hands in her apron pockets with her brows knitting.

“Yes.” You nod slowly, unsure of what she means, is he not the holy man they were sent to serve? 

“No, you mustn't go there. We people of the mountains believe at the castle there are devils. Count and his ghouls!  They take the form of wolves and bats, goats and succubi. They leave their coffins at night, and they feed on the blood of the living.” She says, placing her hands on your shoulders and eagerly rushing you inside, “Look at the sun! Its already gone, come we must go indoors.”

“But thats all superstition. Why I…I cant understand why…” You try to reason as the door is slammed shut after the other nuns enter.

“But wait, I mean, just a minute. What im trying to say is that im not afraid. I've explained to the driver that its a matter of holiness and god filled right, We've explained it and we must arrive soon.” You say as she pokes at the fire, letting out a cough into her hand.

“If you must go then take this for your mothers sake,” the innkeeper hands you a small vile of blood, “This will protect you..”

‘W-what is it?” You ask, the other sisters surrounding you in curiosity.

“The blood of christ!” She says, eyes wide with fear.

For a moment you feel the need to call help for the woman, she must be a poor paranoid soul. And there is no way she of all people would have the blood of christ.

The sisters gather back into the small mobile and quickly ride upon the foggy dark mountain as the red piercing sun drowns in the horizon. 

When the car stops in the pitch black court yard, the car hurriedly drives away.

“Wait! Driver! Our luggage!” 

The groups attention is brought back to the stone path to the large entrance doors as it is lined with lit candles that come of flame. The dancing red light illuminates them to follow, you take the lead, as you seem to be the least terrified. 

You push open the large black doors and step into the Obsidian floor of the main castle. Its dark just like outside and candles suddenly egnite.

The nuns look around the room, taking in the shadowed paintings, murals, and stained glass.

A footstep spooks you as the sound comes from a taller man at the top of the main stair case.

“G-Good evening.” You bow your head slightly in respect as you can only make out his shape.

“I am…Count Copia..” He says, thick italian accent in his voice as he begins stepping down the long stairs.

“Its very good to see you. I don't know what happened to the driver and our luggage and…well…with all this..I thought I was in the wrong place.” You say, hoping to not sound rude, but there wasn't a cross in sight and the stained glass showed depictions of devilish things instead of virgin mary and jesus.

“I bid you welcome.” The count says,

Outside the large windows, there the howl of a wolf.

“Listen to them…children of the night. What music they make!” He smiles hauntingly.

The older man starts walking off down a corridor lined with paintings and candles. The hall is painted dark red with black trim. One candle stick is consumed with spider webs, it catches your attention as you follow.

“A spider spinning his web for the unwary fly. The blood…is the life, Ms…” He invited you to say your name.

“Ah of course, My name is Sister _, from the western Catholic church of god.” You say with another pleasing bow.

The man hums, his eyes darkening, “Im sure you will find this part of the ministry more inviting.” He says as he opens the doors to a larger room, it has five beds, dressers, nightstands and even an chest at the foot of every bed. Theres two couches on either side of a coffee table in the center of the room, accompanied with a vase of dead roses, a fire place, and two other chairs of black leather. What is most questionable is why the room is a circle, not one corner.

‘Oh rather! Its quite different from outside. Oh, and the fire! Its so cheerful.” You say with a smile.

“I took the liberty of having your luggage brought up. Allow me.” He says as he takes the groups wool capes, he hangs them on a coat rack.

‘Oh yes, thank you.” One of the sisters says as she sits on the neatly made bed. 

The room is painted a deep purple, black trims and wall designs. The curtains over the large windows were a pitch black, and the beds were of black steel and neatly covered with purple silk sheets and purple cotton. The room was lit with candles and a chandelier.

You pick up the letter on the bed, but you accidentally cut your finger on the sharp note card.

As a droplet of blood rolls down your finger, the man quickly turns away.

“Oh dear im sorry, its just a paper cut, I didn't know you were squeamish.” You apologize as you grab a napkin cloth and hold it.

“The infirmary is on the main hall to the left, I hope you shall never need it.” He says as he holds his hands behind his back.

“Thank you,” You smile.

‘I will have a ghoul take you there, and get a bandage.” He says with a large swallow. 

You tilt your head, “ghoul?” You ask, what is with this odd abbey?

Suddenly, out of the darkness of the room, a masked entity approaches you. His silvery devil mask shines in the candle light, through the slit shines his piercing white eyes, pupils so thin and slit like a snake your unsure if they're even there or if its the shadows playing tricks on you. Hes in a nice suit attire, a skull tie and button up pants. His dark hair is slightly wavy and is cut short at his ear and neck, he has a calming presence and you notice his ears are long and pointed. You take in the fact that this man was not infant human, but rather a demon. 

So the innkeeper was correct? About unholy ghosts here?

He leads you to the infirmary, the walk there is silent as you continue to study his form. He has a spaded tail, and his hands are a pale muted purple and his veins are visible in a lighter white color. The ghoul had long sharp claws too, as well as a thicker build. 

He opened the door to the infirmary, he lets you sit down as he gathers materials to address the minor cut.

As he comes back, he kneels in front of you and takes your hand. The pads of his fingers are rough but smooth, hes very gentle and has a calming affect to him.

You swallow, your afraid to speak.

The ghoul parts his lips, like hes about to speak but doesnt know what to say, “Your heart is racing.” he says, deep voice like a deep cave filled with echos and shadows. Its warm and heart filled, he truly means no harm.

Your hands tremble as you shiver, “w-what?”

‘Ah uh…sorry…I meant that your frightened and there is no need too be.” He quickly blurts out, like he hasn't talked to a stranger in years.,

“This is not what i was expecting..” You say as you start to ease up.

“Nobody does, don't worry, you are safe.” He says as he cleans the wound. 

“This…is not a place of god is it..?” You finally ask as he lets go to cut a piece of gauze to use.

“No. It is not.” He looks into your eyes.

You had the feeling that when your church said they were moving you, that it wasn't because you were the best sister of god there. You had started asking to many questions and you always knew that when they transferred people it was never for the better but to rather rid of the so called delinquents that questioned god. In a way you knew you would be thrown out, but not like this and to the wolves.

“Im sorry…I just…I don't want to die..” you start to tear up, ‘I don't want to burn for eternity.”

The ghoul quickly looks up at you, ‘no no no don't worry,” He chuckles, “Your not going to die here and you wont burn for eternity, I doubt god even knows you exist.” 

Your taken aback some, “But don't you eat people? Kill us for blood? Sacrifices and such?” 

“Your demonology books are far outdated…” He says as he wraps your finger.

“So….you ghouls are…kind?” You say, standing up.

He nods, “yes, everyone here is.”

You look down at your feet, “I apologize, I feel I need to introduce myself and start over.” 

The ghoul stretches his hand out, “You may call me Nameless Ghoul.”

You take his hand, “Im Sister _, I hope we can be friends.”

[celestialcrowley]

Good morning! Good whatever-time-this-post-finds-you!

My phone updated. Thanks, I hate it. Anyway, I had a bio pinned, but I took it down because I wanted my 6,000 years meta to be pinned. I’m currently on the side of procrastination — I should be working on my GO fiction, someone shout at me to write — so here is a little bit more in depth bio about the ghost behind this tumblr.

🥂🪽🐝

Real Name: Sarah.

Nickname(s): There’s a list. Caps, Ghost, Khas, Khasper, Khasper the Spicy Ghost, Pippin, Haands, Crowley, Ginger and Tapeworm.

Nickname Origin(s): Buckle up. Caps is an age old nickname that was given to me because I wear hats all the time. Ghost began with a chat group I used to be in eons ago. The different variants of Khasper were given to me at my very first job, but we collectively agreed to change things up a bit, and Khasper the Spicy Ghost was born. Pippin was given to me when the Lord of the Rings trilogy was first released. Haands was given to me by former coworkers. Their reasoning behind that is I’ve got big hands. Crowley was given to me by my work bestie, and Ginger was given to me by the rest of my coworkers for my only slightly red hair. Or maybe it’s for my fiery personality. Tapeworm is something my uncle calls me presumably because I’m always hungry, but isn’t that the nature of an actual hobbit?

Preferred Name(s): Ghost, Khasper, Crowley, Ginger or Pippin.

Ao3: Beyond_Ineffable.

Social Media(s): I have Facebook and TikTok. My TikTok is actuallyahobbit89 if anyone is curious. I’m hardly on it though. I’ll pop in to post a video and then disappear like a ghost.

State: Born in raised in Floriduha. It’s a state of chaos.

Birthdate: July 25.

Pet(s): I’ve got two dogs. Mycroft is a probably Dutch shepherd Australian cattle dog mix. I’ve never had him DNA tested, but his mother is an Australian cattle dog. Patch is a portly pitbull mix.

Hobbies: Writing, reading, listening to music and true crime podcasts and stand up paddle boarding.

Personality: Here’s the best way I can describe this. I’m a permanently exhausted pigeon who functions on caffeine, anxiety and not enough sleep. I’m shy and socially awkward, but once I’m comfortable with someone and know that I can completely be myself around them, the anxiety disappears.

Favorite Holiday(s): Big spooky fan, me.

Favorite Drink(s): Coffee, Ice sparkling water + caffeine, London fog tea and cranberry juice.

Favorite Food(s): Sushi, tacos, salmon, crepes, lasagna, sweet potatoes and chicken teriyaki.

Favorite Dessert(s): Pumpkin pie.

Favorite Color(s): Turquoise, but any shade of blue, really. It’s pretty.

Favorite Quote(s): “She walks in starlight in another world.” “The world is not in your books and maps. It’s out there.” “Why do we fall, sir? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.” “A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest because she should be sure that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.” “I know of witches who whistle at different pitches, calling things that don’t have names.”

Favorite Book(s): The Inheritance Collection and Neverwhere, which I still need to finish reading.

Favorite TV Show(s): Good Omens, Sherlock, Lucifer, The Exorcist and Hannibal.

Favorite Movie(s): Bad Samaritan, The Hobbit trilogy, The Lord of the Rings trilogy and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Favorite Character(s): Crowley, Aziraphale, Furfur, Hastur, Pippin, Bilbo Baggins, Sherlock, John Watson, Father Marcus and Will Graham.

Favorite Actor(s): David Tennant, Michael Sheen, Martin Freeman, Tom Hiddleston, Anthony Hopkins, Jason Statham, Keanu Reeves and Mads Mikkelsen. It’s an accent thing and a hair thing.

Favorite Song(s): There’s too many. I’ll just drop this here. Whiplash Radio.

Favorite Music Genre(s): Mostly everything under the sun.

Favorite Podcast(s): Small Town Murder.

Have You Ever Met A Celebrity: Yes. Jimmie Johnson, a NASCAR driver, visited the very first job I had. He brought his daughter. Story time! My former coworkers were being a bit too extra around him — personal space, what personal space? — and he didn’t like it. I had not yet had a chance to speak to him, and I was told not to because he’s rude. I didn’t believe that, so later, I saw Jimmie was standing at the fence with his daughter. I walked over, said hello and asked him if his daughter would like to pet the dog. He said yes, so I moved the dog closer so she could pet him through the fence. She did, he thanked me, and that was our interaction. He was very pleasant.

Have You Ever Been To A Concert: I have not, unfortunately.

Do You Collect Anything: Yes. Coffee cups, gnomes and pocket knives. That’s a weird combination.

Do You Have Any Idols: Yes! Neil Gaiman. He’s a legend and someone I admire, especially when the writer’s block is slaying me.

Is There A Real Life Friend You Can Completely Be Yourself With: Yes! I made a tumblr post about him! We’ve known each other a long time.

What Are Your Interests: All things spooky. Ghosts. Graveyards. Stars. Galaxies. Planets. Everything about the solar system. True crime. History. Metaphysical things.

Where Would You Love To Travel To: Ireland. New Zealand. Scotland.

Is There A Random Fact About Yourself That You’d Like To Share: I like flamingos.

No pressure tags: @phoen1xr0se @ineffabildaddy @peregrintook @sad-chaos-goblin @spot-o-bodysnatchin @apocalypticginger-blog @crowleyscleaninglady @missdeliadilisblog @ritz-writes @ineffablemoist @turquoisedata @azirapalalalala @peachworthy @pretendygood @belladonna413 @jackinistafflower @aziraphalalala @scarecrowcloud @tragic-cosmic-magic @musingsofmaisie

It’s open to everyone, but here is an apology dance in case I missed anyone! 💚

[gachawolfiebloom]

Your Pursuit of Perfection

Story and Artwork By: @GachaWolfieBloom

Chapter 6: It's All Your Fault

Summary: A few months after the events of WOTFI 2023, SMG4 starts having really bad dreams about the "Its gotta be perfect" incident. One night however, his fear allows the nightmares to break through and he gets taken to a horrific dimension. He finally meets the tv adware, who manipulates him into returning to his insane ways, intent on claiming much more than the perfect video. Now it's up to his friends to stop this madness and save SMG4. Can they do it in time or will they lose SMG4 forever? (In case you are unaware this is a sequel to the its gotta be perfect movie)

Tags: angst, its gotta be perfect, love confession, luigi, mario, meggy, melony, nightmares, scary, smg3, smg4, smg34, smg3 x smg4, tari, tv adware

The others were walking through the home of this mysterious TV Adware. It was nothing like they had ever seen with dripping walls, sticky floors, and of course most of it was made out of that weird goop. Tari was shaking so Mario tried to cheer her up. "Don't worry Tari! Mario and his friends will be okey dokey! Let's play a game!" Three rolled his eyes and kept walking. "Mario spies with is little eye...something that is...Black!" Tari looked around, but everything just felt creepy to her. It was a realm made of nightmares after all.

"Uh is it that thing that looks like a shadow?"

"Nope!"

Boopkins tried to join in. "I KNOW! I KNOW! ITS-" Three was sick of this stupid game as he grumbled "Every single thing in this place is black idiots." This game seemed pretty stupid when almost everything here was the same color.

Boopkins ignored Three's comment and said "It's that extra dark patch over there in the corner!" Mario jumped up and down saying "You're right! Yippee!" Bob and Three looked dumbfounded on how Boopkins picked that. "BRUH! HOW DID YOU SEE THAT?" Tari tried complimenting Boopkins efforts. "Good job Boopkins! I was so close."

Meggy suddenly stopped and said "Uh hey guys... I think those creatures that Smg1 and Smg2 spoke of know we're here." Melony turned around and asked "How can you tell?" They instantly saw as tentacles and creatures made of goop and eyeballs surrounded them. They all froze and Three whispered to One and Two "Well you're the experts on these things. Now what?"

One and Two were more focused on something in the distance. "Something is coming..." The dark fog came back for round 2. Quickly One shouted "RUN! IT'S THE MIST OF NIGHTMARES! WE DO NOT HAVE ANY POWER OVER IT!" They all bolted off, sprinting as fast as their feet would take them. One and Two followed behind, using their powers to protect them from the creepy creatures.

Luigi then called out "Wait a minute...WHERE'S MY BROTHER!!!" They all looked back to find Mario teasing one of the goopy creatures. "Oh god...Why'd that idiot have to come with us?" Three groaned as he darted for Mario. "THREE NO!!!" yelled Meggy, but Three didn't listen. "IF MARIO DIES THEN WE ALL DIE!!!" Mario was spinning around in circles, making plane sounds. "Ooooo you are very scary. Not to Mario! Mario isn't scared of anything!"

Three rushed up to his avatar and yelled "OI MOVE IT RIGHT NOW!" Mario then noticed the nightmare mist coming straight at him. "NOW MARIO IS SCARED!!!" Three grabbed him as the mist dove on top of them. "THREE! MARIO!" Meggy yelled, but then another wave of mist swept over the others. 

Three woke up to be surrounded by a familiar setting. "I'm...back home?" He was right back where he started, at the Showgrounds. He then saw his friends standing over something. He raced over to them and said "Guys! There you are! Why are we back home!?"

They all turned to him and said "Oh look who decided to show up." Three took a step back, confused. "What?" Saiko stomped her foot hard on the ground and said "SMG3, YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR YOUR FRIENDS! YOU ARE CARELESS AND DANGEROUS!"

Three just stood there speechless as Meggy added on to Saiko's remarks. "You never cared about him, abandoned him when he needed you, and you didn't save him in time. YOU KILLED HIM!" Three finally croaked out words from his stunned mouth. "Killed who?" They all stepped out of the way, but not losing their glares.

When Three saw what they were looking at, his eyes widened and his cheeks went pale. It was a grave for Smg4. His signature hat was on top of it, covered in blood. "NO! FOUR!" He yelled as he ran up to the grave and sadly examined the remains of his dead partner. "No...why...he didn't deserve it..." Tears slowly slid down his face as he collapsed onto the ground. Mario shot back "WHY SMG3! WHY DID YOU KILL MARIO'S BEST FRIEND!!!" Three tried speaking through his sobbing. "I never meant too. I never wanted to lose him." All of his friends began circling him and telling him mean things. Not just any random remark, the thoughts of his guilt.

"You brushed off his nightmares!"

"Why didn't you stay with him!? He needed you!"

"You were so close to saving him and you lost him!"

"You gave him the idea of the perfect video!"

"You could have prevented this if you just admitted how much you needed him!"

Three just sat there crying every ounce of strength out of his body. "I'M A TERRIBLE FRIEND! IT'S ALL MY FAULT! I'M THE ONE WHO DESERVES THIS! NOT HIM!"

Two voices rang out "Smg3 wake up!" He gasped as those voices belonged to One and Two. "Three! Remember it's just a nightmare! We're here to save Smg4!" One added on "You must fight it Three! Use your bravery to tell these nightmares they aren't real!" He breathed heavily as he whispered "But Four is..."

Two tried to remind him of what they were trying to accomplish."Then why would we be here? It's not true Three!" One could see him trying to break through as he continued "It's all fake! The Adware is trying to trap you into your worst fear!"

Three breathes in deeply as he says "Four is not dead..." A shoot of meme energy wards off the mist and he yells "AND MY NIGHTMARES AREN'T REAL!!!" He finds himself back in the dark world, but it's better than being stuck in a world filled with eternal guilt. Two says happily "Glad your back Three! We have to rescue the others from their nightmares before they are trapped in them forever!"

Three pulls his cap tighter onto his head and says "Don't worry I got this." The three of them raced off to go save their friends. No dawdling now. The mist doesn't show any signs of stopping.

Everyone has something they're afraid of...

Chapter 7: You Can't Escape Your Fears

[zanabugg]

fall is quite literally the perfect season for myself. It has almost everything you can do during the summer without the cold snow and seasonal depression winter has. It has cold crisp air like no other. It has cloudy and windy days more often. It has Halloween. It has the feeling of sitting in a coffee shop and reading. It has the most amazing food. It has many candles. It has autumn bike rides. It has the best time of the school year and back to school shopping. It has the best movies. It has the best music. It has the best fashion. It has layered blankets. It has fog and mist. It has crunchy orange leaves. It has warm soup and hot tea. It's nostalgic. It has cozy fall sweaters and fluffy socks. It has baking. It has cars rides through orange colored forests. It has pumpkin patches. It has amazing scenery. It has spooky vibes everywhere. Overall, it's just the best season to be in.

[wormonastringtheory]

if you wanna show me a post please tag #wormielook!

welcome everyone new

important note: i am deeply dedicated to liberatory and decolonial movements and as such i post about mutual aid, protests, etc quite a bit. it's okay not to understand everything, if you have questions message and I'll forward you resources written by respective communities and to organizers/writers who discuss their liberation/literature

i am way too obsessed with MCR. I'm also an archivist for multiple interests. I'm way too interested in ultramarathon running (even though I cannot participate), tornadoes, robotics, and fall out boy. ok a bit more about me

basics:

-23 y/o

-disabled both physically and mentally (HSD, likely autism, severe brain fog, long haul COVID symptoms, a mast cell disorder, tourettes, Metatarsalgia, ADHD, IBS, POTS, OCD, GAD and Depression, PTSD, and a suspected brain injury, amongst other things)

-artist! i do digital art, textile work (making patches and v basic hand sewing), traditional drawing and painting (usually acrylic on canvas), crocheting, and collage

-loosely bigender. my gender is fluid and expansive to some extent so labelling is complicated. Kinda a butch, kinda a trans man.

-he/they/xe/vamp pronouns

-sapphic as fuck and that's important to my identity, lesbian I think. again beyond that not into firm labels. mostly t4t or queer4queer, and ace/aro spectrum

-polyamorous

-one of the biggest joys of people in my life (and my trusted sources for media reccommendations) is @milfsrights

-my best friend, platonic soulmate and other half is @frilly09

-irl bestieeee and loml is @anour22 ❤️❤️❤️❤️

interests:

-tornadoes. literally anything about them, and most natural disasters tbh

-harm reduction and street outreach, mutual aid organizing

-theology

-history (especially queer history, revolutionary actions and protest movements)

-zines (IM NOT NORMAL ABOUT ZINES)

-minatures

-seals

-antarctica

-library sciences

-music!! fall out boy, mcr, mitski, lianne la havas, willow, frank tichelli, nina simone, the staples singers, stevie wonder, against me!, pure hell, the muslims, the mountain goats, elton john, paramore, yana perrault, anju, the jerry cans, tessa violet, ruby waters, status non-status, r & b, punk, and soul

-tv/movies: repo! the genetic opera, goldfinch, best in miniature

-plays/broadway: wicked, hadestown, waitress, had a major deh phase too

-robotics! i am a mentor of a team and volunteer at competitions

-rare disorders, diseases, and conditions

-plushies! i am a collector, i have 109, most of them were gifts from friends and family or from my childhood

-disability justice

-biology, especially reptiles, foxes, spiders and amphibians

-linguistics! currently learning hebrew

-running and athletics

-gentle parenting and montessori (i am not a parent)

-crochet and fibre arts

-anarchism

-transit

-mountaineering disasters

-orphan sources/radiological incidents

-songwriting

-house shows/diy culture

-tattoos

-dan and phil

-safiya nygaard

[lovetober22]

Prompts

About

Prompt List

Full moon

Ghosts

Pumpkin patch

Carnivals

Sweater

Harvest

Storm

Leaves

Blood

Soup

Magic

Scary movies

Spooky

Candy

Scarecrow

Bat

Fog

Mushrooms

Stargazing

Nightmare

Pie

Candle

Mysterious call

Black cat

Mask

Forest

Spider

Latte

Fire

Cold

All Hallows’ Eve/Halloween

Alternative: spice, warm, cozy, costume, vines, zombie, skeleton, wolf, scream, demon

[coffeecat1983]

Across the Spider-Verse one shot:

(Takes place after the end of the movie)

Hobie leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes closed and he folded his arms, taking in the quiet of the room. The only sound was the low breathing of the figure in the bed next to him. His eyes shot open at the sound of footsteps, his back and legs tensing up as he grew ready to strike. "Just me." Gwen said. "Didn't mean to startle you." She looked over at the sleeping figure. "How's he doing?" "Hasn't moved. Penny patched him up." Hobie looked thoughtful. "She knows a lot about medicine for her age." Gwen walked over and leaned against the wall beside him. "Not a bad thing to know in this job." The group had set up a makeshift HQ in Miles' home universe in an abandoned building, keeping an eye on his apartment and school in case he returned on his own. Each had been going out, searching other universes for clues or any word of his whereabouts. Gwen and Hobie both turned sharply towards the bed as a soft groan arose from Pavitr. He moved slightly in his sleep before settling back down, his hand resting over his bandaged chest. "I should have gone with him. It's not safe to search alone." Hobie said softly. "I thought you were all about working alone, not teamwork. So, what's one less team member to you?" Noir said, entering. Hobie shot out of the chair and over to the shadowy figure, fists clinched. "Take your mask off and say that to my face!" he snarled. "Whoa, whoa, guys!" Gwen ran over and pushed Hobie back. "Hobes, take it easy. Noir, c'mon, that was uncalled for." Noir stepped back, letting out a sigh. "Sorry, gallows humor is something of mine. I forget what it's called." "Coping mechanism." Gwen supplied bluntly. Noir pointed to her. "That's it." Hobie just snorted and returned to his chair. Noir looked Pavitr over.

"So, we know what happened out there?" Gwen put a hand on her hip. "Not really. He went out for what was supposed to be a quick patrol in what we thought was a normal universe, and then it all went to hell…"

It was quiet at the makeshift HQ's main room. Almost unsettlingly so, Gwen mused as she marked down where they had already searched. She and Penny were in what used to be the lobby of the old building, combing over coordinates to check next. Hobie was seated nearby, picking idly at his guitar and writing in a notebook from time to time. "I don't know," Penny muttered, "maybe we could try checking-" she stopped as a portal burst open and Pavitr came crashing into the room. He curled up in the fetal position, his body shaking as he let out strangled, rapid gasps for air. The portal closed and as their eyes adjusted to the light returning to normal, the trio saw the blood that was pooling beneath Pavitr. Hobie reached him first and kneeling, pulled off his mask. "Pav? Pav, c'mon mate, talk to me! What happened?!" he pulled one of Pavitr's arms away, revealing deep gashes across his upper torso. Pavitr's chest heaved as he fought to breathe against the pain wracking his body. His eyes were glossy and unfocused, drool trickling from the corners of his mouth as he shook. "C-Claws…" he mumbled out. "F-Fog, cl-claws." Penny raced off to grab the first aid kit. Gwen kneeled next to him.

"What the hell did he see out there?" she said softly.

"C'mon, we need to mark down where he went as unsafe. We can get details about it from him later." Gwen grabbed Noir's hand, practically dragging him out of the room, his heels comically skidding across the floor. Hobie relaxed in the restored quiet. Beyond that he could hear a storm starting, thunder rumbling in the distance.

I should have gone with you, should have been there for you, he thought bitterly. He glanced at the bed. "Just what the hell was out there?" he muttered.

By "CC"

[peyton-warren]

Blinded by the Fog Part 4

Characters: Captain Syverson and Reader. Mention of Jake Jensen and Cougar Pairings: Jake Jensen x Reader Word count: 3061 Type: angst and fluff Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. Loss of spouse and found family. drinking, swearing. Therapy/ emotional baggage type language. Vague mention of shitty childhood for reader.

Summary: Aaran Syverson effortlessly just became a regular part of your life. AKA Sy completely becomes reader's emotional support bear.

Author's Note: Therapeutic terms, emotional baggage, reluctance to ask for help and hesitancy to accept it in this chapter are straight out of my own mental health journey. Write what you know, right? Thank you to @adulting-sucks for her continued support, especially when I want to chuck this whole thing in the trash and never look at it again.

Ask Box: Open

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Part 3

Aaran Syverson effortlessly just became a regular part of your life, same as Jolene and Madre and Aubrey. He checked in on you each day over the next few weeks, always by text and usually also in person most days.  You slid easily into a friendship with him, enjoying his company. And you didn’t find yourself unexpectedly at the bottom of a bottle again.  Although you both skirted the issue of why you drank so heavily that day, Sy managed to keep you held together.  

You even allowed him to help care for you, though some days you were more reluctant than others. As if he read your mind about your struggle with the overwhelming sense of dread at the thought of a lonely evening meal, you had dinner together at least once every couple days, depending on work schedules.   Some days you cooked, some days he either brought food he then cooked in your kitchen or take-out, and more than once you shared food from Cougar’s mom after one of you checked in on her. 

It had been mostly clear sailing for about a month after meeting Sy until you hit a rough patch at the end of a hard week of work. Things went sideways on a huge project, and you were left to pick up the pieces.  You managed to keep your shit together until Friday, trying hard to neither crack at work nor in front of your new best friend. To make it worse, your brain repeatedly reminded you that Jake would have known something was wrong and how best to help you without you even needing to ask.  This stirred up a huge uncomfortable knot of dread in your belly at the thought of going to your empty home.  Your brain and heart swirled with that and so many other thoughts and memories of Your Forever.  

The sun was setting on Friday as you sat in the parking lot at work with your head resting on the steering wheel of your car long after everyone else left for the day, your head pounding and your heart racing with the anxiety of going home to your empty house, having to face another night without Jake.  The unexpected ring of your cell startled you, making you jump, and gasp, hand landing on your chest to keep your heart in your rib cage.  You tried to catch your breath as the phone silenced only to have it ring again.  You grabbed for your bag, pulling the piece of technology out to see Sy’s name on the screen.   

Drawing in a calming breath, you answered.  "Hey,” your voice was tiny, barely keeping tears at bay.  

“Hey, you ok?" Sy sounded immediately concerned.  “Where are you?"  

You gulped back a soft sob.  "At work." You kept it short and sweet, leaving out all the other details.  

"Oh,”  There was a beat of silence. “They need you this late on a Friday night?" 

It was your turn to be quiet.  Then you remembered. 

“Oh shit!” you gasped, your hand cupping your leaking eyes. “We were supposed to….fuck are you at my house?” 

“Maybe,” he confessed.

Tears flowed quicker as you realized you were a horrible person. Your self involved thoughts kept you from keeping your plans of pizza and a dumb ass movie.  Sy didn’t deserve that from you, no one deserved that from you. “I’m sorry,” you barely squeaked out.  “So sor-"

“Oh hey hey hey, sweets," Sy shushed you. “I get work needing you."

You sobbed louder into the phone. “No," you mutter, unable to catch your breath.  “No. I’m sorry.  I’m just sitting here.  I can’t… I just can’t go home…not.."

“Baby, it’s ok.” You heard the unmistakable sound of his truck door closing in the background.  “Really,” he continued as the engine rumbled to life.  “Stay there and I’ll come get you, and we will figure out everything after that.”

Your head shook even though Sy could not see you.  “No no,” you started to protest.  

“Whut??” Sy yelled into the phone.  “I can’t hear you.”  He made static noises with his mouth.  “I’ll be there soon.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as the connection went dead.  Tossing your phone into the passenger seat, you flipped down the sun visor and opened the vanity mirror, looking to see how bad you looked after crying for nearly 2 hours. As you patted your cheeks with a spare napkin, you tried to make the red around your eyes disappear.  You suddenly felt guilty for caring what you looked like before Sy got to you.  You tried to reason with yourself that you would be as concerned if Madre or Jolene were coming to get you.  You didn’t want to look like a mess in front of anyone.

A tiny voice in the back of your mind reminded you that Sy was an attractive man.  You told that voice to fuck off, that attractive men had women friends.  You needed a friend, and Sy wanted to help.  You and Sy were friends.  You were allowed to be friends with a man.  You were allowed to develop a new friendship with someone your deceased husband never knew.  There was zero wrong with it.  The end.

Thy doth protest too much, the voice insisted. 

The rumble of Sy’s truck silenced your inner debate for the moment.  Glancing quickly at the giant behemoth entering the parking lot, you gave yourself one more once over in the mirror before flipping the sunshade back into place just in time as he pulled up next to you despite having the whole lot to park.  You gave him a small smile as you rolled your window down, figuring he was going to do the same.  Instead he turned off the truck and got out, taking one long legged stride over to you.  You ignored your belly flip flop as he set his forearm on the roof of your car and leaned down, instead blaming it on the unmistakable scent emanating from him-pizza.  

“You save me at least one slice?” you asked, teasingly, hoping to distract him from your panic attack and red tinged cheeks at the inner debate that happened moments earlier.  

Sy smirked.  “Only one.”   He reached for the handle of your door.  “C’mon, let’s go to my house, and we can eat pizza and watch a movie there as well as we can at yours,” he suggested, opening it.  You had never been to his place in the time you had spent together, him always coming to your home.  And you had to admit you were curious what it looked like.  

You rolled the windows up in your car, and grabbed your bag and phone, stepping out.  Sy shut the door as soon as you were clear and you hit the lock on your key fob.  With a contagious smile, Sy stepped towards you, his arms open, looking to swallow you into his embrace. The panic suddenly swirled back through your veins with a vengeance.  “Don’t.” Your hand wedged between your bodies, heart rate spiking, your breathing shallow.  You didn’t miss the look of hurt that flashed across Sy’s eyes at your denial as he looked from your hand to your face.  “I’m sorry,” you tried, your voice suddenly so weary. “I just… my shit is barely contained. If you touch me, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop crying.” You take a deep breath as you see understanding replace pain, your stance breaks, your body relaxing, your hand dropping.  “And then the world will flood and it’ll be all your fault.”

“Seeings as my name isn’t Noah and all,” he teased you, redirecting his body to shepherd you around the truck. Opening the passenger door, he offered you a hand up into the truck that was bigger than all the vehicles you ever owned all rolled into one.  

The ride to Sy’s home was mostly filled with comfortable silence.  You could tell he wanted to ask what happened but he luckily did not.  You were very thankful he was as he was, not pushing you to talk about whatever was going on in your head .  You leaned on the window, allowing the cool of the glass to soothe you some.  Your vision softened and you really didn’t pay attention to where you were going as you forced yourself to settle into the reassurance of Sy’s presence.  He had you.  

The pitter patter of rain against the windshield drew your mind back to the present.  It was about then the truck pulled into what you guessed was a driveway, and you realized you had no idea where you were, even though it didn't seem like you had been in the truck all that long. Through the smattering of rain on the window, you were greeted by the cutest classic 1900s farmhouse.  

“Oh my god,” you gasped at the home.  You weren’t sure what you were expecting Sy to live in but now that you were here you had no doubt this was perfectly him. Clapboard siding painted white, simple porch with black wooden columns, black gingerbread accents, and black rocking chairs adorning it.  With a beautiful lawn filled with trees and a smattering of well placed flowers and plants, it seemed like it was a picture ripped out of a textbook of American historical architecture.     

“You like it?” he asked, not hiding his pleasure in your delight.  

Forgetting about the rain, you opened the door to the truck to get a closer look only to be halted by the droplets hitting your face. “Like it?  I love it!” you gushed, pulling the door shut, glancing at the man who seemed pleased as punch at your approval.  “This is amazing!”

“You should have seen it when I bought it,” he joked. “Absolute train wreck, unlivable. Uninhabitable.”

“You did all this?” you asked.

Giving you a half smile that allowed a hint of dimple to appear at the edge of his beard, Sy seemed to dip his head in brief shyness, or at least humbleness.  “Yeah.  When I’m not deployed.  It's like my form of therapy,” he admitted.  “Making something old look new again.  I like working with my hands.  I did all of it but the electrical, that I called a professional in to do.”

“Aaran, this is amazing.”  All of your troubles of the past week disappeared from your shoulders as the two of you got out of the truck and ran for the front porch, well ran as fast as your work shoes would allow you.  Sy held the pizza above your head trying to keep as much of the rain off of you as possible.  

Once safely inside, your amazement and awe continued.  The interior was a mix of historic and modern, the perfect mix if you were honest.  Toeing off his boots, Sy hung his keys by the door, and carried the pizza past you as you kicked off your shoes to place them next to his wet boots on a mat by the door.  “Make yourself at home,” he announced as he wandered into the next room.  

You glanced at the pictures on the wall, mostly family you assumed by the similar features of the folks you were looking at. You were staring at a photo of Sy and Cougar’s basic training class trying to pick the two men out of the crowd when Aaran reappeared next to you.  “Any luck?” he laughed beside you, knowing what you were doing.  

“No!” you gasped over exasperatedly. Admittedly it has been over 10 years and a lifetime ago.  “Help me?” you ask, eyes never leaving the photo.  

Sy’s finger quickly picked out Cougar, and you cursed yourself for not seeing the resemblance.  “Maybe it's cuz he’s missing his hat,” you surmised out loud, making you both laugh softly.  The laughter caught in your throat the following second as you realized your friend was gone, the levity getting wrapped up in the lump of guilt that suddenly appeared in your throat at the realization that you were having a pleasant moment when you lost your husband and your family so so so recently.  

“They’d want us to be ok, they’d laugh with us,” Sy sagely told you with a soft voice, his fingers brushing against your wrist.  “Hell they are laughing with us if you believe in heaven.”

You know his words were meant to soothe you, you know he had all the best intentions, but his sentiment instead made the tears reappear in your eyes, that knot of pain filling your stomach again.  “Oh, baby,” he said softly, his hands wrapping around your upper arms, pulling you into his embrace.  “I am sorry,” he muttered into the top of your head as you sobbed into his chest.  “I am so sorry for your pain.  I wish I could take it from you.”  

The two of you stood like that for what seemed like an eternity until your replenished tears dried up.  With an unladylike hiccup, you stepped back, wiping at your eyes.  “God, I am sorry, Aaran,” you started, looking at yet another wet spot you had left on his chest.  

“For what?” he asked.  “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”  You looked up at him, and saw the wet lashes framing his eyes.  

“Yes I do!” you insisted, pulling back further from him.  “My silliness is making you sad.”  You try to move away from him suddenly feeling very suffocating and embarrassed by your lack of decorum, ducking your head to hide further.  

His face came into your peripheral view.  “Hey,” Sy reached out and cupped the back of your arms, keeping you in place.  “Look at me,” he quietly commanded when you refused to meet his eyes.  When you did so, you saw his eyes swirl with emotion, several different ones spinning by in the sea of his beautiful irises.  Irises that suddenly reminded you some of your husband, but yet different all the same.  

Aaran gave you a small smile.  “I lost someone I loved in that crash, remember?”  Tears filled your vision, and you saw the same eddying in his eyes.  “And your emotions are not silly,” he carefully insisted. “Never apologize for having emotions, especially around me. Never temper your emotions to make someone else more comfortable.”

You almost winced as he hit on a shockingly exposed nerve.  “You sound like a shrink,” you teased, sarcasm your automatic response to vulnerability.  All you had ever done in your life was push your emotions to the side, help others with theirs, but never address your own.  You were never taught to properly express them and literally no one had ever given you permission to feel them either.  Jake never forced you to hide them, but you realized now you never truly allowed yourself to be completely honest and open with him about them, the trauma of your own upbringing keeping you from showing any emotion at all, simply shoveling it deeper inside, hiding it from the world like a horrible dark secret

“I've seen enough of them over the years I should,” Sy joked, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes.  “Here,” he abruptly changed the topic, holding out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. You glanced up at his face before accepting the soft clothing.  “Thought you’d prefer to get out of your stuffy work stuff and be comfortable.”

With a nod, you tucked the clothes under an arm and reached for your bag.  “Bathroom?” 

Sy pointed you in the right direction. “You care what movie we watch?”

“Something mindless,” you said over your shoulder as you head down the hallway.   

You reemerged from the bathroom about ten minutes later, dressed in your borrowed clothes, face cleaned of all traces of make up and tears.   Hanging your clothes and bag on a coat hook, you meandered into the living room.  Sy smiled softly at you from the couch, his eyes taking you in from head to toe.  The clothes were too big for you, you were lucky the sweats had elastic in the ankles so you didn’t trip over them, and the shirt, it hung well past your hips.  

“Feel better,” he asked as you sat on the end opposite him.  He held out an open beer to you.  Taking it, you nodded.  “A little bit,” you admitted before taking a sip.  “So, what are we watching?” 

Grabbing a remote from beside the pizza box, Sy grinned.  “Figured I’d go with a classic.  Big Trouble in Little China.”   

“I haven’t seen that in ages,” you admitted, grabbing for a napkin and a slice of pizza as he pressed play.  You had to admit it was a good choice.  You were both able to relax into a comfortable silence as you ate.  Every once in a while Sy muttered along with one of Jack Burton’s lines of wisdom- “Yes sir, the check is in the mail” - making you snort softly, reminding you a bit of Jake and his own movie quoting habit.  Soon you found yourself with a full belly, a relaxed mind and curling into the arm of the couch, your cold toes tucked under the edge of Sy’s thigh, his hand on your ankle, a blanket thrown over your always cold legs. It wasn’t long after Jack Burton (and Sy) announced that “If we aren’t back by dawn, call the President” that your eyes drifted shut. The week finally caught up with you, and you were quick to drop into a deep sleep, something you hadn’t been able to do since Jake left on the mission all those months ago. 

You slept through the rest of the movie, hardly stirring a little.  You missed Sy turning off the video when it finished.  You also didn’t register him picking you up, carrying you down the hall and through the darkened doorway of a bedroom.  You didn’t realize you had curled your fingers into his shirt when he tried to stand after putting you on the comfortable bed, nor did you notice your soft mutters of “Ni-night, Jakey” and “I love you.”  

But Sy didn’t miss any of it as his heart broke just a little more for you as you happily hummed at his whisper of a kiss your temple to distract you as he gently removed your fingers from his shirt before pulling a warm blanket over you.  

“Ni-night, baby.” 

Part 5

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I wanted to make a inktober but with sdv! So here’s what I have for the prompts

1. Forest

2. Mines

3. Pumpkin carving

4. Pumpkin pie

5. Witch

6. Ghost

7. Dolls

8. Knitting

9. Playing in leaf piles

10. Pumpkin patches

11. Spiders

12. Haunted house

13. Clown

14. Nightmare

15. Horror movie

16. Vampire

17. Werewolfs

18. Skeletons

19. Slimes

20. Wizard

21. Ale

22. Horror game

23. Juminos

24. Potion

25. Poison

26. Smoke

27. Injury

28. Spirit's Eve

29. Fog

30. Costume

31. Trick or treat