#Also sorry if the last drawing looks odd. I was having trouble with that one

[ch3shire-rabbit]

Hi I made some Canterlot Wedding redraws

I’m prolly just gonna draw the most interesting scenes to me and then chronologically post them in bits

Hopefully I’ll have enough motivation to get through all of it sbjsbsjsbj but hmmmmmmmm suspicious Meta Knight

—————

Do NOT repost, edit, trace, or use my art in any way. Thanks.

[nataliasquote]

Tattoos for troubled minds | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha struggles to trust anyone when it comes to touching her body. But that becomes rather difficult when a tattoo idea comes into her mind that she just can’t shake

Warnings: mentions of scars, tattoo needles, slight internalised homophobia

wc: 3.6k

note: I don’t actually have tattoos (despite wanting one so badly) so this is probably really inaccurate. I do apologise if this doesn’t make sense. also, I hate this so much but the guilt of not posting is eating me alive so I’m sorry

-⧗-

Natasha was a quiet soul. She kept to herself, usually sitting at her own table in the Shield cafeteria, eyes focused on her plate of food as she ate quickly, just wanting to get out of there. None of the other agents dared make conversation with her, too spooked by her fighting skills to approach. But that didn’t bother her. Her hyper independence made her hesitant to trust people.

Clint was the only one she spoke to outside of working hours. They weren’t exactly friends, but she tolerated him enough to flash a small smile if she saw him in the hallways or feel slightly relaxed if they were paired for missions together.

And he liked her too, especially since her first words had been a jab at his choice of weapon.

“Bow and arrow? What did you do, get your training in a forest?”

But he didn’t take offense to it. After all, he’d made the call to save her and she owed him her life. Which is how, two years later, she was sprawled on his couch, chewing on take out pizza for the second time that week with a scowl.

“I think I want a tattoo.”

Clint frowned at her, wondering where her brain cells had disappeared to. “What?”

“You know, the permanent drawing-“

“Yes I know what a tattoo is Tasha,” he rolled his eyes at her teasing smirk, already over her sarcasm. “But you know it’s a bad idea for spies to have unique markings like that.”

Natasha shrugged, tugging up her sleeve to reveal a strange shaped scar across her bicep. “I’d say I’ve got enough of those naturally. And it would be hidden on my ribs or something.”

Clint just shook his head and turned back to his food. He was used to Natasha’s odd comments and her tattoo phase probably wouldn’t last in his eyes. Just like her ‘wanting to be blonde’ phase didn’t.

But it didn’t end. A month later and Natasha had fallen down the rabbit hole that was tattoo designs on pinterest, courtesy of a fellow agent who introduced her to the app. She didn’t understand it at first, but now it was 3am and her tablet screen was still glaring bright in her face, a plethora of images scattered across her screen.

She saved a couple to a board, now set on design and placement, before placing it to one side with a grin on her face. Natasha climbed out of bed and padded over to her mirror, pulling up her shirt and smiling softly to herself. But the dim lamplight made her scars glisten and she caught herself, a sudden feeling of repulsion shuddering through her body. She looked like a freak and no tattoo artist would want to go near that. Her scars weren’t normal and she wasn’t ready for the questions yet.

Tears glazed her eyes over and her arms snaked across her stomach, her reflection in the mirror now blurry. Even as the salty tears dripped down her cheeks and soaked the collar of her shirt, she didn’t step away, too engrossed with how disgusting she felt in her body.

That stubborn hope that the redroom failed to squash out had ignited inside her once more, except this time she just wanted to laugh at it. Natasha would never be normal. She was what they’d made her into, and a tattoo was never going to change that.

Clint noticed the change in her demeanor when she sat down at breakfast. Natasha barely engaged in her usual small talk, more focused on her food in front of her.

“Did you do anymore tattoo research yesterday?” He asked, knowing that would catch her attention. But instead of the usual spark, she remained dejected, stirring her yogurt half heartedly.

“Yeah,” came her response, albeit rather forced.

“There’s probably a lot of places in DC that would kill to tattoo a shield agent.” Nat shot him a look. “Just saying!”

“Sure. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

Clint looked at her with a frown. “Why not?”

Natasha just looked down and tugged at her sleeve, suddenly feeling exposed in her tight fitting suit. The image in the mirror from last night came into her mind and she pushed her food away, no longer hoodie. And beside that, she didn’t trust people she worked with, so how would she trust a complete stranger to add something permanent on her body? Getting a tattoo would be nothing but a dream for her, she knew that, but it still crushed her.

Clint studied his best friend for a moment in thought, before he placed his hand gently on her arm. “I might know someone who can help.” Natasha looked up, now interested. Her face was still stony but Clint knew she was excited. “A friend of Laura’s, we helped her out even before you came here.”

“An agent?” Clint hadn’t mentioned anyone like that before and it confused Natasha.

But Clint shook his head. “No, nothing like that. She came to Laura and I when she was a teenager and had nowhere else to go. And you know my wife-“

“Can’t let anyone suffer,” Natasha finished for him, warmth spreading in her stomach at the thought of the soft woman she’d grown to adore. Laura really did have the biggest heart out of everyone.

“Exactly that. Y/n was fourteen, I think, parents kicked her out of the house. How she got to ours, I’ll never know, but she just appeared on the doorstep one night and Laura melted at the sight of her.” Clint’s expression softened at the memory. “But anyway, what I’m saying is that she’s a tattoo artist. She’s got trust issues just like you and I think she’ll help.”

Natasha scowled at the last part, wanting to protest his comment. But she knew he was right; her trust issues were what got her into this mess in the first place.

“But she’s a kid?”

“No, almost the same age as you,” Clint said with a laugh. “You’ll like her, but she can be a little scary.”

“Scarier than me?”

Clint smirked. “Oh, you’d be surprised. That glare of hers rivals yours.” This vague description intrigued Natasha and Clint could see the cogs turning in her mind. “She knows what we do and she’s seen my scars. Trust me, they won’t put her off.”

Natasha’s head shot up, staring at her best friend with confusion. Was she that easy to read? Or did he just know her too well?

~~~

With the news of her favourite girls coming back home, Laura had been in a frenzy of cleaning and preparing. Clint had texted to say he was only minutes away so she left the dishes to soak and headed to the porch, anxiously staring at the track beside their house as she waited.

Anyone would have thought she was married to Natasha over Clint by the difference in reactions she gave them. Sure, Clint got a kiss and a hug, but Natasha truly got the special treatment, with Laura scanning her to make sure she wasn’t injured and quizzing her about how she was. Poor Clint was left to grab their bags as the women disappeared into the farmhouse.

Tea was poured and snacks were eaten in the cosy kitchen before the doorbell rang and Laura excused herself, leaving an anxious Natasha on her own for a moment. Muffled voices could be heard but she tried to go against her instincts of listening in and instead busied herself with a loose thread on the tablecloth. She heard footsteps approaching and turned in her chair, ignoring the way her heart thumped loudly in her chest.

The woman who walked in the kitchen doorway was stunning, Natasha couldn’t deny it, and her eyes darted to the patchwork of tattoos that littered her exposed arms. Their eyes met, and Natasha swore she could see the walls up in the other woman’s mind. But it didn’t scare her off. No. It brought her a weird sense of comfort and her body started to relax.

Clad in a black cropped tank and black cargo pants, Y/n hesitated in the doorway, duffle bag slung over her shoulder hitting the wall gently. Laura appeared behind her, gentle hands falling to her shoulders.

“Y/n, this is Natasha, the one I told you about.” The y/h/c girl made no effort to move. “She’s Clint’s partner.” Clearly not much of a talker, Y/n just nodded, not hiding the fact she was scanning Natasha from head to toe. She didn’t trust strangers, but she trusted Laura and Clint who seemed to love Natasha. So maybe she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, you can call me Nat if you want.” No one called her Nat except Laura, but it was a feeble attempt to make the atmosphere more comfortable. Another nod came but Laura smiled.

“Do you want to go set up? All of your stuff is still exactly where you left it,” Laura addressed Y/n who adjusted the grip on her bag and disappeared down the hall without a word. Natasha’s eyebrows raised at Laura who watched her go, a fond look in her eyes. “She does speak, I promise.”

Natasha shook her head, brushing her off. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I can tell you care about her a lot.”

“She’s like a daughter to me, kind of like you are.” Natasha’s cheeks flushed at that. “She doesn’t have anyone except us, so I worry. She’s a real sweetheart though, she’s just been through a lot. Kind of like someone else I know.”

“I’ll be kind, don’t worry.”

Laura couldn’t help but smile as she stirred her tea. “Oh I know. She already likes you, you don’t need to worry about that.”

Natasha let out a sigh and started to play with the hem of her zip up jacket. It suddenly felt real, the whole tattoo thing. And whilst she weirdly trusted Y/n, it didn’t help ease her nerves any less.

The redhead sensed a new presence before she spotted her, standing in the doorway just like she was before.

“Ready when you are, Nat.” Her voice was slightly raspy from lack of use and she spoke quietly, almost as if she was scared she’d get into trouble. Natasha smiled softly at the sound of her nickname and squeezed Laura’s hand before she followed the y/h/c girl down the hallway of the house she considered her second home.

Clint’s office had been turned into a makeshift tattoo studio with all new equipment and furniture decorating the small space. The tattoo bed had a fresh paper layer on top and Y/n gestured for Natasha to take a seat.

“Ok, do you have an idea of what you want? And where?” Y/n sat down at a small table and picked up her pen before looking at Natasha expectantly.

“I’ve got a couple of reference pictures on my phone.” The small device was handed over and Y/n swiped between them, nodding in approval before setting it down. “The last one is just for placement ideas.”

“I’ll work up a sketch and you can tell me what needs changing.” Luckily Natasha’s design was incredibly simple and it didn’t take long for Y/n to hold up her page.

Natasha slid off the bed and slowly walked over, not wanting to startle the skittish girl. But Y/n just moved over, clearly welcoming the redhead into her space.

“I love that a lot,” Natasha praised, studying the simple lines. “But maybe it could be a bit smaller.”

“I can scale it down when I make the stencil, no problem. But is the design alright? Remember, it is permanent so I want you to be completely happy with it.”

Natasha studied it for a moment, a smile tugging at her lips as she imagined it on her body. Y/n had talent, anyone could see that even from such a simple drawing, and Natasha nodded before she slid the notebook back to her.

“I love it, I really do.”

Y/n nodded, grabbing her stencil paper from a drawer by her leg. She wordlessly began making the stencil and Natasha took this as her cue to return to her seat. She peered around the room, admiring a few pictures that were on the walls. Incredibly complicated tattoos which she guessed Y/n had done.

The young girl sketching away in the corner thoroughly interested her and something inside Natasha was drawn in. She wanted to get to know her because aside from the shy and hesitant exterior she was effortlessly cool and seemed sweet. Maybe Y/n could be the start of Natasha’s project to make friends.

“If you lie back on the seat and lift your shirt, we can make sure this is exactly how you want it before I start.”

Natasha took a deep breath and slowly lifted her shirt and lowered the waistband of her sweatpants so her hip bone was exposed. She shivered despite the room being warm, fully aware that her nastiest scar was on full display on her lower stomach.

But Y/n didn’t care. Or at least she didn’t make it obvious if it bothered her. “Is it ok if I touch your hip?” She asked, looking Natasha straight in the eyes. The redhead almost melted at her words, not used to ever being asked that question.

“Of course, do what you need.” Y/n’s fingers were soft and delicate as she placed the stencil on Natasha’s skin. She didn’t touch anywhere she didn’t need to and worked quickly, making sure it was fully stuck down before stepping back to allow Natasha to step over to the mirror.

Although it wasn’t permanent, Natasha’s heart was racing as she saw the way the black ink stood out against her pale skin. The symbol was small but perfect in her eyes, and she turned back to Y/n with a grin.

“It’s perfect!”

“Then I’ll get started.”

Due to the design being so small, it took no more than fifteen minutes for Y/n to complete. Her hand was incredibly steady and Natasha’s pain tolerance was so high she barely felt it. The room was silent aside from the faint buzzing, no conversation stemming from either woman. Questions spiralled around Natasha’s head but she knew this wasn’t the place to ask them.

Completely lost in her head, Natasha failed to notice the silence or the fact that her hip bone was no longer burning. Y/n kept working, wiping away the excess ink and making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. But it was perfect, as usual, and she gently tapped Nat on the thigh to snap her out of her head.

“You’re now free to look.”

Natasha grinned and hopped off the bed, holding up her shirt again as she looked in the mirror. Tears almost sprung to her eyes as she admired the finished product, and they probably would have tumbled down her cheeks if she had been alone.

A small spider sat on the front of her hip, legs slightly bent. It looked so delicate on her skin and for the first time in her entire life, Natasha actually liked looking at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so beautiful,” she began to ramble, unable to tear her eyes away. “You’ve got real talent Y/n, I can’t thank you enough. It’s so perfect.”

Y/n blushed and couldn’t stop the smile that graced her lips, catching Natasha’s eyes in the mirror and making the redhead freeze.

Her smile.

The young woman hadn’t smiled the entire time she’d arrived, but seeing her now was like a breath of fresh air. Smiling looked so good on her and Natash couldn’t get enough.

“If you want to show Laura, you can, but you’ll need to come back so I can wrap it safely.” Natasha glanced at her new addition and nodded, but hesitated once she was by the door.

“I think you should come too. The artist and her artwork.” Natasha spoke with a smirk and Y/n couldn’t ever imagine saying no to that woman. So she nodded again, her usual response, and meekly followed her back down the hall, pulling off her gloves as she walked.

Laura was already waiting for them in the kitchen and she placed her reading glasses in her hair to get a good look at Natasha who still hadn’t dropped her shirt down. She’d never seen the Russian with such a wide grin before, her usual collected expression completely out of the window.

“It looks beautiful, Nat, truly. You did such a good job Y/n.”

“You never told me how talented she is!” Natasha stepped to the side to allow Y/n to come forward, but the humble woman stayed where she was, already hating the attention. She didn’t see her art as talent, more like a form of escapism. But it made people happy and that was all she wanted.

“I wanted you to see for yourself,” Laura replied. “And besides, she never believes me when I tell her how good she is.”

“You’re really easy to tattoo. You don’t squirm or cry like other people do, so really I should be thanking you.” Laura was taken aback by Y/n’s comment, not used to more than three words coming out of the girl’s mouth. But the more she observed her, the more she saw her change. The darkness she’d noticed since Y/n was a teenager had lifted a little and she seemed a lot less guarded, looking over at Natasha with a soft expression.

And Natasha looked back at her just the same, purely in awe of how gentle she was. As Y/n gestured for them to return to the office and offered to hold Nat’s shirt, Laura felt like squealing like a child.

Two of her favourite people in the world had found each other and, despite both being so broken and fragile, fit together so perfectly it was like they were made for each other.

Natasha was strong enough and sure of herself enough for the both of them, and Y/n treated her with such delicacy and care that it slowly broke away Natasha’s trust issues and allowed her to open up. And Natasha’s protective nature came out around the other woman, wanting to keep her safe from the world.

With a quick word about going to show Clint, Natasha disappeared into the front yard with her newly wrapped hip, leaving Y/n to find Laura again. The older woman welcomed her with a hug and pulled a chair close to her own.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Y/n kept her gaze on the crossword Laura was doing, not wanting her eyes to give her away if she looked up. “She’s nice.”

“Hey,” Laura said softly, carefully taking Y/n’s hand in her own. She didn’t miss the way she flinched but unfortunately she was used to that by now. “You’re not back there. You’re allowed to like her if that’s what you want and feel. She’s a good person, but so are you, you don’t need to be scared.”

Y/n’s eyes followed where their hands were clasped up to Laura’s face, trying to find any hints that showed she was lying. But all that came back was the soft and caring face she’d grown to love, one that didn’t lie to her and didn’t hate her for who she was.

“I don’t like her like that.” Call her a hypocrite for lying, but Y/n had her reasons. Loving a woman was still unnatural in her eyes, despite her contrasting feelings that longed for it.

“Y/n…” Laura’s ‘mom’ tone was one she was used to and she knew she was caught out. “I’m not asking you to tell me now, but you deserve happiness, as does she. And I haven’t seen either of you that relaxed in a really long time. So please don’t push her away.”

Y/n didn’t know what to think. How could she? Her whole life had centred around hating who she was, so how could anyone ever like her like that? It messed with her head and Laura could see that.

But what was Natasha if not a life saver. She came strolling into the kitchen, her tshirt now tucked up into the band of her sports bra to allow her tattoo to be on full display. Y/n smiled slightly at the sight.

Sinking down into the chair beside her, Natasha noticed the clasped hands of the women and wondered what she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t her place to ask, so she turned to Y/n.

“How can I pay you? How much do you charge?”

Y/n shook her head frantically, pulling her hand away from Laura. “Nothing, honestly. You’re a friend, it’s no big deal.”

“Absolutely not. If you won’t take money, at least let me repay you another way.”

“Nat-“

“Dinner? How about you let me take you to dinner next week. You’re from the city, right?” Y/n nodded, her brows creasing. She turned to Laura for help but the older woman just smiled widely and nodded, giving her as much non verbal encouragement as she could. “Please, Y/n?”

She’d said yes before she could even process what was going on. After all, they were just friends going to dinner. People in the movies that she’d seen did it, so she could too.

What was so wrong with that?

[solarmorrigan]

Hello there! I’m not entirely sure if you’re still doing the whole angsty-ish prompt thing, but if you are could please consider doing, “Shit, are you bleeding!?”, with steddie and Steve being the one bleeding?

Maybe Steve never actually took care of his bat wounds and they reopened or smth??

If not then that’s totally fine! Feel free to ignore :)

THIS IS VERY LATE, I'M SORRY. I know you sent this request months ago, and believe it or not, I didn't forget about it! It haunted me. (Not really, but I did keep it in mind, and I finally managed to get a little thing out for it! I hope this is a little like what you had in mind?)

[CW: blood, mentions of injury]

-

They’ve done it.

They’ve actually fucking done it.

They pulled off the whole stupid plan, no one is dead (except for Vecna), they’re right-side up, the gate has resealed itself – it’s over.

They won.

And now, there’s just one thing left to do.

Nothing official, really, just something Eddie had promised himself he would do if he actually managed to survive (odds hadn’t seemed to be in his favor at the time, so he hadn’t expected to have to follow through, but he’d also promised himself there would be no more running away). In a way, he’d promised Steve, too, so he thinks he’d better deliver.

(At least, he hopes that’s what he’d communicated to Steve; he hopes that’s what that meaningful look and that significant nod that passed between them had meant and that he’s not about to get his ass kicked after surviving the siege of a bat tornado in a mirror version of his trailer in a fucked up alternate dimension.)

Eddie gives Dustin one last affectionate pat on the back, skirts around where Robin is babbling something enthusiastically at Nancy, who looks a little too shellshocked to do much more than listen with an almost disbelieving smile, and makes it over to where Steve is standing by the front door. He’s got his back to the group, hunched over a little as he fiddles with something beneath his unzipped jacket, but he perks up the moment he hears Eddie’s voice.

“Steve,” Eddie calls, more quietly than the last time, but with no less gravity, and just like last time, Steve turns back, his gaze falling heavily on Eddie.

Before he can talk himself out of it, and horribly aware that this isn’t really the best time or place (but then again, if not here, then where? If not now, when?), Eddie steps closer, steps right into Steve’s space, cups one hand to his ash-smudged cheek, and leans in to kiss him.

He barely even has a moment to wonder if he’s made a monumental mistake before Steve is kissing him back, tilting his head and pressing closer and moving his lips against Eddie’s like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. If the rest of the trailer has fallen conspicuously silent, Eddie doesn’t notice.

The kiss doesn’t last long (not as long as Eddie would like), but that’s alright; it feels like there will probably be more.

“Wanted to do that earlier,” Eddie murmurs as they pull apart. “But I didn’t want you to think it was some kind of last-ditch wish fulfillment because I thought I was going to die. Figured now would be better.”

“Now is good,” Steve says softly; his eyes are a little hazy, a little unfocused (and damn, had Eddie done that?), but they find Eddie’s without trouble. "Now is great."

And then it’s Steve’s hands on Eddie’s face, curled carefully at the edges of his jaw, drawing him in for another kiss. It’s only the feeling of something wet sliding across Eddie’s skin that distracts him and makes him pull back. Steve’s hands fall away, and Eddie reaches up to swipe over his jaw and looks down at his hand.

His heart thumps when he sees red.

“Am I–?” He reaches up again, rubbing his fingers across his skin again, but he feels no pain, finds no injury. “Are you–?” Eddie looks now at Steve’s hand, heart jumping again when he sees more of the same smeared across Steve’s fingers. “Shit, are you bleeding?”

Steve frowns, reaching up with his clean hand to try to swipe the mess away with his thumb. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but he sounds distant now, a little breathless in a way that Eddie can’t blame on any kiss.

Eddie reaches out and spreads his hands under Steve’s jacket, pushing it open to get a good look at him, and finds the damning dark spots spreading across the fabric of the t-shirt underneath.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses. “Shit, shit, Steve–”

“Might’ve pulled something,” Steve murmurs, “fighting Vecna.”

“You think?” Eddie is aware that he’s getting a bit shrill, but he thinks that he really can’t be blamed. “Wheeler!”

Nancy is there in an instant, and Robin is at Steve’s side just as he starts to wobble. She gets an arm around his back and he hisses, reminding them all that the bat bites on his sides aren’t the only wounds he’d sustained.

And then Nancy is barking instructions, and Robin is talking, quiet and rapid-fire at Steve as they sit him down on the couch, and Dustin is demanding to know what’s wrong (and if Eddie thought he’d been getting shrill–), and Eddie only manages to get him out of the vicinity by telling him to go call an ambulance.

“He’s gonna be fine, Henderson, but we need help,” Eddie says firmly, giving him a shove in the direction of the phone. “We’ve got him, he’ll be fine.”

And Eddie hopes to God, to Satan, to who-the-fuck-ever it is he’s supposed to be praying to at this point, that he isn’t lying to the kid.

He’s just gotten Steve – he can’t lose him now.

[fantomette22]

👻👻👻I have seen your bingo for Simon the harrowed. But You said that you didn't have lots of hcs on him. What about now? Any hcs or thoughts you can share now?(i managed four times to send the ask)

Hi Odds! 👻

Indeed sorry but i still don’t have much on Simon (still have a few headcanons i can think of lmao)

First have the 2 ever drawings i did of him. One from july the and the other one from may of last year xD yep of my first bb drawings ahah.

Ok so yeah he’s quite a nuanced character that at the same time : intrigued me, touch me a lot emotionally ;-; , and that i kick the ass of in my 2nd playthrough.

🏹 I guess he’s s foreigner? He would come from a Persian/india type of country. (Yes i ask some friends really good in history what they thought of the weapon design and they told me it was probably that and also inspired by the kriss/kress from Indonesia & Pthumerian & Logarius have really similar weapon to it).

🏹 He’s really bad with firearm and hate the loud sound/ step back it cause. And he probably trained with bow since he was a kid.

🏹 Back where he came from, he was used of walk without shoes on sand etc so that don’t bother him after he become the harrowed.

🏹 He was a bit lost at first in Yharnam but wanted to joined the church hunters. (He arrived a few years after the hamlet thing). He met Ludwig who took him under his wing.

🏹 He prove himself and gained the trust of his superiors so he become a "harrowed" disguised himself as a mere beggar to detect symptoms of beasthood before people transformed. But then he become preoccupied who figure something was. weird... he needed to know what the church was hiding... what was their plan. Why take all this measures?

🏹 He did meet Maria a couple of times but didn't know her well. He know she used to be a hunter. But when he tried to gained some informations about the experiments or the church history + take a look at the archives she was really adamant to share anything. If she was around, poke in some papers is really the last thing you wanna do. (I mean it would be worst with other, you could get into trouble Simon!)

🏹 Actually, there was a time where Brador and him work together and it went well. Pretty ironic after knowing how that end...

🏹 Speaking of that: one day Gehrman disappear living a lot of his belonging at the workshop (some times after Maria passed away).. Laurence got worried and sent many people to try to find him. (Ludwig went into the underground, some people went at Byrgenwerth etc) and Simon & Brador (& maybe 1-2 other) were send next to a lost and abandoned hamlet next to the sea... they found him sitting on the shore. Exhausted, wet and cold but alive.

So that's why Simon become really curious towards the lost place and manage to find some papers that weren't destroyed and learn some dark secrets... That + what happened at the research hall some times earlier that definitely made him turn his back towards the church afterwards, he wanted to learn the truth and discovered what was behind everything. And perhaps managed to stop this entire mess. (+ the freaking Amygdala who died in the middle of Yharnam ahah)

🏹 I guess he might knew the 2nd harrowed guy (the one at the hamlet where we got the set.

🏹 He probably participate in killing Ludwig in real life 😢 he discover what happened but compared to Yamamura, Gratia etc either he wasn't put in a cell thanks to his status or he managed escape.

🏹 I am unsure how he ended up in the hunter's nightmare... an amygdala? He is dead in real life? hm...

Also could be funny if he's afraid of the dark and that's why he got a lantern ahah

And yep that's all for now. Probably forgetting lot of thing.

[shadowcatzone]

this is a xingyue child story, with some renheng on the side. but it's mostly about. the child. imagine them maybe a head taller than yanqing. that'll be important, somewhat.

in this one, xingyue child will have ptsd, abandonment trauma, as well as that "my father is bad so i'll probably be bad too" - i forgot what this one's called. i'm not very good at writing all of these but i'll try my best. just. keep them in mind somewhere.

well, the problem with criminals, they thought, is that it's a downward spiral. they let out a silent laugh, more like a huff. knowing their situation did not make them stop, though. they were so close to finishing up and leaving.

nobody would question them staying in the forge after nightfall. they did often forge things during nighttime. but they only had about 3 more minutes until the surveillance turned back on, so they hurriedly took any valuables the other workers left behind.

they even took the liberty of replacing the high-quality steel with low-quality ones. well, the supplier might get in trouble, but since the steel was already paid for, there wasn't much that could be done.

slipping away for the second time that night, they hurried back to the spot they had been in ten minutes prior. hurriedly lighting their pipe, drawing a large breath of the smoke, before exhaling it into patterns.

when everything turned back on, they drew in the last of the smoke before suffocating the embers and heading home. had their parents been around, they would certainly be less then thrilled about their childs choice of activities.

___

"you said you wanted to practice, to train with someone else, right?"

yanqing paused. he did tell them he needed training, but the timing seemed rather odd. "...i thought you didn't want to talk about fighting? you said specifically during meals..."

"ah." they pushed their lunch aside. "yeah. but, a friend of mine is gathering all sorts of people to... practice fighting in front of an audience. would you be interested?"

he thought about it for a minute. "...you won't mind if i ask the general first, do you?" "oh. technically, i don't mind. go ahead. it's just... you see..." he stared at them for a minute, and was about 70 percent sure this was gonna involve him in something... less legal. but he was willing to give his 'friend' the benefit of the doubt.

"don't look at me like that. those people want to practice to fight in front of an audience, so they're naturally rather shy. what do you think would happen if THE general jing yuan decided to watch them? they'd die on the spot!" they could see that the teen didn't believe a word. but they have a secret weapon for cases like this... "well, that's a shame. i once heard the general also wasn't fond of public fighting before he practiced with a group just like that."

they didn't even have to wait long- "did he really!??" would i lie to you? they thought, yes, i would. "i believe my father mentioned something of the sort once." that the man needed a lot of practice to master his weapon, and that he wasn't fond of public events. a white lie, surely.

___

"do i really have to wear the mask? it's annoying." well, he really wouldn't ask that if he understood why they were here. "well, but it's to help people with their shyness. even if YOU don't really need it, these guys would feel really bad about themselves knowing you can do what they can't." that made even less sense, even in their mind. "just try your best to win. I'll be waiting over there, at the counter."

___

they've been coming to the same general area for a few days now. "well? aren't you improving a lot?" yanqing started grinning "yes! the other day, i was sparring with the general, and he also said i was improving rather quickly! i... may or may not have told him about that sparring group, accidentally... i'm sorry." they stood in thought for a moment. "...did you? that's okay though. i really didn't expect you to keep it secret for so long either..." they walked to the place in silence. "hey, yanqing... i've heard... that there are, well, gonna be some... troublemakers tonight... listen, if i tell you we need to leave... then we best leave. immediately. okay?" "...alright, sure."

the fights went as usual, when, halfway through, [xingyue child] dragged yanqing out through a separate, concealed exit, not a bit to early, as the door falls closed, the space is quickly filled with cloud knights.

"well, i'll have to talk to my friend about when this takes place the next time. let's go eat something!" the teen nods and goes along. through a dozen winding passages, they find themselves at aurum alley.

___

yanqing was scowling at them. "do you know how angry the general was??" [xingyue child] smiled apologetically. "oh, yanqing i just wanted to ask you if you would help me..." "you got me involved in that illegal fighting ring! and now you want my help again!?"

they tried even harder to look really downcast. "i didn't know it was illegal... my friend promised it wasn't..." they wondered if they should jam their nail into their leg so they'd actually cry. "but i have to carry a bunch to the artisanship commission, and if i do it all on my own, i won't finish today... and then i won't have the time to eat dinner... i'm sorry, i really am..." he sighed. it can't be helped... "...fine."

they went to a warehouse, accompanied by [xingyue child]s constant thanking, apologising, and promising it won't happen again. looking up at the warehouse, he voiced his concerns once more. "are you sure this isn't illegal...?"

they gasped, feigning hurt. "of course not! look, see, if this was illegal, there'd be no need for me to have this temporary pass for the warehouse! right?" they held it up like a prize. it certainly has their name and picture on it. "alright. open it then." they turned around, and under the guise of fumbling with it, exchanged it with another pass. gaining access immediately, the two went inside.

carrying the boxes to the artisanship commission wasn't difficult, but they were rather large. they ended up handing them to an assistant who seemed... far too casual for the position. "don't worry. he'll move the boxes the rest of the way."

___

"...a number of warehouses have been stolen from. keep a close eye on those you pass." yanqing nodded at the generals instruction. "were there no recordings of the thief?" "no. the surveillance was down for about ten minutes." this didn't, however, mean that he didn't know exactly who did it. "i'm thinking of letting dan heng handle this..." he says, under his breath, while massaging his temples. yanqing had, however, already left.

___

their horns weren't that problematic. cutting off their horns was painful, but bearable. the alternative could be far worse. the horns would quickly grow back, like nails. the real problem was cutting their tail - which also grew back, but hurt a lot more, due to it being attached to their back. never the less, the disciples paid a lot for ingredients like these. and if the preceptors ever caught sight of their draconic features... their surroundings fell apart as they cut- then they jolted awake.

when sleep found them again, they returned to a barren landscape. when they were living on the zhuming for a while, they did so under ardens regia, whose voice still haunts them. "do not disappoint me. if you end up as your father before you, you must not gaze upon me." they are being cast aside. dropped on the battlefield to die. the second time they woke up, they didn't go back to sleep, they instead went out to the forge in the artisanship commission.

___

when [xingyue child] was called to the seat of divine foresight, they thought they were gonna be scolded. they did expect their 'uncle', jing yuan, to lecture them a bit. or a lot.

what they did not expect was the addition of the people who should have been, rather, would have been, their parents. the seat of divine foresight had otherwise been mostly cleared out.

"[xingyue child]," jing yuan started, "you've become quite bold lately, haven't you?" "i don't know what you mean, uncle. i didn't do anything wrong, did i?" the tension in the room went up. "then, should i tell you exactly what you did wrong?" "well, that would be-" "i believe you have been stealing... again." their expression froze up for a second. they had a hard time reading the generals expression. just how much did he find out? "i wouldn't, you told me last time to better myself. i wouldn't make the same mistake twice."

"even if you didn't steal. we're rather worried about your... involvement... with those illegal fight rings you somehow managed to drag yanqing into." they felt panic rising in their chest. "but, that was a misunderstanding. i genuinely thought those were just sparring matches." his smile fell on their last sentence. "is that so? well, there's more..." the list of crimes was long. none of them had been terrible crimes, but add them all up...

by the end of it, [xingyue child] had paled significantly, their mind racing. dan heng had a concerned expression. blade stared off into space, seemingly unconcerned about the issue. "...that's a lot." dan heng probed carefully. jing yuan was smiling again, "that is a lot."

"but none of that is my fault." [xingyue child] spoke up. the general sighed. "then, whose fault do you think it is?" "no, i mean, it's not my fault. i'm not at fault for becoming a criminal." "...elaborate." [xingyue child] had a desperate smile on their face. "i mean - really? i'm just a victim of my circumstances. it was very obvious, actually, that i would turn out this way. right? because i'm just like my parents, and my parents were both criminals, so i-" blade, who had been uninterested in the conversation, interjected, by grasping [xingyue child]s shoulders. "who told you that?"

"i... everyone says that. i mean, it's true." they wondered if the man who was once their dad would try to murder the entirety of the luofu. he certainly seemed to consider it. "...no, obviously not everyone, but... the mean ones." he didn't seem convinced.

_____

tired hhhhhh

(insomnia, nightmares, anger and distress

feeling unsafe, low self-worth, shame, insecurity, uncertainty about getting their needs met)

[koffing-time]

Another update guys, two topics this time, one good and one... semi bad?

the good one first though: The Barn is basically finished! The last little things are supposed to be done tomorrow! I might make a photo once it’s done.

// this means i might try myself at drawing, but i will never promise something like that.

This also means that my last few pokémon will finally move in with me. Sorry mom, you can’t keep Carrot Cake any longer!

This ALSO means that there won’t be any hazardous construction vehicles present at the babyshower, so anyone who as worrying about that can now rest easily.

Now the... troublesome news: after spening some god time with the new Pokémon, i have made a few observations. I’ll just go through them one at a time. If anyone has ideas or insight, please please please let me know.

Flit, the Beedrill: He is one of the Pokémon i adopted from the Snowbelle City Shelter. He was described as very energetic, but with low stamina. Something Olivia noticed yesterday, and which i sort of confirmed is, that he seems to get INCREDIBLY active after being called. When left to his own, he still likes to excercise and do mock-battles with my other pokémon, but he is more chill. Like i said in some post before, he seems to be getting along with Coffee, who is usually more... slow. @oh-shinx do you know if this was also noticed at the shelter? I tried calling them earlier, but since they are in Kalos, i think they were closed. Timezones are a bitch. Anyways, it’s known that his old trainer was pushing him too far at times. I’m not sure how to adress this issue, like i said any tips are very welcome. My first instinct would be to maybe give him a new name? “Flit” might remind him too much of his old trainer.

Ultra-Domesticated Trubbish. I have rescued two of them, they seemed decently close. I find them kind of funny looking. They kind of resemble paper bags more like the typical trash bags of a normal Trubbish. They don’t like it when i point my phone at them, so no photo for now. They seem to be somewhat healthy, at least for UDs. They are DEATHLY afraid of water though, so getting them to drink has proven a bit of trouble so far. I’ve made a kind of contraption where they can go to, and with a lever let some water slowly drip out of the bottom, so they can take it slow and make sure it doesn’t get on their body. It’s a bit redneck-engineering though, i’ll have to see if i can make it a bit more stable. I’m hoping they will take a liking to Loaf, my own, normal Trubbish. If they do, he might ease them into drinking a bit more. They also don’t really like to eat trash, which is odd. They go for organic waste instead, which is fine with me, if they don’t get sick from it. I will definitely keep an eye out for that. I’m thinking of calling them “Bun” and “Roll”.

Ultra-Domesticated Mareanie: This is a case that worries me. She is ultra domesticated, i’m sure. I got her from the base yesterday, and she was just like all the others. Playful, afraid of noise, harmless. Today, she was incredibly active. First i was happy. You know, having a UD Pokémon that’s somewhat normal? But after a while, she was worrying me. As you might now, Mareanie are ambush predators. They hide somewhere in the water and wait until something edible comes by. They don’t move much in the wild, at least compared to a lot of other pokémon. This one was running around, jumping in and out of the water, climbing rocks and trees, everything. And what’s even worse is that after a while she started to bite and hit everything and everyone she could reach? Like, that’s not something UDs do. At all. Not one of the UDs i met yesterday put their mouth anywhere near another living creature, and if they picked something up they almost dropped it again because they were so careful with it. In addition, this Mareanie doesn’t have any thorns or spikes and her theeth are so small, she couldn’t even scratch a branch she was chewing on for 30 minutes. I will definitely go to the vet with her tomorrow. Does anybody have an idea what it could be though? (Also not sure of a name for her yet)

Ultra-Domesticated Petilil: This one brings me a new challenge. She is so incredibly fragile. She almost fainted when we went outside into the sun, her leaves browned within like an hour until she got some more water and she has very little energy. She is also very very afraid of all my poison types. Even Muffin, who is very sad because of this. Yesterday, i thought it was because of the general situation, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. I don’t think i can keep her, she would just suffer with me. @pkmn-aide-mel You said you could imagine adopting a UD Pokémon? Would you be up for this challenge or should i just go to a shelter to see if they can be a better place for her?

Ampersand, the Sliggoo: I have some better news to wrap this up. He seems way better than all the others i’ve talked about now. He is visibly in pain sometimes, but i was aware that this will happen. It’s because of a condition he has, as he has some kind of half-formed shell. He probably has some Hisuian heritage, and the evoluton process was kinda fucked up or something, So now he has some iron residue in his lower back. It’s not something that can be cured as far as i know, but the pain can be eased with different kinds of medicine. However, he was very slow today and didn’t want to play much with the other Pokémon, but that’s all right. He was just chilling at the pond. I think being in the water might also help with his back. Or maybe he just likes it. Whatever it is, if he likes the pond, i won’t stop him from going there.

[carbo-ships]

Etere: Chapter I

Oh, gosh, no, I'm doing this. Okay. This is, yeah, it's Aether, like I said I wouldn't do, even a little bit. Yes it says Chapter I, yes there's more, don't look at me.

Content warning for canon-typical misuse of Catholicism. I am not Catholic. This is all wrong. I've made it so much worse. I'm sorry. There's also like, some really, really poorly translated Italian. I also do not speak Italian. This is a mess. Look upon my shame with caution.

The story of Job had been the inspiration — take one of the Lord's best and test them. There was precedent for a devout human to stand his ground against the forces of evil. But an angel resisting the temptation of demons? That would be interesting.

It need not be a particularly high-ranking angel. In fact, it was better it wasn't. Any angel would do. Hell, however, would not be a suitable location. The Principalities refused to let one of their own set foot in such a place. Earth was the only solution. But Earth was a very big place.

They supposed they should consider which demon, or demons, might be suitable challengers. It ought to be ones familiar with Earth — waiting for the demons to get accustomed to the terrain would only needlessly draw out the experiment. The problem was that most demons who physically inhabited the world of the living weren't particularly organized. Most recklessly haunted old buildings or wreaked havoc through possessions, and were regularly overcome by mere humans. Although far from average, it became clear that the only demons built for the task were those serving under Papa Emeritus IV. Those seven ghouls were the only ones reliable enough to be trusted with such an assignment. Each side liked their odds. The church was contacted, details were discussed, and an agreement was made.

The topic of which angel should be tested resurfaced. It shouldn't be a man — they'd done that last time. Besides, the archangels were eager to try again after the Eve incident. It was the 21st century, after all, and women ought to have another go at it. For simplicity, she should be an angel who had also spent a considerable amount of time on Earth. This, again, significantly narrowed down the subject pool. After much consideration, an angel named Ardis was selected. She was, by all accounts, perfectly average.

Ardis was summoned to the ghouls' cathedral three days before the two-month experiment was to start. Her higher-ups had accompanied her to ensure the location and their opponents were acceptable. Papa Emeritus IV, who quickly insisted upon just being called “Papa”, and the seven ghouls who worked in the church were in attendance. Ardis had never seen such spirits before. They were dressed in all black and each sported a silver, horned mask with small cut-outs for the eyes and mouth. She tried not to stare at their long tails, but her eyes kept flickering to them as Papa and her superiors discussed the details. She did her best to focus on their faces for the sake of being polite and discovered she would likely have trouble telling them apart. She could differentiate between the two women easily enough – one was slimmer and taller than the other. But as for the five men? Three of them looked identical. Heaven help her. Thankfully, one of them had the courtesy to be much taller than everyone else, and another was clearly rather muscular, even through all the layers of black fabric. She could feel herself staring. His eyes were hidden behind the shadows cast by his mask, so she couldn’t tell if she’d been caught admiring his broad shoulders. It was best not to test her luck and focus her gaze solely on the strange man in the face paint for the time being.

It soon seemed that both sides were in agreement. Two months of temptation. The angels won if Ardis remained devout to her faith. The demons won if anything else happened. Tiebreaker of the ages. No pressure.

On the decided date, Ardis stood before the outer wall of the… monastery? Cathedral? She realized she wasn’t sure what they called this building. She was alone, carrying only a small suitcase full of her few belongings. Steeling her nerves, she knocked on the large door. She fidgeted with her hair while she waited. A moment later, the door opened to reveal the broad-shouldered ghoul she’d met a few days prior. “Ardis, was it?” he asked. She realized this was the first time she’d heard him speak. His voice was deeper than she expected, and she couldn’t quite place his accent.

“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding slightly.

The cut-out on his mask was just big enough to reveal a tiny smirk. “Welcome. Right this way.” He opened the door further and ushered her inside. She thanked him and stepped into the familiar garden. The grounds surrounding her new home were admittedly beautiful. Although the statues peppered throughout the large garden were a bit grotesque and unsettling, the space was very well maintained. She admired her surroundings as she followed him towards the building. There was a thick evergreen forest just beyond the opposite stone wall. Perhaps it was just an effect of the soon-to-be-setting sun, but something about that dense wood made her uneasy. Aether must have caught her gaze lingering past the wall and interrupted her thoughts with, “I would stay out of that forest if I were you. There is nothing for you in there. And do try to stay within the grounds after nightfall.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. Some questions were better left unanswered. She was perfectly happy not knowing what lurked in the dark. She turned her attention to the building before her. It too was made of stone and featured many colorful stained-glass windows. She couldn’t quite make out the designs from the angle she was at, and made a mental note to examine them later as the ghoul pushed open the front door.

The man in the face paint—Papa, she remembered—was chatting with the remaining ghouls in the foyer when she entered the building. Lanterns lined the marble walls, casting shimmering lights up to the tall, arched ceilings. She felt a shiver run up her spine when her guide shut the door shut behind her, the sound of it echoing through the hall. This was it. Her two months had officially begun.

Papa stopped and turned around to greet them. “Allora, there she is. Ardis, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Ardis said with a polite nod as the group all gathered around. The ghoul she’d been following joined his peers.

“Wonderful, wonderful, yes, welcome,” Papa said, clapping his gloved hands together. He was dressed in his papal gown this time—it was Sunday, after all. The ghouls were whispering amongst themselves. Some seemed curious, while others clearly already had mischievous thoughts running through their heads. A few tails twitched excitedly. “I am glad you have made it here safely. You are just in time for the liturgy. As I am sure you can imagine, we are very excited to have you, little one.”

Ardis was very quickly starting to feel like prey, but did her best to put on a brave face. She’d never had a negative interaction with them during their brief encounters, but they were on opposite sides of an eternal battle. They all knew why she was there, but only her hosts knew what was in store for her.

"Our angel will be staying with, ehm, what did we decide... Ah, yes, Aether should be a fine match, sì?" The strange pope indicated toward the group of ghouls and the man who let her in flashed a playful toothy grin. She’d never noticed his fangs before and paled slightly. "Yes, you will bunk with Aether during your time with us.”

She simply nodded, trying to hide her surprise that she'd be sharing a room with one of the ghouls — and one of the male ones, at that. Although she supposed he seemed like one of the calmest of the bunch, so it certainly could have been worse. Some of the shorter ghouls seemed particularly rambunctious in a way that made her rather nervous.

“Oh, I suppose introductions are in order, yes?” Papa turned the floor over to the masked ghouls so each could introduce themself. First, there was Aether, whom Ardis had just met. Then was a man named Sodo, who seemed to be the shortest of the men. That was the one who made her a bit nervous for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Next was a ghoul named Rain, whom she was certain she would mix up with Sodo constantly. Mountain, conveniently, was clearly the tallest of the bunch. That one was easy. Swiss seemed equally as rambunctious as Sodo, but wasn’t quite as petite. Then Cirrus was the taller of the two women, and Cumulus was the shorter of the pair. Goodness, this was going to be tricky, especially between Sodo, Rain, and Swiss.

“It’s nice to meet you all. I apologize if it takes me a while to get your names right,” Ardis said timidly.

“Oh, it’s alright, dear,” Cirrus—was that Cirrus? Yes, definitely Cirrus—said with a warm laugh. “We know it can be hard with the masks.”

Ardis gave her a grateful smile. She knew they were likely just trying to lower her defences by making her feel comfortable, but… Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

"Mass will begin soon,” Papa continued, “then it is time for dinner, and then the rest of the evening is yours to spend how you wish. We can give you a proper tour in the morning. Aether, take her bag to your room for her, will you? We will meet you in the sanctuary.”

Next: Chapter II

[simm-mouse]

After my brain exploded from that hidden Nervous theory I made yesterday, I decided to turn my focus back on Sims 4 families. You might know I sometimes draw that kid with the bag on his head, Jeb Harris. Well today I'm focusing on his grannie that lives with him, his brother, and his parents. It's been theorized that she has a sister due to them having the same last name. Lydia Spencer is the mother of Alice Spencer-Kim and ex-wife of Dennis Kim. She's never seen in the game, so it's assumed she passed away before the game started. I think they're sisters, cause I doubt Francine ever married as she has the noncommittal trait

Francine Spencer has always been rebellious. Her older sister Lydia was often praised for her achievements, like her winning the district spelling bee. When she tried to be as skillful as her sister, it wasn't even close to the level her sister was at. However she was pretty good at playing the piano, but this did not turn her parents attention on to her. This left Franny left out, and she saw acting out the only way to get her parents attention. She'd get in trouble most of the time. She'd end up running away at the age of 16 and never graduated from high school. She would take odd jobs and would get fired after a month of working. She'd also go out with a lot of guys and break it off after a couple months of dating. However, with one of them, she ended up getting knocked up with her son Cletus

Sorry if any of you don't like me drawing Sims 4 stuff, I know the game is not everyone's favorite, hell it's not even my favorite out of the series. I just think some characters are actually interesting to look into. Like the Harris family, even their house has some clues on what their family is like

[yesimwriting]

All The Good Dreams

A/n this one is based on a request from @ateliefloresdaprimavera who requested a fic where General Kirigan has been dreaming of the reader for as long as he can remember and that’s one of his few reasons to smile and the reader has been having the same kinds of dreams about him and when they meet they just know. 

This one is being written in third person bc it’s the only way I can see this fic being done but I’m a little insecure about writing in third person so be gentle lol

Also a little personal update I’ve been working on my original novel and it’s coming together y’all!!

--

ALEKSANDER. 

The morning sunlight seems to only come to take her from him, peaking through the curtains and stirring him awake and away from his dreams. Aleksander keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, trying to will her features to remain in his mind. She had looked more angelic in last night’s dream, dressed in all white and watching him with an adoration he doubted real life could duplicate. 

The girl has haunted his dreams like a ghost of promise since before he began to change the world. Since before anything in his life was solidified. He lets out a sigh, something similar to a smile playing at his lips. Thinking of her would not bring her to him, if he could manifest her, she’d be by his side right now. He has things to do, duties and obligations that will bring his final goal closer. Each day is a step closer to victory, and each night brings the promise of dreams. The promise of her. 

--

Y/N.

“Y/n.” The voice is gentle and distant. “Y/n,” a little harsher. “Wake up, you’ll be late.” 

Fighting against grogginess, y/n wakes up, eyes squinting open. “What time is it, Danna?” 

“Late.” Danna’s reply is curt as she steps away from y/n’s cot. “I thought you were awake already and then I came in to look for my boots and you were still asleep with that ridiculously peaceful look.” Danna paces around the room. “You must have been dreaming of your prince again?” 

Y/n feels her skin warm. “He’s not a prince!” It’s a weak defense. “I regret telling you that almost every time I dream I see the same man.” 

Danna drops down, grabbing her worn boots and pulling them on quickly. “You’re making me believe in soulmates, l/n.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes, sitting up and placing her feet on the ground at her own leisure. “It’s nothing like that--I’m not even sure he exists.” 

Lacing her shoes, Danna narrows her eyes at y/n. “Sure.” Y/n opens her mouth to protest, but Danna beats her to it, “If you need to argue with me, do it while getting dressed, we can’t be late today--General Kirigan’s visiting this camp for the first time and I doubt he’d appreciate being interrupted by a non-Grisha medic.” 

At that, y/n wrinkles her nose, but she stands anyway. “Ugh...Grisha.” She walks towards her uniform. “They can get away with anything and I hear Kirigan’s the worst of all of them because he’s in the same order as the Black Heretic that began all of this.” Y/n pauses, crossing her arms. “And it’s ridiculous that the army even needs non-Grisha medics. Healers exist and they should not be primarily reserved for other Grisha who rarely get injured, especially to the extent that the rest of us do.” 

“I know, y/n, but don’t speak like that until the General is gone.” Danna draws her lips into a thin line. “And hurry up before you get us both in trouble.” 

Y/n lets out a sigh. “Go ahead without me, I’ll catch up.”

Danna eyes her friend wearily. “Alright, worse comes to worse I’ll try to cover for you.” 

“You won’t need to.” Y/n isn’t sure she believes herself. “I’ll be there.” 

Danna pulls on her second boot, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t really believe you.” She stands easily. “But knowing you, you’ll talk yourself out of any trouble the way you always do.” 

“I do not always talk myself out of trouble.” 

Turning to leave, Danna pauses, “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

Y/n rolls her eyes. If she had more time to argue with Danna she would take it. But she doesn’t. She’s quick to get dressed, thoughts of the mysterious stranger from her dreams keeping her company. Last night he seemed more tired than normal, a crease between his dark eyebrows as he sat by her side. A part of her she keeps buried worries about him. It’s ridiculous, to concern yourself over a figment of comfort your mind created for you. 

By the time y/n’s changed, she knows she doesn’t have much time to get to her station. She’s rushing out of her tent, one boot still untied. The medic bag she slings over her shoulder swings as she jogs towards the medical tent. Today the camp is hectic, everyone desiring to appear efficient and reliable for General Kirigan. It’s all ridiculous to Y/n. General Kirigan will never be impressed by them. If he’s revered even among Grisha, Y/n can’t imagine the superiority complex that man must possess.

Her eyes scan the soldiers and workers she knows so well, each of them behaving so differently than normal. There is no friendly chatter this morning, no casual banter. There is only the business of war. 

Y/n watches the people she knows, so focused on their nerves that she barely registers the person she crashes into. “Sorry!” The apology leaves Y/n on instinct.  Her bag falls off her shoulder, gauze and antiseptic falling onto the ground on impact. Y/n bends down instantly, beginning to pick up her supplies. She mentally curses herself for being so easily distracted and not properly shutting her bag this morning. “Everything’s so hectic today and I was running late and I just--I have no idea how I didn’t see you.” She drops her supplies back into her bag. “I guess it’s a good thing they keep me off the battlefield and in the medical tents.” 

Reaching for the last of her supplies, Y/n’s eyes land on the shoes of the person she just crashed into. They’re leather. The fine kind of leather meant for marble halls, not trekking through the unknown. Y/n’s mouth goes dry as the possibility of the graveness of her mistake sets in her mind. She exhales slowly, daring to look upwards as she closes her bag. 

When her eyes meet those of the stranger, she is left with no choice but to gape. She’s not staring because she’s now at the mercy of General Kirigan. She’s not staring because nothing could have prepared her for his beauty. She’s staring because she knows that face. She knows those sharp features and steady eyes.

His lips are slightly parted. Y/n is struck with the odd thought that perhaps he too has words wedged into his throat. 

“It’s you.” The whisper leaves her faintly. 

The words seem to unfreeze Kirigan, his expression moving from shocked to stoic. “Excuse me?” 

Awkward regret floods through Y/n. She drops her head downwards, desperate to escape the power of his gaze. “General Kirigan.” She uses her words as a way to dismiss the emotions her chest seems to be brimming with as she stands. He’s not the man from her dreams. That’s impossible. “I apologize for my inappropriate behavior an--” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head once. Y/n bites her tongue at his dismissal. “You said ‘it’s you.’”

Embarrassment knots her stomach. “I just hadn’t realized that I ran into you, General. I--I knew you were coming today, but I wasn’t expecting to see you much less like this.” 

Kirigan’s eyes seem to be nothing more than inviting pools of kindling emotion. So familiar yet so distinct. He can’t be the man from her dreams. The man from her dreams must be nothing more than a composition of traits she finds generally attractive. General Kirigan just happens to possess those features. That explanation is the only thing that keeps Y/n’s feet rooted to the ground, but the longer she looks at him the more that explanation loses its strength. There’s just something so knowing behind his expression, so specific to the face that she’s only seen while asleep. 

Tearing his gaze away to scan the area, Kirigan reaches forward, placing a hand on Y/n’s arm. The touch leaves Y/n warmer than it should. Maybe that’s why she lets him lead her forward, ducking into an empty medical tent. She keeps hold of her bag as he turns, his eyes full of something dark and unknown. But not angry, Y/n notes, no, not angry. The look is too peaceful for rage, perhaps even hopeful. 

“When you looked at me…” He exhales, voice low and sacred, “You said ‘it’s you’.” Y/n can only blink, still mesmerized by something so foreign and familiar all at once. “Do you know me?” 

In his urgency, Kirigan’s hold on Y/n’s arm becomes more assured. Something in Y/n wants to pry herself free in order to prove to herself that she’s capable of resisting his drawl. But his touch is not to trap her, the look in his eyes tells her that. His touch is pleading--desperate and hopeful. 

“Everyone knows you,” when Y/n finally finds her voice, she is not convinced it is her own. 

The corners of Kirigan’s mouth fall downwards, something in him threatening to deflate. “I meant--have you seen me before?” The question is not one Y/n is too willing to answer. How could she tell this strange man, this general she was convinced she’d dislike on some fundamental level while never speaking to him, that she knows him? She knows him like she knows her own beginning. “Because I’ve seen you.” 

Y/n can’t help the way her eyes widen. This doesn’t mean anything, she warns herself, he could have seen her walking. “I didn’t see you, that--that’s why I ran into you--” 

“No, you’re avoiding the question.” Her face is warmer than it was when Danna was teasing her this morning. It’s warmer than it’s ever been. “Because you’ve experienced it as well.” 

The swelling in her chest is overwhelming. “Experienced what?” 

Kirigan eyes the entrance to the tent once more, confirming that no one is approaching. “All of the good dreams,” he exhales, “They have been of you.” 

Y/n can’t help the way everything in her melts. She’s not insane. She’s not projecting something dangerous onto the Shadow Summoner. “I see you in my dreams always.” 

Slowly, he releases his grip on her arm. Watching her like she might be a mirage, Kirigan raises his hand, brushing his knuckles along Y/n’s cheek. She lets him, holding her breath until his hand falls back to his side. A part of Kirigan expected the girl to be a trick of the light, something that his touch would reveal to be a fallacy. But she remains true, watching him with eyes the size of saucers. 

“How long I’ve been waiting for you, you’ll never know.” His voice is as heavy as a lament. 

Y/n feels her back straighten slightly on instinct, desperate to pass whatever scrutiny is being passed over her. “How--how does this happen? How do two strangers dream of each other for so long and...” 

Something knowing colors his smile a shade of ambitious green. “What is your name?” 

“Y/n.” 

Kirigan’s minds flit through lifetimes worth of faint memories. The girl laughing, the girl teary eyed, the girl embodying all the stars he’ll never have, the girl representing all he needs. Y/n. There’s finally a name to her. 

“Y/n,” the name is a gift. Kirigan pulls a ring from his fingers before grabbing Y/n’s arm. Too lost in a strange euphoria, she lets him pull her arm forward before pressing his ring into her skin. Her brow furrows as he begins to guide the metal down her skin. That slight confusion quickly turns to total shock as a thread of light begins to spindle down her skin, following the path he’s creating with the ring. “You and I are going to change the world.” 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship @mentally-in-northern-italy @uhanddreag @kaitlyn2907

[narraboths]

[Bodyguard AU, inspired by revisiting @battenthecrosshatches‘s exquisite sketches. Fic also on Ao3.]

Lena can’t stand Sergeant Danvers.

She can’t stand any of her PPOs, frankly. It’s always the same humorless face, the same square jaw and shorn hair, the same cheap cologne, and inescapably, the same thinly veiled disgust for her name.

(At least they only get to spit out her title or the usual ma’am, instead of Luthor, like the rest of the country.)

But there’s something especially irksome about Danvers.

In many ways, she’s cut from the same cloth as the others: the towering, bulky physique, the hard-set features, the air of indifference, the only distinguishing mark being that she’s just handsome enough for Lena to have let her eyes wander for a second too long when they’ve first met.

It’s not that, though. 

(Or not just that, anyway.) 

It’s the dark, morose look in those ridiculously blue eyes, the haughty twitch of her lips every time she opens the car door for Lena. It’s the rigid, tense way Danvers carries herself, somehow both unnerving and magnetic, drawing Lena’s eye to her whenever she enters the room. It’s the way she just has to know better than any other bodyguard how to protect her and make every aspect of Lena’s life harder in the process, and then have the audacity to take all her reproachful looks with a stiff upper lip and a just doing my job, ma’am. It’s the fact that she does make Lena feel more safe, somehow, and cared for, too, in some odd, itchy way.

Lena cannot stand it.

–

In retrospect, she thinks she has the right to blame the incident at the studio on Sergeant Danvers, too. 

The bodyguard is standing by the door, monitoring the room like a sullen statue, and Lena’s decidedly trying not to look her way as she’s flipping through her papers. She’s wound up enough as it is, having to stand in for a major interview at the last minute and defend a controversial bill. She doesn’t need Sourface Danvers to aggravate it.

She’s not looking, then, as Jack is buzzing in her ear with his pep talk, a kind and gentle tone, nor when an assistant floats by with a three minutes and we can go to the studio, ma’am.

But she does look up when Eve strides into the room with a peppy exclamation of “Your coffee!”, the cup already enthusiastically extended towards Lena. She does look up, and by some freakish twist of fate, catches Sergeant Danvers looking right at her with the sort of searing intensity that makes Lena’s heart skip a beat, and her hand knocks a bit too forcefully against the cup in Eve’s hand, and–

“Fuck!”

The coffee stain spreads rapidly across her blouse, and Lena instinctively sucks her stomach in to avoid scorching herself too. Eve’s already dabbing away at it, babbling a nervous mantra of “Oh gosh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”, the fussing making Lena grasp the extent of the disaster more swiftly than the sight of the brown stain on the white silk.

“Stop it,” she grits out, springing up and away from Eve. She stares down at her blouse again, her nails digging hard into her palm. Luck of the Luthors. “Do we have anything I could change into?”

“There’s a spare in the car,” Eve says, slightly trembling. “But you’re on in like–”

“Can’t you give her your blouse?” Jack tries, and Lena shakes her head with an eyeroll.

“It’d never fit. God fucking–”

A pair of wide shoulders move into her view before she could finish, Danvers shrugging off her jacket and tossing aside her tie as she starts to unbutton her own shirt.

“Fresh on this morning, ma’am.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jack laughs, a nervous tinge in his voice, and Danvers only spares a glance for him before she extends the garment towards Lena.

“It’s altered to fit over my ballistic vest, so the chest to waist ratio should be compatible.” Practical, dispassionate, life-saving. It must only be due to the shock of the situation that Lena allows her eyes to linger on the exposed skin of the officer’s shoulders, the flexing biceps of her extended arm. Danvers shows no awareness of being ogled. “But you’re gonna have to tuck it under your blazer, ma’am.”

One heartbeat passes, then another. Then Lena reaches out and takes the shirt from Danvers, her fingers brushing over the bodyguard’s hand without meaning to.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Lena says, but the words come out breathless, somehow. Danvers only blinks, then gives a curt nod, thoroughly unmoved, and that helps Lena find her footing again. “Eve, organize Sergeant Danvers a new shirt. Jack, some privacy?”

Eve is scuttling away already and Jack follows her, too, though not without flashing an all too cheeky smile. Lena resists throwing her papers after him. She reaches for the hem of her blouse, and Danvers is already turning away, stuffing her tie into her pockets and putting her jacket over her now-exposed vest. A most infuriating knight in shining white body armor.

As she hurriedly buttons up the shirt and adjusts the sleeves, Lena tries to shut out every new sensation surrounding her with it. It proves to be an uphill battle. There’s a hint of something around the collar, citrusy, slightly sweet, though not terribly intrusive. Pleasant, even. Much worse is the lingering warmth of its previous wearer, wrapping itself around Lena and clinging stubbornly even when she’s in the interviewer’s chair like an invisible cloak, like a hug that could never be.

The interview goes well. Amazingly, frighteningly, "Press Secretary Grant sending an unprecedented well done text two minutes after airing” kinda well. But when they’re back in the car and Lena catches herself pressing her face into the collar of that shirt and inhaling deeply, the tension in her shoulder that just dissipated returns tenfold.

Sergeant Danvers is nothing but trouble.

[minty-mumbles]

Forget, and Remember Again

AN: This was inspired by Asleep in the Wires by@ammo-never-runs-out-of-knives. Go read that first or this won't make any sense. Thank you for letting me write this, Ammo! Beta'd by @transzeldas

Summary: The process of waking up is never easy.

(Read on AO3 Here)

~~~

Dinner afterwards was slightly awkward. Legend couldn’t bear to make eye contact with anyone, even those Time had said remembered. He was worried he would do something to give them away to the others, but he also was reluctant to meet Sky or Wind’s eyes and see the painful recognition there, another ugly confirmation of the truth of it all.

He shouldn’t have worried, though. The conversation was light-hearted and easy as always, even with Legend being somewhat quiet. He could feel Wild’s questioning gaze on him while the cook served the pumpkin soup he had made.

Thankfully, he was quickly distracted by Sky, who was frowning at his bowl. “This soup tastes odd, Wild, did you use the spices I showed you last time?”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Wild laughed, a sheepish smile on his face. “Guess I forgot the right ones. I can’t… remember…” He rubbed absently at his jaw, before shrugging and turning to his own soup.

Legend’s eyebrows shot up before he schooled his expression back to being carefully neutral. A look towards Time only produced a nod in his direction.

This was typical, then?

And yes, now that Legend could remember…

Well, now that he remembered, he remembered everything. It came back to him bit by bit, dripping, dripping, dripping, like water leaking from a faucet.

Drip. He remembered the initial panic they had all fallen into when they had realized what was going on. Drip. The hours spent theorizing and making plans, only to forget them again. Drip. The sadness and regret. Drip. Making peace with it. Drip. The acceptance.

He also remembered all the other times Wild had slipped. How he had changed. When they had first gotten here- wherever “here” was- Wild had been so different, even from how he was now.

He had been recognizable, thanks to the picture of himself pre-calamity he had shown them on their journey to defeat the shadow. But there had been only the barest glimpses of the Wild they had known in him. He had been quiet, suppressed, and had barely talked, only communicating in sign when he did.

Over the… years? The seasons did not pass here, the farm stuck in perpetual spring- Wild had changed. He had become more chatty, more carefree. They had watched as Wild’s troubles were eased, as his memories were taken from him. It made Legends sick to think about.

Not remembering what spices went into pumpkin soup was only one small part of that.

~~~

This was new. Twilight stared in shock as Wild hunched over the counter.

“I can’t remember… What did I forget? I don’t- I don’t-” Wild reached a hand up to brush at his cheek where his scars should have been. ”Why does it hurt, Twi? Why does it hurt, what’s missing?” By the end of his outburst, he was nearly screaming. The confused murmuring from those who’d forgotten was drowned out by Wild’s ragged breathing.

Each breath out was accompanied by a haggard whine, his teeth pulled back in a grimace as he white-knuckled the countertop.

Twilight was the first to break out of his stupor and move forward. He drew his cub into a hug, just holding Wild as he sobbed in pain.

Eventually, he was joined by the rest of his brothers, even those who didn’t remember right now. Comforting one of their own was more important than knowing why they needed the comfort, right now. The entire group sank to the floor after Twilight struggled to keep a limp Wild standing. At the sight of his hand clutching so tightly at his left arm he was drawing blood, Twilight grasped Wild’s hand himself to distract the boy.

He could do nothing else but share a pained look with Time over Wild’s head.

~~~

Legend had just recently forgotten the truth. When he had come down to breakfast, and gave Time a slightly confused look in return for the old man’s raised eyebrow, it was obvious. (Not that Time was much of an old man anymore. Here, he couldn’t be older than 30, and seemed to have shed all the aches and pains that had inspired that nickname to begin with.)

That was routine by now. Time gave a nod to those who still remembered and sat down for breakfast. There was Twilight and Wind, and Hyrule, too, apparently. He hadn’t remembered last night, but had met Time’s eyes knowingly this morning. Hyrule was part of the group that had always been better at remembering. Legend remembered the most often, but he also remembered slowly, only realizing they were in a dream, and needing some help to remember the rest.

The day had proceeded normally after that. They had gone about doing their work with a sense of comforting familiarity. Time couldn’t remember what his spirit had been doing before he had been summoned here- none of them could. If there had been an afterlife, where he had gotten to spend eternity in peace with Malon, he didn’t know.

But he didn’t mind the life he led now, even if it was slightly repetitive. (One of their heifers had calved today, just like she had last month, and the month before that, and…) But he was glad for it, at least a little bit. Even with their numerous stops and rests at Lon Lon Ranch, Wind’s island, Wild’s house in Hateno, or any one of the groups’ homes, Time had never really experienced relaxing with the rest of the boys. There had always been an expectation they would be back on the road in a few days, that the break they were on was only temporary.

Now, he had the peace of knowing there were no monsters to fight, not here. There was no Shadow to defeat, no country to protect, no goddess to serve, no swords to wield.

There were only hunting bows and carving knives, only used for catching game for dinner and cutting up pumpkins. There was only a hard day’s work to tire them out.

Like Time had told Legend, if he had left Malon to come to Wild’s dream, Malon would wait. She had waited for him when he was alive and went on adventures, knowing he would come back. He was sure she was fine waiting for him now.

Now, the group lay around the fireplace, having dragged all the blankets in the house to make the floor more comfortable. They were all full from a delicious meal, courtesy of Wild, and they were starting to nod off one by one.

By the time the last of the boys had fallen into slumber, Time himself was feeling the pull on his eyelids. For a moment he thought that he’d better retire to his room or his back would be killing him tomorrow, before almost chuckling out loud. His back was never sore anymore. He let himself slip into the embrace of sleep, warmed by the bodies of his brothers surrounding him.

~~~

Wild was gone. No one had been able to find him anywhere.

They were all in a panic, even those who had forgotten. Currently, only Time, Sky, and Hyrule remembered, but one of them going missing for a whole day was enough to send them all into panic and worry, regardless.

The house had been searched top to bottom three times, Sky even climbing up on the roof of the barn to get a better view of the surrounding fields, (and, likely, to check to see if Wild was squirreled away on the roof.)

They had all yelled themselves hoarse, and had gotten no response.

Time was starting to worry.

While the group was on their journey together, Wild had loved to go off on his own. He hadn’t been alone in that urge. Both he and the Traveler were used to traveling alone, and needed space to cool off, away from people. They had gotten better as time went on, adjusting to the group, and needing less time apart. That didn’t mean they didn’t want to wander off. Time couldn’t rightfully say how many times the group had looked around and collectively groaned, because one or both of the pair had wandered off.

Needless to say, Wild disappearing never used to be alarming, at least not like this.

But since they had come to this dream, Time couldn't remember Wild ever going missing, not like this. Most of the time, Wild stuck close to one of them, seemingly hesitant to leave their sides. If he wasn’t with one of them, it was practically guaranteed that he was in the kitchen, or sleeping in his and Twilight’s room.

He wasn't in either of those places. Time has long since asked Hyrule to keep an eye on Twilight, to keep him from wandering off into the endless fields searching for the cub.

After they had been searching for hours, and it was well after midnight, Time insisted that they all head to bed. The entire group had vehemently protested, but stern glares from Time and reasoning that they would be no help to Wild if they were exhausted eventually convinced them to head to their beds. The actual amount of sleep they would be getting was dubious. Time himself only managed a worried, restless half-sleep for a few hours. During the night, he got up to check on the boys.

He had panicked slightly when he saw both Twilight and Wild’s bed were empty, but relaxed when he found all of the boys piled together in Warriors and Wind’s room. They were piled together, half of them on the two beds, half of them on the floor, most of them snoring away. Sky had given Time a strained smile from where he was pinned underneath Legend’s slumbering form. Time gave him a nod, and closed the door again.

At the first hint of dawn peeking over the horizon, Time dragged himself out of bed. He hadn’t slept any better after easing his mind about the rest of the boys being fine, and he was exhausted. He made a beeline to the kitchen to start a pot of strong coffee. Once it was brewing he stepped out onto the porch to get a breath of fresh air, just for a moment. What he got instead was Wild, sitting on the porch swing, staring out into the endless fields.

“Wild?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t get a response, except for a little “Hm?” from the cook. He didn’t turn his head to look at Time, only staring out into the fields.

Time approached him, kneeling down in front of the boy. Wild didn't even acknowledge his approach, or his presence blocking his view of the sunrise. His eyes were glazed over, not truly seeing. He almost looked sleepy, his eyes dropping as if struggling to keep himself awake.

Time frowned, placing a hand on Wild’s shoulder. That finally got a reaction from him. He blinked, eyes focusing on Time. “Wild, where have you been?”

Wild shrugged helplessly, his eyes unfocusing again. He only murmured a soft “Dunno…”

Time sighed. He didn’t know what was going on. His instincts, honed after years of dealing with eight young men screamed at him to fix whatever was bothering Wild, but Time didn’t even know what was wrong.

He could do nothing except sit with Wild. There was nothing he could do to help, nothing to really solve the root of Wild’s issue. He had been called here to keep Wild company, so that was what he would do.

He picked up a blanket that had been left out of the porch swing, placing it around Wild’s shoulder, then sat next to slinging an arm around Wild’s shoulder, drawing him into Time’s side.

~~~

It was one of those rare times when the reality of the situation had slipped from Time’s mind when Hyrule comes scrambling into the house, frantic calls on his lips. His brothers come racing from all over the house at his cries. He gasps, hands on his knees, panting as if he’d run all the way to the house from the fields, which he probably did.

“Someone's out in the field. I think it- I think it-“ he cuts himself off, wary eyes running over his brothers, only finding true acknowledgment from Four and Twilight.

“Um, sorry, there’s someone out in the field, they freaked me out, but I’m fine now.” He breathed deeply to steady his heaving chest. A shaky smile was all that was needed to send the rest of them off, grumbling about Hyrule scaring them.

Twilight and Four follow him quickly back to where he had come from.

There’s a figure in white standing out in the fields. Her long blonde hair is blown by an unfelt breeze, tangled and messy. Her eyes glow with the power of the gods, her white dress rumpled and riddled with burn holes.

She looked how Hyrule always imagined Hylia did, if Hylia had been shot at by guardian lasers and rolled down a hill. But Hylia hadn’t been, and Hyrule knew who this was.

Flora was yelling, her voice carried away on the wind. Golden tears were running down her face as it twisted up in a look of utter despair.

She threw her head back, howling in agony. Hyrule could only catch the faintest strains of the sound, but it was enough.

“WAKE UP!”

And she was gone.

Four blinked, turning around confusedly. “Uh, what are we doing out here? He questioned.

“Nothing, Four.” Hyrule said, surprised he managed to keep his voice steady. “Go back inside, we’ll be in in a minute.” Four obeyed. Twilight met Hyrule’s eyes but neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say.

~~~

Wild was rarely around nowadays. In rare instances, he would be discovered standing, dazed and uncertain, on the porch, or the kitchen, or his room. When he was found, he would be herded to the nearest comfortable surface and wrapped up in blankets. They all did their best to make him comfortable. Seeing his blank expression was heart-wrenching. None of them felt pity, though. They knew better than anyone that Wild would be fine, and come out even stronger on the other side. He would eventually remember the memories they saw him losing everyday. But seeing the process of Wild losing himself was more difficult than they thought it would be.

His hands would flex around nothing as if he was trying to remember the feeling of a sword in his hands, or the sun on his skin. Sometimes he sobbed for the people in his life who he grieved for but couldn’t remember.

More and more of the group were remembering at a time, now.

They all knew it wouldn’t be long.

~~~

Legend, if he had a mouth, would have described the feeling of Time’s spirit as a metallic sensation in the back of his throat. But he didn’t have a mouth. So he couldn’t. Not that he would have had anyone to describe it to, anyways. The other had all left a short while ago, to return to wherever they had come from before being pulled into Wild’s dream.

Wild was waking up. He didn’t need them anymore. They were free to leave, and most of them had. Legend had lingered, for just a few moments.

The presence of Time’s spirit lingered even after the others had dissipated, no doubt ready to chide Legend (somehow, despite not having the ability to speak) if he decided to cause trouble and stick around where he shouldn’t be.

Legend cast one more look at the form of the waking champion, and then thought of a purple merchant and a Queen he called sister. Time was being silly. He couldn't wait to leave. Wild would be okay without their help. Legend knew it.

~~~

When Wild woke from the shrine, he was alone for the first time in a hundred years.

[pixie-mask]

Raising Jinx (my dumb headcanons) 3rd Course

It took over a year for Jinx to go back to messing with bombs in full capacity. At most she would draw designs and names for them once built in the future

Silco’s first talk about Vander’s betrayal happened a few months after her adoption around the time her she might have started hearing voices

Outside of their initial embrace one of the important moments of closeness and trust is when Silco let Jinx touch the damaged part of his face

Silco asked Jinx if she wanted to help with his injections after noticing how often she would stare intently at him doing it himself

Silco and Sevika headed out one day leaving the other henchmen in charge of Jinx

None of them really knew how to properly show interest in her art or gadgets like Silco and she couldn’t argue with them like Sevika, what should have been a mild day turned chaotic as hell

Paint bombs every where , rough day for Chuck (sorry I legit forgot his real name) to start

It ceased after she unfortunately started hearing Mylo and Claggor

Once she calmed down everyone feared another paint massacre and to avoid that and running off business they convinced Jinx to play hide and seek

That didn’t work either as they weren’t able to find her. They even left The Last Drop searching for her

They were prepared for trouble the moment Silco and Sevika got back. They did for the paint, but as soon as Silco stepped through the door Jinx appeared out of nowhere to hug him

Despite how she feels about Jinx; Sevika gets a little soft seeing Jinx and Silco interact. Discipline issues aside it reminds Sevika of her time with her own father

Initially Sevika would sneak pamphelts for things that Silco could look into for Jinx

If Silco lost something in his office (not stolen by Jinx) and Sevika found what he was looking for she would sometimes leave it somewhere where Jinx could discover it and take it back to Silco. She had to put up with Jinx’s little smugness afterwards, but whatever

Silco and Jinx have shooting matches sometimes, like she did with Mylo, but its a far more of an actual challenge for her

Silco is also much more experienced with Jinx’s grenades than one would think. During visits to her lair he would also pull the pin and drop them in time like she does. This has terrified the others when he would (for some reason) have one of her grenades and the pin and timing action out of reflex

Jinx got Silco to doodle with her a few times. Some of those times Sevika caught them. Little reprimands about work aside turns out Sevika draws better than both of them

No one but the three of them know, but at one point in time Sevika carried the thin as hell father-daughter duo home. All covered in soot/ash and some paint, a little bruised and odd mix smell of food, drink and something burning. 

“So, don’t be mad...” became a positive and concerning phrase for Silco to hear. One the one hand it showed that she wasn’t so restrained by the voices and that she didn’t fear that he would cruel or want to get rid of her. On the other hand it meant she managed to do some substantial amount of damage

Family dinner meant just Jinx and Silco while he took a break from work. Occasionally it meant Sevika and Silco having to deal with things late into the day and would have to eat as they worked and Jinx would happened to be there with them; sometimes as part of the work-others as just a plus one.

[shadowmaat]

Cmdr. Fox Week Day 6: Caring

Look, Fox deserves all the fluff and I am here to provide it. @loving-fox-hours

The Care and Feeding of Commander Fox

Fox was on a routine and thankfully uneventful patrol of the halls of the Senate when he noticed someone coming towards him. They were short, bipedal, covered in marbled grey fur, and had six arms, two sets of which were currently crossed over their chest. They were also wearing a purple tooka romper, so he hazarded a guess that they were a juvenile.

He stopped as the presumed juvenile stomped up to him, thrust all six arms in the air, and made a buzzing clicky sound. Fox didn't need a translator to figure out that command.

"Are you lost?" He bent to pick up the young harch- for that's what they had to be, especially with the six red eyes- and settled them against his hip.

A derisive clicking and a firm shake of the head. So either they weren't lost or refused to admit it. He sent a message off to Sergeant Rattle, letting her know what he'd found. If a frantic parent or guardian called in looking for a missing youngling, Rattle could reassure them and let him know where to go.

"I'm Commander Fox," he said, in case the armor wasn't enough indication he was a Safe Grownup. "Do you want me to take you back to your guardian?" he asked, checking the hallway just in case this turned out to be a short exercise.

Another headshake and the harch mashed their face against his chestplate, making a keening sound that made his teeth hurt.

"Right, no guardian, then," he said. What the frip was a harchling doing running around the Senate, anyway? Last he'd heard Secundus Ando was still firmly Separatist, so they wouldn't have a senator here.

"How about something to eat?"

This, at least, got a pleased warble, although they kept their face pressed into his chest. The upper set of arms hooked around his neck, the middle set had tiny claws hooked around the edge of his armor plate, and the last set clung to the arm that was holding them.

"I'm afraid the Guard mess isn't very exciting," he said as he made a turn to head in that direction. "Our rations are geared for humans, but they should be safe for you as well."

He was pulling up everything he could about harch dietary habits, which seemed to go heavy on liquid proteins and meat rather than live bugs as he'd been half afraid would be the case.

A bubbling hiss as the harch shook their head and pointed one three-fingered hand in the other direction. Towards the visitors cafe. Fox snorted.

"Sorry, kid, but if you're with me, it's the Guard mess or nothing. We aren't allowed in the places real people go. Might offend them with our stench."

He said it like a joke, but it was true enough. Rich folk like the Senators and their guests hated being confronted by commoners, and by their reckoning clones were a step down from that. Or several.

The harchling made a show of sniffing him, still pointing the way to the cafe. When it was clear Fox wasn't going to obey their simple instruction, they started to wriggle.

Fox had done his share of creche-work back on Kamino and had even volunteered a time or two at the Jedi Temple, but none of it compared struggling with an eight-limbed mini-tyrant intent on getting what they wanted. They started an oscillating whine and were starting to draw unwanted attention.

He flipped on his internal comm. "Rattle, what in the Storms-cursed hells is taking so long?"

"Oh! Commander!" Rattle sounded surprised. "Uh, is everything alright? I mean, no one's reported any missing children yet, but you'll be the first to know, sir!"

Fox grunted as he took a well-placed foot, or possibly fist, to the stomach.

"But there is, uh, news!"

Rattle sounded odd, but Fox was too busy struggling to hold on to figure it out. He'd stopped walking and was seriously debating how much trouble he'd be in if he just dropped the kid.

"Turns out there's a celebrity visiting today! You know Bivi? Silken queen of the pop charts? She's here to be thanked for-"

"Why the frip weren't we told?" Fox snarled. He turned and started heading in the direction the harchling demanded. Hells, for all he knew, they were saying that's where their caretaker was.

"Funny thing about that," Rattle started.

"Never mind! Just- see if we can get some of the Guard in her detail. Shadow 'em if you have to, but I don't want any reports to say we snubbed some fancy-damned superstar." He didn't quite sneer the last word, but it was close.

"Yessir," Rattle said. "If I hear anything more, I'll let you know!"

There was that weird note in her voice again, but before he could ask her about it, the comm disconnected. He glanced down at the harchling, who'd gone docile again once they saw he was heading in the right direction.

"Fine, kid," he said, switching to his outer comm again. "We'll do it your way, but I hope you're okay with eating alone."

He wasn't honestly sure either of them would be allowed in since he couldn't provide a name or sponsor for the harchling, but if their guardian or caretaker was indeed in there at least it'd solve half his problems. Then he could concentrate on the nightmare of some ditzy singer running loose without a Guard presence.

Sure enough, as they approached the entrance to the cafe a silvery protocol droid stepped into the doorway.

"I beg your pardon, Sir and Mx," it said, "but the Freedom Cafe is off limits to non-members."

Disdain dripped from its tone. If it had more of a nose it definitely would have been looking down it at them.

"Do you see who you're looking for?" Fox asked.

The harchling turned a bit to face the droid and began to talk. It was full of whistles and clicks, and when they finally stopped, the lights in the droid's eyes actually blinked as it took a step back, bowing.

"My most profound apologies, Your Ladyship! Of course you and your Noble Guardian are most welcome!"

It bowed again, moving aside and gesturing for them to enter.

"If there's anything Your Ladyship requires, please, don't hesitate to ask!"

Fox looked down at the harchling, who gave him a squinty-eyed look in return. How something with six eyes, fur, and mandibles could radiate smugness like that was beyond him, but there was no doubt that's exactly what they- what she- was doing.

"Your Ladyship, huh?" He moved past the droid, taking a quick look around the room as he made his way to the serving line. "Something you want to tell me?"

She chirped at him, her tone inquisitive, and all her eyes wide in an unconvincing display of innocence. He huffed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

For a species that was supposed to prefer a liquid diet, the harchling seemed happy enough to stock up on steak and shellfish. After some argument he convinced her to take some vegetables as well, then she returned the favor by insisting he pick food for himself.

There were a few visiting dignitaries sitting on the far side of the room as well as a gaggle of aides making a mess and swapping horror stories about their senators. Nothing he hadn't heard before. He'd set the harchling down so he could carry both their trays and she strutted along behind him as if she owned the place. Knowing his luck, she probably did.

He picked a quiet table shielded by plants with a nice view of the air traffic outside and set the trays down. Her Ladyship climbed into a chair on her own and stared at him until he sat.

It was a good thing that there was no one here to see him being ordered around by a toddler. He'd been in far more humiliating situations and unlike other times he wasn't afraid to tell her "no," but, well, sometimes it was easier to just go along with whatever was happening and younglings were one of his biggest weaknesses. At least the ones who weren't malicious demonspawn like their parents.

Fox pulled his helmet off and set it on the empty chair beside him. He still had his wrist comm if there was an emergency and Rattle kept "dropping" his calls as if it wasn't blatant she was doing it. The squad channel was full of the usual chatter, so while he was suspicious, he wasn't worried something was wrong.

He ate his burger and "truffle fries," savoring every bite and trying not to think about how much worse rations were going to taste after this. He also did his best to ignore the unpleasant crunching sounds from his companion. Apparently harch could eat shellfish whole.

He accepted what pieces she offered him and caught every attempt she made to hide her vegetables, making sure she ate all of it.

It was the best meal he'd had in his entire life, and he hoped that whoever she was- or whoever her parent might be- that they wouldn't find a way to reverse the charge to his account instead.

While he was brooding over how to get her back where she belonged, she gabbled at a passing serving droid, who sped off only to return with a couple of plates sporting enormous slices of chocolate cake.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he said.

The harchling pointed her fork at him and whistle-clicked at him, waiting. He could refuse; he'd been more than reasonably accommodating and even a clone had to draw a line somewhere, but... it was chocolate cake. With at least two inches of chocolate frosting and a dollop of what was undoubtedly real whipped cream slowly melting over it.

He picked up his fork and took a bite. Flavor exploded in his mouth and he closed his eyes to savor the moment. He heard a chirp and the clatter of a fork on china that meant his tiny abductor had joined him.

"What is the point of all this?" He asked between bites. "You're clearly more capable than you pretend and if you really needed help it sounds like the droids here can actually understand you."

The harchling tilted her head, making an inquiring chirp. There was frosting smeared around her mandibles.

Fox gave her a level look. "Just because I'm a clone doesn't mean I'm an idiot, miss." He sent a silent prayer to the Great Seas that he wasn't setting himself up for a reprimand by talking back.

The harchling put down her fork and reached across the table toward him, taking his free hand in both of her upper ones and stroking it. She crooned softly, which wasn't much of an answer but did feel like an apology.

One of her middle hands came up, clutching a small stuffed toy, and pushed it across the table. He put down his own fork to pick up the toy, which looked like a well-loved yellow harch.

"I don't understand," he said, checking to see if it had a name or ID on it.

The harchling brought her middle hands together and tilted her head against them, closing her eyes.

Fox's mind reeled. "You... want me to take a nap?" He couldn't quite believe it. He'd had a lot of strange days in the Guard, but this was borderline surreal.

The harchling opened her eyes and nodded, but before he could respond there was a commotion at the door.

He was up and shielding the harchling before he'd made a conscious choice to move. Cam droids hovered in the air and he recognized a couple of reporters backing into the room, peppering someone with questions.

Then the "someone" stepped in and he felt his stomach drop.

It was another harch. They had ghostly white fur that glittered under the flashbulbs and startling blue eyes. They were wearing a shimmering black dress and carefully-fitted matching boots.

The harchling behind him gave a piercing whistle and hopped to his shoulder and he struggled to secure her, heart hammering wildly as all attention focused on him.

Several camdroids buzzed over and Kilsa Rumano, whom he'd had the misfortune to encounter several times already, looked like she'd just been handed a leading headline. She probably had. He could imagine the headline: Clone Commander Kidnaps Child.

The white harch, however, tossed two sets of arms theatrically in the air. "Ferra, my niblet! There you are!"

The crowd around them parted as the harch glided across the room in their direction, trailing reporters, attendants, and- yes- two guardsmen in her wake. It must be Bivi, the singer Rattle had warned him about. He was completely fripped.

"I see you found a dashing Guard Captain to watch over you," Bivi continued. "Well done!"

"Not just any Commander, mum," Ferra said in perfect Basic. "This is Commander Fox!"

Fox's neck wrenched painfully as he twisted his head to stare down at her. She grinned up at him, mandibles wagging.

"You..." He couldn't form words. At least not ones that were safe to say in current company.

She reached up to pat his cheek, leaving little smears of frosting.

"Commander Fox." The clicks in Bivi's voice almost sounded like purring. "Just the man I wanted to see!"

The next bit of time passed in a blur of praise from Bivi, questions from the reporters, and commentary from Ferra, who was acting as if he'd saved her from certain death.

It turned out that Bivi was in the Senate to accept a special thank you from the Chancellor for some charity fund she'd apparently organized for the clones. That really must have stuck in his craw, Fox thought. She'd wanted to meet whatever troopers she could find- including the Guard- but had been told they were all "too busy." Hence sending Ferra out to find one.

Ferra was the equivalent of around seven, but very mature for her age, and knew how to use that to her advantage. She decided he seemed overworked and endeavored to treat him the best way that she could.

The "plight" of the clones was mentioned to the eagerly listening reporters, and Bivi had some harsh criticisms of the Senate- and Palpatine in particular- that Fox knew would come back to bite him in the ass, but he was a little overwhelmed at that point.

The shaking shoulders of the two guardsmen in the back of the room and the flowery apology from Rattle told him that Ferra wasn't the only one who'd set him up for this.

Bivi had piles of merchandise for him to distribute among the Guard and any other interested brothers. She also handed him a stack of tickets for her show later that evening, and as she handed them to him one of her clawed fingers tapped against an off-colored card mixed in with the tickets.

Ferra gave him a chocolaty kiss on the cheek and thanked him for his help, mumbling an apology for tricking him. Her mother kissed him as well, thanked him, and whispered in his ear that more help was always available as long as he knew where to look.

It took awhile to get everyone herded back out into the hall and for once Fox was grateful for the snobbishness of the cafe droids, who were not above mildly electrocuting reporters to get them out of the way.

Since Bivi and her entourage were on their way out Fox corralled the two guardsmen, Divot and Banger, into helping him carry their gifted haul back to the office.

"Breathe one word and you're both on Sewer Inspection for a month," he growled.

They saluted, but he could tell they were still laughing behind their helmets. Good help was hard to find. Between them and the traitorous Rattle, the sewers were going to be safer than ever.

Once safely locked in his office, he inspected the concert tickets. In among the front-row tickets was a slip of paper with a string of numbers and a four digit code.

Just in case the Chancellor forgets to pass this along.

- Bivi

It was the Support Our Troops account she'd been raising money for. Fox didn't dare take a look, not yet.

In among the t-shirts, bags, branded glowsticks, and other Bivi-related paraphernalia were some encrypted comms, datapads, and some top-of-the-line jammers. Fox breathed out slowly, wondering exactly what he was getting into with this. Maybe it was time to comm Cody. Chances were he was the intended recipient anyway. After all, why would a famous pop star care about him in particular? He never made the holonews like Cody did.

He reached up to touch the spot where she'd kissed him and his fingers came away Corrie Crimson. Kriff. He checked his reflection in a datapad and saw two odd marks on his cheeks; one larger crimson one and a smaller black one. Kriff kriff kriff. Maybe he'd wind up on the holonews after all. Or at least, most definitely, the tabloids.

Sewer Inspection duty wasn't severe enough. He'd need to think up something worse.

[hannigramficrecs]

Newly Added Fics 5/16

Hello everyone, sorry again for the slight hiatus! I’ve replied to all the messages in my inbox (at least the ones that were sent to me before this past friday), so if you asked me something before that, be sure to check out my replies!

As usual, I’ve emboldened the fics I really liked and italicized the ones that are incomplete.

Looks Like Love by luvkurai [words: 5,987] — (AU)

After his sister's wedding, Will kisses his childhood housekeeper (and first love).

Betrothed by slashyrogue [words: 3,932] — (AU)

In one month he would marry a total stranger.

Titan Arum by ProxyOne [words: 64,614] — (AU)

Will is a botanist, working in the greenhouse of the local Botanical Gardens. He is getting his life back on track after his divorce, but he can't help but notice someone who keeps coming back to his greenhouse to draw, day after day. A man who seems to have been paying very close attention to him...

Find Me In The Dark by Rising_Phoenix [words: 40,131] — (AU)

After a fateful accident, the marriage of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter has reached its end. Grief and the inability to stop them from falling apart has brought an irreconcilable distance between the formerly deeply devoted couple. While Hannibal is apathetic towards his husband, ignores him, and is withdrawn, Will has started an affair with fellow teacher Francis and drowns his desperation in more and more alcohol. 

Light of All Lights by whiskeyandspite [words: 20,377] — (AU)

Dracula-like fic without any of the vampires

The Stage Just For You by CarnivalMirai [words: 6,494] — (AU + Age Gap)

Will has landed himself the role of Odette for world-famous choreographer Hannibal Lecter's rendition of The Swan Lake.

There Will Be Bells by Entropyrose [words: 36,639] — (A/B/O)

In Georgian England, male omegas are very rare diamonds. Baron and Baroness Graham have a plan to build their wealth and social status by offering their son Will's hand in marriage to a mysterious older Duke, an Alpha named Lord Hannibal Lecter. Will's personal feelings need not apply.

Alpha Mart by slashyrogue [words: 63,164] — (A/B/O)

Will needs an alpha. After years of fake knots, half-assed suppressants, and his own damn hand during heats he’s reached the end of his rope. He doesn’t do dating so he decides to waste his life savings and hype with the current trend. Alpha Mart.

Enchanted By Your Name by CarnivalMirai [words: 9,207] — (A/B/O + PWP)

“Now, my husband would prefer it if I got the job done quickly.” He says, slashing down the back of each gag as he passes each man, watching as the silk falls gracefully to the floor. “However, I want to have some fun. Considering you’ve troubled my husband so much… it’s only fair, right?” One of the men whimpered fearfully. Or: The name "Will Graham" is a name you'll only ever hear once.

I've Been Building Black Ships by cloudsarefluffy [words: 8,116] — (A/B/O + AU)

Alpha Hannibal moves to the States with his sister Mischa after being overtly done with the fancy life of a count, and his blind omega neighbor gives him an insight into love that he never quite expected.

A Rare Find by hit_the_books [words: 5,379] — (A/B/O + AU)

Life as an omega bookseller can be quite lonely. However, as the owner of Graham’s Books, Will Graham is reasonably content. That is until he meets—long-time customer and crush—Doctor Hannibal Lecter in person for the first time. Attraction blossoming between them both, Will agrees to a dinner date with the good doctor.

We All Have a Hunger by 1ntothew1ld [words: 12,260] — (A/B/O + Age Gap)

Hannibal will ensure a properly slow and painful death for an alpha who allowed a beautiful young omega to go to waste as this one has. Too skinny for his own good, a stuttering and humble mess. The likes of the omega in front of him belonged at Opera houses and in million-dollar mansions, not scrounging for his next meal. Meek and afraid in some disheveled row house. When he finally looked back up the alpha had to conceal the utter punch to the stomach that meager glance was, blue eyes full of innocence but also hunger.

The Doctor Is In by Kummerspeck7 — (A/B/O + PWP)

Will nearly scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe you'd want anything other than a delicate flower to adorn your side, keep your ostentatious home, bare you the exact number of children you want--No more, no less-- all while being available at your whims." "Not at all." Hannibal disagreed. "I would no more put a wilting flower in my home than in a bouquet given as a gift. Tell me, Will, is that how you are treated? Forbidden from work, cloistered inside and used at Mr Brown's discretion?" "My Alpha's discretion." Hannibal looked pointedly at the curve of Will's neck, free from a single scar. "Not yet he isn't."

Teenage Wildlife by writtenbyizzy [words: 10,163] — (Age Gap + Sugar Daddy)

While reluctantly prowling Grindr for a sugar daddy to pay for his dog Bean's vet bills Will comes across Hannibal, and gets far more than he bargained for.

Just As Poised As I Remember by CarnivalMirai [words: 5,721] — (Age Gap + School)

When Will was in high school he had an incredibly handsome psychology teacher-- tall and sharp with a thick European accent. And now, a decade later, said psychology teacher-turned psychiatrist... just swiped right on him.

We Can Chase the Dark Together by K_R_Closson [words: 16,615] — (Fantasy)

Will tips him and Hannibal off the cliff. Instead of hitting the water, he wakes up in his bed, several years in the past. His first, and only, priority is to find Hannibal again.

We Killed a Dragon Last Night by inameitlater [words: 88,150] — (Fantasy)

Will remembers falling. He wakes up months before Jack got him to work for him. Months before he met Hannibal for the first time. Free from his past he decides to change events and meet Hannibal again.

My Only Constant Is You by TheSilverQueen [words: 25,369] — (Fantasy)

Hannibal Lecter is an immortal who can never die. Will Graham is a time traveler who can never stay in one place. Perhaps that is why they are perfect for each other.

Motinos Kalba by Lyla_Joy [words: 6,040] — (Fluff)

Five times Hannibal Lecter spoke Lithuanian on accident and one time he meant too.

You Make Me Feel (Good) by sourweather [words: 7,190] — (Fluff)

Will Graham has sensory issues. The world gets too loud, he gets overstimulated easily, but most of all he hates being touched. He never expected someone to work so hard to make him comfortable, to be so patient with him.

Pick Me Up by sourweather [words: 6,053] — (Fluff)

Will doesn't go to bars much. He doesn't end up needing a ride home much. But when he does get drunk, he always wants to ask Hannibal to pick him up.

Hard to Get by JSinister32 [words: 5,561] — (Jealousy)

Will and Hannibal had been broken up for six months. When confessions are made during a work function, can they find it within themselves to forgive?

Polar Opposites by Lyla_Joy [words: 19,513] — (Kidnapping)

“Says the cannibalistic serial killer who knocked me out and is now holding me hostage,” sassed Will. The Ripper didn’t smile but his eyes crinkled in the corner. “Please call me Hannibal.”

Fate Is A Keen-Eyed Hound by LydiaFearing [words: 5,890] — (Mischa)

Hannibal may be a successful, charming psychiatrist but Mischa worries that her brother is lonely so she gifts him a puppy. Hannibal reluctantly falls for his little dog but wants to get involved with time-consuming FBI work and not just anyone can be allowed to look after his pet. Luckily, Alana can recommend a boarding kennel in Wolf Trap.

The Significant Other: The Will and Hannibal Edition by house_of_lantis [words: 18,431] — (Murder Husbands)

After their terrible and abrupt break up, Will and Hannibal attempt to maneuver through their social circles, side step ongoing gossip, and deal with the fact that Will knows the truth of Hannibal. Through impossible odds, Will and Hannibal do find their way to each other again.

Dancing with the Beast by proser [words: 86,347] — (Murder Husbands)

In order to catch a mediocre serial killer, Will must pose as Hannibal's date for a series of pretentious social events. Hannibal is dramatic and jealous as ever, and Will is having a great time without the encephalitis. Of course, it's a love story.

Arriving at the Crossroads by HigherMagic [words: 7,558] — (Mpreg)

"You haven't been my psychiatrist for a long time," Will echoes. "But you've been my friend. You've helped me. With…" He gestures vaguely to his head. "When my brain was on fire. On consults. When it's dark and I need a guiding light." "It pleases me very greatly to be a source of comfort and reassurance for you, Will," Hannibal says. "I have wanted to be that for you, for a long time."

The Hanged Man by justhavesex [words: 13,076] — (Mpreg)

Will Graham had never wanted children before, but he had never considered it to be a consequence of his omegan brain not finding anyone worthy, but the moment he had met Hannibal Lecter he had been filled with want. In which a dinner party one-night stand results in a pregnancy that changes Will's entire life.

I Don't Even Like Lana Del Rey by perpetuallycaffeinated [words: 4,328] — (PWP)

The tension and low thrum of arousal were making Will speak impulsively. He knew this, but he’d just finished his drink. There was nothing he could use to stop the question, blunt and presumptuous and rude. “So, what, you’re my daddy?”

A Bad Combination In The Dark by perpetuallycaffeinated [words: 1,957] — (PWP)

When a nerve wracked Will Graham accidentally cuts his hand on Dr. Lecter's letter opener, things quickly get out of control.

The Best Bait by sourweather [words: 3,327] — (PWP)

Will is a good fisherman, he knows which bait to use for his catch. Will seduces Hannibal at a party by being sexy.

Whimsy by justheretoreadhannibalfics [words: 3,001] — (School)

Doctor Hannibal Lecter is standing in as a teacher while Professor Graham is out of town on a case. The students start to kind of like him, and become very invested in his love life.

Callipygian by ProxyOne [words: 2,260] — (Season 1)

Hannibal has a lot of sketches of Will, which he normally keeps safely away. One day though, Will shows up unexpectedly and Hannibal is caught unawares, and unprepared.

L'appel Du Vide by sourweather [words: 5,413] — (Season 1)

Will is hiding things from his coworkers. From himself. But Doctor Lecter knows.

Friends Don't Frame Friends: A Lesson for a Clueless Cannibal by LadyFelixTristis [words: 5,041] — (Season 1)

Ear? What ear? Will Graham doesn’t try to thwart Hannibal Lecter’s plans for him. He just does. By accident. And then on purpose.

For All My Pride, You Were the Fall of Me by nobetterlove [words: 13,212] — (Season 2)

After being released from the BSHCI, Will grabs the dogs he can't live without and leaves without a trace

Letters to God by CarnivalMirai [words: 4,698] — (Season 3+)

Will writes letters to Hannibal every day after his incarceration. But they never make it.

Blankets, Coffee Cups, and Christmas Morning by sourweather [words: 6,352] — (Season 3+)

Hannibal wants to enjoy the domesticity. The love, the closeness, the being Known. But something about his life with Will makes him want to lash out.

All These Fictionary Tales by ProxyOne [words: 18,492] — (Season 3+)

After the fall, Hannibal is presumed dead. Will has been declared dead. But Will isn't willing to believe that Hannibal would just abandon him like that 

Seduction by BloodunderMoonlight [words: 7,086] — (Season 3+)

“For fuck’s sake, Hannibal.” Will glared at him, brimming with wrath he had only seen behind Will’s gun. He had no doubt Will would draw out a knife from beneath the duvet or pillows, but clearly words were enough to make him gobsmacked—“Are you a fucking virgin or monk? If all these can’t get you to bed then I don’t know what can.” Hannibal stood gaping at Will.

Blood, Cedar and Dog Hair by sourweather [words: 3,351] — (Season 3+)

Something terrible happens while Hannibal is in prison. Something he never prepared for.

Hidden Potential by sourweather [words: 20,789] — (Soulmates)

The first time you make eye contact with your soul mate, you see a vision of their greatest accomplishment. They call it your Peak. Unfortunately for Will Graham, his soul mate's Peak is a vision of blood and horror. Fortunately for Hannibal Lecter, his soul mate's is too.

Karoliai by slashyrogue [words: 4,577] — (Sugar Daddy)

Will works at a jewelry store. He has worked there for three months and sold less than any other person there. His boss tells him to sell something by the end of the day or he may not have a job tomorrow. If there was one thing Will hated more than having to talk people into buying jewelry they didn’t need, it was trying to do it two days before Valentine’s Day.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Mist | Choi San | Chapter 1

Pairing: Choi San x OC (Seohyun)

Genre: supernatural (ghost), romance, high school

Trigger Warnings: paranormal, death mentions, violence

Words: 7.2k

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my original character and the story. I do not own any gifs or pictures used.

Full story on Wattpad (don’t spoil here if you read there too)

chapter directory

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

Seohyun kicked a pebble with her boot, sending it flying in the air. The black cat following Seohyun meowed as it wandered between her legs, rubbing itself along her naked legs. Seohyun kicked another pebble, and the cat meowed louder.

"I know, I know," she said, sighing, "I shouldn't have helped him."

The cat's grey eyes twinkled and it jumped a little to keep pace with Seohyun. She adjusted her sunglasses with the tip of her finger and tucked her long hair behind her ears, keeping her eyes fixed to the ground in hopes of finding more pebbles that she could kick.

Seohyun's hands went to the straps of her school bag on her shoulders as she finally found one, and she smirked. "Hey kitty, I'm gonna kick this one real hard."

As if the cat understood, it sat near her to watch the scene. Seohyun aimed her foot, sending the pebble flying with full force as a short laugh escaped her. She waited for the satisfying sound of the pebble hitting something hard, but a wail of pain answered her instead.

"Oops," Seohyun grimaced as she motioned the cat to follow her, trying to flee before she was caught. However, luck was rarely on her side.

"It was you, right?" She heard a boyish voice call out. She sneaked a peek, seeing a group of colourful heads belonging to boys that grew larger and larger as more joined them.

"I thought I hit one? Why are there so many..." she muttered, then turned back, bowing her head in a quick apology and turning again to run away, almost tripping on the cat and it howled in pain before following her.

"Hey, stop!" She heard voices, and she just sped up. She had enough to worry about.

"Where are my ghost friends when I need them.." Seohyun muttered under her breath as she sped up, cursing mentally. She could hear steps draw closer by every second, and she finally turned abruptly, making the group of boys stop dead in their tracks, bumping at each other.

"I apologized, what do you all want now?"

"You never apologized," the blue haired one said.

"Why do you think I bowed? To thank you?" Seohyun retorted. The blonde snickered, earning a kick in his ribs from not one but two of them.

"We couldn't see from so far, at least apologize properly!"

"Alright, alright. Was it you who got hit?"

"No, it was-"

Seohyun sighed out loud. "What got you so worked up then, if it wasn't even you?"

"He's my friend?" The blue haired boy said, making it sound more like a question.

"I told you all not to make a fuss, it's not like she did it on purpose," Seohyun heard one of them say, and her eyes shifted towards the boy with black hair, the eyebrow slit further defining his sharp features. Indeed, he was hurt. There was a painful scratch where the pebble must have grazed his cheekbone.

"Ah, so it was you..." Seohyun bit her lip. She thought she should apologize properly, so she bowed properly this time, and got up. "I never meant to hurt anyone. I'm sorry."

His eyes burned holes in her even though she wore sunglasses. He pursed his lips, nodding. "It's okay, just be careful next time."

She nodded. "Can I go now?" She didn't wait for an answer and turned, motioning the cat to come along, who meowed.

"Wait!" The eyebrow-slit boy sat down on one knee, motioning the cat to come to him, who gladly obliged and Seohyun rolled her eyes. He smiled at the cat, rubbing its head and offering it a biscuit, which the cat graciously accepted, munching right into it.

"Do you even give your cat food? It's so thin."

"It's not mine," Seohyun said and the boy's head turned up to look at her, curiosity in his eyes obvious. "It followed you rather gladly."

Seohyun just shrugged, looking away from his gaze and observing the group now. They were all dressed in school uniform like her, but it looked like it was a different school. She internally smiled at the interesting mix that stood in front of her.

"San, let's go," she heard the red-head call out. San, she thought.

"I need to go now too." Seohyun said, waiting for the boy to stop playing with the cat.

The boy- San- got up and said, "You said it's not yours. Can I take it then?"

Seohyun almost said yes, but hesitated. It was true the cat was not hers, but at this point, she could call it hers, the way it always followed her around whenever she was out. She had rather grown attached to the constant presence of her black furry friend.

"Uhh, I mean you could, but..." she bit her lip as she looked back as if for help, and then turned back to the boy. "This cat is my only friend."

Seohyun hated how it had almost come as a whisper, but the boy looked like he understood as he nodded, taking a step back. "I'll see you around then," he smiled sweetly at the cat, who meowed at him.

Seohyun finally turned, not bothering to check if the cat followed her or that boy, San. She was too scared to check. But when she heard the cat meow and rub at her legs, she smiled in relief.

"I'll feed you more now, I promise," she smiled at the cat.

Meanwhile, San watched the odd pair walk away in the distance.

"So rude!" the blue haired boy said, and everyone laughed. San turned and shook his head. "Not my fault you decided to act like my parent, Hongjoong."

"Doesn't look like she's from our school, but isn't it the school near the place we usually go to eat dinner?" The blonde asked.

"Yeah, it looks like it. You're treating us to dinner there tomorrow. You remember, right Yeosang?"

"You're always hungry for food Wooyoung, how could I forget?" He answered.

The group started to walk their way, talking about their plans for dinner, but San couldn't stop thinking about the girl with the grey streaks in her hair, the girl who had no friends other than a black cat. He unconsciously shook his head, finally paying attention to his present.

----------

"I said I'm sorry!" Seohyun yelled, "Now you leave my hair, and I'll leave yours."

"You first," the woman replied.

"Together, okay? One, two, three- YOU! You lied!"

"You lied too!" The woman shouted, and pulled at Seohyun's hair, earning a satisfactory groan from her.

"It's not like you can feel pain! You're a freaking ghost!"

"Doesn't mean I'm not insulted," the woman smirked, "Alright, I'll leave you first, and you leave no more than a second after, otherwise I'll make sure you feel the pain you love." The woman let go of Seohyun's hair and Seohyun did so right after, taking quick steps backward as she massaged her head.

"Bitch..." she muttered, and the woman laughed out loud.

The woman- ghost- had been keeping Seohyun company for about two months now, occasionally popping out of nowhere and leaving just as abruptly. At first, Seohyun had tried to help her in some way, help her move on and come to terms with her sudden death by accident, but the young woman had quite a difficult death and she was the first of a kind- a ghost with amnesia. No memories of how she had died and why she hadn't moved on.

Seohyun had to admit that she had grown used to her presence. She often found herself narrating her uneventful day to her, just like today, when she had excessively complained how useless of a friend she was and how none of her ghost friends had ever done her a favour. Somehow that had turned into an argument and then to them resorting to pulling each other's hair our, except her ghost friend couldn't feel any pain since she was, well, a ghost. Dead.

"I mean," Seohyun continued, fiddling with her hair, "it would have saved me from embarrassment had you popped up and helped me out there."

"What could I have done?" The woman sat down on the pavement, the black cat gladly jumping on her lap as the woman ran her hands through her fur. "It's not like anyone else can see me."

"Hello? You could have made me disappear."

"You know it's not good for your health. Why do it unless absolutely, absolutely necessary?" The woman glared at her.

"YES! That was absolutely, absolutely necessary. There were 8 of them! I was alone!" Seohyun whined and the woman just ignored her.

"Unnie~" Seohyun sat down near her, and the woman slid away from her.

"I told you not to call me that. I have a name, and it's Jiwoo."

"How can I call you by your name? You're much older than me." Seohyun grinned.

"And that's why I don't help you. Because you're a stubborn one. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm not that old."

"That's rich coming from you," Seohyun retorted, ignoring the last remark, "I'm not the one refusing to move on just because I can't get enough of worldly pleasures."

"And that's my cue to leave you alone, like you always are. There's a reason you don't have friends, Seohyun." Jiwoo got up, putting the curled cat on the pavement.

"I do have friends-"

"I'm talking about human friends. Your sharp tongue and stubborn heart, it's about time you change that."

"I-" Before Seohyun could complete, Jiwoo disappeared. Seohyun sighed, her heart sinking a bit at her harsh but true words.

There was indeed a reason that she had no friends. And it wasn't her ability to see ghosts.

Seohyun pulled her knees to her chest, shutting her eyes. She wanted to disappear.

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

Senior year of high school was supposed to be tough, yes, but Seohyun had to face challenges other than academic ones.

And it wasn't just the fact that she had no social life at all; she only had a group of people she could interact with if need be, otherwise she was perfectly content on being on her own. She had no problem staying amused in her own company.

The problem was with Seohyun, though not directly. It was the problem that she could see and interact with some of the dead. And the dead made sure she got in trouble if she didn't hear their woes and skipped school to maybe find them something (or someone) they had an attachment to, or didn't take them to their loved ones immediately.

She had often tried to reason with them; she tried to explain that she was perfectly aware how bad they must have it, but she had it worse since she was still alive, and with life came unforeseen consequences, such as having to face her mother if they caused a scene (which they usually did), or if they tried to grab her attention by any means necessary, such as causing her desk to fall, her stuff to fly (where she would immediately have to either hold it or pretend to have thrown it).

She tried, oh she tried so hard to tell them to wait until she was free from school and then she would do whatever they asked her to, but no. Apparently whatever they wanted to do was more important than her school, her reputation (already in ruins), everything. There rarely was someone patient enough, and those she made sure she looked after properly. Like Jiwoo.

She wished Jiwoo was here so she could get rid of the old wrinkly man in front of her. She was trying to focus on her mathematics but it was hard to when a fat belly blocked her vision. And she couldn't even say anything out loud, so she just sent daggers through her eyes, the message in her eyes clear. But the old man just smirked, continuing to block her vision.

Seohyun sighed and turned the page of her notebook, scribbling in it, then turned the notebook to the ghost in front of her. The man was short so he didn't have to bend as he read what she had written.

"IF YOU COULD STOP PESTERING ME FOR A FEW MINUTES YOU WRINKLY OLD MAN I CAN'T FOCUS ON MATHS BECAUSE OF YOU"

The old man smirked, and Seohyun wished she could kick him somewhere he would surely feel pain even though ghosts couldn't feel pain. She was so absorbed in thinking of ways that she could make this ghost feel pain that she didn't notice him take her notebook and run away before she could snatch it back.

As soon as Seohyun noticed, she jerked in her seat, stopping herself from getting up and following him. He stopped a few feet away, teasingly coming closer and closer, the frown on Seohyun's face getting deeper and deeper until he stopped near the girl sitting in front of her, tore a page from her notebook and gave it back.

And then he did what she dreaded. He made a ball out of that paper, aimed at the teacher, taking one last look at the very satisfying horrified face of the girl who could see ghosts but refused to help them, and threw the paper ball at the teacher with considerable force, hitting him on his head.

The teacher turned, running his eyes across the classroom, not missing how everyone was glancing between the teacher and Seohyun, who folded her arms rather defensively, silently praying he wouldn't actually pick the paper ball. But the teacher bent down, and it so happened that he was also old, and a bit wrinkly, so when he read the scribbled message, his face went red.

"Who was it?!" The teacher pushed his glasses up his nose-bridge and watched as the students hesitantly pointed to Seohyun, who sank deeper into her chair, as if somehow a pit would open and swallow her.

"You meet me in my office after class." The teacher shook his head in disappointment and continued where he left.

Seohyun was given a warning, and it was her second. She had only one left before she would be kicked out of school (if something big happened, which usually did if she waited for the third warning) so she decided it was time for her to move on again.

And this time she dreaded. It was always a hassle to explain to her mom what had happened. Her mom knew she could see ghosts and when she was little, she had tried all sorts of methods, of almost all religions she could think of, hoping her only daughter would turn out normal, but she had failed. But now she liked to pretend that she had forgotten all about it, and when Seohyun told her she had gotten into trouble, she would silently nod and get her to change schools before something big happened and it got written in her school record.

So a few attempts from the old ghost trying to get her in trouble and a few days later, Seohyun was finally free of struggling. She changed schools. And tomorrow would be her first day, hopefully the last time she had to change schools before her senior year ended. Before high school ended.

Seohyun was still dressed in her old school's uniform when she went to her new school to submit her files and make sure everything was good before her first day. She had her baseball cap on this time, making sure she would hide most of her face since a lot of people would be staring at her. It was normal to stare when someone from another school came.

The black cat found her once again, following her as she walked to the building. Seohyun motioned the cat to stay and it obeyed, watching the girl walk into the building.

From a distance, San and his friends were watching the whole scene. They had recognized the girl not by her face, which was half-hidden anyway, but her cat and the grey streaks in her hair.

"Let's hope she doesn't attack you with a pebble again," Yunho snickered, and San smiled, his hand unconsciously going to the now faint scratch on his face.

"I'm not going to your rescue if that happens," Hongjoong said and Seonghwa chimed in, "Neither will I."

"I never asked you anyway..." San trailed off.

"The cat looks like it wants to escape," Jongho pointed his finger at the hoard of girls that gathered around the poor cat. "Poor cat."

"San, you should go bring the cat. It would recognize you," Mingi suggested and San considered. The cat was worth saving.

A few moments later, San was back with the cat in his arms. The cat did recognize him. He bought the cat to the boys, who lightly patted her one by one, taking turns so she wouldn't feel scared.

After about five minutes, the boys heard someone clear their throat right behind them. They turned to see it was that girl.

"Aren't you the same group from that day?" Seohyun wondered out loud.

"The cat was scared because people were gathering around her, so we brought her here," Yeosang said.

"That's... kind of you," Seohyun met eyes with each of them, and the boys got a proper look at her face for the first time without her glasses. She had light eyes. The shadows beneath her eyes were dark, which contrasted with her eyes rather strikingly.

"What were you doing here? You're not from our school," Wooyoung commented.

"Oh, I'll be joining from tomorrow..." Seohyun realized somehow she's ended up in the same school as the boys. "What class are you in?"

"Senior year, all of us," Wooyoung replied, and they didn't miss her groan.

"I'm guessing you're senior year too," Seonghwa asked, earning a nod of confirmation.

"How ironic. What if you end up in our class?" Yeosang wondered.

"God forbid," Seohyun shook her head, making them smile despite her remark. "Now, should I leave the cat here, or..."

"Does it have a name?" San asked, rubbing under the cat's chin.

"Uh, no actually," Seohyun faltered when she saw San give her a disappointed look, "I just call her kitty. You can give it a name if you want to."

"I'll think about it," San shifted his arms to hand the cat over to Seohyun, and she took it, placing the cat on her shoulders, waiting until she sat around her neck like she usually did.

"I guess I'll go now," she met eyes with San for the last time, noticing the mole on his eyelid. San nodded, and she muttered an awkward bye before walking past them, cursing at herself mentally for being so awkward with them.

"It's you who got me in trouble, you dumb cat," she muttered under her breath. The cat didn't even bother reply.

The boys watched her leave, and Yeosang finally spoke, "I have a feeling she'll be in our class now. Oh, how the tables have turned."

"Interesting," Jongho smiled, "Does San have a new friend now?"

"The cat? Sure." San smirked.

"Ah, let's see how that changes," Jongho retorted, smirking back.

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

Seohyun tried to calm her nerves as she looked at herself in the mirror of the girls' toilet in her new school.

The nerves always got the better of her whenever it was her first day at a school. It usually took her about three days to get comfortable with a new environment. Seohyun sighed as she wiped her sweaty palms on her black skirt, staring at her light brown eyes. She wished she could cover them with her sunglasses so she could avoid the excessive eye contact with humans and ghosts. Sadly, she couldn't do that in class.

She finally took a deep breath and somehow managed to make herself walk to the office, where she met her homeroom teacher, a middle-aged woman. She walked along with her to her class, and the teacher smiled warmly at her as she nudged her to come along.

They entered the class and watched as the boys and girls went back to sit at their seats, the room slowly falling silent. The teacher cleared her throat.

"Good morning class, we have a new student today. Please introduce yourself."

Seohyun, who had been looking down the entire time, finally gathered whatever courage she had and ran her eyes along the class as she finally spoke.

"Good morning, I am Lee Seohyun. I hope we can get along well."

"Alright, why don't you find yourself a seat?" The teacher said and Seohyun nodded, looking at the few empty seats and considering her choices.

Her first priority was to sit as far away as possible. Preferably by the window. There was one empty seat in the furthest row, but it was next to the seat by the window already occupied by someone-

It was one of those boys. She only knew San's name for now, and it was the blonde one. She quickly scanned her other options and decided this was the best for now.

As she made her way, she realized the 8 of them were all sitting around the empty seat that she was about to sit on. San was in front of her, the strawberry blonde on her other side, the rest around them too. She wondered if the seat belonged to one of their friends so she quietly asked the blonde, "Is this seat free?"

He shook his head and she internally sighed in relief as she settled herself, focusing on whatever the homeroom teacher said, trying not to stare holes at the back of San's head, until she left a few minutes later and she slumped back in her chair.

San finally turned, raising his brows, "What a coincidence."

Seohyun shrugged, straightening her skirt. "Ironic, really."

"Is there a reason you changed schools?" The blonde turned towards her, resting his head on his hand as he looked at her curiously.

"Uh," Seohyun hesitated as she tried to recall her excuse for every time someone asked her this, "for convenience. It's closer to home."

"That's an interesting reason to change school," he replied, earning a shrug.

"Maybe she doesn't want to tell you why exactly. Am I right?" San locked eyes with her, his smirk growing.

"Maybe," Seohyun teased back.

"How's your cat?" She heard someone call, and she looked at the black haired boy.

"It's not exactly mine, but it's fine. Probably."

"That's... reassuring. I'm Wooyoung by the way. This is Yeosang-" he pointed to the blonde next to her, "San, and that's Yunho next to you."

She looked at Yunho and he waved shyly. "That's Seonghwa," he pointed in front of him, and when Seohyun nodded, he continued, "The blueberry is Hongjoong, the red one is Jongho, and that's Mingi over there."

Seohyun nodded slowly, looking at them all slowly. "Yunho, Seonghwa, Hongjoong blueberry,-"

"I heard that!" Hongjoong shouted, turning around and making a pout at Seonghwa. Ignoring him, she continued, "San, Jongho in the front, then Mingi beside him, Wooyoung and Yeosang. I got it."

"You're quick," Yunho grinned. Seohyun wished she could tell him that it was because of the several hundred ghosts she had met and had promised never to forget their names.

"So the 8 of you are friends?" She asked, and San nodded. "Why was this seat in the middle empty then?"

"Mingi used to sit here but his eyesight got worse so he moved to the front."

"Well, that explains..."

Their teacher walked in, a man in his 30s, and she found out he was to be her math teacher. At least he's not old and wrinkly, she thought as she took out her notebook.

---------

The rest of her day was uneventful, except for the break when the boys asked if she wanted to join them but she didn't. She said she had to go to the office, but that was a lie. She wanted to take a breather.

When they left, she looked again at her options. She was already regretting sitting among the group of friends. She was going to be a disturbance to them, or something even worse. She didn't want them to think she was weird. Not yet.

She surprised herself at the thought. Why did she care? She had never cared before. But she told herself it was probably because she had a few encounters with them before and it would be weirder if they found out now. That she was strange. They'd probably stop talking to her very suddenly. That part always hurt her, which was why she always avoided making friends.

Seohyun shook her head and looked at the empty seat in the middle of the room. The spot was out of question. Being in the middle of the room meant she could be surprised from anywhere by those damned ghosts.

Then there was one in the very front with the wall. She could go there, but...

She felt more comfortable here. The spot was perfect. The problem was the boys. They were in for disappointment.

She saw some girls staring at her. They were probably considering if they should talk and make friends with her. But Seohyun was in no mood for friends, so she just put her head on the desk and closed her eyes.

She almost drifted to sleep when she heard someone put something on her desk. She got up and saw that it was San. "We figured you didn't have time for lunch, so."

Seohyun looked from the bread and juice to San, and back at the food presented to her. "Thank you, that's uh... very kind of you?" She looked at San and Yeosang, and they laughed shamelessly at her.

"You don't sound so happy," Yeosang commented and she shook her head, sipping at the juice to prove her point as she said, "No, actually I'm glad, but it wasn't necessary."

They just shook her head at her, smiling as they absorbed themselves in some discussion. Seohyun silently ate the bread, wishing she could disappear because she didn't even know how to thank people properly.

At that moment, Jiwoo the ghost appeared, and Seohyun muttered, "About freaking time."

Jiwoo laughed and said, "I see you're having a good day."

"And I don't expect you to ruin it, so please live up to my expectations for once," Seohyun hissed, keeping her voice as low as possible, but it still made Seonghwa look at her once before he focused back on his friends.

Seohyun sighed. She couldn't write in her notebook now because they would definitely see it. And she couldn't talk. So she just folded her arms as she slowly sipped on the juice while Jiwoo danced around the classroom.

As soon as the bell rang indicating the end of the day, Seohyun sighed in relief. The day was over without any incident. She slowly packed her bag, thinking about her promise to meet a new ghost after her school. It was a girl about her age, and thankfully she understood what school demanded of her, so she had promised to not disturb her.

"You look ready to go to your bed and fall right asleep," Yeosang commented.

"Tell me about it," Seohyun muttered, wearing her bag and making her way out of the class, the boys not far behind.

San watched Seohyun walk as if she was in a hurry but couldn't care less at the same time. She would speed up, then slow down again, and repeat.

"Are you in a hurry?" Wooyoung asked her, falling in step with her.

"Uh, not really. Just can't wait to get home," she said, but her voice didn't match what she said. She sounded the least excited to do that.

"Long day, huh?" Wooyoung said and she finally passed him a smile. "So you know no one at this school?"

"Well," she said, "I am new."

"Well, you can be our friend. Only if you want to."

She stopped in her track, making San almost bump in her, and she muttered a sorry to him as she continued walking again. San decided he would join them now.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"Not sure you'd like me as a friend."

"And why do you think that?" San looked at her curiously.

Seohyun sighed, "I'm... how do I put it? I don't think I need friends. But that sounds rude. I don't mean to sound rude, it's just... better if you all don't mind me. I'd only be a bother and make everyone uncomfortable."

"We don't mind. We weren't all friends from the beginning. The group grew larger with time."

"And why do you think you don't need friends?" San asked.

Seohyun looked at him, then looked away, trying to avoid his steel gaze. "Not the type of person anyone would like as a friend."

"We won't know until we try though," Wooyoung said and smiled at her, making Seohyun wonder why the world didn't have more Wooyoungs.

"No harm in trying, right?" Yunho, who was behind her, vouched in.

Seohyun stopped to look at the odd group of friends, who were all smiling cheekily.

"You sure, blueberry?" She asked Hongjoong, who gasped in surprise. Yunho laughed out loud.

"If you don't call me blueberry, then why not?"

"Blueberry." Seohyun said and turned to walk away, hearing everyone laugh and make fun of Hongjoong. She saw the familiar figure of the ghost she had decided to meet, and she motioned with her eyes to turn to their left.

The ghost understood and it waited for her to turn left too. Seohyun looked back once at the boys who were now a good few steps behind, and she turned left, hoping no one had seen her, saw the empty road and joined hands with the ghost. She felt the familiar feeling of her heart sinking and her stomach flipping as the ghost teleported her to where it wanted to go.

The boys, who did notice her turning left in a hurry, followed soon after, only to find a very empty road with no where she could have gone or hidden.

"She did turn left. Right?" Mingi asked.

"She did. Didn't she? Or am I losing it finally?" Jongho muttered.

"Maybe it wasn't her?" Wooyoung suggested.

"But it was her. The grey in her hair..." Yunho said. "Maybe she turned right?" He looked at his right, where a few students were walking too.

San had been watching her and he was very sure she had turned left. Where she had gone... was a mystery.

"Strange..."

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

"That's... horrible."

Seohyun stood in front of a small house, the white walls glaring back at her. The ghost, a young girl only her age, had just teleported her to an empty alley near this house, which belonged to her best friend. The ghost had just finished telling her how she had died; a road accident by a drunk driver. Since she had died an untimely death, she couldn't do anything about it except mourn over her own death.

"But... people who die in such accidents usually like to make sure justice is served, and get the perpetrator punished. Don't you wanna do that?"

"Oh, I did," the girl pushed her long black hair back, "my parents are doing a good job there, so I wanna let them continue. I don't... want them to know that I'm still here. They should find their peace with all this."

"Wow," Seohyun couldn't help but be amazed at how thoughtful this girl was, "that's very wise of you actually. So what are we doing here?"

"I checked on my friend, Chaeyoung, and it seems like she's not... doing well. I want to somehow let her know that I'm okay. I think that's when I'll be able to move on."

Seohyun, for once, felt actually sorry for the friend. She didn't have a best friend so she couldn't relate, but having someone like that in your life and so suddenly losing them... must be very sad.

"Okay, let's do this," Seohyun said, taking a deep breath and taking off her baseball cap off. She smoothened her uniform and finally rang the bell.

"What if someone else is home, and she creates a ruckus-"

"I checked, she's alone for now." The girl said, and again, she mentally applauded the girl for being so thoughtful.

"Hey, what was your name again? I mean how do I introduce-"

At that moment, a tall girl sporting a bob and puffy eyes fresh from crying opened the door.

"Hi," Seohyun said.

"Do I know you?" Chaeyeong asked.

"You don't, but I'm here to talk to you. I heard your friend recently passed away-" Seohyun paused when Chaeyoung rolled her eyes and attempted to shut the door at her face.

"Wait!" Seohyun said and Chaeyoung paused.

"My name is Soojin." The ghost finally said, and Seohyun looked at her once, catching her nervous stance before turning back to Chaeyoung.

"You might not believe it, but Soojin is here," Seohyun said, and Chaeyoung pursed her lips. "And I don't have all day, so I'll just prove it. Soojin told me some stuff only the two of you would know. How you had a crush on her brother for the longest time, how you want to meet your childhood best friend who's moved to the States, how-"

"Wait," Chaeyoung stepped out, "How- when did Soojin tell you this? Are you Soojin's friend?"

"My name is Seohyun. and I'm sure you've never heard of me from Soojin," Chaeyoung nodded and Seohyun continued, "Soojin is here. She hasn't been able to move on to the afterlife or whatever it is ahead because she can't stand seeing you in pain and blaming yourself because you invited her over to meet with you. She wants you to know that her parents are doing a great job at making sure the drunk driver gets punished, and she wants you to know it's not your fault."

Seohyun watched Chaeyoung's eyes fill with tears at that, and she put a hand in front of her mouth as tears fell, "She's really here?"

"Right here," Seohyun pointed towards where Soojin stood.

"Can't I see her?" Chaeyoung asked, "I want to see her one last time. If I can."

"I'm afraid not," Seohyun sighed, "I don't know if that's possible. But she can see you and hear you right now, just like me. So I'll leave you to say your last goodbye. You can call me when you're done, okay Soojin?"

Soojin nodded and Seohyun went into the little garden in the house to give them some space. She watched as Chaeyoung cried and spoke to her best friend for the last time, falling to her knees. Soojin couldn't touch her, but she patted her head and it was like Chaeyoung could actually feel it.

Seohyun looked up at the cloudy sky. For once, she wished it was sunnier.

After a few minutes, Soojin called out to Seohyun. She awkwardly patted Chaeyoung on the back, and Soojin started speaking as Seohyun told Chaeyoung that Soojin loved her, and yes, it was her who kept sticking their photo back at the wall to give her a sign, and she wanted Chaeyoung to stop talking to the walls because she won't be there to listen to her anymore and that would only make her look crazy (at which Chaeyoung laughed).

"I don't have a best friend, but you guys, you both had something special. And I'm saying this from my self, that I hope you cherish the bond you both had in your heart and really move on. Do what you want to, because life is short," Seohyun said and smiled.

"Thank you. I'll do my best," Chaeyoung wiped the last of her tears.

"She's going now," Seohyun said, "She wants you to smile so that's the last thing she sees."

Chaeyoung smiled as tears fell from her eyes, and Soojin said, "This fool. I told her to smile."

"Stop being so petty, Soojin, she is smiling!"

"What did she say?" Chaeyoung asked.

"She said she asked you to smile, not cry," Seohyun said and Chaeyoung burst out laughing.

Soojin thanked Seohyun for helping her, and she watched as she shut her eyes, and disappeared in an instant.

Seohyun sighed, and Chaeyoung understood. "Thank you, Seohyun. I hope we can meet again?"

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Seohyun shook her head, "I just hope you'll have a good life ahead."

"I feel bad for not doing anything for you, maybe I could take you for some coffee next time?"

"Well, actually," Seohyun looked around, "there is something you can do. Can you tell me where I am? And can you call me a taxi?"

-----------

It turned out Seohyun was actually quite a while from home, so Chaeyoung ended up paying for the taxi because she felt bad for Soojin being so thoughtless when she teleported her here (at which Seohyun admitted Soojin was one of the wisest ghosts she had encountered). About 40 minutes later, Seohyun decided to drop by at a food street, because she was starving.

Seohyun walked through the hustling street, various food carts lining the street, several restaurants and cafes amidst them. She decided jjajangmyeon would do, so she sat alone at the table in the street, waiting for her meal. She was too tired to look at her phone so she just watched the people walking and eating.

She wished Jiwoo was here. Better than having no company. She wouldn't admit it, but she had grown quite used to her company. Jiwoo still hadn't been able to recall her memories of who she was and how she died, and why she was still hanging around. So Seohyun had left her at it.

Seohyun was so lost thinking about Jiwoo that she didn't notice Seonghwa, Hongjoong and Mingi approaching her until they stopped right in front of her.

"Of all the places," Seohyun wondered out loud, not caring how it might sound to them.

"It seems like we were meant to meet today," Mingi said dramatically, and Hongjoong slapped his arm as he said, "It looks like you haven't gone home yet. Isn't it very late?"

Seohyun sat back in her chair, putting one leg on top of the other. "And what do you care?"

"Ah, so that's what you meant when you said people don't like to have you as a friend," Hongjoong said, and Seonghwa gasped at his friend as he scolded him, but stopped when Seohyun laughed out loud.

"Since you're here, are you gonna take a seat or will you be continuing to walk aimlessly?"

"I guess we'll take a seat," Mingi said, and they all sat and decided to order food first.

"Aren't you cold?" Seonghwa asked, as he noticed how Seohyun put her bag on her bare legs.

"I am. But I'm okay," she said, and Seonghwa shook his head as he started to take off his jacket. "Oh please, I'm okay, I'll feel really bad if you do this."

"Nonsense, this is an extra layer anyway," Seonghwa handed her the jacket and she realized it was true; he did have many layers on him. So Seohyun put his jacket on her legs, muttering a thank you.

"So what's your story?" Hongjoong asked, and Seohyun raised her brows as she said, "You first. I'll talk after I have some food."

"Alright then," Hongjoong said, and told her how they all had been classmates since elementary, with Seonghwa and Hongjoong being friends since that time, until Wooyoung and Yeosang who had also been friends joined, then one by one the group grew.

"Interesting," Seohyun said, "And the 8 of you... How do you get along peacefully? I can't even get along with one."

Mingi pfft-ed at her. "We aren't exactly saints ourselves, but with us being 8, it becomes hard to take anyone serious."

Seohyun scoffed, "So the reason you all get along so well is because you all don't take anyone serious."

"Basically, yes," Mingi answered proudly, and food was served. Seohyun hungrily dig in, and Seonghwa scolded her for eating so quick.

"So with Seonghwa as a mother figure of the group," Seohyun began, "I can imagine why there is peace among all of you."

"Ha. ha. Very funny," Seonghwa rolled his eyes but Hongjoong and Mingi laughed, agreeing with her as they said, "She's not wrong."

She watched them bicker back and forth and wondered if this could really work out. They seemed very tightly knit, and she felt like an intruder. She wasn't even sure if they would feel comfortable with her. Why had they even asked her to be their friend?

"It really does show. That you've been friends for a long time," Seohyun commented, fiddling with her noodles.

"It does, huh?" Mingi smiled at her.

"Can I ask you something?" Seohyun said, and they nodded, "Why did you ask me to be your friend? I mean, you guys look okay as you are now. You don't need an extra friend in this group of yours. So why ask, and why me?"

"Well, how do I put it..." Hongjoong wondered out loud.

"You've got good aim," Mingi said, and for a second, Seohyun was lost before she realized.

"I didn't do that on purpose!" Seohyun's eyes were wide, and Mingi told her that he, of course, was joking, But he winked right after, which made her wonder if that was actually one of the reasons.

"Our group needs a girl. There are too many boys." Seonghwa said, and Seohyun raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sure there's no lack of girls in your school."

"There isn't... but they are too... girly?" Hongjoong seemed to think how to put it, and Seohyun folded her arms.

"And what if I am girly too?" Seohyun countered.

"You're just the right amount of weird. Yeosang already clicked so well with you. San loves your cat. You sit in the middle of us. You have no friends. Now you can't avoid it."

"Wow, okay," Seohyun finished her noodles as she thought about what they had said. "And what if... we don't get along?" Seohyun asked.

"We're not exactly forcing you, are we?" Hongjoong asked and she nodded, "If you like to stay alone, then fine. But Wooyoung, it was his idea. And he really knows when a person needs a friend."

"Oh," Seohyun realized what he meant. She looked like she needed friends.

"Plus, we do get along well, don't you think?" Mingi smiled.

"Well, what can I say, except that you'll find me really weird. And okay, I can try. But one day, you're gonna wonder why you even thought we could be friends. You'll wish you'd never asked me."

The three of them stared at her. Seohyun stared back and once again, the three of them burst out laughing.

"We're already regretting. Was it so hard to make friends, Hongjoong?" Mingi asked.

"I don't even remember. Wow."

Seohyun couldn't help but laugh as she thought how it was gonna be. It was true. No one took anything serious.

Maybe they'll never find out about her ghost problems then.

Or maybe they'll never believe her.

----------

next

[lulu-zodiac]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Jeremy Bradshaw

Tags: Early seasons Dean, pre-podcast Professor Bradshaw, denial, unresolved sexual tension, bickering, smut, gratuitous owl references, case fic

Summary: It's the fall of 2006, and a string of grisly deaths linked to local lore brings Sam and Dean to the village of Bridgewater. There, Dean finds himself working closely with the frustrating and unexpectedly compelling Professor Bradshaw.

---

Dean feels about as comfortable in old colleges as he does in churches. There’s the same sense of exclusivity, that same reverence of things Dean has spent his life stuck on wrong side of. This campus even feels a little like a church, with its old architecture and sprawling ruby ivy and slit windows like narrowed eyes. His footfalls echo heavily along the cold stone corridor, making him feel uncomfortably aware of his own existence.

The door he’s looking for is old and made of oak, nestled in an alcove near the staircase, with a small plaque on it that reads Professor J Bradshaw.

Dean pauses for a moment, then knocks abruptly, suddenly noticing his knuckles are still smudged with earth. From within, a muffled voice instructs him to enter, and he does so, wiping his hand surreptitiously against the side of his leather jacket.

The first thing that hits him is the sheer volume of books in the room; they clutter every available surface, piled high in front of the big bay window like a strange line of defense. There are stacks of loose papers everywhere too, haphazard but clearly organized, some held in place by empty coffee mugs or odd-looking artefacts. The air is bright and warm, like this room catches the sun when it’s slow and mellow in the afternoons.

The second thing that hits him is the man sitting at the desk.

He doesn’t look up at Dean’s entrance, continuing to scribble away in a leather-bound notebook with intent dexterity, seemingly utterly lost in his own thoughts. He’s not what Dean expected; surprisingly young, maybe approaching forty, with a sharp jaw and tousled hair that just brushes his broad shoulders. When Dean clears his throat awkwardly, the man finally looks up with striking blue eyes that immediately pin Dean in place.

“Yes?” his voice is inquiring and several octaves deeper than Dean would have imagined, low and gravelly. He sets down his pen, looking at Dean with piercing focus.

“Uh – hey. Professor Bradshaw?” Dean feels distinctly self-conscious.

“Who wants to know?” the man closes his notebook with a snap and stands with surprisingly fluid ease, eyes still intent on Dean as though he’s cataloguing him.

He’s wearing a faded navy-blue sweater with the sleeves rolled up, slightly crumpled shirt tails poking out at the hem, just visible.

Drawing on years of sizing people up, Dean guesses that the guy probably has no one to go home to at night. If he goes home much at all, that is; the office has a distinctly lived-in look. It’s strangely reminiscent of the makeshift home feel of the impala’s interior.

“Um – Dean. Dean Collins,” Dean answers hastily, suddenly realizing he’s spent a little too long looking. “I’m uh – a student in one of your classes,” he lies the best way he knows how: with a charming smile. “I was wondering if you’ve got a moment? I was hoping to ask you a couple of questions about your work.”

“Come in, please,” Professor Bradshaw sits back down behind his desk, and gestures for Dean to close the door. “Take a seat.”

“Thanks,” Dean shuts the door and awkwardly removes three hardback books and a small, slightly drooping fern from the only available seat in front of Professor Bradshaw’s desk.

“Sorry – let me –” Professor Bradshaw leans over the desk to relieve Dean of the books and the plant. Close up, Dean can see faint lines softening the corners of his vivid eyes, and when he breathes in, he catches a hint of peppermint and the musk of warm skin, strangely compelling. Their hands brush for a moment as Professor Bradshaw takes the items, and Dean flinches, jerking away and planting himself firmly on the chair.

“So – Dean, yes?” Professor Bradshaw settles back into his seat. He’s still looking intently at Dean, gaze startlingly blue.

Wordlessly, Dean nods. He doesn’t know why he can feel the heat creeping up his cheeks.

“You’re not in any of my classes, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, with a slight edge to his voice. He reaches for a half-drunk mug of tea on his desk, expression skeptical.

Dean feels his stomach drop. “Uh, yeah – I’m new, just transferred a couple weeks back,” he bluffs quickly, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He feels strangely flustered, visible.

“No, I don’t think so,” Professor Bradshaw says, flatly. “I believe I would have noticed,” he adds, wryly, with a kind of impatient warmth in his expression that makes Dean’s cheeks flare with heat all over again. Professor Bradshaw merely swallows a mouthful of tea and sets the mug back down, still looking at Dean. “So. Who are you?”

“Alright,” Dean puts his hands up in mock-surrender, smiling wide even though he feels stupidly on edge, knocked off course. “You got me. I’m – uh – a journalist. My boss has me writing a piece on local legends, and I was hoping to pick your brains. Heard you’re the expert on all that stuff around here, and thought I might be in with a better chance of talking to you as a student instead of some annoying reporter.”

“I see,” Professor Bradshaw leans back in his chair, contemplative. A shaft of sunlight filters through the bay window behind him, illuminating a hint of tawny in his dark, untidy hair. Dust motes hang everywhere like suspended snow. “Well, luckily for you, Dean, I find that my students can be just as annoying as reporters. And I still talk to them on a daily basis.”

Dean grins a little awkwardly, “Yeah?”

“Of course, I do get paid to do that,” Professor Bradshaw adds, dryly. “But perhaps I do them a disservice. Some of them are really quite inspiring.” He pauses, raising his mug to his lips. It has an owl on it, Dean notices absently. An overly fluffy one, with a slightly threatening glare. “I daresay I can spare five minutes. What is it that I can do for you, Dean?”

“Uh, so you study the supernatural, right?” Dean asks, clumsily. His hands are sweating where they’re shoved in the pockets of his jacket. “Ghosts and demons and all that shit?”

“I study the lore and mythology of supernatural beings, and why it’s important to humans to create such stories,” Professor Bradshaw clarifies, shortly.

“Right, got it,” Dean agrees, hastily. “But you’d know a bit about the Bridgewater coven?”

“I am familiar with the legends, yes,” Professor Bradshaw replies, reaching for his mug again. There’s an ink stain on the side of his index finger, smudged deep blue. Dean fleetingly wonders if it would rub off easily if he touched it, if it would leave a ghostly imprint on his own skin.

“Yeah – uh – so there’s been quite a lot of interest in the coven recently,” Dean blusters, annoyed with himself for how stupidly flustered he feels, “You know, since those bodies were found last week? At the burial site in Bridgewater Forest that’s associated with the legend? Yeah. Well, anyway, I was – hoping you might be able to tell me a little more about the legend of the coven.”

“I don’t see what the recent tragedies could possibly have to do with the legend,” Professor Bradshaw narrows his eyes skeptically.

“Right – yeah – nothing, I’m sure,” Dean lies hastily, “But the location of the crimes has definitely raised awareness about the existence of the legend, and that’s what we really want to provide for our readers.”

“Well, certainly, I can tell you the history,” Professor Bradshaw replies, briskly, “In fact, I teach an undergrad course on witchcraft in history and my lecture this Wednesday actually covers the legend of the coven. If you want a more detailed, nuanced version, you’re more than welcome to come along then – it’s at 11am in the Milton building. But I’m happy to give you the short version now, if that would be helpful?”

“Thanks – yeah, that’d be great,” Dean says, gratefully. “On a bit of a tight schedule today.”

“Well, the local legend about the Bridgewater coven has existed for almost two hundred years,” Professor Bradshaw starts, and immediately Dean can picture him talking in front of a lecture theatre full of kids. He’s a natural, something inherently captivating about the way he speaks. “In the 1800s, this village was an important site of religious pilgrimage. However, according to the legend, the village was also home to a small coven lead by a witch named Iris. Iris’s coven was said to have lived in secrecy in the forest on the outskirts of Bridgewater for years, and not to have troubled the village people. However, by 1816, the legend claims the coven had become very hostile, specifically towards the church. There were fears the coven had begun indoctrinating – or bewitching – members of the congregation.”

Professor Bradshaw pauses, swallowing another mouthful of tea. The muscles in his throat work, drawing Dean’s attention to the way his pale blue shirt isn’t buttoned up properly. He’s filled with the sudden, inexplicable urge to button it up correctly.

“More and more people started disappearing in connection with the coven,” Professor Bradshaw continues, setting his mug back down on the desk, and Dean jerks his gaze guiltily away from the line of his throat, clenching his hands into fists inside the pockets of his leather jacket. “The rapidly diminishing congregation lived in terror. The remaining members of the church all turned against each other. Then, at the height of local hysteria, Iris is said to have murdered Blanche, the minister’s daughter, in what is portrayed in the lore as some kind of statement of the coven’s power over the church.”

“Bet that didn’t go down too well,” Dean remarks, sardonically.

“Quite,” Professor Bradshaw catches Dean’s eye, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Anyway, according to the legend, the tragedy of Blanche’s death united the warring members of the congregation. They captured Iris and entombed her alive, using her own magic against her to keep her trapped. Iris’s death broke the spell on the members of the congregation who’d been indoctrinated against their will, and peace was restored to the village. The few remaining members of the original coven fled and were never seen again.”

“Wow,” Dean raises his eyebrows, “Very love-thy-neighbor.”

Professor Bradshaw snorts, “Yes. Religious leaders in the 1800s were renowned for sitting down and resolving their problems through compassionate discussion,” he remarks, dryly.

“Okay, but what about the other versions of the legend?” Dean asks, trying to remember the things Sam had told him to ask about, but drawing a total blank. His brain feels weirdly scrambled. It’s hard to remember what happened before walking into Professor Bradshaw’s office. “The other stories about the coven I’ve come across so far all seem pretty different.”

Professor Bradshaw frowns slightly. “It’s true, there are many conflicting accounts. Which is often the case with legends, being human constructions of the past,” he regards Dean slightly disapprovingly over the rim of his owl mug, a kind of skeptical stubbornness in the set of his mouth. “It’s not about knowing which ‘to believe’ – it’s about looking at why historically people have favored one version over the other and what that tells us about them.”

“Right, yeah, but aren’t legends often based on fact?” Dean pushes.

Professor Bradshaw pauses, contemplatively, “Yes. That’s certainly true in some cases.”

“Do you think it’s the case in this one?”

“Possibly,” Professor Bradshaw replies, haltingly. His expression is serious and he hesitates for a moment before elaborating; “In fact, I’m currently writing a paper about the historical figures who feature in the legend of the Bridgewater coven.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” Dean presses. He’s used to having to fake interest to get information out of people like Professor Bradshaw, but for once, he finds he’s genuinely interested. There’s something compelling about Professor Bradshaw’s evidently obsessive quest for obscure answers, something that resonates with all too much familiarity.

“Iris, predominantly,” Professor Bradshaw replies. “I’m very interested in the historical reasons women were condemned as witches. Often, it’s as simple as jilted male lovers using accusations of witchcraft as a means of revenge, or the women using herbal remedies that threatened contemporary male ideas of medicine and the body. Sometimes it’s to do with female homosexuality and society’s unacceptance of same sex relationships or women as sexual beings. Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for gay men to be condemned for witchcraft either. But statistically, more homosexual women died as a result of such accusations.”

“Uh – right –” Dean swallows, looking away. His hands are sweating again, and he wipes them surreptitiously on the insides of his pockets. Clearing his throat, he changes the subject, suddenly remembering the other thing Sam had told him to ask Professor Bradshaw about, “What about the runes?”

“Ah yes, the runes on Iris’s supposed tomb,” Professor Bradshaw’s gaze is suddenly inscrutable in a way that makes Dean’s heart thud uncomfortably in his chest. It sweeps over Dean, lingering and unnervingly blue for a moment, before he continues, “Very interesting. I’ve been studying them a great deal as part of my research. The true nature of them has always remained a mystery, and any attempts to discern their meaning haven’t fitted with the legend at all. I believe they may be key to understanding the history behind the creation of the legend. But,” he smiles, wryly, “It’s not an easy task. They’re unlike any runes I’ve come across anywhere else before.”

“Can I see?” Dean asks, partly out of interest, and partly for some way of distracting himself from the way his heart is still thumping uncomfortably fast.

“You’d have to visit the forest burial site to see them in person, but I do have a couple of sketches of the lines I’m working on at the moment,” Professor Bradshaw gets to his feet and crosses to the cabinet by the window, pulling the top drawer open.

The fall chestnut trees outside smolder amber behind his silhouette, midday sunshine pale gold and still where it filters through the window. Time seems strangely irrelevant. Dean watches as Professor Bradshaw flicks through a green binder, fingers quick and dexterous, skilled and uncalloused in a way Dean’s have never had the chance to be.

Dean swallows and looks away, ignoring the thud of his heart as he stares around at the rest of the room. He clocks a bunch of compendiums of mythology on the bookcase nearest him, and two other eccentric and slightly neglected looking plants. There’s a thick plaid rug on the couch in the corner, not quite concealing a plate of half-eaten toast. On the windowsill, there’s a little tin mug with a toothbrush in it that makes Dean wonder again just how often Professor Bradshaw goes home at all. He finds himself wondering whether Professor Bradshaw has always had nothing but an empty house to return to, or whether that’s a more recent development. He’s definitely old enough to be going through a divorce. The thought sits uncomfortably in Dean’s chest for reasons he doesn’t particularly want to identify.

“Here we are.” Professor Bradshaw’s gravelly voice, suddenly much closer, makes Dean jump. He glances around to find Professor Bradshaw standing beside him, holding out a sheet of paper. The smell of warm skin and peppermint catches Dean off guard, stronger this time, and still strangely compelling.

“Uh – thanks,” Dean says awkwardly, taking the proffered page. He feels Professor Bradshaw’s fingers brush against his fleetingly, warm and ink-stained.

Dean swallows, forcing himself to focus on the page in front of him even though his cheeks are hot with something he doesn’t want to think about. The sketches are good, a few strange vaguely Norse reminiscent symbols drawn hastily with accompanying, scrawled notes in the margins. There’s something about the runes that niggles at Dean’s brain, familiar and unfamiliar all at once, like something he’s known his whole life but can’t put his finger on.

“These are interesting,” Dean he frowns, tracing his finger along the two last symbols.

When he glances up, he finds Professor Bradshaw looking at him intently, blue eyes inscrutable. “Yes,” he says, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms across his chest. “Those are the ones which struck me too,” he’s speaking a little quieter, low voice distracting Dean from why the runes are so familiar. He hopes he can remember them, that Sam will be able to place what he can’t about them.

“So, uh, this tomb. The one with the runes on it – that’s definitely where that guy’s body was found last week? It wasn’t just nearby or something?” Dean forces himself to ask, ignoring the way his heart is suddenly thumping again. “And the girl found the week before – she was directly linked to the burial site too?”

Professor Bradshaw clears his throat, unfolding his arms. “I believe so, yes.”

“And that doesn’t seem – I don’t know – a little strange, to you?”

“Human beings committing violent acts against each other is generally something I find a little strange,” Professor Bradshaw replies, in clipped tones. “But beyond that – no. Now –” he breaks off, glancing at his watch. “I’m afraid I have a seminar to deliver in ten minutes,” he confesses, and there’s something unfinished about the way he says it, something almost reluctant. Like he half wants to stay here talking with Dean.

“No problem,” Dean stands, and takes a last glance at the sketches before handing them back, trying to commit them to memory. “Thanks, Professor.”

Their eyes meet as Professor Bradshaw accepts the page, and the room suddenly feels very airless, a pause suspended between them. Neither of them moves away.

This close, Dean can see miniscule flecks of grey like tiny stars lost in blue of Professor Bradshaw’s eyes, the way that his full lips are slightly chapped, like maybe he worries them between his teeth when he’s thinking. They’re soft pink and warm-looking, and Dean wonders fleetingly if they taste like peppermint tea.

“It was nice meeting you, Dean,” Professor Bradshaw says, gently, and his eyes are so blue.

“Uh – yeah – you too. Thanks. I’d – uh – I’d better get going,” Dean stammers, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and cursing the way his cheeks are suddenly flaming with heat. His thoughts churn unsteadily; he ignores them the way he’s learnt to.

Still feeling strangely wound-up, he nods awkwardly at Professor Bradshaw and turns reluctantly towards the door.

“Wait a moment, Dean –” Professor Bradshaw’s voice halts Dean in his tracks as he reaches the door, and Dean turns expectantly, heat thumping a little painfully.

“Yeah?”

“Here – you’re welcome to borrow a couple of books on local history,” Professor Bradshaw is pulling a couple of books down from the overflowing cabinet by the window. “They should have a bit more about the legend of the coven that you might find interesting. Divergences of the legend and so forth. I’ll need them back by Thursday morning as I’m teaching a class on them in the afternoon, but you’re welcome to borrow them until then if they’d be helpful.”

“You sure?” Dean takes the proffered books awkwardly, and swallows the strange disappointment sinks in him like a stone as Professor Bradshaw steps back again. “Thanks.”

“As I said, I’m also giving a lecture on Wednesday where I’ll be examining the history behind the legend of the coven. I meant what I said - you’d be more than welcome to attend,” Professor Bradshaw says, sincerely. His eyes are intent, and there’s a hint of something almost like hopefulness hidden in the depths of his gravelly voice. Working on long ingrained instinct, Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Thanks, I’ll – I’ll see what my schedule’s like,” Dean replies, haltingly.

“Of course,” Professor Bradshaw agrees. He turns back to his desk.

“Can I ask –” Dean pauses, watching Professor Bradshaw stuff another notebook and a stack of handouts into his briefcase. “You said you’re writing a paper about the runes at the forest burial site– do you go to there much?”

Professor Bradshaw glances up, distractedly. “Yes, I spend time there every week.”

“So you haven’t noticed anything – I don’t know – anything unusual when you’ve been there recently?” Dean ventures.

“Unusual how?” Professor Bradshaw closes his briefcase with a snap and looks up at Dean properly, eyes narrowed with sudden skepticism. It’s stronger than the hints Dean has caught at other points during their conversation, sharp and blue, a world away from the observant warmth of a few moments ago.

“I dunno – odd noises, sudden drops in temperature, shadows –”

“Just what are you asking me?” Professor Bradshaw demands, voice clipped and defensive.

“Have you seen anything like that?” Dean presses, stubbornly. Irritation prickles his skin.

“No, I haven’t,” Professor Bradshaw says, bluntly. “And you know why? Because yes, I study the supernatural – but it’s not real, Dean. I don’t know what kind of sensational article you’re writing about local lore, but I can assure you, lore is all it is.” He winds a striped scarf haphazardly around his neck, and grabs his briefcase off the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

-

Sam is eating some gross looking granola yoghurt pot with a plastic spoon when Dean eventually clambers back into the car, feeling distinctly frustrated.

“You took your time,” he remarks idly, raising an eyebrow as Dean adjusts the mirror with an unnecessary amount of force and turns on the ignition.

“Goddamn waste of time was what it was,” Dean mutters mutinously, pulling out of the space and then immediately being forced to hit the brakes when a cluster of students cross the parking lot in front of him. He grinds his teeth and resists the urge to honk the horn. “Thought I was getting somewhere but he completely shut down the minute I asked him if he’d noticed anything weird at the burial site.”

“Suspicious?” Sam frowns, through a mouthful of granola.

“No, don’t think so. Just really damn touchy,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as he waits for the students to move, “And a bit of an asshole. I dunno, suppose working in his field he’s probably used to people thinking he’s just some lunatic who believes in the supernatural.”

“And does he?”

Dean snorts. “No way. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about it. You’d think someone who’s spent the last twenty years with their head buried in books about ghosts and covens and demonic possession might be a little more open to the idea,” he shrugs, and gives in to the temptation to lean on the horn, reveling in the brief satisfaction of making the students jump and scurry out of the way, “But no. The guy’s absolutely blind to it all, and could rival you on stubbornness.”

Sam purses his mouth in annoyance, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “Get anything useful at all?”

“He did lend me a couple books,” Dean admits, nodding in the direction of the backseat. “Have to take them back on Thursday morning, though. He needs them for some class.”

“He leant you his books?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugs, skin prickling in annoyance, “What of it?”

“Dunno, that’s just,” Sam swallows a mouthful of yoghurt, “Pretty trusting. Academics usually treat their books as if they’re their first borns.”

“Don’t mess them up when you read them, then,” Dean says, dismissively, as they pull out onto the main street. “You find out anything useful about the victims?”

“Not really,” Sam leans back in his seat with a sigh, “Both from middle class, religious families. Seem to have been pretty well liked by people. Hard to establish any link more than that. The wife of the guy that was killed last week seemed a bit cagey, though,” he shrugs, “Might be worth a second visit to see if she’s holding out on us about something.”

“Right,” Dean drums his fingers impatiently against the wheel as they wait for a light to change. It’s starting to drizzle, tiny flecks of grey hitting the windshield. “Are we still definitely thinking ghost?”

“Seems like it,” Sam affirms, “The way the victims died definitely points to a vengeful spirit. But the place they were killed – connected to the burial site associated with the coven? I don’t know, I was thinking maybe it’s no ordinary ghost. Maybe it’s the vengeful spirit of a witch, and that’s why it’s so powerful?”

“Hm,” Dean mulls it over, flicking the windscreen wipers on as they continue to wait. They squeak slightly, repetitive and familiar. “You could be onto something there.”

“Yeah?”

“Professor Bradshaw was telling me about the local legend of the coven. Apparently, its leader was entombed alive by a bunch of angry churchgoers,” Dean steps on the accelerator as the light finally changes, and the rain-slicked village slides past in a blur. “That’s got to be some pretty good vengeful spirit material right there. And you said the victims were both religious, right? Can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why now, though?” Sam frowns. “It’s been what – two hundred years? There must have been plenty of churchgoers who walked by the burial site before now.”

“Dunno,” Dean shrugs, staring out at the rainy smudge of fall colors. The chestnuts trees lining the street are the same smoldering hue of amber as the one outside Professor Bradshaw’s window.

They drive in silence for a few moments, wipers squeaking.

“Okay,” Sam says, at length, “So I’m thinking – we go check into a motel, get through as much of these books from your professor as we can while we wait for the rain to stop, and then check out the burial site later this afternoon before it gets dark?” Sam asks, chucking his plastic spoon in the empty yoghurt container.

“He’s not ‘my professor’,” Dean says defensively, and suddenly has to step a little too hard on the breaks to avoid running a red light.

“Alright,” Sam says, slowly. “Okay.”

“Anyway, yeah,” Dean blusters, hastily, ignoring the weight of Sam’s gaze on the side of his face, “Works for me. But first,” he flicks on the indicator and pulls into a space near a little line of local shops. “Food. Not that yoghurty shit you’ve been eating. Real food.”

-

The forest is steeped in quiet in the way all ancient places are, fall singing the leaves on the gnarled branches that claw their way towards the fading gold of the late afternoon sun. Dean breathes in the wet, cloying smell of moss and follows Sam’s careful path through the trees. There’s a chill in the air, but the handle of Dean’s blade is hot in the palm of his hand.

“How much further to this place?” he hisses at Sam’s back, swatting a frond of bracken out of his face and casting his gaze edgily through the twisting branches and burnt amber.

“Nearly there, according to –” Sam stops so abruptly that Dean nearly collides with him, throwing out a cautionary arm.

“What?” Dean whispers urgently, instantly drawing his blade. His heart is racing now, whole body tense, coiled, ready to attack. His gaze flickers rapidly through the mess of branches and he stands on his tiptoes, trying to see past Sam’s stupidly large frame. “Sammy,” he hisses, impatiently, when Sam doesn’t immediately answer, “What is it?”

“There’s something there,” Sam breathes, almost inaudible. His posture is still, alert. Dean can see Sam’s hold on the gun in his back pocket tighten.

“What kind of something?” Dean whispers, craning his neck to try and see. The light seems somehow dimmer already, the fading sun sliding further towards the ground. When he breathes in, the smell of wet leaves is stronger, now that they’re in the heart of the forest. His heart is thrumming so fast but everything else feels suspended in time, unnaturally still.

“I think it’s a person,” Sam murmurs, and somewhere close, Dean hears the brittle rustle of dead leaves, loud and unnerving in the wooded quiet. He watches the quickened rise and fall of Sam’s shoulders as his breathing suddenly sharpens. “They’re holding something. They – shit, Dean, they’re coming this way.”

Dean reacts immediately and on nearly twenty years of protective instinct; he shoves Sam out of the way and stumbles out into the clearing, blade brandished in front of him.

---