#I had to slow it down because I’m DECEASED

[kingkatsuki]

Number of casualties: me.

[penny00dreadful]

Before He Cheats

AO3

“Munson Home for the Recently Deceased, you stab ‘em we slab ‘em. How may I direct your call?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds before a light chuckle crackled through the speaker.

“Is that really how you answer the phone?”

Eddie smiled to himself. “Got you to laugh didn’t it?”

“Suppose.”

“Plus, no one calls the landline anymore unless they’re trying to sell something. You trying to sell me something?”

“No. No, I uh… I’m looking for an Eddie Munson?”

“Only an Eddie Munson? Only one? What a terrible fate. Well you’re in luck, my good sir. This is he. What can I do you for?”

The voice on the end of the line gave a light laugh once again but went silent almost immediately after. 

Eddie stared at the wall in his apartment, waiting for something to happen. In the quiet he could hear the guy letting out little nervous breaths before one big inhale.

“I um. I’m sorry to have to tell you like this, I’d prefer to do it face to face but I don’t know where you live and you probably wouldn’t even want me at your house afterwards and I did find you on social media but it’s not something I wanted to do in DM’s, you deserve better than that-”

“Okay, hold on, slow down.” Eddie tried to ignore the panic starting to kick around in his heart. “Is someone dead? Is someone injured?”

“No! No, Jesus, I’m sorry. I told Robin that I’d be terrible at this but I couldn’t just let it go on without saying anything-”

“You haven’t really said anything. You’re just rambling.”

“Right. Sorry. Again, blame Robin. I’m around her too much. But… okay. Do you know Rick Lipton?”

Eddie felt the panic leave him, replaced only by irritation as he sighed through his nose. “What did he do now?”

“He… um. I’m sorry to ask this but are you his partner? Like, romantic partner?”

Eddie scowled. “And if I am?”

There was movement against the line, almost as if the other guy was nodding. 

“Shit.” He muttered before picking back up in volume again. “Listen, I didn’t know. He told me he was single and I only found out because Robin lives in the same building as you and she saw him with you and asked the neighbours and they said you’d been a thing for like two years and you have to believe me if I’d known I wouldn’t have touched him, I don’t fuck around with cheaters-”

“How long?”

Eddie had expected to feel betrayal or sadness, devastation or heartbreak and they were there. 

They were just lost under a tidal wave of anger and indignation. He was even surprised at himself that he didn’t feel more caught off guard. 

Rick had never cheated before (that Eddie was aware of) but he had always had a wandering eye and a few off-colour jokes about 'going to find someone more his speed’. 

They’d never really felt all that funny.

Maybe it was because their relationship had felt dead for the last few months. 

They barely talked, they just existed around each other. The sex had all but dried up as well and whenever they did have it, it was completely impersonal. Get in, get out, move back to separate parts of the apartment if either of them even bothered to stay over. 

More often than not one of them would make a quick exit back to their home.

Eddie had been thinking a breakup was on the horizon for a while. 

But that was no excuse to cheat. 

At least have the fucking decency to end the relationship first before going out and chasing tail. 

“Um, like four or five weeks." The guy on the phone muttered, clearly ashamed. "I’m so sorry Eddie, I swear to god if I knew I would never… I have- I have proof if you need it.”

“If it’s a sex tape I don’t think I want to see it.” Eddie was trying really hard to maintain his calm and not snap through the phone. 

If what the guy was saying was true, then he was an innocent party in this.

Didn’t make it hurt any fucking less though.

Didn’t make him any less pissed.

“If- no it’s not a sex tape.” The voice sounded scandalised. “Fucking hell, do people actually do that?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause, as though the guy was waiting for Eddie to continue but Eddie just let it hang in the air. He wasn’t ashamed. 

But he was definitely going to have to purge those files now.

“Okay well… It's just a photo. I posted it to my insta a week ago but he was really weird about it being up, which in hindsight makes a lot of sense, so I took it down.” He said, quiet and sad. “I can send it to you if you want.”

Eddie pursed his lips. 

“Please hold.”

He unceremoniously dropped the phone with a clatter, leaving it dangling from the cord, bouncing against the wall and probably blowing the guy’s ear out. 

Maybe in the morning Eddie would feel a little bad about that, but for now it just felt very satisfying. 

He rifled around in his bedsheets for his phone before making his way back to the landline. 

“Still there?”

“Yes. Ow, by the way.”

Eddie just shrugged, well aware the guy couldn’t see him but whatever. He wasn’t in the mood. 

“Send it on.”

Only a moment later his phone pinged with a notification and Eddie opened the photo.

Well. 

Shit. 

There was Rick, in amongst a crowd at some nightclub, plastered to the side of some pretty boy who looked like he had a regular workout routine. 

Ugh.

Eddie couldn’t handle gym bunnies, the amount they could bench or whatever was all they ever talked about. But this must be the guy on the other end of the phone. 

@King.Steve.Of.House.Hair

Rick had King Steve’s earlobe in between his teeth and from the angle of the selfie Eddie could see his hands were wandering.

It looked like some kind of Halloween night, if the teeny tiny little sailor outfit was anything to go by.

God damn.

But even so, Eddie still wanted to be sure that what he was seeing was… well. What he was seeing. 

“Steve, is it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t realise I hadn’t given you my name yet.” Steve let out a nervous laugh, like he was expecting Eddie to jump through the phone and strangle him.

Eddie was fit to strangle someone but Steve wasn’t in his crosshairs.

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me, what does Rick have tattooed on his ass?”

“Uh…” Steve paused. “He doesn’t have a tattoo on his ass? Not that I’ve seen anyway. But I can tell you he does have his taint pierced. For some fucking reason.”

Eddie gave a quiet laugh at that, despite the monumentally fucked up situation and the final cracking piece of his heart breaking away. Rick had that piercing by the time Eddie had met him. He insisted he’d gotten it because it was sexy. Eddie was pretty sure he’d just lost a bet.

Eddie was no stranger to intimate piercings himself. He had his frenum done a while back. 

That one he’d definitely done because it felt sexy.

He looked back down at his phone, idly flipping through Steve’s profile and all of his other photos. 

He probably shouldn’t be thinking about how hot Steve was, how it was juxtaposed with a soft cuteness that almost felt like it didn’t belong to someone with such broad shoulders and defined arms. 

He hated himself for thinking about Steve’s attractiveness. 

It felt wrong.

Even though he was pretty much single now.

Even if Rick didn’t know it yet. 

But fuck him. 

He’d find out.

One way or the other.

And Eddie was nothing if not a drama queen.

But he wouldn’t do anything tonight.

No tonight he would just… hurt.

And smoke.

A lot.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice came through to him. “You okay?”

Eddie swallowed, finding it a little more difficult than he expected it to be and realised he’d just been staring down at his phone in silence. 

The screen had gone black.

“Yeah.” He answered, his voice thick. “I’m fine.”

Steve hummed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Eddie laughed. It was wet and sniffly and vulnerable and horrible. “What are you gonna do from over the phone far away… wherever you are?”

“I dunno. I could just… talk to you I guess? Help you plot Rick's murder?”

Eddie laughed again, a little brighter this time. "Yeah, that could be good. But if I'm plotting murder I want to be a little more comfortable." He unlocked his phone and hit the follow button on Steve’s account. “This conversation requires lounging, not standing by the landline.”

“Oh-”

“How do you feel about a video call?”

A notification popped up on his phone, letting him know Steve had followed him back.

“A video call is fine.”

“Great.” Eddie paused. He wasn’t even sure how to end this call with the guy his boyfriend of two years had been cheating on him with and who he’d just asked if he wanted to video call so Eddie could smoke his feelings away. 

He just didn’t want to feel alone right now. 

He could have called Chrissy or one of the boys to come hang out with him but that would require explaining everything over again and he really didn’t want to do that right now. 

Before he could think much more on it Eddie said a quick “Okay bye,” and hung up.

Steve knew the story and Steve had been wronged too and maybe they could just be mad and sad together. 

He unlocked his phone again as he walked back into his bedroom and hit the video call button, not even bothering to turn his light on, leaving himself and his room shrouded in darkness. He propped his phone up on his desk, angled towards the window where he sat on the sil and started to roll, using the streetlights streaming in the window to see.

Steve picked up only a moment later and Eddie got his first good look at the guy live in action and not through a photo online.

He was sitting at what looked like a kitchen table fully lit by the overhead lights, a pair of wire framed glasses perched on his nose and his hair messy and dishevelled, like he’d been stressfully running his hands through it, which he probably had been. 

Eddie didn’t know how stressed he would be if he had to make a call to someone to tell them their long term partner had been cheating.

He was leaning forward, elbows on the table in a cosy yellow sweater with a slight worry between his eyebrows. 

He looked so soft. 

Nothing at all like the nautical sea queen look he’d been giving in those photos. He looked comfortable and gentle and a little worried.

“Eddie?”

“Mm-hm?” He hummed, bringing the joint to his mouth and lighting it up before pushing open the window a little more and exhaling out into the dark rainfall outside.

“You okay?”

He shrugged. “I will be.”

“I’m not asking about whether you will be, I‘m asking about now.”

Eddie looked over and watched Steve as Steve watched him through the screen.

“Alright, then no. I’m not okay.” He took another drag. “I’m fucking pissed. I’m sad, I’m upset, I’m hurt, I’m angry, I’m disappointed and I don’t know if all of that is directed more at him for doing this to me or me for not expecting it.”

“How were you supposed to expect it?” Steve shook his head in disbelief. “No one should have to expect to be cheated on.”

“Dunno.” Eddie shrugged, looking back out the window. “Relationship was dying anyway.”

“Okay, and? That doesn’t make cheating okay.”

“Suppose not.”

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. For my part in it.”

Eddie glanced back over, taking in the downward tilt of Steve’s mouth and his big sad eyes.

“S’not your fault. You were wronged too.”

“I guess, but…” Steve bit his lip and looked up from the screen, casting his eyes around his kitchen like something was going to pop out and answer whatever question was running through his head. 

Eddie waited. The guy had been very gracious so far and he seemed to genuinely feel bad for all the mess he’d been wrapped up in. 

“I…” Steve continued. “I know how this thing usually goes. You find out you’ve been cheated on and you still love your partner so you tend to focus all your anger towards the person they cheated with rather than the person who actually wronged you.” He looked down, fiddling with some kind of flash card on the table in front of him.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Eddie stubbed his joint out, happy enough with his current buzz. He was sufficiently mellowed, he hadn’t cried yet though that would probably come once he was in bed, but his anger had simmered down to a level where he didn’t feel like putting his fist through a wall but still angry enough to plot.

“I am, I guess.”

Eddie nodded. “This happened to you before?” 

That was probably rude. His filter malfunctioned at the best of times but when he smoked it was all but gone.

“Yeah.” Steve stared down at the cards in his hands. “My mom had to put up with my dad’s infidelity a lot. And my ex-girlfriend cheated on me a while back.” Steve paused before taking a deep breath. “Rick was actually my first attempt to get back into the dating world so…”

“So we can both be sad and angry together.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled and Eddie stood up, plucking his phone from his desk and settling it on his bedside table, switching his lamp on and throwing himself face down on his bed, probably barely visible to Steve.

“We can be sad and angry together.”

Eddie glanced up. Now that he was closer to his phone, he could better see exactly what Steve was fiddling with, he could read some of the text on the card.

“Stevie.” Eddie sat up, moving closer to the phone and unable to stop the smirk running over his face. Steve’s eyes snapped up towards him. “Did you write out flash cards for when you called me?”

Steve’s eyes widened before he unceremoniously swept all the cards off the table in front of him, his cheeks turning a terrific shade of red and he leaned his face on his hand, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. 

“No.”

It was adorable. Incredibly dorky and adorable.

Eddie laughed, full on braying belly laughs, collapsing backwards onto his bed. When he peeked back up to look at his phone through his giggles, Steve’s face was somehow even redder. 

“Oh my god.” Eddie breathed. “That’s darling.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no. It’s really very sweet.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Steve rolled his eyes but was still smiling, still had a blush lighting up his cheeks.

Eddie settled himself back against his headboard. “Actually, listen, let me ask you something.”

“Okay?”

“Does Rick know? Does he know that you know? Or that you told me?”

“No.” Steve answered, finally relaxing his fake nonchalance into real relaxation, folding his hands on the table and propping his chin up on them. “I figured if anyone had the right to rip his balls off it would be you.”

Eddie nodded. 

That he could understand. 

“I get that, but there’ll be no ball ripping from where I stand. No, I want to hit him where it hurts.”

“Woulda hurt me plenty.”

“Oh, I’m sure. But the only thing Rick loves more than his own balls is his car.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, he’s like, obsessed with that thing. It’s weird. It’s not even that nice of a car.”

“I’d love to say he has bad taste but considering he picked the both of us, I’m pretty sure his tastes are actually immaculate.”

“Just his decisions are bad.”

“Exactly.”

“Well.” Steve sighed. “I’d love to help any way I can. I hate that I was involved in this, in what he did to you.”

“To us, Stevie. To us.”

“Right, so what’s the plan then?”

“When are you due to see him next?”

Eddie pulled his van into the parking lot of the bar. It was halfway across town and a place that he never frequented if he could help it. Rick liked it though, always had. Eddie just liked other places around town more.

But it could be cute, he supposed. A small little country and sports type place that had a rainbow flag behind the bar and a small number of regulars who, according to Steve, wouldn’t do anything unless you got between them and their drink. 

He knew that Steve was inside with Rick, playing up the flirty angle and acting tipsier than he actually was to put him at ease.

Steve had mentioned one of his signature moves involved pool, bending over the table and wiggling a little bit to keep the attention on him. Pulling out a little pout whenever he missed a shot or asking for help to line up his cue.

Eddie would be more upset by the fact that he was missing the sight of it if he didn't know he'd have the opportunity to see it himself at some point in the future.

They had talked for so long that first night, long enough that the sun was starting to come up by the time they'd both dragged themselves away from their phones to sleep.

They’d talked about their families, their friends, what they were doing in life right now as opposed to what they had hoped they would be doing when they were teenagers. They talked about their school selves and their dating lives and as the conversation wore on Eddie found himself thinking again and again about how long it had been since it had felt so easy to talk to someone like that.

It had been a very long time since Rick had put any effort into getting to know him as he grew through their two years together, like he expected Eddie to stay the same person as he was at the start of the relationship.

After that first night where they’d figured out their master plan, he and Steve had just… kept talking. Throughout the rest of the week up until tonight, they were in almost constant contact, only really taking a break to sleep and work.

Eddie felt connected to Steve and in some roundabout way he was thankful to Rick for bringing him into his life.

He’d even met Robin in passing one day, living two floors below him, holding the door open for him as he tried to wrestle with grocery bags. 

She was so weird. He kind of loved her the second she opened her mouth. Honest, but with the sharpest tongue he’d ever met on a person. 

She had knocked on his apartment door later that evening to tell him Steve was calling over to visit and asking if he wanted to come around to meet him. 

Steve had apparently delegated the asking to her because he was too nervous to do it himself.

Again, adorable.

Steve was somehow even sweeter and even saltier in person than he was over the phone and Eddie tried hard, he tried really hard not to look too much or let his fucking horomones run away with him but Jesus. H. Christ it was difficult. 

The sweetness of his soft sweaters and polos, his gentle smiles and understanding words matched with his salty mean girl attitude that would slip out every so often and the bitchiest of eye rolls that made Eddie’s heart jump.

Eddie was also trying to feel bad about what was happening but honestly, he was losing reasons to care that much.

He hadn’t texted or called Rick once in the last week and Rick himself had never reached out which all at once made Eddie realise he was the primary communicator in the relationship and it hadn’t been reciprocated in a long, long time. 

Adding onto that was the knowledge that Rick was still fucking cheating on him and was in regular contact with Steve left Eddie only half heartedly feeling bad.

He and Steve would go over the screenshots of the conversation together every night and every night Eddie found it harder and harder to hang up the phone.

He was pretty sure Steve was feeling the same way. 

They kept just catching each other staring. Or smiling or, pulling back from touching too much and he was almost sure that as soon as Rick was out of the picture for the both of them, something was going to blossom.

Even now, with Steve inside, flirting up a storm with Eddie’s ex-boyfriend who didn’t know he was an ex yet, they would be ending the night together. 

Robin was waiting back at her apartment with an alibi ready if Eddie needed it though he suspected he wouldn’t.

Neither he nor Rick had a great track record with the police and it would be more trouble than it was worth to get them involved.

Speaking of, Eddie spotted Rick’s car, some souped up four wheel drive monstrosity of small dick syndrome sitting in the shadows and away from the cameras of the bar where Steve had convinced him to park with a suggestion of something happening in those shadows later on. 

He hopped out of his van and threw open the back doors, grabbing his bag of goodies before sidling around Rick’s car to wait.

When the chords of some Shania Twain number started to leak through the walls, the signal he’d been waiting for, the sound loud enough to drown out what Eddie would be doing, he dropped his bag to the floor.

Curling his keys into his fingers and with almost a skip in his step Eddie began to carve a stripe through the immaculate and expensive paint work. Working his way around to the drivers side, he lifted the key up before bringing it back down.

With a little bit of sickening glee, he hacked the word CHEATER into the side of the car, the side that would be immediately visible from the bar door and the side Rick would have to see every time he wanted to get in and get out of the driver's seat.

At least until he paid a bomb to get it fixed.

Eddie had connections in this town. Working as a mechanic here for years would do wonderful things to extend this pain. 

Rick knew fuck all about cars. 

Tucking his keys back into his pocket, he sidled back around to his duffel bag, unzipping it and pulling out his Stanley blade.

Unsheathing it, he gripped it tight in his hand and punched it down into the nearest tyre, listening with satisfaction as the thing slowly deflated before moving onto the other three.

A second Shania song had started up. 

He could hear Steve crooning out from inside, getting louder and Eddie knew he was running out of time. 

He pulled Steve’s baseball bat from the duffle and gave it a little twirl, the same one he’d seen Steve do when he’d first handed it off and he had tried so hard not to be attracted to it. 

He’d failed miserably. 

Maybe Eddie could deal with a gym bunny if that gym bunny was Steve.

With an almighty swing, he brought the bat down, shattering one of the headlights with an almighty crash that wasn’t quite drowned out by the karaoke inside.

Rearing back Eddie swung again, smashing the other headlight and while the music didn’t cut off, he could clearly hear Steve inside calling out for Rick to “Wait!”

Okay, only a few seconds left.

Pulling the bat back and letting the anger and betrayal and indignation flow through him, he brought the bat down hard into the windshield where it embedded itself, the spider cracks of the tempered glass making the thing practically opaque.

The bat was fucking stuck.

Eddie knew that if he was able to pull hard enough he would be able to release the whole windshield from the car but he didn’t even have the strength in him to budge the bat.

“What the fuck?!”

Eddie slowly released his hands from the bat and turned, looking at Rick standing in the doorway of the bar, his mouth hanging wide open in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. Steve was standing just behind him, with one hand over Rick’s chest.

To anyone else it would look like a comforting gesture, maybe. A show of support. 

But Eddie could tell the hand was there to hold Rick back if he decided to lunge. 

Both Steve and Rick dragged their gaze over the flat tyres, the word carved into the side, the bat stuck in the windshield.

“Hey sweetheart.” Eddie called across the distance, feeling comfortable enough to turn his back to pick up his bag, trusting Steve to at least shout if Rick was about to tackle him.

“Eddie,” Rick breathed, still open-mouthed somehow. “What in the god damned hell has gotten into you?!”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and held his hand out.

Steve patted Rick twice on the chest and stepped out from behind him. 

Rick watched him walk away looking even more bewildered than before.

With one hand Steve took Eddie’s and with the other he grabbed the bat, wiggling it a few times before pulling it free. 

They broke apart as they reached Eddie’s van, Steve climbing into the passenger seat and Eddie throwing his bag in the back before starting up the van from his position in the driver's seat.

He leaned over Steve to shout out of the window, “Have a nice life, asshole!”

As the van tore out of the lot, Steve stretched both hands out of the window, two middle fingers extended until Rick, still frozen on the spot, was out of sight.

When he pulled himself back inside, Eddie saw him glance his way, a huge grin on his face.

Eddie had a smile to match, whooping into the night as they sped down the road.

AO3

@geekymagicalpotato

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for her magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

what about platonic Zeff and Sanji where they take in an abanoned baby and Sanji is immediately like guess I'm a big brother now

Adrift, At Home

Platonic Zeff and Child Sanji x GN Baby Reader

2.6k words

Warnings: graphic depictions of gore and mild references of starvation

The fishing line swayed with the water, drifting freely as it waited for something to bite. Zeff had been sitting in a chair on the dock for a while now and had yet to catch anything beyond the errant piece of seaweed that had tangled itself on the hook. This didn’t bother him. The restaurant was closed for the day and he was more than content to simply enjoy the fair weather, the fishing rod was an excuse to be out here more than anything. 

He’s not an old man that just wants to relax once in a while, he’s catching some fish for the restaurant, thank you very much.

A page was turned from a little farther down the dock. Zeff glanced over, casually observing Sanji as he paged through that fish book he was so fond of. He was lying on his stomach, head propped up on one hand and feet kicking in the air behind him. The boy was fully engrossed in the book and hasn’t spoken a word to Zeff since coming out here. Which was normal for him. 

Zeff went back to idly watching his line, not wanting to provoke Sanji into getting huffy because he caught Zeff looking at him. The horror.

“There’s a boat.”

The off duty chef couldn’t help but tense when Sanji abruptly broke the silence. Looking over at him again, the boy had propped himself up and was pointing. Shifting his focus to where he was motioning to, he saw what Sanji was talking about.

A small boat was slowly drifting past them. It was far too small to be a legitimate sea faring vessel. A lifeboat, perhaps? Had there been a shipwreck nearby? If there was anyone in it, he couldn’t see them. It’s still light out. If they were lost at sea, they should be up and actively trying to call for help. The only reason there wouldn’t be anyone in sight is either because the boat is empty and had simply drifted off on its own.

Or if whoever was in it was already gone.

Sanji suddenly leapt to his feet, “There’s someone in there! I can see a hand!”

A hand? Zeff squinted, internally cursing his aging vision. Just barely peeking over the edge of the boat was the hand Sanji was talking about. Some fingers limply hung off the edge, showing no signs of movement. Zeff really didn’t like that.

Sanji hopped on one foot while ripping off his shoes and was just about to leap into the water when Zeff caught his arm, “Don’t. I’ll go check on them, you go tell the others.”

The boy’s eyes flickered down to his leg, “But-”

“Go. I’m sure that person is hungry, tell Patty to make them something nice,” Zeff’s tone left no room for argument, and Sanji knew better than to push it. He sped off for the Baratie, his previously discarded shoes forgotten in his hurry. 

It would be for the best if Sanji wasn’t here to see this if the stranger in the boat was indeed deceased. There was no telling how long they’ve been there, and Sanji did not need to see that.

After reeling in the fishing line, he tossed it to the side and got to work on unbuckling the straps for his prosthetic. He pulled the peg leg off and propped it up against the chair. Using the armrests, he stood on his remaining leg, then dove into the sea.

The water was cold, but not debilitatingly so. Zeff had no trouble cutting through the mild waves, his lack of one of his limbs had done little to slow him down. The lifeboat wasn’t far off, it won’t take him long to close the gap.

Once he was close enough to be heard, he called out, “Are you alright in there?”

The flapping of wings, followed by some birds flying away from the boat was the only response he received. His heart sank. Maybe those birds were only there to rest, but it was unlikely that they would be bold enough to do so if someone was there to shoo them away.

Then the smell hit him. The musty, putrid, and sickeningly sweet scent of death. Before even making contact with the boat, he knew that it was already too late for whoever was on it.

Still, he forced himself to go the rest of the way. Whoever this was deserved a proper burial after what was likely an agonizing death.

Finally, he was at the boat. His hands grabbed onto the side of the boat, the unidentified person’s hand was directly next to his left hand. Steeling himself for what he was about to see, he hauled himself up. If it wasn’t for his rough history, the sight would have left him sick.

Based on the clothing, he could assume the deceased had been a woman. There wasn’t much else for him to go off of. Sea birds had been eating away at her flesh. They would start at the face, the skin was easiest to get through there, and after that they would work their way down. Her face was gone, every strip of meat had been ripped off and left nothing but a blood soaked skull in its wake. The birds had made decent progress down to the chest after that, a couple hours more and they would have gotten to the organs.

If he had to guess, he would say she hasn’t been dead that long. Birds work quickly, and the wounds are all very fresh. She was probably still alive yesterday. 

Zeff heaved himself up onto the boat, doing his best to avoid disturbing the body. Empty food tins crunched loudly under his weight as he army crawled onboard. The rocking of the boat dislodged the woman’s sunburnt hand from its perch. Rather than falling limp, the muscles remained stiff, fingers clenched as if they were still holding on to something.

Under no circumstances could he let Sanji see this. His eyes darted around the boat for something to cover at least her face with. He would use his shirt if he had to. There was a turned over crate with a tarp covering it. Perfect. It would be more than big enough to wrap around her entire body. Why she hadn’t used it for protection from the sun was beyond him, but there was really no use questioning it now.

The tarp was ripped off the box unceremoniously, and Zeff was frankly eager to get the body covered. Just because he could handle the sight didn’t mean he particularly wanted to see it.

There was something in the box. No. Someone.

A baby, and it isn’t moving.

Zeff forgot about the tarp in an instant and lurched forward to pull the baby out of its hiding place. You were underweight, that much was notable off the bat. Cradling your weak form carefully, he held you up to his face and pressed an ear against your chest.

thump thump thump

The relief that went through him was indescribable. You were weak, but alive. As bad as your given condition may be, your lack of energy was likely the only reason the birds hadn’t noticed you. He set you down in his lap and scrambled to get the oars into the water and get paddling. There was no telling how little time you had left.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll puree some of the best baby food you’ve ever had as soon as we get back to the Baratie.” It was debatable if he was saying this to reassure you or himself. It was barely audible, but he heard a small grunt. Looking down, he saw your face pinch as you attempted to open your eyes with what little energy you had left. “That’s it. Keep fighting, kid.”

Fortunately for you, the dock wasn’t far away, it would only take a couple of minutes before you would be out of the scorching sun and in the restaurant. Several of his workers were already waiting for him at the dock, one of them being Sanji.

Shit! He forgot to cover up the body of who he now presumed to be your mother. Setting down the oar, he pulled the tarp over her head and did his best to make sure it wouldn’t come loose. “Sanji, go inside and help in the kitchen!”

It looked like he was trying to argue, but the other cooks shut it down. From their grim expressions, it appeared that they already knew why Zeff would be so insistent on Sanji not being here for this. The kid scowled, but ultimately turned to leave, stomping his way to the restaurant.

Zeff paddled as fast as he could, praying that his efforts wouldn’t be in vain.

—

The time from when Zeff docked to now had been a whirlwind. Everyone had been prepared for a dead body, but had gone into a tizzy upon realizing there was also a survivor. A very young one at that.

Fortunately, you appeared to be old enough to eat solid food, and had been eager to do so once you’d gotten your wits about you. Apparently they hadn’t been feeding you fast enough, so you tried to take matters into your own hands by snatching the spoon out of theirs. For as weak as you’d looked on the boat, it seems your health hadn’t deteriorated as much as he’d initially thought. Your mother must have been giving the bulk of the food she had to you.

As for the deceased mother, there wasn’t much they could do about her. Ships went missing all the time, figuring out which one she had specifically come from would be near impossible. Even if they did… it would be difficult for anyone to identify her. As sad as it was, giving her a burial at sea was the best they could do.

They can only hope that she will be able to rest peacefully now that her baby is safe.

After giving you a much needed bath and clothing you in one of Sanji’s old shirts, you were happily sitting in a basket they’d stuffed some blankets into for padding. The shirt was dramatically too big for you, but it would have to do until proper clothes could be picked up.

Taking in an infant had hardly been something that Zeff planned to do today, but he saw few other options. If he couldn’t figure out who your mother was, what chance did he have at identifying you and tracking down surviving family members? Sure, this situation was what orphanages were there for, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon you at one. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to have a good roof over your head, and such a thing is hardly a guarantee at one of those.

“Where is the other person?” 

Zeff looked up from the catalog he’d been flipping through at Sanji’s inquiry. Admittedly, he’d been hoping the kid wouldn’t ask about it, however unrealistic that was. He’d been very focused on you since you were brought in. Even now, he was sitting by your basket and letting you play with his hand. Ah, they would need to pick up some toys for you next time they went to shore, too.

The pause was too long for Sanji’s liking, so he continued, “That hand I saw was too big to be theirs.”

Of course he’d notice the discrepancy. While Sanji was far from being a stranger to horrors and hardships, Zeff still did not want to disclose the details of what he saw to him. “The other person was already dead. We had no way of knowing where she came from so she was buried at sea.”

“Was she their mother?” Sanji turned to look at Zeff.

“More than likely,” was his simple response.

Sanji bit his lip and abruptly looked away, then back at the baby. Silence hung in the air a while longer before he spoke up again, “So they’re all alone now?”

“I wouldn’t say that. They’ve got all of us, don’t they? I expect that you’ll help take care of them since you were the one that spotted the boat they were in.” Zeff glanced over the list of baby supplies he’d made. Content with what he saw, he stood from the table. Now he needed to take account of what food they had in stock and make that list next. “Keep an eye on them while I finish making the list.”

He heard a hum of affirmation and considered that good enough before making his exit. The pantry wasn’t far, he’ll be able to hear you if you start fussing. Besides, Sanji’s a good kid. He can handle watching a baby for a few minutes. 

You’re going to need a name, he supposes. Can’t keep calling you ‘the baby’ forever. Oh well, he’s sure a name will come to him soon enough.

It didn’t take long to make note of what food they needed, which wasn’t much. They weren’t due for another grocery run for a few more days yet, but there were some supplies for you that they simply couldn’t go without in the meantime. He’ll set out bright and early tomorrow, you won’t have to wait for long.

Zeff came back into the kitchen, only to find it empty. This wasn’t immediately concerning to him. The only people on the Baratie were his staff, and he knew none of them posed any danger. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder where you’d gone off to. Even the basket was missing.

Might as well look around, to sate his curiosity if nothing else.

The first place he checked was the dining room, but that turned up nothing besides a couple of workers repairing a table that had been broken in a scuffle earlier that day. Maybe someone had taken you out to the outdoor seating area for some fresh air? He was on his way to go and look when he heard a muffled voice. It was coming from Sanji’s room.

The door was cracked open just enough for Zeff to be able to peer in.

“And this one is blue-finned elephant tuna. See how it’s got tusks and a feeler that looks like a trunk? It’s supposed to taste really good!”

Sanji was seated behind your basket and used it to prop up the book he was showing you. The book seemed to be holding your attention. You were taking in the pictures with wide eyes while gnawing on one of your fists. Sanji’s enthusiasm appeared to be rubbing off on you, making you let out little coos as he spoke to you in depth about the fish.

The next page was turned to, and he continued excitedly rambling, “This one is a sandora catfish. They’re carnivorous and huge! I bet it would be really good fried and with a cream sauce.”

It would seem that you liked the sound of that. The hand that had previously been in your mouth suddenly went forward and grasped at the page.

“Ack! Hey, don’t get drool on it! It’s not even food yet,” Sanji mumbled the last part. He’d been able to pull the book away without you tearing a page and was trying to wipe off the drool you’d smeared across the page.

His scolding had little effect, you giggled loudly at his outburst and were doing your best to turn around and continue your assault on his book.

Zeff quietly chuckled to himself as you succeeded in grabbing the book again. It seems you two were getting along well, he’ll leave you be for now.

[cosyvelvetorchid]

Fear. (Angsty plz😊)

I’ve combined two prompts here because they both played into an idea I had for a fic.

It’s a little more on the whump side than angsty but I hope you’ll both enjoy them anyway.

Thank you 🩶

****

They knew it would happen eventually. Statistically it was an inevitably. They were born firefighters - men whose purpose in life was to walk into danger to save others.

Every good firefighter has a healthy level of fear doing the job. A fearless firefighter is a dangerous firefighter. A firefighter with no fear doesn’t respect the danger they’re in and can make reckless decisions that put their lives, and others lives, at risk.

Though Tommy and Buck both had that healthy level of fear, they each knew that it was an inevitability that they both, at some point, would get injured. Which is why, when things began to get serious between them - which was quicker than either of them had expected, they’d made sure to have conversations about each of their wishes should something happen.

They made sure to prepare as much as they could for when something did happened to one of them.

However, they’d both assumed they’d get injured on the job.

They were wrong.

*

Athena raced down the street after the suspect vehicle. The car thief was weaving dangerously through traffic; near miss after near miss.

As the vehicle approached a cross section, Athena prayed he would slow down. But he didn’t. He drove through it full speed, T-boning another vehicle with such force it flipped multiple times before somehow landing upright 50 feet away.

Athena hit the brakes and jumped out of her car and ran towards the accident calling into her radio.

“Dispatch this is 727-L30. Suspect vehicle has crashed into another vehicle at the cross section of Main and 7th. We need R.A units this location. I’m approaching the suspect vehicle now.”

She drew her weapon, holding it pointed down as she stepped slowly toward the drivers side. Immediately she could tell that that the man’s injuries were severe. She reached through the open window and placed two fingers on three man’s neck.

“Dispatch, Suspect is deceased. I’m checking on the other vehicle occupants now.” She quickly ran to the other vehicle. Dents and scraps covered the entire car. The windshield and both driver and passenger windows so badly cracked that she couldn’t see through them. She tried to open the drivers door but the roof had bent in too much jamming it in place. She ran around to the passenger side and was able to open that door.

That’s when she saw the occupants of the car.

“Oh my god.”

For a second she was immobilised. How would she tell Bobby? Thankfully she was pulled out of her stupor by a woman running up to her.

“I’m a nurse.” She said.

“Can you get in the back and check the drivers pulse?” The woman ran around the car and thankfully was able to open the back drivers side door. Athena reached for man’s neck in front of her, praying she’d find a pulse. She blew out a breath when she felt it.

“I got a pulse! It’s strong.”

“This guy has a pulse but it’s really weak. He’s in really bad shape, sergeant.” The nurse called out.

“Help is on the way ma’am.” She lifted her radio up to her mouth.

“Dispatch this is 727-L30. Update on the vehicle collision on main and 7th.” She prayed that it wouldn’t be Maddie taking the call and was relieved to hear Josh’s voice.

“Go ahead.”

“We have 2 male occupants ages 33 and 40 with severe injuries… Josh is Maddie anywhere near you right now?”

“No, Sergeant she’s on her lunch break.”

“Good. The victims are.. Evan Buckley and Thomas Kinard.”

There was a beat before Josh responded.

“Copy that sergeant. Can you update on the status of the victims?”

“What’s your name?” She asked the nurse, who was behind Tommy seat with her hands stabilising his head.

“Sarah.”

“Okay Sarah, from what you can assess from where you are now how bad are their injuries?”

“This guys pulse is weak and getting weaker. He’s got lacerations to his face and arms from the glass, a probably broken nose form the air bag, and obvious dislocated right shoulder and I would hazard a guess at some serious internal bleeding from the steering wheel.” Sergeant if you could help stabilise this man’s head I can check the other guy out.” Athena nodded and took over holding Tommys head.

“This guy has the same cuts and the same probable broken nose, and judging by the lump and blood on the leg of his sweat pants im guessing compound fracture of his right leg.”

Athena relayed the information back to Josh and Sarah took over holding Tommys head still.

“Copy that sergeant. And I will inform the.. family member.”

She took out her phone, called the number and took a deep breath and she put the phone to her ear.

“Bobby?”

*

Maddie rushed into the waiting area to find Chim, Hen, Bobby, Eddie and Lucy as She immediately ran to Chim who embraced her in a hug.

“Where’s Jee?” He asked

“She with Mrs Lee. Do we know anything yet?” Tears were already filling her eyes threatening their escape.

“Vehicle thief drove through a cross section and t-boned them. We’re still waiting on an update.”

“What about the person that hit him?” She asked.

“Dead.” Athena’s voice came from behind. “Any news yet?”

Bobby shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Guys..” Lucy pointed to a doctor walking towards them.

“Evan Buckley?”

“That’s us.” Maddie walked over to him with everyone else coming behind.

“Are you family?

“Sister. How is he?” Her voice was trembling. She’d been in this position twice before (his injuries when he was younger not withstanding) and the third time is not any easier.

“Evan sustained a concussion, and the metal rod in his leg snapped and broke through the skin, which we need to go in and replace, probably tomorrow morning. He’s also got a small laceration on his forehead and some minor cuts and bruises.”

“So, he’s gonna be alright? Eddie asked.

“We’ll need to monitor his concussion, and barring any complications with the surgery, he should be able to go home in maybe a week.”

You could feel the tension in the room release a bit at hearing the doctor’s words. But they couldn’t relax just yet.

“Any news on Tommy? Uh, Thomas Kinard?” Lucy asked. “I’m emergency contact if Bu— Evan is unavailable.” The doctor’s face turned more serious.

“Thomas has more serious injuries. A large amount of internal bleeding and a dislocated shoulder are the biggest injures as well as a broken nose and also cuts and bruises. We’re closely monitoring his internal bleeding and we’ll likely have to go in with surgery to fix the bleeding later today.”

“Jesus.” Eddie said running his fingers through his hair.

“Can we see either of them?” Bobby asked.

“Evan can have one visitor at a time and be warned he’s on some heavy meds so if he’s awake he’ll be quite a bit sluggish.” The doctor informed them. “As far as Thomas goes at the moment he’s not up for visitors, right now. Tomorrow perhaps once we have a clearer picture of his health.”

“Doctor, does my brother know about Tommy?”

“Not as yet. He’s been pretty in and out of consciousness because of the meds. It’s probably best if you’re the one to tell him.”

“I will keep you updated on Thomas.” He said to Lucy.

“Thanks.”

“Would you like to see Evan first? I’ll take you too him.”

“Yes, please.” Maddie said and followed him down the corridor.

Maddie was immediately reminded of when his leg was crushed by the engine . Lying on the bed, bandaged up and half asleep. The difference this time is all the cuts and bruises decorated his body.

She pulled a chair over and sat down taking his hand. The sensation of which woke him.

“Tom… Tommy?”

“No, sweetie it’s Maddie.” She rubbed his hand.

“Where’s… Tommy?” His eyes were opening and closing heavily.

“Do you remember what happened?” She asked.

“Sort of… car acc-accident… leg hurts.”

“That’s right. You and Tommy were in a car accident. The metal rod in your leg snapped so the doctors need to go in and replace it.”

“Blood clots.”

“Don’t worry. The doctors are aware of the blood clots from your old screws. They’ll give you different ones.”

“S’good… where’s To-tommy? He turned his face to Maddie but he still couldn’t keep his eyes open for longer than 2 or 3 seconds at a time.

“Buck.. Uh, Tommy.. The doctors are taking really good care of him.” Was all she could think of saying to reassure him.

“How bad?” He mumbled.

“He’s going to be fine, Buck.” She told him but her tone of voice was far too high and Buck knew her well enough to know she was deflecting.

“Maddie.. truth.”

Maddie sighed. “He has pretty bad internal bleeding. They’re taking him to surgery later.”

Bucks heart rate monitor gave away his biggest fear and tears pooled in his eyes. “Can’t..lose him.. mad..”

“I know, I know.” She took his hand in both of hers. “But we’re going to stay positive and we’re going to believe that he is going to make it through, okay.”

*

“How is he?” Bobby asked Maddie

“Physically he’ll be fine, but he’s terrified he’s going to lose Tommy. The doctors won’t let him see him before either of them go in for their surgeries.”

“What? Why?” Eddie asked

“It’s his leg. They have to keep it stable until they can fix it - they can’t risk moving him.” She explained. Eddie nodded, understanding. Then an idea flashed across his mind.

“I’ll be right back.” He quickly walked away.

He knocked on Doctor Salazar’s door and waited to be told to come in.

“Mr Diaz. It’s nice to see you. How are you? No more panic attacks I hope?”

“Uh, no. No, I’m good, thanks. I’m not actually here for me - I have a favour to ask..”

*

“Is he ready?” Eddie asked Maddie on the phone.

“Yeah, but this has to be quick - he’s refused his pain meds so he’s not groggy so he’s in quite a bit of pain.”

“That’s fine Doctor Salazar only managed to get us 5 minutes anyway. Give the phone to Buck.” Maddie handed the phone to him. “Okay bud, I’m putting the phone to Tommys ear now, give me a sec.”

He propped his phone up as close as he could to Tommys ear.

“You’re good to go, Buck. I’ll come back in a couple of minutes.” He left to stand outside Bucks room.

“I’m gonna go get a coffee.” Maddie told Buck and left the room. Buck took a deep breath trying to push past the pain so he could speak.

“Hey, you. I hate that we have to talk over the phone but the doctors won’t let me come see you until they fix my leg. I wish I could be there holding your hand so you could feel me. You’re going into surgery in a few minutes and I just.. I need you to know that..” He sniffed and wiped his eyes “that-that.. the last 7 months with you have been the most incredible of my life. And I’m not ready to give any of that up. I love you so much, Tommy. More than I thought I could ever love a person. You.. you need to come back to me okay? Come back to all of us. You have a home, now. With all of us. With me, with Eddie and Christopher, with Chim and my sister and Jee, With Bobby and Athena, and Hen and Karen and Denny and Mara.. we all need you back here. So-so you get through this surgery, okay. Because I want us both to be there when we tell everyone we’re getting married. I love you sweetheart.” He hung the phone up

Maddie had arrived back and he waved through the window to her. Before she’d made it to his bed he was already breaking down. She leaned over and held him tightly.

“I can’t lose him, Maddie. I can’t.”

“I know, Buck. I know.”

*

3 days later Buck was sat in a wheelchair at Tommys bedside; the rod in his leg having been replaced. Tommy had come through his surgery and the doctors said this prognosis was good. But he still hasn’t woken up yet.

Buck had been insistent that Tommy not be left alone. If he wasn’t being ordered to his own room, he’d be there by Tommys bedside all day.

He’d spent most of the time just talking to Tommy. Updating him on his leg, telling him funny stories of the 118, trying to keep things positive. But the more time went on the more frustrated he was getting that Tommy hasn’t woken up.

“Come on, babe. You have to wake up. I miss you. Everyone mis-“ He felt a delicate squeeze of his hand. “Tommy?”

Tommy breathed heavy and a very light hum sound came from his mouth.

“Tommy, baby I’m here!” He squeezed his hand tight. Tommy swallowed and opened his mouth. It took his a few tries to find his voice.

“Ev..Evan”

“I’m here, baby. I’m here. God you scared me.” He admitted. “How are you feeling?”

“Ouch.” Was all he could muster. Buck let out a tear-filled chuckle as he felt a whoosh of relief flow through him. Tommy managed to open his eyes and turned his head to Buck, his brow furrowing as he saw his injuries.

“You okay? What.. happened?” He sluggishly reached out to touch Bucks face, gently caressing the cuts on his cheek.

“Car accident. Some guy hit us on the drive home from our weekend away. Docs had to replace the rod in my leg but I’m alright. I’ll be back to normal in a month or two.”

“Good.” Tommy said with a relieved sigh. “What about.. me?”

“Uh, you had some pretty serious internal bleeding. They managed to fix it, thankfully. You also dislocated your shoulder. And your face is pretty bruised up.”

“Still think.. I’m handsome?” He asked. Buck was relieved that he still had his sense of humour.

“If it wasn’t for my leg I’d be in that bed showing you how handsome you are.” He teased. Tommy tried to laugh and groaned at the pain. “Oh God I’m sorry. I’ll call a nurse and get you some pain meds.”

“No, wait a minute. I just want.. you for a minute.”

“I’m not going anywhere, babe.” Tommy held Bucks hand tight, his thumb caressed his fingers.

“Where’s your ring? He asked

“Hidden in my room.”

“Hidden?” He asked confused. “Why are.. you hiding it?”

“The docs took it off and I didn’t want to put it back on yet. Not until you’re better and we can tell everyone together.” He lifted Tommys hand up to kiss his knuckles.

“You.. don’t have to.. wait.”

“Yes I do. This is an important moment for both of us. So both of us should be part of it. It’s okay though, we have plenty of time. Just need you to get better first.” Tommy reached up again and cupped Bucks face.

“I can’t wait to marry you, Evan Buckley.”

“I can’t wait to marry you either.”

[prismaticfaery]

Summary: Some comfort scenarios for a few of our Modern Warfare boys! Might post a part two for Ghost and Graves soon because omg this was fun.

TW: Mentions of some sickness, hurt, death, and depression!

Rating: T+

A/N: I hope you enjoy this! If you have any requests, check out the pinned post on my page! Love you all!

König:

It was an especially nasty day, droplets of rain and sleet hitting the glazed window overlooking the street. You sat quietly on the nook of the windowsill, a fluffy blanket covering you from the waist down, your fingers interlaced between themselves as your eyes followed the droplets that slid down the glass. Days like this made the world feel slow and the atmosphere of your new apartment was quiet, almost muffled. 

Boxes sat around the new apartment, but you were having trouble unpacking them after your big move a few days prior. Your partner happily supported putting things away at your pace, even asking if you’d needed his help setting anything up, to which you had shook your head, turning his offer down with a small smile and a “thank you, though”. 

Speaking of your partner, you hadn’t heard from him in quite some time. He mentioned stepping out to take trash outside, but that was a while ago at this point. 

“König?” You called out for him, but there was no answer. 

Just as you begin to take the blanket off of yourself, the front door swings open, the large form of your sweet partner’s body stood there with two coffee cups in his hands, and a paper bag resting inside the bend of his elbow. He kicked his wet combat boots off immediately, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind him.

“My love!” His voice went up an octave behind his black surgical mask, no smile was visible of course but his crystal blue eyes showed so much emotion that it warmed your heart. 

“I was curious where you had gone off to,” you laugh, crossing your legs and placing your hands in your lap. 

The mountain of a man walked over to your spot on the windowsill, sitting next to you and handing you one of the cups of coffee he was holding, ”well, I wanted to get you something to warm you up, it’s a cold day. Plus, you can never go wrong with fresh, warm pastries in Vienna,” he rustled through the paper bag, pulling out a still warm apple strudel. 

Holding out the pastry for you to take, you thank him, splitting off a piece to eat immediately. König watched as you indulged in the sweet, but caught the somber look on your face when you looked out into the new living room, seemingly overwhelmed as you spot the boxes that have yet to be unpacked. Shrugging his raincoat off, König placed it softly on the wooden floors. Scooting over to you on the windowsill, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing your head to rest on his chest. 

“I know that this is overwhelming— moving to a new country, and having to unpack so much, but you don’t have to do any of this alone.”

“I know, I just don’t know where to start,” you sigh, placing your hand on his much larger one. 

Grasping your hand in his, he gave a reassuring squeeze, ”I can give you a head start.”

“Okay.”

Keegan:

It was often that the familiar line of “I’m sorry” had to be delivered, especially in your line of work. You had to say it almost every time you came back from a mission, your hands curled into balls, the white free edge of your nails digging into the plush flesh of your palms. You would give the recipients anything and everything you could from their deceased loved one— a patch, dog tags, whatever. 

This is what being a Ghost was like— you were an elite soldier but not immortal unfortunately. Your numbers had been dwindling quickly, and the promise of new recruits was not in the books often. 

You were accompanying a squad of five, one being the person to lead you, Keegan, then three other Ghosts and you, a medic. One of your squadmates had met their end in chasing down someone of importance in the Federation. Ghosts needed more information to press forward with matters. 

The breath in your throat had turned to smog, choking you as you stood covered in blood, your worn hands shaking, clutching a patch from the fallen squadmate. Their wife stood with her hands outstretched and ready to receive the patch, tears welling in her eyes and soon pouring down her reddened cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” your voice shakes, but not enough for it to be noticed by the grieving woman. 

That night, you locked yourself away in the med bay, your hands still crusted in dried blood, the brick red substance serving as a reminder that you couldn’t do more to help your teammate. 

“Ajax said you were here,” the familiar voice of Keegan came from the doorway, his steel blue eyes fixed on you sitting on the circular rolling chair. 

Making his way to your spot, his eyes never left your form. He had long since changed out of his field clothing and stood wearing his casual fatigues, camo pants and a black t-shirt. 

“Let’s get that blood off of you before you get an infection,” he grabs your forearms, and pulls you up onto your feet. 

You silently follow him to the stainless steel sink at the counter, the water faucet turned to its hottest temperature. He grabs paper towels and soaks them, bringing them up to your trembling hands, the sticky red stains slowly coming out. 

“You did all you could,” Keegan’s hands worked quickly, rubbing your hands under the running water now, the hot water soothing away all of the tenseness in your body. 

“I could have done more,” you speak up over the running water, a sigh heaving from your lips. 

“Don’t speak nonsense, Y/N. You’re damn good at what you do, their wounds were not able to be treated so far from base,” Keegan turns the faucet off and hands you dry paper towels. 

The taller male reaches his hand out to place on your shoulder, close to your neck, giving you a reassuring squeeze before pulling you to his hard chest, his arms engulfed you in an embrace, the side of your head resting on his pecs. You could hear his heartbeat clearly as he tangled his calloused fingers in your hair. 

“Thank you,” you wrap your arms around him, the doubts and the negative feelings that swam in your brain soon melting away slowly. 

Alex:

“You have a fever.”

“No I don’t, I’m fine,” you sniffle, your body shivering under the blanket that was wrapped around your shoulders. 

Earlier on in the morning, you woke up feeling absolutely horrid. Your body ached, your head pounding, and your nose so stuffed that you could hardly breathe. Then the chills and the cold sweats started. Your partner told you that the flu was making its way around but you absolutely refused to believe you were even sick. 

Hunched over, you rub the sleep that was still heavy in your eyes, the exhaustion of the fever washing over your body in a sudden wave. The morning sun’s rays came through the white curtains and landed on the glass coffee table in front of you, sparkling and radiating prisms on the rug below. 

“I never get sick,” you whine, curling up like a little lump on the couch. 

“Well, the thermometer isn’t lying,” your partner, Alex, holds up the thermometer, pointing to the screen that reads: “102.6F”.

Alex had forced you to eat and take medication to help with the aches and fever, and as much as you weren’t wanting to eat, you had gotten that disappointed Alex look that knocked you into submission immediately— like a mother giving her child a look to get them to cooperate in a social setting without verbally saying a thing. Needless to say, you ate your whole bowl of homemade oatmeal with the cinnamon apples Alex sautéed just for you. You know what they say about “an apple a day”.

“Can you just cuddle me? I just want cuddles,” you reach your arms out, using grabby hands to express your need.

“The flu’s made you so needy,” Alex laughs, scooting closer to your spot on the couch. 

Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, you let out a content sigh, although with how stuffy your nose was, it was sounding more like a pitiful wheeze. Alex laughs, his face burying into the crook of your neck as he gets himself more comfortable. You roll your eyes, wrapping him up inside the Sherpa blanket with you and bringing him down with you to lay his head on your chest. 

“You’re really sweaty— it’s like a furnace in here,” he flaps the blanket out to release some of the heat. 

“You know you like it,” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, sucking in a deep sniffle. 

“Oh, you bet I do.”

You go quiet for a moment as Alex’s head rests on your chest, his upper body settled in between your thighs. Absentmindedly, you ran your fingers through his fluffy auburn hair, looking up at the ceiling fan twirling above you both, cool air circulating inside the small living room of your shared apartment. 

“I hate being sick.”

“Oh, now you’re admitting you’re sick,” Alex moves his head to rest his chin on your chest, his baby blue eyes looking into yours. 

“Mm, maybe,” your words sounded nasally and you wince as your voice cracks,”can you make me tea with honey?”

“Anything for the sick person.”

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The group investigates the case of a maniacal ghost inhabiting a long abandoned Texas farmhouse known as `Hell House'. They believe the ghost is the spirit of a deceased depression-era farmer who killed his family, but they soon realise it is something far more powerful.

Warnings: Cannon violence, mentions of suicide and sh within the cannon story, a guy being a little icky.

Credit: While I’ve had the idea for a certain part of this story for a while i’m still going to give credit to @arjwrites for it because she wrote something pretty darn similar, even more than just pretty darn so yes check their work out and stuff.

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred

Word Count: 11,341

Hell House

(Masterlist, Previous Ch, Next Ch, Outfit Board)

The Impala cruises down the interstate, yellows, and browns passing by as the hot Texas sun beams through the opened windows. Hair blowing back in the wind and tickling my skin, my sunglasses perched on my nose as I nod along to the Blue Öyster Cult song that played quietly on the radio. If Sam wasn’t peacefully sleeping, head leaning far back against his seat and mouth hanging open I’d ask Dean to make the song louder—it was a really good song though I prefer (Don’t Fear) The Reaper over Fire of Unknown Origin any day.

Dean stretches an arm back, leaning over the seat to grab hold of a stray plastic spoon left on the seat beside me. He places the spoon in Sam’s open mouth. He chuckles to himself as he thumbs through his pocket for his phone, flipping it open and taking a photo. I scuff and roll my eyes at the sight as my hand finds its way into my bag where I pull out my digital camera, “Do a pose,” I whisper to Dean. He checks the empty road in front of him, slowing the car significantly before half turning and spilling widely with a thumbs up, I try not to laugh as I take the picture. I nod to him in confirmation that I got it, he puts his attention back on the road, putting more pressure on the gas pedal, glimpsing at Sam to make sure he’s still asleep before his fingers find the knob on the radio and turn the music all the way up. “Fire of unknown origins…took my baby away!” he sings loudly.

Sam jerks awake, arms flailing around in panic as he spits out the spoon. Dean air drums along to the song, fingers hitting the steering wheel, grinning as Sam wipes his mouth of drool. He turns down the music, an unamused look on his face, “Ha ha, very funny.”

Dean chuckles, “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man we’re not kids anymore, Dean,” he complains, “We’re not going to start that crap up again.”

“Start what up?” Dean asks, feigning innocence.

“That prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates,” he clarifies, very annoyed with the little prank. But he was right, it did always escalate. I have heard many stories of the things they did and they were not pretty. As long as I didn’t get caught in the crossfire, they could go at it all they wanted, “But you’re never too old to do stupid things,” I add.

“Aw, what’s the matter Sammy, scared you’re going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?” Dean teases, grinning like a madman.

“Alright, just remember you started it,” Sam warns, smirking right back.

“Bring it on, baldy,” he taunted.

“Ok, but don’t make him bald again, that would be so tragic. Every guy with pretty hair gets a buzz cut and it’s like an angel lost its wings, it’s horrible,” I butt in.

“That’s the point,” Dean chuckles, probably reminiscing on the first time he did it to Sam and how much worse it would be now as an adult than when he was a kid. “Anyways where are we?” Sam asks, apparently not worried about the danger surrounding his hair.

“A few hours outside of Richardson,” he answers, “Gimme the lowdown again?”

Sam pulls out the file he created, printed papers neatly held in a manila folder, “Alright, about a month or two ago this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?” Dean asks.

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit,” he answers. I sigh, these kinds of spirits made for an incredibly annoying job, “Why are they always misogynistic? Literally, go kill anyone else! Or, spice it up and kill guys too.”

“Take that up with the spirit,” Dean says.

“Yeah, no thanks, I like living,” I retort with a smirk.

“Well, legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters,” Sam continues, “Anyway this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?” Dean asks, also getting back on track.

“Well, that’s the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains,” Sam elaborates.

“Do you think they were?” I question, it wouldn’t be the first time kids lied about this sort of thing as a prank or for attention and coverage, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But, on the other hand, if you're looking for something to happen in a known haunted location there’s a good chance you’ll get something. “Maybe, but I read a couple of the kid's first-hand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere,” he answers.

“They made the papers?” I ask, taken aback a little. Though it made sense for the case to likely make the papers, it would be surprising for accounts like that to be taken in main news articles, it’d be seen as a waste of time. “No,” Sam responds without making a sign he would elaborate.

“Where’d you read these accounts?” Dean pushes. Sam smiles, his cheeks just turning the slightest shade of pink, “Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local…” he drags before getting the rest out quickly, “paranormal websites. And I found one.”

I give him a questioning look, it’s hard to take those sites seriously, especially when it's hard to weed out the crazies from real accounts. But even more than that, in the case such sites are speaking the truth, then it was putting said people in danger they wouldn’t know how to solve, which meant a whole lot of stubborn and ignorant people. “And what’s it called?” Dean asks, smirking as if he knew where this would lead.

“HellHoundsLair.com,” Sam almost mumbles, obviously knowing how illegitimate and silly it sounds.

“Lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom’s basement,” Dean muses, and like any sane person I can’t help the laugh that escapes my chest. Sam, somehow, manages to just grin, “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn’t know a ghost if it bit ‘em in the persqueeter,” Dean adds.

“What’s a persqueeter?” I ask, the word slow and clumsy on my tongue. My eyes squint slightly as I try to figure it out. “It’s a—“ Sam cuts him off, “That’s not important right now,” he starts and I frown at not getting my answer, “Look. We let Dad take off. Which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don’t know where the hell he is, so in the meantime we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There’s no harm checking this thing out.”

“Alright,” Dean gives in, “So where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

Guy 1: “It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life, I swear to God.”

Guy 2: “From the moment we walked in, the walls were painted black.”

Guy 1: “Red.”

Girl: “I think it was blood.”

Guy 1: “All these freaky symbols.”

Guy 2: “Crosses and stars and…”

Guy 1: “Pentagons.”

Guy 2: “Pentacostals.”

Girl: “Whatever I had my eyes closed the whole time.”

Guy 1: “But I can damn sure tell you this much. No matter what anybody else says…”

Girl: “That poor girl.”

Guy 2: “With the black…”

Guy 1: “Blonde…”

Girl: “Red hair, just hanging there.”

Guy 1: “Kicking!”

Guy 2: “Without even moving!”

Girl: “She was real.”

Guy 1: “One hundred percent.”

Guy 2: “And kinda hot. Well, you know, in a dead sort of way.”

“Okay!” I exclaim, “And there’s the necrophilia!”

“And…how’d you find out about this place anyway?” Sam asks.

“Craig.”

“Craig.”

“Craig took us.”

I prop my sunglasses on top of my head, pushing some of my hair back from my face, as we walk into the record shop ‘Craig’ works. Considering each person's answer, and how they hardly matched up, I couldn’t even fathom what Craig would tell us. But in all fairness their responses, while…odd, did make sense considering there are about eight things that affect the observation of an eyewitness.

The bell above the door once more as it closes behind us. Whether Craig would be helpful didn’t take away from the beauty of this record shop, the stands filled to the brim with all sorts of vinyls neatly sorted into separate genres. “Fellas,” a spiky-haired brunette greets from behind the counter, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?” Sam asks as we move closer. “I am,” he confirms.

“Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News,” Dean begins, “I’m Dean, this is Sam and Y/N.”

“No way. Well, I’m a writer too. I write for my school’s lit magazine,” Craig informs.

“Well, good for you Morrissey,” Dean remarks a little rudely. I ignore his comment, hoping it won’t discourage him from speaking with us, “So, we’re writing an article on local hauntings and we heard you would be someone to talk to.”

“‘You mean the Hell House?” he asks.

“That’s the one,” Dean answers.

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story,” he admits and frankly he has a right to be suspicious. “Why don’t you tell us the story?” Sam suggests.

“Well, supposedly back in the ‘30s this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn’t have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end,”

“How?” Sam pushes.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quickly, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung ‘em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished he turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside,” he explains.

“Where’d you hear all this?” Dean asks the logical question.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it,” he answers, his expression dropping a little, “Ya gotta realize, I–I didn’t believe this for a second.”

“But now you do,” Sam finishes, giving him an understanding nod.

“I don’t know what the hell to think, man. You guys, I–I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don’t wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

******

Mud sloshes beneath my shoes as we walk up the muddy path to the dark-wooded house. It was a simple house with a rickety porch in the middle of nowhere. “Can’t say I blame the kid,” Sam comments.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal,” Dean jokes.

We soon split up, taking a little peek around the bleak property for anything at all. Sam and I meet up halfway and walk back to the front, meeting up with Dean and his EMF reader. “You got something there?” I ask, playfully nudging into him. He taps the reader, the EMF level not changing, “Yeah, the EMF’s no good.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Maybe you need another walkman to toy with,” I guess, only half teasing. His green eyes shoot to mine, “This baby’s foolproof, nothin’ wrong with it,” he defends.

“Mm,” I hum, “Then why is it ‘no good’ now?”

He gestures upwards, my eyes following the overhead power lines, “I think that thing’s still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing with all the readings.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Sam agrees.

“See!” he wiggles the EMF reader in front of my face, a wide smile curling on my lips, “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

I place a hand over his, pushing his hand and the reader down from my face, “Sorry! I just think your whole DIY thingy is adorable,” I laugh.

“It’s not adorable. It’s genius,” he defends.

“Fine, it’s adorably genius,” I correct, having a hard time keeping the stupid smile off my face.

“You two ready to go?” Sam asks. I turn towards him, his arms crossed over his chest, and his lips pursed together in that silly, sassy way he does it. I know what he’s insinuating by the way he says it and the way he’s impatiently waiting. But, I don’t want nor need him to bring that up again, let alone now, so I respond, “Born ready.” Before moving away from Dean and stepping up on the porch, my hand reaches for the doorknob.

I turn the knob and push the door open, letting more light crawl into the dark home. The sunlight creeps along the floor, stretching its arm as far as it can reach inside. The walls are a grayish-blue wallpaper littered with graffiti and the occasional hole, the windows are broken but the soft yellow glow of the sun still makes itself known through the plastic wrap covering it. There’s still some furniture left behind, an old red chaise sofa pushed to the wall, a fallen tree lying in front of it. Quite the house. But, it’s clear it was beautiful once, and in some odd way, perhaps it still is. “Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger here in his time,” Dean whistles.

“And after his time too. That reverse cross had been used by Satanists for centuries but this sigil of silver didn’t show up in San Francisco until the ‘60s,” Sam informs, pointing at a painted cross with a circle around it.

“That is exactly why you never get laid,” Dean comments, staring at his brother.

“That is a very weird thing to say,” I reply as Sam takes a photo of the sigil, “And that was a very fun fact.”

Dean shrugs, moving to another wall, “Than—“ Sam tries to say as his brother cuts him off, “Hey, what about this one, you seen this one before?” He gestures to a symbol of a cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “No,” he says simply.

“Me neither,” I shake my head.

“I have,” Dean informs, “Somewhere.” Sam reaches out to the symbol, rubbing it, he pulls his hand away and looks at his now fingers, “It’s paint. Seems pretty fresh too.”

“I don’t know. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but….the cops may be right about this one,” Dean says. And while Dean was quite the skeptic when it came to whether cases would actually be our sort of cases, for him to say that, to even possibly agree with the authority was big. “Yeah, maybe,” Sam mumbles.

Then, suddenly there’s a rustling or shuffling noise from the next room over. Immediately we move into action. Dean grabs a hold of my wrist and pushes me beside him as he takes position near the door, Sam taking the other side of the door. Our backs flat against the wall, Dean nods his head at his brother before they burst through the door. Immediately, they stumble back, shielding their eyes from bright lights and the shouts of…two guys. I move in after them, moving around Dean to be involved in the seemingly unthreatening situation.

Two short guys decked out in all sorts of gear stand before us. “Oh, cut. It’s just a coupla humans,” the one with black hair scuffs, wearing huge goggles on his head—maybe night vision, and a studio light in hand . The other guy holding a camera switches it off. “What are you guys doing here?” night vision questions, eyeing us. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean shoots right back.

Night vision laughs, “We belong here, we’re professionals?” he answers as if it should’ve been obvious. However, the only obvious thing here was how stupid they looked. “Professional what?” I ask, somewhat confused. Night Vision smirks, reaching into one of the many pockets on his beige vest before pulling out a white card, “Paranormal Investigators,” he identifies, handing me his little card. I take it from him, looking at him skeptically, “There you go, take a look at that, beautiful,” his eyes sweep over my frame slowly, stopping too long at one too many areas. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Dean grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Wow,” I say plainly, “Ed Zeddmore,” the night vision guy nods his head in confirmation “and Harry Spengler, so professional they have their own business cards for their website,” I throw a look at Sam and Dean, “HellhoundsLair.”

“You guys run that website?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Ed smiles confidently, practically beaming in his boast.

“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re huge fans,” Dean says sarcastically, a stupid grin on his lips.

“And ah, we know who you guys are too,” Ed claims, all high and mighty. Once more I’m confused by this dude. “Oh yeah?” Sam challenges, looking at him sharply.

“Amateurs,” Ed explains and immediately Dean walks away in lost interest, rummaging through cabinets instead of really listening. “Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills,” he continues. I cross my arms across my chest, “Right…” I drawl sarcastically, “‘Cause I just love a cheap thrill.”

“I can give you an…ex-expensive thrill,” Ed winks smoothly despite the words coming out awkward and choppy. His eyes drop to my breasts that peek out from my top, staring at them like they’re the only things in the room. I grimace, cringing as I unfold my arms in hopes it will help…it doesn’t, “Oh…that’s not, um…no…”

“Well, if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here,” Harry speaks up.

“Yeah, what have you got so far?” Dean asks, sauntering back over.

“Harry, why doncha tell ‘em about EMF?” Ed suggests proudly, chin raised.

“Well…” Harry says before Sam cuts him off, “EMF?” He tries to keep a smile off his face as he clearly tries to play dumb. These poor guys.

“Electromagnetic field?” Harry responds like we’re idiots, “Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector,” he turns around to rummage through his backpack before producing the gadget, “Like this bad boy right here.” He turns the box on, adjusting the antenna. A knowing smirk crawls on Dean’s face, we obviously know they won’t see anything, at least not anything accurate. “Woa. Whoa. It’s 2.8mg,” Harry announces, eyebrows shot up.

“2.8,” Ed exclaims, “It’s hot in here.”

I have to bite my lip to keep my laughter back. Dean whistles in admiration, Sam remarking a “Wow,” with a hint of irony.

“Huh. So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…” Dean asks.

“Once,” Ed declares, “We were, uh…we were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table…”

“By itself,” Harry finishes, emphasizing it with a firm head movement. “Well, we, we, we, we didn’t actually see it, we heard it,” Ed backtracks, stumbling on his words, “And something like that..it uh…it changes you.”

“Mm, I’m sure it does,” I play. They were total idiots, they’d be lucky if they don’t get themselves killed. Dean nods, his voice bored and unamused, “Yeah. I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work”

“Yeah, you should,” Ed replies, crossing his arms clumsily across his chest. With his back turned towards the naïve boys, Dean widens his eyes at us, nodding his head towards the door in front of him. “Oh but, um,” Ed stammers, looking at me, “If you wanna stay we can show you the real deal.”

Sam and Dean seem to pause in the doorway. I try to hide my shock and disinterest behind a tight-lipped smile, “Oh…no thanks…” I spin around, more than ready to leave. But, just outside the doorway, I pause, spinning back around to end it with, “Seek happiness in tranquility, and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries.” I smile even as confusion falls upon their faces and when I turn back to my boys a similar expression graces theirs.

Yet, only as we descend the steps of the old house do they break. “Did you just quote Frankenstein to them?” Sam asks, his brows twisted with confusion as a boyish smile pulls at his lips. I skip down the last step, “Maybe…”

I catch Dean's eyes rolling, he mumbles something beneath his breath before mumbling just a little louder, “This is why I’m the only one who gets laid.”

Sam and I move as one, walking down the stairs of the library. Dean approaches us, his eyes flicking over us. “Hey,” Sam nods to him. “Hey. What you got?” Dean asks as we hit the last step.

“Well we couldn’t find a Morechai but we did find a Martin Murdock who lived in the house in the ‘30s,” Sam explains, summarizing our findings.

“And, he did have kids but only two of them, both boys, and there’s nothing on him killing anyone,” I add. Our findings only supported the theory that this was nothing more than a story, maybe it wasn’t our kind of job.

“Huh,” Dean hums, most likely thinking the same thing.

“What about you?” Sam asks as we approach the Impala. Dean rounds the car, speaking over the top of it, “Well those kids didn’t really give us a clear description of that dead girl but I did hit up the police station. No matching missing persons. It’s like she never existed. Dude, come on, we did our digging, this one’s a bust alright. For all we know those HellHound boys made up the whole thing.”

“I really hate to agree and blame this on faulty witnesses and a scary story, but…we really do got nothing,” I nod. I don’t know what those kids saw, maybe it was some sort of prank or being scared and seeing something that wasn't there, either way the story was likely made up.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam surprisingly agrees. He’s usually the one to be stubborn on this and see it out, or just have a feeling that we should see it out. So, for him to agree was more than confirmation. “I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals,” Dean suggests, a smile on his lips. He gets into the car, and before I can round the car Sam grabs my forearm mouthing a ‘just wait.’ I give him a confused look, brows furrowing, but he leans down to peer into the car through the window and instantly I know this is a prank.

I roll my eyes but I too peer through the window, might as well see the outcome. He turns the key in the ignition, and immediately Latina pop music blasts from the car, loud enough to hear clearly from the safety of outside the car. He jumps, his fingers fumbling for the key in the ignition but instead, the windshield wipers turn on. He shouts something but all we can see is the moving of his lips, the music too loud. He quickly reaches for the volume dial, hitting it the music ceases, his shoulders drop a bit as he hits off the windshield wipers too.

Finally, I round the car as Sam bursts out in laughter. I get in and a moment later Sam’s opening his door and sitting. He licks his finger and draws an imaginary ‘1’ in the air, then points to himself. Fire might as well have ignited in Dean's green eyes as he gives his brother the dirtiest look, “That’s all you got? Weak. That is bush league,” he challenges.

The early morning sun breaks the horizon, painting the sky a soft orange. The lights of emergency vehicles spin in colors of red and blue, police officers move around, a filled body bag being rolled away on a stretcher. We missed something.

“What happened?” Dean questions another bystander, there’s a small group of people that watch the scene from behind the yellow caution tape. “A coupla cops say a girl hung herself in the house,” the man answers.

“Suicide?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. She was a straight-A student, with a full ride to UT too. It just don’t make sense,” he explains and he’s right it doesn’t make any sense. Of course, you don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors, but to come to this specific run-down house with haunting rumors to kill yourself is odd. For whatever reason the man walks away, maybe leaving the scene after realizing there was no point in being here anymore. “Whaddaya think?” Sam asks, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

“I think we’re wrong about this not being our kind of job,” I answer, we must have missed something.

******

Darkness cloaks us as well as the thick bushes we crouch behind. We wouldn't be hiding if it wasn’t for the cop car parked outside the old house and the two cops standing around. “I guess the cops don’t want anyone else screwing around there,” Sam comments. It makes sense for them not to want stupid teenagers coming around or another teen to kill themselves here, as horrible as it sounds.

“Yeah but we still gotta get in there,” Dean responds. It’s why we were here, after all, try to figure out what we missed. The cops had been around the place all day, nighttime was supposed to be a clearing. A cool breeze rustles the leaves softly and chills my body, a contrast to the heat earlier in the day, I pull my sweatshirt closer in an attempt to fight off the coolness.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean grumbles randomly. I turn my head to follow his line of sight, and just a couple of feet away are the two idiots from before. They approach, decked out in all sorts of gadgets, more than before which I hadn’t thought possible. They whisper to themselves and shush each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started laughing in the way you do when you're trying to be quiet, and yet everything is suddenly funny. “You gotta be kidding,” I mumble.

“I got an idea,” Dean says. He rises slightly, turning towards the cops. He cups his hands around his mouth, “Who ya gonna call!” he shouts. Ed and Harry look around frantically, muttering to themselves, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Hey! you!” one of the cops shouts, eyes locked on the two boys before him and his partner heading straight for them. “Freeze!” the cop warns. But one of the nerds yelps a “run!” and they turn around quickly before hauling it. “Get back here. Hey,” the cops shout before following them. Our laughs blend together despite trying to hold them back. But we use this opportunity to make a break for the house, our shoes hitting the ground hard.

Quickly we get inside and immediately Sam is taking the duffle bag off his back, jumping straight into action. Dean and I take out our flashlights that were hidden in the waistband of our pants and concealed by our jackets. The lights of our flashlights go on, illuminating the dark home just enough.

Sam breaks out the rifles, handing one to each of us. The rock salt is already locked and loaded. “Where have I seen that symbol before? It’s killing me!” Dean exclaims, his flashlight hovering over the symbol of the cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “Come on, we don’t have much time,” Sam urges. There’s no saying when the cops would stop their chase and if they’d come to check inside.

We move through the house quickly until we find the basement, moving down the stairs just as fast. Racks of shelves practically take up the whole basement, rows of them. Each one dusty and cornered with cobwebs, all kinds of glass jars filled with questionable liquids. “Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this,” Dean says, holding up a particular jar filled with a pale red liquid of some sort. There was no way of knowing what that liquid or any of them are without a lab and some testing, which naturally we don’t have. “What the hell would I do that for?” Sam shoots back.

“…I double dare you,” he grins. Sam just shakes his head, going back to looking around. A rustling noise draws our attention towards a cabinet but before we can investigate it a rat pokes its head out, squeaking before running away. “I hate rats,” Dean grumbles, lifting his feet up as the rat scurries away.

“You’d rather it was a ghost?” Sam questions, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yes,” Dean deadpans. I roll my eyes moving forward, “Do you think these jars are old pickled stuff or, like, bodily fluid stuff?” I ask, casting a glance over my shoulder at Dean. But before I can take another step, I’m yanked back suddenly, my breath catching as the belt loop of my shorts is sharply tugged. In an instant, my back slams against Dean's chest just as the shelves in front of me crash down with a deafening shatter. An axe buries itself in the spot where I had just been standing.

The sound of gunfire explodes in the room as Sam fires off two shots at the spirit of the old farmer, but it does nothing to stop him. Heart pounding, I whip my gun up, the weight familiar in my hand. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, aiming at the spirit now dangerously close. Mordechai goes up in a mist, disappearing, “What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam exclaims.

“This one apparently!” I shout, moving from Dean's hold as he urges us towards the stairs. But Mordechai appears again, he smashes his axe down, catching the shelves and bringing the jars crashing down on Dean, glass shattering all around him as he goes down with it. My heart pounds in my ears, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I raise my gun, steadying my hands before taking my shot, rock salt explodes from the gun, hitting its mark but still doing nothing to the spirit. The spirit instead turns and charges at Sam. Shot after shot reverberates through the room emanating from Sam’s gun, “Go! Get outta here!!” Sam yells.

I rush towards Dean, shotgun hanging at my side. The glass crunches beneath my shoes as I pull Dean up, dragging him by his forearms. He grunts as he gets to his feet and if we weren’t being chased by a farmer ghost right now I’d take the time to dust the glass from his jacket. Instead, I grab hold of his hand and drag him behind me as I bolt for the stairs.

The axe seems to come down somewhere else in the room, electrical whizzing noises following it, but I ignore it as we shuffle up the stairs and be-line to the front door. We bolt out the door, caution tape breaking as Dean breaks through it, nearly stumbling down the steps.

A camera is immediately pushed into our faces, the nerds of course behind it, “Get that damn thing outta my face,” Dean commands, an arm raised to block its view.

I lay on my stomach on Sam’s bed which I’m temporarily stealing to research. An arm beneath my chin props my head up, my legs kicking slowly in the air back and forth, as I try to find any info on my laptop sitting in front of me. Dean sits on his bed, sketching something on a little notebook as his brother sits at the table with his laptop researching too.

“What the hell is this symbol? It’s buggin’ the hell outta me,” Dean grumbled, hitting the book down to his leg, “This whole damn job’s buggin’ me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks.”

“It does,” Sam confirms.

“All right. Well, I mean, that explains why it went after you guys, but why me?” Dean questions. I roll my eyes at his sneakily placed joke, if the legend was right then it should’ve only gone after me, jokes aside. “Hilarious,” Sam responds, “The legend also says he hung himself but did you see those slit wrists?”

“Yeah,” Dean says but I certainly missed it, though I was busy trying not to get chopped by an axe. “What’s up with that? And the axe too,” Sam points out, “I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

“But this mook keeps changing,” Dean adds. Sam types away on his laptop, the keys satisfyingly clicking, “Exactly.”

“Maybe we got a different breed of ghost here,” I suggest, throwing the idea out there even though it’s unlikely. Sam shakes his head, “I’m telling ya, the way the story goes—“ I peer at him over my laptop at his sudden stopping, his face scrunched, “Wait a minute,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site,” he informs, “Listen to this. ‘They say Mordechai Murdock was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he’s imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

“A story changing over time makes sense, like a game of telephone. But a spirit that changes with it?… Can they do that?” I ask.

Dean suddenly sits straight up, eyes locked on his drawing of the symbol we saw. “I don’t know,” Sam answers, then huffs as he leans back in his seat with his arms crossed against his chest, “Where the hell is this going?”

“I don’t know but I think I might have just figured out where it all started,” Dean announces

******

The bell above the door dings as we enter the empty record store, the only person there being a bored Craig. Good thing he’s working today. “Hey, Craig? Remember us?” Dean begins an unamused smile on his face.

“Guys, look I’m really not in the mood to answer any of your questions okay?” he responds looking deflated.

“Oh don’t worry. We’re just here to buy an album, that’s all,” Dean reassures. He saunters over to the ‘rock’ section of records, flicking through them until he finds what he wants. He lifts it out and up. “You know, I couldn’t figure out what that symbol was and then I realized that it doesn’t mean anything,” Dean explains, directing his words to Sam and I as we approach the counter, “It’s the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult.” He turns his attention to Craig, pressing the album record of Club Ninja onto the counter, “Tell me Craig, you, uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people?” The boy in question's face drops, his eyes dropping to the album before landing on Dean again. “Now why ‘n’t you tell us about that house…without lying through your ass this time,” Dean orders.

Craig sighs, “Alright, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted,” he explains, “So we painted symbols on the walls, some from some albums, some from some of Dana’s theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we…we made up some story to go along with it. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but…now that girl’s dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

“Alright right,” Sam says softly, ending the conversation. We have our information now, or at least a direction. None of it’s real and yet, somehow, it’s very real.

******

“There you go,” the nice barista smiles, handing over our drinks. Dean takes two of the coffees while I take my latte, “Thank you so much,” I beam, placing a nice tip in the little plastic jar.

We make our way to an empty table. Sam immediately pulls out his laptop, wiggling around in his seat and fixing his jeans with a grimace on his face. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Dean asks, calling him out.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he denies in the least convincing way ever.

“Are you sure?” I ask, eyes sweeping over him, “You look really uncomfortable.” But he just nods his head even as he adjusts himself one more time, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“So, ahh, alright keep going,” Dean moves on, “What about these Tulpas?”

“Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air,” Sam explains.

“What? So, they manifested it?” I ask. I know manifestation and intention are powerful things but for a whole being to come from it sounds bizarre. “Wait, I guess that makes sense considering that just the belief and fear people have and or give off in reaction to a spirit gives it more power,” I think out loud, answering my question.

“So?” Dean counters.

“That was 20 monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do. I mean Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard,” Sam elaborates.

“Does the HellHound site actually have that many people looking at it?” I question, I mean people believe whatever they see. And it’s not like these things don’t exist, it’s just that Ed and Harry certainly weren’t finding it. “Unfortunately,” Sam quips. That many people would be impressive if not for the idiots that are behind it all. “Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he’s real?” Dean speculates.

“I dunno, maybe” his brother answers, shifting in his seat like he or it’s uncomfortable.

“People believe in Santa Claus, how come I’m not getting hooked up every Christmas?” Dean points out.

“Cuz you’re a bad person,” Sam deadpans, replying a little too fast, “And because of this,” he turns his laptop around to show us a photo of a complex symbol, “That’s a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was.”

“Man, what are the chances of that?” I mumble.

“Now that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass,” Sam continues, ignoring my comment, “So people are on the HellHounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai…I mean, I don’t know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.”

“It would explain why he keeps changing,” Dean replies. Sam grimaces, adjusting himself again, one too many times for it not to be concerning, “Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like Y/N said before, it's like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn’t work.”

“So what does work?” I ask, “If that’s even a thing here.”

“Why don’t we just, uh, get this spirit sigil thingie off the wall and off the website?” Dean suggests.

“Well, it’s not that simple. You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own,” Sam explains. In conclusion, stupid teenagers draw random symbols on a wall to scare others, somehow choose one that uses belief, it becomes a big legend, scary fake farmer kills people, and it’s our problem now. The chances of all that genuinely have to be so low. “Great,” Dean remarks, “How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

Sam itches around his hips and shuffles in his seat again, “Well it’s not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.” He clicks on a couple of things before a video of last night plays, “Since they’ve posted the video their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.” God, I wish we could just hit them in the face so hard.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, “I got an idea. Come on.”

“You do?” I ask though that little glint in his eye is enough proof. “Where we going?” Sam adds.

“We gotta find a copy store,” he answers. We rise to go, grabbing our to-go cups of drinks and Sam grabs his laptop before itching and wiggling, “Man, I think I’m allergic to our soap or something,” he complains. A stupid grin stretches on Dean's face, laughing as he walks away. “You did this?” Sam says through clenched teeth. And if Dean's confusion to laughter isn't an answer then I don’t know what is. “You’re a fucking jerk!”

“That is some evil shit,” I comment. I don’t even know when he had time to pull his prank but it definitely beat the car thing Sam had pulled. “Oh yeah,” Dean smiles, satisfied.

******

“I think Y/N should be the one to bait them,” Sam reasons as we walk towards the trailer. Dean has his whole plan which requires fake papers, a copy machine, and some lying. What more could you want? “Do I have to?” I ask, “They’re, like, all weird.” But really I mean creepy or gross.

“Yeah, I can do it,” Dean defends.

“That’s the point though, they’ll listen to her ‘cause she’s a girl and those two look like they haven’t interacted with one before two days ago,” Sam explains. I laugh shortly, “Ha, they definitely didn’t, at least not a real-life one,” I then exhale, “Alright fine I’ll do it.” It’s not even a big deal to begin with to be fair.

We approach their trailer, a little garden flamingo standing tilted in the grass and a couple of foldable lounge chairs sitting about. Dean pounds on the door, fist-hitting it repeatedly. A squeal comes from inside before someone calls out, “Who is it?”

“Come on out here guys, we hear you in there,” Dean responds.

“It’s them,” one of them whisper-shouts, too bad we can hear them. But there’s a click and the door opens up a crack, both their heads squeezing to stick out the door. “Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging,” Dean remarks, looking right over their head to peer into their trailer, “What a shock.”

“Guys, we need to talk,” Sam starts.

“Yeah, um, sorry guys. We’re ahh, a little busy right now,” Ed responds, adjusting his glasses.

“Okay, well, we’ll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website,” Dean says bluntly.

Ed laughs, almost like a bark, “Man, you know, these guys got us busted last night, spent the night in a holding cell—“

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people. And I get stage fright,” Harry adds in, eyes jumping around like he’s paranoid or anxious.

“Uh..thanks for sharing that with us…?” I respond, smiling awkwardly.

“Well, why should we trust you guys?” Ed asks, crossing his arms.

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw last night, what’s in the house. But now thanks to your website there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai,” Sam explains.

Dean adding, “That’s right. Which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Ed nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “Ed maybe he’s got a point, maybe…” Harry adds softly.

“Nope…” Ed decides and Harry’s demeanor does a full 180 as he says “No,” too.

“Right, so you have no morals,” I conclude, “If—no, not even if, when someone gets hurt their blood’s on your hands.”

“We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth,” Ed defends.

“Well, I have an obligation to kick both of your little asses right now–” Dean threatens through clenched teeth.

“Dean,” I cut him off, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder, “It’s not worth it, god knows you can give ‘em one hit and they’d be crying back to their mommies. Hell, I could tell them that thing about Mordechai and it wouldn’t matter, they just don't care.”

“We should just leave,” Sam adds.

“Whoa…whoa…” the idiots say, interest peaked.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean gives in. With that, we turn back around and begin to walk away, purposely moving slowly. “What you say about…?” Ed asks, trailing after us. “Wait…Wait.” We turn back to them, an unamused look on my face. “What thing about Mordechai you guys?” Harry asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“Don’t tell ‘em,” Dean warns me.

“Not even if they agree to shut down the website?” I ask.

“They’re not going to do it, you said so yourself,” Dean reasons. I sigh, shaking my head, “You’re right.”

“No wait!” Ed rushes out, “Wait. Don’t listen to him, okay? We’ll do it. We’ll do it.” Like fishes on a hook getting reeled in.

“It’s a secret, Y/N,” Sam reminds, his voice as serious as can be. I look up at the two nerds, their eyes sparkling with intrigue, if they were dogs I'm sure their tails would be flicking behind them, “It’s a pretty big deal, you know. It wasn’t easy to find, so we really have to have your word. You have to promise you’ll shut it all down.”

“Totally,” Ed says. I pause a moment, eyeing them as if I’m really considering it before nodding at Dean. He pulls out some folded papers from the inside of his leather jacket, handing it over to them. “That’s a death certificate from the ‘30s,” I explain, “We found it at the library and according to the coroner the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That’s right, he didn’t hang or cut himself,” Dean confirms, emphasizing our “find.”

“He shot himself?” Ed asks, a little skeptical as he looks up from the paper. “Yup, it’s all right there,” I answer, “With a .45 pistol. To this day they say he’s terrified of them.”

“Matter of fact they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, it’ll kill the sonuvabitch,” Dean adds. They snicker like school girls, the apples of their cheeks brightening with their smiles. Harry spins and bolts it to their trailer, Ed moves more slowly as he follows behind as if he’s trying to play it cool. “Harry,” he mumbles through his teeth, “Slow your roll buddy. They’re gonna know we’re excited.”

“Dude!” I exclaim, laughing a bit as Dean pops a stolen fry into his mouth, “You just finished your food, leave my fries alone.” But he shrugs with that charming smile on his lips, his arm resting on the booth's top, practically stretching out. The golden crisp of oil goodness is hardly missed with a sight like this. He turns his attention to the woodwork of an old goofy fisherman holding a big fish, a string dangling from it. He reaches up and pulls the cord, the fisherman’s mouth moving up and down as it laughs this obnoxious laugh. I myself try not to laugh as I sip on my soda.

Sam reaches up and pulls the cord again, the laughing stopping immediately, “If you pull that string one more time I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens, looking up from his laptop. In all fairness Dean had pulled the cord at least twice already since we’ve sat down, and yet, to me, it was funny every single time. The kind of stupid humor or even stupidly contagious laugh that made you want to snicker. The threatened man across us deadpans, staring at his brother as he slowly reaches up and pulls the cord again. The fisherman barely has time to laugh himself before Sam is pulling it to stop, glaring at Dean. It's like a standoff. Dean snickers, “Come on man, you need more laughter in your life. You know you’re way too tense,” he reasons.

Not having it, Sam gives him a dirty look. Clearly not amused nor having any desire to be amused. Dean sighs, seemingly giving up on his conquest, “They post it yet?”

Sam turns his screen towards me, an easier thing to do then all away around, as he angrily stabs at what’s left of his salad. My eyes scan the screen, immediately landing on the new post, “‘We’ve learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock had a fatal fear of firearms’” I read and I have to admit their choice of words is awfully intelligent sounding, “Hey, look at us, we’re reputable sources,” I point out.

“Reputable copying machine,” Dean corrects a shit-eating grin on his lips. They had fallen into his exact plan, of course they wouldn’t shut down the website regardless of what they promised (good thing it wasn’t a pinkie promise), and of course they would take any information like starving dogs and post it as soon as possible. ‘Obligation to their fans, the truth’ as he had said. “Alright. How long do we wait?” Dean asks.

“Long enough for the new story to spread, and the legend to change,” Sam answers, “I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker.” He picks up his beer bottle and holds it up to us, taking the small victory we gently clink our drinks together in a silent ‘cheers.’ “Sweet,” Dean grins, the light reflecting off of the glass beer bottle, gleaming at its base as it’s tilted up to his lips. I’ve never really understood why one would drink before a hunt, not that one bottle would do anything to him of all people, yet, when his lips are on the rim that sort of thing doesn’t seem to matter. Another interesting thing, drinking has never looked so attractive as it does on him. But perhaps that’s the bias you have when you like someone, somehow everything becomes attractive.

The bottle finally clanks to the table, his hand still wrapped around it. But when he lets the bottle go his palm sticks to it, fingers stretched out he shakes his hand around like the bottle will fall off. It doesn’t. Sam loses it, cracking up even more as Dean says, “You didn’t.”

A little tube of super glue is raised up, “Oh, I did!” he laughs, pulling the cord this time, the fisherman laughs again.

“All I’m saying is as stupid as they are, I do feel bad for them, one of these days they’re gonna wind up dead,” I reason, walking with Sam the short distance back to his motel room.

“Yeah…” he shrugs, “But it’d be on them, I mean they haven’t ran off yet, not even after seeing Mordechai.”

I hum, absorbing his words, “That’s true.” The door is open just a little, like it didn’t close fully behind him when he had left to come get me from my room down the hall. I push open the door, “Do yo—“ my words die in my throat replaced with a gasp as cold water dumps on me. A bucket thumps to the floor, just barely missing my head. My hair and clothes drip as I ball my fists at my side, shock from the sudden cold still rattling in my bones as I shake slightly. “Dean?!” I scold.

“That was not meant for you,” he replies, eyes wide as he sits up in his bed.

I got caught in a prank meant for Sam. But didn’t he know Sam was getting me and that there was a chance that I would walk in first instead of him, which is exactly what had happened???!! I exhale, trying to rid myself of any frustration or annoyance. “I’m so sorry Y/N,” he adds.

I laugh, moving a wet piece of hair behind my ear, “You are so getting it.” My shirt clings to my skin, shoulders bunched up from the feeling. Sam chuckles behind me, I turn slowly towards him and immediately he tries to cover it with a hand over his mouth, “Oh you too Sam, you’re not safe. His hand and face drops, “Why me? I didn’t do it?!”

“No, you're right,” I nod, “But you’re part of the reason it happened, your little prank war.” I look between both boys, “You’re both gonna get it, you Winchesters better watch out,” I threaten. I huff moving past Sam, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go change before I start stripping in front of you two.”

“I mean—“ Dean calls out and I can hear the grin on his face before I yell back, “Don’t even think about it!” I shuffle off down the hallway, and only back in the safety of my motel room do I fix my situation. I snap my fingers and instantly it’s like nothing ever happened. There’s no need to change when I can do something like that, but what I can do in the privacy of my own room is think of how to get them back and execute it.

******

Early night cloaks the sky, the sun just barley below the horizon as we head to the Impala. A comfortable silence envelopes us. I stop before opening the back door of the Impala, crouching down to re-tie my shoe as they get into their respective sides of the car. The doors seem to shut in sync.

One, two, three, four, five. The doors are being shoved open and they tumble from the car coughing and covering their noses. I stand with a smirk as the smell of rotten eggs escapes the car. “What the hell?!” Dean yells. Sam reaches back into the car, pushing the seat forward to find the source. He fishes out a puffed up square, he holds it by the corner, “Really?”

“Oh, wow, how’d those get there?” I ask, folding my hands in front of me. He gives me a dirty look before throwing the fart bomb to the side. “Real childish,” Dean remarks, holding up his own puffed up fart bomb. “Which part?” I ask, “The pranks or putting fart bombs beneath each of your seats?”

“The bombs, dumbass,” he replies, throwing the little puffed square at me. I laugh, as it hits me in the chest, kicking it away when it hits the floor, “Childish and yet still funny.”

“Yeah if you think gas chambers are funny,” he mumbles.

Our guns are drawn, eyes sharp, brain and body on high alert now that we’re back in the house. The cops had been outside like the night before, but instead of using the idiot ghost hunters as bait Dean had used the stolen fisherman from the diner that he somehow stole. Its current home is now somewhere deep in the woods, a mechanism set up so that it consistently laughs. They were drawn into the forest like pirates drawn to sirens, except what they’ll find is not an attractive mermaid but an obnoxious fisherman.

“I barely have any skin left on my palm,” Dean comments.

“I’m not touching that line with a ten foot pole,” Sam mumbles.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, usually people say that about something. Like ‘I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole’ but there was nothing brought up regarding touching something. “He’s tryna lead us into an inappropriate joke.” Sam explains. The gears slowly turn in my head, cogs rotating trying to figure out what joke, “Oh! You mean masterbation!”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, and if he hadn’t had both hands trained on his gun I'm sure he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose like a disappointed father.

“So you think old Mordechai’s home?” Dean asks as he move into another room, switching topics.

“I don’t know.”

“Me either,” a voice suddenly says from behind. I spin swiftly around, gun trained.

“WOAH! WOAH!” Ed yells, him and his buddy shuffling back with their hands raised. I scuff, lowering my gun. And of course they’re decked out in their goofy gear. “What did I tell you?!” I exclaim, looking at Sam.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” he asks the doofuses.

“We’re just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?” Ed answers.

“Look, the only time you’ll ever be written about is when your obituaries are in the local newspapers,” I spit, not caring how harsh my words are. But Ed doesn’t look defeated or deflated, instead his eyes seem to sparkle, “You are so hot,” he says softly. I drag a hand down my face, sighing, “What part about any of this are you not getting?”

“Why I don’t have your number yet,” he answers. I shake my head, walking away. This is just ridiculous now. “Alright, that’s enough there buddy,” Dean says, placing a firm hand on the guy's shoulder.

Then, the sharp noise of metal on metal comes from behind a door but inches from us. The door to the basement. As if in sync, thinking the same thing, our guns are immediately raised, body and mind back on high alert. “Oh crap,” Ed mumbles and with some shuffling and shoving each other they wind up crowding behind us. Or cowering, if you will. “Uh guys, you wanna…you wanna open that door for us?” Ed asks.

“Why don’t you?” Dean remarks unamused.

Suddenly, the door bursts, wooden shards exploding everywhere as Mordechai bursts through the door holding his axe. Screams and gunshots clash together, the dissonance cracking the atmosphere. I pull the trigger over and over, working at the mechanics of the gun until the cartridge is empty, until there’s nothing left to give. It’s no surprise when the old farmer wavers and disappears into mist with the amount of bullets shot between the three of us, but the real question is did it work?

Once more, we seem to share the same mind as we reload our guns quickly, shoving bullets into the chamber before splitting up. It’s all wordless, movements and thoughts that have been implanted into our mind long before there was even a comprehension of the fact. Every part of my being is on high alert, eyes scanning the room for the spirit. I clear the dusty shell of a room I walk into when I hear a squeal.

Immediately I spin right back around, rushing into the room I stood in only moments ago. I nearly bump into Sam as we meet back in the room only to find Harry on the floor with a shattered camera in front of him. “Hey!” Dean shouts as he enters the room from the opposite side of us, “Didn’t you guys post that B.S. story we gave you?”

“Of course we did,” Ed defends, helping his friend off the floor.

“You know, that didn’t sound all that convincing,” I quip, looking at the destroyed camera. There was no saving that thing and I don’t think any amount of insurance would help it. “But then our server crashed,” Harry corrects.

“So it didn’t take? Dean asks, eyes a little frantic.

“Ummm,” they hum in unison, the noise high pitched as their eyes jump around the room to look anywhere but the gruff man across from them. “So these, these guns don’t work?” Dean laughs darkly, running a hand down his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ed breathes.

“Great,” he murmurs, “Sam, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Harry declares, no longer concerned with documenting the truth—not that they could. “Yeah. Come on,” Ed agrees. Harry grabs hold of Ed before they run past Dean into the next room. And not even a moment later does girlish screams come from that room.

Yet despite how annoying they are, and all the trouble they’ve caused, Sam and I follow after them. Mordechai corners them against the front door, the boys cower against the door screaming “The power of Christ compels you,” over and over, louder and louder. “HEY! Come and get it you ugly son of a bitch,” Sam taunts. And for whatever reason Mordechai turns and goes after him instead. Sam leads the spirit away from the boys giving me the time to move to the idiots at the door.

I motion for them to move and quickly they shuffle away. I grip the door handle and give it a hard pull, maybe using just a little power to give me more help. The cool breeze blows in as I hold it open for them, the shuffles and grunts of fighting close by, “Go!” I command, pointing out the door. They shove each other as they stumble onto the small porch, Ed turns back before they reach the first step, “So, is your number still on—“

“NO!” I shout, slamming the door in his face. I spin around only to find Sam pressed against the wall with the axe against his throat, pushed higher and higher off the ground until his feet dangle. Immediately I lift my gun and shoot one, two, three, four, five times, glad that the angle I occupy is viewing them at their side. Mordechai disappears in a mist once more, Sam falls to the ground holding his neck as he coughs, but this time I know the spirit isn’t gone for good.

Unfortunately I don’t leave room to ask if he’s okay as I swing around the nearest walkway, “Dean?!” I call, I don’t know where he went off to and I don’t want Mordechai to take advantage of him being alone. “Right here, sweetheart,” he answers, appearing from the next room over. He holds a little metal can of something and when he splashes it around the room as he approaches me I know it must be some flammable liquid.

He nudges me forward, forcing me around before leading me with a hand on my lower back. I move away from his touch to help Sam up from the ground. “Mordechai can’t leave the house, we can’t kill him—we improvise,” Dean explains, shaking what’s left of the can of kerosene.

“Arson…yay,” I answer, watching as he dumps the rest of the liquid. Just then Mordechai appears at the far end of the room, axe raised, he charges at us, “Go, go, go!” Dean directs. I follow after Sam, running to the front door. I hear the flick of the lighter, the clinking of it falling, and the swoosh of flames going up.

We make it outside and down the short steps just as the building quickly ignites in flames. It spreads quickly in the old house, orange and yellow brightening the darkness as the flames lick at the rotting wood. “That’s your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” Sam exclaims, rubbing at his neck.

“Well nobody will go in anymore,” Dean reasons, “I mean look, Mordechai can’t haunt a house if there’s no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty but it works.”

“Well what if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?” Sam counters.

“Well—well then we’ll just have to come back,” Dean stammers, clearly not having thought of that.

The flames consume the entirety of the house, at least it seems that way. It won’t be long till it’s nothing but ashes. The only thing that’ll be remembered is the legends of a man who did not exist, that is if people care to remember at all. And all the while the real story of Martin Murdock and his boys will continue to be forgotten by this town and history. “Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just cuz’ people believed in them,” Sam ponders, the words swirling in the air and lingering like the smoke filling the sky.

“I’d rather not think of that one,” I mumble. Our ‘job’ was complicated enough, it didn’t need another layer. We didn’t need another thing to keep us up at night.

The boys had decided to make a stop to see Ed and Harry before leaving town. I’m not really sure why, I certainly would’ve gone on just fine without saying a farewell. But, atlast we sit at a picnic table in the trailer park, the boys in question walking over with very full grocery bags. “Man, I got the munchies right now,” Ed comments, talking to his friend. Then, his attention turns to us as they stop at the table, “Gentlemen. Gentlelady,” he nods, and I have the suspicion that if he were wearing a hat he would’ve tipped it at us.

“Hey guys,” Sam greets with a simple smile.

“Should we tell ‘em?” Harry asks Ed, stupid smiles on their faces.

“Hey, might as well, you know, they’re going to read about it in the trades,” Ed points out, chin raised.

“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask, looking up at them. I can’t imagine what they’re gonna say. “So, this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer,” Harry tells us, pride dripping in his voice.

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” Dean remarks, ripping a laugh from my lips before I can stop it.

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the morton picture rights. Maybe even have us write it,” Ed boasts, shoving the stuffed grocery bags into their stuffed car, their trailer hitched to the back. “And create the RPG,” Harry adds.

“The what?” Dean asks.

“Role playing game,” I answer. Dean's eyes turn to me, confusion written in his irises, “What?” I defend, “Can’t a girl know things?”

“You know the lingo,” Ed admires, hearts practically shining in his eyes, “Anyhoo, ahhh, excuse us, we’re off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great,” Sam says.

“Yeah. That’s awesome, best of luck to you,” Dean adds. And it’s that that makes me suspicious. It didn’t seem like he had said it sarcastically and from how irritated they had made him I doubt he would mean such a thing sincerely. It’s fishy. “Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about talent. Sheer unabashed talent,” Ed corrects, chest puffed out. I decide to keep my comments to myself, let them have their delusions.

They hop into the overfilled car and start pulling off, “See ya ‘round,” Ed says from out the window, “Call me!” he adds, finger gunning at me. I cringe but ultimately ignore it, I will not be calling him or thinking of them in any degree. “Wow,” Dean exhales, standing up.

“I have a confession to make,” Sam declares, standing up too, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’d you do?” I ask, laughing.

“I, uh…I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer,” he confesses, a smile trying to pull on the corner of his lips. I can’t help but laugh. It’s certainly a cruel prank and yet so deserved. Dean laughs too, “Yeah, well I’m the one who put the dead fish in their back seat.” Sam joins in on the laughing too, it’s kind of hard not to with the ridiculousness of it all. “My god, you guys are evil,” I smile.

When the laughing dies down Sam says, “Truce?”

“Yeah truce,” Dean agrees, “At least for the next 100 miles.”

[luxios-chaotic-fucking-pokemon]

Hey there trainers! I’m Luxio! Yes, I know I’m named after the Pokémon, don’t even say it.

I was a big Pokémon trainer as a kid—although you can probably guess since I have an Eternatus on my team. I wouldn’t say I’m old now, I mean, I’m 22—but the whole “gotta catch ‘em all” thing has kinda slowed down for me.

Now I own a Pokémon Café! Maybe stop by sometime? And if you see a Pokémon you like there, you can adopt it! Aside from the Café, though, I do art as a sort of side-gig. What can I say, it’s fun!

Now, you might’ve noticed Spook doesn’t look like most gengar would. That’s because he’s an albino gengar! They’re very rare in the wild, but there’s always a chance you’ll find one! Albino gengar are notorious for their unique fur patterns, which are invisible on regular and shiny gengar. Spook is also a mini Pokémon! So he’s fun sized!

Oh, and don’t mind Creampuff, they’re a sweetheart! In fact, they wouldn’t hurt a Pidgey! They actually have the more timid personality, so they’re usually a lot more scared of you than you are of it. Creampuff definitely has separation anxiety as well, which I’ve been trying to work on.

(Under the cut is some OOC stuff)

Here’s Luxio’s and Spook’s reference sheets!

And also Luxio’s motorcycle

And I’ll give some information about the other Pokémon (that aren’t Creampuff and Spook): Momma was found mourning the loss of her deceased baby, which had apparently been killed by either a careless trainer or… well, not a nice person. Luxio soothed her and brought her home, introducing her to Nico.

Nico had previously been found in the café’s dumpster, trying to find anything edible. That’s when one of the employees caught him and brought him to Luxio, who took him in.

Momma, after being introduced to Nico, immediately decided to adopt him and take him as her own. Nico was, quite frankly, ecstatic to have an adopted mother. This improved both of their mental healths significantly.

Spaghetti-o’s was found in a dark cave, and Luxio promptly caught it. It’s very fond of alphabet soup and anything that’s shaped like its own kind. It’s very sensitive to light and usually prefers to stay within its Pokéball unless the environment is nice and dark, damp, and cool.

Grilled Cheese The Third (or Cheese, for short) has been with Luxio since she started out. Luxio had thought the name was funny when Cheese was just a little Houndour. Cheese, despite being older now, is still just as energetic as she was when she was a puppy. She also really likes instigating and bothering the less-social Pokémon. Cheese has also tried to eat a few Joltik, but that didn’t end well in her favor (she got zapped, lmfao).

Now, here’s some info about the owner of this account!

My main blog is @autistic-gay-men-kissing and my art blog is @gothys-art-n-stuff. I’m also on ArtFight 👀

I go by he/him, I’m genderfluid, pansexual, and polyamorous (basically the same as Luxio LMFAO). I’m also a Hellenic Pagan, so there’s a fun fact for you <3 hope you guys like this blog and my OC’s story!!

tagging @realpokemon

Also, EVERYTHING IS ON!! Yippee!!

and for those on ArtFight, here’s Luxio!! Spook is on there too

hey I also do comms

[gabessquishytum]

okay the ushy gushy pussy Dream thing is ruining me so i have to!!!

just imagine that when Dream and Hob get together Hob knows about Dream being trapped for a century and is totally fine with Taking Things Slow. holding hands, having dinner, after a few dates they end up cuddling on the couch

and maybe Dream overestimated his own patience because he's leaning against Hob's side, warm and comfortable and all he really wants is a kiss

(a lot of kisses, maybe)

naturally, Hob obliges

and he keeps his promise! it's slow and thorough, his hands rubbing over Dream's side and back in soft, tender circles, never even threatening to slide beneath Dream's shirt. absolutely what Dream needs after being cold and lonely for so long

which is maybe why barely five minutes later he's hard and aching in his jeans

but that's a little humiliating, isn't it? sure, Dream wants Hob to know that he's enjoying it, but he should stil have some self-control. so he can't press closer, lest Hob feels his erection

unless he gives himself a cunt, of course

no danger of Hob noticing with that

it still takes an embarrassing effort to focus enough to do so because Hob is still kissing him with single-minded focus (seriously, even his daydreams aren't straying farther ahead, it's just Dream, Dream, Dream right there on the couch) to switch things around but once it's done, Dream can slide onto Hob's lap without poking him by accident

when Hob eventually has to pull away to catch his breath, he pulls Dream along so Dream's face rests against his shoulder

10/10 cuddling position. his throat is warm, Hob smells like pine and smoke and also of the chocolate he'd tried to feed Dream. his arms are wrapped around Dream and he's propped his leg up so Dream has a more comfortable perch

Dream shifts his hips just to press closer

which is the moment he notices that his jeans are soaked through

to mid thigh

and Hob's where he's sitting are too

Hnnhggnhhgnnhhnnnhhnn am dead. Dead. Deceased.

The worst part is that Dream pulls back just in time to see Hob’s face go through a series of expressions. Confusion. Acceptance. Pity? Dream wants to launch himself into the sun. He seriously considers it, but Hob’s hands clamp down on him and it feels very difficult to leave all of a sudden.

Meanwhile, Hob is having a very confusing time. He automatically assumes that Dream might have had an accident - and that’s ok, Hob’s been peed on before, he’s not even opposed to it being a sexy thing. But he soon recognises that the fluid isn’t urine. What is it, then? As Hob puzzles it out, Dreams eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, oh sweetheart.” Hob cooes to him, holding him tightly. “It’s ok, darling! You must be so worked up. I’m sorry I didn’t realise it. Your poor cunt must be aching. Will you let me take care of you?”

Dream squirms, unwilling to let go of the feeling of deep humiliation. He can’t believe that Hob is taking it so well! He was expecting to be laughed at and pushed away. Instead, Hob’s hand is rubbing against the crotch of his jeans and making him even more wet!

“You can take your pleasure from my hand, my love. I’ll be a good toy for you. It’ll take the edge off and you’ll feel so much better.” Hob is so gentle, coaxing Dream to rut his clothed pussy against him. He’s still a little weepy but mostly he’s so turned on, so enamoured by the way Hob looks at him. Like he’s something incredible to be worshipped.

When Dream cums, he soaks the couch… and that’s just the first of many orgasms that Hob intends to give him. Hob has a new kink, and it comes in the form of Dream’s beautiful, magnificently wet pussy. And he fully intends to show Dream that he has nothing to be ashamed of (maybe a towel would be good, though).

[topguncortez]

Bad Medicine | Chapter 5

previous part | Masterlist | Next Part

synopsis: A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good.MAJOR SLOW BURN (ENEMIES TO LOVERS)

word count: 4.8k

WARNINGS: drugs, guns, stripping, violence, abuse, fighting, prostitution, blood, alcohol usage, mentions of sexual assault, torture, death, cops, stalking, description of gruesome injuries.

Dante Soto was a fearless leader. The gang he ran was ruthless, a bunch of outlaws. Dante ruled his land with an iron fist, and wasn’t one to let things slip up and get messy. That’s what Jake admired about him. Dante was the one who offered Jake a partnership, promising to expand the Seresin gun business. Except, he was never true on his word. Jake had tried countless times to get in touch with Dante, and have a civilized meeting, but finally was fed up with the Outlaw’s antics. Jake had ordered the destruction of several of the Soto stock houses, destroying drugs, and guns. Jake knew the relation that would fall on his back, but he never expected Dante to drop dead bodies, literally, on his doorstep.

“Dante is smart,” Bob said, walking into Jake’s office, a folder in his hand, “But I’m smarter,” He smirked, “He’s been hiding at his side chick’s house, she lives down in Encinitas. Mickey says he’s a hot commodity with ATF.” 

“We can’t all be super geniuses like you, Bobby,” Jake said, taking the folder from his friend. His green eyes scanned the surveillance photos that Bob had pulled, along with documents and records of where Dante had been, “Put a sight on him?” 

“Of course, I told Rooster we’d talk about it when they get back. They should be back soon,” Bob reported, “Javy said she found a dress.”

“Lovely.” Jake deadpanned, not looking up from the folder. Bob rolled his eyes and Jake looked up at him slowly, “I’m good, you can go.”

Bob sighed, “Try to be nice to her. She’s been through a lot.” 

“Just because she’s fucking damaged goods doesn’t mean I have to treat her with respect.” Jake spat, “I just want the guns to expand, and the fucking money. I could care less about marrying the Don of Italy’s fucking daughter. Thanks for the info Robert, you’re free to go.” 

Bob didn’t say anything as he walked out of the office, his head hung low. His relationship with Jake had become strained in the past couple years. He was a lot closer to Rooster out of all of them, confiding in his best friend during fights with the man he once considered a brother. Javy and Jake always pushed Bob the hardest, trying to make him tougher. Bob hated it. He hated every aspect of the life that was forced upon him. Sure the clubs, the drugs, the money and the women were a bonus. But having to take another person’s life had kept him up at night. Bob could remember the first time he had to kill someone, the imagery forever ingrained in his mind, playing over and over like a broken record every time he closed his eyes. 

Jake placed the folder on his desk, looking over the pictures, making notes on them. He scanned closely, looking at the cars, the street signs, the house markers, anything that would give away what Dante had been up to. He sighed, pushing the folder away and leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his chin as his eyes fell to the locked bottom drawer of his desk. He leaned forward, hitting a button under his desk to open the drawer. His hand pulled out the manila envelope, opening it, and pulling out the images hidden inside. 

“Sick fuck. . .” Jake whispered to himself, taking in the gruesome images of his future wife and his deceased mother-in-law. 

Jake only knew the information that everyone else in the mafia world knew about Francisco Solano. He was the oldest boy in his family, inheriting his father’s fortune and failing empire. Francisco’s father had set it up for him to work for Rafael Santiago, and that’s how he met Y/N. When she moved to New York, he came with, telling her that he was working at one of his father’s businesses in the city. She liked having someone from home around to hang out with. Their relationship went from platonic to romantic quickly. Every picture that graced the front page of tabloids showed two loved up people. 

Everything between them was picture perfect, until it wasn’t. No one really knew the horror of what happened that night between Francisco and Y/N, but the images staring back at Jake were enough to give him an insight. 

Her clothes had been torn, hardly covering her body. Every inch of tan skin was covered in blood and bruises. Stab wounds littered her body, varying in sizes. His eyes scanned the picture of her ribs, some clearly broken, and the bright red burned letters in her skin. Jake felt sick seeing the pictures of her broken jaw and eye socket. The written description of her injuries was even worse. Jake couldn’t even finish reading the doctor's notes when he slammed the folder shut, throwing it on his desk. He ran his hands over his face, he felt like he needed therapy just reading and looking at everything. 

“Knock, knock,” A sultry voice sounded out, as the door to his office opened. 

“God, why do you hate me,” Jake whispered, his eyes looking up at the ceiling. He looked over at the entry, as Isabella walked in. The dress she wore left little to the imagination, showing off her legs. The deep V cut showed off almost too much cleavage as she moved over to the desk, standing in front of it.

“Where have you been, daddy? I miss you,” Isabella said in a silky sweet voice that usually turned Jake on, but right now it made him want to vomit. 

“I didn’t miss you,” Jake responded. 

“Don’t be like that,” Isabella purred, moving over to him, “Let me make you feel better. Bobby said you looked stressed.” 

“Don’t call him that.” Jake said back to her, and put his hand on her throat. She smirked at him, biting her lip and rubbing her thighs together. Jake could hear the slam of a car door and he smirked, “Go wait upstairs. Main bedroom, I’ll be there soon.” 

“Any other requests?” 

“Naked. On all fours, ass up.”

Isabella nodded and Jake let her go. She quickly ran out the door, disappearing into the main bedroom as the front door opened. Rooster held the black and white dress bag, as Javy led them through the door. Reuben and Y/N were in a discussion about what type of flowers she should order. Bob walked into the foyer, greeting them with some file in his hand.

“Hey! How was it? When do we get to see the dress?” Bob asked, walking up to give Y/N a hug. 

“On the wedding day,” Y/N answered, hugging him briefly. 

“That’s not fair. They all gotta see it!” 

“Should’ve come with,” Rooster shrugged and Bob squinted his eyes at him. Y/N shook her head at their interaction and placed a hand on Rooster’s shoulder. 

“I’ll go run this up to my room. What else do I have to do today?” Y/N asked them. 

“I think we were going to start talking about some of the clubs. We’ve got a club on Broadway that could use some serious female touch.” Bob said, “We’ll send someone up to come get you.” 

Y/N nodded, taking the dress bag from Rooster and heading up. When she got to the hallway, she noticed the door to her room slightly open. She slowly and cautiously walked down to the door, and peered inside. Her face turned red at the sight of a naked girl waiting on her bed, probably waiting for her future husband to arrive. Y/N pushed the door open more, letting it bang against the wall as it did. 

“You’re- Who the hell are you?” The girl spoke up, looking over her shoulder. 

“Y/N Santiago. Who the hell are you?” 

“None of your concern. The other rooms are on the third floor. This one is being used.” The girl smirked at her. Y/N scoffed and threw the dress bag down on the floor, before turning on her heel and storming down to Jake’s office. She knew better than to just barge into people’s offices, but the anger in her body had her going to blind to the rules that were ingrained in her body. 

“I just want the bare minimum done to the club-” 

“Why is there some whore on my bed!?” Y/N yelled as she interrupted whatever conversation Jake and Bob were in. Jake’s face contorted in anger at the outburst as he pushed himself up from his chair. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are just barging into my office like that?” Jake demanded. 

“Your future fucking wife. Now, explain the goddamn whore in my room!” 

“Oh,” Jake smiled, “I see you’ve met Isabella.” Bob looked between the two angry people. The tension thick enough to be cut with a butter knife, “Robert, give her the rundown of the club. I got something to take care of.”

Jake walked out from behind his desk, shamelessly fixing himself as he walked over to Y/N. She hated to admit that he looked good in his all black get-up, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. Y/N could see a cross tattoo on his forearm. He grabbed her arm and lowered his head, his lips grazing over the shell of her ear. She felt goosebumps rise on her body from the heat of his breath fanning over her neck.

“Let’s get a couple things straight here, doll,” Jake whispered, “I can fuck who I want, where I want, and when I want. And you’re not my future wife. You’re just some whore I got in a deal.” Y/N looked up at him, anger in her eyes. Jake smirked and bit his lip, “I heard you used to dance. . . that might be the one thing you’ll be useful for.” 

Jake placed a kiss on her cheek, and let her go, walking out the door and going upstairs to Isabella. Y/N stood frozen, looking down at the ground. She tried her best to not let Jake’s words affect her, but she couldn’t help it. She hated comparing the two of them, but in this moment she would take a day with Francisco over this interaction with Jake. 

“Y/N. . . “ Bob said softly, noticing the silent tears falling down her face. 

“No,” She responded, wiping her tears, “Show me these club plans.” 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — —

Bob had left a while ago to talk with the rest of the guys about solidifying the overseas gun trades. Y/N hadn’t really paying much attention when he told her, and she hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he walked back into the office. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, watching as Bob walked into the office. Her eyes fell back to the laptop she had been staring at, holding her fingers over the keyboard, unmoving.

“I think it’s time for bed Y/n, you’re falling asleep looking at-” He moved around the desk looking over her shoulder to see what she was staring at, “-upholstery?”

“I’m fine, Bob,” Y/N said, trying to shake him off. She didn’t know where she was going to sleep anyway. She was guessing that Jake had done his business with Isabella in her bedroom, and she didn’t dare to go in there. 

“Don’t stay up all night,” Bob said and Y/N nodded, whispering good night under her breath. 

Her eyes were straining as she watched the screen, not really paying attention to the different colors of leather that were being displayed. She was fighting off sleep, feeling her body getting heavier and heavier. She sighed, closing her laptop, and pushing away from the desk. 

The house was quiet and dark except for the soft lighting from the hallway lights. She didn’t even bother going upstairs to her room, instead she walked to the couch, pulling out a blanket from the chest. Y/N let out a sigh as she laid down on the couch and covered herself up. She rolled her eyes as she looked at the giant portrait of her future husband hanging above the fireplace. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was a narcissist with the amount of pictures of himself he had everywhere. Y/N turned on her side, looking out over the pool and seeing the distant lights of the city, slowly drifting to sleep. 

Jake woke up to the sound of what he assumed was the office door closing. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked over at the clock sitting on his bedside table. He assumed it was probably Bob finally going to bed. Jake sighed as he tried to fall back asleep, staring at the ceiling for a few moments, before giving up and sliding out from under the covers. His eyes were barely open as he walked down the stairs and towards the kitchen, but the slightest movement caught his eye. 

His lips twitched into a slight frown at the sight of Y/N trying to be comfortable on the couch. He knew that the couch was the most uncomfortable thing in the world. Quietly, he moved over to the couch and picked her up in his arms. She stirred in his arms a bit, curling her body towards the warmth of his. The walk back to his bedroom was quiet, the only sound his ears registered was that of her steady breathing. He gently pushed his bedroom door open and ambled to the side of his bed. Jake gently laid her down in the spot he was once in, and pulled the covers up her body. 

He couldn’t help the warm feeling that filled his body as he watched her nuzzle herself into the warmth of his pillow. The slightest of sighs left tumbled from her lips as she breathed in the scent of his sheets. Jake caressed her hair lightly, before placing a kiss on her forehead.

Jake left the room as quietly as he could, walking to the floor below and opening the door to the master bedroom. He was barely conscious as he walked to the edge of the bed, pulling back the covers just enough to slide beneath them before letting his exhaustion take hold of him. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

“You awake Y/N? Breakfast is almost ready, and we’ve got shit to do today.” Bob knocked softly on the bedroom door. His soft tone was telling, where he was usually fairly monotone when speaking about business, Bob’s tone changed depending on who he was talking to. When he spoke to Jake it was usually firm, and strong, not a hint of fear in his voice. But, with Y/N, he was soft, calm. 

Jake groaned as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in the main bedroom, it was probably before Natasha’s ordeal. He pulled the blankets back and trudged over to the door. Bob jumped back a bit as the door swung open and Jake was on the other side. He leaned in slightly, seeing if he could see Y/N’s body on the other side. 

“Why-“ Bob began to ask, quickly being cut off when Jake moved past him, walking towards the stairs. 

“She fell asleep on the couch because she didn’t want to sleep in that room.”

“Okay, and?” Bob said, following Jake. 

“I took her to my room, figured I’d just sleep in the master bedroom.” Jake said with a shrug as they made it to the top of the staircase.

“Go eat, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Jake said, waving off his friend before turning on his heel and walking to his bedroom. He slowly opened the door, peering in to see the curtains still shut, the darkness remaining in contrast with the light that had overtaken the rest of the house. 

Y/N was still asleep, curled up further into his bedsheets with her head almost entirely beneath the blankets. He hated that he felt a flutter of feeling in his heart at the sight of her sleeping frame. She looked peaceful as she slept, but the angry red scar on her face stuck out. Jake sighed as he brushed a hand over her face, his knuckles lightly touching the scar. Every scar had a story and her’s was certainly one that no one would ever want to know. He moved quietly towards his closet, pulling a pair of dress pants on and pulling a button up shirt over his arms and walking back out. 

The other boys noted Jake’s entrance to the dining room, Rooster giving him a curt nod before moving his attention back to the food on his plate. One of the maids handed Jake his iPad so he could check the morning sales, and Emile set down a single cup of black coffee in front of him. 

“Should I wake Y/N? We’ve got shit to do today.” Rooster asked. 

“It’s fine, let her sleep. You can show me what she came up with after breakfast.”

The four of them ate, small talk cutting up the silence. Once they were all finished, they stood from the table, heading for the door. Jake stopped and waited for the guys to get a few steps out of the room before turning to Emile, “Could you have a plate sent up to my room?”

“Miss Y/N coming down for breakfast?” Emile asked him softly. 

“No, she had a long day. I think the jetlag and all is catching up to her,” Jake said and Emile nodded. 

“You’re taking good care of her?”

“I try,” Jake sighed, “She’s a pain in the ass.” 

“So are you,” Emile laughed, “Karma for your teenage years.” 

Jake smiled at the older woman. Emile was hired when Jake was first born by his parents. At times, she felt more like their mother than their own mother was. Emile had seen the good, bad and the ugly of working for a crime family. She had also picked Jake up off the ground when he had fallen. She saw the good in his soul, no matter what he did. Emile was the soul who was too kind for the world she was involved in. 

“I wasn’t that bad. You have to admit, Sam was worse,” Jake joked, mentioning his older sister. Emile smiled and kissed his cheek, before gathering a plate and taking it upstairs to Y/N. 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, and she immediately sat up in the king sized bed. Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar room, looking around at the clothing that was haphazardly thrown around. She wasn’t sure how she got there, or even who’s bedroom it was, but she could guess by the red suit coat that was thrown over a chair, the room belonged to Jake. She pushed back the blankets, noticing the plain black t-shirt she was wearing and looked around for her own clothing. 

“Miss Y/N? Are you awake?” Emile’s voice sounded out from the otherside of the door. 

“Y-yeah, come in,” Y/N answered. Emile opened the door, her smile lighting up the room, a tray of food in her hands, “Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything-” 

“Mr. Jacob asked me to,” Emile said, setting the tray in front of her, “Mind if I tidy up a bit? I love the boy, but cleanliness is not his first name.” 

“Neither is respect,” Y/N mumbled as she picked up a piece of toast, “Go ahead.” 

Emile nodded, and walked over to the windows, pulling back the heavy black curtains to allow the sun to shine through. Y/N blinked at the bright light, as she picked around her plate of food. She sat in bed, scrolling on her phone as Emile cleaned up the room. Once she was done, she gave Y/N a small nod, taking the finished tray of food with her. Y/N pushed herself out of bed, and into the bathroom to shower. She stepped into the hot water and let it hit her muscles, leaving red marks behind. 

Jake whistled as he walked up to his room, and paused, hearing the water running. He walked in, noticing the clean room, and a single black t-shirt laying on the floor. He walked into the bathroom, and smirked, seeing her naked from behind the steamed up glass door. He could faintly see white scars on her back and he added just another reason as to why Francisco Solano needs to die. Jake leaned against the bathroom door and crossed his arms over his chest. Y/N could feel his eyes on her without having to turn around and look at him. 

“Who said you can shower in here?” Jake asked. Y/N could practically hear his smirk. She rolled her eyes, and turned so he could see her naked frontside. 

“Myself,” Y/N responded, grabbing the washcloth and squeezing it, letting soap run down her breasts, “Got a problem there, sir?” 

“Hurry up,” Jake clenched his jaw, trying to think of anything but how good her tits looked, “You gotta go to the club, handle some shit with Javy.”

Y/N nodded as Jake left her alone to finish her shower. He sat on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, for another ten minutes before Y/N came strolling out of his bathroom. His eyes glanced up for a second, and did a double take. Y/N shamelessly walked towards the door, as bare as the day she was born. 

“Whoa, where the fuck are you going?” He asked, standing from his bed and grabbing the towel from the floor. 

“To my room…” She said, glancing back at him, confused.

“Butt ass naked, I don’t think so. I don’t need everyone in this house seeing my soon to be wife naked.”

“Again.” She stated plainly.

“Again…” Jake repeated, drawing out the word as he tossed the towel over her shoulders. She grunted and wrapped it around her body. 

“Since when was I soon to be wife? I thought I was just some whore you got in a deal.”

“Don’t get smug, you’re still a whore I got in a deal, you just so happen to also be my fiance.”

“How did I get so lucky?” 

“Bite me, princess,” Jake smiled at her, before walking out of the room and leaving her alone. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

The club was tucked into the busy street that was Broadway in San Diego. It wasn’t flashy, and didn’t stick out like others, and that’s what caught people's attention. During the day, it wasn’t anything spectacular, but a two story building, next to a dingy alleyway. Jake had stayed back at the house while Javy, Rooster and Reuben accompanied Y/N to see the place she’d be hopefully saving. 

“Welcome,” Javy said, pushing open the backdoor. The stale scent of alcohol and blood hit her nose, “Yeah, I know, it kinda smells.” 

“Kinda?” Reuben asked and Y/N giggled, “Why not just tear it down and start over?” 

“That’s what she’s here for,” Javy shrugged pointing at Y/N. 

At first the club wasn’t much, the first floor was a giant dance floor, two gold dance poles near the front by the dj stand, and a decent bar tucked in by the front. Y/N glanced over the selections of alcohol they had, most of it being fruit flavored seltzers and vodkas. She took note of how much glassware they had, and what their average stock of alcohol was behind the bar. She also took note of the furniture that was on the bottom level; the dingy looking leather couches that looked like they needed to burn in a biohazard fire. 

“It’s not horrible. . . The couches gotta go,” Y/N said. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t touch those things with a ten foot pole,” Rooster added and walked over to the bar. 

“Oh the boys are here!” The sounding of a shrill voice sent a chill down Y/N’s spine. She had recognized the voice from her interaction in her bedroom yesterday. Javy rolled his eyes as Isabella strolled through the abandoned club, “So nice to see you and the uh. . . her.” 

“Isabella, play nice,” Javy said, “This is Y/N Santiago, Jake’s soon to be wife.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Isabella said, looking Y/N up and down. The girl felt like she was under a microscope and stepped closer to Reuben, for some kind of confidence and shelter, “Her? This is the Mafia queen he hasn’t shut up about?” 

“I’m standing right here,” Y/N spoke up. 

“I don’t care,” Isabella said, glancing at her and then back at Javy, “She know his cock was buried inside me yesterday?” 

“And yet I’m still the one marrying him…” Y/N murmured.

“Okay, how about I go show you the private rooms in the back?” Rooster interjected, trying to steer the conversation away. 

“Oh! Jake and I’s favorite!” Isabella added, taking a step forward. 

“No, you stay here. Y/N and I will go check out the back,” Javy said, grabbing her and making her stand still in her spot. 

Rooster placed his hand on the small of Y/N’s back, leading her to the back, where they had about ten private rooms at. Y/N glanced at them quickly, not daring to step foot in them. She knew what these rooms were used for, they looked similar to the private rooms back in New York. 

“How often do these get cleaned?” Y/N scowled. 

“You really don’t wanna know…” Rooster said as they made their way down the long hallway. “These four on the end get cleaned most often… they’re uh…”

“The Seresin posse’s own private rooms?” She asked, opening the door to one of the last ones and peaking in, “Let me guess, this belongs to my future husband?” 

“Did the giant picture of himself give it away or. . .” Rooster said, pointing to the large portrait of Jake above the bed, “He’s kind of cocky about placing pictures of himself everywhere. I’m not sure why either, I heard his dick is small.” 

“Clearly,” She scoffed, “Anyone who has the nickname ‘Hangman’ must be lying about something,” before turning to Bradley with a smirk on her face, “What about you, hm? Rooster. . . must mean something, right?” Y/N tilted her head a bit, looking the mustached man up and down. Rooster licked his lips, plastering a cocky smirk on his face. 

“Mama, I would break you,” He said, nearly growling as his voice dropped into a lower octave. 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Y/N asked, taking a long step towards him. Rooster gently lifted her chin with his knuckle, making her look up at him. He was a bit taller than Jake was, and Y/N could tell that he was a bit thicker than him. Y/N watched as Rooster leaned in closer, and closed her eyes. Her senses were overrun by the scent of his Armani cologne, and the feeling of his hand on her cheek. His lips brushed against hers for a split second, before he pulled back. 

“A hypothetical, sweetheart,” Rooster said and Y/N nearly whined at the loss of his touch, “I’m not risking my life to fuck you, as much as I’d like to. Now come on, there’s a whole second floor to look at.” 

Y/N sighed, and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind her, but not before secretly flipping off the portrait. The two of them walked back down the hallway, back to the main part of the club, and she froze. Reuben’s eyes were looking at her, as Isabella was basically pressing her breasts in his face. Javy looked less than amused at the whole situation. Rooster looked between the two men and the girl who was practically fuming in her spot. 

“Don’t-” 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Y/N yelled and stormed over to them. 

“What?” Isabella said innocently, “You get one, sweetheart, not all of them. Besides, I like them a little bit beefier.” She giggled as she ran her hand up Payback’s bicep.

“Quit fucking touching him,” Y/N snatched Isabella’s wrist, holding it in a tight grip. 

“Ow, fuck, daddy teach you how to do that one?” Isabella asked. 

“Daddy taught me nothing, but I’ve done a whole lot more for so much less.”

Isabella huffed and tried to pull her wrist away, but Y/N tightened her grip, “You’re just another hang around whore for him. He’ll dump you sooner or later, doll.” 

“Oh I fucking wish, but sadly, I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Y/N spat, “Stay the fuck away from them.” 

She let go of Isabella's wrist, and the girl immediately brought it to her other hand, rubbing the red mark left by Y/N’s grip.

“That wasn’t a request, get the fuck out.” Y/N said, nodding towards the door.

@cherrycola27 @seresinsbabe @violyn20 @materialgirl01 @bradleybeachbabe @a-reader-and-a-writer @lt-spork @topnerd03 @3in1shampooconditionerbodywash @bioodforbiood @topguncultleader @ma-fraise @abaker74 @double-j @cm27078 @thedroneranger @khaylin27 @mak-32 @unhinged-btch @wittywhispers @theliterarybeldam @bloosomjoon @chxcxlate-cxxkies @luckyladycreator2 @wellshit6 @harper1666 @phoenix1388 @footprintsinthesxnd @dempy @emma8895eb @bonitanightmxres @love2write2626 @bobbyonboard @some-lovely-day @thenewdaysalreadyhere @cassiemitchellslibrary @ilymoonie @morgensternsblog @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rintheemolion @tallrock35 @adoringsebstan @xoxabs88xox

TAG LIST IS FULL DO NOT ASK TO BE TAGGED

[andydrysdalerogers]

Yours Submissively ~ Infatuation

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N Taglist is open!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Intrigued

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Personal Report 

Name: Isabella Maria Davis 

DOB: 4 July 1999 

Birthplace: Brooklyn, NY 

Education: New Jersey City University 

Status: Senior, Education Program 

Residence: 852 State St Apt 12, Jersey City 

Roommate: Delilah Stevens 

Medical: No known  

Religion: Catholic 

Employment: Intern, Stark Industries 

Family 

Mother: Maria Elizabeth Davis (deceased) 

Father: Michael Phillip Davis (deceased) 

No known siblings 

No known relations 

Relationship: Single 

Previous: unknown 

Miss Davis is a relatively quiet person.  Quiet social media presence.  It looks like there may have been a previous relationship, but the details have been scrubbed from all known databases and social media files.  

Curiously, the same can be said for the family details as well.  Her parental information is from her birth certificate, but any other traces have so far been undetected. It is as if she has been placed in a bubble.  I will continue my search.  

Steve poured over the short report that landed on his desk two days after the gala.  He knew Bucky would always be thorough but the fact that so little was known about the elusive Miss Davis just added to Steve’s infatuation of her.  He looked over the pictures provided.  Her walking into the Grant building, at the gala, walking outside of Stark.  The photos didn’t do justice to her violet eyes.  He hit the intercom. “Devon, can you have Bucky come in as soon as possible.” 

“Yes, sir.”  

Steve stood up and faced out the window.  He could see the old Avengers tower, which Stark still kept his business in.  He imagined Belle there, working hard.  He needed a reason.  He wanted a reason to see her again.  He heard a knock on his door.  “Enter.” 

Bucky came in, hands in his pocket.  “You needed to see me Cap?” 

“What is it with you and Wilson calling me names I don’t have anymore?” Steve smiled at his oldest friend.  

“You’re still in charge, just not on the battlefield.”  Bucky shrugged.  “Whatcha need punk?” 

“Miss Davis.  Have you found anything new?” 

“Possibly.  I didn’t present it yet because I’m still trying to figure it out.  You know that new intern program?”  Steve nodded.  “Natasha told me that the only name that wasn’t included on the potential transfer list was hers.”  

“What?” 

“Yeah, I was going to get into it more but Stark had made it clear to Nat that she was off limits.  Curious, don’t you think?” 

“Very.”  Steve turned back to the windows.  “When did he give the list?” 

“The morning of the gala.  Before she was here in the building.”  

“Buck, I think I need to visit Stark today.  Can you ask Devon to see if she can find out if he has time?” 

“Sure.  No problem.”  Bucky moved to exit but stopped.  “What is so special about her?” 

“I don’t know.  That’s why she’s special. I want her but I need to know she would be okay with it.”  

“You could just call her.” Bucky smirked.  

“And where would be the fun in that?” Steve returned the smirk.  

Devon managed to find a time for Steve to visit Stark.  Bucky drove him through the city, Steve lost in thought.  When he pulled up, Steve went straight in, already known to the security and staff and headed up to Stark’s office.  

Tony Stark was the owner of Stark Industries but Pepper was the CEO, a role she took seriously.  Steve knew he would have to talk to Pepper first before Tony.  He stood in front of her secretary.  “Hello. Could you let Mrs. Potts-Stark know that Steve Rogers is here to see her.”  

“Right away, sir.”  

Pepper came out a moment later.  “Steve, to what do I owe the pleasure?”  

“Hi Pepper.”  He kissed her cheek.  “I have a meeting with Tony but I already know I have to go through the real boss.”  

She laughed.  “At least one of you understand that.  Come on in.”  He walked into her office, windows around to take in the cityscape.  “What can I help you with?” 

“I saw the intern list for the transfer.  Nat is still vetting but I noticed that Belle Davis is not on the list.  I thought she was one of your interns.”  

“Really?”  Pepper moved to her computer and reviewed. “Huh.  She is not on the list but she is definitely on the intern list.  Let me see…” she clicked a few more times.  “Says here that Tony specifically requested she remain.”  Pepper looked at Steve.  “You would have to take that one up with him.”  

“I figured.  All right then.  Did you need anything from me while I’m here?” 

“Just if you are going to the education benefit next week?” 

“If I can get the date I want, sure.  If not, maybe.”  

“Steve.  You can’t avoid being in public forever,” Pepper admonishes.  

“I can try.” Steve frowned.  “I left that public part of my life, remember?  I’m not the shield anymore.”  

“But you can still wield it for a better cause.  Just, think about it ok?  We miss you around here.”  

“I miss you guys too.”  Steve hugged Pepper and headed out to the other side of the floor.  He knocked on Tony’s door and then was blasted with high volume AC/DC playing as soon as the door opened.  “Friday, mute,” Steve said.  

“No one gave you permission to stop my music, Rogers.”  Tony came from behind his desk to shake the former Captain’s hand.  

“I’m saving your hearing Tony.  So, you can listen to Pepper more often.”  

Tony waved his hand.  “What did you need Cap?”  

Steve sighed at the title but let it go.  “I wanted to know more about Isabella Davis.”  Tony snapped his head up.  “I’m starting an education internship and she mentioned she was earning her degree in education.  Her name is not on the list of interns that could be transferred.”  

“Because she isn’t available,” Tony was quick to say.  “Belle has her internship and scholarship tied with Stark Industries.  Since she is only a month and half or so away from graduation, I figured there was no need to make her a part of it.”  

“And if I offered her one?” 

“That’s up to her.”  Tony looked nervously at the door.  “Look Rogers, Belle is a sweet girl and I’m just looking out for her.”  

“I get it.  She was a great girl at the gala. If I see her, I might offer her a place.  Just a fair warning.  I leave you to whatever it is you’re doing.”  

“Sure, Steve.  Thanks for the heads up.”  

Steve exited the workroom and head towards the elevator.  Lost in thought, he barely noticed the doors opening but looked up and saw the violet eyes he had been dreaming of for the last few days.  “Miss Davis.”  

“Mr. Rogers,” Belle squeaked.  She had not been able to get him off her mind either but assumed it would fade with time.  After she ran, Tony had called and asked if everything was ok.  She lied and said she was feeling ill, not wanting Tony to think there had been a problem with Steve.  

“May I have a moment of your time Miss Davis?”  She nodded and he gently guided her back into the elevator.  It started to move but he pushed the emergency stop.  “You ran,” he said simply.  

“I, uhh…” Belle didn’t know what to say.  

“It’s ok Isabella.  I didn’t say anything to anyone.” Steve tried to reassure her. “I’m here because I wanted to offer you an opportunity.”  

“At what?” 

“I’m starting an education focused internship.  You mentioned at the gala how you were in the education field and I figured you would have some insight on it.”  

“Well, Mr. Stark already asked me to stay on as his personal intern for the remainder of the school year. It gives me time to finish my thesis for graduation.”  

“Oh.”  Steve tried not to look crestfallen.  “Well, if you have an idea on how I could structure it or well any ideas on how I can help in the education field please let me know.  Or if you change your mind.”  He took out his card and handed it to her.  

She looked at the business card.  “You could start a teacher outreach,” she whispered.  

“What was that?” 

“A teacher outreach.”  Belle looked up.  “Did you know that most teachers pay for school supplies out of their own pockets?  Maybe you can help with that.”  

Steve smiled. “I could do that.  Thank you, Isabella.  I’ll let you get back to work.”  He released the emergency stop and the doors opened again. Belle exited and turned back when he said, “I hope I can see you again.”  

“Why?” 

“Because you intrigue me, Isabella. And I want to get to know you.”  Steve gave her a heart stopping smile and the elevator doors closed.  

NEXT

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@jennmurawski13-writes

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@amiquette

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Memories Masterlist

7 Minutes (ao3) - saraswords

Summary: “Moments, memories, that’s all that Dan had left to relive, but he could only pick a handful. He only had 7 minutes after-all. So…he picked. He chose his favorites, a compilation of small and big moments: lying in bed together, moving in together, slow dancing, life-changing questions, and simple nights.

And what they all had in common, was one person…”

2009, 2012, 2019, 2022 (ao3) - OliveTheHobbit

Summary: “Most people have like yearly photo books, we have this weird ass videos” - Daniel Howell, some bloopers from phil is not on fire 10.

Some of the memories they gathered along the way got fresh in their minds at the moment they decided to buy a photo album.

In celebration to Dan and Phil’s 10th anniversary.

constant future memories (ao3) - kishere

Summary: time travel fic, either dan and phil time travel from current year to 2009/2012, or vise versa, introspection would be nice of how much they’ve changed

Cute Neightbours Make the Best Friends (And Sometimes More) - crescendohowell

Summary: The day Dan starts watching Phil’s videos he gets in a car accident causing him to lose his recent memories.  The only problem is he hadn’t subscribed yet.  And it isn’t until years later, when he’s a lawyer living in London, that he meets a cute neighbor in the elevator named Phil, makes a best friend (one that he has a minor infatuation for), and the memories come back.

Eyes on You (ao3) - krissyxlove

Summary: To the public, Phil has always been the one taking sneaky candid photos of Dan but behind the scenes Dan has also been taking photos of Phil.

Alternatively, Dan has had a disposable camera for 10 years now and he has finally used up all the film and is ready to develop the candid photos of Phil from over the years.

Favorite Record (ao3) - jfcmartin

Summary: Phil’s most treasured memories are the times he had spent with his childhood best friend, Dan. Unfortunately, Dan doesn’t remember it just as much because of an accident two months after he moved away. Phil is determined to help him bring back his memories, winding up making new ones in the process.

Getting To Know You (Again) (ao3) - rainbowchristy

Summary: After an accident, Dan and Phil lose their memories. They’re left to learn who they were and what they meant to each other. Turning on Tumblr (aka phan central) to do that, though, may not have been the best idea.

Golden Days (ao3) - sunshineandsadness

Summary: Dan is remembering his golden days

fond memories (ao3) - overmyhead

Summary: Dan remembers meeting Phil for the first time.

Friday, I'm In Love (ao3) - raindropsonconcrete

Summary: When cleaning the apartment, Phil stumbles across certain items that compel him to take a trip down memory lane.

higher than high (ao3) - watergator

Summary: prompt: skybar

japan brings back some memories

I’d Forgotten to Fall in Love With You - echohowell

Summary: Phil is involved in a serious accident causing him to lose all his memories of his time with Dan. In a rush of panic to try and see Phil, Dan claims that he’s his fiancé. But unfortunately now, everyone, even Phil’s own family, believes the lie.So Dan embarks on a new mission. Dan’s in love with Phil Lester, and he’s going to make Phil Lester fall in love with him.

I Think I’m Breaking Down (ao3) - Lizzyboo

Summary: “Hello?” he answered, surprised to find his voice calm under the circumstances.

“Phil,” Martyn’s voice was tired and tight, and Phil wanted more than anything to hang up on him and crawl back under the covers for a few more hours. Days if possible.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t ask the question, they both knew what the phone call meant.

It didn’t make it easier to accept though.

John Doe (ao3) - Riddle

Summary: After one of the worst fights in their history as a couple, Dan flees the apartment and is hit by a car and left for dead. When he finally arrives at the hospital, a computer error misidentifies him as deceased and effectively kills him in the eyes of the world. Phil must learn to live thinking that Dan is dead, and Dan–who no longer remembers anything of his life before waking up in the morgue–tries to start a new life and regain his memories with the help of a kind stranger.

Kairosclerosis (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Kairosclerosis n. the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savour the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.

2009/2010 Dan ponders his happiness and new life with Phil.

keep it or yeet it (ao3) - possumdnp

Summary: Phil’s armed with sticky notes, ready to keep or yeet everything in their room before the big move.

Dan just wants a break.

Keys to My Heart (ao3) - thatsthephan

Summary: We’ve all wanted Dan to get his piano fixed forever. But when a cute repair guy shows up and causes trouble, can a simple song played on the piano fix things? Well, that and a long overdue discussion of the past.

Memories in Manchester (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: Dan and Phil feel nostalgic while in Manchester for tour and recall their earliest memories of one another, including their first kiss.

We Built This House on Memories - 2009 - darling-phil

Summary: A look into Dan and Phil’s relationship over the years from the moment Dan bought his train tickets in 2009 to Phil stealing his cereal in 2016

who’d have known? (ao3) - CallofTheCurlew

Summary: Nerd!Dan and Badboy!Phil meet at a club Dan isn’t even sure he wants to be at. But it’s his last year of university, and those are made for memories. Allegedly.

[freneticfloetry]

tarlos top five

@rmd-writes asked for my top five tarlos scenes, and after some soul searching (because season four shook some shit up), my list is as follows:

4x16 | “Hi. You’re TK, I’m Carlos, and we’re soulmates.”

GAMECHANGER. Yes, it confirmed what most of us already knew: Carlos was gone from the first second. But the execution is so beautiful, from the impetus to the ease and certainty of Carlos’ declaration to TK’s confession in turn (“why do you think I ran?” is the most TK Strand way ever to do this, and oddly enough, the easiest to believe). My favorite thing, though, will forever be the exact way this was worded and performed — that “Hi,” which is unrivaled levels of perfection (seriously, it sits somewhere between addressing a lost child and a spooked puppy, which is just brilliant as a line read, and every time I hear it I want to toss flowers at Rafa’s feet), but more than that, the fact that he says “you’re TK” before introducing himself, because the most important thing to Carlos is that TK know who he is first. True love at its finest.

3x04 | “Hey, baby. Breathe. Breathe, breathe.”

This was, up until the season three finale, the most fanfic shit I have ever seen aired on national television. Seriously, this is straight out of somebody’s multi-chapter slow burn whump fic wet dream, and watching it live, I was living. His raspy voice. Those hands clenched into terrified little fists. That breathing. The script said “he takes a deep breath” and Rafa was like “BET.” But beyond that, we had that whole bedside missive with Carlos lamenting about consent — that he couldn’t hold TK’s hand, run his fingers through his hair, kiss his head. And the fact that coma TK heard all this, woke up and reached out his hand as permission, and then Carlos did all those things, in that order… Deceased. It still gives me fits. (I am also counting the Tarloft reveal as part of this favorite moment, because I can’t not. “Push” is just perfection.)

4x18 | “We both ended our vows with ‘heart.’”

The vows. The dancing. The Sondheim serenade. The cake cutting (which I’m counting as aired-in-canon, dammit, because it is beyond precious). The honeymoon hand holding. Just, the wedding. All of it.

3x13 l “I love you.” “I know.”

They went Han and Leia on me and it wasn’t even cheesy. Honestly, this whole episode was so important to their growth — their sense of security, their confidence and understanding in each other — to their story, that it couldn’t be left out. Carlos realizes that the best way to help TK is to let him get help where he needs it, even if it leaves him feeling a little helpless, and TK realizes that he still has someone in his corner who’s invested in him, his sobriety, and his happiness, even with his mom gone. The fact that that “I know” holds so much meaning (all while “Transatlanticism” plays on)… Gah. Just beautiful. And on top of all that, Carlos got to be funny!

3x18 | “Marry me.”

“For the first time in my life, the love that I feel is infinitely more powerful than the fear of losing it.” Yep, that’s where I lost it. Because I thought back to baby TK in 1x08, who was being a dick to a cancer dog because he couldn’t fall in love with one more thing that he could lose. The growth. The maturity. The love. 3:18 am, y’all. (The engagement reveal counts as an extension of this as well, because that entire adorable “yes way” exchange between Team Tarloft, with Carlos grinning and TK bouncing and everybody figuring it out from context clues but Mateo is officially the most fanfic thing I’ve ever seen aired on national television, and I love it beyond reason and measure.)

Honorable mention shoutouts to the police station and the airport tarmac, which were knocked down the list by season four things. I still love you!

Tagging @ambiguouspenny, @hoko-onchi-writes, and @mixtapestar, because I know they haven’t been yet.

[stray-kaz]

Reparations : a Bucky Barnes x reader FF : One

A/N: In this particular fanfic, Natasha is alive, because she is also my favourite and I love her. And who better to be the reader’s best friend? Also, Yelena, just because.

Bucky sat on the couch in front of the forest mural, the fingers of both hands curled around his knees as he half listened to the psychiatrist talking at him. He had seen you that morning already, early, before this session started. You were the only two in the S.H.I.E.L.D café that early in the morning, save for the barista and the girl handing you your wax paper wrapped muffin.

Bucky had insisted on paying, as he did every time you went together anywhere money was needed. He always overrode every protest you made, as if bankrolling you could make up for the never ending funeral he’d turned your life into. You had done most of the talking, even though there wasn’t much of that either, most of your friendship date taken place in easy silence, punctuated by the occasional sentence and the use of his real name.

He had noticed early on that you loved to call him James, so he never got in the way of it.

“James!”

He came to properly, snapping alert to the sound of his name falling sharply across the room. He raised a slow eyebrow.

“Sorry?” he said, though he wasn’t, really.

Dr. Raynor glowered at him, rolling her eyes.

“I asked if you had told your friend yet, what you did?”

Bucky sighed heavily as his other eyebrow rose to join the first.

“You mean, have I told the woman who makes my whole day that I murdered her husband when I wasn’t in my right mind yet?” he retorted, shaking his head. “No. No, I haven’t.”

Dr. Raynor copied his earlier sigh.

“You need to, James” she said somberly. “You know that. If you do not make full amends for your past actions as the Winter Soldier, they might -”

“Rescind my pardon, I know” Bucky interrupted. 

“Then why have you not told her yet?”

Bucky’s stormy blue glower was much darker than hers.

“Did you not get the part about how she makes my day?”

She nodded.

“I did. But is that worth the potential loss of your freedom again?”

Bucky slipped back into his thoughts, picturing you biting your lip whenever he accidentally touched your hand, or when he caught you staring out of the corner of his eye when you thought he wouldn’t see. He thought that maybe the small, soft moments he shared with you would be worth it.

“Have the nightmares stopped?”

He blinked, surprised even though he shouldn’t be by now.

“No” he muttered, standing. “Are we done?”

Without waiting for an answer, he walked out of the room, trailed by the images he still bore of your husband as the Winter Soldier cut the life out of him.

“Have you told him yet?” Yelena asked you, laying back on your bed and lazily tossing a baseball up to the ceiling.

“Told who what?” you replied absently, too busy looking through the latest security document that had filtered down to your desk in the S.H.I.E.L.D archives.

Yelena glanced across the bedroom at Natasha, who just shrugged and said nothing. She knew what Bucky had done, but firmly believed he had to be the one to tell you. Whether you fell in love or just into bed with him was up to you.

“Soldat” Yelena said dryly. 

You glanced up then, hearing the familiar word.

“Told him what?”

 Yelena rolled her eyes.

“That you want him to... How do you say it? Roll you in hay?”

You blinked and the tiniest of smiles made its way, unnoticed, onto Natasha’s face.

“You mean James” you said slowly, to clarify.

Yelena nodded.

“Yes” she said promptly. “The Winter Soldier, or the White Wolf, whatever he calls himself this week.”

You slowly shook your head.

“I’m a widow” you pointed out.

“You’re thirty” Natasha reminded you. “Not deceased. You still have a heart that beats and desires, I’m sure. Where does your compass point?”

True north to James.

“My husband died.”

Your protests fell on deaf ears as Yelena snorted and Natasha flicked a crumpled ball of notebook paper at your head.

“Nine years ago” she said, a hint of gentleness in her tone. 

You glared at her.

“Since when is there a moratorium on grief?” you demanded hotly.

“There isn’t” she admitted. “But there isn’t one on loving in the after, either.”

You sank into silence, leaning back against your desk chair, picturing Bucky sitting across a table from you and smiling a little, nodding along with you. Sure, he stared a lot, but he was the best listener you had ever encountered.

“How long has it been?” Yelena butted in, interrupting your quietude.

Your head jerked up, eyes locking on her face. You hoped you were misunderstanding her, but guessed you weren’t.

“How long has it been since what?” you asked, wary.

“Since you had sex” Yelena said bluntly.

You flushed.

“A while...” you hedged.

Dark blonde eyebrows lifted.

“How long is a while?”

“Since Jack died” you admitted.

“Nine years?!”

“Well, that’s a reassuring response” you muttered dryly. “I don’t do one night stands, Belova. And I haven’t found a man I wanted to date.”

“Until now” Natasha said quietly. 

You stared at her in silence.

“You know you like him” Natasha continued, unfazed. “Possibly more. What’s holding you back?”

“Fear” you said softly, trying to ignore the weight of Yelena’s unflinching gaze. “Guilt. If Jack were still here, I wouldn’t be thinking about James in any way at all.”

Natasha knew that if Jack was still alive, that would likely mean Bucky would be dead. She wondered if you were given the chance to swap them around, would you take it?

Instead, she said, “But he isn’t. And you’re still here. What are you going to do about it?”

Tagging : @hoodedbirdie​

[pingguins]

When Dreams Despair

|| Ch. II || The Regent

↳ Previous Chapter | Navigation | Series Masterlist

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader

Word Count: 16.2k

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of death and pain.

Notes:

I *know* that I'm uploading this later than I said I would, but to be fair, I thought I'd only have to edit 4k words since this chapter was originally only 4k.

The word count ended up being 16k.

I poured my heart and soul into this one, and it's the longest I've ever written for a single chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did while writing! As always, please tell me what you think!

Summary:

Y/N has had a very long day.

Morpheus, too.

But what's important is, by the end of it, they're both where they needed to be. Even if it means that Y/N gets a headache or two.

"Alex Burgess is dead."

Johanna’s voice pierced through the phone's speaker, clear as day even in the midst of the bustling inn. 

The New Inn had always been a popular place in town, and yet Y/N rarely saw it become so busy so fast. Customers flooded in quickly; there were a lot of familiar faces, but also a number of new ones.

Their dissonant voices pestered her.

She had attempted to tune them out, but her phone’s sharp ringing had made her jump in her seat, breaking through the mental barrier she set between herself and the loud voices of the strangers around her. 

However, as Johanna delivered the news, she was finally able to deafen the noise, her ears suddenly feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

The air became thick, and time seemed sluggish as the clock hanging on the wall ticked unnaturally slow. Y/N’s thoughts began to blur and all she could hear was her shallow breathing as her heart began to beat faster. 

Ever since she could remember, a low, quiet humming would appear in the back of her mind at seemingly random times. 

But there were moments like these where the peculiar sound was at its peak, buzzing in her head like bees stuck in their hive. 

The phone began to slip from her hand, making Y/N flinch as she fumbled to get a proper grip before it landed on the table. She was able to catch it mid-air, the adrenaline waking her up from her daze. 

“Do you want me to check it out?”

“Uh, n-no.” Y/N sat straighter, running a hand down her face. “There’s no need for that,” she scrambled. “I wouldn’t want to take you away from your job.”

“This is my job, Y/N.”

“And I’m not your client,” she replied, more stern this time. “Besides, it seems a bit insensitive to investigate the house of the recently deceased.”

"Y/N I—”

"—have to go now, I'm with Amelia," Y/N interrupted before ending the call.

After more than two decades, she was content to leave the dream be, and investigating the Burgesses would be doing the opposite. 

She was finally able to help the caged man, changing the trajectory of the nightmare he was in. It felt foolish of her to ever fear doing so earlier in her life. 

Of course, it was not like she never wanted to, she was simply unable to.

It was her childhood nightmare, haunting her for the longest time, and it would certainly be difficult to face.

The dream was only a story, one that was over because Amelia had asked her to make it so.

The story was over . It was done.

There was nothing more to dwell on.

Amelia had been sitting next to Y/N when Johanna called, and she was left picking at her food since, waiting for their conversation to end. 

She only wanted to see her favourite babysitter again, and after compromising with Maurice to bring her along as she went to work at the Inn, Amelia looked forward to spending time with Y/N.

She was not yet finished with her school assignments, and so she was only allowed to go on the condition that she would finish them there, while being able to talk to Y/N during her breaks.  

Amelia was restless, a small frown on her face, disappointed that what was left of her break was taken over by a phone call. She tapped her fork on her plate, her legs bouncing up and down, sighing. 

Next to her, Y/N smiled pitifully, knowing how much the little girl looked forward to her trip at The New Inn. “Thanks, Amy.” She leaned towards her, giving Amy a genuine grin. 

Y/N propped her elbow up on the table, resting her chin on her hand as she took a sip of her tea, a silent apology twinkling in her eyes, hoping that Amelia would understand. 

Amelia whipped her head towards her, gleaming now that she finally had her attention. She cringed when Y/N ruffled her hair.

“Thank you for helping me save him,” Y/N said proudly, compelled to express her gratitude regardless of her struggles with grasping recent events. 

Y/N was grateful and considered herself indebted to Amelia, if not for helping her free the man, then for changing the course of a long-time nightmare that, until then, had not ceased to loom over her sleeping and waking hours. 

She had chased the man for most of her life in search of the reason for his frequent appearances in her dreams; however, no matter how desperate her longing was for understanding his existence, there were never any answers, because she had always been helpless, only being allowed to see his anguish rather than break the circle and the glass—something she had been wanting to do for  years. 

Amelia had changed that, though. 

But she has yet to understand how.

The little girl squealed, jumping off of her seat to hug her, but not quite reaching due to the height difference of the stool Y/N sat on. "You saved him!" She cheered. "I knew it!"

Y/N stood from her seat, crouching down to Amelia’s level and opening her arms for the welcomed embrace. 

“Is that him?” the redhead asked, pointing at something over Y/N’s shoulder. 

There was a moment of silence. Y/N knew what Amelia was referring to, she felt its presence everywhere like a pair of eyes following her around, especially now that it was at the Inn. 

It was the painting she hung hours ago. Many stopped to view it, most of them taking pictures of the new decor.

And for a moment, one fleeting moment, their irises seemed to twinkle with the stars that covered the night sky, entering a quiet haze of admiration. 

Not for its beauty, but for its muse. 

Y/N cleared her throat, pulling away and offering her hand to Amelia. “Yes, that’s him.”

Amelia gladly took her hand, and they walked until they stopped in front of the painting. She was lifted up into Y/N’s arms, now getting an eye-level view of the man that she had only heard the story of. 

She awed, enthralled by the image, her eyes shining with delight.

Y/N finished the painting the night she returned from her visit to Johanna’s, immersing herself within it until just hours later, she was making her way to the Inn at the brink of dusk, holding the wrapped canvas protectively. 

Though it was barely morning, she had invited her father, wanting him to be the first to see. He had only ever heard of her dreams and it would be the first time he would see it through the eyes of his daughter.   

He had seen her work before, as many had as well. She illustrated hers and others’ books; many of her readers could pick out her art from a mile away. 

When the dreams became unrelenting, however, it stunted Y/N’s work. He could no longer consult her for new decor at the Inn, and he stopped seeing her sketch the little things that sparked her interest. 

Though none ever saw the light of day, if he knew of them, he would be awed at the heaps of half-finished paintings kept within the confines of her room. They only ever gathered dust, covered in spare cloth or blankets. 

For one particular painting, though, the one she carried to the Inn at the brink of daylight, there was no doubt in Y/N’s mind that she wanted her father to see it. 

After all, it was painted for the Inn. It would find its home there—with the approval of her father, of course.  

It would undoubtedly be easy to acquire, as he had always wanted to display one of her paintings in the Inn. He hid behind the excuse that it would be good for business, as Y/N was a household name when it came to children’s books—he would never admit that it was solely so he could show off his daughter. 

When Y/N showed him the painting, his eyes brightened, so much so that she swore it contested the brightest star in the galaxy. 

He was overjoyed to see that his daughter was once again making art, and he took a moment to himself to take in each brush stroke, going over the intricacies and each minute detail.

And upon further observation, it was clear to him that he found it incredibly familiar. There was something about it that reminded him of something— someone.

But he shook it off. Y/N  had simply told him too much of her dream, he knew the details all too well after years of hearing it be told; it could very well be his dream, too. 

For her comfort, though, he would never say that deep within his mind, the part of it that held his memories from the centuries he had lived, something told him to look closer . 

This was about his daughter, he could wait to assess the painting later when she was gone.

“Amelia!”

Y/N was snapped out of her thoughts by Maurice, calling her daughter from the back room. 

“Break’s over, darling, you need to finish your homework.”

Maurice approached them with open arms, gesturing for Y/N to pass Amelia over to her. 

“Thank you for taking care of her as always, Y/N,” Maurice said, carrying her daughter in her arms as she smiled warmly, looking over to the little study corner they had set up for Amelia. "Thank you for giving her a place to study as well."

“But I want to talk to Y/N more!” Amelia whined, crossing her arms as she faced her mother, pouting. She gave her best puppy eyes, but Maurice stood firm, not wanting for her to develop a habit of extending break times. 

Amelia wrapped her arms around her mother, placing her chin on her shoulder in defeat. 

Y/N rubbed a hand up and down Amelia’s back to console her. "If you finish all your homework today, I promise I'll tell you the most fantastic bedtime story when I get the chance, okay?" She offered, feeling a pang in her heart at Amelia’s displeasure. After all, had she not been on the phone with Johanna, they would have gotten more time to talk, which was what Amelia came there for in the first place. 

Begrudgingly, Amelia kept silent, only nodding her head and nuzzling her face in the crook of Maurice’s shoulder. Maurice cooed, rocking her daughter gently as Amelia sniffled.

She gave Y/N an apologetic smile, mouthing a small ‘thank you’ before going back to their table.

Y/N took another glance at her painting, delighted that she no longer feared what it represented—but an inexplicable feeling lingered. 

Since her return from the Dreaming, she had been feeling out of touch. Her mind would wander to places she had only been to in her dreams, causing her to make small mistakes throughout the day. 

Though she no longer worried about nightmares that came during her slumber, it was quite unexpected for her to drift off in the morning, getting stuck in her own daydreams at the most inconvenient times. 

And there was no doubt that others felt the same when viewing the painting. Most would pass by with lingering stares, some would look from afar.

But for whatever reason, even the most distracted person passing by the Inn, if ever the painting would catch their eye, they would enter only to admire it. 

Y/N decided that she would no longer keep parts of him locked up; deep down, she and everyone who took even a single glance at him inside of that painting knew that Lord Morpheus had come back.

And so have their dreams. 

In a place so dark and solitary, the Dream Lord would never be alone; everyone who entered the Inn would know of the torment he was put through, most would understand that it was not his fault—nor was it his decision—to leave them. 

Through one of the windows, Y/N noticed the leaves falling from the nearby trees. Her eyes strained, trying to ascertain why she was suddenly drawn to them. 

Her brows furrowed—the leaves were falling slowly. 

It was quite windy that day; the trees should have been shaking in the breeze instead of the unnatural swaying that Y/N had noticed. The bushes below did not rustle, and instead danced sluggishly back and forth as if someone had taken a video and played it in slow motion. 

She walked closer to the door, raising one of her hands to pinch her arm.

This only happened in her dreams, and though she usually knew when she was not in the waking world, she hoped that this was an exception. 

She looked around, observing the people around the Inn—had they noticed what was going on outside? 

Y/N quickly found that the answer was no, as they were all behaving as normally as they had before she peered through the windows.

The employees were serving meals, some preparing drinks. Amelia was determined to finish her homework, speedily scribbling through the pages of her textbook with Maurice right next to her, ready to help her should she need it. 

No one noticed Y/N's puzzled expression, and she wondered if it was all somehow part of an elaborate, hyper-realistic dream.

Driven to find some answers, she approached the door, cautiously opening it and stepping through to the other side to search for the cause of the disturbance.

Instead of trees and grass, she saw pillars and the tall, familiar set of stairs that lead to a throne; one she knew very well.

The palace was no longer broken, not a single piece of stone out of place. The cracks on the walls that she had come to know in her many visits to the Dreaming had disappeared.

But regardless of its beauty, the light that shone through the windows was not as bright, and the colours that gave the room life—even in its worn-down form—were faded.

It reminded her of a photograph, capturing only the mere image of something but never quite encapsulating the essence and the spirit of its subject.

Though Y/N marveled, captivated by the mended palace she had only hoped to see, it was unsuccessful in deceiving her.

The Dreaming was her second home, and she knew whenever she stepped into its warm embrace.

"Y/N Gadling" A woman spoke. 

Y/N tore her gaze away from the palace, her eyes landing on the woman standing a few feet ahead of her. 

She had brown skin, curly black hair and dark, piercing eyes. She was not malicious, no, Y/N could tell, but the air around her was unsettling, enclosing you in its hold, warning you to tread lightly. 

She was not alone, however. She stood between two other women, one that looked older, and another one—the oldest one—who had wavy, salt and pepper hair.

The Fates eyed her, assessing the girl before them, their curious eyes wielding more power than any human could comprehend. They knew, of course they knew, and it was up to her to raise three important questions—three that would have everlasting effects upon the events that would take place in the near future.

“The Daydream,” the Mother added, keeping the same regal stature as her sister-selves.  

Y/N looked at them carefully; Greek mythology was something she had taken an interest in as a writer, and she had an inkling of who they might be. One would certainly remember The Three, as they held a crucial role in the entire sequence of the universe. 

“His regent,” the Crone called. 

She adjusted her bearing, squaring her shoulders as she held her hands behind her back, holding her head high. “The Fates. I’ve heard of you—stories, mostly.”

The Three smirked, giving each other knowing looks at Y/N’s commanding posture; she no longer looked inferior to them, and held herself with pride rather than the child-like curiosity that lingered in her gaze when she stepped into the faux throne room. 

Y/N knew the falseness of the ground she stood upon, and though she had not entered the Dreaming, any place that looked as such she would stand on with the utmost respect. 

The Fates were, in fact, more powerful than she could ever imagine. However, fake or not, they would fail to look down upon her in her own home.

“It has begun,” The Maiden spoke. 

Y/N’s eyebrows gave the slightest twitch, looking at the other two beings and waiting for their turn to speak.

“Careful where you tread, our dear Daydream,” The Crone said, her voice dark and low, vibrating through the air—though in the form of an ordinary elderly woman, her warning could turn the heads of the most powerful beings.

 "The power you hold does not go unnoticed. Many will seek you now," The Mother continued. Her voice was warmer, but nevertheless vehement. 

The Hecate talked in riddles, most of which hard to decipher; Y/N would have to make the most out of her three questions if she wanted to understand. 

“For me to have received such a visit, I would have to be something other than the person I think myself to be,” Y/N replied, The Three listening intently, seemingly waiting for a slip of the tongue. 

“I know not what I am, but you refer to me as his regent. Who might that be?” Y/N asked, her voice unwavering despite her internal disarray. She kept her mouth shut as an active effort to try and keep the questions at bay.

She held no control over the circumstance The Fates had forced her into. However, as long as she remained cautious of each word she spoke, it would influence the answers she would get. 

Decrypting them would be the challenge, but she could already think of one Johanna Constantine to help her with that. 

Behind her back, Y/N’s hands were balled into fists. Her composure did not falter, but in the back of her mind was a tsunami of questions she would not be ready for in the waking world.

She hid her nerves quite nicely from The Three, and to a great extent, to  herself as well. 

"He is not a person, my dear. He is the monarch of the realm you have sought shelter in for many years," The Maiden responded. 

"He is the ruler of dreams," The Mother continued. "But you have known him to be your dream."

Y/N remembered flashes of the man in the sphere. Were they referring to him? Had she been dreaming of the King of Dreams for a long time? Was it really the Sandman?

The oldest stepped forward. "And the one that came long before you."

Much to Y/N’s displeasure, with only a few words, The Crone had muddled the clues she was piecing together. They spoke of the man she knew from her sleep, surely—at least, from what she could gather, The Three should have been referring to him.

However, she knew not of his past. The Sandman would have existed aeons before herself, and though it should be overt information, The Fates felt it important to let her know in person. 

Why? In what world would their fates be attached to one another? What did his past have to do with her present?

"You call me ‘daydream’, as my father does. What is the significance of this?" Y/N asked, hoping to have asked the right question to gain further knowledge. She fiddled with her fingers behind her back, anxious that she might have wasted one of her chances. 

"There is no more significance, my dear," The Mother replied.

Y/N held her breath.

"There is only power," The Maiden continued.

Y/N’s hands shook, balled tightly behind her back, her nails digging into her palms. Her face began to show disdain, her eyebrows shaping into an obvious frown as their cryptic ways began to frustrate her. 

She only searched for answers, and though she had not expected The Fates to be of much help, it still upset her that they only seemed to aggravate her questions. 

"And there is only you." The Crone added. 

Y/N exhaled, releasing the breath she did not realise she was holding, and relaxed her hands, clasping them together gently—still behind her back—instead of squeezing so tight that she reduced bloodflow. 

"You are an intelligent one, dear. Your words have not been wasted,” The Crone reassured, though she kept her words simple and esoteric.

"Certainly better than her predecessor," The Maiden quipped as the other two repressed their laughter, only allowing their snickers to be heard. Regardless of their quiet amusement, their voices still seemed to echo inside of the palace replica. 

 Y/N smirked, however bemused by their antics. "One does not get a visit from The Three often. It would be a shame to squander the questions I have been gifted."

Though the Hecate had their purpose, it seemed as though they were not one to deny small conversations, and Y/N hoped to take advantage as she was only left with her final question.

"You speak of gifts. Very fitting for one of your kind," The Mother commented.

"When dreams despair, the sleeping shall receive a daydream as a gift from Death,” The Crone spoke, each word purposeful and carefully crafted into a phrase that lingered in the air—one whose meaning was obvious to all but the person it was intended for. 

"And they have.” The Mother looked at her other self, sending a knowing glance, their eyes speaking a million different things that they may never say aloud. 

"But what is a gift, if not wanted?" The youngest asked.

“And what becomes of it when it is not?" The eldest finished.

Y/N lowered her chin slightly, her eyes pointed, stern and peremptory towards The Three. There was a low rumbling that shook the ground below them, one that challenged the pillars that held the palace up proudly. 

A smirk graced their faces, indifferent to the trembling stones and structures that surrounded them. 

Y/N had many questions, and yet she only had one left to ask. 

She inhaled, closing her eyes and lifting her chin, then opened her eyes once more and exhaled, staring at the Hecate with volition that bled into the atmosphere around them. 

The shaking stopped.

It was not her home, and yet the false palace remained obedient under her mere presence.

“What has begun?” She asked, keeping her composure steady and her words clear; she dug her nails into her palm once again.

Light flashed through the windows, thunder roaring all around them. The Three did not waver, but their smirks turned into grins, glancing at the windows for a moment before returning their gaze onto Y/N.

Their eyes darkened as they all held their hands together in front of them, tilting their chin up proudly; The Three’s power grew, the air growing thick as they replied.

“The end,” they yelled, their voices echoing and tonitruous before the entire palace turned to one great flash of light, momentarily blinding Y/N.

She shielded her eyes with her arm, then it was over, when the blinding light had gone, she put her arm back down, finding that the view in front of her was different.

“Excuse me?” 

Y/N flinched, quickly turning around to face whoever had tapped her shoulder. It was a woman, shorter than her, looking curiously as Y/N regained her composure.

She wiped the baffled expression off of her face, replacing it with an apprehensive smile, waiting for the woman to continue speaking. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been standing there a while,” she asked, concerned, before chuckling shyly. “And you’re, uhm, kind of blocking the door.” 

Y/N laughed, nervous, clearing her throat and blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of the haze and the feeling of dust in her eyes. 

“I-I’m fine. It’s just been a weird day. Thank you for asking, though,” she replied, grateful for the kindness the woman had shown. If she was blocking the door, the stranger could have easily pushed her to the side. 

The woman, though, was now preoccupied with something else. She was looking directly into Y/N’s eyes, studying them carefully. Y/N awkwardly shuffled her feet to try and get away from the prying gaze. 

“I…I think there’s something in your eyes, miss…” the woman trailed off, mesmerized by the lights that twinkled within Y/N’s irises. 

Y/N looked at the ground, tearing herself away from her curious stare as she waved her off. “It’s, uhm, I have allergies,” she sniffled, quite forcefully, rubbing her nose and her eyes, the skin appearing red from the irritation. “I’ll be fine.”

Before the woman could voice more of her concerns, Y/N had already given her thanks, walking away briskly while muttering something about allergens being in the drinks. The stranger watched her leave, reluctantly telling her to get help if she gets sicker. 

* * *

Y/N’s knee bounced up and down as she sat alone on a park bench, tightly clutching her phone in her hands. She had long lost track of time, pondering over the strange circumstances that she seemed unable to escape. 

She spent a while trying to decipher what The Fates had said to her, which was surely the hardest to do seeing as she was only given pieces of information she did not know how to connect.

There had been many moments in her life where she was left completely dumbfounded and she thought that maybe, there was nothing left in the universe that could leave her as shocked and confused and afraid.

One of those moments was finding out about her father’s long, long life, and how he would outlive her for—well, forever. She thought that it was as much as her human mind could comprehend, choosing to accept it rather than to question it.

After all, she had seen him get hurt to the point where it was considered fatal, but he would always come out of it just fine. 

She guessed that, maybe, when someone has lived for centuries, they have the tendency to get quite reckless over time, something she had repeatedly scolded her father for. 

Point is, her perception of human reality had long been warped. However, it was never to the extent where a supposedly mythological being found it rather important to transport her to another realm in the middle of the day—in public, no less.

Not to mention leaving her physical body blocking the door to a busy establishment, susceptible to any and all outside forces without a care in the world about the harm it could have brought her. 

She stared at her feet, her hands starting to switch between picking at her phone case or relentlessly tapping the screen with fingernails she had bitten too short that her nailbeds began to sting.

It was a kind of pain that she hoped would wake her up. She was too uncertain of the world, too unsure of whether or not she was stuck in a dream.

After all, she was only human. Mortal? Possibly. But human, of course. 

Y/N flinched as a soccer ball hit her knee and landed by her feet. 

Curious, she picked it up, looking around and scanning the park for the owner. A young boy, no more than seven years old, came into view, jogging towards her.

“Is this yours?” Y/N asked, a warm smile gracing her face as she gestured to the ball in her hand. 

The boy stopped running, standing just a few feet away from her, his eyes going wide and his mouth agape as he called out for his mother, his eyes never leaving Y/N.

Alarmed, Y/N stayed frozen in her seat, resting the ball on her lap as she watched his mother run towards them both. She stammered, trying to explain that she did not mean any harm to her child, but the boy beat her to it.

“She’s the girl from my dream! The one with the rocketship!” he beamed as he excitedly pointed to Y/N. “She’s real! She’s real!”

Of course.

Y/N began tapping her fingers on the ball, feeling her chest constrict as she heard the hum once more, creeping to the surface of her mind like an oncoming storm—the distant thunder growing louder and louder. 

Raymond and the Rocketship.

Raymond Campbell.

“I’m Raymond!” The boy extended a hand for her to shake, then pulled it back. “But you know that already!” he giggled. “You remember, right?” 

How could she forget? 

He was the little boy in her first best-selling story book, the one she sloppily wrote down on her notebook a long time ago in the middle of the night, after yet another adventure-filled dream. 

He was a beloved character brought to life by the words she typed on her laptop, illustrated on the pages of Amelia’s favourite story book—her very first one written by Y/N. 

The book that sat proudly in the middle of Amelia’s bedroom shelf, ready to be reread whenever she pleased.

Raymond seemed to grow apprehensive when she gave him no response, tugging at his mother’s shirt. “She remembers me, right?” he asked, his voice losing its enthusiasm and lowering down to a shaky whimper. 

Blinking away her stupor, she smiled at Raymond, hoping to create a convincing facade. “Of course I remember!”

She looked at Raymond’s mom, who looked at her apologetically and was intending to stop her son from further bothering a stranger at the park.

However, Y/N subtly shook her head to let her know that she was more than willing to play along.

The mother smiled in return, relieved to see how she was kind enough to entertain her son, blissfully unaware of the trepidation clouding Y/N’s brain. 

Y/N offered her hand for Raymond to shake and he happily accepted. “I’m Y/N.” She extended the gesture to his mother as well, who gave her a grateful smile in return, silently thanking her for being kind to her son. 

“I’m Amanda,” the mother replied, placing both her hands on Ray’s shoulders. “I hope he wasn’t being too bothersome.”

“Oh, he could never!” Y/N replied, kneeling down to Raymond's eye level before handing the ball over to him. “Raymond here is a good friend, aren’t you, Ray?”

The little boy nodded, taking the ball with glee, “Do you actually have a spaceship?” he asked, narrowing his eyes from suspicion.

Y/N gasped, splaying her hand over her chest, feigning offence. “Why—of course I do! Who do you take me for? An imposter?” she accused, playfully pouting at Raymond who laughed and began to jump up and down.

“I want to see it!” He turned to his mother, his eyes wide and pleading. “Can we see it, please!”

Y/N exaggerated a huff and pointed towards the sky. “The ship is up there right now, so sadly, I can’t show it to you even if I wanted to.” She smiled apologetically and placed a gentle hand on Raymond’s arm. “I lent it to a good friend of mine. I’m sorry,” she pouted.

Raymond’s shoulders slumped and his jumping seized, bowing his head in discouragement. “Aw! When can I see it, then??” he asked, hopeful.

“Hmm.” Y/N squinted, removing her arm on his shoulder to place a finger on her chin as if she was deep in thought. “Do you follow your bedtime?” She eyed Raymond carefully, who now seemed to be interested in everything around them but her, so she turned to look at Amanda who only laughed in response.

“Him?" Amanda asked. “Never.” She earned a glare from her son, but she only chuckled as she ruffled his hair. “I’m only telling the truth, honey.”

Y/N sighed, giving Raymond a stern look. “That’s not very healthy, is it?”

The little boy shuffled his feet, shaking his head no. 

“Tell you what,” Y/N began. “Whenever we go to bed, we go to a place called The Dreaming. If you follow your bedtime, you’ll get there even faster; you’ll see the rocket there,” she smiled. “When it’s available, of course.”

“But it wouldn’t be real!” he argued, a deep frown on his face as he fidgeted with his fingers. 

“Says who?” She defended. “If it weren’t real, then I wouldn’t be here, would I?” She raised her eyebrow at Raymond as she waved her hands around and gestured to herself. “Right?”

Raymond gasped. “Woah,” he whispered, his eyes glazing over with wonderment and curiosity when he saw the stars that seemed to twinkle within the depths of her eyes.

Only for a moment, though. They disappeared as soon as he saw them.

Thinking that he had only been reacting to her, Y/N simply laughed and stood up, placing both of her hands on her hips. “Your dreams are just as real as you, me, and your mom, right now. Never forget that.”

She clapped her hands once and sighed. “Anyway, unfortunately I do need to be somewhere, I have to prepare for that rocketship’s landing when my friend gets back. Is that okay, Ray?” 

“As long as you promise that I can see it again next time?” He asked, holding out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise?”

Y/N held her hand out, hooking her pinky around his without a second thought. “Promise.”

Before Raymond could respond, he was called by his dad standing several feet away, gesturing for him to come over. He let her finger go, smiling widely and waving goodbye, running to his dad. “Bye Y/N! Remember your promise!”

She laughed, waving back. “I will!”

Y/N turned towards Raymond’s mother, who had her hands clasped in front of her. She wore a thick white coat, her hair was blonde and she had thin-rimmed glasses on. “Thank you,” Amanda said, smiling gratefully. 

She waved her off. “It’s no problem, he seems like a good kid.”

“Still, it was kind of you to play along like that.” The mother laughed. “He genuinely thinks you look like someone from his dream. Lucky coincidence, don’t you think? It made him really happy.”

Y/N cleared her throat, smiling as she tried to hide her nerves. “Yeah, it is. I go here a lot, though, so if you’ve been here before, maybe he’s seen me around and his brain just imagined someone who looks like me?”

Though it was not a lie—she did often visit the park—Y/N could not help but feel a pang of guilt for having lied to Amanda. 

Raymond could very well never see that rocket ship again, and his mother would have to explain that the kind lady he thought was the same one in his dream was only being nice, playing along to make him happy. 

Y/N, however, would have to keep the truth to herself, having no choice but to hide it from Amanda. After all, how could one describe The Dreaming? How could she ever explain it to her without seeming quite delusional?

Her dreams, no matter how frequent, could never truly be called her own. Some were, but she would eventually venture outside of its barriers, unknowingly travelling from one person’s sleeping mind to the next, accompanying them in their own little adventures, helping them grow and even defeat their own nightmares—nightmares she had come to know and love, sometimes seeing them around the Dreaming, too, if they ever decided to come visit. 

They were only characters to her, though. She would write them down  in some of her books, never knowing that those were indeed the physical forms of nightmares that she had come across and even befriended. 

One simply becomes accustomed to their own creativity…most of the time. In Y/N’s case, however, a major component of accepting her “vivid imagination” was an unimaginable amount of denial.

She had to turn away from the truth in favor of lying to herself that her mind was merely creating vivid fantasies.

“This is our first time here, actually,” Amanda responded, keeping an eye on Raymond, who was joyfully playing soccer with his father. Her expression held fondness for the two, cherishing their happy faces as they relished in their game. 

“Oh, I guess it is quite the coincidence, then,” Y/N chuckled, internally cursing herself for her presumption. “Anyway, I really do have to go, miss.” She held out her hand once more. “It was nice meeting you!”

Amanda held her hand in both of hers, smiling warmly. “Likewise, Y/N. You were so lovely with Ray.”

They said their goodbyes, and once again, Y/N was alone, walking aimlessly away from the park. She rubbed her eyes once, annoyed by the dust she could feel in her eyes.

There was no moment of rest for her—the park only made her all the more confused. It took her a mere moment to decide that she needed help, as she would never be able to settle these strange affairs on her own.

While meeting Raymond had not gone as badly as she would have expected, it was not supposed to happen in the first place. Not when he was only supposed to be a fictional character.

She groaned in irritation, swiftly unlocking her phone to dial Johanna’s number while trying to blink the itchiness in her eyes away.

The phone rang, and Y/N picked at the fabric of her shirt, grinding her teeth as she silently cursed Johanna for failing to answer the phone immediately.

She rubbed the back of her neck, her chest tightening as she swallowed the lump that began to form in her throat.

“Hello?”

“Jo!” She shouted. “I spoke with The Three—as in, The  Three. The Hecate, The Kindly Ones—

“Wait, wait, hold on—”

“No! Jo, I saw The Fates—” She gulped, lowering her voice down to a whisper. “And I saw Raymond.”

“Who’s Raymond?”

“Raymond and the Rocketship.”

Y/N kept walking, her eyes to the floor and distracted by her thoughts. 

“Come over. Let’s talk about it over some tea, yeah? Make sure to keep your eyes open for anything strange; call me if you're in any sort of danger. Got it?”

Y/N nodded to herself, thanking Johanna before she gladly took the offer and hung up, looking forward to a warm drink to calm her slightly shaking hands. 

Johanna had never been the most sociable, let alone hospitable, keeping her distance from most to avoid having them in the way, for better or for worse. 

And Y/N had known to be cautious, especially around people who provoked the supernatural. Her father had enough stories, and he was intent that she learned from them.

However, she somehow managed to remain friends with the demon hunter, visiting from time to time just to check in or talk at least once a month, even if only through a phone call.

It never went unnoticed by the occultist, developing a soft spot for Y/N as time went on. 

Johanna Constantine had never been the best at friendship—or any kind of relationship, really—but if there was anything she could assist Y/N with, it was surely the kind that involved otherworldly affairs. 

Y/N pocketed her phone, eyes scanning the crowd of people in the streets. It was a nice reminder from Johanna; assuming that her day would continue the way it had been going, there was a high probability that she may encounter something else—or someone else—as unexpected as her last four—two?—visitors. 

Ironically for her, the day was nice—the sun wasn’t too hot and the wind blew just enough for the temperature to be comfortable. The streets were bustling with people, some hurried off to work, some were ready to head on home, and some were simply taking a stroll out to take advantage of the weather.

“I want some chips.”

Y/N jumped, anxiously looking around her with a hand up to the side of her head. The voice sounded as though it was right against her ear, loud and high-pitched like the voice of a child. 

She spotted a little girl, dressed in a bright pink coat and dark jeans, holding her mother’s hand as she jumped up with glee, pointing to a bag of chips displayed on the top shelf of a shop window. 

“Mum look! Can I have some?” The little girl asked.

Y/N frowned. The girl had the same voice as the one she just heard, only this time, she could actually see who was speaking. 

“Please let her say yes.”

“Shit,” Y/N cursed, flinching as she covered both of her ears out of instinct when she heard another voice. The volume had not been the problem, but it was the proximity. Was there actually a person talking to her? She would have felt their breath against her skin from how close it sounded. 

“I wonder what I’ll get for my birthday.”

Y/N turned around, her eyes rapidly scanning the people that passed by. She chewed the inside of her cheek and focused on her breathing, closing her eyes for a few seconds, waiting to hear more voices. 

But there were none, and she exhaled in relief, letting go of her ears as she gathered herself before continuing her walk to Johanna’s house.

“Fuck, the deadline’s tomorrow.”

“One more day, just one more day.”

“Why isn’t he here yet?”

“Would they like this? No, probably not.”

Y/N’s head began to spin and her eyes began to water. The voices were getting louder, overlapping as they increased in numbers. She stopped walking, holding her head in her hands, crouching down and groaning in pain. 

Though she was outside, she could feel walls beginning to close around her, the air stale and unmoving.

Y/N searched the crowd, desperate to find who the voices belonged to, but there was no one. Most were not talking, minding their own business as they passed by. Some conversed with others; however, she could no longer make out what the voices were saying, there were too many, and they were all equally as loud.

She wiped the tears that fell down her face, balling her hands into fists as she stood up, ignoring the nausea and reaching for her phone to call Johanna.

That was, until she bumped into someone; she fell backwards and dropped her phone on the ground, hearing a small shatter. She cursed, immediately looking for her phone without checking to see who she had run into.

“Are you alright, miss?”

Y/N whipped her head around, looking up to see a woman who offered a helping hand. When she did not respond, only stared, the woman crouched down and retrieved her phone, examining it before returning it to her.

“The screen’s a little cracked, but other than that, I think it’s okay.”  

Apprehensively, she took the phone from the woman’s hand, checking to see the damage. There was a big crack from the top corner of the screen all the way to the bottom with small lines branching off of it. Fortunately for her, only the screen protector had been broken, and it would work as normal—she could still call Johanna. 

“How about you?” The woman asked, standing up and offering her hand once more. “Are you okay?”

Y/N took her hand this time, holding it tightly before pulling herself up; she found her footing and dusted herself off. She opened her mouth to say her thanks, but it was then that she noticed the silence. 

The voices had gone, and so did the pain. 

She could feel the air moving again and inhaled deeply, relishing in the relief her lungs felt as the heaviness in her chest vanished. 

Patient as ever, the stranger only observed her with a kind smile, one that Y/N awkwardly returned as she let go of her hand. 

The woman wore an all-black attire, her black, curly hair complementing her dark skin. She wore a tank top with thin straps and a necklace that Y/N recognized as an ankh . 

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” she lied, then clenched her jaw tightly, her eyes looking everywhere as if waiting for something else to happen—mainly, for the voices to return.

Though she felt calmer, her brain still ran a hundred miles per hour, wondering what had even caused her to stop hearing voices in her head. Was it the woman? Will she turn out to be another strange encounter for her to tell Johanna? Or was it something else?

Her body was stiff, shoulders tense and breathing still shallow. She cleared her throat, about to excuse herself—

“You don’t look alright.” Death, though many think of her as an entity to be feared, gently placed a hand on Y/N’s shoulder, hoping to ease some of the tension. It was rather blunt to say that to someone who, in her eyes, certainly was not alright, but she managed to say so without a hint of condescension.

Humans were strange; she understood their need to hide true feelings, especially to a stranger—but she was not really a stranger, was she?

Death was a familiar concept to everyone who ever lived, and thus, every one knew who was waiting at the end of their Earthly lives. At one point or another, a human will encounter Death, whether it is their time or the loss of a loved one—she will always be there, and she always has.

But she was not only Death—she was also Life. She only sought to help a human in need,  to ease their life’s stressors if only for a little bit. 

However, it would be wrong of her to deny that the woman she faced piqued her interest from the moment she bumped into her. 

Although she did it quite often, she had not meant to be visible to anyone. She was merely fulfilling her purpose, when she ran into a woman who was not even supposed to see her.

Of course she meant to ask, maybe she was not human—but as she learned during her interminable existence, especially while on Earth, there was a time and a place.

“It’s been…an eventful day,” Y/N sighed, her voice wavering. The tension on her shoulders eased and she was able to breathe deeply again.

“It happens to the best of us, don’t worry about it,” Death sympathised, her eyes warm and understanding, looking at Y/N without a hint of judgement.

The woman’s expression faltered for a moment, then turned into confusion. “Pardon me for asking—but you aren’t dead, are you?”

Y/N froze, her eyes widened and flickered to the ankh. “No, I’m not dead,” she answered, gulping. “Pardon me for asking, but are you ?”

A part of her felt ridiculous for asking such a question, but assuming her day would go on as it had been for the past few hours, it would not be an impossible concept. 

She almost wished that the woman would say yes—maybe it would convince her that she had finally gone mad, because if so, she could find some semblance of sanity. It would be easier to accept that she was merely insane than to force her mind into believing things such as other realms and the existence of The Fates.

The dark-haired woman squinted her eyes as if deep in thought, before going back to her normal, kind smile. “No, I’m just joking with you,” she laughed, positioning herself beside Y/N and looping her arm around hers, giving her a moment to pull away if she wanted.

Instead, Y/N seemed to relax at her touch.

“Walk with me?” Death asked, and Y/N cleared her throat in response before nodding silently, looking straight ahead, refusing to look at the woman beside her.

Death was a very perceptive being—she considered it a requirement as her job was to accompany people to the Sunless Lands. She was curious to know more about the clearly anxious woman who she—quite impossibly—ran into. 

However, similarly to when she would show herself to the recently deceased, precautions had to be taken. 

She would not want to distress anyone who had just passed, but especially not someone who was still alive. Whatever Death would tell her, she would carry with her for the rest of her life until they meet again at the end of it.

“So, where are you off to?” 

“A friend’s” Y/N answered stiffly. Still busying herself with watching her surroundings, and she made sure to cover as much area as she could. As Johanna had told her, she was to keep an eye out for any possible danger—who was she to ignore the expert?

Death hummed, seeing that Y/N’s attention was being given to everything else but their conversation. “You can talk to me.” She shrugged, waiting for Y/N to look her way. “I’m a complete stranger to you. You won’t lose anything.”

The Endless wanted to know more about her, curious as to how she could perceive beings such as herself, when humans are not inherently capable of doing so. 

Y/N chuckled, looking at the floor as they continued to walk aimlessly. “I don’t think you have much time for that.”

The stranger had been kind to her so far, and there was truly no harm in telling her about the day she had, but there was always a chance she would be labelled as a liar, or completely out of her wits. 

It was certainly the least of her worries, though.

Death nodded, “You’re right, I do have somewhere to be.” She thought for a moment, wanting to say the right words to make use of the little time she had to get sufficient information. “Tell me the important bits, then. The most ridiculous part of your day.” She grinned; although she hoped to get some answers, she was also genuinely interested in her well-being.

She might not be able to offer any solutions to her problems, but she could always lend a hand here and there in the form of comfort and reassurance. Death had learned that sometimes, all you need is the right person at the right time, ready to listen and accompany you, if only for a little while. 

Y/N chewed her bottom lip, thinking of how she could possibly recapitulate her recent experiences without sounding completely insane. Though she thought it unlikely for her to get ridiculed—since the stranger had been understanding so far—she did not want to bother the poor woman with her bizarre and unbelievable stories.

“Well…” She trailed off. “I met three women today—technically three—and they told me some rather peculiar things. They had been incredibly cryptic, and I’m still trying to figure out what they meant.”

She paused for a moment, picking at her fingernails as she pondered over what she would say next. “Then I met this little boy—he said he saw me in his dream. When he described it, I remember having the same one. He was in it, too. And then I began to hear voices in my head—but they stopped when you came. My dad’s immortal, too, but I don’t know if that has anything to do with today. Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised if it did,” she rambled, nervously laughing at the end. She tore her gaze away from the pavement and to the stranger beside her, trying to gauge her reaction.

She considered telling her about the man but quickly decided against it. He has not been a part of her day—not completely—but he has always been the most peculiar part of her life. 

It would take a while to explain, and she did not want to take more of the woman’s time, nor did she want to take her kindness for granted.

Death looked away for a moment, a frown growing on her face. There was something deeply familiar with her stories, and she was disappointed to have only obtained more questions instead of answers. 

She had a purpose to fulfill and people to attend to, she knew that the answers she sought would have to wait. If the girl beside her was something more than human, their paths would surely cross again. 

Her eldest brother had a plan, as he did for most, and she would not interfere. She would not expose her true nature, not when she felt it was the wrong time.

Maybe she could pay him a visit next, though she was certain that she would not get very far if she were to question him. 

“Humans are so strange,” Death spoke, unlinking their arms, stopping their pace beneath the shade of a nearby tree. “You will go through some of the strangest things and carry it with such strength and elegance.”

“Humans?” Y/N asked. “You refer to humans as if you aren’t one yourself,” she chuckled. There was something so otherworldly about the strange woman, she stared at her with such kind eyes—an attribute she could not recall seeing on anyone else except for one.

Whenever she looked into her eyes, it brought her back to when she looked into the man’s eyes. 

Hers were welcoming, holding unconditional warmth for all those she would encounter, while his were filled with sorrow.

They were vastly different, yet they both gave the same feeling of something ethereal and incomprehensible.

The closest person she knew who had similar eyes was her father, but his were distinct. Unlike the other two, she could describe what she saw in the depth of her father’s irises. 

They were old—the eyes of a man who had lived longer than he should have. His eyes were wise and full of memories she would never truly know, and he may never truly speak of.

Death gently took one of Y/N’s hands and held it in both of her own. “Whatever had happened to you, I’m sure it means something. My brother isn’t so careless, and neither are The Three.” She glanced at someone behind Y/N, seeing the soul she was to visit next, and concluded that her time with Y/N was up.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, looking over her shoulder to see what the woman was looking at.

“I wish you the best in your adventures, Y/N—hopefully we bump into each other again soon.”

Alarmed by the sudden farewell, Y/N turned her head back to the woman, but she was no longer there. 

Her hand remained extended, as if someone was still holding it, but there was nothing there. The woman had disappeared, and her heart sank, ready to hear the voices once more.

But her mind stayed quiet as she looked around, trying to find where the kind stranger had gone off to.

She brought her hand back down, and a part of her sought a reason to panic. She was certain that she had been with someone, their arms were even looped together as they were walking.

There was no unease, though, and she continued to stroll through the familiar streets of her town as if it was a normal day. 

And thankfully, she was not very far from Johanna’s house. 

Y/N’s hand—the one that the strange woman held—opened and closed at her side. She fidgeted with her fingers, rubbing it on her pants or holding her hands together, trying to get rid of the tingly feeling. 

Eventually, the sensation crawled up her wrist, to her elbow, and then to her shoulder until she was subtly scratching her entire arm. 

Her eyes were distant, and her mind was clouded and blurry. Due to this, her arm was merely a nuisance to her instead of being a source of concern, nor did she notice that the sensation started after the woman held her hand.

In her haze, Y/N also failed to recall her name leaving Death’s lips before she vanished. She held an empty expression, not having felt so in tune yet so out of touch with reality. 

She missed most of the glances that went her way, the people taking a second look just to see her eyes again as they sparkled under the sun, conspicuous even in the daylight. The children that would nudge their companions, pointing at her reflection as she passed by store windows, went unnoticed as well.

On every reflective surface, she appeared the same; she wore a dark coat, one that billowed unnaturally in the wind, moving in a slow but elegant dance as she walked by. Whenever her coat would move a certain way, one could catch a glimpse of the galaxy it held within the inner layer of the fabric. Everything about her attire was black, her feet clad in the same Doc Marten boots she wore in her dreams.

Yet those were only in her reflections; she did not own a single piece of that outfit.

Eventually, the weird static she could feel on her arm dissipated.

Unbeknownst to her, there were small, almost unnoticeable white lines that developed on her fingers, crawling up her palm like cracks on damaged pavement.

The light was bright, but exposed only enough for them to show a subtle glow, much like the sand in Amelia’s room.

Y/N’s grasp on reality seemed to have been warped, as if she was swimming in deep waters. The atmosphere felt thick but not suffocating, her vision tinted by some form of film that made her incapable of fully grasping the realm she walked on. She could feel the wind along her skin and every wisp of hair that touched her forehead, moving ever so gently in the soft breeze; she could hear every breath she took and how the oxygen entered her lungs like taking your first few breaths after you have just gotten out of the water. 

Before she knew it, she was knocking on Johanna’s door, waiting to be let in. Johanna’s muffled voice could be heard, rushed, yelling for Y/N to give her a moment.     

* * *

“Hey.” Johanna poked her head out of the door, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, change of plans. I’m kind of in the middle of something, so if you could just give me a moment—”

Her eyes grew wide but she caught herself, forcing her composure to return. Her eyes narrowed, studying the obvious difference in the way Y/N held herself.

It was the eyes again, though, that had caught her attention.

Because Y/N’s eyes had actually changed. Johanna was seeing her friend stand in front of her with glowing eyes that contained the depth of space instead of seeing it in her reflection. 

“Nevermind,” Johanna mumbled. “Get inside, but don’t go near the living room. You’ll know why when you see it.” She decided that for the sake of them both, because of Y/N’s strange demeanor, she would bring her into the safety of her home.

It might not be as safe as the average household, especially with what her living room contained, but it was better than leaving Y/N exposed outside.

But whether or not she was in danger or was the danger, Johanna was yet to decide. 

Y/N nodded silently before walking into the house, offering Johanna only a slight smile before frowning.

She had been to her house before, she was accustomed to all of the strange objects littered around it, but as she entered, there was an immediate shift in the air—one that felt familiar and strange at the same time.

Usually, the artifacts that Johanna would take home had an effect on the general feeling of the house. Sometimes there was a dark cloud looming around the rooms or—as most people would be—she would become anxious when in the presence of something demonic and supernatural.

Out of respect, Y/N generally never asked about the artifacts and she was normally none the wiser about the happenings inside of the Constantine household. 

If it involved Johanna’s work, she left the subject alone, knowing that it was much preferred by the occultist to be that way. 

The Constantines had their fair share of tragic stories. Getting involved with any of them was a risk on its own, and Y/N did not want to be in the way of Johanna in fear that it might result in calamity.

Johanna Constantine has suffered great loss. Y/N was not interested in being one of them.

Not only for her sake, but largely for Johanna’s. 

Cautiously, Y/N walked into the house, keeping herself alert for any unusual creatures or objects. There was an itch at the back of her mind that called to her, but she could not quite get a hold of the thought.

Something was inside of Johanna’s home, something she knew of but could not quite recall.

But as she reached the living room, her eyes immediately landed on a very familiar binding circle drawn onto the floor. 

It was smaller, less intricate than the one she saw in her dreams, and the symbols were different

What interested her the most, though, was the humanoid shadow trapped inside of the circle.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her grip on reality loosen. She inhaled deeply, hoping to regain some semblance of control when her mind seemingly drifted away from—

“It’s a demon,” Johanna mumbled. She was behind Y/N, careful to keep a close eye. There was a supposed demon in their midst, and yet she had a gut feeling that her starry-eyed friend might be more powerful than the creature she had in her living room. 

Johanna cleared her throat, shifting her feet as she looked at the shadow. “I think it’s a demon, anyway,” she admitted. “I’m actually not sure. I caught it wandering about my house. I tried sending it back to Hell but it wouldn’t work.”

Upon Y/N’s entrance, the unknown being warped into a more solid, humanoid form. Their skin was made up of grey and black nebulae patterns that seemed to absorb light, their eyes now dimming into a dark maroon than the previous bright red. They had no hair, but instead, a faint, smokey grey hue resembling flames emitted from the top of their head. 

The creature put their hand up to the invisible barrier, making it ripple in waves that spread throughout the unseeable dome, the light that bent around it being the only indication it even existed. 

“I am no demon,” they grumbled. The words echoed around the room, unnaturally low yet still present—the floor and the walls seemed to vibrate with every intonation. 

Y/N walked closer, and Johanna took one instinctive step towards her, prepared to pull her away if anything were to happen. 

“You belong in the Dreaming…” Y/N spoke, unsure of her words, but choosing the next ones carefully. “A nightmare.”

The creature’s eyes widened and Y/N gently placed her hand over theirs through the barrier, creating a black shadow that surrounded their hands, emitting off of their nearly-touching palms as dark wisps of smoke. 

“I’ve seen your kind before in the realm of dreams. Is that not where you reside?”  She questioned gently, keeping in mind the possibility that they may be one of the residents that went rogue when their world started to crumble. 

No harm would come to the creature, and though she sounded sure of herself, an inkling of desperation could be heard from the resolution in her voice and the persistence in her stare, almost as if purposely showing her dismay.

“You know of us—you wear his clothing,” the being responded, glancing at the windows then back to Y/N. “Your image wears his clothing.” There was wonderment in their voice, but they were not there to study her—the creature was there for the same reason Y/N was.

They wanted answers, too, but Y/N could not give them what she was also still seeking.

She dropped her hand, the wisps of shadow disappearing. “Go back home, Nightmare,” she ordered, noting how the creature’s expression seemed to drop at the mention of their lost home. “One such as you mustn't wander the waking world so carelessly.”

There was a part of her that wondered if she had gone too far. She did not know their whole story, and it was not an easy feat to see your once prosperous world decaying.

However, she also knew that their loyalties should have been to the Kingdom—the Dreaming—instead of losing trust in their monarch.

Lucienne stayed, and it was all Y/N needed to know that there was still hope.  The librarian’s determination to see their Lord return was enough for Y/N to decide that there was no abandoning the Dreaming—not until Lucienne’s belief lasts. 

“I could say the same for you.” The creature had tilted their chin up, as if to challenge the woman in front of them. “Do you not possess powers in which only our Lord wields?” They paused, looking over Y/N’s shoulder to gaze at Johanna.

“There have been stories about a regent,” they spoke, tearing their eyes away from the occultist’s narrowed ones and back to the woman in front. “If I may ask, am I right to assume that I have found the regent in question?”

“I’m not anyone’s regent,” Y/N answered. “Go back to the Dreaming. I know not who you speak of—I barely know your realm’s true nature, and I do not wish it to interfere with the waking world’s inhabitants.” 

Putting her foot forward, Y/N broke the circle, feeling Johanna’s tight grip on her elbow. “We’re safe, Jo,” Y/N reassured, but the hold on her arm had not changed. 

The creature stepped over the lines, free to do anything they desired in the waking world. They turned to the window, staring into the eyes of Y/N’s reflection. “You will find that the waking world is not your only realm, my lady.” 

With on more words left to say, the Nightmare turned itself into a cloud of black smoke, floating high into the air before completely disappearing. 

Johanna roughly pulled Y/N back to face her. “What the fuck was that?” she glared. “Why did you let it out? You don’t know what it’s going to—”

Y/N shook her head, calmly pushing Johanna’s hand away and holding it in hers. “They won’t do anything, I know that much. They came here for me, and if they do what I told them to do, they’ll just go back to the Dreaming.”

Pulling her hand away, Johanna ran it through her hair while her other hand rested on her hip. “And you know that how?”

“That was a Nightmare, Jo, not a demon. That’s why you couldn’t send them to Hell.”

Y/N told no lie when she mentioned her previous knowledge of the Nightmare. There were many like the one they had just encountered—she was familiar with their kind and knew that most of them were not malicious. 

They had their duties, something they lost when their monarch vanished. Now they simply wandered wherever they wanted and acted how they chose to, but it did not necessarily change them into creatures of malevolence.

“Is that why you’ve been acting weird since last night?” Johanna questioned, both of her hands now on  her hips, her eyes boring into Y/N’s. “So the Dreaming exists? You’re sure of that now?” 

Y/N shook her head, breathing deeply and trying to digest Johanna’s words. Whatever had clouded her mind was starting to wear off, and though she was not completely herself, she was starting to feel the panic rise up in her chest when she remembered why she came there in the first place. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m here. You’re the only one I can think of who can help.” She gave Johanna a tight-lipped smile, wanting to make the tension vanish, hoping to see the usual level-headedness from her friend. 

Johanna stayed silent to take a few deep breaths, regaining as much of her composure she was capable of. She could remember all of her other so-called adventures and encounters with the supernatural—but none were as strange as this.

If everything Y/N said over the phone were true, she was faced with someone who acted as a magnet for the things she was paid to get rid of. Johanna felt helpless; deep within her mind, something told her that this was not something she could help with.

She was only human, one with many limitations—she feared that this may be one of them. 

“Sit.” She pointed to the sofa. “I’ll make tea; then you better explain what’s been going on with you,” she sighed, walking towards the kitchen to prepare their cups. 

Instead of sitting down, though, Y/N browsed through Johanna’s collection of books that she obtained through the years. They were all strewn around the house, so inevitably, she decided to do a bit of cleaning up while she was at it.

She knew better than to clean excessively, though. As she had tried once before, but Johanna simply liked the chaos of her messy home. 

Y/N flipped some books around, making sure that the titles were visible. Sometimes she would wipe the dust off the covers—she even tried to alphabetize them before she had gotten a stern look from Johanna.

“Do you have any books on the Fates?” 

Holding two cups, Johanna went to sit on the couch, placing their tea on the coffee table as she waited for Y/N to join her, which she was very happy to.

Y/N took a sip of her tea. “I think they were the ones who talked to me earlier.”

“I have books, but tell me what happened first.”

Clearing her throat, Y/N tapped her short nails on the cup. “They were cryptic. I haven’t made sense of it all just yet, but I was hoping you could help.”

“Did you ask them why they were there?”

“No,” Y/N scoffed. “I couldn’t be that direct. I’ve read about them, Jo. I wasn’t planning on wasting my questions.”

“Just making sure,” Johanna responded, taking a sip of her own drink. “Tell me what they said. I can’t promise anything, though. They obviously sought you out—what’s so important about you that the Three-in-One came for a visit?”

Y/N mulled over their conversation; it was practically impossible to explain just how dreadful it was. While she succeeded in remaining level-headed during her time with The Fates, her mind had not been clear, especially with the events that transpired before and after.

“They kept calling me ‘Daydream’” was the only response Y/N could muster, deciding that she would take it one topic at a time when it became too difficult for her to try and tell the story as a whole.

“Like your nickname?”

“Yes,” Y/N nodded. “The other one called me ‘his regent’. That has to mean something, right? The nightmare called me the same name, and my father had been referring to me as ‘Daydream’ for most of my childhood.”

“ His regent. Any ideas on who you’re a supposed ‘regent’ of?” This was certainly a curious case for Johanna, especially because it was happening to a friend. Her mind was reeling with questions—ones that she was unsure she would ever get answered, but she had to try anyway. 

“The ruler of dreams, apparently.”

Johanna choked on her tea, covering her mouth as she tried to keep her coughs at bay. “The Sandman,” she stifled, clearing her throat. “You mentioned him last night.”

If this case was certainly related to the Endless,  Johanna Constantine was mystified; it was obvious to Y/N that she had finally caught the attention of the occultist. 

Not that Johanna had not already been paying attention, but she seemed to take the situation more seriously now that an all-powerful being could possibly be involved. 

Y/N L/N, a friend she made by chance, could be the Regent of an Endless. She was drinking tea with a ruler of an entire realm.

“Oh…” Y/N trailed off, her eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. “I guess I did, didn’t I?” 

She had not noticed the slight gap in her memory. She could remember Amelia and how she told her the story, but after that—after she had woken up from her latest dream—the events were indistinct.

Whenever she did try to remember, she did not feel as if it were her own memories. They felt almost stolen, like peering into another’s mind; watching from their point of view and waiting for them to make their next move.

There was a buzz inside of her mind—silent, barely there, but its effects were ever so present. Her ears would become muted and clogged, her senses detaching themselves from reality.

It was definitely her, there was no doubting it. Had she been possessed, it would feel a little more aggressive than that—at least that’s what she thought, she had never actually been possessed before.

She concluded that maybe she had been distracted that night, and more questions appeared in her mind, fueled by the need to remember .

Ironically, though, these instances were not uncommon for her, as she could recall several moments where she often felt that she had lost some of her memories. However, that night at Johanna’s was the worst of it. 

Y/N wanted to be able to look back and say that her actions were her own, and that whatever had been hiding inside of her brain for the past thirty years would finally come to surface.

Her dreams, her father, her abilities—they had all been normal to her.

Sure, she could eventually come to admit that, like her father, she was no ordinary human. 

But what then? What could she be? Had she been anything else other than normal, her father would have told her a long time ago. He was no liar, and he has said before that it would not do them any good if he hid his true identity from his own daughter.

To be fair, though, he only said that once she noticed how no matter the wounds or illnesses he faced, he never seemed to mind the fatality.

The dangers that came with being something other than human—other than a human mortal —were immeasurable, and he decided to come clean.

Eventually.

Johanna waited patiently, giving Y/N time to think. She could remember how dissociated she looked that night, and it would not surprise her if she was having trouble remembering.

Her eyes had been distant, and her mind was obviously elsewhere. It was tough to get through to her; Johanna figured that Y/N might have only needed the company—of course, until later on when she noticed the difference in her entire demeanor and the very distinct reflection in the window. 

Y/N cleared her throat, keeping her eyes away from Johanna’s as she took another sip of her drink. “He’s only a story. Nothing more.” She shook her head, holding the cup down on her lap, keeping her focus on the tinted liquid inside. 

“And so are the Fates, and every other creature I’ve encountered,” Johanna contested, tilting her head to try and get into Y/N’s eyesight, hoping to have her attention. “They’re all stories, we just don’t know which ones are true.”

Johanna was being kind, having rid her words of any snark or sarcastic undertones; something Y/N silently appreciated. Her friend spoke softly, making conversation instead of arguing with her about the facts. 

Of course she knew that they all began with stories. Some might have been invented by some aspiring writer—a story that some mistook for real events.

There were other stories, though, that came from long-forgotten origins that were yet to be disproved or even discovered.

Deciding that she was not prepared to answer Johanna, she continued with her retelling of the Fates’ visit, praying to catch Johanna’s attention enough to ignore that she had changed the subject.

“They said that the end has begun, and left after that,” she mumbled, gulping down the rest of her tea.

The demon hunter scoffed, putting her drink down on the coffee table and crossed her arms. “The end as in…what? The apocalypse?”

“If it were the end of the world, why would they tell me that?”

Johanna clicked her tongue. “So they're talking about your end, then?” 

“Maybe,” she answered honestly. There was no point in lying, but she was tempted. 

Johanna had never been considered the nicest person, and most people she got into a relationship with would leave her. That was, if Johanna had not already beaten them to it.

Y/N did not want the same fate to befall their friendship. 

“Maybe you’re like your dad,” Johanna shrugged. “It could run in the family, you know?” she joked, laughing despite the harsh truth that lay behind her words. 

Both of them knew her father had had children before her, and a number of them faced an untimely death.

Regardless, Y/N snickered along with her, entertaining the possibility that maybe the blood of an immortal could be passed down—her half siblings may have just simply been unlucky enough not to receive it. 

“One thing stuck with me, though.” Y/N paused, chewing on her lip as she tried to recall the exact words that were said to her. “ When  dreams despair, the sleeping shall receive a daydream as a gift from Death.”

“What the fuck does that mean? Do they mean that you’re the gift? The daydream?”

“If I am, why?” Y/N asked. “And I'm supposed to do something?”

There was silence for a few moments as Johanna picked at her nails. “If you want to live, probably,” she mumbled. 

“All jokes aside,” Johanna continued, holding her hands together to stop herself from fidgeting. “If you’re just like the rest of us, the Fates would not have had a reason to talk to you. I think it means that it involves other people, not just you. Powerful beings like them always have a reason, and they would not have had one if you were normal.”

She leaned back against the sofa, swinging her arms over the backrest. “You’ve always been weird, Y/N. Admit it—”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” Johanna insisted, putting her arm back to her side and leaning forward. “The sooner you admit that, the faster we can get to dealing with it.”

Y/N shook her head, to which Johanna groaned in annoyance. “Maybe we don’t. Maybe it’ll all go away tomorrow. This is probably just…a mistake. Or a hallucination.” 

“Y/N,” Johanna sighed. “Hell exists, demons exist. Cursed objects, runes, witchcraft—they’re real. There is more than one realm. The Fates, they—”

“No.” Y/N stood up, moving to collect her things. It was ironic—she had asked Johanna for help without ever thinking that she might not be ready for it.

“Y/N look at yourself!” Johanna snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders before she turned Y/N around, holding her in place so she stood right in front of the window. 

Finally, Y/N came face to face with herself, the one she only saw in the waters of the Dreaming. Someone who had been following her for a long time—the figure in the glass, in every mirror she faced. 

It had always been there, but she had been too blind to see it, choosing to see her human form instead of the reflection she was always meant to have. 

She could see herself— really see herself. The same white eyes she saw in the water, the dark clothing, how her cheeks looked more sunken.

“ This.” Johanna tapped on the window, making a loud thud as her hand hit the glass. “Isn’t normal! And you have to stop pretending like it is!” She walked in front of Y/N, looking intently at her eyes. 

Y/N stared blankly into the window, her eyes trained on the figure in the glass.

“Gods, demons, devils, Fates—they all exist, Y/N. We both know that. Your father is immortal for heaven’s sake!” Johanna’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, her voice composed, yet it gave the slightest quiver before ending in a low whisper. “Listen to me unless you want to end up like Astra.”

Y/N tore her gaze away from the window and to Johanna, her trance broken by the mention of the late girl’s name. 

“The Fates warned you, the end has begun,” Johanna reiterated, her hands falling back down to her sides. “Whatever the hell that means.” She turned around for a moment, wiping her eyes and facing Y/N once more, stoic as ever. 

“Okay,” Y/N mumbled weakly, unsure of what she had just agreed to. She looked over Johanna’s shoulder, her strange reflection looking back at her. 

And slowly, she stalked towards the window, her arms outstretched as she attempted to reach out, not quite sure of her next actions. The closer she got, the lesser her grasp on reality.

The air became thick, and with it, her reflection glitched, changing to the one she had always known and then changing back to the version she saw in the Dreaming. 

Eventually, it started to look like broken glass. Some fragments of her figure looked human, some looking otherworldly.

"I could say the same for you. Do you not possess powers in which only our Lord wields?" she recalled what the Nightmare said. 

Maybe there was some truth to that, and maybe all that was left to do was finally accept it. 

She stepped closer, and her fingers brushed against the glass.

The window cracked, the deafening sound echoing across the room, making both of them flinch. It webbed outwards, the cracks becoming bigger and bigger the longer her touch remained on the glass.

Slow shattering could be heard, the crunching getting louder as the damage grew.

Y/N stepped away, her fingers no longer touching the window. 

“Y/N, your hand,” Johanna pointed out, looking at her with uncertainty. The one that made contact with the window was cracked as well, similar to the glass pane. 

The damage started with her fingers, the cracks webbing higher and higher as white light emitted from underneath her skin. She stared at it in horror, watching it grow brighter to blinding degrees.

That was when Y/N realized that it burned , feeling the unbearable heat brought upon by the light that seeped from her skin, her shock subsiding the more she looked at the sight before her. 

The light beseeched for escape, pushing against her and testing the limits of her human body to see when it would break. She screamed, falling to her knees as she grasped her arms tightly, as if trying to close the cracks that were beginning to climb up from her hand.

“Y/N, I need you to tell me what’s going on,” Johanna spoke with urgency, hoping that her voice could be heard through Y/N’s cries of pain.

Wind began to howl inside of the living room, circulating Y/N as the pain became more unbearable. 

Johanna was unfazed, knowing that the strange disturbance could only be coming from one person. She put her arm up to shield her eyes, her hair billowing as she slowly walked closer to the girl hunched over on the floor. 

The house shook; books fell from their places, their pages ripped apart and scattered by the violent winds. Gadgets, documents, trinkets and more began to crash onto the floor, the smaller fragments carried in the air as they flew away.

“Y/N! You need to tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it, okay?” She yelled, hoping to get Y/N's attention without adding to her distress. 

When she failed to get an answer, she knelt on to the floor, close enough to Y/N but never enough to touch. The wind was most dangerous near her, and though Johanna tried, it would not be possible to cross such a threshold without being swept away.

She tried to reach out, hoping to touch Y/N’s arm to pull her away from the storm—but it was scorching, like fire crawling up her hand, prickling and irritating her skin.

If she got closer, the light would incinerate her.

There had to be a reason, though, right? The recent events proved that Y/N was not an average human, she was something else. Something they had yet to figure out. 

Johanna’s mind was going into overdrive, fumbling through her brain for a solution, attempting to connect the dots. 

The light was only getting brighter, the cracks on Y/N’s skin wider by the second, and the room—though wrecked by a whirlwind—was increasingly getting hotter.

The dreams, her father, the Fates —Johanna’s eyes widened as she recalled the creature that trespassed her home only minutes ago. “Y/N look at me— listen to me!” she yelled, desperate trying to get her attention. 

It was far-fetched, even by her standards, because of the lack of evidence she could rely on. There was no proof or promise of accuracy, but it was her only theory.

Johanna Constantine did not want to lose another friend. 

“The nightmare said that this isn’t your only world.” Her voice held steady, never taking her eyes off of Y/N. 

This time, she got a response. Y/N forced herself to look at Johanna, tears falling down her face and brimming the edges of her eyes, choking out a sob as she held her arm tighter against her chest.

The wind grew stronger and she curled into herself, the cracks and the glow radiating from them reaching her neck and jaw.

Horrified, Johanna continued, feeling her own tears threatening to fall. “They said that the end has begun, but it’s only begun—this isn’t the end, not yet— not fucking yet.” Hoping that her loud, albeit wavering voice, could be heard through all the chaos, she continued. “Follow them, follow the nightmare. Go to your world—wherever that is!”

Y/N screamed louder as the cracks crawled higher, reaching the side of her head as Johanna shielded her eyes from the now blinding light that emitted from them.

For a moment, Johanna felt the light cover the entirety of her living room; there was a force like an explosion and she was thrown to the nearest wall before painfully hitting the ground with a thud and a groan. 

As fast as she could, Johanna got to her feet, her eyes trailing to where Y/N once was, only to find that there was nothing but an empty space, her destroyed living room being the only proof that everything had even happened.

She would wait for Y/N to return—if she was still alive to do so. Johanna hoped she was right, and that Y/N was safe. 

Until then, she would avoid going by the Inn for a little while. She knew that Y/N’s father deserved to be informed that he might have just lost his daughter—but then again, when had she ever been good at those conversations?

If she ever had to deliver such news, she would have someone else do it. It would be a kindness to both him and herself.

Neither of them would have to face the woman who could not save his daughter. 

“Shit,” she muttered. “You better come back soon, you arse.”

* * *

“Before we go, my Lord—I feel there is something you should know.” 

Turning back to face Lucienne, Morpheus awaited the news. His realm, in his absence, had decayed and collapsed. There was nothing Lucienne could say that would make matters worse.

They were just about to leave the ruins of the palace, concluding that if the Dreaming was to return to its previous self, they would have to pay Cain, Abel, and Gregory a visit.

“There was a child—one who frequented the palace long after you had gone.” 

Morpheus’ eyes narrowed, standing straighter if it were even possible. The Heart of the Dreaming was not easily accessible to humans; a child, no matter their ability to lucid dream, should not have been able to come into his Kingdom unwelcomed. 

Unless of course the child was a Vortex, in which case he would have a bigger problem on his hands. 

Lucienne cleared her throat before continuing. “The last I saw of her, she had already grown up. And in the years she spent here almost every night, she…” Lucienne paused, not knowing the right words to say. “...helped sustain the realm. She—”

“That is not possible,” Morpheus interrupted. 

What had given this child the right to enter his realm, roam its lands and interact with its inhabitants, taking advantage of his absence to welcome herself in the heart of the Dreaming?

But most importantly, what had given her the ability to sustain it? Clearly Lucienne would not feel the need to inform him if this had only been a lost human, finding themselves in a place in which they had not intended to be.

“But it is, my Lord,” the librarian responded, walking a few steps closer to Morpheus, but still remaining a good distance away. “I had not seen her in more than a decade, but shortly before your return, she came back with powers I had not seen since your capture. She was able to mend the throne room in mere seconds.”

“You mean to tell me that this… trespasser was capable of altering my realm?” 

Lucienne bowed her head. Lord Morpheus was clearly angered, but she did not wish for Y/N to be the subject of his wrath, not when she had only ever been a gift to the Dreaming and its inhabitants. 

“Yes, my Lord,” she gulped. “But her actions held no malice—”

“She had no authority to do such things. I must find her when I am in possession of my tools. A creature with such disrespect for the Kingdom in which she does not belong must be punished.”

Instinctively, Lucienne took one more step toward Morpheus, one word escaping her lips before she could stop herself. “No.”

The King of Dreams was taken aback. He had not known his librarian to have such audacity, and it rendered him momentarily speechless.

“No?”

“With all due respect, Dream Lord, she was never a creature of harm. She was human. One who held much love for the Dreaming.” The librarian tilted her chin up, willing herself to stand her ground against Morpheus.

Her last interaction with Y/N did not go very well, but it did not take away all she had done for their realm. 

Y/N, to much of the Dreaming’s inhabitants, represented hope that they had not seen in decades. 

“Your siblings may not have come to your aid, but she did, regardless of her ignorance about who you are. She wore your clothing, she resembled your power. I believe you must go to her, but I implore you not to punish her for simply caring about our home.”

Lucienne’s description of the girl sparked a memory in Morpheus’ mind, his anger being wiped off his almost-expressionless face, replaced with one of curiosity and recognition. 

In the years of his capture, he had only seen one woman who wore the same clothing as he—one who held the cosmos in her eyes.

The woman who was the sole reason for his escape.

He must find her.

“And what is this human’s name, Lucienne?”

“Y/N.”

***

There was only silence. 

Darkness enveloped Y/N’s being as she floated aimlessly somewhere void of any life or matter. There was no burning, and there was no light. Only quiet and eerie solitude 

She was conscious, but she could not move, she could not scream, and she could not breathe. Y/N could only think, and in the blackness, she was unsure whether or not she could even see. Was she blind? Or were her eyes simply closed?

Fresh air entered her lungs and she inhaled deeply, not able to control her breathing as she finally felt herself get thrust into existence. She coughed, choking on the oxygen reviving her body.

She opened her eyes, realizing that she was lying on her back. Still clutching her hand to her chest, she sat up, beginning to hyperventilate as she assessed where she landed herself in this time.

Judging by the sky, she was no longer in Johanna’s residence.

She had spent quite a while in the void between realms, having floated in nothingness for hours before she arrived at the destination she was meant for. It had absorbed the light that escaped her, healing the cracks that took over half of her body.

Around her, Y/N could see the very familiar plane of the Dreaming. She sat on the wooden pier, the fog no longer as thick as the last time she visited. 

“Ma’am?” a voice called, and the figure of Lucienne cautiously approached her from several feet away.

Y/N’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Her body was wracked with silent sobs, hiccuping frequently as she tried to swallow her cries, her breathing getting worse as her now-healed hand became pale with how tightly she gripped her arm. 

Lucienne had just seen the Dream Lord leave to begin his search for his tools, and she was on her way to get him a raven despite his disapproval, when she heard a thump near the edge of the pier. 

Aside from Morpheus, there was only one who dressed so similarly. 

It was apparent to Lucienne that Y/N had come back, but by the looks of it, her usual enthusiasm upon arriving was no longer present. 

“Ma’am?” Lucienne asked once more, softer, as she kneeled beside Y/N and placed a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. 

As Y/N looked into Lucienne’s eyes, she began to understand what the librarian was so afraid of when they last met; she remembered her reflection in Johanna’s window.

How did she look as she sat there, weeping from the pain and uncertainty of who or what she might be? Was she still the same Y/N that belonged to the human realm? Or has she embodied her form in the glass?

She brought her knees up to her chest, curling into herself as she tried to even her breathing, unable to respond to Lucienne. 

A part of her hoped that Lucienne did not fear her anymore, but another part wanted to tell her to stay away. 

Y/N saw how the light burnt Johanna, how it caused her pain, and it was the kind of hurt she wanted away from the Dreaming. 

“What happened, ma’am? Are you okay?”

When Y/N kept quiet, Lucienne gingerly moved her hand to hold the one Y/N was keeping tightly against her chest. There was a look of sincere kindness on her face as she patiently waited for her to speak. 

Y/N had not known it then, but Lucienne would have waited days if it meant letting her talk when she was ready. 

She choked back a sob. Y/N, though she never knew Lucienne to be cruel, expected her to run from her considering their last encounter. Then, she was considered a threat. 

And now, Y/N believed she still was. 

Lucienne softly squeezed her hand. “You are in the Dreaming, ma’am. You know nothing will harm you here.”

Not then, at least. Lucienne did not know what would become of her once the Dream Lord came back, but until then, she spoke true. 

And if Morpheus wished to punish her, he would have to answer to the rest of the Dreaming’s inhabitants. 

Y/N only seemed to cry louder, and just when Lucienne was ready to sit with her for however long she needed, Y/N wrapped her arms around the librarian, embracing her with as much strength as she could muster. 

Hesitantly at first, Lucienne reciprocated,

As Y/N attempted to utter her next words, Lucienne wrapped her arms a little tighter around the weeping girl.

It seemed that it was all she needed to be able to admit what she could not for the longest time. 

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

It was then that Lucienne realized that though Y/N was all grown, despite all the years that had passed, Y/N was truly just a human unfortunate enough to have been given powers she was never made to understand. 

This version of her, the one who had exerted such control over a realm not her own, was still as innocent as the little girl who wandered the halls of the palace years ago.

Notes:

Aaaaand we're done for this chapter! What did you guys think? I would love to know.

Like last time, I'll *try* to upload again in two weeks. But of course, if the word count ends up being 16k again, it's going to take longer.

[sayurifellfrost]

Prompt #18: Hackneyed

Character: Saranzaya Himaa

Age: 22

Flicking through the loose pages before her, Saranzaya’s focus was locked upon the text. She had made it a point to try to get through the list of recently deceased completely, having left the pile half-read as duties kept tearing her away before she could finish them. With her brows sunken in concentration, a slow exhale passed her lips.

Parvan. Jixa. Dologadai. Keely. Chiaki. Ariq.

Her gaze fell almost irritably to Ariq’s page, biting back a sigh as she slowly shook her head, flicking to another page.

Esunaux.

She lofted her brow at the Wildwood’s page, head slightly tilting to the side.

Rather than an outright cause of death, he had initially been written down as ‘missing’, only to have it crossed over and replaced with ‘presumed dead’, that was later corrected to simply ‘dead’ - yet his body had not been recovered.

How.. odd.

A cough behind her saw the Xaela flinch, head snapping around and golden gaze locking atop of the Viera who had placed himself behind her, lidded, purple eyes meeting her own.

“.. Were you never taught not to sneak up on a person, Ersias?” She questioned.

He met her question with a small smirk, whether or not he was simply smug that he managed to startle her, or it was some mute glee that she remembered his name, was not known.

“Actually, I was encouraged to sneak up on people in Golmore.”

Ersias gave his retort as he stepped up to the desk Saranzaya had been sitting hunched over, leaning against it while keeping his gaze upon the Xaela, who raised a brow.

“Last I checked, we were not in Golmore.”

“True. Thanalan is.. significantly more barren than my homeland.”

“Mmhm.”

Saranzaya’s gaze briefly shifted over to the Viera’s body, scanning it for any possible wound that may have been the reason for his visit to the infirmary, yet the lack of one made her eyes trail back to his, head tilting with a mute question. Ersias gave no answer, however - simply meeting the Xaela with a cocky smile.

“.. So. Is there a reason you’re here?” She opted to voice her question, brow rising once more. “You don’t look particularly injured.”

“Oh, I’m fine. Aside from a struggle to breathe, so I figured I’d see a healer.. And when I saw you, it got worse.”

Saranzaya kept a steady stare upon Ersias, brows furrowed in some concern as his initial words, only for a look of confusion to fall over her features as he continued.

“.. Seeing me made it worse?” She asked, clearly perplexed by the statement.

“Mmhm..” Ersias hummed in confirmation, before continuing with a smirk.“You take my breath away.”

An obvious blankness falls over her at the rest of his sentence, eyes fluttering twice before her features draw into a grimace.

“.. I’d like for you to know that.. That was an awful flirt.” She muttered. “.. And not particularly original.”

A soft laugh left the Viera, his lips curling into a wide grin.

“Do you want me to try again?” He asked cheerily.

“.. Not really–..”

“Your lips look lonely. Would they like to meet mine?”

His interrupt made Saranzaya draw her lips into a thin line, eyes briefly shutting as a noise of disapproval escaped her, yet despite the sound, Ersias kept his wide grin - clearly amused by her reaction.

“.. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d ask one of our torturers to do so. Please stop.” She grimaced.

“Aww, don’t be like that..”

“.. I’m really not interested, Ersias.”

“.. Because of Vairg?”

The question notably threw Saranzaya off, a brief silence lingering as she simply stared at him for a moment, not quite seeming sure how to respond. Ersias pulled his shoulders into a shrug, head canting to the side.

“I honestly don’t know what you see in him, Saran.” He hummed, tapping his fingers against the desk. “He doesn’t seem to care much for you.”

A slow exhale left the Xaela, who proceeded to slowly shake her head.

“Don’t talk about matters that you don’t know anything about.” She muttered.

“But I do know.” Ersias spoke, reaching a hand forwards to settle a finger underneath Saranzaya’s jaw, tilting her head back a touch as he continued, in a slightly lowered voice. “And I know I’d treat you better than he does.”

She had begun leaning backwards as he reached for her, having only been reached as she was about to slip off her chair if she leaned aside any further. Her brows furrowed, a small frown settling on her features as she reached up to grasp onto his wrist, pushing his hand away from her.

“.. Leave.” She demanded, tone quiet.

“Saran..”

“I said leave.”

Ersias let his hand fall to his side, a neutral look now overtaking his features as he pushed himself away from the desk.

“.. I’ll let you think about it.” He simply said, before setting his feet in motion to depart.

Saranzaya lift a hand to bury her face into her own palm, muffling a sound of disgust she was unable to hold back.

What a damned idiot he was.

[queenimmadolla]

I’ve asked this question before but I am, once again, curious, I know I asked why you loved heather but now I’m curious as to why you pair heather with Eddie? I love it of course but I must understand the nexus lmao

Let me start this off by stating Cruel Summer was written to be a Hellguard (Eddie x Heather, Heddie) fic and I have an unfinished WIP I titled Missing You for them which I’ll include under the cut, but the explanation:

When it comes down to it, it was just my love for both characters. After ST4 dropped, I rewatched ST3 (my favorite season) and it just reignited my love for Heather. I can go on and on about how it breaks my heart that her death didn’t leave a major impact on the town because she was just a normal girl, not super popular, and it kind of made her the easiest character to self insert with. (It infuriates me that she was paid dust by the fandom because she had a surprisingly large role in ST3 compared to other characters in seasons, like for some reason Carol gets more claim than Heather).

But I remember watching the scene of her telling that kid off and thinking “This girl is mouthy to punks.” Which led to me thinking about Eddie who hands shit out left and right (the famous cafeteria scene) and I started thinking about possible interactions they could have had. Then I started wondering if they ever interacted at all. Did they get along? Did they annoy each other? Ever have a class together? Then I thought, what if feelings were involved?

The thought quickly snowballed, and coupled with my belief that Heather deserved better and deserved to be saved, I came up with Cruel Summer, in which Eddie was going to save Heather. This was of course when most of the fandom was looney about who to pair Eddie with and I didn’t want people to hate Heather strictly because she’d be paired with Eddie, as she has a lot of potential and deserves to be loved, so I changed it into a Reader insert instead but one can tell who Reader was kind of meant to be.

I have an unfinished WIP, one of the first things I wrote when I started writing for Eddie in July of last year, about Eddie reflecting on his unsaid feelings for a now deceased Heather right before his final—and fatal—senior year. A lot of Angst, pretty much him being depressed, grieving in his ways and thinking about The Girl he thought he was going to get. It would have been a slow burn that never got to ignite and Eddie was bitter that people could move on so easily, like she hadn’t mattered. And here is that unfinished WIP: 

“Fuck,” Eddie croaked out, eyes watering as he shuddered with violent coughs, his lungs trying desperately to rid themselves of the smoke he’d inhaled. He hadn’t waited long enough between pulls from the joint, hadn't cared to. Not when he was desperate to feel good. To feel anything other than the stupid fucking anguish that was following him around.

It hadn’t always been, though. Sure, his life wasn’t perfect. His mom was dead, his dad was in prison, and his uncle took up more shifts than he could handle just to make sure Eddie had a tin roof over his head. When he’d seen how worn down Wayne was getting, he’d taken up his own little side business; dealing drugs for a dude who looked like he jumped straight out of a bad porno with that mustache. 

Truth be told, Eddie was pretty sure he wouldn’t amount to much. His only concern was not turning into his father, which would be easy enough. All he had to do was stay out of jail. Of course, with a mindset like that, he hadn’t developed motivation for much else. 

He had his interests. Dungeons and Dragons, Corroded Coffin, weed, metal and the works but academics was not one of them. Hence why he’d be starting his third senior year in just a couple of days. Ironically, that wasn’t the reason why he was currently cooped up in his van, parked near the lake and hotboxing his sorrows away. No, that honor belonged to the permed curly headed, annoying, know-it-all, big mouth commonly known as Heather Holloway. Eddie winced, eyes squeezing shut to stop the rush of moisture from escaping. Formerly known. He shook his head, mouth curling into a bitter grin as he rubbed his fingers into his eyelids in an attempt to physically force the tears away, force the memories down, but it didn’t work. Hawkins was small. Everyone knew everyone, so of course he knew of Heather Holloway’s existence. It would’ve been difficult not to because she was constantly reminding everyone. Eddie didn’t know exactly when they had become enemies, he kind of grouped her in with everyone else who had a problem with him. Unfair of him, but given his social track record, he usually assumed the worst from certain people and she happened to hang around the worst people.

It didn’t help that she was really annoying. Super fucking nosey, always trying to tell him what to do—okay, yeah, sure it was because they’d been partnered up various amounts of times for assignments and projects but she made him feel stupid every single time so why would he have listened to her?—and she had this air about her, held herself like she was better than everyone else. It really irked Eddie because she wasn’t even popular. Hell, she was all but a social pariah because of how annoying she was, normally sat at a table with Jonathan Byers, Samantha Stone (who definitely scared Eddie), Stacy Soto, Fred Benson and the other social rejects, excluding Nancy Wheeler who sat there to be with her boyfriend. He was pretty sure everyone at the table weren’t even really friends, just acquaintances and that was pretty pathetic. Eddie knew he’d be there, too, had it not been for the Hellfire table. He’d been snapping at Tommy Hagan one day, and that ended up in a hallway brawl. And that ended up in a nice Saturday morning of detention with a handful of other random unfortunate souls and Tommy.

Contrary to his reputation, Eddie didn’t actually get detention often. He valued his time, meaning the only extra time he wanted to spend in those soul sucking walls of high school was for Hellfire.

He’d been amused when Heather walked in, looking thoroughly ashamed to be there in the first place as she sunk into a desk, trying not to draw attention to herself.

Naturally, Eddie had to make a spectacle of her arrival. It’d cost him another Saturday of detention, but jumping out of his desk and knocking a couple more over as he overacted his shock at seeing her had been worth it. 

Seeing her face turn that unflattering shade of red and the sheen of sweat that coated her skin brought him great joy.

Her telling him to suck her chode had not.

That’s how they found themselves in detention again the following Saturday. Only, it had been just them. And when Mrs. Click disappeared with some bogus excuse about making copies in the main office which was code for having sex with Principle Higgins in his office, Eddie knew the only source of entertainment was the girl sat all the way in the front of the classroom, doodling in a sketchbook.

“What are you drawing?” He asked as he slipped into the seat behind her, arms folding over the top of the desk.

She’d glanced over her sweater covered shoulder to glare at him before turning her attention back to her sketchbook without answering him. “Oh, c’mon. It’s just you and me, Holloway. You can drop the act. I know you love me.” He crooned, biting his lip as he grinned when she twisted around to face him, lips pursed in annoyance. “Is there a reason you’re such a jerk? Or is it just your personality?”

Eddie’s eyebrows had shot up, he was expecting to have to goad her a little more before he got a response. “More so a matter of circumstance,” he mused, fluttering his lashes for her. Her own dark eyes narrowed even more. It was clear her guard was up and while Eddie very much enjoyed grinding her gears, it was more fun when it was mutual banter. 

“Okay. Go on,” She shrugged her shoulders but her posture didn’t relax and Eddie suddenly felt vulnerable as she called his bluff. “Uh,” he licked his lips as he scrambled for something to follow up with. “The circumstances are—uh—we. . . you know what, we don’t like each other. That’s the circumstance. It’s our thing, don’t deviate from our thing.” Her pursed lips morphed into a frown as her eyebrows pinched together. “Well, why don’t you like me?” Eddie had been taken aback by the question. It had to be rhetorical, right? “Are you fucking with me?” She didn’t say anything, just shook her head as she waited for him to answer her. Eddie stared at her for a long time, but she hadn’t been unnerved enough to look away. In fact, she held his eye contact with the same intensity. “You’re a bitch, Heather.” “So are you, Eddie.” It wasn’t anything monumental, but that interaction caused a shift in whatever they were.

She turned back around, picked up her pencil and continued drawing, leaving Eddie kind of dumbfounded. Only because she wasn’t acting like herself. He didn’t know a whole lot about her, but he knew Heather was desperate for approval, figured that’s why she acted like she was better than everyone else. A fake it till you make it type of situation only he knew she was never gonna make it.

Something told Eddie she knew it, too.