#I kept making us pause while rolling out the plastic to throw rocks onto the mumfield/weedcloth area AUGH

[cantankerouscatfish]

A tilled the back garden beds yesterday and today. dude’s a BEAST. and today he and I laid down the plastic weed guard stuff in both the cut flower bed area AND the veggie bed. that’s new. usually they use woven weedcloth in the veggies.

anyway it’s forecast to rain tonight which will both settle the soil between the rows down (nice) and turn the one end of the cut beds into a swamp (not ideal).

and tomorrow, if nothing goes awry, I’m gonna kneel in the mud for a few hours and plant some dang flowers. 🎉

[idga-buck]

Some and Others, 2/?

Bucky finds it difficult to end a relationship without a good reason, until he has a good reason.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3,702

Content: sexual references (18+ only), swearing, Bucky seems like a jerk in this, but he really isn’t. I’m so behind on FATWS (like..second episode behind) because the friend I’m watching with is very busy and I respect that. This doesn’t contain any spoilers that I know of and doesn’t use the show as a point of reference. May change in future chapters if I ever get to watch it.

“Fuck... Fuuuu-“

The word died in Bucky’s chest, dissolving into a

mouthful of shamelessness. Grunts that vibrated against the back of his teeth as his body tightened, every muscle from his fingers digging into your hips to his burning quads pulled so taut that his ass cheeks could have crushed rock between them. He was getting rather comfortable using his new body to dole out something other than pain and suffering, to experience something else too. Though by the yellowing finger shaped bruises scattered on your legs and arms, there was still a little pain. The good kind, you’d assured him many times and some days Bucky Barnes was in awe of the fact that there was a “good kind” of pain. He wasn’t ready to be on the receiving end to find out for himself and you never pushed him to it. You were good, he liked that.

When his orgasm faded, leaving Bucky feeling like an empty husk of a man, he leaned down to kiss you in the middle of your back. A “good job” kind of peck that ended with him pulling out and pulling away to flop his sweaty body into your bed. There was a fuzzy blanket that irritated his heated skin and while he kicked awkwardly at it until it fell onto the floor, you were catching your breath next to him and inching closer. He wasn’t in the mood to cuddle and he closed his eyes hoping you wouldn’t expect too much. That was why he’d come over so early in the morning anyways. To see you off to work in a fun way, but at a time when he knew you wouldn’t be able to dawdle. Much to his surprise, you kissed his shoulder, the same little gesture he’d given your spine, and then rolled away, yanking a flowery robe from under his wide spread leg to pull it out. It was getting hot outside, the summer air a little too sticky when it seeped under those long sleeved shirts he preferred, but thankfully you kept a stand up fan at the end of your bed and Bucky sighed dreamily when he heard you flick it on, the artificial breeze shooting up his legs and cooling his damp skin. He’d expected you to continue your walk across the room and into the bathroom to prep for work, but your footsteps were muffled, which meant you’d stayed on the rug next to his side of the bed. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell you were watching him. Sure enough, there was a small dip in the mattress next to his head and your hand reached up to play with his sweaty hair.

“I could call in today.”

Bucky’s left eye fluttered open at the offer. You’d squatted next to the bed, leaning in one elbow to mess with the hair around his ears while you spoke. He usually liked that. There weren’t any memories of gentle touches from the last oh, 7 decades or so, and the therapist he stopped going to had encouraged him to seek out hands that didn’t hurt him. He’d found you shortly after and it felt good enough. Lately, especially today, Bucky just wanted the touching to stop making him feel so guilty.

“You’ve been gone a week, maybe we-“

“Better not,” he interrupted, rolling his head against the pillow to look at you. It felt like the decent thing to do. Look a person in the eye when you tell them no.

You were still smiling at him, but the hand that was touching him fell to the mattress. “You sure? We could stay in bed,” your voice lifted, knowing it was an extremely tempting offer. “I missed you, soldier.”

“Yeah,” Bucky offered a tight smile that probably looked even less convincing when it was half smashed into a pillow. “You should go to work.”

You licked your lips and kept them tucked in over your teeth as you nodded then stood without saying anything else. You’d get ready in the bathroom, Bucky would close his eyes again and pretend to be asleep when you emerged. You’d kiss his cheek and he’d enjoy your quiet apartment for the rest of the day while you were at work. It was how things had gone for a while. Long enough that it surprised Bucky a bit that you were still offering to stay home with him after he’d returned from a mission.

He flinched a bit when the bathroom door creaked open again and recovered quickly, waiting for his kiss before the front door closed behind you. But he heard dull footsteps pause before being replaced by the sharp sound of heels against wood. Then the rivets on your leather bag scraped over the kitchen counter and the keys jingled in your hand. Bucky waited, but the door opened then closed again without your lips stopping near his face. He sat up right and looked through the open bedroom door toward the entry, half expecting you to come back in, apologizing as you awkwardly stooped in a tight skirt to right this mistake.

You didn’t. And Bucky took it to mean that you felt it too. This whole thing was over.

He’d started feeling that way just a few weeks ago. You’d been feeling ill and he realized that he was more than happy to stay away. There wasn’t any urgency or desire to take care of you and only realized it a week later when he was coming over and you’d asked him to bring a Gatorade. He’d stopped dead on the street just outside your window and wondered if he should ask after any other needs. Or if maybe he should just assume and bring something he knew you liked. But then he spent too long standing in front of the candy rack by the glass covered register without a clue what you liked. He grabbed one of everything at first then put them all back, not wanting to admit he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been a spy, an assassin, a marksman, a ladies man- all of which required keen observations. Yet, he’d missed this. Bucky told himself it hadn’t come up and he paid for only what you asked before heading upstairs.

After that, he started to feel off about everything. Noticing all the different things he didn’t necessarily like about- not you- but being with you. Not that it would sound any better, but once he realized he wasn’t actually ready to be in a relationship, the awkward dance began. Bucky Barnes had never been dumped. Obviously. But he’d never really had to let a girl go either. Dating was so different back when he was at it. Dates were frequent and they were fun. Being seen out and being seen with the right girls only made you more popular. It was especially good for the girls and a date with Bucky Barnes was as good as gold. Now, you and he had skipped over all the steps he’d known anything about and once you called yourself his girlfriend he had no clue what to do with you. Fumbling around for a few months didn’t yield much progress and the frustration was too much.

Everytime he thought he’d do it, he decided it wasn’t the right time… or he’d decide to kiss you instead, one last time. Last kisses taste as good as the first if you don’t really mean it and too often, Bucky found himself back in your bed instead of walking away. He’d linger in your apartment while you were at work, treating it like his own secret clubhouse and try not to think about how his mother would pinch his ear for how he was treating you. So Bucky finally rolled out of your bed and stepped into the shower.

Under the spray, he eyed the products you kept in a gray plastic bin for him and he wondered if he should throw them out when he was done. He had no use for them back in the compound, but when he pictured you coming home to find all his stuff in the trash before he’d had a chance to say something, he left the bottles where they were and toweled off. Then he dressed and checked his phone in the kitchen. You’d texted from your office, asking him if he’d meet you for dinner. He didn’t prefer going out, but he could suck it up for this. It would be easier to let you down in public. Maybe. Bucky agreed and you responded with a tiny picture of a floating yellow head. It was smiling so he slid his phone into his pocket and left it there to eye the kitchen next. Part of him wanted to leave, knowing what he’d have to tell you later. But another part of him was hungry and he knew you kept bacon in the freezer for weekends. So he stayed.

He’d changed into a set of clothes in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Just a black pair of jeans and a sweater that you said made his arms look tasty. The outfit was left after a different date and now Bucky was glad to be getting it out of your dresser. He didn’t bother leaving the city, but he did leave the apartment, knowing you’d stop home to change before heading to the restaurant you chose. He found a bar to sit at until 6:00, but while he was killing time a text message came in that ruined his whole evening.

Bucky should have seen it coming and when the toe of his boot collided with the trash can outside, he wished it was his own brain. Or heart. Or whichever other organ was responsible for putting him in this mess. He looked down toward the sidewalk and kicked that too. He knew exactly which organ got him here.

There were plenty of signs. Little moments that he ignored to soothe every selfish ache. The need for sleep, the need for comfort, the need for release, the need for something that was just his. You’d given him all of that without question, but clearly not without expectation. Dating a hundred year old soldier came with its own difficulties sure, but dating an Avenger seemed to make up for all of that. Bucky knew he wasn’t blameless, having agreed to the whole boyfriend thing knowing your name, your address, and how much he liked sleeping on your sheets. Beyond that you were a mystery to him and it seemed to be unraveling right before him.

This kind of thing was meant for Steve or Tony, the faces of the organization not the bloody fists behind them. Bucky hadn’t even considered that he was being used until FRIDAY alerted him of a sudden social media buzz that included his name circulating around the internet. Tweets and posts and fan accounts which he wasn’t aware he had were passing around a photo of him. It was undeniably him. Even without seeing it on a regular basis, Bucky could recognize his own back from a photograph. The problem was his shirt, or lack thereof, highlighting the fact that one of his arms was the color of gunpowder and twice as deadly. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who it was.

Aside from the obvious violation, feeling like the intimate moments he’d guarded so carefully were suddenly being invaded by a world of people who didn’t know him, Bucky also couldn’t help but feel hurt as the leaked photo proved something he’d suspected, but never gave much thought to. You were only with him to be with an Avenger. He wasn’t sure it would matter who it was, you would have gone home with any member of the team given the chance. It was his face you found at the bar that night, so it was his life you slithered into without remorse. Bucky had only one desire left when it came to you— to slither out the same way.

“What is this?”

Bucky dropped the phone on the table between you and watched you wince at the loud clattering of silverware. If only you’d known his real desire was to throw the damn thing. On the screen before you was a familiar photo, one you’d posted yourself to Instagram, desaturated just enough to catch the early morning sun glinting off Bucky’s arm complete with the location “Welcome to New York” and appropriate Taylor Swift lyrics in the caption. The muscles in his bare back tensed as he looked out the window of a swanky hotel room. You’d met him for drinks in the bar downstairs when the night manager caught wind of the avenger in his hotel and made the surprisingly vacant presidential suite available for you two. It’d been a good night. A very good night, Bucky thought, before those steamy memories were spoiled in this very moment.

“Earth’s Mightiest Lover, question mark?” You read aloud, laughing at the headline, before looking up at Bucky’s face drawn tight in annoyance. “I mean, it’s not far off,” you offered casually, winking as you passed Bucky his phone back. He was unamused and watched as you straightened in your seat, tone suddenly matching the serious look on his face. “My page is private, I don’t know how they got that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he seethed. “You posted it.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t realize this was a secret.” You sounded offended and that surprised Bucky. As if you didn’t know exactly what you’d done.

“What I do in my personal life isn’t anyone’s business,” he insisted, still standing next to the table instead of sitting to join you.

He only became aware of the other patrons watching the exchange when your eyes left his to float around the room. You lowered your voice in response. “Well, what I choose to share from my life is.”

“This isn’t about you,” he sighed, dropping his voice a bit to match yours. No reason to bring anymore unwanted attention to himself.

“It feels like it is!” Your whisper was forceful and you turned your face away from him immediately after. “Why the big fuss, Bucky? Was it really a secret?” He didn’t answer. If he’d done what he’d been meaning to do sooner, this whole thing could have been avoided and he felt more ashamed of himself than you. It wasn’t that you were a secret, per se. It just wasn’t something he knew enough about to share with the world. He was still getting used to this century, let alone dating in it, let alone being a public figure in it. There wasn’t any part of him that wanted to fail in front of an audience and he assumed you’d know that. Even if he’d never told you. “What’s the point of a superhero boyfriend if no one can know,” he heard you mutter while he was lost in thought.

Bucky froze. “What’s the point?”

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” you said quickly. The air around your table changed immediately and you’d both picked up on it. “I hear how that sounds, that sounds bad, that’s not how I meant-“ he turned around and unfortunately, you chose to follow. He heard the offended gasp of a nearby table as you scampered after him, heels a dull thud in the thick carpet. “Bucky, come on. I didn’t mean it, can we talk about this?”

“No,” he said gruffly, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the sidewalk again.

“We’ve both said things-“

“Well, I’m done saying things.”

“Wait…” Bucky stopped walking when you grabbed at his arm. You didn’t normally go for his left side. He didn’t know if it was because you found it weird or if you thought he did. Another thing he never brought up. The feeling of your hands wrapped around vibranium was startling enough for him to face you, expectantly. “What just happened here?”

“This isn’t going to work for me,” he said, watching your mouth twitch a little as you considered his words. At least he wasn’t kissing you. He still kind of wanted to, it’d become a sort of habit over the last few months. When he was wound up, like he was now, he came to you and you made it go away. Simple. Yet now it felt complicated. Like the relationship was supposed to be more but also felt like too much. He wasn’t ready for it and as long as he focused, as long as he got out as soon as possible, he wouldn’t slide back into comfortable ways.

“Bucky…” your eyes were wide and your voice broke a bit at the end of his name. “Are we… are you breaking up with me?” You asked, before adding, “Over a picture?”

No, but also yes.

Bucky knew that he should, before you got hurt, though apparently he was too late for that. Your arms were crossed over your chest defensively and he dropped his eyes to the pavement. It wasn’t the picture. It was everything. The picture gave him permission to do the right thing. Though the right thing probably would have been telling you he wasn’t interested in a relationship at all when you asked.

“Delete the picture,” he said simply, choosing not to say more. “You don’t have a superhero boyfriend to brag about anymore.” With the twisting of that knife, he felt more like the Winter Soldier again in that moment than he had in months. Cruel and beyond his own control.

It happened so fast. All of it. By the time he’d returned to the compound, half the team was waiting for him. Tony stood smugly looking like a dad that hated being the bad cop, while Steve wondered aloud why Bucky had kept his relationship a secret for so long anyways. Sam’s questions were blessedly lighthearted, but Bucky’s gratitude could only be expressed in quick grunts as he pushed through the Brady Bunch. Back in his room with the door shut, Shuri called and without really thinking, Bucky answered. He didn’t turn to face the hologram floating above the kimoyo beads on his bedside table, just let the princess talk directly at the side of his head while he listened.

“Sergeant Barnes!” The honorific was standard for her and most of the time he appreciated it, but storming out of a date like a teenager had him feeling less than worthy of any title. He was barely fit to command his own personal life at that second and being called sergeant left a sour taste at the back of his tongue. If the boys could see him now, moping about because a gal was too eager to show him off. Ridiculous.

“Bucky…” he muttered to himself, but it didn’t matter. Shuri was already rambling excitedly about something or other she’d cooked up in her lab. Under normal circumstances, Bucky would be enthralled, but he was tired. Not physically, after accidentally on purpose taking a nap in your bed before getting dressed again. Just… all the other kinds of tired that he couldn’t talk about. So while the Princess talked, Bucky hummed randomly. He didn’t think he was allowed to miss this call and stayed on the line, though his disinterest was noticeable and promptly called out.

“Why do you look like someone kicked your goat?” Bucky turned to glare at the floating head and Shuri cackled. His time as a shepherd was nothing compared to the real Wakandans who’d been perfecting their craft over thousands of years, but she’d never let him forget his ‘roots’ as she jokingly called them. Because of her he was reborn, therefore Wakanda was his de facto home. Honorary member of the border tribe and the royal family’s favorite broken white boy.

“We broke up.”

“You know,” she started in a light tone, far too playful in response to his news. “White Wolf is just a name, you don’t have to be so lonely… or mopey.”

“I’m not mopey,” he argued, but the fight wasn’t really there.

“Says the mope,” Shuri countered, sucking her teeth and shaking her head. “Nakia would twist your lip if she saw it stuck out like that.”

“Well the next time I’m in the presence of the queen I’ll let her.”

“You know Sergeant Barnes,” the youthful tone in her voice disappeared instantly. She sounded every bit of the Black Panther mantle. “It’s been a long time since a man has snapped at me like that and walked away unscathed.” There was an underlying threat that sent Bucky upright, sitting on the edge of his bed and lifting the beads in his palm. Already his posture was more respectful than it had been a moment ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely and Shuri nodded. “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Finally the princess’s smile broke back through and Bucky was instantly relieved. “I didn’t call you to talk about girls anyways.”

“Can we skip this one?”

“No,” said Shuri, leaving no room for argument.

“How many diagnostics does one arm need?”

Shuri looked back up from the tablet she’d grabbed and squinted at Bucky. “The next time you rebuild a brain and an arm from scratch- you can tell me.”

And there was nothing to say to that, so Bucky detached the arm in question and set it down before popping a single kimoyo bead into the empty joint. He got comfortable and waited for Shuri to engage him again for another evaluation. The first year was critical, she kept saying, and he had no choice, but to agree with her.

He’d never rebuilt an arm or a brain.

While he waited for her to need his input again, Bucky thought about you. How surprised you looked when he started to walk away. Maybe you hadn’t seen it coming like he had. Just before Shuri finished with the arm, he’d decided to reach out to you. Not tonight. Probably not even tomorrow. But at some point, he’d apologize for the brusqueness of his exit. If he got the chance to.

Photo because, Bast bless this woman. She is too good for the world. Also. A mood. Shuri isn’t here to fix your relationship, Bucky. She’s a genius and a princess and a badass.

A/N: this is my not so subtle introduction to a genre I have created called, what is everybody else doing? Ok do the opposite just for fun. One of my favorite things in fic is when Bucky finds himself a girl who’s DiFfErEnT. Seriously I eat that shit up like fourth meal. But for fun, I asked, what if ‘reader’ is just like everyone else? A little shallow. A little star struck. A little in over her head. A little bit Alexis. Jk. Kind of. The excitement starts in the next chapter which I won’t wait two months to post. I don’t think.

Tags: @fangirl-swagg

[rikalovesrice]

Together, Dearest

Written for the wonderful @nikibogwater​

Can also be read here on Ao3

Enjoy!

💙💙💙

______________________________________________________________

The sky was red. 

Nari stood at the top of a hill, taking in the vast expanse of utter devastation. Miles upon endless miles of wasteland. Haunting, broken silhouettes of dead trees. Deep cracks splintering the dry, ashened earth. Fires big and small burning like clusters of wicked and ravenous demons.  In the distance, the looming husk of a destroyed city. Smoke was billowing above the ragged skyline.

Nari drew a shaking breath when her feet touched the ground, ice-cold despite the heat. A road littered with wreckage. Glass from shattered windows. Crumbling buildings empty, hollow, the exposed blackness within like gaping wounds or screaming faces. Cars smashed and overturned. A lone baby stroller on its side, the inside hidden by torn, draping fabric.

Nari sensed nothing. Only the suffocating heat of fire. The excruciating stab of the cold. She started to run and slammed into the door to their apartment.

“Oh, what…” Nari backed away, then rushed the door, knocking with utmost urgency. “Douxie? Douxie!” Nari sensed nothing. Except the painful pounding in her chest and the sharp stinging in her eyes. “Douxie!”

The moment she stopped knocking, the door creaked open. Nari hesitated before pushing it all the way open only to reveal more darkness. Every drop of light left in the world seemed to illuminate the apartment. It was faint, barely as bright as a single candle. 

Everything was as they’d left it. Nari’s blankets in a pile on the ground. Archie’s half-eaten can of salmon on the sofa. Douxie’s guitar propped against the back cushions. 

There was a dripping sound. Not a ping like water, but with the splattering of something thick and sticky. Nari looked up. Just as she made out the shape of a wing grotesquely pinned to the ceiling, before she could scream, there was a familiar voice.

“Nari…”

“Douxie?!” Nari snapped her gaze back down, frantically looking around, squinting into the shadows. 

“Nari…”

She whirled around and there he was. That tall figure clad in a black hoodie was all Nari needed, and she surged forward, throwing her arms around him. Nari burrowed into his chest, squeezing him tight.

“Nari…”

“Douxie, I— !!!!” Nari lifted her head and sucked in a breath, horrified. His golden eyes were lifeless, dull. What should have been blue strands of hair were black and sticky with the streams of blood trickling down his face. His face. A face Nari had come to love….The entire right side now a mask of burnt flesh. And then she noticed the hole in Douxie’s chest, seared right through his heart, the wound pulsating ominously with streaks of fiery red magic.

As Douxie sank to his knees and collapsed into her arms, Nari saw two devils. One red, one blue. Their grins wide. Their gross, spindly hands reaching, spinning fire and ice.

The devils’ faces contorted into bulging eyes and gaping maws crowded with rows of jagged teeth. They screeched into her face, Bellroc fisting her hair and Skrael gripping her throat.

“NARI!!!!!!”

*

*

*

It was as if an unseen hand had been pushing Nari down against the floor, so hard that her back was flat against the ground despite her cocoon of blankets. She was ripped from sleep, gasping for enormous gulps of air. Her body was seized with violent shivers, her blankets trembling with her. Her teeth were chattering. Her face was wet with tears. Nari slowly unfurled from her cocoon, sitting up to look around. The light of midday shone softly through the windows. The clock was ticking. The faucet dripped. Nari’s collection of plants bathed in the sunlight. 

Nari, still quivering, scanned over the living room. Archie’s can of tuna on the sofa. Douxie’s guitar on the cushions. The remains of junk food piled neatly on the ground, empty chip bags and microwave dinner plates atop of an old pizza box. And yet, if Nari blinked, suddenly all of it vaporized. Suddenly there was fire and cold and darkness. Suddenly her home was gone. Her friends. Her family —

Nari’s attention flew to the door at the sound of two muffled, familiar voices and the jingling of keys. Bits of conversation filtered in as the door was pushed open.

“...and I, for one, am opposed to sticking objects of any sort into my eyes!,” Archie said, hopping down from Douxie’s shoulders once he stepped inside.

Douxie rolled his eyes. “You think glasses look cooler, Arch, just admit — Oh…” Douxie trailed off as he set a handful of plastic grocery bags down on the sofa. He smiled warmly at Nari, pushing the apartment door shut. “Sorry if we woke you, Nari. Did you have a good nap — OOF!!”

Douxie was nearly thrown back against the wall at the force with which Nari barreled into him, her arms tightly secured around his waist. She was wailing into his shirt before he could comprehend what was happening.

“Nari!” Archie said, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

The initial shock being ebbed away by Nari’s sobs, Douxie’s arms relaxed around her, one arm wrapping around her small, trembling shoulders while the other cradled the back of her head. 

“Nari…,” Douxie whispered, expression filled with worry. “Nari, darling, what is it? What’s the matter….Whoa, whoa, easy…” Douxie dropped down to one knee as Nari, still clinging to him, began to collapse, dead featherweight in his arms. He fell back to sit against the wall as Nari’s legs completely gave out beneath her, sliding out to the side of her. Her arms moved from around his waist to lean against his chest, her small hands gripping his hoodie like a lifeline.

“Douxie…,” Nari whimpered, another wave of fresh tears cascading down her face. “Douxie…!”

“Shhh, darling, I’m right here...I…” Douxie paused, the sound of Nari’s crying making his heart ache. He made his voice small and soft. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“T-they...They d-d-destroyed everything…,” Nari choked out, squeezing Douxie closer, leaning her head up into his neck. She let out a pained, agonized wheeze. “They k-killed...killed A-Archie….Killed y-you…Killed you b-b-both….” Nari was seized with more violent sobs, curling into Douxie further as if she were trying to disappear.

Douxie stared down at the small forest goddess, taking in her words. Hugging her close, Douxie and Archie shared looks of somber understanding. Archie padded forward, climbing onto Douxie’s leg and headbutting Nari’s back, rubbing against her and purring. Archie settled down into a loafing position, remaining pressed against Nari.

“It was only a dream, Nari,” Archie said softly. “As you can see, we are both alive and well.”

Nari shook her head rapidly against Douxie’s collarbone. “No...No, no, no...I have put you in danger...Y-you will be k-killed because of me...I-I am not worth it...I am n-not…”

“Nari, please,” Douxie pleaded, hugging her firm. He shut his eyes, tears of his own threatening to spill. “Please don’t say that. I said I would protect you and I will. Even if the world wasn’t at stake, I’ll protect you, Nari.” Another squeeze, Douxie pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “If it’s the last thing I do.” Archie purred louder.

Douxie’s words were seeds piercing deep into Nari’s heart, taking root. Blooming and flourishing, beautiful. Yet painful as they broke her apart. She sighed heavily into Douxie’s chest, her tears everflowing. Because Nari knew. Nari knew whatever she chose, there would be anguish. Stay with the Order and the world she adored would perish. Run from the Order…

And those dearest to her would suffer.

Dearest to me… Even so, Nari clung to Douxie, to his gentleness and warmth, the kindness that glowed within his spirit, because it was all she had. All she had ever wanted, even if it was only a matter of time before it was torn away from her.

A moment passed, silent aside from Nari hiccuping. Then, Douxie began to rock ever so slightly side to side. First was a gentle hum. Then he began to sing, his voice soft and light as air, no louder than a whisper.

Paper daisies to explain

Sunshine always follows rain

And a heart that’s sweet and true

Will help us weather the weather

That’s what keeps us together…

Nari pulled away enough to gaze up at him, eyes still moist but now soft with wonder as she pondered the words. Douxie smiled that tender smile of his. His arms slipped from around her, one hand coming to rest on her back, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb, while the other rose to caress Nari’s cheek, smoothing away a few of her tears. He then combed his hand through Nari’s hair, placing a soft kiss on her head, just at the base of her antler. Douxie continued to hum, his lovely, soothing tone lulling Nari into a calmer state. Douxie held her close again, swaying slightly, and kept singing.

Candy hearts and paper flowers

Sunshine days and skies of blue

Rhymes and songs we sing for hours

Words to say……

“I love you true…,” Douxie finished, then gasped. The words struck his heart like a clap of thunder, overwhelmed with just how much he meant them. Douxie curled in on himself, snuggling Nari even closer. His little Nari. “I love you.”

It was a promise. It surged and churned deep within Douxie’s spirit, overflowing and spilling into his aura. Nari worried her lower lip, squeezing her eyes shut, more tears trickling down her face. But these tears were different.

“I also...love you, Douxie,” she sniveled, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “So very much.” There was a small weight on her side, and Nari chuckled and opened her arms as Archie stepped into the space between them. She rubbed her nose and wiped her tears against his fur. “And you, Archie. Thank you…”

“Of course, dear,” Archie purred, kneading her arm.

Nari gazed up at Douxie, fully leaning laxed against him, her head resting on his shoulder. 

Her dear, dear Douxie.

“Your song...Will you sing it again?” 

Douxie laughed softly. “Can’t say no to an encore, now can I?”

Hugging Archie to her chest, Nari listened again to those sweet words and Douxie’s lilting voice. 

Nari knew. She knew the hardships they would face, the consequences of what she’d done. She knew. But in the light of Douxie’s love and forgiveness, she also knew….Well, she had hope that all would be better than it once was. And that for now, though she prayed forever, they could stay this way.

No matter what was coming.

No matter what came after.

They would be together.

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part three

masterlist | series masterlist | part two

words: 2.6k+

warnings: drinking, Jonathan being kind of an asshole, hints towards death, swearing and spoilers

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter. this chapter takes place at the halloween party from st2 but some stuff probably isn’t accurate because i haven’t watched it in a few months.

summary:  she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

The cul-de-sacs are bustling with groups of trick-or-treaters as Jonathan parks outside the house. Frances sits beside him, touching up her makeup simply to busy her hands so that she wouldn't have to acknowledge the awkwardness between the two of them. Her father had decided to lift her grounding on account of it being Halloween, though he thought that she and Jonathan were taking Will trick or treating, not rocking up at a house party full of drunken teens.

Even from the car she can see the party already in full swing, with familiar faces loitering in the front yard, drinking from kegs upside down and vomiting in the bushes. Reluctantly, she pulls her camera from her neck, knowing it would only get damaged otherwise. "You mind if I leave this in here?"

"No, of course not," Jonathan says, hands still gripping the steering wheel despite the fact they were no longer moving.

"You sure you don't wanna stay with Will?" she asks, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I don't mind, honestly. I know this stuff isn't usually your thing."

"Didn't used to be yours, either." There is no venom in his voice, though he says it under his breath as though it's something he's trying to suppress.

Frances takes a deep breath, focusing her attention on the waning moon above them. Despite the laughter and music outside, the car felt too quiet. "If you have something to say, Jonathan, you should say it."

"You don't think things have been weird between us lately?" he says, finally loosening his grip from the steering wheel and turning in his seat to face her. "You seem distant. We barely talk. I don't even know if we're ..."

"If we're what?" She blinks, though she knows what he wants to say. Together.

"I don't know, Frannie," he sighs, pressing his back to the seat and looking up as though maybe God could help him spit it out. "Are we okay?"

She pauses, knowing that if she says yes it would be a lie. "Look, it's no secret that things have changed between us. I just have stuff going on, okay?"

"Like what?"

"Just stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."

"You used to tell me everything," he mumbled. It's true and Frances knows it: Eleven hiding out in her father's cabin is the first secret she's ever kept from him in their ten years of friendship and two years of romance.

Something else catches his eye, drawing his attention away from the car and what's happening inside of it. That Something is Nancy Wheeler, walking hand in hand with Steve Harrington across the lawn. They stop to greet a few of their friends before disappearing into the orange glow of the hallway. Only when they're out of sight does Jonathan focus on Frances again.

"If you want an out, take it," Frances says passive-aggressively, placing her hand on the door so that she can make a quick escape if necessary. "If you don't want this anymore—"

He frowns. "Who said I didn't want this?"

"Do you?"

"Do you? You're the one pulling away from me."

Frances scoffs. "Don't put this all on me, Jonathan. You just spent a solid minute watching Nancy walk into a house while I was sitting right next to you."

You see his muscles twitch with tension and he straightens up. "We're gonna do this again?"

"No," she rolls her eyes, opening the door, "we're not."

Without another word, she steps out, slamming the car door behind her. Jonathan is motioning to her in frustration, but she ignores him, marching into the party and getting pulled into a current of bodies. The bitter stench of beer lingers on sweaty clothes as she pushes through them, waving at a few people who are sober enough to recognise her.

She heads straight for the punch bowl, grabbing herself a plastic cup and pouring it carefully. Halloween music is blasting through the speakers in the corner and she sees Steve and Nancy bobbing along to it, though Nancy's expression is tense as always. A year ago, Frances would have been dancing with them. A year ago, Barb would have been there, too. Now that she was gone and Jonathan was constantly ogling Nancy when he thought she wasn't looking, they had no reason to stay friends.

"Look at that," a voice shouts from behind Frances. "Our little grasshopper made it to the party. It's been a long time since I've seen you at one 'a these things."

Frances grimaces at the nickname, turning around to find Tommy standing so close that she has to press herself to the kitchen counter to avoid his hot breath hitting her face.

"Byers taken you off your leash?" Carol chimes in from behind, an arrogant smirk playing on her lips.

Behind them stands a beer-stained Billy Hargrove, his torso bare beneath his leather jacket. He gives Frances the once over, his tongue swiping across his lips the way it always does before he takes a swig of his drink.

"Don't you ever get bored of yourselves?" Frances questions monotonously, gulping down her own drink quickly.

"Come on, Frannie, we're kidding," Tommy laughs, pulling Frances into the living room where the music is deafening, but not as deafening as the laughter and shouting. "You gonna dance with us or what?"

"Don't be stupid, Tommy," Carol shouts over the music, looking smug. "Her boyfriend is lurking over there in the corner."

Frances follows her point and finds that she's right: he is standing in the corner, but he isn't looking at her. He's looking past her at Nancy, who's pouring herself a drink in the kitchen. "I don't think he's gonna be my boyfriend for much longer," she says without thinking.

Her view of them is intercepted by Billy, who is skillfully juggling four cups in his hands. He holds one out for Frances and she takes it gratefully, chugging it down and wincing at the burn it leaves in her throat. "Trouble in paradise, angel?"

"No paradise," she retorts. "Just trouble."

"You need to let go. Enjoy yourself," he smirks. "Or is 'fun' not in your vocabulary?"

"It is," she hits back, finishing her drink before Tommy and Carol have even started theirs. "My definition is probably just a little different than yours."

"Come on," Tommy urges. The song changes as he's speaking, Duran Duran earning a cheer from the crowd surrounding them. Carol throws her arms around Tommy, her drink spilling from her cup. Tommy doesn't notice the stain it leaves. "It's a party. Dance."

"Yeah, Hopper," Billy repeats, grinning as he laces his fingers, clad with leather, finger-less gloves, through Frances's. "The world won't end if you dance. Promise. No one has to know you actually had fun at a party."

She glowers but, after one last glance to find that Jonathan is no longer standing in his earlier position, lets Billy tug her about. Laughter spills from her as he twirls her under his arm and throws her into a less than graceful dip. Dizziness causes her to stumble as the alcohol makes her feel suddenly light. She falls into his bare chest, her hands brushing against his hot skin, sticky where the beer had dried.

"Look at that," he says, grinning at her as they begin to sway. "She laughs."

"Don't flatter yourself," Frances responds, smiling despite herself. "It's the spiked punch. Has an adverse effect on me."

"Then I'd better get you some more. I'll be right back."

Frances nods, taking a seat to catch her breath. Tommy and Carol are no longer in sight, and she searches again to see if Jonathan has noticed her dancing with Billy. Instead, she sees Steve marching through the crowd, his face pale. He walks straight out of the door, but not before his shoulder collides with Jonathan's, who she now sees standing against the wall, looking lost. His eyes follow Steve's retreating figure, and in a moment, he's walking the other way.

Frances searches the room again to see if Nancy is anywhere around. She isn't, and even in her drunken state, Frances thinks the likelihood is that she's the reason for whatever just happened—which means she is the person that Jonathan is looking for.

Without expecting it, Frances is pulled from the couch by two forceful hands, and she finds it difficult to get her bearings as she's spun around through the crowd. The hands belong to Will, one of Tommy's friends and someone she sometimes talks to in class. He looks more wasted than her, yet is somehow steadier on his feet. Feeling numb, she let's herself be dragged around like a rag-doll and nods as though she can hear what he's saying as he leans into her ear to whisper something. Her eyes are still on the kitchen, though, waiting for Jonathan's return. She hasn't even noticed that Billy is dancing without someone else now, their drinks long forgotten.

"Stop," she whispers as nausea begins to crawl in the pit of her stomach, pulling herself away from Will and away from the crowds. Her forehead is damp with sweat, her chest tight. She's about to head into the kitchen for some space to breathe when Jonathan appears from the hallway, propping an intoxicated Nancy up. He walks her out of the back door without so much as looking in Frances's direction. She follows them slowly, stumbling to the window so that she can watch them leave. When they get onto the lawn, Jonathan picks Nancy up, carrying her to his car bridle style. He's never done that for Frances, not even when they were nothing more than friends. He despises her drunken self too much, despises how stupid and sloppy it makes her - and yet clearly it works in Nancy's favour.

Her heart sinks as he drives away, realising that not only is her boyfriend in love with someone else, but he's left her with no way of getting home, either.

A voice in her ear causes her to jump. "I haven't forgotten about our drinks. Just got distracted."

Billy is holding two cups, wearing a stupid smirk that makes her scowl. She knows it's weak, though, when she realises that her cheeks are damp. His smile falters when he sees, too.

"Woah, what's wrong?"

Nothing," she mutters. "Forget the drinks. I need to go."

"Go where?" He puts the drinks down on the counter, following as she dodges a few drunken people crowding around the punch bowl. The cold October air hits her all at once as she steps out, and she shivers, her ears beginning to throb in the sudden quiet of the night. "Hopper?"

"Don't call me that," she spits, crossing her arms over her chest to keep warm as she trips across the lawn. "Everyone calls my dad Hopper, not me. My name is Frances."

"Alright, Frances." His fingers wrap around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"No," she replies bluntly, pulling her arm from Billy's grasp and looking around disconcertedly. Only now does she realise that she has no way of getting home. "Just leave me alone, Hargrove."

"That's not gonna happen. You're drunk."

"Everyone's drunk," she spits back. "It's a fucking party. That's what you wanted, isn't it? For me to loosen up, have fun? Am I having enough fucking fun now, Billy?"

Billy frowns, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. He doesn't seem cold despite his exposed chest. "Jesus, what's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem," Frances says, her voice quietening as she realises how crazy she must seem to everyone else. If she wasn't still buzzed, she knows would have been embarrassed and blushing by now. "I just need to go home."

"Okay, fine, he nods, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he focuses on Frances. "Is your boyfriend drivin' you home?"

The mention of him causes tears to sting her eyes again and she looks away sadly. "Not my boyfriend anymore."

"Jesus Christ, how long was I gone?"

"He took Nancy Wheeler home. He ... he left me. We're over." Saying it out loud, her breath visible against the cold, makes it feel real. "That means we're over, right?"

"He left you stranded and drunk at a party to take home some other chick." He shoves his hands in his pockets, tightening his jacket across his torso. "Doesn't sound promising."

She nods, inhaling shakily. "It's been over for a while. I just thought he cared about me more than this." Realising her own vulnerability, she straightens up, wiping her cheeks quickly. "Not your problem, though. Sorry."

"I can give you a ride. I haven't drank anything for a while. I'm sober enough."

"No—"

"C'mon," he points at his blue Camaro behind you, "my cars right there. The party's shit anyway. I don't plan on stickin' around."

"You don't have to do that, Hargrove."

"I'm not gonna leave you here. I'm not a complete dick."

Frances purses her lips at the jab, but follows him to the car anyway. "Could'a fooled me."

He's about to unlock the passenger side door when he pauses. "You wanna walk?"

A shadow of a smile graces her lips and he shakes his head, holding the door open for her to slide in. "Just don't puke."

Frances is surprised by how well-kept the inside of the car is, though the smell of cigarette smoke clings to leather seats and causes a tickle in the back of her throat. Billy slides into the driver's seat, turning on the radio. Danger Zone blasts through the speakers, and he turns down the volume until it's nothing more than a low hum before slipping the key into the ignition.

Despite the company, Frances relaxes into her seat as she puts her seat-belt on and the car groans into motion beneath her. It's warmer in here than the party, and her numb hands begin to tingle with feeling again.

"Where do you live?"

"The trailer by the lake," she replies tiredly, pressing her head against the cold window pane. "You know it?"

"Yeah, I know it."

She watches as his restless, ringed fingers tap against the steering wheel. There isn't much else to say between them for a few moments, and a silence falls between them, concealed only by the music. It isn't uncomfortable, though Frances can't help but feel weary of Hawkin's newest wannabe bad boy—maybe because the alcohol-induced buzz is now more of a distant hum in her veins, weighing her down rather than making her feel light.

"No camera tonight," Billy points out when the road thins and the trees thicken, signalling that they were almost home.

"Shit," Frances curses, holding a hand to her head. "I left it in his car."

"There goes a clean break, huh?"

"That was never gonna happen, anyway," she sighs. "I don't even think he knows it's over yet."

"What do you see in him anyway? Isn't he kind of a loser?"

"Let's just ... not have this conversation."

"Alright," he agrees, parking up as they reach the trailer. The lights are off, but that isn't surprising. It's barely lived in now, only used so that nobody gets suspicious and finds out about El. "Your dad home?"

"No. He's working," she lies, unfastening her seat-belt. "Listen, thanks for this."

"You still think I'm insufferable?"

"Depends," she responds, laughter glistening in her eyes. "Did you do this just so I'd take it back?"

He shrugs. "Guess you'll never know for sure. You good from here?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She opens the door, stepping out unsteadily. "Thanks, Hargrove."

He gives her a wave of dismissal, winding down her window to call her back. "For the record, angel, I think you can do way better than Jonathan Byers."

She turns back, rooting through her purse for her keys. "Yes."

"Yes?" he repeats, looking up at her through his eyelashes as she gets further away.

"Yes," she says. "I still think you're insufferable."

If Billy replies, this time, she doesn't hear it.

part four

[antpelts]

POV for the writing asks? Your choice what for

no excuses writing meme

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

this is delightful yet horrible how could i ever choose! for the sake of relevancy ill go with something from im the rocks. shameless plug. shower scene from chapter 18 - from jareds pov. actually its just.. i basically just rewrote most of ch 18 from jareds pov maybe ill edit this for ao3 later 

“Rich gone?” 

Jared lifted his head, tearing his eyes off his phone to see Evan in his doorway. He was always so careful about taking his shoes off, about not making a mess. It was equal parts annoying and endearing. He practically lived in Jared and Rich’s room at this point and he was still treating it like a fancy hotel.

“Yup.” He locked his phone, watching as Evan shut the door behind him and paused in the middle of the room, looking like he didn’t know where to go. “Probably making out with his boyfriend.”

“Isn’t Jer with them?” Evan’s voice was still soft and he was still just standing there like a lost puppy. So he had to do everything himself. With a slight roll of his eyes he set his phone down among the blankets while shifting over to offer up some room to Evan. That was all it seemed to take because now he was crossing the room and gently hopping up onto the bed, slotting his body perfectly next to Jared’s own.

“Dude, I don’t know what the fuck is goin’ on with that,” Jared couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter - Rich had been prattling on about that situation for weeks and as of late he had no clue who was actually dating who in that mess. With a sigh he just turned his head to bury his face in Evan’s shoulder, he really didn’t care to think about it for the time being.

“Your hair’s greasy.” Jared scoffed a little at that, taking note of how Evan tipped his head back instead of burying his face in his hair like normal. Normal. Well, this whole thing wasn’t very normal of them. Whatever it was.

“You can only be rude if it’s not to me, asshole,” he tried to keep his tone gruff but a breathy laugh slipped out at the end. He knew full well he was the only person who Evan felt comfortable being anything but painfully polite to. “Showering is hard. I didn’t wanna deal with it.”

“Have you.. not showered since you got the cast? That’s like..” Jared could practically hear the gears turning in Evan’s head until he opened his mouth to complete the thought, “two weeks.”

“Fuck dude, I’m not an animal!” Shifting a bit Jared weakly hit Evan’s chest, rolling his eyes to himself. “I kinda just.. wash my hair in the sink. And then like.. half shower. With, like, a wash cloth.”

“You know you can.. wrap your cast right?” 

Jared tried not to laugh in his face at that one.

“I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.” When Evan finally laughed and let his shoulders relax he couldn’t help a triumphant grin. After a second he felt a nose against his hair and it was his turn to practically melt, sinking back against Evan. “Yeah. But then I’d have to like.. balance on my leg and carry all my shit.”

“I can help you.”

Jared couldn’t help but short circuit at that. It was disgustingly intimate and Jared wanted to fucking choke because now his face was red from the thought of Evan gently touching his hair. Years of fleeting dreams about making out with Evan (and maybe a little more) did nothing to prepare him for soft intimacy. But he also felt Evan tensing up under him and they didn’t need to be both thrown into a state of utter uselessness. It came out as nearly a whisper, “alright.”

But Evan didn’t seem to hear, breathing uneven as he stuttered out messy apologies.

“Evan. Fucking hell, earth to Ev.” With a quiet grunt Jared pushed himself up, bracing a hand on Evan’s chest. Sitting up he was able to look down at Evan, drawing his brows together as he looked over his face. He seemed sincere about the offer, if his panicked expression and continued whirlwind of mumbled apologies was anything to go off of.

“I’m so sorry that.. Sorry. Sorry. That was weird and gross I don’t-”

“Dude. I said alright. I mean, like,” Jared directed his gaze anywhere but Evan, feeling his own cheeks warm up a little as he tried to play it off, “like you can carry my shit. And like stand by the shower in case I need you to hand me something.”

“Oh.”

The bathrooms were big enough that he felt like he could play it off and Evan could hide in the corner while offering minimal assistance. Sure, maybe he’d prefer to have Evan with him, to lean back into him. Or.. to kiss his face while they washed each other’s hair. Fuck. Since when had he gotten so fucking soft? This was the shit he roasted Rich for.

“Wanna help me wrap my cast?”

There was no time like the present. Besides, if Evan was going to complain about how greasy his hair was then he’d make him eat those words. Or whatever.

Not to mention he was also a little worried that he wouldn’t be able to work up the nerve later, this conversation already had momentum he didn’t want to stop.

“N..Now?”

Jared just huffed out a sigh as he awkwardly clambered over Evan to slide off the bed, straining to grab his crutches once he made it to the floor.

“You don’t have to do this.” Jared looked up at him, raising an eyebrow as he looked over him. His face was still flushed and he was fidgeting with his hands. Heaving a sigh Jared just leaned to grab his phone and tuck it into his pocket before hobbling away from the bed. “I’ve managed so far.”

“But.. you want to uh..” Jared heard some rustling as Evan practically fell off the bed, stumbling to catch himself. He bit back a fond smile at the absurdity of it all and just dropped down onto the futon as gracefully as he could manage. “I wanna help.”

When Jared looked up Evan was already collecting the few plastic bags they had off the ground and that time he couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Alright,” he said it like a leading question, waiting expectantly as Evan shifted his weight between his feet. He shifted so he could stretch his leg out for easier access and when he saw Evan practically waiting for a command he sighed, “tape is in the top desk drawer.”

Evan grabbed the duct tape and sat on the floor in front of Jared, wrapping up the cast with a sort of practiced ease. Jared’s cast was bigger than what he’d been used to before and he watched Evan scramble, digging around Rich’s side of the room for two extra bags to fully cover it. Once he was done he sat back on his heels, Jared could practically feel the nervousness radiating off of him. “But.. if someone sees us both go into a bathroom they’re gonna think..”

Right. The redness on Evan’s face was almost contagious. Just almost. Because now he was thinking about it too, well sort of, he didn’t care if anyone saw them, he barely knew anyone on the floor but.. The thought of sneaking away to the bathrooms with Evan for something else - that was enough to make him feel a little warm.

“Just wait like.. a minute and then follow me. Dude. No one cares, people do worse shit in those bathrooms. You’ll live.” His words seemed to be convincing enough and Evan was nodding now.

“Okay.. yeah. Alright.” Evan smoothed his palms over his pants before getting to his feet. Jared couldn’t help but feel a little amused by the shakiness in his knees - he’d caused that. Well, maybe. Maybe it was anxiety, knowing Evan. “I’ll just.. I can bring your clothes and shower stuff.. and everything. Yeah. You.. you can go now and I’ll.. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Text me if you change your mind.” Jared was pulling himself back up to his feet, wobbling on his crutches a bit before heading towards the door. Of course he’d give him an out, Evan looked on the verge of passing out and Jared really didn’t want to push whatever it was that they had. He liked kissing Evan. He liked laying with him. He.. liked him. When he managed to get the door open he gave a mock salute before heading into the hall, letting his shoulders slump as soon as he was out of sight.

The whole thing was a spur of the moment mess and in the moment the yearning for that tenderness had fogged everything. Now that he was alone and hobbling into the bathrooms he looked back on it, as he often did. There were so many times over their lives where Jared had jut pushed too far and now he was worried this was another. Huffing out a sigh he ducked into one of the open bathrooms, leaving the door unlocked behind him as he leaned on the wall to send a text.

Jared (6:22 pm): last one on the left  Duck (Ev) (6:23 pm): ok coming

That was promising at least. So maybe he wouldn’t get his tender fantasy of washing each other’s hair and feeling soft skin to skin contact - but at least he was getting a proper shower. And Evan wasn’t disgusted with him. Or something like that. Wow, he really was starting to sound like him. They were spending a lot of time together. He shook his head and moved to carefully balance his phone on the sink.

With nothing better to do he ran the water. Hot but not too hot. Evan would probably fret over him cooking himself if he showered with his normal water temperature. His heart stuttered at the thought of Evan fussing over him - he used to find it annoying, he used to call him overbearing, comparing him to his mother. It felt different this time.

Only a few minutes has passed before Evan was practically throwing himself into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Outrageous. It brought a wide grin to Jared’s face as he shook his head fondly. 

“W..What?” Evan seemed to shrink in on himself a bit as he hung up the towel, using the second towel hook to hang Jared’s towel bag. His hands were practically shaking. 

“Shh,” Jared barely stifled a laugh as he whispered, “don’t want someone to hear.”

Evan was nodding frantically enough that just watching him could give Jared a headache. Instead he just stifled a laugh, shoulders shaking as he kept his cackling at bay, face scrunching up with pure amusement. Deciding not to waste any more time he just turned around, hiding his expression as it softened into something more fond. There was something oddly cathartic about being able to let some of that softness seep through instead of forcing it under lock and key. Well it wasn’t oddly cathartic. Probably just normal cathartic. The point was that he was just happy he didn’t have to hide.

Tucking his glasses into his shower bag he just leaned his crutches on the wall, awkwardly balancing as he tugged his clothes off. He’d gotten better at the whole process over the last two weeks. Especially considering he’d been alone for Thanksgiving break. He had a slight handle on it all. Enough, at least, to haul himself into the shower and finally get under the spray, blindly reaching for a bottle on shampoo while he let his hair get wet. 

Yeah. He needed this.

It only took a minute for Jared to encounter a problem. He didn’t have particularly good balance and with one hand propped up against the wall and one clutching onto his shampoo bottle.. he didn’t really have a way of going about this process. Which left one option. They’d made it this far, he might as well drive it home. Clearing his throat quietly he gave as loud of a whisper as he could manage, “hey.. Ev?”

“Uh.. yeah?” He’d heard Evan’s shoes on the tiles and based on his (blurry) shadow he was on the other side of the curtain.

“Okay, you’ve got me. I’ll admit defeat just this once.” Jared didn’t often make a habit of asking for help, but Evan was the single exception if there ever was one, “could you help me wash my hair? Balancing and opening bottles and blurry vision aren’t my favorite combination.”

“Oh but I..” The words set off some primal fear reaction in Jared, he sort of froze up. The silence was only broken by the sound of water. It was almost deafening. “I don’t.. wanna get my clothes wet.”

Jared swore he could fucking strangle him. 

“Well, the great thing about that is that you can take your clothes off to shower.” He managed a quiet laugh because if he didn’t laugh he was probably going to lose it in one way or another. Besides, if that was Evan’s mental block he could try and put that at ease because, “I’ve seen you without clothes before.”

“That.. that was..” Jared squinted a bit, watching as Evan’s shadow fidgeted on the other side of the shower curtain. He held back another laugh, it was probably cruel enough to bring that back up. Losing your swim trunks at the pool definitely wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“I’m already in here and I can’t really do this,” he went with a softer tone this time. The silence stretched on long enough to make Jared second guess everything. Maybe it was an utterly horrible idea. “Ev, it’s fine. I.. you don’t gotta, it’s cool.”

“I.. okay, hold on. Gimme.. a s..sec. I’m fine.”

For once Evan wasn’t pausing, he sounded.. well, as sure of himself as he possibly could. Considering his general aura it was pretty impressive. He heard clothes hitting the ground in a pile and it was suddenly very real and very intimate. 

“I.. okay. I’m coming in.”

When the curtain was pulled open Jared was met with the sight of Evan, eyes squeezed shut tightly. He had to laugh. And.. he was wearing boxers? So what, maybe he couldn’t help but spare a glance! It was sort of endearing actually.

“Jesus, are you serious?” Jared moved the smallest bit to the side so Evan could join him. The red in his face was from more than the warm water. Jared breathed out another laugh. “If you slip and die I’ll kill you.”

“That.. that doesn’t,” he was whispering harshly and no one would never know what he was going to say exactly because his voice faltered when Jared settled a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh my god. If you’re not going to open your eyes at least let me help,” his tone was light and airy - stupidly, he kind of felt like he was floating. Slowly, he helped direct Evan to move until he was standing behind him. “Here.”

After some fumbling he was pressing the bottle of shampoo into Evan’s hand, face scrunching up in amusement as he heard Evan struggle to get it open. Once he got the hang of it he was passing the bottle back and Jared gladly took it, head tipping back a bit instinctually. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of Evan washing his hair. It was different than when he jut played with it while they laid it bed - it made him feel something that was just intense and he couldn’t quite place it or put it into words. It was painfully tender and it made his knees weak. His eyes burned with the threat of tears.. or maybe there was shampoo in his eyes. That was probably it.

Being taken care of was.. nice. Maybe he’d let it happen a little more often.

[unholyhelbig]

Prompt- Beca is a human trying to finish college and hopefully move to LA with her friend Stacie. Chloe is a demon looking for some fun and ends up being smitten with the DJ.

[A/N: Alright… I may have gone too far with this one. But I was feeling it, and might continue feeling it for a mini-series.] 

She tilted her head back, letting the hot alcohol dribble past her lips. It wasn’t painful, not anymore. She could actually enjoy the taste- even if it made her throat tingle. The drink had a way of warming her, making her feel human in a routine that could be described as nothing more but mundane.

Chloe Beale had fallen into mankind perfectly; it was fun, at first, studying the way humans interacted with each other. How they melded into their own vices. Each human had a motive, she figured earlier on, some were better than others, but the driving focus was common; satisfaction.

In 1864 she had learned that people have differences. They fight when things get bad, and when freedoms are quelled. She also learned that it was easy for humans to turn on one another in a quick second. The difference between grey and blue still ringing thick in her ears to this very day.

In the early 1920’s she discovered that indulgence was a thing. That people would die for simple habits and drown their sorrows in extravagant parties and plastic little cards… the years after the 20’s, she recalled, were a simple and cold truth that left her desolate and lonely.  

During the 70’s Chloe figured that love was a thing human’s strive for. They would pull each other closer in the cold of Kansas City nights like the rancid scent of construction and garbage wasn’t clinging to their clothes. She watched from a distance as a man pulled his own coat away from his heavy frame before draping it over a woman who already carried her own fabric close.

It wasn’t until the late 90’s when she knew affection could be something more than just a simple touch here and there. That connection had something to do with wanting to stay tangled up in the silk sheets after a quick moment of pleasure. That it was not only okay but normal, to pull her partner closer after a hapless night of drinking.

Chloe also experienced an undeniable pain two years later- something she didn’t take lightly. It was nothing akin to hell, it was past the fire that she was forged from and the lessons that she had learned before. Something that licked at her hand with blue and cruel flames as her chest ached with a crazy edge of pain.

She missed her.

The bed was empty for a while, and so were the glass bottles that lined the shelves of her studio apartment somewhere in the Mid-West. She contemplated writing everything out in her dark kitchen. She would roll up the paper and slip it into one of the empty containers of old crow before throwing it into rolling waves that crashed into the sand. But she didn’t live near the ocean, so she scrapped that idea.

Today, Chloe knew she hadn’t only fallen into Mankind, she had stumbled into it full force.

The music from the club was pounding against the inside of her brain and beating close to her eardrums like every single inch of her was alive with the sound. She couldn’t even tell what song this was, or if it had even started out as something that carried a tune; not it morphed into a mess of pumps timed out to the strobe lights that hung from the ceiling.

She was more attune to lonely bars stranded high in the mountains. Ones that had a small glowing jukebox in the corner. The red and blue lights morphed into a pale violet against the peanut-shell-coated floor. It made drinking a hell of a lot easier when she could actually hear the sound of drowning out her thoughts.

Chloe supposed that this place was okay too.

It was in the depths of New Orleans. The French Quarter was wreaking with different forms of sage, and middle-aged tour guides shoving uncomfortable contacts into their eyes to give them a red sort of tint. Demons. She scoffed to herself each time she saw one of them- no class, but then again, here she was.

Chloe wiped her thumb against the corner of her lip, catching any drops that had found a way from her grasp. She didn’t find any, but it was a terrible habit. One that carried her into the night.

Spring Break was an easy time for her to fold into the madness.

It was almost as if she didn’t have to insight the chaos. It always started on its own. Her job as a harbinger of evil had decreased greatly as the world aged. Human’s found their own way to muck things up, to find accuse in every statement and draw their own attention to the fractures in society.

Tonight, she kept her eyes on the DJ stand. Not so much the man that held an obnoxiously large pair of headphones to the side of his head as he made sense of the jumbled beats. But the woman who looked on with disdain next to her.

She followed the dusky sightline that was interrupted with a few huffs here and there; a young thing that had deep chestnut hair falling over her slumped shoulders. She was dressed in black, almost blending into the night if it weren’t for the lit up white counter that shaded her sharp features like a full moon on a smog coated night.

The girl was tapping her fingers on the edge of her empty glass in annoyance. She almost canceled out the rest of her surroundings, Chloe tracing her own features without the woman looking up. She carried the same energy that Chloe tried to desperately to leave in the early 2000’s.

“Please tell me you didn’t drag yourself to a club to glare at an ex-boyfriend?” She said.

“Huh?” The woman snapped her eyes to Chloe’s. Blue matching even bluer. “Oh, no- I”

She contemplated explaining herself, her bottom lip snagged against her teeth. She raked her eyes up Chloe’s frame, the tight-fitting jeans and equally as snug white t-shirt that clung to the woman. It was simple, a leathered jacket rolled up at the sleeves to protect from the cold air meant to balance the heat of a dance floor.

“I would never date someone who mixes music like this” She concluded, waving her hand in the air “I don’t care that we’re in New Orleans. This much trumpet is a crime.”

Chloe scoffed, barely heard over the music as she lifted her empty glass and clinked it with the stranger. She was careful not to let her hand brush against exposed skin. It wasn’t dangerous, not in the sense that this woman would fall to her demise as twelve years bad luck plagued her every waking moment.

The woman offered up a snide smile, dipping her chin slightly. “You don’t look like you’re having much fun.”

“Oh, me?” She raised her brow “This is three drink, Chloe. You have to stick around until I hit the five-drink mark. That girl is a boatload of fun.”

“Is she now?” The stranger called over the blasting music. She almost cringed as her words ripped at her throat. “Well, does three drink Chloe know somewhere quieter to get a buzz?”

In fact, she did. She knew the city like the back of her hand. It had grown immensely in the time she had been planted on this earth. The brick buildings reached to the starry skies as twinkling lights stretched across alleyways. It gave New Orleans the distinct advantage of being stuck so solemnly in time. Aging in its own sense when it came to the nightclub scene, but still carrying the legend and charm.

She lifted her chin and made the move to stand up. This woman followed almost too willingly. She had been nursing her own drink, that much clear by the way her attention focused so fully on the sound instead of the prowess of getting wasted.

There was an immediate heir of calm the second they walked from the club. A line still wrapped around the brick edge, and a bouncer eyed them silently- but it was nothing Chloe hadn’t grown used to. Her ears were ringing, and her breath was prominent in the night air.

A brass trumpet plugged with a silencer echoed its own rendition of jazz. The sound bounced off the bricks as Chloe let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding onto. She could see the girl more clearly, memorize her facial features and take in the pure beauty of her when not under the harsh lights of the club.

“God, talk about a way to get a headache.” She brought her fingers delicately up to her temple, her voice softer now. “This is a lot better-I” Again, she stilled, flicking her eyes up. “I’m sorry.”

She knit her eyebrows together, lilting her head to the side as she closed her eyes. Chloe watched. It wasn’t like she was enjoying the silence. Instead, she was placing something, something over the dull buzz of excited teenagers ready to produce their fake ID to a man that had a neck tattoo.

“It’s Blue in Green,” Chloe finally said, a bit of a smile pulling at her lips.

“Miles Davis,” She got an excited look in her eyes as she rocked back and forth on her heels. The song had escaped her, the trumpet calling her name, it’s brass interworking nothing to overlook. The stranger swallowed thickly “That was rude of me, I just… I knew there was a reason I liked New Orleans.”

“You have an ear for music.” She said.

“If you could dare call it that.” The woman glowered, breathing in as the street performer drew out his notes. “Want to get a closer look?”

Chloe nodded, short and sweet. She would love nothing more, finding herself once again listening to the sounds of her footfalls against the near-empty streets of a city paused. Mankind was quiet tonight- quiet and loud all at once.    

[meltingalphabet]

What’s So Scary About Halloween? Age 13

At age 13, I played with a Ouija board.

By then, all memories of my childhood Halloweens had been buried deep within my mind. Puberty hit me like a ton of bricks and I went from being a perfect little angel who always said please and thank you to a wannabe bad girl. The fairies had taken my eye only five years previously and yet, at that age, 8 seemed a lifetime ago. Whenever people asked about my glass eye, I’d tell them the truth. I’d tell them what I thought was the truth. What the doctor with the deep warm voice filled with knowledge told me.

“I slept walked into the woods one night as a kid and scratched my cornea on a twig or something. It got really infected so they had to remove it.”

“That is sick!” Carolyn said, her eye only an inch from mine as she examined it. She sat back down onto the rubber surface of the trampoline, her face lit up with morbid curiosity.

We had met only a few week previously during orientation at Williams Cove Middle School but we had an instant connection. I had thought she could be my best friend. I guess, on some level, I thought she already was.

Jackie sat beside us, shaking her head. “That’s fucked up, man.” She said, sucking on a cigarette before passing it to me. Carolyn reached into the back pocket of her black bondage pants and pulled out the rest of the pack that she had stolen from her dad.

The three of us were a pack of misfits. While my preteen rebellion involved listening to the Dead Kennedys and trying to convince my mom to buy me a leather jacket, Carolyn went a different route. By Halloween of eighth grade, Carolyn’s goth phase was at its peak: white foundation, corsets, ripped fishnets, and jet black hair. She even began to make everyone refer to her as Lilith. And like her family and other friends, I indulged her. Decked out in latex gloves, I spent a Saturday afternoon helping her dye her natural auburn curls. Her mother was pissed with us, but that was part of the fun. I went with her when she got her tongue pierced and ended up getting my nose done as well. Despite my more punk inclinations, it was fun discovering Black Sabbath and Marilyn Manson with her.

Jackie on the other hand was way cooler than either of us. She didn’t dress up to piss her parents off and she didn’t spout delusional preachings of preteen rebellion. Her life focus was to become an artist and that was who she was, through and through. She didn’t waste time at the mall or Hot Topic. She wore loose ripped jeans and baggy sweaters she mostly got from Goodwill, and her long blonde hair was always tied back into a loose messy bun. She smoked cigarettes with us and shoot the shit, but most of her free time was spent in the art wing of the high school working on projects. Everyone knew fancy art colleges from all over the country were already looking at her, keeping tabs on her artistic genius.

Carolyn - at the time, Lilith - and I were desperate for her attention. We shared an unspoken disbelief and excitement that someone so cool, so adult, would want to spend time with us.

“You guys should come over tonight for a Halloween sleepover! We’ll play games and watch movies! I’ll order pizza and we can steal some of my dad’s vodka!” Carolyn said, her face bright with excitement.

A small pit at the bottom of my stomach made me pause.

“I dunno, Lilith.” I said, “it’s a school night.”

“Ah, come on! It’ll be so fun! And it won’t kill you to stay out one night!”

The pit, now more of a voice or feeling, tried to pull me away from the warmth of acceptance and validation. Don’t do it. The feeling said, tendrils of fear slowly crawling up my sides like snakes.

Jackie giggled and I looked at her. She was smiling at Carolyn, that huge, warm smile of hers where the corner of her mouth rose just a little higher than the other one. Her blue eyes crinkled with the gesture.

“That sounds awesome, I’m down.” She looked at me as she tilted her head to the right and away. It was a look she gave me sometimes. Mostly when asking a question but sometimes just when she was looking at me. Like she was examining me but was too close, like she had to adjust her head so she could focus better. “You sure you don’t want to?” She asked, the crinkles in her eyes fading slightly.

The pit in my stomach fell away into oblivion, immediately forgotten, and I smiled at her. “Fuck it, I’m in.”

That night, the three of us sat on the floor of Carolyn’s room. My head was thick with vodka and cigarettes and my skin buzzed. I was browsing through Carolyn’s DVD collection, trying to find something to watch, when she stopped me, clapping her hands in excitement at a sudden epiphany.

“Oh my God, you know what we should do?” She asked. I looked to Jackie who was watching Carolyn with a small smile on her lips. Without waiting for a response, Carolyn jumped up from the floor and walked to her bookcase. “We should perform a seance!” She turned back to us, presenting a cheap mass-produced Ouija set.

I rolled my eyes and Jackie snorted in laughter.

“I’m serious!” Carolyn said. “We should do at least something scary! It is Halloween afterall.”

I looked at the clock. “Only for another twenty minutes.”

“Even more reason to do it now!” Carolyn fell to the floor, taking the lid off the box.

“Have you ever done this before?” Jackie asked hesitantly.

“Not really.” Carolyn admitted. “I mean, I tried to once but I was alone. I think it only works if you have a coven.”

I raised an eyebrow to Jackie who shrugged.

Carolyn placed the planchette onto the cardboard game as she sat back, her legs crossed in front of her. She sat there, back straight, and waited. After a few seconds of nothing, she cleared her throat, throwing us both pointed looks.

“Fine.” I sighed as I placed my fingertips on one edge of the plastic triangle. “But never call us a coven again.”

Jackie’s fingers joined ours, her hand brushing softly against mine. My heart beat sped up with excitement. We looked to Carolyn who smiled maliciously at us as she closed her eyes and began to speak. Her voice was unnecessarily deep, like she was trying to impersonate Boris Karloff.

“Oh spirits, we call upon you tonight on All Hallow’s Eve. Come to us. Speak your truths through us and share your knowledge.” Carolyn began to sway slightly, her shoulders rocking back and forth. Jackie sighed beside me and I bite my tongue to stifle a giggle. Carolyn didn’t notice.

Slowly, the planchette began to move under our fingers. Jackie jumped before snickering quietly as she looked at me to roll her eyes at her own reaction. Carolyn, her eyes still closed, pushed the planchette forward. It hovered over the letter H before sliding to the letter I, where it stayed.

“Really, Carolyn?” I asked in frustration. “Hi?”

Carolyn’s eyes popped open. “It’s Lilith!” She scolded, her brow tight with anger. “And I didn’t do that! It was the spirit of the house! I had my eyes closed.” She added, pointing to herself as if that alibi was airtight.

“Alright,” I sighed, “Hi, Mr. Ghost.” Despite the sarcasm, Carolyn closed her eyes again and continued.

“I can sense the spirit. It is not a man, but a woman. She wishes to speak more. Please, tell us your story oh great spirit!”

Subtle vibrations began to rise from the plastic beneath my fingertips, as if the planchette was pulsing. I opened my mouth in confusion and looked to Jackie, who was watching the planchette wide eyed. I looked back at Carolyn, trying to figure out how should was doing it.

The planchette moved again, hovering this time over D. Carolyn’s eyes were still closed, so I took it upon myself to read the letter out loud. It moved to the E and this time Jackie joined me. Together, we chanted the letters into the air.

A-T-H.

“Death.” Jackie finished.

“Appropriate.” I said.

Carolyn began to sway again, this time humming loudly as if she was meditating. She spoke again, her voice booming forward into the now chilled air of the room. “Oh great spirit, we implore you. Tell us how you died!?!” Her words sounded scripted. Forced, as if she were reading Shakespeare on a stage.

The planchette moved and Jackie and I read the letters aloud.

K-I-L-L

“Who killed you?” Carolyn cried.

T-A-Y-L-O-R

“What the fuck!?” Jackie yelled, her hands flying from the planchette as she shot back away from the Ouija board.

“Carolyn, stop it!” I scolded as I sat up and crossed my arms. “That’s so not funny!”

Carolyn didn’t acknowledge us, her eyes remaining shut as a continuous moan spilled forth from her lips. The planchette moved again.

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

“Stop it!” I cried.

But the planchette didn’t stop. It kept moving furiously over the same letters. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Carolyn opened her mouth wide and began to chant along with the words spelt on the board.

“Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor. Kill Taylor.” Her voice grew louder and louder. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!” She was screaming now. I crawled away from her, towards Jackie who reached out and pulled me towards her. I clung to her tightly, silent prayers forming incoherently in my mind. Her parents would hear her. They’d come find us. They’d be here at any moment. They’d save us. They’d save me. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!” Jackie and I held each other as Carolyn continued to chant.

“Fucking stop it!” Jackie screamed as she lunged out of my grasp towards Carolyn. She landed on her, pinning her quickly to the ground. Jackie shook her by the shoulders as the other girl kept screaming.

“Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!”

“Jackie!” I yelled, my voice strained with fear. She whipped around to face me, her hands and knees still pinning the screaming, squirming form of my best friend. My arm shook as I pointed towards the Ouija board.

The planchette hadn’t stopped.

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

K-I-L-L T-A-Y-L-O-R

Jackie turned back to Carolyn. “Stop it! Stop Carolyn! What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

The noise of the planchette scraping across cardboard filled my ears. It was too loud, as if it were right beside my head. My body buzzed as I watched the blur. Each movement echoed in my mind and the buzzing grew and grew. Like molecules in boiling water my skin buzzed so fast that heat began to spread across it. I started screaming, tears flowing down my cheeks in pain and fear.

There was a snap and Jackie screamed. Her body flew back across the room, smacking against the bookcase with a painful thud. I looked at Carolyn who had sat up and was now staring at me, her wide eyes glowing blood red, her pupils no longer visible. She bared her teeth at me and seethed. Her chest rising and falling as her breath cut in and out with a sharp hissing noise. Drool formed at the corners of her mouth and flew forward with each sharp exhale. Her gaze held a hatred that I had never seen before.

She continued to chant. “Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor! Kill Taylor!”

Before I could react, she lunged forward. Her hands wrapped around my throat and she squeezed. I flailed my arms, punching and slapping her, desperately trying to get her off of me. I tried to kick but she was straddling me, her weight on my thighs. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breath. I thrust my arm at her face and scratched her. My nails dug deep into her flesh as I scratched again and again. Red lines formed across her cheeks, her blood making the skin slippery beneath my fingertips, but her grip around my neck held fast.

My body screamed for air. My lungs throbbed and my mouth gaped as instinct tried to save me. Flashes of a tub full of water shot through my mind with an electric sting. Things in the water bobbed and spun around me as I tried to escape. A sweet juice crackled on the tip of my tongue and I tried to scream but instead came back to the present. Blood was rushing to my head, which felt unnaturally heavy.

Carolyn’s face fell to mine, a red eye filling my vision. Warm spit hit my skin as she breathed ragged breaths above me, the warmth of her breath smelling like blood, death, and decay.

And then, she screamed. Her terrible chants replaced with a pained screamed that hit my face with heated anger. I inhaled sharply as her grasp loosened. She began to slide away, that red eye blissfully leaving my vision.

White flashed behind her as the planchette flew from the board, hitting the far wall with a loud plastic crack. I swallowed air desperately, my lungs expanding painfully with each breath. Carolyn fell forward onto the carpet like a rag doll, revealing Jackie standing behind her holding a thick black candlestick. The dried purple wax was still visible from where the candle had recently been.

Jackie fell to the ground beside our unconscious friend and wept.

The three of us stood in the living room as Jackie and I waited for our parents to pick us up. Carolyn held a towel to the back of her head, the fabric now damp and stained with blood. Her parents were in the other room putting on their boots and jackets, preparing to take Carolyn to the hospital. The bleeding had stopped but she needed to get checked out. The 9-1-1 receiver had warned that she may have a concussion.

“I remember everything turning red and all I felt was hatred. It was like in a dream. I felt the emotions so real, so tangible. But they weren’t really mine. It was like…..” She hesitated. “It was like I was possessed.”

Jackie, face wet with tears, shook her head violently. “Fuck you.” She spat, her voice quaking.

“I’m so sorry.” Carolyn said as she reached out towards her, but Jackie flinched away from her touch.

Jackie wasn’t at school the next few days. We didn’t see her for another week and when she did finally come back, she avoided Carolyn and I, outright ignoring us if we tried to talk to her.

Of course, everyone asked us what happened. Parents, doctors, friends, the guidance counselor. But none of us could answer. We couldn’t explain why I had bruises around my neck or what had happened to Carolyn’s head. The truth was too fantastical and we were too traumatized to think of something more believable to say. They continued to ask for weeks and months later but, to my knowledge, the three of us never told anyone what we experienced that Halloween night.

I immediately cleaned up my act. I started focusing more on school and less on a social life. I haven’t smoked a cigarette since and didn’t drink another drop of alcohol till college. Instead of going to parties, I began enjoying the quiet and comfort of church. And I never spent the night at a friend’s house again.

While my parents were, and still are, indifferent to religion, that night made me believe. I believed in the supernatural. Believed in good versus evil, heaven and hell. In the power of prayer and magic. But I gave all the credit of what happened to the Ouija board. To the devil.

Carolyn and I never hung out again after that night. I became too busy with school and church and she became too busy with drugs and parties. We drifted apart pretty quickly. Church helped make me feel safe again and through it I was able to recover from my past trauma and move on. In high school, I found a healthy balance between teenage fun and respect for the forces of our world that I didn’t understand. I was able to make new friends and to even start dating, all while under the protection of Christianity. The protection of God and Jesus Christ.

When my high school boyfriend wanted to watch scary movies, I didn’t want to. Not because I thought it contradicted my religious lifestyle. I knew I could still be a good Christian and watch horror movies. Just like I could still be a good Christian and date. Life, as my pastor always said, was about balancing. Be good and keep God in the forefront of your mind and you will be kept safe.

I didn’t want to watch scary movies because of that little pit in my stomach. Those little tendrils of fear that climb up my skin. That little voice that warns me.

Don’t do it.

But movies can’t hurt you. Not like demons can.

At age 16, I watched Child’s Play. And just like the other years, Halloween used fear and mischief to attack me. Like a trickster god, it used its powers to warp and twist reality for the pure pleasure of torturing me. That was the night it all started to make sense. The night all the pieces fell into place. With sickening horror, I realized that Halloween hated me. That Halloween wanted to make me suffer, and still does. This one night a year, this holiday, has created unseen laws of order. Laws it put in place when I was only a child. Laws that it used as reason to punish me when I unknowingly broke them. It took sixteen years, but I finally learned to respect those laws.

Unfortunately, my story doesn’t end there. By college, I thought I understood the rules. I thought I knew the laws instilled upon me. And in a moment of desperation, I thought I knew how to play the system.

But I was very, very wrong.

[crispychrissy]

Shrink - Chapter 19

Summary: When patients of a psychiatrist that caters exclusively to hunters start going crazy and dying, Sam and Dean Winchester investigate what might be causing these bizarre episodes. Pairing: Sam Winchester x Ellen Barnes Word Count: 2400 Warnings: Cliff hangerrr A/N: My first fanfic! This is going to be a series, probably over 30 chapters total. Any feedback is appreciated, I am a newbie!

"Ellen...." "Ellen, wake up." Sam placed his hand on Ellen's left shoulder. She was on her side bundled up in the blankets on Sam's bed. Her eyes shot open then blinked rapidly as Sam gently shook her. "Wha-" Ellen muttered, sluggishly rubbing her eyes with her hands. She looked around, disoriented, noticing she had somehow moved from Dean's bed to Sam's. Noticing her confusion, Sam smiled and sat down next to her on the bed. "When it was my turn to keep watch, Dean didn't want to sleep in my bed....for...obvious reasons." Sam cautiously slid his hand under the blanket and began to lightly brush his fingers along the outside of Ellen's upper thigh. "So, I moved you into my bed." Ellen reached her hand down under the covers, placing it over Sam's. She smiled and interlaced her fingers between his. "Go ahead and get dressed, I'll wake Dean." Sam said, removing his hand and standing up. Ellen nodded and stretched her arms up, involuntarily letting out a rather loud but raspy squeak as she yawned. Dean sat up and jolted to life before Sam had a chance to wake him, his pistol waving wildly in his hand.

"Whoa, Dean! Relax!" Sam yelled with both hands up in surrender, startled at his brother's sudden movement. Dean sighed and grunted, dropping his pistol onto his bed and slamming his face back into his pillow. "Get up, dude. We gotta go. It's already 8:15. I got you breakfast." Sam said as he slapped Dean's right foot that was hanging over the edge of the bed. Ellen threw off the covers, slowly stood up, and limped her way over to the bathroom. Her skirt and shirt were neatly folded and placed on the small side table in the corner of the bathroom in front of the toilet. She smiled, knowing that had to have been done by Sam. She closed the door behind her and slipped off Sam's boxers, ready to get dressed into her torn clothing again. Dean rolled to his side and lazily sat up, practically dislocating his jaw with how wide he yawned. He stood up and walked over to the table, his eyes still half closed. He pulled one of the coffee cups from the tray on the table and took several sips, smacking his lips together after each sip. "Mmm." Dean moaned, sighing heavily, while absently scratching at his now-substantial beard. "You're still not going to shave that thing, are you?" Sam asked, also pulling a cup from the tray and taking a sip. "Not unless you get a haircut. You know my term, Sammy." Dean replied before digging around in the paper bag sitting on the table next to the tray. "Unless a monster does it for me, not gonna happen, Dean. You look ridiculous. At least brush it, dude." Sam said, motioning to the tangled mess of hair that was Dean's beard. "I think it suits him. Rustic and out of control. It makes you look like a young Chuck Norris." Ellen said as she opened the door and emerged from the bathroom, Sam's shirt and boxers in her left hand. She limped toward the table, pausing a moment to throw the shirt and boxers on Sam's bed. "Don't encourage him." Sam said, pulling the last coffee from the tray and handing it to Ellen. Ellen smiled and took a sip of the coffee. It was stronger than she expected, causing her to groan slightly and raise her eyebrows. "Hunter's coffee. It can wake the dead." Sam handed her a foil wrapped sandwich. "Bacon, egg, and cheese. Is that okay?" "You had me at bacon." Ellen took the sandwich from him and smiled again. She limped a few more steps and sat down at the table before unwrapping the sandwich. The next half an hour seemed to blink by. Dean and Sam had both taken very quick showers and got dressed in their suits. Ellen was stationary at the table the entire time, casually flipping through the lore book Sam had given her whilst she finished her coffee and sandwich. "Ready to go?" Sam said, breaking the silence in the motel room. Ellen nodded and stood up, steadying herself on the table before removing her suit jacket off the back of the chair and sliding it on. All three left the motel room, climbed into the Impala, and departed less than a minute later. "Can we stop at my office so I can grab some clothes? I don’t really want to walk in public like this." Ellen said from the backseat, looking down at her torn and blood stained outfit. "You're not coming inside. Me and Sam are going to handle it." Dean said, narrowing his eyes at Ellen in the rear-view mirror. "What? Why?" Ellen said, staring back at Dean in the mirror. "You're too close to this. If it comes down to it and Natalie our doer, do you really want to watch us gank her?" Dean said. "Dude, come on." Sam groaned. Ellen crossed her arms and stared out the window, tuning out the argument that had erupted between the brothers. A few minutes later, Dean reluctantly agreed after a short and heated debate with Sam. After a short stop at Ellen's office so she could change into the spare business outfit she kept in her office closet, they were all back on the road heading toward Natalie's apartment. Located in a more rural part of Tulsa, Natalie's apartment sat directly above John & Marie's Music Store Galore, just had Ellen said. The bright red neon sign that said "REPAIRS" in the window of the store flickered as Dean glided the Impala to a stop on the opposite side of the street from the store. "You have to go through the store to get to the apartment." Ellen said as she opened her door and stepped outside. Dean and Sam opened their doors in unison and also stepped out, both brothers carefully studying the building in front of them. "Let us do the talking. You're a new intern which is why you don't have a badge yet." Dean grumbled through a clenched jaw, still obviously reluctant about bringing Ellen. "Actually...I do have a badge." Ellen said, pulling a FBI badge out of the jacket pocket and showing it to Dean and Sam. Sam raised an eyebrow and took it from her. Both brothers studied the badge carefully, flipping it open and closed and running their fingers along the stitching. "Not bad, looks legit." Sam said, folding the badge closed and passing it back to Ellen. "Birthday present from a hunter named Garth. Nice guy, loves hugging." Ellen replied cheerfully, sliding the badge back into her pocket. Sam and Dean exchanged wide-eyed glances before smiling. "I take it you know him?" Ellen replied, seeing them exchange looks. "Yeah, we do. We've worked with him a few times." Sam replied. “He’s a sweet guy. And….by the way…I won’t need the badge. Both John and Marie know me and know Natalie works for me.” Ellen said, shrugging. “Right.” Sam nodded before looking at Dean. “We’re going to have to be Agent Smith’s again. They own a music store, they’ll see right through Van Zant and Rossington.” “Yup. You ready?” Dean said, looking at Ellen. "Let's ramble on, boys." Ellen said as she strode past both brothers and across the street, flashing a cheeky smile at Dean. Sam nudged Dean's shoulder with his and smiled as they walked across the street to catch up with Ellen. "Get out of my head, woman." Dean grumbled quietly. Ellen opened the glass door in the front of the store, holding it open so Sam and Dean could enter first. The store was a little bit bigger than the size of the bunker's library, and just as orderly. Records, CD's, magazines, and other music paraphernalia were spread all over the store, neatly packed and organized into over a dozen separate bins throughout the area. There were posters of various 70's and 80's rock stars all over the walls, some signed and framed. Dean stopped a few feet inside the store and took a deep breath in. "Ahhh. Smell that? The musty cardboard aroma of records. Pure heaven." Dean said, a smile creeping across his face. He made his way through the rows of records on the shop floor, stopping and turning when he spotted the familiar white brick pattern of a Pink Floyd album. He reached his hand out and slid the plastic covered album out from the stack it was in and gazed at it, running his fingers along the cover. It was in almost pristine condition. "Come on, Dean. Focus." Sam hissed at his brother, trying to redirect his attention. Dean sighed and slid the album back into the spot he pulled it from, the smile vanishing from his face. He turned and continued walking down the aisle toward the counter at the back of the store. The three of them turned to the left after the last bin of CD's, stopping at the glass counter in the corner. A large black curtain covered a doorway to their right. Sam shifted back and forth, peering through the curtain, spotting a set of stairs straight back on the far wall. "Can I help you?" A voice spoke from the back room behind the counter. Moments later, a man appeared, wiping his grease covered hands on an old rag. He appeared to be in his mid-sixties, tall and slender, with short silver hair and a salt and pepper beard covering his face. Sam and Dean both reached into their jackets and pulled out their badges, showing them to the man behind the counter. "Agents Smith and Smith, no relation." Dean said, pointing at himself, then to his brother. "And you already know Dr. Barnes." "Agents. Doc." The man nodded at both Sam and Dean before looking at Ellen. "How's the guitar?" "Beatle is fine, John. Thanks for fixing her up." Ellen said with a soft smile. “You named your guitar ‘Beatle’?” Dean grumbled at Ellen. “Yeah, sue me.” Ellen snapped back at him. "It’s a free country, son. I’m glad to hear she’s all good. Now what does the FBI want with a mom-and-pop music store?" John said, still wiping the grease from his hands. "Have you seen Natalie recently, John?" Sam asked, pulling his notepad and a pen out of his jacket pocket. "I saw her yesterday, late afternoon. Not sure what time, but it was before we closed...so had to have been before five." John said, dropping the rag on the counter and sitting down in the stool behind him. "Did you speak to her at all?" Sam asked. "No, she practically ran past me and into the back, she lives upstairs in apartment one." John paused for a moment before standing up. "What's going on? Why are you asking about Natalie?" "Someone broke into my office and attacked me...and now she's missing. We want to make sure she's okay, John." Ellen said, stepping forward between Sam and Dean, placing her hand on the counter. John's eyes went wide as he quickly spun around and grabbed a set of keys off a hook next to the light switch on the back wall. He made his way around the counter and sprinted through the curtain. Once he was a good distance ahead, Ellen turned and walked through the curtain, Sam and Dean behind her. "John and Marie pretty much adopted Natalie. They know her background and how hard her life has been, so they've been keeping an eye on her ever since she moved in." Ellen whispered as they walked. Dean nodded and started up the stairs first, followed by Sam, then Ellen. John was already at the top of the stairs waiting for them. The walkway wrapped around in a U-shape, leading to two doors. The first door, marked with the number one, was in the middle of the wall to their right...the other door was at the end of the walkway, marked with a number two. John walked a few steps to the first door, fumbling around with the keys in his hand. A few seconds later, he held a single key in his fingers and reached down, inserting it into the lock. "John..." Dean whispered as he slid his pistol out from the back of his waistband and pointed it at the ground. Dean flicked his wrist and gun at John, motioning for him to step back, the key still unturned the lock. John nodded and complied, stepping back a few feet. Sam stepped forward, sliding past Dean, positioning himself on the left side of the door frame, opposite his brother. He also pulled his pistol from his waistband and nodded. Sam switched his pistol from his right to his left hand and slowly turned the key inside the lock with his free hand. With a muffled click, the lock disengaged. Sam looked at Dean and began to whisper a countdown. A beat after he reached one, Sam turned the doorknob and firmly pushed the door open. Dean entered first, his gun raised, sweeping left to right as he stepped inside. Sam entered shortly after, his gun lowered until Dean was no longer in front of him. Dean began walking to the left toward the bedroom as Sam stepped forward into the living area, both of them making no noise as they made their way around the apartment. Dean was halfway into the bedroom when he heard Sam's voice come from the living area. "Dean." Dean emerged from the bedroom to meet his brother, who was standing next to the worn out couch in the middle of the room. Sam sighed as he slid his pistol back into his waistband. Dean came around the left side of the couch before being greeted by a familiar iron smell he knew all too well. "Son of a bitch." Dean said, sliding his pistol into his waistband and letting out a heavy sigh. Sam and Dean exchanged looks before they looked down at the floor. Natalie's body was slumped over on her right side in front of the couch, covered in blood from the three large stab wounds that were evident on her torso. A large pool of blood was spread across the dirty white carpet in front of her.

[ratfics-blog]

ONE: with assistance from my best friend, @politelydeclined.

no prompt, just straight from the brain. <3

><><><><><><><

Your brother Aidan was the definition of apologetic when he stepped into your room that evening, scratching his neck like he always did when he felt awkward or nervous. You were all ready to go; clad in your trustiest band shirt and flannel, jeans ripped at the knees as always, and combat boots laced up tight. This, seeing you so excited and happy, made him feel a whole lot worse.

“I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news?” He trailed, avoiding eye contact. You pulled a face, and shook you head. “Shit, then. The Killers just released a statement saying that Brandon Flowers has got a nasty throat infection and they’ve had to cancel their gig. Look Y/N I’m honestly so sorry, I really, really am.”

You practically felt your heart shatter. It had been months coming, this gig; a small and ‘intimate’ session in a tiny venue not too far from your house. Blossom had already called not long ago, sounding pretty bad herself. She told how she’d caught a bug in her family, and she wouldn’t make the concert.

But, you assured her there’d be other times. Except for the fact that there’d almost certainly be no other times.

“A band’s just snatched up the opening, though, if you’re interested. They call themselves ‘Catfish and the Bottlemen’. Weird fucking name, but it sounds like they play all like indie bollocks you listen to,” he continued.

You hummed in acknowledgement, suddenly deflated as you sat down on your bed. Sure, it was only one night, but you were both buzzing for it. Couldn’t you just have a break for once?

“How’s someone took the opening so quickly?” You asked. Aidan shrugged. “They must have confirmed it in the morning, and only released it now. I dunno, this Catfish band might have been on the venue’s waiting list or somethin’?”

There was a pause, before Aidan sighed and moved closer, getting you to look up at him.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much, Y/N. Just go to the gig, have a good time, then come home in the middle of the night and tell me about it,” he somehow had you convinced.  With a nod, you checked the time and stood up. Aidan slung his arm around you in a messy hug, and handed you a twenty from his pocket. “Tickets and drinks are on me, yeah?”

Your brother may have been a shithead at times, but he was a hero when you needed him to be.

><><><><><><><

The venue was already getting busy by the time Aidan dropped you off there, but maybe this was because it was so small. Upon entering, you noted that the concentration of bodies mainly consisted of those dressed in Killers shirts, and a lot of these people looked just as upset about the circumstances as you. But after your brother’s pep talk, you were more optimistic about having a good time.

‘Catfish and the Bottlemen’ came out onto the tiny stage shortly after, the lights of the room going down. In your hand you held a plastic cup of cheap cider, having remembered getting served the last time you were here. Saying that though, none of the music clubs in your area asked for ID anyway.

The setup consisted of four men - or maybe even boys. The drummer had glasses and frizzy hair. The bassist was pale and lanky, the guitarist in a leather jacket and seemingly older than the rest.

But the singer caught your eye, for a reason other than the singer is normally the one you watch. He was dressed in all black, his little arms showing due to lack of sleeves on his top, his hair brown and unruly.

Their music was half decent, you thought, contradictory to the ideas of the others who left halfway into the second song. The singer threw himself about so vigorously and on such a small stage, that you thought he was going to injure himself. He constantly thanked the few half hearted claps and cheers and the end of each song, and you almost realised how truly thankful he was to just be there.

He kept catching your eye every now and then, sometimes smiling if he could, other times just too enveloped in the lyrics to react. It was something purely magical to watch.

After an hour of people leaving and the band still being no less deterred to perform like rock stars, the gig ended with a kick ass tune called Tyrants and… Something. Or at least, you thought that was the start of what he said. You couldn’t really make out his words over echoing guitar sounds and his breathless panting.

You waited at the edge of the room for the others to leave first, so you didn’t get caught in the onslaught of bodies all heading for the same small exit. But, even if you’d have wanted to leave immediately, you couldn’t; for the singer had hopped the lousy barricade and come over to you.

“Hey, love,” he breathed, catching you off guard as you turned to face him. “Alright?” You smiled. He nodded, and you gave him a minute to catch his breath before he spoke again. “I’ve been dying to talk to you all night, God… I just think you’re dead gorgeous,” the boy sighed, almost looking you with heart eyes.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Famous Singer,” you joked. He carried on beaming at you. “Not quite famous yet,” he admitted, “but you watch. Me and my lads, we’ll be selling out stadiums in a while. Just gotta graft our way there, yeah?”

You understood, as he told you more about where he saw himself in the future whilst fiddling with the crescent moon that hung from his neck. Though you’d met him minutes ago, he’d really grown on you and you felt as though you were old friends. You wondered if he had the same effect on other people, too.

“You say you liked the music?” Van confirmed, after properly introducing himself. With a swig of the cider which was now loosing its fizz, you nodded. “We’ve got another gig in a few nights, if you’re interested. It’s on a school night, and it’s a bit further away, but-”

“I’ll be there,” you told him. “I’ll help you set up if you like.” “The offer’s kind, love, but it’s a warehouse gig. We’re from Wales, you see. My dad drives us lids around in his transit. We’ll be setting up from in the morning, probably,” Van explained, you rolling your eyes in response.

“Like I said, I’ll be there.”

And you kept your promise, as you always did, taking Van’s number and finding out the time and place. You used your bus pass to travel miles south, skipping school and hopping from bus to bus until you arrived. They sounded even better with their tune ringing around a warehouse, you decided.

This occurrence became regular for you. You’d skip school, travel everywhere by bus, help them set up, and sometimes crash in Wales and let Bernard drive you home in the morning. Your parents had always told you to follow your dreams, and you figured out shortly that this was what you wanted to do. They were apprehensive, but after meeting Bernard and the boys, they agreed to let you carry on.

You didn’t finish education, and moved out aged 16, living in the back of a van with five other sweaty lads. It was makeshift, but this was the proper way to do it. Graft.

So now, when you thought about it, nine years later, it was so absurd to you. By a stroke of luck you went to that silver lining concert, and you never thought you’d be more grateful for a cancelled gig in your life.

This was your life now. And as you twirled the crescent moon between your own fingers as Van had done the day you met, proudly watching your boys throw themselves about on the stage of Wembley Stadium, you knew that things couldn’t get any better than this.