#WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE!? ITS COLD AND DRY OUT YOU SHOULD BE DEAD

[skitskatdacat63]

I want to go to sleep but there is a centipede that had been stock still above my bed for literally like 4 hours, what is he planning....

[lady-ashfade]

What ever it takes. Pt2.

Yandere Alicent & Aemond x Sister/daughter reader. Miniseries.

What ever it takes. Part Two. Part three. Alternate ending.

Plot: Your obsessive mother and twin brother are on the hunt to find you after you had been taken. They would stop at nothing to get you back into their arms, may the seven forgive the poor souls who dare harm you.

Hope this is a good sequel- Also this is Aemonds chapter.

Word count: 1103

Taglist: @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @helloitsshitzulover @second-try-stevie @a-dorkier-book-keeper

Warnings: Yandere thrist for blood. Blood, violence, female abuse, being kidnapped and chained.  No real statement of the targaryen way of love...If you know what I mean. Mistakes, writing errors. 

It’s been a full week since you had felt the comfort of your home and you missed it deeply. You began to wonder if you would ever see it again. You missed to soft sheets on your bed and how you laid on it comfortably, you missed the gardens you walked daily and most of all you missed your family. How you could remember your mothers soft and kind embrace, holding you so dearly.

Now you had no soft place to sleep, you couldn’t walk do to the pain in your feet by the chains, no soft touch or even seeing the sun as more then a tiny hole through a crack in the wall. You didn’t know much about where you were but the men here hated you but they had not do what any normal men would do. You were thankful for that. But they had no problem hurting you and sometimes you wondered if it would be the last time and finally kill you.

Sitting on the cold stone floor you had your back against the wall to get some rest. You felt weak and so cold that everything that happened just felt like one day to you. You hadn’t had more the a small piece of dry bread in a week and they only gave you water every two days. After your time here you learned why they took you: Their boss had wanted to get gold and land for returning you which didn’t seem that smart to you.

Opening your eyes as you heard the echoes through the halls of screaming men and it panicked you. But being weak you couldn’t even move more then a inch. Maybe it was your savior, or someone who wanted you dead. Who ever it was you had to wait to use your last ounce of strength.

The smell of burnt flesh carried its way through the air as the bodies of burnt men surrounding Aemond and a man on his knees. Blood leaking onto the ground the man groaned in pain, he began and pleaded for mercy to the prince. Aemond just smirked and grabbed him by the armor he was wearing and stared right into his eyes, “You stole my sister,” he put pressure on the wound but more then it should be and the man lets out a cry. “Let the last thing you see is my pleasured face as I feed you to my dragon.” He dragged the man and dropped him in front of vhagar.

Aemond moved out of the way and watched as his blood splatter everywhere with a sick smirk in his face. His focus the turned to walk passed the already dead bodies and into the old stone palace, he rushed through and saw no one in sight. “Y/n?!” He called out for his sister but no answer. He looked between the different hallway and he choses the one to the right and walked down the cold hallway.

He shouted again and all he heard was silents. His chest filled with guilt and the twisting thoughts stayed the same. He wanted to cover the walls in red with the blood of everyone who took you. Feeding him to his dragon or them dying by fire was a mercy kill. He hopes a few were still alive so he could make them see just who they messed with. Maybe bring a few of their body parts as a gift for his mother.

His head turned at a sound coming from the end of the hall and he rushed to the door. “Stay still.” He heard a voice from inside trying to hush someone so he opened the door quickly. Standing over a chained woman with a knife in his hands, it was her. His darling sister looked weak but still managed to use her last strength to stop the knife.

“You’re a dead man.” Before anyone could reacted the man was pulled of her and thrown on the ground. “You think you could do this.” He knocked the blade out of his hand and held him down as he tried to fight back. “My love is not someone you fuck with.” Grabbing the man’s neck he pushed down and tightened his grip to choke the man.



“She is mine. Mine to protect. And a targaryen doesn’t like to lose what’s theirs, but don’t worry my mother will know just what to do.” Grabbing the back of his head he lifted it up and smashed in into the floor. Knocking the man out he laughed. The sound coming from his stomach is a happy, evil and dark laugh. What Aemond would do to just kill the man here and now with his bare fucking hands.

“Aemond..”

The small raspy voice called out to him and he had forgotten all about his wrath and the light was brought back into him. “My darling.” He moved off the man and came to her side while lifting her up. “I am here to bring you home.” She was covered in dirt and the darkness around her eyes wasn’t what he was focused on. It was the swollen bruises and cuts on her face.

He wanted blood. He wanted to kill. He wanted revenge. 

“Seven hells.” He grabbed the chain and broke it off with the handle of his sword and it made her twitch. “Shh my love.” He tried to calm her. Once she was free of it all he picked her up into his arms. “Darling?” He looked down and her eyes fully closed and her chest barely moving.

“My prince?” A voice called from behind him again. It was one of the guards that was sent to help him but he got here first. “That man is to be brought to the dungeons and anyone else you can find. The queen wants them alive.” He walked out outside and placed her in the carriage they brought in hopes of finding her. Vhagar knew she’d have to fly home but it wasn’t that far, she was also sad she didn’t get to kill anyone else. She felt the same way her rider did about y/n. A bound shares between the two.

“You’ll be home soon.” He whispered as he kissed your head. He held you the whole way back to the castle and screamed at the driver to drive faster. He wished he could take you on vhagar but there was no way he could ensure your safety.

“I will spill more blood for you. Do what ever it takes to make sure you’re safe forever….”



[sunnasweet]

i haven't written anything new :( so here's an old literotica post

Literotica summary: Griffin meets a ghost who wants to suck him dry.

4.3k , F!ghost x m!human, bad ending, nonconish at the end

Griffin was half-near exhausted by the time he finished his studies in the library. His friends had gone back to the dorms long ago yet Griffin was still determined to get in another chapter or two.

His eyes blurred words together. He tried to justify another hour to himself. Standing up, cracking his knuckles and neck. He let out an obnoxious yawn. The library was dead inside, even the librarian had gone home.

He patted his pocket making sure his keycard was still there, swallowed the last bit of his now cold bitter coffee then dove back into the aisle of books.

Griffin was studying folklore for his occult science elective class. It seemed like an easy grade and would weave in nicely with his creative writing degree. At least that was his line of thinking when he signed up for the class.

Unfortunately for Griffin, occult science was well--a science. There were plenty of dense historical articles he had to sift through if he wanted to pass this class. His teacher was a hippy but also a real bitch, she seemed to be spiritually inclined to Griffin's life as hard as possible. Also, her classroom always smelled like patchouli and that was enough reason to hate her. The amount of sneezing Griffin did in his class was actually ridiculous.

Barely lucid, Griffin aimlessly searched through the shelves for relevant books for his essay that he planned on starting tomorrow. 'Fact vs Fable' was his topic. Fact: Griffin wanted to pass this class. Fable: Griffin wanted to spend his free time looking up make-believe creatures when he should be catching up on sleep this weekend.

Snap.

Griffin flinched. What the hell was that? He turned around to find nothing. When he lifted his foot he noticed an errant pencil someone must have dropped. He stared at it for a long while before inevitably deciding it wasn't his job to clean up this mess. He kicked it under the gap of a bookcase like you would an ice cube under the fridge. When he looked back up he paused with furrowed brows.

Occultism, read the sign on the door. He raised a brow.

No fucking way was there a room full of exactly what he needed. He swore he had been through this aisle at least 4 times already and he never noticed the door. He looked around. Then shrugged and grabbed the knob.

At first, it refused to open but with a little brute force, the door let out a long whine and Griffin managed to get inside. He switched the light on and it flickered.

"Nice," he murmured.

In front of him was a whole room filled with folklore. Why his professor hadn't told the class about this room was beyond him. Not everyone bothered with the library but this was an invaluable resource.

Griffin's hands traced over the spines of some pretty dust-looking books. He pulled one out and grimaced. Okay, so some of them were moldy. Gross. He pushed the rotten book back in its slot.

After about 20 minutes of poking and prodding at books he found several that seemed to be in decent condition--albeit slightly falling apart--and would be great to use for his essay. "Ghost Land Or Researches Into the Mysteries of Occultism" was one in particular he had an interest in. He pulled the book free from the shelf and the lights once again flickered.

He looked up, this time, however, the lights did not go back on.

Griffin cursed under his breath, it was pitch black. He could barely see his own hand in front of him.

He tucked the book under his arm and then pulled out his phone, which would be entirely useless as it was dead. He sighed. Putting the phone back in his slacks he blindly tried to make his way back to the door. Patting on shelves and nearly tripping over the pile of books he had set aside for himself earlier on the floor.

He found the exit.

Turning the knob, it clicked--locked.

Frowning he tried to press his knee against the door but that didn't work either. It wasn't stuck. It was locked, the knob wouldn't turn.

Had someone decided to make a 3 am trip to the library? "Hello?" he called out, "Is someone out there? This isn't funny!" he called.

No one answered. Which he had been half expecting considering the time but then that didn't explain how the door was locked from the outside.

A chill breeze licked at his ankles. He looked up and around confused, had the AC just been turned on? He couldn't hear the familiar hum but the room became noticeably chillier. A janitor maybe?

"Hello?" he called again, knocking his palm against the door.

Griffin was stumped. What the hell was he supposed to do?

He sat down against the door. Knees bent, legs spread. His head rested against the door and he felt that same draft from before.

Suddenly, a fog had begun to appear. His eyes widened, "what the hell..." he muttered. It was overtaking the room and the temperature decreased so dramatically that when he breathed out he could see the frost.

He squinted, trying to find the source but instead came face to face with a pair of glowing white eyes rising from beneath the carpet. He shouted, jolting up from his sitting position.

The figure continued to rise, revealing a feminine head and long black hair that fluttered around her, she was wearing a ragged white dress and her face was gaunt. She looked frail, however, the most disturbing feature of the woman was the fact that he could see through her.

Griffin didn't want to turn his back towards the specter but that's exactly what he did as he began to pound on the door, "Hey! Someone let me out of here!" was this some shitty prank? Was he really seeing a fucking ghost?

"Sss..." the ghost hissed from behind him and he flinched. He turned back around.

The woman moved her long spindly finger towards him, so close she could trail the tip over his chin. Griffin's entire body shook in both fear and chill. He could feel her icy touch.

He tried to push the ghost away but his hands went straight through her, causing him to gasp. Her fingers trailed over his jaw bending her knuckles to trace them against his stubble. Griffin watched the specter with terror and confusion.

Was he hallucinating? Was the exhaustion finally getting to him?

No. This touch was unmistakably real.

He should've known this was some sort of setup. He'd been baited like a fish. How likely was it really for a room to be entirely dedicated to the topic he'd been searching for? His stupid ass walked into this without a second thought and now he was being molested by some creepy ghost.

He stared at her glowing body, swallowing when she began to caress his cheek.

"Hey...there..." he murmured nervously, "let's just keep our hands to ourselves yeah?"

Her eyes flickered towards his, creamy and white in a way a blind person's was. The woman's petting halted at Griffin's command and he breathed out, slightly relieved.

He was squished flat between this ghost woman and the door. He merely stood there staring at her with wide eyes in bewildered silence until she spoke.

"Ssstay.." the ghost finally rasped and Griffin's heart dropped to his stomach. This couldn't be real. This had to be some joke. "Stay," she whispered again.

"No." he said sternly." Stay with her where? In this room? For how long? She was a ghost! He tried to put a palm to her chest but once again was met with air. He looked wildly at his arm poking out of her chest on the other side.

Her hands gripped his shoulders and he brought his arm back. She could obviously touch him, so why couldn't he touch her? How was that fair?

She began to smooth out his shoulders, rubbing them. He groaned as her skinny fingers began to dig right between his shoulder blades. She kept going, pressing deeper, taking his sign of discomfort for pleasure.

The ghost pulled back and ran her fingers down his chest, he shivered. "Listen," he spoke--she grabbed him by the nape of the neck. Pulling him down to her level.

"Sshhh." she hissed before pressing her lips against his. His eyes went wide open, she felt...cold but also soft. Her hands cupped his face and her fingers gently stroked his cheeks on either side.

He breathed out his nose and made a noise against her mouth, one of...protest? He wasn't so sure. She took advantage of his open mouth to stick her tongue inside, meeting his warm one. They tangled together, briefly touching before she explored the roof of his mouth. She tasted behind his teeth and he didn't know if he was full of desire or disgust.

Griffin could feel his body warming up to the girl. Despite her emaciated state, she felt amazing against him. He tried to reach out to touch her in reciprocation but remembered he could not. The only thing he could do was let her invade his mouth and use her hands on him.

Which she did.

Her hands slipped down from his cheeks to the sides of his neck and back to his shoulders, rubbing them gentler than before, she rubbed down his arms then felt for his waist--the buckle of his slacks.

He pulled away, "Okay, woah--" he interrupted, "hold on for a moment."

She paused, looking back up at him, her head tilting as if she were a dog that didn't understand their master's command. She looked down below the waist and then back to his face. Griffin took a glance down as well and his cheeks felt warm when he was faced with the noticeable bulge.

The was all kinds of fucked up.

"Sss.." she began to hiss again and he realized she clearly couldn't speak well. No way was he turned on by this.

When he didn't explain himself or move to stop her, the specter's hands moved back to his belt. He swallowed, watching her fingers fiddle with the buckle. Her eyes kept flitting between his bulge and his eyes.

Griffin couldn't move. The only thing he could do was watch this woman remove his belt then unzipper his slacks and slide her bony, cold hand into his boxers. He hissed when she went straight to fisting him, giving a perfunctory stroke.

"Just..." he was about to tell her to back the fuck off once and for all but her body began to recede into the floorboards. She stopped just short of her knees and then began to pull down his slacks. "Oh god, hold on."

She didn't wait this time, instead, she pulled his already hard cock from his boxers. Her eyes flitted up to his with a raised brow as if to ask him why she should stop when he was in this state.

"Jesus." he hissed, he knocked the back of his head against the door, "Fine. Go ahead."

She began to stroke him from root to tip, using both of her hands in a twisting motion that hugged his cock completely. He groaned. Despite her cold touch, the sensation was just fine. Better than fine, great.

The specter leaned her head forward, her black hair dropping to curtain around her face as she licked her tongue in between the slit of his cock. He grunted, bucking his hips forward, slipping more of himself inside her mouth.

"Hmm.." she hummed around him as a bit of pre-cum slid over her tongue and her mouth seemed to warm around his. She removed one hand, using it to cup his balls instead as she took more of him into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down and slid her long--almost unnaturally so--tongue around him.

Griffin didn't know what to do with himself, he couldn't touch her. So he just watched while fisting his hands at his side. He still didn't understand how she could touch him all he wanted but he couldn't touch her at all.

Another grunt came from his mouth as she began to gag down on him, feeling her throat convulse around his dick. He wondered if her pussy would be as warm as her mouth then snapped back into reality.

Was he really considering fucking her? Could he even do that? Well. It seemed he couldn't do anything but she certainly could. Would this ghost woman try? How long had she been in this room for to accost some random college student? Not that he minded anymore...

He sighed, closing his eyes and hovering his hand over where he'd normally rest on his lover's head. He swore he could feel some sort of heat emanating from her now but it was probably just his imagination.

She squeezed his balls and he nearly keeled over.

"Careful!" he hissed.

She looked up at him, mouth full and he was done for. Her big eyes batted up at him while her cheeks were sucked in around him. He erupted inside her mouth with no warning.

The woman's eyes widened and she moaned in delight, redoubling her efforts. He gripped her hair...gripped her hair? He looked down at her head and noticed his fingers were now threaded between black silky locks.

He could touch her now?

She bobbed her head once more and he moaned, his back bowing as she pulled every bit of his orgasm out of his cock.

When she pulled back he watched her swallow and she seemed to materialize right in front of him. Just barely opaque, he could still slightly see through her. She smiled up at him brightly, her eyes now clear and grey. Twinkling up at him.

Not only that but she looked...healthier. Plumper, her cheeks looked rounder and Griffin couldn't only just see her collarbone now instead of how it was jutting out before. He reached out a hand to touch her cheek and she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes and all but purring as she rubbed her face against his palm.

"Warm..." she sighed softly, his eyes widened at the sound of her voice. "You feel so warm." she could speak complete sentences now. What changed?

"You can speak now." he pointed out dumbly.

She laughed and nodded, "I can."

"I can feel you."

She smiles, "Do I feel good?"

"I guess..." he murmured, still confused and frankly drained as hell from her little performance there. "How is this possible? Just a few seconds ago I could walk right through you."

"It's thanks to you," she says brightly, as if genuinely excited. "You saved me."

"Saved you."

She nods, "uh huh, your cum..." she says dreamily, "it makes me better."

Griffin snorts.

What?

"What do you mean, makes you feel better?"

"I mean, you can touch me now can't you?" she presses her palm against the floor, "and I can't float through things anymore." she shrugs, "It makes me corporeal"

"I see that." He mutters. She was noticeably different. Her hair no longer levitated around her and that faint glow had gone away. "Why me? Why'd you pick me out of anyone who could've randomly walked in here."

She shook her head, "I didn't choose you, you're the first person to see me in nearly a decade." pressing herself up against him. Her small chest rubbed against his. "Don't you get it? You've given me new life," she says. "And I can't thank you enough..." she purred flirtatiously, her hand reaching for him once again. Her finger gently trailed against his flaccid cock.

"How long until you can go again?" she asked.

"Uh," he looks away awkwardly, "I don't know..."

She smiles, "Well...then maybe you can help me out until you're ready?"

"Help you out?"

"Mhmmm..." She was still kneeling in front of him and now was grabbing for his hands and shuffling back to give him space to kneel on the ground too, once he did she laid further back, leaning on her elbows and spreading her legs open.

He took an indrawn breath, beneath her ratty dress was nothing but skin. He reached for her but then she snapped her thighs closed with a laugh. His eyes flitted up towards hers confused.

"Aren't you going to undress me first?" she asks.

"Oh." Right. He nods, then pulls her dress upwards and over her head, tossing the rags to the side. She laid down on her back, her hair fanning out all around her. "So...now, I can just...?"

She nods with a soft sigh, "Yes..."

He spread her legs back open, kneeling between them and she didn't resist... Griffin looked over the ghost's entire body. Her breasts were small, less than a handful. She was completely hairless save for the small bush between her thighs. He ran his fingers over the hair, it wasn't course--instead, she felt soft and silky. Her skin was pale and milky.

He started at her face, tracing over her now rounded cheeks. "What's your name?" he murmured."

"I have a lot of names...." she expresses in a slightly impatient tone, "why don't you just call me Gwen?"

"Gwen." he nods. He caressed her face, much like she had done to him. Then leaned forward, kissing at her neck. She sighed once more and he took that as a good sign so he did it again, this time using his tongue slightly.

One of his hands moved down to grope her right breast, rolling the small dark brown nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned softly, arching her back--presenting her tiny breasts to him. She must've been barely a B cup. His other hand reached behind her to thread his fingers through her hair.

"Mmm..."

Griffin could feel himself beginning to wake again, he ground slightly against her teasingly, just barely stimulating himself but Gwen moaned and he knew he had rubbed her clit with his half-soft cock. She was already wet.

Gwen's legs wrapped around his waist, the heels of her feet pushing down Griffin's slacks and he couldn't help but help her by pulling down his boxers along with her. She kept her legs locked around his waist and rocked with him.

He bent his head down to catch her other nipple in his mouth. She gasped and pressed herself against him harder. He was fully hard now but he wanted to wait a minute before just sticking himself in.

He continued to slide his cock in between her wet open pussy, the tip of his cock hitting her clit over and over as he sucked and rubbed her nipples in tandem.

"Griffin!" she gasped again, and he groaned in response. Her skin tasted sweet.

She moved against him, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pushed his face closer to her breast.

He stopped rubbing her nipple and shuffled his hips away, before rubbing her clit back and forth quickly. She yelped, her body jolting upwards and further into his mouth. He continued to stimulate her clit as she squirmed and writhed underneath him.

She was gasping, and he was rubbing himself against her thigh which was probably a bad idea considering how turned on he was in the situation.

It didn't take long before her grip on his hair tightened, she let out a high-pitched whine before her hips bucked forward and she began to hump his hand as she cried out.

"Fuck!" she cried, "Yes, yes!"

Jesus.

He couldn't wait, the moment she seemed to finish with her own orgasm, he thrust inside her with no preamble, she was wet enough for him to just slide in. She groaned, and he felt her stretching around him.

Their hips rocked together, he pulled out halfway before burying himself back into her to the hilt. The two of them gasping and groaning in pleasure.

Her pussy hugged his cock so well that he felt he was going to cum again already, he tried to slow himself, thinking of not her but it was impossible when she was beneath him.

He pumped inside her once, twice--three times before letting out a grunt, spurting ropes of cum inside her.

"Yes!" she encouraged and he fucked his cum into her until he couldn't anymore. Could ghosts get pregnant?

He practically collapsed on top of her, she giggled and slightly pushed him off onto his back.

He was beat. Exhausted. Bone tired. Staying up this late was finally catching up to him. Instead of cuddling up to him, she was already touching his dick again, he moved to catch her wrist but she slapped his hand away.

Something was wrong.

He felt...sluggish.

"Listen I don't feel right..." he said with a groan. He scrubbed at his face before looking down at his hand with a squint. They were wrinkly.

She laughed at him, "oh don't worry about that." she said, noticing him looking down at his aged hands.

"What does that mean?" he asked, clearing his throat. It sounded frailer.

"I said don't worry about it," she repeated, this time more sternly. She took him into her hand and squeezed. Gwen bent her head down and licked the last of his cum off his cock and Griffin hissed in pleasure and sensitivity. She began to stroke him.

"Gwen." he grunted, "Seriously, I'm tired." he tried to reason, "Just let me rest and then we can go okay."

She looked down at him and then shook her head, "Hmm.." she hummed, "No. No, I don't think so.

What the fuck?

"Mmm..just relax Griffin, everything's going to be okay," he recalled at that moment that he never told Gwen his name, he'd only asked for hers.

She grinned seductively down at him, throwing a leg over his body and straddling him. She began to grind herself down on him. Rolling her hips. seemingly waking up his overworked cock. "There you are..." she crooned.

He noticed she seemed to have changed as well, her small breasts had grown, and she looked far more lush on top of him than before. Her ass was actually substantial now, if he wanted to he'd have something to grab onto. Which if he was being truthful, his hands were twitching to do just that. He could feel it on his thighs while she moved back and forth on top of him before lifting and grabbing his cock with her hand, stroking up and down before positioning the traitorous thing--it was already hard again--with her hole.

"Alright." he conceded. Dazed and slightly hypnotized by the enticing woman on top of him. "But after this, I do need to rest."

She smiled, "After this, I'll leave you alone, I promise." she leans forward, "I just really need you right now."

She sunk onto his dick and he felt slightly dizzy as her pussy tightened around him. Already squeezing and milking him for his cum.

He didn't know what was going on but he felt noticeably weaker as she fucked him.

Griffin tiredly gripped onto her waist but she was doing all the work, rocking back and forth on top of him before she started to bounce slightly which had him groaning. She let herself go loose when she sunk on him then clenched around his cock on her way up. His vision was going hazy and he watched as she seemed to grow on top of him, her breasts getting even heavier than before, her belly turning soft and slightly protruding against her now chubby mound. She moaned, digging her nails into his chest.

The more she seemed to grow, the weaker he felt and he realized how much of an idiot he was.

She was going to kill him.

Literally and figuratively.

"Ohhh," she moaned, "I haven't fed in ages Griffin, you feel so good."

He thought back to how she told him that his cum had made her corporeal. What she failed to mention until now was that she was feeding off him. Whatever the hell that meant. His eyelids were falling heavy but he was trying to push her off.

She didn't budge, in fact, Gwen seemed to ride Griffen with more enthusiasm the harder he fought, he watched in exhaustion and horror as her once emaciated body had now turned lush and soft.

He could feel the familiar build-up of his orgasm and he knew for sure if he let that happen, he was going to die. He tried to think of things that would turn him off. Old women, his father--anything.

But she had a hold on him, he couldn't deny his attraction towards the woman bouncing on top of him. The wet sounds they were making as her now fat ass slapped against his thighs.

"Gwen.." he groaned, "don't."

She paid him no mind at all.

His baser instincts kept him hard, he had a naked woman on top of him, squeezing his cock in a vice grip while she went on and on about how good he felt and how deep his cock was.

"Fuck..." he groaned, he could feel it, he was going to cum--die.

His balls were tightening, and his stomach was clenching as his nails dug deep into her plush hips. She seemed to get even more excited by that, moving from bouncing on her knees to placing her feet flat on the floor.

Pure euphoria filled Griffin as he felt his soul slipping away. He could feel the ropes of cum filling her warm pussy. She cried out atop him, her back arching.

He was as good as gone.

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[luvingshidou]

WHO ARE YOU???

....its not like you every cared...

wild card!! kunigami rensuke x fem!! reader

ANGSTT

probably ooc

not proofread

Today was the day that you were finally going to meet Kunigami after not seeing him in what felt like decades. You were a small local café sitting down waiting for him, you already had a cup of tea but he would be here soon, right???. You were excited about meeting him. All you wanted to do was go up a hug him to death and give him millions of kisses all over his face. But even with all that excitement, you knew that kunigami would be different, he's text messages have been so dry, like there was a drone texting you and when you'd watch his newer matches he looked so tired, so drained, like he was more of a soccer drone the an actual human being. When he saw you, would he want to break up with you??? Would he even show up???

You can fondly remember the last day before he went to blue lock he took you out on beach date, and you can remember him kissing you at sunset, promising you that he would text you everyday, call you everyday and when he'd would come back to smother you in kisses and hug you to death, but now your not sure he'd even come to the café at all!!!

You continued to overthink when you suddenly felt a strong hand on your shoulder. "Y/N." Kunigami says he voice sounding emotionless and cold. Without another word, he sat down across from you. god, he looked so tired, so dead looking.

"Oh, Rensuke, ah— how are you???" You say, smiling at him, trying to mask your nervousness. Fuck, you couldn't lie but you felt a bit intimated by him, he was so closed off, you just which you knew what happened so you could help him!!!

"Fine." He responds, he sounds like he couldn't care less about this conversation or this 'date' if you could even call it that at this point. He was not making it easy to keep the conversation going.

"And how's your sisters???" You ask, hoping he would make it more akward than it already was. Thinking about it, know he didn't even hug you, fuck now you were overthinking even more.

"There good." He answers, not any hint of interest in his voice. "That's good!!" You respond, trying to be as nice as possible. You started to pour yourself some tea, trying your best not to worry, its gonna be fineeee.

"Y/N. I'm here cause I want to be clear with you." Kunigami starts speaking, his eyes boring into yours. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you wanted disappear, run away, you wanted to be anywhere but here. "I've thought about it, and we should break up. You're distracting me from my football, and I can't let that happen. I hope you understand." He says blanked face, still staring at you. You could feel yourself frowning, your eyes darting around the place, you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, you let out a measly "What??" You looked down at the table, staring at the cup of tea, trying not to start sob. You began wiping your tears, feeling like your heart has been trampled on. What a piece of shit.

"I have to go Y/N." Kunigami says, getting up. You had a gut feeling it was going to happen, but God did it hurt. "Rensuke— please, please don't leave me— I love you, —i need you, please." You plead, sobbing quietly, your breathing becoming slightly erratic. You knew it sounded pathetic and needy, but you'd do anything to keep this relationship going.

"Sorry." Kunigami murmurs and turns around quickly. "And don't keep chasing for me, I won't take up back." He stopped for a second and then began to walk away, not saying another word. He didn't even turn around and face you, didn't have to balls to make eye contact why you were pleading with him, your mascara running down your face. This Kunigami was a complete stranger to you, who even was he???

(sorry, I haven't posted for like 4 days. i have such a bad toothache that I've been crying 🤕🤕🤕)

[spacexseven]

Ngl god darling is better than darling with a god ability tbh

Also would nikolai try to kill god darling? And I wonder what dearest sigma would think, he's just so lovely

OH ALSO HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW XIAO THING? It's been around for a while and idk if I asked you about it but he's so pretty wth

not sure what xiao thing you're talking about but he's always so pretty i want to squish him

cw: yandere themes, bad end for nikolai :<

even with your years of watching people, you had yet to see someone like nikolai.

despite his claims that his motives were perfectly clear and that you should be able to understand him perfectly, he always seemed, to you, like a puzzle missing its final piece. what was that piece for him? was it the morality he lacked? when you asked him that, though, he told you that he liked to think he was a puzzle with too many pieces—sentience when everyone else lived like puppets, desire greater than any other, and so on. how could you complete an anomalous puzzle, with no real final picture?

"tell me," he once asked, voice uncharacteristically somber, eyes gazing down at his blood-streaked hands, "can a human become a god?"

it occurred to you then that nikolai was only trying to run from something. something that made him human, something he hated. you think back to the times when he told you he wanted to be free, wanted to stop feeling. was that the extra piece he couldn't get rid of?

still, he was kind to you. or at least as kind as he could be, between jovial, teasing comments and moments of unfiltered rage. he called you his friend, but he said that about fyodor too, and a few nights ago he was trying to convince you to kill him.

"can a god die?" at your questioning look, he added, "can you?"

"i'm not sure. i haven't gotten that close yet," you admitted "but i suppose for a god, being forgotten is as close to death as they can get."

"i won't forget you," he smiled, but the gesture was far from reassuring when his eyes glimmered with something bright.

you wondered if you had unintentionally sparked something in him. you even considered the possibility that you'd wake up the next morning to find him with a knife at your throat. if he was determined to kill fyodor to achieve what he thought was pure freedom, who's to say you won't be next? knowing nikolai, it was easier to believe that he was a monster, a creature of pure evil, bloodthirsty, and seeking to haunt. but things were never that simple. there were times when your heart ached for him, wondering why he had to go down this path. and those times, you truly felt useless, wondering if you couldn't do anything even in your position.

now, you wonder, if it was your sympathy that made you weak.

"it's not fair. i won't forget you," nikolai sighs, "even if anyone else will. but you'll live on even if i'm not here and you'll forget me."

you wish to tell him that you won't, but in your current position, bleeding out at a rapid pace from numerous wounds and head spinning, you can barely handle the pain, let alone move your dry lips. you remember that nearby you is fyodor's body, cold and long dead. it was almost cruel how the closest you'd ever felt to being human was when you were dying.

"hey, but you're a god!" he must have thrown his hands up, from your memory of him, but nikolai's voice grows shriller, though you can't tell if it's from excitement or panic, "you'll come back, like that thing you mentioned before? reincarnation! and you have...powers..." you could tell instinctively that he was looking over at fyodor's corpse.

you want to tell him that you aren't sure. you've never been much use, even as a god. you've always liked being a human more. maybe you will come back, but likely not, and you definitely can't save fyodor anymore. you don't think anyone can. but the words escape you as your vision goes black. the only thing accompanying your dying body was a warm hand on your cheek and nikolai's incoherent mumbling.

sigma, admittedly, was your favorite. you saw a little bit of yourself in him and his desire to find his purpose. but most of all, you liked his determination, his unwavering resolve. it was nice to see how he ran the casino so perfectly, and you thought his position complemented him well.

but unlike nikolai who was easy to sling an arm around and drag out or fyodor, who was always ready to listen to any word that came out of your mouth, sigma was a little harder to get to. he was always working, cleaning up after the other two's messes, and keeping his customers happy. always on the go, and it was getting harder and harder to catch him. the only times he seemed to be able to listen to you was when you caught him staring out the balcony at the world below the casino, only accompanied by the moonlight. he was always gentler then, softer, but more solemn. it was during one of those nights that he finally asked you something.

"so, you're really a god?"

you awkwardly shuffle, "yes. i know fyodor is a bit too enthusiastic about it, but i really can't do much anyway. i'm more like...the remnant of what i used to be."

"is this how the world looks like to you?" he asks, looing at the tiny blinking lights below.

"it's...overwhelming. the world is so big and full of life, and i've never felt like i was a part of it. i love being around people more than anything, but i'm always reminded that i'll never be like them."

sigma stiffens up, still not meeting your gaze, "you're looking for it too, right? to feel like you have your own place here..."

and then, for the first time since you met him, he smiles, "at least we have each other." you smile back, not realizing he took it a little too seriously.

despite your differences, you were just like sigma—maybe that was why he liked you so much. sigma knew all his customers by heart, slaving away to memorize each face and the mannerisms behind it, their likes and dislikes, just to design an ideal experience for them here. all he ever had was the sky casino, and he was aware of just how easily it could be taken away from him. because of this, it wasn't anything unusual to see sigma meticulously studying each of his guests, observing them closely, and noting down his thoughts. maybe that's why you never suspected anything when he stared at you for far too long, something other than a sense of duty burning behind his eyes, something unlike his usual concerns dominating his mind. maybe that was why you didn't mind his new interest in you, stepping in to drag you away from nikolai and boldly insisting to fyodor that he needed to talk to you.

if only you had said something then, you wouldn't have to face this situation; sigma on his knees, pleading for you to stay, to not follow fyodor out of the casino again. you might stay away for weeks, he insisted, and it wouldn't be safe. all he had was you, so please, don't leave with him. and looking at the pain in sigma's eyes, you already knew it wouldn't end well if you didn't comply.

[royalsunshinehotel]

Stones (Gawain x Reader)

A/N: Introspection from a Queen's Point of View

Cobblestones. It’s the first thing you think of when you wake that morning. 

There’s a lot more to it than that, but you rise anyway. 

He’s not here. 

The pathetic, dried-up words have been pounding in your head, dull, since your husband disappeared on the horizon with his troops. Of course he’s not here. He’s King. He has business. 

This leaves you, the Queen, to sit in your castle and ponder how, in two years of marriage, the only improvement you’d made was cobbling the streets your subjects walked upon. 

He’s not here. 

Later in the day, you planned to call upon Lady Essel, and your husband’s son Galahad. Perhaps the boy had cooled his temper since his father left. It’s not his fault he’s only nine. It’s not his fault he’s the eldest child, the heir to Camelot. It’s not your fault either. 

He’s not here. 

Gawain only wed you for access to your father’s coffers, and you had made peace with the fact that you would be decoration. 

It was a political match, until it wasn’t. Until one day, almost a year and a half ago, you’d crossed paths with your King in the courtyard, and he’d gotten the nerve to ask you about the weather. 

Fine day, is it not your Majesty? 

It’s snowing. 

And it would appear, you and your husband would become a “love match”, rare and elusive. Now if only this border dispute would stop. 

You hoped that it wouldn’t escalate, you hoped that the wealthier, more powerful kingdom wouldn’t press its luck, no one needed to die over a miscommunication. You wished for a lot of things. 

He should be here. 

Now this was just silly. You had to get up. You had to go talk to another live person. Moping in your loneliness was a luxury you did not have. Your people needed to see that you were unfazed by the absence of every man of fighting age. 

It’s fine. 

It’s not, you’re unnerved, Essel is unnerved, Galahad was a day away from having hair fall out. The people were surviving winter, unnerved. 

It’s too much. Something has to give - and it does. 

The next hours pass in something of a blur. 

Soldiers on the horizon coming home. 

Freezing wet cold against your skin. 

It doesn’t even matter. 

Not just any soldier - that one’s yours! 

You speculate, as your husband lays in your arms in the bath, long eyelashes closed. You speculate about how the people saw their Queen. 

He’s here. It doesn’t feel real. 

They saw their Queen running amongst her people, knock her husband off his horse, and drag him away to their rooms. Did they know? Did they understand what his being away did to you? 

They couldn’t, could they? 

Gawain groans as you bring your hands back to his hair, working in the soap. 

He’s here. 

You help him dry himself, and pull back the covers, safely depositing what's yours into your bed. You swear he says, “thank you,” but it was so soft, it could have been anything else. 

 He looks at you, moving his long arm, and patting next to him. His dark eyes look pitiful in the fading winter light, you’d give him whatever he wanted. For now, you ljust ay next to him. 

He moves, just a little, to be closer at your side. You’d swaddled him in the same manner you would a baby, when all he really wanted was your skin against his. 

Tomorrow. 

You muse, as Gawain begins to snore. You’d wake him tomorrow and show him how you missed him. 

He’d made you a bangle, when you first started ‘courting’, out of a fallen limb from a favorite tree he shared with you. 

You toy with the bracelet as the city goes quiet. It was everything to you. When you and your husband were dead and buried, would people even know what this silly bangle meant to you? Maybe it would just be firewood, something to get them through long and grueling winters. Maybe they’d toss your bracelet on to feed the flames. 

Would they wonder why it burns so warm?

[whorediaries-09]

are you death or paradise?

pairing- sirius black x auror!reader warning(s) - throwing up, hurt/comfort. a/n- god i should really stop breaking my own self lmao.

little train. series masterlist.

sirius found himself in the corner of his room, disgusted by what he'd done. he hated himself, and in the drunk haze, he slipped into a little bubble of deranged anger and despise. he found himself clenching onto a piece of parchment and a pen. he wanted the pain he felt to be shattered. so he decided to write it down, burning it into a flame.

'prongs, i hate it here, please take me with you. what if it didn't happen if i was made the secret keeper? if i changed anything would you still be alive, prongs? do you hate that i begged you to make peter the secret keeper? do you hate me prongs? am i to blame?'

the tears stained the parchment. he felt his body burn, and within the pocket of his t-shirt, he found a lighter. staring at the girl asleep on his bed, he burned it up. his arteries drowned with the poisonous pricks of his blood. his breathing differed and he shuddered as the cold air bit him.

he hooted to the little owl he had bought. it flocked onto his shoulder.

'can you find remus?' he slurred with half open eyes. 'please?' the owl stared at him with it's big amber eyes that reflected through its black feathers. as if it understood his words, it nodded before flapping its wings and flying off into the night.

*-

the owl had been nipping at remus' ear, trying to grab his attention. even to the owl, it seemed weird that the lanky male was up at the dead of night, drinking black coffee and reading the newspaper as if it was the beginning of the day.

remus didn't understand why the owl had been there. or how the owl had been there. or why the owl was there. remus had his flat in the most secluded-if not the most darkest alley he'd found. it was cheapest he could find, after all.

his eyes shimmied over the bold headline on the newspaper.

'sirius black freed, but has disappeared? what is the mystery behind the man?'

another obnoxious article by rita skeeter, remus thought. the news of his long lost friend was the hot gossip, and everybody was in the watch out to look for him. his face was printed onto the front pages on the paper for the last few days. the shift from the front page to somewhere in between, he supposed was a change.

he had also received sirius' letter. reluctantly, he had agreed. however, when he went to the three broomsticks to meet him, he had not showed up.

the owl nibbled his ear again before perching on his lap, prodding at the moving picture of sirius on the paper.

'are you sirius' owl?' remus asked. the owl turned his head, blinking and agreeing, as if he understood his words. with an earnest glowing fire in his eyes, the owl tried to speak to him with his eyes and hoots.

the amber glow of his eyes contrasting against the black feathers strangely reminded him of sirius. perhaps he'd gotten an owl just like himself...

*-

sirius found himself being jerked awake. his mouth was dry, lips wet with saliva as drool drooped all over himself from his open mouth. his body ached.

'padfoot, wake up!' remus said, holding up a pair of pants. 'please wear this pants, we have a guest!' he startled awake, his head thumping against his skull. he stared aimlessly at his bed, the sheets crinkled and dirty. his mind tried to make sense of the things that happened around him, but he couldn't ignore the feeling of ache that spread all throughout his body.

'fuck, moony, you're here,' he whispered. his gut churned as he tried to stand up, his vision dizzying. remus wrapped his hand around his shoulders telling him to sit down on the bed and handing him the boxers he held.

'wear them, then we'll talk.' he said, his voice harsh. sirius nodded slowly, lowering his head into his hands. he breathed slow, letting his head ache and gut churn. with slender movement, he slipped his legs, sliding the boxer up to his scarred narrow waist. slow and hot, he felt salty water accumulate into his mouth, the hangover getting the best of his sanity. he spilled out whatever he had consumed the last day, throwing up on the floor.

a soft, strangely familiar hand wrapped around his hair, pulling it up, simultaneously rubbing his back for comfort. he felt his gut bubble for the last time as he spilled out every bit of food consumed. with tear stricken eyes and a rumbling stomach, he stared at remus, who cleaned up the mess with a simple spell.

'you're okay,' the familiar voice whispered from behind his back. 'you'll be okay.' you said, a tad bit more stern as he whipped his head around to look for the source of your mouth.

'lupin, please help me get him up. he needs to freshen up. i don't know how many whiskeys he had last night, but he smells pretty booze-y.' remus merely hummed, helping you to carry sirius into the bathroom. you filled up the bath with warm water and the cherry flavored body wash kept beside.

sirius hazily took off his clothes, ignoring remus' pleas to not get rid of them in front of you. he was too far gone within his crumbled ruinations to care. he plopped himself into the bath.

'lupin, can you set the tea?' sirius' eyes opened droopily,

'how did you know i have tea?' he slurred, staring at your standing form. you rubbed the back of your head, sitting down on your knees beside him, sponge in hand. you rubbed the water on his back.

'you told me the other night,'

'i'll go and make the tea, actually,' remus said, awkwardly walking away. tenderly, you rubbed the age old scars on his back. they were healed, yet visible from the fading ink of the tattoos on his back. you rubbed agonizingly slowly as if the scars still hurt.

perhaps they didn't. but the chronicles behind them certainly did.

'are you looking at my scars?' he asked, twisting his head to stare into your eyes, catching you off guard. there was a glow in them you'd never seen before, a strange glow that felt so familiar to be within the curtain of his gray irises. a hue that belonged within him.

'maybe,' you said, continuing to rub the soap on his body. with slender, cold and wet fingers, he tucked your stray hairs behind your ears. as the sun rose, the golden light illuminated through his windows. it fell directly upon your features, enhancing your features.

he felt his heart soar. words stuck on his tongue as he watched you tenderly, bitterly wash him off. it was as if the lightening had struck again, and he was outside in the rain, his body and heart bleeding. as if he'd felt james' warm embrace again as he took him in. as if it was maa yet again cleaning him up, with papa vowing to never let him go.

but in his mind, he knew it wasn't james or maa or papa. he was in his doomed loophole of prison that burned him to the very core. perhaps he was escaping death, freeing himself from the cold hands of death. but where was he escaping? who was his paradise?

were you the paradise he was escaping to?

****************************************

original idea posted by - @lilwnet

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

taglist (for series) - @urbansaint

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[kinglazrus]

this isn't the beginning (but it's a start)

An AU where Portal Danny went missing his senior year of high school, and he's back home twenty years later.

Masterpost | Read on Ao3 | Cover art by @lil-yardstick | Glass figures by @what-even-is-sleep

Chapter One: Oblivion

It was always going to hurt.

Words: 2085 Warnings: mild gore

The star is dying. Tiny flares stretch into the darkness, fiery tongues lapping at the air until the thread of light tethering it to the whole breaks and the heat is lost forever as it dissipates. The star grows smaller with every burst. Dimmer. Colder.

It’s dying, and he might be dying with it, but that feels trivial in comparison. He dies every day.

It always starts in the burial ground, where he roams between the graves. Most of them are little more than mounds, gentle slopes in the grass where something is buried underneath. But others have been tended to so carefully, marked by stone with flowers laid upon them, as if to show there can still be life there.

It’s a nice sentiment, if a bit mistaken.

His memories are buried there, interred deep beneath the dirt and beyond his reach. Most are lost to him, and the few he knows, he knows only by the words carved upon their tombstones. They’re stories he’s been told, faces described, names repeated so many times they should be burned into his brain, but somehow manage to slip away from him again.

But he always wanders, and digs and digs and digs, until his nails are torn and his fingers bleed, and still there’s nothing. If there are any caskets here, he’s never seen them. He lays at the bottom of an empty grave, hands folded over his chest, mud clinging to his fingers as the damp seeps into his clothes and hair. He closes his eyes and wishes the dirt would pour over him. Sometimes it does, stinging his eyes, filling his mouth and nose. Pressing down on him until his ribs creak. And another piece of him dies as he goes stiff and cold.

But he doesn’t get to stay dead. When he wakes, he has to claw his way back up, remind himself who he is and why he’s here. And the next time he pitches forward into darkness, it happens all over again.

So, he’s used to dying.

Then why does this hurt?

It was always going to hurt.

A whimper pulls from his throat, and he holds the star even closer.

He could cradle it in his arms, before. Curl around it as he was enveloped in its light and warmth. Now, it’s caged between his palms, casting soft shadows that sink into the creases of his knuckles as he tries to hold the light in, but it just streams through his fingers while the space between his hands shrinks. Maybe he’s killing it faster. Squeezing the life out of it. Suffocating it. Or maybe, if he lets go, the cold surrounding them will rush in and snuff the star out. Or, without his hands to contain it, all the fire will burst out in one brilliant flash that leaves him blind and aching.

Another shudder ripples through him, and as his head bows toward his clasped hands, a drop rolls from his eye, carving a path down his cheek. It touches the corner of his mouth, seeping into the cracks of his dry skin. When he licks his lips, he tastes iron.

He mistook the blood for tears, at first. Tried to blink it away when he felt his eyes growing wet, and stared down at the polka dot napkin in his hand as his vision went fuzzy. Pretty pastel flecks—yellow, pink, blue, green—scattered like confetti across the paper, except where it was already smeared with red.

He pressed his thumb against the wet spot, wondering how it got there.

“Hey, put that back,” an older woman said. She stood just in front of him, not too close, but enough that he was backed into a corner between her, the wall, and the row of lockers beside him. Her frown deepened the wrinkles around her mouth as she took his hand in hers, raising it up to his face and pressing the napkin against his cheek, just below his eye. She held it there for a second, then squeezed his shoulder.

“Do you know what we did today?” she asked.

“I don’t...” It wasn’t meant to be an answer, but she took it as one. Rightly so. He wasn’t sure what he was doing right then, much less earlier in the day.

“What about the date?”

He blinked at her slowly.

“Okay.” She worried her lip, then ran her fluttering hands over her hair, which was pulled back into a tight bun. “Okay, hon. Go sit down.” She grabbed his shoulder once more and tugged him forward, nudging him toward a nearby doorway. “I’ll get your bag and be right back.”

She lingered another moment before heading down the hall, walking so briskly that each step kicked at her long, flowing skirt. She wasn’t quite running by the time she turned the corner, but it certainly wasn’t a walk.

He wondered what her name was.

Then he blinked, flinching in surprise when his eyelashes fluttered against a napkin pressed into his hand, and pulled it back.

Hm. Polka dots. Like confetti. Marred by two bright red stains. He started raising the napkin back to his face, because she had told him to keep it there.

Who?

He paused. That’s right. Or wasn’t right. He was alone.

That’s okay. Everything is fine.

His head throbbed. He crumpled the napkin in his fist and stumbled toward a nearby doorway. Everything spun as if balanced on a point between his eyes, and he could really use a moment to sit down. As he stepped through, the world tilted around him. His shoulder struck the door frame, and he would have pitched forward if not for the door itself, into which he stumbled as his knees went weak. He braced himself against it, leaning heavily on the doorknob while squeezing his eyes shut, and didn’t move until the world settled enough that he could look without feeling a swoop in his stomach.

Identical tables took up most of the room, their chairs poorly tucked, tops strewn with empty chip bags and paper cups. A few crumbs here and there, and some spilled juice that hadn’t dried yet. Along the wall beside him, a row of hooks overflowing with jackets and backpacks. On the far side of the room, a solitary desk accompanied by filing cabinets and a shelf crammed full of books.

One of the fluorescent lights above his head, the second from the left, flickered, clicking and buzzing as it flashed on and off. He stared at it until the stripes of light were burned on the back of his eyelids, and he tore his gaze away.

He looked to the tables again, to the crumbs and empty wrappers, and the crumpled napkin in his hand, and knew had forgotten.

The first shiver brought him to his knees.

It’s okay. It’s okay.

He gasped, clutching his shirt while tears poured from his eyes, but the drops that hit the tile beneath him were red. A howl filled his ears, keening and desperate and echoing all around him. Or maybe it was him. He could barely hear anything above the noise, but somehow a single shout broke through, and his head whipped up to see a woman in the doorway.

Oh, her.

The last thing he saw before the shadows rose up to meet him was the shape of his name on her lips, and then he was swallowed. Plummeting into the darkness and spat out here, before the dying star.

So it hurts.

Because he might be dying, too. Really dying.

He can’t remember what that feels like, but he imagines it’s something like this. With a heat building in his chest while his hands shake from a chill seeping even deeper. Trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as his tongue scrapes, like sandpaper, against the roof of his mouth, and every muscle in his body constricts until his head is bowed toward his knees in a mockery of confession.

He grasps his throat, fingers wrapped so tightly that he might have been choking himself.

“No.” It’s barely a word. A croak. A wheeze. The smallest moan pushed between his lips. Maybe it’s not a word at all, but he knows what he means to say as the iron blooms across his tongue. “Please.”

He can’t breathe. He doesn’t even need to, but now he can’t, choking as something wells in his throat. Guilt, maybe. How much has he pushed this mind away this past year? It’s not like he didn’t feel it. The pull. At first, just the brush of someone reaching out every couple weeks. Then a firm tug every few days. Then every day, as the gentleness gave way to desperation and pokes and prods that made him snap his teeth.

He wanted to answer. Wanted nothing more than to sink into this dream and see that familiar face. He’s sure he would be received with a smile, despite turning his back on it for so long. But he couldn’t. Not until he was ready. Did he even notice when it stopped reaching out? He tries, now, to recall the last time he felt that nudge against his mind.

How long ago was it? A few days, a week, a month. He can’t say. Time is such a difficult thing.

And now...and now...

He tries to reach back. Presses the star against his chest and wills the dream open, waits for the light streaming into the darkness to coalesce into the shape he knows so well. Instead, heat blooms in his chest, as if all the warmth the star lost has found a home behind his ribs. A spark catching and settings his organs on fire as it tries to burn him out.

So maybe he’s choking on his guilt, or it’s maybe just the mass squirming in his throat. He can’t feel it against his hand, but it’s there. Wriggling as it tries to dislodge itself. Scratching against the muscle. He imagines his throat splitting open and a fleshy mass spewing into the stars, squirming amongst the gore as it drifts into space. But no blood wells beneath his fingers.

He wouldn’t even care if it did.

He tries to gasp out, “Please, no, please,” but his chest squeezes and crushes the words before they can form.

No, that’s not quite right. It’s not a press in, but out, grinding the plea against his rib cage. A fullness, like when you eat too much and your stomach stretches to its limits, except the feeling rises from a place deeper within him. Where his heart used to be, where his core now resides beneath layers of ozone and ectoplasm that he moulded in a facsimile of flesh. A little too much swelling against the limits of this body and pulling his skin taut, something that should not be possible for a being who contains galaxies.

His mouth opens, though no sound falls out. He’s not even sure which of them he would be crying for, now, if anything but blood were pouring from his eyes.

Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go, please.

The stars around them blur. Not dying, just swallowed by the spots dancing at the edge of his vision. His eyes want to fall shut, but he refuses, afraid that if he even blinks, the star will disappear while he’s not watching.

It’s slipped from his grasp while he was thrashing and gritting his teeth. Flares burst off it in every direction as it shrinks smaller and smaller. He reaches toward it with one hand while the other clutches at his chest.

Stop this.

How?

Get it out.

The thing in his throat squirms and slips further down.

Get out!

Cracks spread along his chest. His skin burns as it splits open along old wounds, up his neck and across his jaw. He digs his fingers into the cracks, reaching inside his chest until he finds something soft and fleshy, and he squeezes.

Lightning rips through him, setting every nerve on fire, and his jaw snaps shut. A crack rings out as something in inside him gives. The sound echoes through his head. Blood oozes alongside the ectoplasm as he withdraws his hand, and the cracks along his skin seal once more. The heat rushes out of him, and though the throb in his chest is still there, it’s ebbed slightly, and he finally goes limp.

At the same moment, the star goes out.

—

Masterpost | Next chapter

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The Widow - Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?   

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader (eventual)

Warnings: grief, angst, fluff

Words: 2,450

A/N: I am so sorry for making so many of you cry or get emotional from the last chapter. Although I made myself cry writing it, but I never thought it would have the same impact on the readers *hugs*. This one shouldn’t be so bad 🫣💖

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

One Month Later

Grief is a funny thing; on the good days, you can function like a normal adult by eating and sleeping quite well. But on the bad days, you stay on the sofa just staring at the wall, wearing pyjamas that – like your hair – haven’t been washed in days, and you can’t remember the last time you ate because everything tastes like ash.

Today though, is a good day. You’ve eaten, showered, done the laundry, and now you’re washing the dishes from the lunch you had with John and Dean. One of those things on its own is a huge achievement, and the fact you did them all feels like it should be worth celebrating, but your sense of accomplishment is whipped away just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Have you thought any more about clearing out Sam’s things?” John speaks softly and carefully, like he’s dealing with a caged animal. But when he’s met with silence from you, he lets out a sigh. “Darlin’, it’s not healthy staying cooped up in the house all day surrounded by his things.”

“Dad…” Dean attempts to shut down the conversation.

“Look,” John continues, ignoring his eldest son’s plea. “I know you’re hurting, believe me, I do. And honestly, it’s gonna be like that for a long time. Maybe even always. I’m just trying to make it easier for you. All these things you’re doing,” John gestures around the open-plan living area of the home you shared with your late husband, “aren’t healthy.”

You don’t need this right now. This is a good day. So, you do what you always do when John brings it up; you walk away.

Dropping the plate back into the soapy water, you quickly dry your hands, pick up the basket filled with clean laundry from the kitchen table, and walk away. You know it’s childish, but his argument is one you don’t want to hear because you know he’s right. You know seeing Sam’s things everywhere doesn’t help. You know wearing clothes that still hold a little bit of his scent will only prolong your grief. And you know that calling his number to hear his voicemail message several times a day isn’t healthy. You’re just not ready to let go yet. And that’s something neither he nor Jody seems to understand.

“Dad, you need to drop this. She’s grieving,” you hear Dean say as you step into the hallway. “Do you want to push her away? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t leave her be!”

“I’m only trying to help, son,” John sounds defeated, and you pause to listen to what else they have to say about you. “She’s a good girl, Dean, and she’s choosing to waste away by locking herself in this damn house day after day!”

“Sam only died last month! Her husband has only been dead for six weeks,” Dean yells. “He’s barely cold in the ground, just let her grieve!” 

You smile softly at the way Dean always has your back. That’s why the days he comes to check in on you are your favourite. He listens and understands you – or at the very least, pretends to. He gets why you’re still holding on. He gets that it’s not as easy as putting your big girl panties on and getting back on the horse. You lost your husband. The love of your life. You don’t just get up, dust yourself off and walk away from that. And Dean seems to be the only one who understands, which surprises you because John lost Mary when he was around your age and you thought that might make him understand what you’re going through a little more.

You hear John sigh, and from the scratching sound, run his hand over his stubbled face. “I just hate seeing her hurting. In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her do anything other than smile, and now, I never see that smile. Some days, like today, that hurts more than the loss of my son.”

“I know, dad. I miss her smile too, but she’s going through a process, and she’ll take her own time to do it. What she needs is for us to be supportive and stop pushing her to move on before she’s ready.”

You smile again, grateful beyond words that Dean gets it. Gets you. He’s always been good at reading people and emotions. He knows you better than you know yourself. Better sometimes, than even Sam did.

You’ve heard enough and make your way upstairs to put the laundry away, taking the time to stop, breathe, and reset because today is a good day.

Deciding you’ve hidden away upstairs long enough, you make your way back down to your guests, but stop short when you see John standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“I gotta get going, darlin’. I’m sorry if I upset you, it wasn’t my intention. I’m worried about you and trying to help.” he steps towards you and places a kiss on your forehead.

“I know,” you smile softly. “And I appreciate it… Sometimes.” You smirk, and John chuckles.

“I’ll see you in a few days, alright? I’ve been putting this hunting trip with Bobby off for a couple of weeks and I’ve run out of excuses!” he chuckles again.

“It’ll do you good to get away. You work too hard, and you’ve been taking care of me too, you deserve a break.” John’s been getting the family business ready for Dean to take over for the past few weeks, and you have the suspicion he isn’t quite as ready for retirement from Winchester Auto Repair as he says he is.

“Alright, I’m going. Dean, take care of our girl. Y/N, take care of Dean,” he jokes, and you let out a bleat of laughter, the sound now so foreign to the men in your hallway that they grin like little kids on Christmas morning. With a hug and another kiss on your forehead, John heads out.

“I’m sorry about dad, sweetheart. When mom passed, he didn’t have a choice and had to keep going because of me and Sammy, you know? I think he thinks everyone should be able to do the same.”

“I get it, I really do. But I don’t have anything to fight for, and I feel like I’m barely treading water most days,” you chuckle sadly. “Jody says the same kinda things, you know?” You glance up at Dean and see he’s got his whole attention on you.

“Her latest is: ‘Honey, when are you gonna stop wearing his clothes? Surrounding yourself in his scent constantly is tricking your brain into thinking he’s coming home…’” You mimic Jody’s voice perfectly, albeit a little whinier than she really is, causing Dean to chuckle. “I know she’s right… and so is your dad, just don’t tell them I said that!” you point at Dean in warning, and he holds up his hands.

“Your secrets are safe with me, sweetheart. No one needs John Winchester knowing he’s right about anything,” Dean chuckles before asking the question you know is coming. “So, if you know they’re right, what’s holding you back?”

“Because some days it comforts me. Wearing his clothes, smelling him, seeing his stuff exactly where he left it, makes me feel like he’s still here. Like literally here, watching me,” you sweep your arms around you, “and that makes me feel safe and comforted and loved. And I’m not ready to give that up yet.”

“You said some days,” Dean brings up. And of course, he picks up on that.

“What?” You ask, in a bid to delay the inevitable.

“You said, ‘some days it comforts me’. Are there days it doesn’t?” 

“Me wearing his clothes, leaving his stuff around… it’s my choice. But sometimes I catch his scent when I’m not expecting it or find something in a drawer, and it hits me so hard, and I feel like I’m drowning in anger and grief and I–” your voice catches and you stop to take a deep, shaky breath. “Those are the days that kill me. The days I don’t move from the couch or even get out of bed. It’s like if I do these things – even though I know it’s not healthy – it feels better when it’s a choice I have and not forced on me.”

“So, it’s about controlling your grief?” Dean questions and it makes you stand a little straighter and give him your full attention. “They say the last stage of grief is acceptance, right?” He looks at you with a raised brow and you nod your head. “Sweetheart, I think you’re almost there, standing right at the line, but you’re not ready to cross it.”

“What are you, my therapist?” Your attempt at joking falls flat because you know he’s hitting the nail on the head.

“Hey, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I’m just trying to understand where you’re at and what’s stopping you from getting to the other side.” He stares at you intensely, and you can feel the heat rise from your neck. “Come on, sweetheart, help me out here. I just wanna figure out what’s going on in that pretty head of yours to see if I can help.”

“What if crossing that line means I’m forgetting him?” You mumble meekly.

“Y/N/N–” Dean starts but you cut him off, realising the need to say it out loud.

“If I clear out Sam’s things, get rid of all his clothes, put the photographs away, I’m removing every trace of him from this house. Our house. What if by doing that, and without seeing those reminders of him every day, it makes me forget him?”

“That’s never gonna happen, Y/N. Your relationship with Sam, your love for him and his for you, will always be a part of you,” Dean takes your hand and pulls you with him to the sofa and sits you down. Rather than take the seat next to you, he sits on the coffee table facing you. “I can tell by the look on your face you don’t believe me, so let me ask you a question.”

“Okay.” You’re dubious but agree anyway.

“Who was your first love? And I don’t mean Sam,” Dean states before you can try that argument. “I mean your first, first love. I’m talking like middle school and the first guy you thought you couldn’t live without.”

“Billy Richie.” It comes out of your mouth before your brain fully registers his question.

“What was Billy like?” Dean smirks, and you grin back at him, understanding where he’s going with this.

“He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a really cute smile. Oh! And he wore a leather jacket all the time, whatever the weather,” you giggled. “He sat next to me in Math class, he was always chewing gum and would wink at me every time he sat down.”

“Oh, Billy was a bit of a bad boy, huh?” Dean chuckles.

“Nah, he was a big teddy bear. He just looked the part.” You smile at the memories Billy Richie is stirring up. “He was my date to prom, and my first kiss.”

“And with that smile on your face, sweetheart, I’d say you remember him just as well now as you did fifteen years ago,” Dean holds your gaze, even gently pulling your chin towards him when you try to look away. “My point is that if you can remember bad boy Billy Richie so clearly after fifteen years, you’re gonna remember Sam even clearer in fifteen years because he was your husband.” Dean leans forward, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I get that you’re not ready to take that final step, and trust me, I have your back against anyone who tries to push you over that hurdle before you’re ready to make the jump. And when you do jump, I’ll be right here with you.” Dean smiles softly as he takes your hands in his. “But I do want you to think about doing one thing for me,” Dean’s voice is kind and gentle, and you know whatever he’s going to say to you is a suggestion rather than an order.

“I would really like you to think about going back to work. Seeing people, getting out of the house and having a distraction for a few hours a day will do you the world of good, sweetheart.” 

Dean stares at you with such intensity and all you can see is how much he cares about you. It’s clear that he thinks this is the best thing for you, and the more you think about it, the more you agree with him.

“You know what? I’ll think on it a little more, but I think you might be right,” your answer is not what Dean expects by the way he looks like he’s just won the lottery.

“Awesome,” Dean declares. “Now we’ve got that out of the way, The Lost Boys is on tonight. Wanna order pizza and watch it?” He grins at you, and you can’t help but smile at how boyish he looks when he does that.

“Dean, it’s Friday. Don’t cancel your plans with whichever girl is your flavour of the week to spend the night in with me,” you tease.

“I, uhm,” he rubs his hand over the back of his neck, “haven’t had those kinda plans since the night Sammy…” he doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. “Even if I did,” he continues, “One: you are much more important than some girl in a bar, and two: I’d much rather spend the night watching movies with you.”

“Dean–”

“I mean it,” he insists. “You’re not a burden or an inconvenience – I know that’s what’s running through your head, don’t even try to argue with me! So, are we watching this damn movie together or are you gonna make me go home and watch it by myself? All alone. On a Friday night.” Dean’s feigned grumpiness makes you laugh.

“Fine! I’ll order the pizza! But I don’t have any beer, so if you want some, you’ll have to go to the store.”

“On it!” Dean stands and leans over to press another kiss on your forehead, something that was second nature to all the Winchester men where you’re concerned, but you aren’t going to complain about the sweet gesture. “You need anything else?” he asks as he picks up his car keys.

“No, all good. Just… please promise me you’ll drive safe,” you beg, worrying at your bottom lip.

“Always, sweetheart. I promise.”

Next Chapter>>

@deans-spinster-witch @muchamusedaboutnothing @kazsrm67 @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @leigh70 @waynes-multiverse @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @chriszgirl92 @stoneyggirl2 @marilynnlew @ilovedean-spn2

[chaotickryptonitecomputer]

Alone and Broken

Ajak’s voice came out clear and firm “This is where I say goodbye. You are free to go. I want you to go out there and live a life for yourselves. Not as soldiers, not with the purpose you were given. Find your own purpose and one day when we see each other again, I want you to tell me what you found”

As everyone begins to leave, and I quickly follow Gilgamesh and Thena who are speaking in quiet tones, down the steps and into the forest. Walking deeper into the trees they both seem to have finish their conversation before turning to me. “You’re not coming with us (Y/N)” Thena’s voice is low and cold

“I’m not afraid of you Thena, I know who you are, I know who I fell in love with.”

Gilgamesh glances at Thena before gesturing to the side and walking off.

“I don't love you; it was nice while it lasted a warm body after a battle but now that the deviants are gone, I have no need for someone as weak as you.”

I strike my head in disbelief. “I don't believe you it was never about a warm body and I’m not going to let you push me away when you need someone the most.” I stepped towards Thena attempting to touch her arm only for it to be slapped away.

“Maybe I wasn't clear I don't want you you're a burden thinking about you following me around for the next 100 years makes me sick to my stomach. I never loved you I only used you.” Thena’s voice is cold, and her face twisted into a disgusted angry expression.

My blood runs cold I start to feel sick to my stomach. Thena turns and walks away without another word leaving me standing alone in forest.

Every day since then I have been alone, I would forever be grateful to Ajak for giving us our freedom, but I was alone. The last words me and Thena exchanged running through my mind on a loop. I have been in love with Thena for as long as I could remember and for a while, I thought she was as well. I was one of the eternals aggressively against her losing her memories despite the fact of her Mahd Wy’ry, but she used me. I was always just a background character in the eternals. My powers concerning the elements were never much help, Ajax always told me that my heart was my greatest power but now I can't help but disagree because here I am three thousand years in the future and yet I'm still alone. Not one of my so-called eternal friends has ever come to look for me, not even Ajax.

I’m brought back to present day with a sharp knock and the door of my cabin. I shake my head to get rid of the memories like brushing away cobwebs before standing. I take a few steps towards the door before pausing and remembering I live in the middle of the woods there's no civilization for two hundred miles out. I grab a knife from the table I’ve been seated at and make my way towards the door before speaking. “Who’s there?” my voice come out raspy and dry, like sandpaper against a wall.

“It’s Sersi…. from college.” The voice says a bit hesitant at the end “Everyone else is with here too, well except Ajax and Gilgamesh.”  

My mind raced as I stumbled back from the door, bumping into a table, then a chair as I tried to process this. Several thoughts swirled around my head as I stepped closer to the door. Why were they here? None of them care about me, they all disappeared never caring abut me. As these thoughts run through my mind, I start to get angry.

Twisting the doorknob, I tear the door open, nearly taking it from its hinges. “What do you want, I’m not quite in the mood for company.”

They all stand there, surprised at the venom in my voice. I glance around taking in the faces of Sersi Kingo, Makkari, Druig, Ikaris, Sprite, Phastos, and Thena. The air catches in my throat as the sight of Thena, and it's like no time has passed and I've just had my heart broken all over again. She attempts to meet my eyes but ignore her and everyone else in focus on Sersi.

“We need your help, Ajax and Gilgamesh were killed by deviants and...”

“Why should I help you?” I cut her off before she can finish. “Why should I care about two dead people who didn't care about me, as a matter of fact why should I care about any of you.” I scoff shaking my head.

Sersi flinches as if slapped and looks over her shoulder to the rest of the group for help. Kingo steps forward a wide smile on his face. “Come on (Y/N) you know we've missed your…”

“Missed me? Ha yeah right, I hate liars been three thousand years and now you miss me. More like you just remembered I existed I need more help on your little mission. Now Druig and Makkari I can understand, but the rest of you just didn’t care enough to check on me.” As I speak ice grows around my feet and wind starts to circle around me forcing them to step back from the door as I step forward.

“(Y/N).” Thena says her voice holding none of the chill it did when we last spoke.

As I force myself to meet her eyes all the feelings, I've tried to hold back seem to rush back filling my ears with a roar. “You don't get to speak to me ever again, or did you forget what the last thing was you said to me. Let me give you a little reminder ‘It was nice to have a warm body after battle, I have no need for someone so weak’. Or hey this was my favorite ‘Thinking about you following me around for the next one hundred years makes me sick to my stomach. I never loved you’.  

By the time I'm finished speaking there is a cyclone circling around me while my fingers start to spark with the beginnings of fire. Thena’s face is twisted as I repeat her words back to her the same ones that have been running through my head for hundreds of years. Then Ajax’s words which were always kind and soothing Appear in my mind ‘Your heart, your compassion is your greatest gift never lose the love you have for others.’

Shaking my head once more I finally speak again. “I'll help you but after I want you all to leave me alone. Since you were all so good at it before it shouldn't be that big of a problem. I refuse to be a second-rate person in anyone's life especially people I used to consider my family.” Glaring at them all before my eyes rest on Thena once more.

“Please don’t look at me with such hatred. I didn’t mean to hurt you I didn’t mean any of what I said I was trying to protect you. We can still fix this.” Thena’s voice cracks as she looks back at me with despair

“Maybe in another life but you made me miserable, and I still loved you. How could you have thought this wouldn't hurt me? This can’t  be fixed you've ruined what was between us for good now.”

[my-own-walker]

Come Back, Come Back To Haunt Me

note: part two of this post, since a few of you asked so nicely. i get wanting a happy ending :)

summary: after the argument at the party, kyle and Y/N talk (and make up??)

warnings: cursing, sadness, reader talking about death for some reason lol, talks of cheating, and maybe even fluff…

+++

Right about then, I wanted to be found dead in the woods near a stream roughly four months after my passing, and never have a legacy beyond being Jane Doe. Blinding rage made my thoughts turn wild, my whole existence in a tailspin.

I was so distraught and in pain, I couldn’t think straight. I saw no way to fix anything besides disappearing and never being seen again. The walk home from the party was long and exhausting. I was wracked with a striking feeling of detachment from reality.

My whole world was shattered in an instant. The moment I walked away, I knew I had sealed the deal that Kyle and I were through. But that wasn’t what I wanted. Not in the slightest.

The Earth was thrown off its axis. The streets felt tilted and my head was spinning. Was I too drunk? Or had the events of the night caused me to lose my mind?

Before I could even contemplate it, I heard a car horn behind me. I spun on my heel, jumping at the sudden noise. Squinting, I could make out Kyle in the driver's seat of his frat brother's car driving slowly toward me. It must have been the only car not blocked in by other cars at the party. He pulled up to the curb next to me and rolled the window down.

'Can you please get in, Y/N?' he pleaded.

'Why would I want to do that?' I spat back.

'Please, you've been drinking. It's cold. Come here.' he urged. I sighed demonstratively and got in the car. As much as I didn't want to be without him, I sure didn't want to be with him in that moment. He tossed his sweatshirt over onto my lap and I put it on. I was cold, after all. We drove in silence some time, Kyle navigating his way to the park near our shared apartment. He threw the car in park under a large elm tree.

'Can you just let me talk?' Kyle started. I kept my arms folded in front of me, not even turning to look at him. 'You need to understand that that meant nothing. That whole thing with the girl.'

'And you need to understand that I'm not just upset about that,' I retorted. 'This is deeper than that.'

'You're being crazy right now,' he muttered.

'I'm being crazy? Yeah? Is that how you plan to fix this?'

'I'm just saying, you're making this into something it's not,' he huffed. 'You're upset about that girl but now it's a big fucking issue about other things.'

'Kyle, you gave her more attention at a party than you've ever given me, and we've been dating for over a year,' I exclaimed. 'You get off on ignoring me in public or something!'

'Look, she meant nothing-'

'Kyle, you keep saying that. And it only means half as much when you say it over and over,' I cried. 'This isn't just about her.'

'Then what is it about? Making my night miserable? This is so stupid,' he whined.

I couldn’t take it anymore. He was acting dense on purpose. I got out of the car with a huff and began walking toward the park's grass, putting the hood of the sweatshirt Kyle gave me up over my head in the process.

‘Wait!’ Kyle called. ‘Y/N! Where are you going?’

I stomped over to what looked like a clear enough spot and flopped down onto my back, arms outstretched on either side of me. I could hear Kyle’s frantic footsteps drawing nearer to me.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, baffled, panting slightly from running over.

‘Laying down,’ I replied, simply. I was in fact, just laying down. I needed to feel the bugs in the grass make my skin itch. I wanted the tiny dry green blades to poke into me just enough to make me uncomfortable. I wanted to get just slightly wet from the dew that had already formed on the ground. I was willing nature to reclaim me. I wanted to feel something.

'Y/N, it's cold,' Kyle stated, flopping down next to me. 'We should go inside.'

'I don't care,' I replied apathetically. 'You refuse to hear me, so I'm done with the conversation. I'll lay here until I don't want to anymore. Hanging out where I don't belong is nothing new to me.'

'I hear you. I'm hearing you,' he replied.

'But you're not, because now I'm crazy. Leave me alone.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean that,' he said lowly.

'And yet you said it. Words and actions hurt,' I whispered. I stared up at the night sky with tears in my eyes. I could make out Orion's Belt and nothing else. I wasn't a much of a stargazer.

'I want to understand,' he spoke. His elbow brushed up against my fingertips as he adjusted his position in the grass. I shied away from the contact, still unwilling to even look at him. 'This grass is scratchy.'

'What you don't get is your tendency to abandon me in public social situations, Kyle. You don't even look at me at parties. And we go every fucking weekend, so it's a bit grating after time,' I explained.

'Like I said, I just figured you got it. You can hold your own.'

'Have you ever stopped and asked me if that was true? You just assume I'm fine, but clearly it's something that's hard for me,' I countered.

'I'm sorry. I just get wrapped up,' he answered.

'In nonsense. In talking to other girls, apparently. It just baffles me.'

'Y/N I love you. I'm an idiot, I think,' he murmured. 'I never thought to make sure you were okay.'

'Clearly,' I snarked. Kyle sat up and scooted closer to me so that his head hung just above mine.

'Now will ya look at me?' he smiled. I stifled my own show of emotion, preventing the corners of my mouth from curling upwards. Man, was he cute. 'I'm gonna make you look at me.' He followed my face with his as I moved it around, trying in vain to avoid eye contact. Eventually, he caught me. I couldn't help but giggle a bit. "Oh, look! And I got ya to smile,' he laughed.

I reached my hand up to his cheek and pushed it lightly. 'You're so annoying,' I smirked.

'I really am sorry. I'm just so self-centered at times,' he laughed sardonically. 'My mom always said that about me.'

'Oh hush,' I replied. 'You're a stupid boy, not self-centered. And anyways we're all a little self-centered at the end of the day.'

Kyle got up. He stood in front of me, in between my outstretched legs, and held out his hands to help me up. I rolled my eyes but didn't object, reaching up to be helped. He scooped me up with no issue, slinging me over his shoulder to carry me to the car. I cackled in amusement at his forcefulness. He placed me in the car carefully and circled around to get in the drivers seat.

'Let's go home,' he declared.

'But this is Ryan's car, right?' I asked.

'He can figure out another way home.'

+++

Semi-based on a real thing that has happened in my life recently LMAO. I love writing semi-toxic arguments 😈

[hwaightme]

Your fan, Jongho (part 2)

(part 1) (your fan ml)

⚽pairing: jongho x footballer!gn!reader ⚽summary: a bulletpoint-style drabble, continuation of part 1 ⚽wordcount: 2.5k ⚽warnings/tags: unedited, jongho is an undercover athlete, yeosang seizes opportunity, hongjoong is in on the secrets, sports, football, cute romance, secret relationship, seriously in love, overall wholesome vibes (lmk if anything isn't here) ⚽a/n: thank you so much everyone for waiting for this one <3 enjoy and please reblog, comment leave a like! lmk if you would like a new moodboard for this part, or anything at all <3

"Where are you going, Jongho?"

"Gym"

"Bro it is literally midnight and we just filmed two stages. Two! You are actually going to be dead tomorrow if you go."

"No pain, no gain. See you later, I'll be quick."

Jongho's behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic and unpredictable.

One moment he was stonefaced and would barely speak, and the other he would do an entire live belting love songs at the top of his voice.

And there were his disappearances to the gym, which he was now claiming acted as his alone time that no one should interrupt. To be frank, even if the members wanted to they would not be able to, seeing as Jongho was secretive of its location.

Hongjoong had a couple ideas as to what it could be, but chose to not share it with the others out of respect for the maknae. If he wanted to keep things on the down low, he should have the right.

But as a responsible hyung and captain, Hongjoong felt it to be his duty to pull him aside. This had started a few months ago, but recently had become noticeable. He chose to ambush Jongho when he was sure the younger would not be able to escape.

Other members were still getting ready for a photoshoot, while Jongho and Hongjoong had some time at their liberty to lounge around.

"Hey, Jongho, can I talk to you for a minute? Outside."

Jongho's blood ran cold at the sudden change in tone. What did Hongjoong want to talk about? Mustering his best impression of a confident and self-assured man who was totally not hiding anything, he followed the older man outside of the changing room and into a more private seating area.

"Okay, so, I don't mean to pry but excuse me what the heck?"

Well that was unexpected. Jongho's eyes widened.

"Wh-what do you mean, hyung?" He cursed at himself; what was that uncharacteristic stutter? Who was he right now? He felt his throat go dry.

"You know exactly what I mean, Jongho. What's up with you? And don't tell me that it is nothing, I have eyes and a brain."

Jongho desperately wanted to make some snide remark in return, but knew better than that. In Hongjoong's eyes he could read desperation and it was almost as if he already knew everything, but just wanted to hear Jongho admit it.

A silence weighed down on the pair, and to the maknae it was as heavy as the world.

For the majority of his life, he prided himself on being the type of guy who was not afraid of anything. If there was a challenge, he was ready to face it head on even if others told him that it was a lost cause.

For him, that was an opportunity.

Mature, dependent. Both mentally and physically strong. Even though he was an idol, he had the mental resolve and drive of an Olympian.

And this exact mindset was why he was confident that he could give you his heart.

Truth be told, you had his heart since a pretty long time ago anyways, just not romantically.

But that came to change when you and him started "hanging out", initially just as two people who admired one another's work, and then as two people who were undeniably infatuated.

The champion mindset also helped both of you plan ahead and form date strategies that were specially designed to fool press, had they ever gotten on your tail.

From unexpected route changes to even sometimes timing your dates, you and Jongho had taken a very tactical approach. As if you were training for a competition. So much so that maybe that was what made Jongho start behaving that way in general.

Which did work then it came to more distant friends and colleagues, but... not the other members of ATEEZ. And especially not Hongjoong. Jongho should have known better. Now he had to come clean.

So he began. Began by recounting the time that he received his first message from you after the his silly escapade with the note stuffed in his group's album.

"Okay bonus points for promoting us. But she was already a fan of ours, no? What if she had the album?"

"It was a risk I was willing to take."

"Anyways, that was off-topic. Do go on, I have yet to hear any details about why you are mystery man as of late."

So Jongho explained how you two had the bright idea of organising your dates at various gyms during times when the only types of people who could be there would be true gym bros or staff. Hongjoong had to admit, it was definitely the most careful approach he had heard in a while. Some other members' past attempts had been comical.

Jongho brushed over and not to mention the fact that you had been at one of their recent music show performances, though you did have a good covery story since you were with with two fellow team mates who were fans of some of the other groups that performed.

But what no one was aware of was how both you and Jongho disappeared for a solid quarter of an hour just to meet - luckily he knew the venue like the back of his hand at this point, so there were enough places to choose from.

After reiterating that both him and you were placing security and reputation above all else and were approaching every rendezvous with the seriousness of an investor risking his entire stock, he diverged.

He wanted to appeal to Hongjoong's emotions, something which he rarely did... to anyone really. It was more likely that he would approach someone and throw a couple of playful punches than drown in some 'feels'.

Hongjoong was so taken aback that he was almost disgusted, but nevertheless sat through Jongho's monologue on how "you know you go compose music and come back at random times, or you spend hours modifying clothing or shoes or something and that time is never enough. Well that is how it is with Y/N."

"Believe me, I am still very much career focused, and, I'll have you know, so is she, but even though..." he paused, unsure if he could even use the pronoun in the way that his mind wanted to, but decided to go with it

"we are in different worlds... different playing fields," he chuckled, "we are one in the same when it comes to values, principles and what we want overall."

"And what about when you go on tour, keep in mind, that the only reason why you were able to meet was because we did not have any schedules abroad yet. The next half a year is going to be crazy if you want to keep this up." Hongjoong countered, leaning against the wall behind him and giving his friend a once over.

He could not catch a single trace of the nervous wreck that had initially followed him into the room. Before him stood a man with intent, one who had is heart set and mind clear. And that was evident from Jongho's answer.

"Oh we have that planned out. If you want to hear the details, I'd be happy to explain." When he received a nod in confirmation, he proudly elaborated on how you two had spent an entire evening, two weeks ago, comparing schedules and down to the possible hours available, wrote out contact times and rest breaks in your phones.

"Damn, isn't that like... overwhelming?" Hongjoong felt tired just from hearing that.

"But it works, so it is worth it." Jongho stood his ground.

All this conversation really did was confirm that he indeed was serious about you, and was not going to let go any time soon, if ever.

Hongjoong had no choice but to give his blessing to the maknae, not before scolding him and telling him to be a bit more chill with the others and for him to keep that military energy to his relationship.

Mission success. He was free. And most importantly, free to love.

Once the captain was out of the room, and Jongho himself was heading out, he took his phone from his pocket to shoot you a quick text divulging the details of what just happened, and to wish you luck for the coming stressful period of trying out for the national team.

He grinned to himself when he opened the conversation with you. Both of you had saved each other as "PT 🏋🏻‍♀️" and took the liberty to choose the strangest photographs that both obscured identity and had the power to start a laughing fit.

His photo of you was a blurry shot of you mid freestyle routine, contorted like a forest goblin and reaching after the football like it was "your precioussss"

Oh gosh he was in love with this.

To be fair the photo that you had of him was equally as flattering, and on top of that your collection need not be 'homemade', as you had eagle-eyed memelord fans on your side to give you bullying content (all in good fun of course, you could never attack this teddy bear who you had completely fallen for)

His entire focus on the screen, he barely noticed a wild Yeosang, totally still, with a smug face.

"Oh hey, Yeosang, didn't see you there. What brings you out here?"

"Room got too loud. Mingi is singing something that sounds like death metal, Woo has reached the stage where he is laughing so hard no sound is coming out and 'joong and 'hwa look like lost parents."

"I see. So the usual." Jongho looked off to the side awkwardly, while Yeosang held his gaze level and was unfazed.

"You are down bad, bro." A short phrase, but one that shot through the maknae, making him gasp and nearly burst out laughing. So he heard everything. Of course he did.

"Any chance of making you keep this quiet?"

"I'll give you exactly one way to bribe me, and then I'll take this with me to the grave if you want."

"What is it?"

"Fried chicken. Any time I ask. For a month."

"Done deal."

"Pleasure doing business with you. Now let's go, we've been doing whatever for long enough."

And that was how Jongho managed to arrange for your relationship to be kept entirely secret for the next year and a half.

You had qualified for the national team, and ATEEZ was making it big. He was cheering for you, and you were cheering for him.

Though the time you could spend together fluctuated and was constantly adapting, neither of you were ever deterred by it, taking it day by day, being open and highly responsible when it came to your relationship. You two were the constant.

Slowly but surely, Jongho's reputation as an idol sports ace came to an ever higher prominence, as in a couple of variety shows he showed off his impressive coordination when doing some football tricks, power when during a match against another team he completed owned the game as a forward (how could he perform in any other way he was your boyfriend, for goodness' sake)

Hongjoong and Yeosang were totally not grinning like Cheshire cats, having the knowledge that they did. After any time Jongho presented his newly improved skills in a show, Yeosang would approach him to give him a pat on the back, in the style of "you did your girl proud"

Now, after the 1.5 year mark, right about the time when you two began to discuss the potential for making the relationship even more serious, together you decided to approach management to see how you could proceed.

Frankly, neither your agent nor any other staff could care less - pop off kid, you go be a power couple, so long as you make it to practice at 5AM and be a beast out on the pitch. You had not been worried about how that discussion was to go, so it went smoothly.

Jongho, on the other hand, was cracking. He had heard far too many stories of fellow idols being cancelled, getting into scandals or being fired all for just... being in love? And the last thing he wanted was to lose you.

You agreed to accompany him and be there if he needed it.

Though it was a long conversation, the boss was astounded at Jongho being the member to approach him with such a situation. His tactics had to be commended.

Upon hearing that you were waiting outside of the office, you were invited in at the speed of light, only to find out that, as luck would have it, the boss was a supporter of your team.

Your heart light, Jongho's face adorned by a gummy smile and the boss getting an autograph (which you were hesitant to give because you knew you needed to improve and grow, but the boss insisted, saying "an ever brighter future is ahead of you") - you two walked through the building, hand in hand, straight into a practice room where the rest of ATEEZ was gathered.

Jongho had asked Hongjoong beforehand to gather the members just in case, and if things did not work out just make it a legit practice and let him fight his management. But fortunately, things went as best as they could.

And now he could relish in the rest of the members' shock as they saw you walk through the door, HANDS LOCKED WITH THEIR PRECIOUS MAKNAE

OH HE IS A MAN ISN'T HE

THE MAN EVEN

After the initial wave of shouting, louder even than the stadiums where you had played, all of you settled down in a circle, mainly to interrogate Jongho and to inquire into your entire life.

The members took a liking to you, realising how you had full understanding of their profession, had total respect of any boundaries, and at the same time, was kind hearted and humorous.

And then you produced small gifts for each of the members out of your bag, and hereby, you gained full approval.

On any other day Jongho would probably punch the living daylights out of Mingi, San and Wooyoung teasing him about "when the wedding was" and call Seonghwa a sentimental mother. But he was too happy to care.

Yunho was happily chatting away with you, while Yeosang was busy unpacking his present.

Jongho caught eyes with Hongjoong, who was sitting to his right and was attempting to quieten the more 'enthusiastic' members down, and reciprocated a warm smile, appreciating the quick thumbs up.

He squeezed your hand, knowing that he was always going to be on your team. Cheering you on.

[ahollowgrave]

Grave (noun): 1. An excavation for the interment of a corpse. 2. A place of burial. // what to do. what to do.

(TW: Suggestion of being buried alive.)

Your vows have led you to a wide assortment of graves.

i. A stately mausoleum rises above you with Nald’thal’s scales proudly displayed on the door. The door that is ajar. Incense wafts from the opening. The earth before it is greatly disturbed from foot traffic, flowers litter the ground along with gil. You make a note -- a well-loved soul has recently departed.

Only --

A moth as black as midnight alights on your shoulder and you feel a red-hot rage that brings a tingle to your fingertips. You weren’t done. Beneath all that rage is a current of, what else, sadness.

And beneath that, even fainter, a growing pool of pride for family and the care they showed here.

“Hello, friend. Would you like to talk awhile?”

ii. You walked past it four times before you found it. A simple cross a little ways off the road, lost in the tall grass and the flowers. It is a pretty spot, you decide. The name has long since worn away. A small moth clings to the cross’s point and when you reach for it, it responds. For a moment you are overwhelmed by a deep well of loneliness but you plant your feet and the waters recede.

“Hello, friend. Why don’t you come with us?”

Į̸̛̼͙͓̻͋͂͗̋̄͐̕͘͝i̵͇̗̣͐̓͆͂̋̍i̶̦͎̱̺̝̳̇.̷̨͙̟̦̘̫͙͕̓̾͝ You cannot breathe. You cannot breathe. You cannot breathe.

Something sits heavy on your chest, dead weight, something clammy, dead weight, your wiggling fingers feel only dirt.

You d̵͓̩͈͚͒̑̀̄͂̍̕͠o̷̧͔͎͔͂̆̀͝ ̵��̡̨̖̞̠̗̩͇̦̬n̵̪̰̱̹̊̈́͝ö̷̢̥̩̤̱́̿̋̈́̓̇͠t̷̛̙̲̦̪̓͊̓͑͋̃͝ breathe.

ɨɨɨ.

iv. As soon as you cross into the abandoned inn your blood begins to sing. The living have long left this place but It Remembers. Oh! How It misses the rhythm of stomping feet, the calls of drunkards and mercenaries, the sound of a bard plying their trade. It misses the many vermin that lived within it for they have gone, too. It only has the things that crawl in the dirt and the filth to keep it company. It wants more.

You are overwhelmed by the Inn’s longing.

You back out the door before It can drown you.

You’ll have to come back for this one.

v. Tucked into a little bend of a little ice-cold creek is a little shrine. Bits of tattered paper are stuck to it and chimes missing half their parts give a valiant effort in sounding. You stamp a little spot in the snow so you have a level working field. From your bag you unroll a bit of cloth, collecting the bits of the chimes that tumble free of it. You begin piecing it back together, with a needle and fishing line, reciting prayers you have only just been taught.

Your fingers shake, although you do not feel the cold.

It takes a long time. Each piece needs to be hung from the exact right length of wire so that it sounds as it should. A wrong sound might recall the wrong thing. Or, worse, upset that which you seek to aid.

When you are done you rehang the chimes, you leave your own prayer written on crisp new paper, and you light your own stick of incense.

A moth of rosey pinks and brilliant yellows crawls over the top of the shrine, its wings flapping as if new. When you reach for it, it responds and creeps into your palm.

“Hello, friend. You’ve been here a while, haven’t you?”

v̴̭͐ͅî̶̡̨̡͙͇͓̹̤̭͒͒́̒͛.̴̜̗̲̥̻̰̦̿͝ You crawl out of the dirt like a worm during a rainstorm, desperate for air that you no longer need but have never lived without. The arms around you are not holding you but they are deadweight and they cling to you like static.

You haven’t made a sound.

Your fingers are dirty and bloody and you are missing a few nails but they work well, still, as they dig into the dry and sparse grass around your grave.

You pull. And pull. And pull.

It is some time before you remember that you have legs and then you begin to kick, as well. Bracing against the bodies buried with you and feeling bile rise in your throat. They are -- rotted.

You can feel it where their skin touches yours.

Y̸̢͍̯̳͕̻͑ơ̴̧͕͉͐̽̈́̓̔̈͛́ů̷͎̣̯̦̥͑̆̈́͐̋̄͋͘̚'̶̘̰͚̠̺̟͖̞̌̍͌̈́͐̉̈́̇͗͠r̵̛̯̻͍͈̭̬̻̼̤͒̈́͘ȩ̷̦̱̖̦̼͉̈́̓̾̅̾̄͜ ̴̻̳̲͈̱̪̓̂͑̀̑̅̈́̉͜͠r̸̘̣̈́͊͊̏̓̕͠ọ̵̢͍̯̝̣̫̎̅͒̈́̿̀t̸̤̤͒̈́̈́̃͠͠t̷͎̟̣̞̙͚̭̋͋͠ę̵̯̝̘̯̤̗̺̃̔͐̂̀̽͛̕̕͝ͅd̷̟͇́̂.̴͇̜̮̜̻̪̦̝͓̀͒

vi. ----------------------------------------------------------------------

[apoptoses]

Pairing: armand/daniel

First sentence: Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house.

Usually, Daniel liked to sleep in, not waking until long after the scent of coffee- thanks to Armand- filled the house. He would lie in bed, face buried in the pillow, stretching his legs beneath the sheets until Armand unceremoniously tugged the blankets off him.

There was none of that now.

Just the narrow confines of the coffin, lined in padded satin. As a mortal Daniel might have panicked in the tight, dark box with its impossibly heavy lid. But the death sleep released him slowly; awareness first coming to him in the sensation of his dead feet pointing and touching the bottom of the coffin. And then creeping into his limbs, wrapped around a weight that lay heavy on his chest. His dead lungs, which inhaled the dry, stuffy air trapped inside the coffin. His brain- wakefulness came upon that slowly as well, and then all at once as if a curtain had been pulled back and let in the rush of sounds and thoughts that filled the Night Island.

Somewhere in these crypts beneath the Villa was Lestat, Louis. Marius. Jesse and Maharet. Khayman. Daniel couldn't hear their thoughts but he could feel their presence in the way one feels the presence of an animal in the dark woods, invisible but very much there.

"You sleep late, lover. The sun has been down for nearly an hour now," Armand said.

Daniel squeezed his eyes tight. Then opened them and took in Armand's pale face. Even the darkness it seemed to glow, thanks to his vampire sight. He lifted his hand from Armand's bare shoulder (bare? ah, yes, they'd ended up sneaking into the coffin together bare well before dawn last night, he remembered, the little blood he had in him rushing to his cheeks) and tucked an auburn curl behind Armand's ear.

"And yet you're still in here with me, so you must not have anything to complain about," Daniel said, words slurred with sleep.

There was hardly room for the two of them in the coffin; Armand had no choice but to lie atop him, chest to chest, face tucked into Daniel's shoulder. But then they both liked that- Armand for the intimacy, Daniel for the way it left him unable to focus on anything but the sensation of silky smooth skin against his.

It was comforting. Grounding. A gentle way to start the night before the fascination with the sights and sounds of Miami overtook him and had him awash in the surrealism of it all. How hilarious it was that the staff who had known him as the disgruntled man who slept in the massive bedroom upstairs saw him now only at night, with no idea of how or why he'd changed!

"What's so funny, Daniel?" Armand murmured into his neck.

"Everything. Waking up in a coffin with you. Having everyone in the house," Daniel said. "Thinking about how I should get breakfast but now breakfast is an entire human life. It's surreal."

Armand kissed at his throat, right above his carotid. In life that kind of kiss had made him shudder, but in death- it was a full body experience, like an electric spark had passed through Armand's lips and gone shooting through his veins.

"It'll be less surreal when you've fed."

Armand sat up, pushing open the lid with his shoulders first, and then, once he had the space to dis-entangle himself from Daniel's arms, his hands. There was a light on in the room, a lamp in the corner on a timer that ensured they rose to bedroom awash in its incandescent glow. Armand's auburn hair seemed to shimmer like molten bronze as he tossed it back over his shoulder.

"Come, lover. We'll find you someone to feed from," Armand said and held out his hand to help Daniel up.

No more coffee, no more blankets. No more greasy breakfasts of bacon and scrambled eggs. Just a bed for the dead, and the metallic rush of blood over his tongue.

And Armand, forever his beacon beckoning him into the night.

Daniel took his hand (so cold! so bizarrely like marble that compressed and reformed itself beneath his palm!) and climbed out of the coffin, eager for the hunt.

[whump-card]

Forged Divinity Chapter 29: Phineas Makes a Threat (THE END)

2049 words

CW: past institutionalized slavery, religious themes, returning to an abuser, downer ending, caretaker whump

Previous, Masterlist

~~~

Enjolras wished more than anything that Clary hadn’t said Phineas’ name in front of Leannan. The way he’d lit up made Enjolras feel ill, and he’d insisted on coming along to the radio tower, his tears drying withing minutes.

The tower was a spindly construction on the east end of the island. A little hut at the base held all the interfaces, wired up to antennae perched at the top of the tower.

Enjolras sat at the mic, headphones on, while Clary hovered behind her. Leannan had been convinced to wait outside. For the moment Enjolras was just sitting, her eyes closed, mentally preparing to speak with Phineas.

Leannan had asked on the way over if he could speak with Phineas. She’d told him she wasn’t sure. She sure as hell didn’t want to let them talk to each other, but she needed to respect Leannan’s autonomy, too.

It would depend on what Phineas wanted.

“You’re recording this, right?” She glanced over her shoulder at Clary. They nodded. Having stalled as long as she could, Enjolras switched the mic on.

“Phineas. It’s Enjolras. What do you want.”

“Enja!” She could hear them grinning, as compressed and crackly as the audio was. “Are you alone?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because I want to discuss the matter of your Iowan. Or should I say, Iowans.”

Enjolras blood ran cold. Phineas shouldn’t know about the enclave of Iowans, couldn’t know…

“What are you talking about?” she asked, keeping her voice even.

“Don’t play dumb, Enja. I know La Libera has all those supposedly-dead Iowans within its borders somewhere. Leannan told me all about it.”

Enjolras’ tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Her guts twisted around in a panic. Of all the people to learn the secret, why did it have to be Phineas?

“I ask again, Phineas. What do you want?” she forced out.

“Here’s the deal.” Phineas was never one to beat around the bush long. “Give Leannan back to me, or I tell everyone who will listen that you’ve got the missing Iowans.”

Enjolras breathed. This was bad, for sure – but it wasn’t impossibly bad. La Libera’s borders were well defended. Anyone who wanted to take the Iowans for themselves would have to be extremely determined.

Then, she remembered, this was Phineas she was dealing with.

“I’ll give you a while to think about it,” Phineas interrupted her thoughts, “I’ll call again at three. I hope I can have Leannan back by supper. Roger?”

“Roger.”

Enjolras waited a minute, hoping against hope that Phineas would add something else, some caveat, some way out of this, but they were done talking. She turned off the mic and took off the headphones, feeling numb.

“So what did they say?” Clary asked grimly.

Enjolras couldn’t answer. She was too preoccupied with what to tell Leannan. She couldn’t tell him – chances were, he’d be all for running straight back to Phineas. But she couldn’t keep it a secret, either. Leannan’s future and the future of the entirety of La Libera hinged on this decision.

But as she remembered his face on the way over, nearly vibrating with excitement about merely second-hand contact with Phineas, she knew she couldn’t tell him. She looked up at Clary.

“I want a meeting with all the adults on the island – and we can’t tell Leannan.”

~~~

It had been a miscommunication – it wasn’t Phineas, after all.

Leannan tried to hide his disappointment when Enjolras told him, but he ended up crying again.

Enjolras let him go back to his room. He was better off there. Less disappointed, less disappointing.

He must have slept, because a knock on the door woke him.

“Come in!” he called, sitting up.

It was Aisling, Clary, and Mohammad. They all looked somber, and nervous.

“There’s something you need to know,” Aisling said.

~~~

“Has anyone seen Leannan?” Enjolras asked, walking into the common room of the Longhouse, “He’s not in his room.”

Jeanette’s fingers lifted from the piano keys, halting their music.

“He didn’t say goodbye to you?” she asked.

“Goodbye? What…”

Jeanette turned and looked at Enjolras sadly, evidence of tears on her face.

“I tried to talk him out of it, I really did.”

~~~

Mohammad and Leannan walked together through La Libera’s city. Leannan couldn’t help but marvel. So many homes and buildings were completely intact from the old days. New structures were beautifully engineered masonry. Nearly every home had a garden – some just grew flowers. People sat on rocking chairs on porches. Children played in the street. Neighbors chatted.

It was so much more evidence that he didn’t belong here – and that this place didn’t deserve a war.

He’d packed a backpack, and Mohammad had given him some decent walking boots and a broad-rimmed hat. He wouldn’t be a burden on Phineas, not this time.

It took an hour to reach the city border. There was farmland beyond, but it wasn’t as tightly guarded. Mohammad flashed a badge and they were let through the checkpoint with no hassle.

Then, there was Phineas.

They stood in the middle of the road, watching Leannan approach, with a big grin on their face that made Leannan’s heart swell. They had their big boots, their big backpack, and their sniper rifle, cutting a familiar silhouette.

“Phineas!” Leannan broke into a run, flinging himself into Phineas’ arms, his hat flying off. Phineas hugged him tightly, pressing their face into his neck and breathing deeply.

“Hej, bebino,” they said softly. Then they pulled their head back and kissed him, like how real lovers kiss – a gentle parting of the lips, an exploratory tongue – and Leannan relished every second of it, his blood pounding with excitement.

It almost made up for not saying goodbye to anyone except Jeanette.

“Phineas,” he reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, “Give me a minute?”

Phineas smiled at him. “Sure.”

Leannan went back to Mohammad, who was watching them uneasily. Leannan unclasped the necklace from around his neck and held it out.

“Can you give this to Shannon for me? And tell her I’m sorry it didn’t work out. But that I’ll be okay. Actually, you can tell everyone that.”

Mohammad hesitantly took the necklace.

“I know this was your decision, but no one’s going to be happy about it. Your sister might actually kill me.”

“This is where I belong,” Leannan said, “This is who I belong with.”

“Leannan,” Mohammad looked pained, “Please come back with me. Please come home?”

Leannan shook his head.

“It’s not my home.”

“You done?” Phineas sauntered over and threw an arm around Leannan’s shoulders.

Mohammad opened and closed his mouth, like he wanted to say more, but only nodded.

“Good luck, Leannan.”

Leannan nodded back.

“Thanks.”

Mohammad slowly turned and walked back to the checkpoint. Phineas pulled Leannan around and started walking the two of them away from the city, keeping their arm around Leannan’s shoulders.

“Real jerk move, Phineas!” Leannan leaned hard into indignation to stifle his sorrow, “You didn’t have to threaten a war, I would’ve come with you anyway.” He wasn’t entirely sure if that was true, but it felt good to say.

“Didn’t like your family?” Phineas asked.

“They didn’t really like me,” Leannan said quietly.

“I know the feeling.” Phineas gave him a squeeze before dropping their arm. Leannan immediately missed the warm weight.

“Where are we going?” he asked, picking up his hat as they passed.

“Wherever we like,” Phineas replied.

“Oh, no,” Leannan said warningly, “I’m not living on the road with you! You better have a place where we can actually live figured out.”

Phineas laughed brightly, and Leannan’s heart sang.

“We’ll figure something out,” they said, and Leannan found himself satisfied with that noncommittal answer. They walked in silence for a while, putting some distance between them and the city.

“I learned that Enjolras is your sister,” Leannan said.

“Mhm,” Phineas grunted.

“How come you two don’t get along?”

“Long story.”

Leannan smiled at them.

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Pounding footsteps, behind them.

“PHINEAS!”

The two of them whirled around at the shout to see Enjolras coming to a halt on the road behind them, her chest heaving with labored breaths, aiming a crossbow at Phineas. Leannan stepped in front of Phineas at the same time as Phineas stepped behind him.

“Let him go!” Enjolras snarled.

“Enjolras!” Leannan pleaded, “This is what I want! You have to let me leave with Phineas!”

“Phineas is abusive, Leannan!” Enjolras yelled, “They’ll only hurt you!”

“That’s not true!” Leannan raised his voice to match, “Phineas takes care of me!”

“Oh, like they took care of you the night I visited? Or when they burned Donda Island to the ground?” Enjolras countered.

“That was different! Phineas didn’t know back then!”

“Know what?”

“That I’m human! Things will be different now!” Leannan spun around, grabbing Phineas’ shoulders, “I learned it, it’s true, I’m really a human, so things will be different now, between us, right?”

Phineas smiled serenely at him. “Of course.”

“See?” Leannan faced Enjolras again, “Things will be different!”

“Leannan,” Enjolras gaped at him, shaking her head, “How can you be so goddamn stupid?”

Leannan froze, her words cutting him to the bone.

“Enjolras, I…”

“Hey!” Phineas’ voice rang out, “Don’t talk to him like that.”

Leannan couldn’t help but smile, thrilled to be defended.

“Get away from him, Phineas!” Enjolras ordered, taking a threatening step forward.

“Or what?” Phineas taunted, “You gonna shoot him? You can’t have him, so no one can?” Phineas wrapped their arms around Leannan, but before Leannan could enjoy the hug Phineas pressed their hunting knife to his cheek.

“Good idea,” Phineas said slowly, “If I can’t have him, no one can.”

Enjolras lowered her crossbow immediately.

“Phineas, don’t.”

“Turn and walk away, then!” Phineas said.

Leannan knew Phineas was bluffing – what else could they possibly be doing? But it was clear Enjolras believed it.

“Just go, Enjolras!” he called to her, “Leave us alone!”

“Do as he says, Enja,” Phineas added.

Enjolras stared at them with a fiery mix of helplessness and anger.

“Phineas, please,” she begged, “Just let Leannan go. Let him be with his family.”

“It sounds like his family wasn’t really a good fit for him,” Phineas said, “I guess we have that in common.”

Enjolras’ burning eyes darted from Leannan, to Phineas, and back.

“Your sister loves you,” she said, “Everybody there loves you.”

“Phineas loves me,” Leannan retorted.

Enjolras’ eyes widened a little. She turned away slightly, looking out over the farm fields lining the road.

“Leannan…”

As soon as she was looking away, Phineas moved.

The hunting knife thunked into Enjolras’ ribs, and she stumbled back a step. Her hand flew to the wound, and she stared down at it, mouth open.

“Enjolras!” Leannan started forward, but Phineas grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Let’s go!” they shouted.

“But Enjolras!”

“She’ll survive,” Phineas said, dragging Leannan along, “She always survives.”

Leannan looked over his shoulder, watching Enjolras fall to her knees in the dust, growing ever smaller as Phineas pulled him away.

“Phineas, please!” Leannan begged, “She’s your sister, you can’t want her to die!”

“She won’t die,” Phineas scoffed, “If she leaves the knife in, and is careful, she’ll be able to walk back to the checkpoint. She’ll make it, she always does.”

Leannan had no choice but to follow Phineas’ bruisingly tight lead, constantly glancing back at Enjolras.

She’d brought him to his family. She’d done her best to make him feel welcome, even if it hadn’t worked.

He’d have never met Peter or Rory or Lena without her.

He huffed a sob of relief when she slowly stood and started walking back towards the city.

Phineas didn’t let go of his arm until well after Enjolras was out of sight. Leannan didn’t speak for bit, rubbing his arm as they walked.

“Phineas,” he finally piped up, “Maybe we should go back and make sure…”

Phineas whirled on him, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“Did I ask for your fuckin’ opinion?” they growled.

“No, Phineas!” said Leannan.

“That’s right. Shut up and walk.”

They released him and strode ahead.

Leannan straightened his shirt. Assured himself that things would be different.

Then he shut up and walked.

END

~~~

Previous, Masterlist

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @thecyrulik

[ebaeschnbliah]

A little way beyond the battle-field they made their camp under a spreading tree ...

... it looked like a chestnut, and yet it still bore many broad brown leaves of a former year, like dry hands with long splayed fingers; they rattled mournfully in the night-breeze.

Gimli shivered. They had brought only one blanket apiece. 'Let us light a fire,' he said. 'I care no longer for the danger. Let the Orcs come as thick as summer-moths round a candle!'

'If those unhappy hobbits are astray in the woods, it might draw them hither,' said Legolas.

'And it might draw other things, neither Orc nor Hobbit,' said Aragorn. 'We are near to the mountain-marches of the traitor Saruman. Also we are on the very edge of Fangorn, and it is perilous to touch the trees of that wood, it is said.'

'But the Rohirrim made a great burning here yesterday,' said Gimli, 'and they felled trees for the fire, as can be seen. Yet they passed the night after safely here, when their labour was ended.'

'They were many,' said Aragorn, 'and they do not heed the wrath of Fangorn, for they come here seldom, and they do not go under the trees. But our paths are likely to lead us into the very forest itself. So have a care! Cut no living wood!'

'There is no need,' said Gimli. 'The Riders have left chip and bough enough, and there is dead wood lying in plenty.' He went off to gather fuel, and busied himself with building and kindling a fire; but Aragorn sat silent with his back to the great tree, deep in thought; and Legolas stood alone in the open, looking towards the profound shadow of the wood, leaning forward, as one who listens to voices calling from a distance.

When the Dwarf had a small bright blaze going, the three companions drew close to it and sat together, shrouding the light with their hooded forms. Legolas looked up at the boughs of the tree reaching out above them.

'Look!' he said. 'The tree is glad of the fire!'

It may have been that the dancing shadows tricked their eyes, but certainly to each of the companions the boughs appeared to be bending this way and that so as to come above the flames, while the upper branches were stooping down; the brown leaves now stood out stiff, and rubbed together like many cold cracked hands taking comfort in the warmth.

There was a silence, for suddenly the dark and unknown forest, so near at hand, made itself felt as a great brooding presence, full of secret purpose. After a while Legolas spoke again.

'Celeborn warned us not to go far into Fangorn,' he said. 'Do you know why, Aragorn? What are the fables of the forest that Boromir had heard?'

'I have heard many tales in Gondor and elsewhere,' said Aragorn, 'but if it were not for the words of Celeborn I should deem them only fables that Men have made as true knowledge fades. I had thought of asking you what was the truth of the matter. And if an Elf of the Wood does not know, how shall a Man answer?'

'You have journeyed further than I,' said Legolas. 'I have heard nothing of this in my own land, save only songs that tell how the Onodrim, that Men call Ents, dwelt there long ago; for Fangorn is old, old even as the Elves would reckon it.'

'Yes, it is old,' said Aragorn, 'as old as the forest by the Barrow-downs, and it is far greater. Elrond says that the two are akin, the last strongholds of the mighty woods of the Elder Days, in which the Firstborn roamed while Men still slept. Yet Fangorn holds some secret of its own. What it is I do not know.'

'And I do not wish to know,' said Gimli. 'Let nothing that dwells in Fangorn be troubled on my account!'

They now drew lots for the watches, and the lot for the first watch fell to Gimli. The others lay down. Almost at once sleep laid hold on them. 'Gimli!' said Aragorn drowsily. 'Remember, it is perilous to cut bough or twig from a living tree in Fangorn. But do not stray far in search of dead wood. Let the fire die rather! Call me at need!'

With that he fell asleep. Legolas already lay motionless, his fair hands folded upon his breast, his eyes unclosed, blending living night and deep dream, as is the way with Elves. Gimli sat hunched by the fire, running his thumb thoughtfully along the edge of his axe. The tree rustled. There was no other sound.

Suddenly Gimli looked up, and there just on the edge of the fire-light stood an old bent man, leaning on a staff, and wrapped in a great cloak; his wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his eyes. Gimli sprang up, too amazed for the moment to cry out, though at once the thought flashed into his mind that Saruman had caught them. Both Aragorn and Legolas, roused by his sudden movement, sat up and stared. The old man did not speak or make, sign.

'Well, father, what can we do for you?' said Aragorn, leaping to his feet. 'Come and be warm, if you are cold!' He strode forward, but the old man was gone. There was no trace of him to be found near at hand, and they did not dare to wander far. The moon had set and the night was very dark.

Suddenly Legolas gave a cry. 'The horses! The horses!'

The horses were gone. They had dragged their pickets and disappeared. For some time the three companions stood still and silent, troubled by this new stroke of ill fortune. They were under the eaves of Fangorn, and endless leagues lay between them and the Men of Rohan, their only friends in this wide and dangerous land. As they stood, it seemed to them that they heard, far off in the night. the sound of horses whinnying and neighing. Then all was quiet again, except for the cold rustle of the wind.

'Well, they are gone,' said Aragorn at last. 'We cannot find them or catch them; so that if they do not return of their own will, we must do without. We started on our feet, and we have those still.'

'Feet!' said Gimli. 'But we cannot eat them as well as walk on them ' He threw some fuel on the fire and slumped down beside it.

'Only a few hours ago you were unwilling to sit on a horse of Rohan,' laughed Legolas. 'You will make a rider yet.'

'It seems unlikely that I shall have the chance,' said Gimli.

'If you wish to know what I think,' he began again after a while 'I think it was Saruman. Who else? Remember the words of Éomer: he walks about like an old man hooded and cloaked. Those were the words. He has gone off with our horses, or scared them away, and here we are. There is more trouble coming to us, mark my words!'

'I mark them,' said Aragorn. 'But I marked also that this old man had a hat not a hood. Still I do not doubt that you guess right, and that we are in peril here, by night or day. Yet in the meantime there is nothing that we can do but rest, while we may. I will watch for a while now, Gimli. I have more need of thought than of sleep.'

The night passed slowly. Legolas followed Aragorn, and Gimli followed Legolas, and their watches wore away. But nothing happened. The old man did not appear again, and the horses did not return.

JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers,  The Riders of Rohan