#i think i was possessed when i wrote this

[endless-ineffabilities]

the sapphire and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Musings about Aemond Targaryen and the only one he truly needs. His one true hope and love. His beloved wife.

a/n : i had to write something after that episode! holy Aemond! This pretty much wrote itself and I could expand it in the future ~ if inspiration strikes true!

word count : <2k ▪︎ masterlist

Aemond used to think his only solace was himself.

His mother had never been much of a mother in her own right, too muddled in the web of deceit that she and Otto spin at their fancy. Criston posited as something of a father figure, but his true loyalty is to his Queen. His brother has always been a wastrel, and his sister wasting away in her own mind.

Aemond never had anyone. Not truly.

Until you.

He still remembers the day you walked into his life, a lone ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds of stormy grey. You appeared to be a frail-hearted young lady, eager to please and to be a devoted wife to her prince. All the while he saw your spirit dimmed from being offered by her House to be Prince Aemond's newly betrothed.

All to secure an alliance.

There was no promise of loyalty or love. Being the prince, he is able to take into bed any whore he wishes. But one look at you - just the one - and all thought of any other lover vanished from his mind.

The first night he was supposed to take you to bed and consummate your marriage, the meek cast in your eyes had disappeared, and in its place a defiant glint he hadn't seen before.

"If I am to be used by my prince, I will do it with the remaining shred of my dignity. I will not cry, I will not beg for a life I have already lost. If all that I am now is a vessel for duty, then so be it." You looked at him, as if for the first time, and with the flames dancing across your face, Aemond would remember that moment as when his sun first shone down on him.

He felt his anger flare for but a moment, his constant fear of being betrayed taking over him. Had everything been an act? Was this to be a marriage of unpleasantry and resentment?

But it quickly dawned on him that the act - the betrayal - was that if his wife was willing to play a fool and dance under his strings like some marionette.

He preferred this. He preferred you.

"Mayhaps I will not bed you tonight, my lady wife. Not yet," he had said, your face slowly twisting in surprise. "I will let you keep more than just your dignity, for you will also possess the choice. Trust that it is only for the time being, at least, until it is imperative that I produce an heir. From this moment forward, I swear to take no else to bed as it is my oath as your husband."

He watched the minute switches in your expression. The wariness. The confusion. The relief. And he already felt it then, as silly as the notion might be, that you had recognised who he really was and that you accepted him.

Aemond was no scoundrel. He wasn't a villain in your story. He wasn't some mighty, untouchable prince.

He was a boy. He was now your husband. He had decency. He had a heart.

And you may not have yet realised, but this heart - wretched as it might have been - he was surrendering it to you.

With the turn of the moon came ill tidings - the death of his father Viserys. Although he was also not much of a father to begin with. Aemond felt numb to it all and there was no time for any emotion to take root, for the conspiracy festered like an open wound. His brother was to be made king.

"Must you go and find him?" you asked. "What if something were to happen?"

He had been blank and unfeeling, unsure of what to make his father's passing. But then, some warmth bloomed in him at your concern. His darling wife cared. He hadn't yet been allowed to indulge in the pleasures of your flesh, but your nights were filled with conversation and confiding.

He took your hands and pressed a kiss atop each one. "It is I who understands Aegon's doings, my wife. Ser Criston is in need of my aid. My brother would sooner sail away than fulfil his duty, which is why he must return at all cost."

"Let him sail away. Let him go and live as he pleases, husband. He never possessed the temperament of a king. You on the other hand... "

His father is dead. His brother could be gone. The enemy encroaches.

But gods be damned, you believed in him.

Aemond didn't know for certain what happiness felt like, he'd never had a single taste of it. And how morbid it was for him to possibly feel it then. But...

"You would make a far better ruler than anyone, and I don't just say that because I am your wife."

Happiness. How fascinating.

How utterly... simple.

For he realised that he had felt it before. Not even in grand moments, no, but in the littlest of things.

He had felt it when you once laughed in pure bliss when he first rode with you atop Vhagar.

When you would help fasten him into his training armour.

When he would watch as you read one of your stories.

His happiness was standing right in front of him. His ray of light, his sun.

And his sun persisted even when he singlehandedly cast the realm into macabre blacks and greens.

Shaken and despondent, he stumbled into your chambers to deliver the news to you first. In the passing hour, everything will change. Will you turn on him too?

"It was an accident," he confessed. "I thought I could control Vhagar, but... she is her own beast. She always has been. I admit I was angry and it was my folly to seek vengeance, but I did not mean to... " His voice broke, and he felt your finger wipe at something wet from his cheek.

He did not even notice that he was crying.

You still said nothing, so he grew frightful. What if nothing he said would ever be enough? No explanation, no apology. He can't lose his light.

"I never held any love for him," he carried on painfully, "but he was my blood. And I... I just - "

"It wasn't your fault, Aemond."

A ray of hope. A remaining strength.

You repeat, "I believe you, and it wasn't your fault."

It mattered not whether his mother would shun him, or his grandsire would frown upon his gruesome action. Rhaenyra was coming for him, as sure as dragonfire, and he would soon have to face the consequences of his actions.

But none of that worried him, not then.

He had to stay alive, however he can, so that he can protect you. It was not remiss of him to overlook that the ladywife of Lucerys' apparent murderer would also have a target on her back.

Aemond knew that the fight was inevitable, and he was going to win it. For you.

In tears, in love, in pale shades of grief, he kissed you with everything he had in him.

A solemn promise. A declaration of love.

"No one shall know the truth of it, my love."

"What do you mean?"

"They will not know, but you will. And that is all that matters. There is no stopping it now and I must face the war head on. What the realm will come to accept is that I intended to fell my nephew and that I do not regret doing so. They have to fear me. This is how I can keep you safe."

"Aemond - "

"Do you trust me?"

The only thing that mattered, the one answer that decided whether he bent or broke. The Seven Kingdoms were to be covered in gloom and shadow, its fields marred with blood and many a broken bone.

His world, however - his world still had light.

"I trust you. With everything I have, I do."

[nothorses]

I came across this paper:

https://www.academia.edu/71372307/Trans_masculinities_embodiments_performances_and_the_materiality_of_gender_in_times_of_change

I'm not well-versed in academic language so I can't really understand all of it, but it seems kind of gross and condescending, especially when it's using testimonials of transmasc's desire to be seen as men to, idk, prove that masculinity isn't really queer or something? I'm curious how other (smarter) people would interpret it.

I mean, your understanding of it is just as important as mine! I'm happy to add my thoughts, though.

My understanding is that their thesis is essentially "masculinity is related to maleness and the male body specifically, and we know that because transmascs want to have male bodies". They allow for some nuance here in references to other literature, and I agree with that angle of their argument overall, but their premise is fundamentally flawed in the exclusion of trans theory and trans narratives.

Like, yes, masculinity is in some way related to appearance and the "male body", and there are a lot of reasons for that! But is the dysphoria of trans people really ironclad "proof" of what maleness and masculinity are? And why don't they spend any time talking about what dysphoria actually is, what trans people think it is, why trans people think they feel the way they do, or what trans academics have to say about any of this?

I have a lot of other issues with this paper as well, and I could probably write a paper just as long as theirs going into all of the reasons for that. But I think that answers your biggest question; what they're trying to prove, how they're trying to prove it, and why that comes across so weird.

To your other question ("is it condescending?"): I think this is kind of subjective overlay, but the way they go about analyzing their data is pretty condescending, in my opinion. They tend to frame their participants' responses as kind of misguided or ill-informed, particularly Diniz- who they definitely discuss as "trying to justify his choices" to identify as nonbinary while also seeking medical transition, like this is inherently contradictory and must therefore rely on some kind of delusion or desperation. It's weird!

I do also want to point out, briefly, that they also really cherrypick which claims they bother sourcing, and how they try to back them up.

They argue that trans men have male privilege based on the opinions of, like, three of their 30 total participants- and then carry this as "fact" through the entire paper, uncontested. That's extremely fucking weird and super suspect in a paper like this! I just wrote my own qualitative research paper based on interviews (which is what this is), and it's pretty standard to acknowledge the limitations of your research, and to position your results as non-definitive. Like, that's been a major part of every discussion with everyone I've talked to about my research. I would not have been greenlit to receive my degree if I hadn't been careful to avoid framing my research the way these people frame theirs.

The other weird thing they do is cherrypick statistics- or rather, one single statistic- to "prove" that transmascs do not suffer as much as other trans people, or possess some kind of privilege. They only cite murder statistics from one source; apparently that's the only relevant metric for quantifying all oppression? They also fail to acknowledge any possible shortcomings of this statistic, like the issues of under-reporting and misgendering of transmasc victims.

I could go on; I have a lot of gripes. But I think your criticism is totally valid, this was a weird and frustrating read.

Also curious if @genderkoolaid has thoughts- you tend to talk about gender studies from an academic position more, and you probably have a lot more field-specific expertise than I do. I'll boost other additions too, I love a good academic discussion!

[kakiastro]

Lunar Return-Your month ahead

Solar return is talked about a lot but did you know that you have a Lunar return too?

What the difference?

Solar- when the Sun orbits back into the sign & date you were born in, Aka, your birthday. Solar returns happen every year. It shows the outlook of your year ahead until your next birthday comes.

Lunar - when the Moon orbits back into the sign you were born in. Instead of a yearly analysis like the solar, this will be a monthly analysis. Every 29ish days, you have a new lunar return chart.

How do I read my lunar return chart?

- The same you would any other chart but you have to read it from a moon point of a view.

-the Moon rules over our private and home life. It rules over our family and other loved ones. It rules over our emotional needs and wants. It’s our most intimate and safe space from the outside world.

*THIS DOES NOT CHANGE YOUR NATAL CHART! Your natal chart will always be the same forever. Return charts are to show the themes of our lives. I just wanted to make that clear.

The breakdown of the chart

For example: Scorpio rising

South/North Nodes- this is important because this shows you what you learned from the previous month and early on in this month (SN) to what you want to learn at the end of this month(NN). SN Taurus 7h /NN Scorpio 1h, this shows the you learned how to connect with people in a surface level and the material side of relationships. Now you you’re learning about how you emotionally connect with others but you’re looking deep within yourself first. “What do I need to feel intimacy on a deeper level”

Ascendant & Chart ruler - overall outlook for the month and what the theme is. Let’s say you have a Scorpio rising with ruler Pluto Capricorn in the 3h for this month. Themes of power, money topics such as loans and debts, sex, intellectual and emotional bonds, research, grandparents/elders, career, siblings, cars related topics, short travel and your local neighborhood will be the main topics

Moon- since this is a Lunar chart, the moon is the first planet after the chart ruler that we should be looking at. The moon sign will always be the same as your natal moon, hence “lunar return” the house the moon falls in is the most important. If you have a Libra moon, it would be in your 12h for this month. So you may feel like going into hermit mode, being more creative, traveling to a foreign unknown land or territory, if you’re interested in spirituality or holistic, traveling to the beach or being near water, going to the hospital, prison visit(hey, you never know)

Sun- this will be the not so private part of our lives out in the open. The Sun is the one that highlights everything in our life. It’s our life force. Let’s say the Sun is in Gemini 8h. This really enhanced the Scorpio energy so reread those themes that I wrote above now add the Gemini energy. This may be the month a lot of secrets or just deeply hidden emotions boil over to the surface. It’s giving death and rebirth season

Mercury-this will show your daily routine(s) throughout the month. It’s your health and possible health concerns, what you’ll be mostly thinking, talking about throughout this month. It also rules over your pets. If Mercury is in Gemini 8h along with the Sun then this could be time you really talk about your fears, worries, trauma, your healing growth journey, money problems or blessings, you may change something drastic about your routine, getting 2 new pets or giving one away, your hands such as breaking a nail or finger, getting new rings .

Venus- this will show you what your relationship(s), finances, your physical home and your personal possessions in it, food habits . Let’s say you have a Venus Virgo 11h. Posting a life update on social media, changing up your diet, you could be more vocal about your struggles or just struggles in general on social media, being of service and helping strangers more this month

Mars- this will show you where you’re putting your most energy in this month. Mars rules over our physical body and what get us up and moving. Mars is in Aries 6h for this month, yore putting a lot of your energy into yourself, your health, your job, your pets,it’s all about healing you this month, keep in mind too mars is also your chart ruler because it also rules Scorpio.

Jupiter- this will show you where you’re doing too much lol jk..sort of😅 this can show you where in will be expanded upon, your faith, what you’ll learn, your ideals, long distance travels, court case(if you have one), your good luck for this month. Jupiter Aries 6h with Mars, remember when I said you’ll be focused on you lol, oh with Jupiter, it’s even more intense and heightened

Saturn-this will show the sucky but rewarding parts of the month. Saturn is always trying to teach us some lessons which is never fun. However, if you applied what you know then this is growth which is the goal right? Saturn in Pisces 5h, getting serious about your creativity projects, expressing yourself in a more fluid but serious. You know you could express more of your subconscious thoughts to others

Uranus-the shocking and I didn’t see that coming moments for the month. Where you will want to progress. Uranus Taurus 7h, you may have a different outlook on relationships, meeting someone unexpectedly, unexpected money or buying something you didn’t think you would where.

Neptune- your subconscious thoughts for the month, only you will see this side of you. Neptune Pisces 5h, diving into unknown territory with dating, your dreams, new locations.

Pluto- transformations that we go through this month. Saturn is the hard but rewarding lessons while Pluto is the lessons that damn near breaks us and put us in a fetal position while crying with a blanket over our head, but he transforms us(up to us if it makes a good or bad one). Our fears and traumas live here so it’s not easy to go through. I don’t need to put an example here since it’s our chart ruler.

If you want to see how this plays out, keep a journal and just document the important parts that resonate with you that month. Then go back and look at your lunar chart and start connecting the dots. I would recommend to look at your lunar chart at the beginning of the month then relook at the end to see the storyline of that month in the chart. I’ll bet you 5$ you’ll be blown away!

I’m open for readings!

[melon-hellion]

(Naughty) Beach Episode • T. Hiragi

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: fem bodied reader, reader wears a bikini, body insecurities, semi-public sex, fast and dirty, Hiragi is strong enough to hold you up (dude is jacked, come on). I wrote this with a chubby!reader in mind!

Notes: I’m actually possessed. I love him so much my brain is exploding with him 💚

You won’t lie—you’re a bit uncomfortable as you step out of the small tent. More than a bit. It’s hard to not immediately cover yourself as you walk from the makeshift changing room down to where your friends are on the beach.

It’s not that you hate wearing bathing suits, and you definitely don’t hate this one. It’s probably the cutest you’ve owned. It’s just… showy.

Bright green against your sunscreen-lathered skin, the top ties in the front like a tiny corset, pushing your breasts together and offering a considerable view of cleavage. The bottoms are similar with ties criss-crossing over your hips. They ride up just enough to accentuate the swell of your ass, but it’s the way those curves lead down to your thick thighs that leaves you self-conscious—the flesh that the elastic presses against.

You feel pudgy and thick and chubby, and you’re just waiting for someone to point and laugh.

But you want to step out of your comfort zone. You want to be confident. For your boyfriend more than yourself.

He didn’t ask you to. Toma is too kind for that. But he has expressed how much he likes your body. You don’t quite understand it, but you’re extremely glad for it.

You drop your shorts and T-shirt on your designated towel, kick your sandals off, then slowly move toward the group, almost everyone in the middle of a disorganized game of volleyball. You doubt any of them actually know the real rules, only concerned with how hard they can hit the ball.

A few turn and take notice of you. Kiryu grins kindly. Kaji, sucker in his mouth, raises his eyebrows before turning back to the net. You think his lips curve into a little smile around the candy. Sakura, unsurprisingly, turns beat red and spins all the way around to avoid looking at you.

And Toma, your sweet, sweet Toma, does a double take just in time for Umemiya to spike the ball right at him. It lobs him in the side of the head which would usually make him shout and launch himself at the other man, but he just lets it bounce off of him while he stares dumbly at your approaching form.

You’re still giggling when you meet him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.

Your insecurities were obviously for nothing.

“You like?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice.

He nods quickly, eyes still wide as his hands find your hips and squeeze.

“Understatement of the fuckin’ century.”

Toma isn’t typically the PDA type, but he presses himself against you, his body warm from the sun, and you gasp in surprise at the already forming bulge beneath his swim trunks.

“Toma, oh my god, are you serious?” you laugh.

“Shuddup—this is your fault.” He kisses you hard, kneading the fat at your hips that you had been so worried about. “Fuck, you really have no idea how sexy you are.”

“Hiragi, either get your head in the game or get off the court!” Tsubakino shouts, though when you glance toward him you can see him grinning.

“Go on,” you nod toward the net, “go play. I’ll watch from the sidelines.”

“Rather play with you instead.”

“Not in this sand, you won’t.”

He rolls his eyes, a little pout on his lips, and grumbles, “fine,” before kissing you again then returning to the game (if it can even be called that).

You take a seat next to Kotoha who looks stunning in her simple black 2 piece. She lowers her sunglasses, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Well, that was something.”

You want to blame your full-body flush on the scorching sun, but you know better.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that,” she tells you.

You scoff, awkwardly finding a comfortable position while mumbling, “no idea why he’s so gobsmacked.”

Kotoha smacks your arm. “It’s ‘cause you’re hot, dummy!”

You’ve never been good at accepting compliments, only managing a quiet, “thanks.”

The book you had brought stays in your beach bag, forgotten when you opt to ogle your boyfriend. How could you not? He’s out there glistening with sweat, his hair down from the being soaked in saltwater. His biceps flex every time he makes contact with the ball, and his abs. God those abs, cut and drawing your eyes to the sharp V that leads into low-hanging trunks.

You want to suck at the skin under his naval, lick the sparse trail of undyed black hair. The pulse between your legs is embarrassing, as is the way you bite your lip.

“Good god, just go back to the cars and have a quickie,” Kotoha snorts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A quickie doesn’t sound like the worst idea, though. It would, however, be the most risqué thing the 2 of you have done.

You haven’t been dating Toma for a long time, a few months, and though you’ve had sex, you’re still in the ‘taking it slow’ phase of the relationship. Careful. Cautious. Still exploring.

You haven’t experienced him fast and rough, and you definitely haven’t experienced public sex with him.

But it sounds pretty nice right about now.

Shouts ring out from the game, and it must signal the end of a match because everyone disperses. Toma jogs over, and dear god, you can see his dick pressed against the fabric of his trunks, shifting with every stride.

You want to hide your face, but you can’t stop staring, even when he stops in front of you and bends to grab a water bottle. He takes a few gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing, then pours the rest over his head.

How can someone who looks like that be so affected by you? You aren’t hideous by any means, but he is just… unbelievable.

“What?” he asks when he catches you looking, a little smirk tugging at his wet lips.

“Just admiring the view,” you respond honestly.

“Oh yeah?”

He extends a hand, easily pulling you to your feet then tugging harder so that you stumble into him.

“Nothin’ compared to you.”

You melt when he bends to kiss you, fingers digging into his shoulders, moaning softly when he pushes his tongue into your mouth.

Kotoha fakes a dry heave behind you, mumbles something you can’t decipher. Toma breaks away but stays close enough so that when he speaks his lips are still brushing against yours.

“I’m dyin’ to get you outta here.”

“Then let’s go.”

That’s all it takes for him to grab your wrist and start moving quickly, frantically, like he can’t wait another second.

Despite Kotoha’s suggestion, you don’t actually make it as far as the parking lot. Toma pulls you straight into the changing tent—thank god nobody is inside.

His hands are on your ass first, squeezing and massaging. He even lifts and drops your round cheeks just to feel them jiggle in his palms. The whole time, he’s devouring you, tongue pushed between your lips, probing and stroking. It’s impossible not to mewl for him. You can feel his hunger, how much he wants you. And you want him just as badly.

You grind against him, shorter than his 6’1” frame, causing his cock to rub against your tummy instead of your hips.

He groans, a low sound that sends shivers down your spine as your pussy starts to ache. Heat is pooling in your gut the same way your arousal pools in your bikini bottoms, and when Toma slips his hand down the front of them and dips between your folds, the noise he makes is more primal than the last.

“Fuck, baby, you’re already so wet.” You whimper, wiggling your hips in a silent plea for him to get you out of your bathing suit.

Toma smiles against your lips, free hand finding one of the ties and pulling until they come loose, letting the material drop to the ground.

You make quick work of his trunks, panting while he kicks them off. The risk crosses your mind again—anyone could open the small tent and see the 2 of you—but Toma slides one long finger into your hole, and you forget about the potential consequences.

It just feels too good, digits thrusting in and out of your cunt, Toma huffing into your neck while pushing his cock against you in search of friction. You wrap your hand around him, stroking as well as you can without lube before realizing you have more than enough leaking from you.

Biting your lip, you dip your own hand between your thighs to gather the slick fluid that your boyfriend is milking from you. He grunts when he feels you, then lets out a broken sound when you spread your wetness over his length.

“Gonna make me cum before I even get inside you,” he chuckles, thrusting into your hand.

“Then maybe you should hurry up and get inside me.”

You squeal too loudly when he lifts you fully off the ground, situating you in his arms in a way that has his abs rubbing against your puffy folds. You gasp, shifting your hips a few times before reaching for his cock.

It’s an awkward angle and takes equal effort on both parts to line him up with your twitchy hole, but soon enough he’s pushing into you. The tip of his cock stretches you all on its own. Toma fucks into you, shallow at first, fat mushroom head catching on your spongy opening over and over again so that you bite his shoulder to stifle a moan.

Feeling your teeth digging into his flesh must do something for him because Toma shoves in further—further—until it feels like he’s nestled against your cervix.

God, you’re so full as you clench around him. Toma takes a second to breathe, kisses the side of your head, your arms wrapped around him, then starts rutting into you.

You’re at his mercy, bouncing up and down on his cock, doing all you can not to scream his name. He hits spots inside you that you didn’t even know existed. You think you might even be able to feel the pulsing veins that decorate his shaft dragging against your walls. And, once again, you’re blessed with being able to grind against him, your slick, swollen clit sensitive as you smear it over that happy trail you love so much.

“Love it when you make a mess on me,” he growls, pounding into you. “You gonna cum all over me? Gonna cream on my cock?”

You nod, unable to speak. His huge hands are spreading your ass cheeks, opening you up for him. You know if you had a better view you’d be able to see a ring of white around the base of his dick as shiny, sticky strands drip from your pussy.

Even though he’s doing all the work, it’s your legs that begin to tremble, toes curling, breaths getting shorter and shorter.

It’s the way he hits your g-spot with every movement, the way your now overstimulated clit can’t get away from coarse hair over taut skin.

“Fuck, fuck—Toma, I—”

“Cum for me, baby, wanna feel you squeezin’ my cock…”

You both groan at the same time when you seize around him, pushing more and more slick out of your pussy with every pulse, creating shamefully lewd noises.

Toma swears, the tendons in his neck straining as he throws his head back, “‘bout to fill you up—feel so good, fuck, fuck—”

His thrusts get sloppy as he hits his climax, hot ropes coating your insides, and he rides it out as the last waves of your own orgasm crash over you.

Chest heaving, Toma drops his head to kiss your breasts, sucking a mark just above the line of your top as he mutters breathlessly, “didn’t pay these the attention they deserve.”

You giggle, brain foggy and body light. “You paid plenty attention to what really mattered.”

Toma grins crookedly, “you mean this—” he thrusts his cock into you one last time, “—pretty little pussy?”

“Mmyes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

He gives you short, sweet kisses, both of you getting lost in something more heated, and it isn’t until his dick is soft inside of you that he pulls out and sets you back on the ground.

Returning to your friends and any beach games they’re playing is out of the question, and as you walk hand-in-hand with Toma, you shoot Kotoha a short text—Heading home early. Can you grab my bag when you leave?

To which she replies, sure. Have fun 😏

[the-spooky-children]

[SM6]

skid: we brought him here, but then he escaped.

pump: he didn’t.

skid: what?

what does this M E A N

I'm pretty sure Skid is talking about them bringing him to their world (the word "here" refering to the human realm overall) with the ouija board in the first episode

And remember in Unwanted Guest their little argument about if it's Moloch or not, and Pump had the blue eyes then

S: "It's not Moloch"

P: "What, but it's him?!"

S: "No, it's not, he's red and cool, this one is lame and yellow!"

P: "hm... oh, I know! *To Moloch* turn your head around, only demons can do that!"

(I wrote this out from memory so it might be a little paraphrasing lol)

Skid thinks Moloch escaped on his own when they weren't looking in SM 3 because he didn't think Moloch was possessing Dexter's body, but Eyes-influenced Pump knows Moloch was possessing Dexter and that they got rid of his body, probably, by bringing it straight to the morgue

I'll admit those lines from SM 6 did really confuse me at first but I'm pretty sure this is what it means, it's referencing the dispute they had at the end of SM 3

What I think is most important to remember is that Pump had the glowing blue eyes in both of these moments

[odoraful]

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅, 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒔

being newly employed at wangshu inn has not been easy. when you're unable to conceal your emotions any longer, you call on xiao to comfort you in a time of need

content: xiao x gn!reader; hurt/comfort (but the ratio of hurt to comfort is like 60/40); established relationship; mentions of stress relating to work; xiao being very gentle; 2k

a/n: chat i miss him so much can someone call hoyoverse to get him back into the storyline :’( i wrote this in like one day because i was so overcome with emotion 🤧 so i apologise if there are any errors!

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It was no use. With each ragged inhale and exhale you took, your breathing just became shakier. What had Baizhu told you before? Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven, and exhale for eight. Every gulp of air you took filled your lungs and burned your insides as you tried to hold it in. You coughed, expelling the air out, vision glazed by the tears welling in your eyes. Clutching your chest, you sank to the floor, using the bed to support your back. Fortunately, you made it to your room in Wangshu Inn, where the cumulative stress of the days and weeks that had formed cracks in your exterior had broken. Emotions finally flooded outwards like raging waters. 

The setting sun casted an orange glow in the room, basking the space in its warm light through the open door to the balcony. Though the heat on your skin provided some small measure of comfort, it wasn't nearly enough to dispel the numbness in your body.

You didn’t want to be here alone.

Your mind immediately drifted to one name. The one person who you could call, who had told you to call whenever you were in trouble. Night was quickly approaching. Perhaps he was already out on his patrol, or busy with other errands needed by the Yaksha. 

Selfish. That’s what your request felt like. But you needed him with you now. You would listen to his scolding about frivolous uses of his summons afterwards when your mind was less clouded. 

You uttered quietly. The word was spoken from just under your breath that you didn’t know if the name would even take hold in space. If the name would even reach his ears using whatever power the bond between the two of you had created. 

“Xiao.” 

In the instant the syllable left your lips, wisps of glowing green materialised at your side. In the millisecond following, Xiao appeared in the room, body poised for battle. Spear gripped in his palms, knuckles whitening, his head frantically whipped around the room in search of an answer to his question as he heard your call:

What man or creature had made the grave mistake of harming you? 

You looked up at him from where you were seated on the floor, his silhouette back lit by the sun. The tears that had filled your eyes rolled down your cheeks. Your mouth was parted, wanting to greet him but the words clogged up your throat. Instead, you offered a shaky smile. 

Not even bothering to disapparate his spear, it clattered to the ground as Xiao fell to his knees immediately, meeting at your level. 

His face was contorted with pain, as if he himself had been struck with a fatal blow. “Who did this to you?” He begged, holding your arm in desperation. 

Your heart twisted. You have never seen this expression on him, a mixture of fear and anger. Certainly not towards you, but towards your unseen assailant.

“I-I’m sorry,” you sniffed. It was all you could muster saying. 

Xiao shook his head. “Your apologies are unnecessary.” He said firmly, eyes trying to meet your shifting gaze. “Who hurt you?”

Gaining information was the utmost priority. He needed to know what had happened so he could protect you from whoever had threatened you. You wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks and at your nose which began to run.

“I’m not hurt physically.” Your pitch was too high as you spoke, a poor attempt at trying to keep the situation light. 

He blinked, confused. “But your voice…” His eyes darted around your body, looking for any visible signs of injury. 

You wrapped your arms around your knees, bowing your head. “I��m sorry for calling you.” 

Xiao leaned in closer to you, head tilted to try and meet your gaze. You buried your face into your knees.

“Your apologies are unnecessary,” he emphasised once again, tone softening. It was apparent there were no immediate signs of danger, but the situation was still unresolved. He decided to broaden his question: “What happened?”

You closed your eyes. Where should you begin? There wasn’t any specific event that caused this, but rather a build up of concealed feelings overtime. The fatigue caught up to you at this moment. Too tired to keep things together, to hold everything back.  

Slowly, you began to open up. Bits and pieces came out as you tried to recollect events in the past weeks. Things you have been holding back from your partner for a while now. You almost felt silly for telling him such trivial things. Mistakes that you continuously made at work, difficulties with customers, dealing with all the bureaucracy to reach the Liyue Qixing. Your voice cracked as you spoke, and you had to take some moments to even out your breathing and wipe away tears before you could continue. You didn’t look at Xiao, your eyes glued to the floorboards of the room.

He didn’t say anything, letting you speak freely wherever your thoughts led and listening closely.

Torturous. It was torturous for Xiao to see you like this and not be able to do anything. Worse than the weight of karmic debt he had shouldered for centuries. That same karmic debt had been lightened ever since you had gotten closer, and closer. Verr Goldet had been in charge of the introductions, seeing as you were the latest addition to the inn’s team, and Xiao was the inn’s long standing guest. He would never admit love at first sight, but your shy smile juxtaposed by your hearty laugh lingered in his head long after you had been dismissed to complete the day’s work. Overtime, your very presence soothed him. He questioned if he could do the same for you now. 

“You have been holding onto this for so long?” He asked, strain escaping in his voice. 

Every time you beamed at Xiao when he asked how your day was, it was all a cover-up. You didn’t want to put more of a burden on him on top of his responsibilities. 

You nodded, throat dried up from talking. 

Xiao moved to sit beside you. He rested his back on the bed, legs folded. Wielding weapons and fighting monsters was what he was undeniably skilled at, but he knew the subtleties of comforting someone were lost on him. He could not speak flowery words, or shower you with luxury like he’d seen some mortals do to their partner when they were feeling down. 

“I-Is there anything I can do to help?” 

If he couldn’t find his own way, he thought it best to ask you what you needed. You let out a choked sob hearing those words. Something so simple, yet so valuable.

Wordlessly, you grazed your finger against his hand, wanting to hold him. He turned his palm upwards in invitation. Your hand slipped into his, fitting perfectly in his grasp. Xiao was startled by how cold your touch was. 

“You’re freezing.” Concern laced his voice. “May I…” 

He turned his body around towards you, not crossing the space in-between just yet. He awaited your answer. You nodded frantically, needing him closer to you. Xiao released your hand before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him. You automatically threw your own arms around his shoulders, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His body was warm, so warm. He had probably been outside in Dihua Marsh in the afternoon, soaking up the sun. The stiffness in your body melted away. You inhaled and exhaled as deeply as you could, the pressure against your chest lifting.  You held him tighter, feeling the rhythmic beating of his heart that grounded you to this moment. 

“I thought you were going to be mad at me for calling you over nothing life threatening…” you murmured in his neck. It was close enough to his ear that he could hear.

He winced at your words. Him getting angry at you? Was that even possible for him? The fact that you thought you couldn’t call on him for any kind of help rocked him to his core. All the hardships you experienced were not unimportant to him. He knew that a thousand apologies would not be enough. He’d have to make sure you trusted him. 

“I promised I would come if you called.” He consoled, rubbing small circles into your back. “I am not someone who breaks promises so easily. Especially for you.” Those last words came out in a whisper, sending shivers down your spine. 

Xiao noticed the slight tremble in your body and realised sitting on a hardwood floor would not do at all. He slowly pulled away, just enough so he could see you, hoping that you would look back at him. 

“You should rest in bed.”  

Finally gaining the courage to meet his eyes, you found a tenderness in his gaze that was reserved only for you. Humming affirmatively, Xiao lifted you off the ground, an arm around your back and behind your knees. As he carried you up, you realised just how lightheaded you were. 

“Need to take…” your voice trailed off as you fumbled with the buttons of your outer clothing. 

He sat you up on the bed. Gently, he unlaced your shoes and set them on the floor. He unclasped the buttons of your outer dress and helped to pull it over your arms and head, taking great care not to hurt you. Peeling off the layers, the constriction eased further. For someone who proclaimed to be unaware of the nuances of mortal affection, when Xiao wasn’t thinking about what was the right or wrong thing to do, he seemed natural at it. Even the smallest gestures proved to be the right ones. He drew the covers over you as you laid a tired head on your pillow. 

Hesitantly, he swept some hair off your forehead that got tousled in the process of removing your clothes. You nuzzled into his touch. He held his breath. Hand stilled millimetres from your face. He continued to comb a hand through your hair and you softly sighed with content. Xiao made a mental note to himself to remember that you enjoyed when he played with your hair. Relaxing deeper, you found you could finally breathe properly. 

“Do not be afraid to speak to me. I will listen to anything you have to say,” he comforted. 

“Thank you.” You croaked, voice becoming lost. “And I’m sor-”

He shook his head. “Do not apologise, please.” His eyes pleaded with you. “I should be the one to apologise, for making you feel like you could not talk to me.” 

You opened your mouth to object, wanting to say that he was the very last person that should be apologising, but he continued, cutting off your sentence. Knowing how stubborn you were, perhaps he knew what you were about to say and didn’t want you to speak falsehoods, absolving his own responsibility in this. 

“You should save your strength. I will speak to Verr Goldet about your absence tomorrow so you can rest.” 

The argument you had fizzled out as the ache in your body set in, pushing you to slumber. Under the lull of Xiao’s hand combing through your hair, your eyes unconsciously drooped closed. 

You trusted him to stay by your side for the night, and he did. After you had fallen asleep, he went to close the door to the balcony to keep the cold air out. Bringing a wooden chair bedside, he observed the steady rise and fall of the covers. Disappointment at his own lack of awareness at what you were going through twinged within him. Past Xiao might have cowered at this feeling. Using this as an excuse for him to fall into recluse. But as he watched your peaceful form, illuminated by what little light remained outside, he silently thanked every Archon that you were safe and here with him. Tomorrow was a new day, a chance for him to ease your burdens. 

If you had been awake at that moment and seen the anguish in Xiao’s face, you would have cupped his cheeks and kissed him on the forehead. Your touch would be cold, but your lips warm and soft. You would have told him:

I called, and you came to protect me, like you always promised.

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[leylikestoread]

if your telling me glammike wouldn’t drop the most cryptic bullshit on gregory at the most random times your a lair

[sleepycoffins-and-benhargreeves]

How possessive do you guys think Klaus is of Ben bedroom wise?

Like, we all know Klaus is very sexually active and has been known to participate in orgies often. But, if it involved Ben would he allow people to touch and please Ben? Would he be alright with seeing Ben sucking and fucking other people?

Like come on, this is the guy who's so possessive of Ben he couldn't even bear letting his siblings see Ben even when that was all that Ben wanted. When asked, he would repeatedly deny Ben's existance because he doesn't want to share his Ben with them.

Now that Ben's alive again, all flesh and bones with a mind of his own that isn't bound to Klaus, how jealous and possessive do you guys think Klaus would get? Will he intentionally sabotage people who get too close to Ben or will he make sure to make an invisible leash on his brother so that he can still remain his owner?

[setevulpo]

i was thinking about the archangels and how fucked up being possessed by one of them would be and this was created. headcanons on what each (non-bloodline) vessel would go through while possessed! bon appétit

-

michael

their vessel runs hot, grace a constant thrum under the skin that imitates a heartbeat well enough for those unaware not to notice. the blue glow that takes over their eyes upon the slightest provocation calms only when their enemies are on the ground, enochian seared into what’s left of their skin once the light dies down.

the heat that follows them shapes the air into wings too big for the space they’re in, even in the most expansive fields earth has. they have to watch out when stepping on grass, or stretching their wings too far into the trees, or fire will follow them too.

eventually it starts to burn, whatever body they’re in. the grace running through its veins turns closer to lava with each passing day, flares deep inside its chest and expands down to its hands when their anger rises. bruises showing up in blues no matter how old they are, burns in its skin hot to the touch.

a smell of fire and smoke follows them when they leave the vessel, and they set ablaze anything in their path on the way to a new body. the largest fires are caused by their rage, charred eyes and hearts left behind on their path.

-

lucifer

there's something freezing under their skin, somehow encompassing entire rooms and digging into the skin of everyone around them. the air around them is cold enough to kill, frostbite reaching others before turning their own vessel's hands red with it. its lips are bitten red and raw because the taste of blood is almost intoxicating.

garbled enochian slips through in a constant downpour, because they are an angel and won't taint their tongue with a human language despite the way it burns their vessel's mouth. the easiest way to find them is following the trail of frozen footsteps and the scent of rust so strong it can be tasted.

the hypothermia that sets after some time is what leads them to find a new body, when the one they are wearing becomes too sluggish and their grace starts slipping through the dry cracks in its skin. all that's left is a cold body with its eyes frozen shut.

the earth bleeds on their path, water freezes red by being in their proximity, plants burn and die from the frost. their grace whips through the air and leaves bloody slashes in the skin of anyone who dares get in their way, the wounds never closing completely.

-

raphael

their electricity can be felt under the skin of their vessel, sometimes shocking those who try landing their hands on it. their presence makes people’s hair stand on end, their voice resonates through the room in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. the fissures that appear on its skin from one day to the next are eerily similar to lightning.

the eyes of their vessel gain an unnatural brightness, something fiery that is just wrong when compared to the decaying state of the rest its body. their words flow in a way that’s almost hypnotic, calming until the next strike of their blade.

an ill-suited vessel can’t hold them for long. the tremors starting in its hands show that, as do the bouts of dizziness that hit them every so often. by the time their vessel starts losing its sight they have a new victim picked, their electricity having already eroded the brain of the previous.

it seems as if thunderstorms follow their grace, both rain and lightning falling close but never hitting them. wildfires start in their wake, raindrops never quite reaching their destination, and the injured miraculously recovering in hours.

-

gabriel

there’s a wind hiding under their skin, usually unnoticeable to the common eye. they’re light on their feet, eyes travelling through every corner of the room they’re in, the air around them somehow feeling heavy with the power they chase. at times it blows stronger, the whole of them looking longer, bigger than their vessel, but it doesn’t last long anymore.

their vessel’s skin grows dry with time, tearing open with each snap of their fingers, grace pouring from its hands and giving life to lilies wherever it falls. all of their vessels’ hands are burnt by the time they leave, skin too fragile to handle their grace.

erosion is what kills their bodies, the debris that always seems to fly back towards them easily chipping away at flesh and bone. what’s left of the body after they take their leave isn’t enough to keep it alive, not with the dust coating its lungs.

tornadoes follow the path of their grace, leaving destruction and chaos between their vessels. they are angry, and they are frustrated, and the mayhem they create is the singular way they can be heard. the debris lifted by their rage is flung as far as their grace can reach.

-

[youngpettyqueen]

ummm um fic recs….in a horrible turn of events garak and bashir have to babysit the ds9 kids?

ive been wracking my brains over how Garak and Julian would end up babysitting a bunch of the kids and I had a hard time figuring out something that would work with Jake and Nog, since theyre older and dont really need a babysitter, so I went with them babysitting Molly and Yoshi! I hope that's alright <3

Garak isn't sure what to expect when he the door to the O'Briens quarters slides open. All he knows is that Julian told him to come, and his only answer to Garak's many questions was to repeat himself with a don't ask just do it tone.

So, Garak had. He'd come. In the middle of the work day, something he's not planning on letting the Doctor forget. He'd come, and he steps inside as the door slides open, and he doesn't know what he was expecting to find here, but it certainly wasn't... this.

Julian is sitting on the floor by the coffee table, the infant Kirayoshi cradled securely in one arm. He also has what appears to be a plastic crown on his head, which is several sizes too small, and perches awkwardly atop his hair. The older of the O'Brien offspring, Molly, is sitting beside him, in what Garak would guess is a human princess costume, all shiny fabric and very, very pink.

Garak comes to pause, considering the scene before him. There are little plastic teacups and plates set out. A few larger plush toys are also around the table, with teacups and plates of their own. It's quite the little set up.

"Good morning, Doctor. Molly," He greets, turning a quizzical raised brow on Julian, "Might I ask why I was called here?"

Julian gives him a look that is very, very tired. "Good morning, Mr. Garak," He replies, "You were called here because you have been invited to Princess Molly's tea party." He informs him.

"Tea party?" Garak echoes.

"I'll explain later," Julian tells him, "Just come sit." He gestures to an open space at the other end of the coffee table.

"Wait!" Molly pipes up, quickly standing. Julian winces at her volume, quietly shushing her as he looks at Kirayoshi, who appears to be sleeping. Garak turns his attention to the child, who holds her head up high and informs him, "You have to bow first."

Garak considers her for a moment. He catches Julian stop himself from laughing in the corner of his eye. Of course, Garak knows about royalty systems, so he knows what a princess is. And he can't imagine himself bowing to one, but Molly has a very stern look on her very little face, and he has a feeling he's in for a fight if he doesn't comply.

He bows. Dramatically, with a flourish. Molly giggles, and the sound is... pleasing.

"Thank you for the invitation, Princess," Garak bids her, continuing to play along as he straightens himself, "May I...?" He gestures to the open seat.

Molly, to his surprise, shakes her head. "Not there," She tells him, "You have to sit with Uncle Julian. Miss Flutterhooves will move." She gestures at the plush sitting on Julian's opposite side- an equine, if he remembers his Earth animals correctly, except this one is... purple, and it has a shiny silver horn protruding from its forehead.

He goes with it. Why not, at this point? He's clearly not getting out of this. "Of course," He says agreeable, stepping closer. Since the plush toy can't move, for obvious reasons, he gently picks it up, "Pardon me, Miss... Flutterhooves," He shoots Julian a quick glance, who nods approvingly, and he proceeds with moving the toy to the open spot at the end of table, and then going to take his own seat beside Julian. He shuffles in as much as possible, awkwardly crossing his legs and trying to keep his knees from tucking under the table, "There we are. This is... very lovely." He compliments as he settles into a somewhat-comfortable position.

"Very lovely," Julian agrees, looking at Molly, "You've done a wonderful job, Princess Molly."

Molly gives Julian a pleased little smile. "Thank you!" She squeaks. Then she suddenly perks up again, like she's heard something, "Oh! I have to go get the tea. It's done sleeping." She stands and, tucking up her skirts like a proper lady, she hurries off to go and... wake the tea, apparently.

"Steeping," Julian offers, as Garak gives him a confused look, "She means steeping."

Garak nods. That doesn't explain... anything else that's going on here. "Tea party?" He asks. Again.

"An old Earth game, of sorts," Julian replies, "Human children commonly pretend to hold tea parties, usually with their parents and their toys involved. Hence," He gestures around the table with his free hand, "All this."

"I see," Garak says, "And I was invited, why...?"

Julian suddenly won't make eye contact. "Molly insisted," He tells him, quick and clearly not the entire truth, "And I just got Kirayoshi to sleep for the first time all day, so I wasn't about to risk Molly getting upset and waking him," He does look at Garak again, this time with a surprising amount of desperation for a man sitting in front of a plastic teacup, with a plastic crown on his head, "He cried for three. Hours. Garak." He stresses each word, exhaustion and desperation oozing from every syllable.

Garak knows of the infant's tendency towards tears. He has no idea how Kirayoshi manages to wail for so long, considering how tiny his lungs are, but he's been able to hear the shrieking from across the promenade.

"I'm not sure the Chief would approve my being here," He points out, "Or Mrs. O'Brien, for that matter."

"I won't tell if you won't. Just play along," Julian implores him, "That's all I ask, just play along. Molly is very sweet, and also very stubborn, and I promise you I'll make it up to you if you just humour her." He's very nearly begging.

Garak has seen Julian less desperate in active crisis situations. He sighs, making a point to be melodramatic about it. "Very well, my dear," He agrees, "I suppose I can find it in myself to play along with the whims of a little girl. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Don't invite that on yourself," Julian warns, "You haven't seen her when she's cranky."

At that moment, Molly returns. In her hands she carries a teapot that matches her teacups, and she proudly brings it to the table and sets it down in the middle of everything. "Ta-da!" She announces, prompting Julian to gently shush her again, "Tea time!" She does not heed his shushing, "Want the first cup, Uncle Julian?" She asks, holding the pot out to him.

Just like that, Julian is smiling again. "I would love the first cup, Princess Molly," He says. He holds the teacup up, and it's comically small in his hand, "Thank you very much."

Molly tips the teapot forward. No actual tea comes out. Still, she holds it like that for a few seconds, before she tips it back. "There you go!" She chirps. Right, pretend. She turns her smile on Garak, and offers him the pot, "Tea?"

Garak delicately picks the teacup up by the handle, which he has to pinch between two claws. "I would be honoured," He says, laying it on thick. Molly pours the pretend tea into his cup, and he gives her his most winning smile, "Thank you, Princess."

Molly goes around the table, pouring tea for the other guests. Garak resists the urge to comment on the teapot apparently being bottomless, and instead glances at Julian. "Uncle Julian?" He questions, an amused smirk curling on his face.

"I'm her favourite uncle." Julian grins.

"I'm sure," Garak murmurs. Molly retakes her seat, and he turns to her, "Ah, Princess, allow me," He reaches across the table to take the teapot, and he pours her her own cup. He's not sure of the exact method to this, but he counts to 3 and then stops, and she looks satisfied, "Could I ask you a question, Princess?" He asks as he sits back, setting the pot down.

"First, cheers," Molly insists. She thrusts her cup up into the air, and Julian raises his, so Garak follows their lead. They clink their little teacups together- literally, "Clink!" She says.

"Clink." Julian echoes.

"Clink," Garak adds. Then Molly sips, and so does Julian, so he follows. When that's done, he inquires, "May I ask my question now?" Molly nods, and he smiles, "Ah, thank you. Yes, my question is, what made you invite me to the tea party, Princess Molly?"

Molly sets her teacup down. "For Uncle Julian." She replies.

Garak can see Julian looking pointedly away from him in his peripheral. "I see," He says, "And why was I invited for Uncle Julian?" He follows up.

"Cause you're married." Molly replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the Quadrant.

Julian chokes on nothing. Garak's eyes widen. "Married?" He echoes. He turns to Julian, who's gone a truly impressive shade of red, right up to the tips of his ears, "Married?" He repeats.

"Yeah!" Molly says, apparently an expert on the subject, "That's what grown-ups do when they're in love! Like my mommy and daddy. You," She points at Garak, "And Uncle Julian are in love, so you're married."

"She's 5." Julian hisses under his breath, just loud enough for Garak to hear.

Garak needs to take a deep breath. He's not often truly caught off guard, but that... he feels like he's just been knocked flat on his back. Alright. Married. He can go along with that. He's certainly gone along with far worse things.

Suddenly he understands Julian's exhaustion and desperation a few moments prior.

"Well, it was... very polite of you to invite me, Princess," He manages to get out, trying to slot back into his role here, "It's nice to spend time with my... husband." That makes Julian turn even redder. He looks like he's about to start glowing.

"Mommy and daddy wanted together-time today," Molly tells him, looking oh-so-serious for a girl of 5 years old, "So you and Uncle Julian probably want together-time, too. That's what married grown ups want." She explains.

Garak can't help but chuckle. "You're very wise," He says. Because she isn't... wrong. When it comes to him and Julian, at least, "I did want together-time with Uncle Julian today." He admits. They were supposed to see each other for lunch today, but then Julian got called away to babysit the O'Brien children, so it was to be rescheduled. And, soft as it makes him, those lunches are truly about... the only thing he looks forward to, so, yes. He did want together-time, as she put it, with Julian.

Molly glances at Julian, and then she leans over the table. "He did, too," She whispers, except it's very loud, and Julian can obviously hear her, "He told me he missed your lunchtime."

Garak glances at Julian, who's again very much not looking at him. He can't help but melt, just a bit, just enough to soften up. "Did he now?" He hums, "Well, that's alright. We have this tea party, don't we?" He puts his hand on the table, holding it out to Julian.

Julian looks at his hand. Then looks up at him, all round eyes and surprise. And then he smiles, all warm and affectionate. "That we do." He says, taking Garak's hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Ew," Molly pulls a face, "You're being gross like mommy and daddy."

Julian snorts a laugh. Garak chuckles. They let go of their hands and go back to their teacups, following Molly's lead as she sips at air again. Then she insists on refilling their cups, and they sit back and let her.

Julian's hand finds his on the floor. Garak takes it, brushes his thumb over Julian's knuckles. They exchange a private look, a small smile, Julian still red in the cheeks.

Maybe this isn't such a bad way to spend an afternoon, after all.

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

Ectoberweek 25: Will-o’-Wisps

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of death, of being buried alive, descriptions of gore, brief mention of vivisection, true crime-esque horror, and general spooky vibes

A/N: I really wanted to do a lil something for the spooky month and what better to write than something for the fandom i’ve been sickeningly hyperfixated on for the past four months. Actual prompt had a two-sentence prompt as well, and i went with both <3

- 💜 -

October 2004

The things everybody tells you about small towns- everyone knows each other, ni things big happens, every day is a slow day, and the biggest local teen hotspots are the walmart parking lot or the big chain pharmacy/corner store —are true. The thing that everyone knows about small towns except for the majority of the people living in said town is that their minds are as small as the local post office.

This is especially true of the teens of Casper High in Amity Park, Illinois.

Sam’s black combat boots stomped against the warm pavement as she ran for the next block. Her breathing was ragged, coming out in harsh puffs of air in the autumn cold. She had gotten an SOS text message from Tucker seconds before the last bell rung.

Normally, she didn’t take the Foley kid very serious. They didn’t know each other that well and they barely hung out save for the couple of school projects they’ve worked on together and those rare lunch hour occasions where he’d sit at her table uninvited. Usually to avoid Dash, Kwan and the rest of their jock entourage.

She stumbled to a stop at a crossroads borderline wheezing. Running was so not her forte. Maybe it was cruel of her, but Same fully intended to ignore his SOS. That is, until she saw Tweedledumb (Dash) and Tweedledumber (Kwan) shove a screaming Tucker into their run-down jeep and speed off.

Hence, why Same was ruining her sickly goth pallor by chasing after them.

She glanced to her left just in time to see the run-down jeep screech to a halt. Christ, the stabbing in her sides was killing her. Sue her for walking. The jeep wasn’t going anywhere anymore. She stumbled a few steps, feet burning, as she held a hand to her sides like that would help her.

Dash jumped out from the passenger side, Kwan following shortly after, from the driver’s side. They opened the back doors on each side, where Tucker was. They cornered him. Dash reached in and was soon pulling Tucker out by his feet. Sam could hear his scream now.

“C’mon, guys, please just leave me alone! Let me go, Dash!”

The Wonder Jocks laughed in response. Kwan slammed his door shut, confident that Dash had Tucker handled now that he was out of the car. Kwan rushed to the sidewalk to roughly grab Tucker’s free arm.

“Guys, this isn’t funny!”

Sam was halfway down the street now and she dreaded the idea of having to run again to keep those two muscle-headed idiots from beating the crap out of the geek that for some reason imprinted on her. Ugh, caring for people was overrated anyways. She could still walk away. Save herself the hassle. No one care about her in this stupid town anyways. So, why should she care?

She slowed to a stop. Her feet ached.

Dash and Kwan were dragging Tucker towards the street corner, which just confused Sam, amidst her inner turmoil. Why even drag Tucker all the way out to his own neighborhood? His house was literally a street away, and there wasn’t even a bare-bones playground here. So what—

“No, no! Don’t put me in there, Dash, Kwan, please! Just let me go, guys, it’s not funny!”

Sam felt a sharp chill run down her spine. Something heavy dropped in the pit of her stomach at the sudden realization of where, exactly, they were.

“Shit.”

She broke off into a sprint as fast as she could.

Shithsitshitshit.

Another thing about small towns is that they all have a well-kept secret. A dark past, usually. Sam found that she thrives on such darkness; on those unwanted and discarded things. As it turned out, Amity Park had a surprising amount of those. She made it her personal business to grow intimate with her town’s buried gutter.

The things she learned were both shocking and, for all her boasting, a little horrifying. Things that would be permanently burned into her retinas. Unseeable and unforgettable. So, she scolded herself for not realizing sooner where they were dragging Tucker to. She would’ve run a little faster, cared a little more, if she had.

She zoomed past the jeep and turned the corner so sharply she nearly fell flat on her face.

Tucker wasn’t screaming anymore, but there were tears streaming down his face as he stared in terror at the behemoth of a house towering over them.

In all its abandoned, festering glory: the infamous Fenton House. Even in bright daylight, the house was obscured in awkward elongated shadows, made worse by the house’s freaky, Frankenstein-esque structure. As if imitating a child’s building blocks tower, there were partial structures jutting out of the house’s main body. They creaked in the cold wind, threatening to snap off and crush any trespassers. At the very top, there was a round dome of sorts with something resembling letters across it. They were black with rot now. Unreadable.

Sam wasn’t a fearful person, but she was a believer. The Fenton House was more than haunted. She’s read enough testimonies to not take it lightly. People have gone missing in that house. Hell, they’ve been found dead in there. She may not be friendly with Tucker, but that didn’t mean she was about to leave him to a tragic fate.

Body running on a sudden burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find (a sizable stick) and marched towards the two jocks.

“Hey!”

All three of the boys turned to look at her. She stood two steps below them, resolutely ignoring the way the house seemed to want to swallow them whole. Tucker’s terrified face shifted into one of pure relief. A new wave of tears was visibly threatening to spill over.

“Sam,” he croaked.

Dash barked out a laugh.

“Samantha Manson? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hey, wanna help us lock this dweeb in the Fenton House?” Kwan smiled brightly, pointing at Tucker.

Sam scowled. People always confused her apathy for cruelty. She hated it.

“It’s Sam, and like hell I do. Drop the nerd, assholes, or else,” she said, pitching her voice lower in an attempt to sound intimidating.

Maybe she should’ve spent her time running thinking up a plan instead of hating on Tucker for making her run in the first place. She clutched the stick in her hand tightly.

Kwan scoffed.

“No way. I just said we’re gonna lock him in the house.”

“Yeah! We wanna know what happens when you put a techno dweeb with murder ghosts,” Dash said, smiling cruelly at a Tucker.

“He short-circuits. It’s not impressive. Let him go.”

Dash must’ve realized, finally, that Sam was being serious. He narrowed his eyes at her, the stick in her hand, and smiled.

“Or what? You’re gonna hit us with the creep stick? Ha. Last I checked, Sam, girls don’t have the balls to pull that off, so why don’t you get lost and forget you were ever here,” Dash said before adding to Kwan, “And Paulina says I’m not a gentleman.”

It was Sam’s turn to smile. She went up a step as she spoke.

“Like any girl would let you get that close, Dash. Besides, I promise mine are bigger than yours. Here, I’ll prove it.”

Before he even had time to blink, Sam jabbed the stick hard into Dash’s crotch. A gentlemanly oof broke past his lips and he let go of Tucker’s arm to clutch at his wounded pride.

“Augh, bitch.”

Kwan also let go of Tucker to check on his friend. Sam didn’t waste a second and grabbed Tucker’s hand.

“Run.”

They bolted down the stairs, Tucker nearly slamming into her from the sudden force.

“Sam, I didn’t think— I mean— shit, thank you. I thought- Ah!”

“Shit. Let me go, jackass!”

They had barely cleared the Fenton House’s shadow when a large, thick arm slammed into Sam and Tucker’s bellies as Kwan— just Kwan —grabbed them by the waist and lifted them up.

Note-to-self: never piss off a linebacker.

Sam knew Dahs and Kwan were big for their age, being football players and all, but jesus fuck this was insane.

She kicked and punched for her freedom, but either rage was a hell of a pain nullifier or her punches were child’s play.

Crap, and she dropped the stick when he grabbed them. Just her luck.

“You better let us go right now, Kwan!”

“Or what?”

He was effortlessly taking them up the stairs and— oh that’s the door.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, they— they can’t actually lock us in. There’s no key. We-we can just leave,” Tucker whispered, panicked.

“You don’t know much about the Fenton House, do you?”

Sam’s voice was small. She felt small.

They were about to be locked in a horror house.

Dash opened the door. Sam didn’t even see him get there.

“Sayonara, losers. Have fun in the Fenton House.”

The world tilted and blurred for a split second, Sam’s stomach lurching at the weightless sensation, before she and Tucker landed hard on the linoleum floor. Pain shot up her elbow and hip. Beside her, Tucker groaned.

“If you even make it the whole night! Ha!”

Bam!

Tucker scrambled up at once, but as soon as his hand touched the doorknob a sound like a lock sliding into place echoed throughout the empty house.

“Wha…”

Sam waited with bated breath. Then—

A low droning sound buzzed across the floor, seeping through Sam’s hands in an odd pins-and-needles sensation. Red emergency lights flickers throughout the house, bathing everything in muddy crimson, and the droning sound was replaced by the most horrifying screech of twenty-year-old rusted metal scraping against itself.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Thick sheets of metal began dropping over every conceivable entry. Including the windows and, of course, the door. Sam pulled Tucker back by the collar of his shirt just in time to keep his hand attached.

Tucker yelped, clutching his hand close.

“What the fuck—”

Warbled, distorted speech boomed from somewhere in the house, the voice and the words long ruined by time. It was like someone was trying to speak underwater. The message was only a few seconds long, but it was disgustingly haunting. Sam knew exactly what it said.

Ghost attack imminent. Fenton Security measure Christmas Ham activated.

If she remembered correctly, the measure lasted six hours. But the last time it was activated (that anyone knows of) was five years ago. Who knew how much the technology had deteriorated at this point. They could be here for a whole day.

Sam broke from her thoughts to glance at a hyperventilating Tucker. She couldn’t blame him. The Fenton House was creepy enough on the outside. Inside? With flickering red lights? Sam was making an active effort not to throw up from the fear writhing in her intestines.

The shadows kept moving in the corner of her eyes, she swore she kept seeing a green glow (but she couldn’t tell where from), and it was freezing cold. Colder than it was outside, which should be impossible, but it was the Fenton House. Impossible was inconsequential.

Sam shuddered. They had to find a way out.

“Tucker—”

“Sam- ohmygodSam- this is- I mean what the fuck was that? We’re literally trapped here. In a tomb with linoleum floors. Shit, and you’re trapped, too, cuz of me. I shouldn’t have sent you that text. Fuck it I shouldn’t have flunked Dash’s essay. Now we’re gonna die here and—”

“Tucker!”

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. Their eyes met, both wide with incessant panic.

“Calm down,” she spoke slowly. Tucker gulped and nodded shakily.

“Okay, okay, yeah.”

“Breathe. You’re good with computers and stuff, right?”

Tucker scoffed, but more in a self-deprecative way rather than an offended one.

“Sure am. It’s what gets me in trouble, isn’t it?”

Sam shook him again.

“Forget that. We need good with computers. The Fentons were notorious for their unorthodox advancements in technology. Supposedly had patents on really futuristic shit. Most of it buried, obviously. But they were good enough that their security system still activates nearly twenty years after their departure.”

Ridiculously good, she thought bitterly.

There was a moment of weighted silence as they looked around the house. The lights, the rusted yet intact panels over the windows. It was eerily quiet. She stepped a bit closer to Tucker, who thankfully didn’t say anything about it.

“Yeah, alright, okay,” he muttered to himself before clearing his throat. “The-there should be, uh, a circuit breaker somewhere. We could cut off the power—”

“Won’t work,” Sam stated, eyes furtively glancing around them. She had the weirdest sensation they were being watched. “The town cut the power away from the Fenton House ages ago. It runs on some kind of external power source, but nobody knows what.”

Sam kinda hoped they didn’t get to find out.

“Shit. Man, what the fuck. Who the fuck were these people?”

Sam let out a manic sort of laugh. The hysteria was boiling up in her like toxic chemicals.

“Do you want the short answer or the long one?”

“I have a feeling we’re gonna be here a while. Long answer?”

A pause.

“We should find a way out.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved an inch. They stood in the middle of the living room. A trashed one at that. Although, looking closely from where they were, the whole house looked trashed. Wasn’t the place SWATted?

She spotted a flash of green in the hallway, right there in the corner of her eye, and snapped her head towards it with a small gasp. There was nothing there.

“Hey,” Tucker said softly. “Let’s check out the windows for loose panels or something and you can tell me about the Fentons’ own loose panels.”

Her mouth went dry, but she nodded.

“Sounds good, yeah. So, uh, what do you know about the Fentons?”

Tucker shrugged and went towards the first window, by the door. Sam followed closely by. He didn’t mention it.

“What everyone else knows. Mad scientists who went so crazy after their son’s disappearance that they tried to summon him from the afterlife. They got so obsessed that they never left the house and just, died here, waiting for their son to come back. Pretty sad.”

That window was a bust. So was the next, as well as the door. They ventured into the hallway. There were a few square and rectangle imprints on the walls, but only one hanging frame left. With a picture. Hands shaking, Sam reached up and snagged the picture from where it was, careful not to cut herself on what was left of the glass.

It was a family picture. A wall of a man stood at the back with a practiced, dashing smile. To his left and a little below him was a woman with short, bright red hair. They were both in brightly colored hazmat suits, goggles hanging around their necks.

In front of them were two teens. A girl with bright red hair as well, but styled much longer. Next to her was a boy, younger and slightly shorter than her, with black hair. They were all smiling wide and bright, except for the boy. His was more hesitant, not quite reaching his eyes.

Sam pointed at the young girl.

“Did you know the Fentons had a daughter, too?”

Tucker’s eyebrows went up slightly.

“No… Something tells me I won’t like why.”

“You won’t. Um, kitchen?”

Sam saw another green flash and was anxious to get away from it. They bee-lined to the kitchen, and Tucker checked the windows there.

“So… There’s a few things you got right. The Fentons—” Sam pointed at the two adults in the picture “—were renowned scientists. They did some impressive breakthroughs. Like the kind they still teach in universities, but with a disclaimer attached. The more they went into their work, though, the more obsessed they got…” she trailed off in a whisper, tensing.

The house was creaking.

Tucker stopped in his tracks, too, eyes wide but lips pressed tightly together.

Nothing happened. The house stopped creaking.

Tucker let out a slow breath, eyeing the cabinets.

“Think there’s anything edible left around?”

She glared at him sharply.

“If you open any fridge or cabinet doors, I’m leaving you here alone. This place is bad enough, we don’t need to add rats or rotted food to the list.”

Tucker pouted but conceded.

“Fine, I’ll just starve. Keep telling me about the creepy doctors and their stupid creepy house while we check upstairs.”

Sam sighed in temporary relief. She didn’t think she could handle seeing a fridge full of maggots. Even if it has been almost twenty years.

They continued up the stairs, carefully, and Sam went on with the Fenton tragedy.

“The Fentons started growing obsessed with other dimensions. Specifically… the afterlife, and its inhabitants.”

“Like… ghosts?”

Sam nodded.

“Exactly like. They became convinced they could create a doorway into the afterlife, at the cost of their reputation. They got ostracized by the academic community once they started referring to themselves as ‘ecto-scientists’.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t. Bunch’a wackos,” Tucker muttered as they ventured into an organized room with cool colors. Light blue walls, light green bed sheets coated in blankets of dust, so the only reason Sam knew they were light green was because she’s seen pictures of what the room looked like twenty years ago. She ignored the uneven pattern of small dark spots on the wall.

It was the girl’s room. Jasmine Fenton’s.

Tucker went straight for the window, but Sam hung back near the entrance.

“They didn’t actually open a doorway, right?”

His voice broker her out of her thoughts. She blinked.

“Hm? Oh, uh, allegedly, yeah.”

This house probably sat on an open portal. There probably was an infestation of something murderous in it. Sam shook the thought away. She’ll drive herself crazy worrying about that.

“Supposedly,” she continued. “The doorway was one of their patents. They had the science backing it up and everything. But they… There were rumors, around the time the supposedly opened the doorway, that there was an accident in the house involving their youngest. Daniel Fenton.”

Tucker frowned at the blocked window. A bust. They made their way to the next room. A queen bed bare of any bedsheets, and a large chest of drawers with an equally large mirror attached to it. The Fentons’ room. It had an extra window.

“What happened to Daniel?”

Sam shuddered, goosebumps breaking out across her arms. The room got colder, so much colder than it had been. A soft crackling sound broke out, like frost taking over with a vengeance. She opened her mouth to speak but her breath got stuck in her throat.

She closed her mouth. Breathe. Another flash of green, this one brighter than the others. Breathe. It was so cold, her teeth started chattering.

“T-t-t-tucker—”

“Y-ye-yeah, I’m-m ignoring it,” he said simply, tugging at the panels.

Fuck, how can he ignore this. Sam was so uncomfortable, consumed by such a sudden unease, she wanted to claw off her skin. She tried to ignore it anyways.

“Daniel— jesus I’m freezing —he was out of school a couple of days after neighbors heard a scream. That same night, the power went out in the whole town, except for the Fenton House.”

The freezing cold seeped away, leaving behind a frost pattern that didn’t melt on the mirror despite the warming room. Sam blew out a breath, sending out a silent thanks.

She frowned, unsure why she did that.

“A lot of people theorize,” she went in, rubbing the remaining cold in her fingertips away. “That one of two things happened that night. One, a backfired experiment drove the Fentons all the way crazy to the point that they started experimenting on both their kids, thinking they were ghosts.”

“Wait, both of—”

“Two, Daniel died because of said backfired experiment and his parents somehow managed to either bring him or his ghost back.”

None of the windows opened. They started for the next room.

“That’s… actually insane. And what do you mean, both their kids?” Tucker stopped for a moment, meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Did something happen to their daughter, too?”

Sam pressed her lips into a thin line. That’s the part rarely anyone knew about the Fenton horrors. Daniel wasn’t their only kid. He certainly wasn’t their only victim.

“I’ll get there,” she replied instead, looking away. “It only gets worse.”

“Christ,” he muttered.

They walked onwards.

“A couple of weeks after that, Daniel disappeared. But in those weeks, the Fentons became obsessive, borderline manic, with ghosts. Their nature, their morality. How to trap them, contain them… kill them.”

They were nearing then end of the hallway, where the last room was.

Tucker shuddered, sporting his own goosebumps.

“I don’t like the way you said that.”

Sam grimaced, sticking close to him once more.

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad. What’s worse, the Fentons called off the search party after just one night. They claimed they didn’t want false hope, they just wanted to lay their son to rest. They buried an empty casket, and Daniel hadn’t even been missing three full days.”

Her voice was hollow.

“Shit. They…”

“Killed their own son because they were convinced he was a ghost? Most likely,” she said bitterly. As far as true crime went, Amity Park’s dark secret was the worst she’s ever read.

Neither said a word. For one long minute, intentionally or not, they remained quiet, mulling over the terror a kid must feel when they realize their own parents saw them as something to be killed. And to think, they were standing in the house where it happened. Where two parents killed their son. Allegedly.

And their daughter…

As if reading her mind, Tucker quietly asked, “What about the girl? It gets worse doesn’t it?”

Sam swallowed, her mouth dry and throat sore.

“They—” she sighed. “After their son ‘becoming a ghost’, they got paranoid. Extremely so. If one of their kids was a ghost… They couldn’t stand the idea of having an imposter in their own home. There were reports of screams two nights after the funeral. Like, really awful screaming that went on for nearly an hour, I think. Authorities broke into the house after multiple calls to find the Fentons in the basement and their daughter on a table just… cut open. She died before the paramedics could get to her.”

Again, neither said another word. Sam wished she’d run faster. Hit Dash harder. This house was tainted in blood and betrayal.

Tucker clutched at his chest and Sam realized his breathing was short and sparse. Crap.

“Tucker—”

“I fucking,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Hate that we’re here. We’re trapped in like they were, but they— Fuck, they were kids. Their kids. Who does that.”

“Tucker, breathe,” Sam insisted lowly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded, but only got a few gasps of air.

“I’ve been t-trying to hold it together but I just can’t— what if we can’t find a way out. What if we die here.”

“We’re not gonna die here,” she stated fiercely despite being unsure of it herself. “If the windows are a no go then we’ll just find a way to deactivate the security system, okay? We’ll be fine.”

Tucker nodded again, quiet.

It took another few minutes until he finally got his breathing under control. Sam squeezed his arm comfortingly, giving him a small smile. They’ll make it.

He returned the smile without a word and turned to the last room. They had windows to check.

She suspected it was Daniel’s room. It was the only one they hadn’t seen yet. Tucker tried to turn the knob but it didn’t budge. She frowned. Weird… thinking about it, all the other rooms had been wide open.

“Rusted?”

Tucker shook his head, shaking off another involuntary shudder. Sam suppressed her own. It was getting colder again. Tucker tried again to open it. No dice. The knob wasn’t budging. He let go of it, hissing through his teeth as he rubbed his hands together.

“The metal is freezing. It, uh, must be something with the heating.”

Sam gave it a try and immediately drew her hand back. Freezing was an understatement. A second longer and she would’ve gotten the world’s worst case of freezer burn.

“Tucker, I don’t think we’re allowed to go in this room,” she whispered, hugging herself to keep warm.

He gave her a look like she was crazy.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That’s Daniel Fenton’s room. All the other rooms were open but this one—”

“—is locked.”

“No. Look at the handle. There’s literal frost on it. There was frost on the mirror in the other room, too. I think—”

“If you say ghost.”

Sam glared at him.

“After everything I told you. Scratch that, haven’t you been feeling all the weird stuff in this house? The creaking, the frankly extreme cold spots, the fucking creepy green light!”

Tucker’s eyes went wide at that, mouth dropping open.

“I-I didn’t think you could see them. But that— that doesn’t mean—”

The house gave a violent creak, causing the floor to rumble threateningly. The temperature dropped drastically, covering the entire hallway in a light frost.

Sam’s teeth immediately started chattering from the cold.

“This is too much,” Tucker whispers, that underlying panic settling back in.

Impossibly, finally finally finally, they both saw the green flash at the other end of the hallway, flickering desperately before disappearing.

“Tuck,” Sam let out, mesmerized, overtaken by the overwhelming urge to follow that light. An itch she had to scratch, to claw at until it broke open. “He’s here.”

She didn’t know how she knew that, but she’s never spoken truer words. This she knew with absolute certainty.

“Sam.”

He was struggling not to fall for the light, but he couldn’t ignore this forever. Sam thought he’d be an idiot to do so.

She moved forward without another word. Shortly, she heard Tucker follow after.

When they reached the stairs, another flash of light burst to life at the landing, flickering that desperate staccato.

They continued to quietly follow the light wherever it appeared. It led them down the hallway of missing picture frames. Sam clutched the picture in her pocket. They reached a closed door. It was colder in this area, but the door knob was warm. It opened easily to reveal stairs to a basement showered in white fluorescent lights.

They went down the stairs with no hesitation, following that green light that was growing more and more desperate with each step they took. At the bottom, they were greeted by an empty expanse of white floor.

There were various metal tables, but all devoid of any machines or materials that one would expect in a lab. Because no doubt that’s what this basement was. There were discarded cords and metal scraps scattered across the room. But most notably, there was a large, round arch-like structure at the center of the furthermost wall. It was huge, its top scraping the basement ceiling. It had an indent, with two metal panels that interlocked in the center. As if it were a… door.

“Sam… is that—”

“Tucker, look.”

The little flash of green stopped by a blue button on the wall. It flickered swiftly, faster than any of the other times before it went out entirely.

They stayed there, standing, for a moment.

“Are we… are we about to find a dead kid’s twenty-year-old decayed corpse?”

Sam nodded shakily, not believing it either.

“I think so.”

They still didn’t move. God, it was so cold. She couldn’t feel her fingertips.

“What if something happens to us?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Two dead people found in the house during its abandonment. Three missing.

“And?”

She looked back at him, a soft smile edging its way onto her face.

“He deserves to rest. Doesn’t he?”

Tucker glanced between the blue button and the closed, arch-like door. Determination set into his features. He nodded.

They went towards the button. Tucker settled his hand over it first, Sam placing her hand over his. Their eyes met.

“This had to have been the world’s worst nap.”

Sam snorted and pressed his hand onto the button. The technology down here must be in better conditions because the effect was instantaneous. Concrete scraped against concrete as a rectangular hole opened up in the center of the lab.

From where they were, they could see it. A homemade metal casket that weirdly resembled more of an iron maiden. They found him. Daniel Fenton. He could finally, truly rest.

That’s when the pounding began.

Sam and Tucker turned to each other in horror. She felt a visceral tug in her gut she nearly threw up then and there. Instead she ran to the metal casket, dropping to the ground halfway there so she slid across the floor. The pounding grew louder, and it was definitely coming from inside. Tucker was frozen stuck by the button.

It only gets worse.

A faint sound, behind all the pounding. Sam leaned closer, listening. Her stomach dropped. Her head snapped towards Tucker, eyes a desperate frenzy.

“He’s crying. He- He’s still- o-oh my g- Tucker, help me get him out!”

This broke him out of his horrified stupor and he kneeled on the ground next to her. His hands were shaking.

“What do we do? What do we do?”

“Fuck, idunnoidunno- uh, grab, shit, shit, go to the other side. Maybe we can lift the lid.”

Stumbling, trembling, Tucker did as he was told and crawled to the other side. But he saw what was on the lid. Fuck.

“There’s a lick. Sam, it’s locked.”

She looked back up at him on the verge of tears.

“What! No, no it can’t be- it—”

“Just, hold on. I’m gonna go back upstairs. Maybe there’s something we can use. I’ll be back, I promise.”

She got the feeling he wasn’t really talking to her. The pounding quieted down but there was a muffled sound. A strained whimper.

“Shit,” Tucker whispered before running out and up the stairs.

Sam sniffled and laid a hand in on the biting cold metal of the casket.

“We’re gonna get you out,” she whispered, wiping at the tears streaming uncontrollably down her face. “I don’t really understand how this is even possible, but we’re not gonna leave you here.”

There wasn’t a response. Not a whimper or a knock. She was gripped by the fear that maybe they were too late. Twenty years buried and they were five minutes too late.

Tucker came stomping down the stairs, taking two at a time. She looked up to see he had an honest-to-god metal bat in his hands. Fully intact and not rusted at all. His hat was askew and his eyes seemed wild.

“He- he helped me find it. Nearly ran all over the house,” he said, panting heavily.

“Hurry up and break it,” she begged, not bothering to disguise the desperation in her voice.

Without another word, Tucker aimed the thicker end of the bat downwards and plunged it against the lock.

It broke apart with a resound clang.

“Help me with—”

But Sam was already crossing to where he was. Kneeling, side by side, they gripped the edges of the casket and lifted. A cloud of freezing cold air puffed up, obscuring their vision for a few seconds. They couldn’t see if they really did save a boy’s life, or if it was just his corpse playing tricks on them. But they heard heavy breathing coming from rattling lungs and not from either of them.

They’d both been holding their breaths.

The cloud dispersed. In front of them lay a young boy with matted white hair, brilliant green eyes drowning in tears and a grotesque muzzle caked from within with old and fresh blood. Metal clinked against metal. His wrists were chained to the casket. His knees scraped and bloodied from banging on the lid.

Tucker immediately removed the muzzle, which thankfully wasn’t locked. Sam’s heart broke. Shattered. The boy’s cheeks were caked, blanketed, with that same mixture of blood, his lips horribly scarred.

He sobbed, screwing his eyes shut against the bright lights.

“Thank you,” he rasped. His voice scraped against his throat.

Tucker and Sam held his hand. They cried with him.

“You’re safe with us.”

He always would be.

[carebird]

My favourite flavour of ZOOL is this! (inspired by that one scene).

[omniblades-and-stars]

the problem, i've found, is that i want to quote entire fics back at you

She felt the chill of the metal before she felt the searing agony of the cut. The Shepherd clutched his arms, her fingernails digging deep into his skin. She looked up at him, stunned, disbelieving … terrified. It was deep, so very deep, she couldn't speak. She felt blood, warm and thick spilling down to her chest. "Why?" She tried to ask, but no sound came out. "We can't keep doing this. This is the last time," he whispered to her, like he was wishing her a tender good night. Not sending her to his precious oceans, if she was lucky. Hell, if she was not. He caressed her cheek like he actually cared about her. Thoughts came juttering through her venom adled mind all at once and they crashed through in torrents. I didn't tell any lies tonight. I'm going to die. I'm so scared. He didn't believe that I wasn't going to try. I have no one. I don't want to die. I'm going to fucking die. I forgot the rules. She didn't want to die.

their banter actually obliterated me though, it's so goddamn good

Okay. 👏 So. 👏

Where the fuck do I even start?

1. I made the decision that The Shepherd (an assassin) was terrified of dying because well, I am riddled with a terrible horrible fear of dying that keeps me up at night sometimes.

2. I also thought it was an interesting sort of hang up for an assassin to have. Not just a desire to live, but a bone deep fear of death in a person who plays deadly games with another assassin.

3. This is one of the few times where The Shepherd is being totally and completely honest with herself and allowed herself to be entirely vulnerable with Thane. But she spent the whole time she's known him lying and trying to kill him first. He had no reason to believe that she was being honest, or that she wasn't going to try to kill him first. And both of them were at a point where they just couldn't do ... (vague handwaving) exactly this.

4. The thing about The Shepherd is that she is dreadfully lonely but trusts no one. There were rules to the games she and Thane played that she could count on. This is how this (dreadfully toxic) "relationship" works and so it's the closest thing to being close or known by someone than she's ever gotten.

This was definitely a "play stupid games, win stupid prizes" situation. She barely survives and she has complicated feelings about the after.

5. I really fucking went off with this series and I'm so proud of it and I can't fucking believe I did that.

Read these two stories here if you haven't. They're quick and fun and sexy and a little fucked up.

[nyakist]

i am totally super shy to saythis on main so i have to go anon but like THE WAY YOU WROTE ABOUT MIDAS' SPIDER WEB TATTOO like just all the symbolism behind it and how you used it to tie with reader wanting to dominate him?? i just had to come here and gush about it nya this might be genuinely one of the top 10 fics ive ever read!!!! i cant wait to see how u will end this (also b/c we need more sub midas in the world)

AHHSNWKD SNDNSNDODHDJDN KSJDUEBE SND SSDD oWaaa ReaEALLYYY THANK YOUUUUU O HMY G i’m like rolling around In My Chair heeeheeeeehaasnsidhei29844 IM HONORED !!!!! i felt so proud of that one segment literallly like that might be my favorite thing i wrote ever!!! and i just love adding like random lore to his tattoos like…. i Forget That I Can Make Headcanons. LOL like the ball is in My Hands..? Me??..! BUT NO REALLY THANK U OMGGJFBEUZIDIE8:7;83 honestly i always get like a lil embarrassed everytime i update bc i’m like Man What if People are not gna like this esp sub midas SO IM LIKE $3?;!3397; THANK YOUU ANON HAHHDKEKEH939484

[quietwingsinthesky]

the people will never know about my mark of cain-amara possession/consumption-identity loss-incestuous nightmare-god doesn’t love you he just finds parts of you useful-neverending cycles-horror story………………………

[lunarblazes]

Pix taps at the watch on his wrist. A strange blue projection has stuttered to life as it scanned the area that he chose to call his home base, and Pix would be a terrible reconstructionist if he didn’t know how to construct.

Circling the perimeter of the projection, he takes note of the materials he already has, the eroded basalt pillars and sparse, fossilized acacia leaves hanging in the remnants of what the projection tells him used to be some kind of home. Copper peeks over the archway of the annexed room, tarnished and green, nearly worn through with holes.

He gets to work. It’s nice to sit back, relax, and simply follow what the projection is telling him this place looked like. He’s not trying to make the place beautiful, nor like how it was when it was first built; he’s just trying to make it accurate. A relic, still, a shade of what it once was.

Pix hears something when he sets down the last dirtied copper block into its frame. The laughter of a little girl. It echoes, ethereal in nature and loud across even the corroded walls of the final ruin, moving the way the shapes of water’s reflections move across the walls of a poolhouse, and he stills. Pix glances over his shoulder, half-expecting the ripples to make themselves visible even in the hot savannah, but there is nothing.

What is the difference between projection and ghosts, really?