#i'd be like that if i ever saw a ghost when i stressed out

[janetmiyuki-06]

So I played a little game by writing a sentence using the code of my birth month/date and first letter of my name 'J'

"Saya tendang hantu sebab saya stres"

Translate: I kicked a ghost because I was stressed

Lol😂.

[telanadasvhenan]

thinking more about the psychological aspect of solavellan, and before I start, I'd like to stress that this is NOT CRITICAL of it, I actually think it's what makes part of the dynamic interesting. My word isn't the be all and end all, however, this is just my musings on the topic :] Also, REALLY long post! so, more under the read more lol

From Lavellan's point of view, I would personally struggle to see her trusting another lover or close one again for a long time, if ever again. I don't really think people ever talk about the real impact of the things she goes through, or what solas put her through, and the hurt as a result of it. The relationship is never defined between the two of them, it's always spoken about in vague undetermined words from their companions and poetic elvish between the two of them. Are they lovers? companions? partners? it's really up to the player. Leliana says that "you were close", Sera says Lavellan is "in it." Vhenan means home, heart, it's not a word said lightly imo and he tells you he loves her by their second kiss. It's never an official thing, so how secure can Lavellan truly feel?

This could go both ways when it comes to the break up. Crestwood, as a scene, is so interesting to me because the first portion seems like a man brought to his knees by weakness for the woman he loves. The two of them never cease to touch, fingers entwined, shoulders brushing, skin to skin. It's so reminiscent of how Lavellan matches his Hallelujah cadence. They're two parts of a song singing together. It's a gorgeous scene and it's understandable how so many are angry at how it ends because the whiplash between how it starts and what it leaves you with is severe. Imagine this from lavellan's shoes.

You're desperately in love with someone at odds with your people, who is wonderful and enticing and smart. Loving solas feels like loving the whole world, like being free and connected with the stars. But you don't know what this is. And, if you thought you did, how far can you presume? Is Lavellan always on edge, scared to love him deeper and richer than he loves her? or is she in a false sense of security, assuming his affection is forever hers. So when he not only breaks away your faith and trust in your history, plus potentially the vallaslin, she is clearly deeply upset. This isn't a minor fact that simply can be swept aside. The vallaslin is important. And Solas, even with the best intentions, has hurt her. He knows it and there's a reason why he apologises (bc he wimped out on the real truth). How much more does he know about her people that he has refused to tell her or kept from her by omission? Can you imagine the embarrassment, the utter humiliation of that secret? how many memories of them together where she replays his distaste for her people in her mind, knowing that he has access to knowledge that could change her perception of her past? Its ALOT. and thats even before the breakup.

Solas is not kind about the break up. It's rushed (impulsive to me) and doesn't do their connection justice. His composure cracks in places and it's very unlike him. It absolutely blindsides the player, so imagine being in Lavellan's place, AFTER THE VALLASLIN? personally, I wouldn't have been able to function. I half suspect that a sad, calm Lavellan is also in shock or disassociation. Because how else do you cope? The lack of communication between them alone is enough to raise my eyebrows. He promises answers. He confides that she saw through his mask and doesn't tell her what was real, and what was fake. He has given her a kernel truth whilst keeping her in the dark. Everything he told her could be a false, imaginary polite mask or it could be the truth. Where does it end? Where does he begin? Where does she stand?

I don't know if everyone has experienced what it's like to be ghosted or for a friend to simply disappear one day, but it changes you. I say this as someone who has both been avoidant as well as anxious, but you never recover. Someone disappearing like that makes you doubt any reassurance that people won't just evaporate from your life. So when Solas just disappears, the game's single conversation with Leliana feels a little lacking to me. I understand that they can't really dedicate a lot to it, I get that, so I'd like to fill it in. At first, it's search parties. Solas wouldn't just leave her like that. He promised her answers. He started another mural just before they left for corypheus. He didn't intend to just leave, surely.

Days, weeks and months pass. The question is worse than the truth. Is he dead? Did he use them? Was he being truthful when he spoke to her in those ruins, or another polite mask he could hide behind? Is it better if he's dead or better than he didn't deem her worthy enough to even say goodbye? We, as the players, obviously know this isn't true, but she doesn't know that. Does your lavellan assume the worst and be overcome with grief that her one love, her heart, her home, was nothing more than a lie of omission? or is there anger there at his betrayal of her trust once more? I seriously doubt it was easy to forget or dismiss. That kind of disappearance ruins your trust with people. Something. Anything would have been enough.

Again, this is all my opinion on how these emotions would play out and DEFINITELY NOT canon nor do they have to be! But I seriously struggle to see how Lavellan could even come to heal from these wounds within even a two year time skip. By the time of trespasser, almost everyone has left her side. She's almost entirely alone again, save Cullen and Josie (and leliana if she's not divine). And thats okay: they all have rich lives to return to. But that must just reaffirm to her that no one will stay. She is alone. How does she trust again?

And then there is Fen'harel. Lavellan's reaction to fen'harel has always lacked the fear I kind of hoped would be there? I mean this isn't just a minor deity, this IS THE antagonist of her entire faith. I'm assuming that she's lost hope in the gods, even though it's confirmed to her that they're real, but that message has been a part of her since childhood. So learning that he is the dreadwolf, again not from him, but from the fragments of his past must cut her deeply.

Her love was never who he said he was, she knows this, but who is the real man? She's never known him in a context where he can truly show her. Her love is fragmented between each identity he holds. Her trust that he is who he said he is fragments with it. The knowledge that not only has he been watching the inquisition, her, for years without a single hint that he lives or is okay must destroy her. Could you imagine how insignificant you must feel to him? And he essentially affirms to her that yes, in the greater scheme of things, his love and hers are inconsequential. They cannot matter to him because he cannot strive from his path. His indulgence was a mistake. And it's undeniably cruel. I love solas and I cannot argue that he was kind to Lavellan because he wasn't. To me, there is no way to see his actions as kind. Understandable, absolutely and definitely without malicious intent.

Lavellan learns that he loved her just as deeply, if not more. He loved her with all his heart and it did not matter. She changed him and it has only brought him more pain. He loves her too much to even allow her near him, to even give himself that weakness. They are apart from each other in an endless distance, only the two of them in the world. No one else.

Obviously, each Lavellan is different, and I've made a lot of assumptions, but I think it's worth considering. How do you love someone again after all of that? How much can you rebuild your faith after what you have learnt. Lavellan has loved a "god" (I know he's not a god, but for all intents and purposes, he has the power of a god and wears an evanuris crown.) and in turn, a god has loved her. And he left her with one last embrace that will leave its mark on her forever, then he leaves once more. Lavellan is alone.

Each love after is met with suspicion, distrust and comparison. Lavellan is entirely changed. How many pieces of her can be taken away until she is no longer herself? Each person wears a new mask she cannot determine. Where do they begin? Where can she find herself?

How lonely it must be to love someone like Solas and be at the other side of an endless distance.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

HI saw your requests were open for sagau so i thought i'd drop on by

can i request creator reader with favourites, specifically alhaitham and diluc but you can add more if you'd like! just generally how the character would react to being favourited by the creator and how the creator treats them pls <33

have a good day and no stress if you don't like the idea, just a lil brain rot i've been having recently

lei <3

Hello, Lei Anon! I'll gladly do this request! It's been a while since I've done something like this too lol—I'm doing great as of right now. I hope you're having a good day as well :) I hope you like what I got!

Alhaitham & Diluc Getting Favoritism Privileges ✨

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Diluc

When he heard rumors that he was being favored by the Almighty Creator, he denied it at first. It was just the drunkards in his tavern just talking and rambling. There wasn't anything that could be used as solid proof to back up their drunk claims.

If it wasn't for the fact that you strolled on in, saying, "Diluc, my favorite Main!" he probably would never have believed it.

With your attention consistently on him, Diluc is often praised for gaining Mondstadt the true blessing of the Almighty Creator. Diluc is constantly being given gifts that you find, bought, or crafted—be it a chair made of the finest wood, a fresh bouquet of freshly picked asters and cecilias, or a fresh pair set of clothes with the best quality of silk! Or, whenever you think your gifts aren't enough—mora.

"Your Grace...there is no need for any of this." Diluc doesn't know what to do with the amount of gifts you're giving him constantly. He doesn't even know where to place them in your manor. Adelinde and the other maids are even struggling to maintain the overflow of gifts you've been gifting.

And you, of course, don't think this is enough. "Diluc needs more love" is your motto now!

Alhaitham

Alhaitham's heard of the rumors about being favored by the Almighty Creator. Even Kaveh brought it up, drunk or not, about how Alhaitham was like the golden child of the Their Divine Grace.

Like the usual guy he is, he shrugs it off. Rumors cannot be taken as truth, but that does get him intrigued. Thus, he starts researching to see if these rumors were true, and if not, what parts of the rumor were true.

Turns out, the answer was rather easy to find—you just straight up walked up to him and handed a few books you thought he might find interesting for him. And by a few, I mean at least 50 books.

"Thank you, Your Grace. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to bring any of this home—" "I can help you bring it home!" "—nor do I have the space for it." "I can buy you a new shelf! No, actually, I'll build you your own private library!" "Oh? You're even more intriguing than I thought, Your Grace. Allow me to ask for your help and aid to carry these books home."

You would often buy him books, or give him more mora, or hell, even gift him any furniture or equipment he needed! Anything he needed, you would find a way to supply it to him, or just gift it to him in general, because why not!

Safe to say that Alhaitham took quiet amusement to Kaveh's flabbergasted expression and shock. And, ever the perfectionist he was, how Kaveh was fumbling on shelving the books in the new (big) library you built beside his house that only he (and Kaveh) could access.

Safe to say he is grateful for your favoritism.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Dang, is my mailbox exploding with brainrots from people LOL. I certainly wasn't expecting this! I do hope these posts are up to your liking :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Seraphim [Ghost x Reader]

Summary: You help Ghost relax after an arduous and stressful mission away.

Wordcount: 817 words

Warnings: Fluff, Vague Implications/Mentions of Smut (Nothing Explicit or Shown), just two people in Love :-(((, No Pronouns used for Reader except for 'You'.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -✄

Much like the rest of him, even Simon's hair had seemed to have grown hard - rigid - while he was away. That much was apparent to you as you raked your fingers through it, stitching shampoo through the strands.

"You're too good to me," he sighed, sinking a little deeper into the lavender water, soap suds keeping him modest. His eyes would squeeze shut whenever you found his sweet spot - behind the ears, the reason you called him your "Big Puppy", your "Guard dog."

"You deserve the world, Simon." Your words caught on the steam, sang a soft tune to the man who, like many times before, was rebuilding himself beneath your touch. "And if this is all I can do to bring it closer to your hands, then I'd do it for all the eternities the Universe will allow."

Simon's eyes cracked open, and, sensing the shift in his tone, you lowered your hands to the water, shampoo slipping from your fingers into the cauldron of aroma, and placed them upon his shoulders. His muscles were still tense, his senses tender, his mind raw.

You smiled.

"You've done more than I can ever reward you for," Simon said, and, with a sea serpent hand, he placed his palm atop your fingers, collected them like bird bones, and brought them to his lips. He kissed your knuckles, the chap of his lips disguised behind water, much like the water that gathered in his eyes.

"I don't want recompense, Simon," you said, softly. Your eyes grew doleful. Empathic. "All I want," you leaned down, pressing a kiss to the suds in his hair, "and all I'll ever want," and another to the shell of his ear. Shivers broke out across his back, fledgling wings - Seraphim. "Is your love."

Simon's shoulders raised, and for a moment, your heart squeaked, wondering if he'd jump out the water. He did not, but he was damned close. Instead, his other hand came around your waist, wetting your shirt beneath his aqualine touch. He urged you closer, and you came closer, both thighs sat on the bath edge, the water's edge.

His eyes searched yours, for any trace of fallacy, of falsity, though he knew it was a wasted venture. For now, after having your love palpable in his hands, to have felt your beating heart beneath his fingers during long evenings of just the two of you, he knew he had it. He possessed it, just as you did his. And yet, he searched for it in your gaze, every time he returned; to see if your love faltered when you saw him, to see if your pupils still blew wide whenever they fell upon him.

They did.

Just as they always had. Always would.

"You'll always have me." he said, pressing his face into your shirt, your stomach. He placed a muffled kiss there, and withdrew, looking up into your eyes. A puppy indeed. “Forever.” Simon's words were true. As was the glimmer in his eyes.

"Mind," he pulled you closer, his hand dropping to your hip, "body," he squeezed it, near making you squeal. He pulled you closer still, emerging from the waters, a Prince of the Sea meeting a Monarch of the Sun.

"And soul."

His lips found yours, a light in the dark, and you accepted him unto you. A Holy Spirit, a waiting disciple.

His lips were warm, all-encompassing, the condition of his skin becoming more apparent, rougher, as the water washed off him and onto you. You could taste how much he needed you, feel it in how tightly he pulled you to him, never letting go. 

A fragment of eternity passed between you, cutting you loose. And as you pulled away, you pressed your forehead to his, desperately trying to show him the love and life you held for him there, a projector to display all that you could neither say, nor do, to compensate for all that you felt for him.

You smiled, eyes crinkling, half-moons.

"I think I prefer just the body," you said.

Ghost's cheeks lifted, his teeth showing as a laugh rumbled through his chest. He slipped another arm around you and, before you could comprehend, pulled you into the bath, making you squeal and water and suds to spill over the sides as he settled you beneath him.

"Well, then," he said, his consideration, his musings, utterly false, pre-determined. His hands held your wrists, bracelets of blood, bone and muscle. Of Man.

"I'll just have to show you how much this body loves yours."

And with a string of kisses from your ear to your throat, the bath became a mermaid's bed, the scent of lavender curating a scene from pure fantasy, of a love which permeated the very atmosphere, turned it sweet and reduced all hope that anything as pure could ever grasp it in its shaking, gripping, spectral fingers.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I reminded a friend he owes me money?

@aitathrowaway321 for finding later

I (20s, they/them) lent a friend Johnny (fake name. 20s, he/him) about $300 for rent about a year and a half ago. He was panicking because he'd bought a small tattoo that week, and had thought he'd budgeted for rent, but realized he forgot about another bill.

I'd once not had enough for rent and a friend who wasn't well off, without me asking, had offered to lend me the money for rent. It had been an incredibly kind act, and though I'd paid that friend back a few months later the first second I could, I've always remembered it. So I offered to do the same to Johnny (who knew this story) as a sort of pay-it-forward and that he could just pay me back when he was able, no rush at all. I also at the time had an okay job where I made enough to be able to do this, and Johnny's job was pretty awful.

Johnny was very thankful and agreed. At first, he'd bring up the debt a lot himself (I would never bring it up) and continually promise to pay it when he could, to which I'd be like - just as soon as you comfortably can, don't stress! And he mentioned it A LOT. Multiple times every single time I saw him at first. But eventually he stopped mentioning it entirely.

The two of us had this in-joke, and Johnny realized he could buy something related to the in-joke. He swore he'd buy it for me as a birthday gift (I didn't ask) and it would be so much fun, very soon after I lent him money. It would have been a nice gift, but it would've cost at least $200. In my head I decided that if he decided to get me the gift instead of paying me back I'd be happy either way, bc it's nice to be thought of. All I said aloud was that it would be a lot of fun, and it was a very kind thought from him. He would then regularly bring up buying me this gift for months. Then my birthday passed and I didn't get anything at all from him. Which was fine, I didn't ask for gifts! But then he stopped bringing up buying me anything OR paying back the money.

Now it's been almost a year and a half, and he seems to have entirely forgotten he ever owed me. I wouldn't mind so much - times are hard! - and it's not like I'm going to be angry if someone is spending money on nice dinners and pretty clothes instead of saving up for a no-deadline debt to a friend. People need to have nice things to get through life. But he keeps getting new tattoos and piercings (we go to the same parlor, I know they're pricey) and he recently planned and went on a big trip with a friend. It's not as if he hasn't had the ability to pay me back in the last few years. I also got laid off from my job, and $300 is a lot more to me than it used to be.

It's not so much that I want the money back as it is that I'm hurt he spent so much time talking big about paying me, and then when enough time had passed just dropped it entirely. I've had an issue in the past when after I got an okay job, suddenly people who had ghosted me were begging me for money (didn't know my salary but just assumed bc of the job title). And having been in awful situations, I tried to help where I could anyway, but then after getting the money they'd ghost me again. Johnny hasn't ghosted me, but he seems to have decided not to pay me back and pretend it never happened.

We have an event coming up where people will be paying for things and everyone else will be paying them back immediately - just bc it's easier to do things like buy tickets all at once and then pass them out, and easier for a restaurant to have one bill and then people venmo each other after. I was considering having Johnny pay and then tell him he can take it out of his debt to me.

I'm unsure if this is passive aggressive and rude, or if it's a good way to gently remind him he owes me without being a jerk about money - if he is still just struggling financially and hasn't forgotten, I don't want to rub anything in or make him stressed. I don't want money to ruin a friendship, but I'm feeling hurt.

[idesofrevolution]

My Best Friend, the Ghost

It was the best feeling in the world. Picture this: a simple spread of the legs in the summer heat, sweat dripping from your forehead. You feel a cool, slick touch slide down your inner thigh. It feels almost slimy, though it leaves no residue as it inches toward your taint and ever closer to your rear. You gasp as it circles the tight hole, as if an expert were rimming you with their cold, wet tongue. Then, quickly, a gentle thrust. You feel it enter you, slithering slowly, intentionally. It begins to fill you, that frosty ooze spreading all throughout your body. Your breath is laboured, as you begin to contort and expand as it is overtaken, washed and inundated with this foreign substance bubbling beneath your skin. It pushes up your throat, choking you, taking the last of your breath away before it presses at the top palate of your mouth. It would feel almost like drowning, though your sensations only fire endorphin after endorphin of euphoria. Pressure builds as it presses harder and harder, until... pop. The hard palate gives way as it rushes and balloons into your head. Thoughts and stresses fade away, and you're left in a state of total ecstasy as your body begins to move on its own.

Fuckin' amazing, am I right? Well, guess what? I get that incomprehensible experience whenever the hell I want. Perks of living in a haunted apartment! Confused? Let me explain.

I moved to New Orleans a year ago, give or take a couple of months. I graduated college, and after testing out a couple of places that didn't really pan out for me, I landed in the cement swamp in the height of the summer. I'd just left Salt Lake City, so coming from the tepid air of Utah to the brick wall humidity of Louisiana was a lot. Yet, I was determined to make the best of this one. I'd secured a low-level office gig at a non-profit, and rented out a cheap two bedroom just outside the French Quarter. The house was one of those old shotgun-style places. It wasn't well maintained, frankly incomprehensibly so to be up to purpose for a tenant, though I was still paying an arm and a leg.

The first few nights, I didn't sleep super well. It was hot, I was sleeping on a hard air mattress, and the tall ceilings and old wooden floors made every little creak and groan of the house sound like some demonic entity moaning in the darkness just out of sight. At the time, I was resolved to believe such a rational theory. After all, ghosts aren't real. That recent college graduate sensibility: anything can be rationalized. Looking back, I scoff at what I thought I knew compared to what I know now. But that skeptic within me was what I relied on. It got me through my courses, it got me my job, it is what guided me through the insanity of life. So, as more peculiar occurrences began to happen, that is precisely the lens with which I saw the world.

When things started to go missing: my trusty running shoes, a pair of underwear, my gold chain, my laptop, even my keys, it was just me being forgetful. I took my Adderall and just ordered new things. I hunkered down and just focused on my work. When I heard scratching in the walls at night, footsteps down my hallway, quiet breaths echoing in the shadows... I was just sleep deprived, I took my Xanax and zonked myself out. Those dark shadows that crept around the corners just on the edge of my peripherals? Eye floaters, nothing more. Though, after about two weeks of just a miserable living experience, I finally experienced something I couldn't rationalize.

It was after a soul sucking day at the office, having spent all day sifting through piles of meaningless paperwork to the grating click clack of my coworkers silently typing on their keyboards like mindless drones. I'd gone into overtime that day, and after five or six cups of coffee, I can't say I was even remotely physically tired that evening. My mind, of course, was entirely devoid of functionality. Walking through my front door, tossing my keys in the little dish by the door, I collapsed onto my couch and just scrolled through Netflix, looking for nothing in particular. That's when I saw it. I'd turned to grab my vape pen from the side table, and my glance had grazed past the mirror which hung above my mantle. Floating behind me, clear as day in the mirror, was a figure. It was larger than I, big broad shoulders and pecs, tapering down to a narrow waist, flanked on either side by two muscled arms. It's face was chiseled and sharp, brows furrowed, golden eyes narrowed and full lips twisted in a mischievous smirk. It had no legs; rather, its body was condensed into a long whippy tail. Most notably, I would argue, was the... well... rather sizeable phallus which stood erect above it's navel, with two grapefruit sized balls hanging beneath it.

I sat frozen, unable to look away from it sizing me up in the mirror's reflection. All the other things I could make sense of in my head were obliterated at the sight of what was merely inches behind me, and inches above the floor. I finally found the strength to merely exhale, letting a soft billowing cloud of breath out of my mouth. It was the middle of June, and perhaps 91 Fahrenheit outside. It was impossible. Everything about what my eyes were seeing was impossible. As it began to creep toward me, I fully expected to spin around and like every haunted house movie of all time, there would be nothing there. Though as I whipped my head to look behind, no such luck. I was face to face with it. It was grinning as we were nose to nose. Bringing it's cool, ghostly hand to my cheek, it caressed it with the back of its fingers and winked at me.

"Hey there." It's voice boomed like a timpani, yet it's timbre was gravelly and suave. I couldn't help myself. In a primal state of panic, I shrieked a terrified scream. It didn't last long. The spirit seized the opportunity I was entirely unaware I had given it- quickly shoving it's head into my open mouth. The force by which it had taken me was overwhelming, though I suppose with it's sheer size, in retrospect it makes perfect sense. I was flung down into the cushions of the couch, as it pushed itself into me. I grasped at my throat, which was bulging from the thing which was now flooding down my gaping maw. I could hear it laugh from within me as it squeezed itself in, it's massive upper body condensing in on itself and slowly pushing deep into my gut. My stomach ballooned out, stretching as if it were rubber while it's tail whipped aimlessly against my face before it slipped between my lips.

This was the first time I felt the sensation. The euphoria. The cascading waterfall of endorphins as my body was contorting and stretching as the ghost slipped me on like a suit. I could feel it thrusting it's hands into my arms which expanded and stretched to accommodate the spirit's size. I could feel my chest burst through my shirt, with two jiggling pecs now engorged with it's essence. I could feel my thighs and calves swell with thick muscle, and my feet lengthen and explode through my socks. It was as if someone had taken a water hose and filled me like a balloon, and as I felt it's head rising up my throat one last time and slither into my head, I can't say I wasn't in the throws of intense and indescribable bliss. My eyes opened, I was no longer in the driver's seat.

"Ahhh fuck." It's voice boomed out of my mouth as I found my body moving of it's own accord. No, rather moving of his accord. I stood up, feeling my jiggling muscles slowly firm up and tighten as I walked to the mirror. The thing which wore me as a suit was checking itself out! It had my skin, my face, but otherwise I was unrecognizable. I was indeed approaching 6' 4", my jawline was square and chiseled, my arms as large as my head, my feet probably a size 16, and my... appendage? Let's just say he was now an anaconda snaking down my thigh, his hood restored and flanked on either side by an impressive bulbous sac. "Shit, that feels nice." My voice was soft like velvet, but frayed with a coarseness which tickled the mind like sandpaper. It stretched my muscles and cracked my neck and knuckles before finally bothering to introduce itself. "Name's Antoine, nice to meet ya." My hand slinked down to my member giving it a playful tug. "Actually, tonight, your name is Antoine too, baby." He smiled with my pearly white teeth, and it would be an outright lie to deny I was not eager to see what this Antoine would be using me to do that night. We sauntered over to my bedroom, tossing shirts and pants out of my drawers before he found some shorts and a tank top that fit my new musculature whatsoever. I had but only one pair of sandals that he could force my massive feet into, but neither he nor I could care less. As walked to the front door, and stepped out into the humid New Orleans air, he took a deep breath with my borrowed lungs, sighing in satisfaction. "Aight, my man. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get in tonight."

Thus began our mutual understanding. Our partnership. Frankly, our friendship. That night was one filled with club hopping across town, hitting dancefloors right and left, drinking outrageous amounts of liquor, grinding on sexy men with our tongue down their throats... None of which I would have ever experienced on my own. It was an entire world I knew nothing about, nothing I could have ever imagined myself doing, but with Antoine it seemed like second nature. After a night of debauchery and a tryst in some leather daddy's hotel room, he returned near the crack of dawn, collapsing onto my bed in a sweaty, swampy heap. He closed my eyes and almost immediately afterward I reopened them. The sun had risen, and peering at my phone, it was then 9 AM.

For a moment, I sat there and stared at the ceiling. I waited for my body to move on his command, though when it didn't, I whipped my sheets off to see that I had returned mostly to my former stature. I did note that I had grown ever so slightly. Perhaps his presence within me had left some residual effects on my body, a pleasant fact of which I did not mind whatsoever. I sat up, stretching my arms above my head, a wet warm musk wafting from my sweaty pits and steamy feet from the night before. For the first time, I found myself rather enjoying the scent... Where it once used to make me grimace with disgust, it now made me nearly salivate at the slightest tickle on my nose. I peered to the corner of the room, where now even in broad daylight I could see Antoine's spectral self floating above the floorboards, his arms crossed and his bright smile greeting me in the morning light.

We stared at eachother for a mere moment, before I smiled back at him. It didn't take words for us to understand what was to soon come to pass. Frankly, from then on, it was an unspoken pact. An inseparable bond, bound by an awakened hedonism and carnal desire. Starting that morning, our boys night out became a regular occurrence. I'd get home from work, exhausted and tired from a thankless day of grinding in the soulless office, and we would come up with a plan for the evening. He'd take his time slipping into me, knowing full well just how much I enjoyed each breathtaking second of it. In fact, we took a Saturday to go shopping for "night clothes" which would actually fit us when he was inside me.

Antoine was a bit of a casanova, able to make any person he met swoon with a single glance. The parade of men strutting the walk of shame out of my home every morning did not go unnoticed by my neighbors, not that they particularly seemed to care. It was the spirit of New Orleans, live every day like it's your last. That sentiment was instilled in me, along with a new attitude. I began to care less and less about this dead end job which had only gotten more and more unbearable as our relationship grew. My boss began to notice this as well. He noticed that my productivity had slipped, that I'd begun to come into work with more and more tattoos (which were admittedly against company policy), that my musky scent was becoming stronger and more apparent, that I'd become more casual and laid back, that I was trying to force myself into work clothes that were increasingly more and more revealing as my body grew toned and large. This, to him at least, was unacceptable. I don't entirely recall what it was that finally set him off, though I think it may have had something to do with me having my feet up on my desk as I took calls and the delicious pheromones to which my coworkers had taken a liking to. Something to do with my cubicle mate Daniel lapping up the pungent sweat from my socks beneath my desk as I worked. Couldn't say. Either way, it was the last straw for me.

It wasn't much of a loss, as my frequent appearances at the clubs, or rather my appearance altogether, which the bar owners had taken notice of. I had a line of bartending and gogo boy offers to take up in it's stead. Though, it wouldn't be enough to cover the rent on my own. Thus, we hatched a plan. A solution to both our issues: my financial one, and a more permanent solution for Antoine.

It was an average night in the French Quarter, we were behind the bar, and there before us appeared our solution sitting on a stool near the drink well. He was a tourist, a particularly needy and rude one at that. No friends, failing every attempt to snag the attention of our regular hustlers with his more than lacklustre personality. He was perfect. It wasn't difficult to play into his inflated ego, all it took was playing into his cringeworthy advances and unwelcomed touches before he was licking our pits and nipples, ready to head to our place. A lack of a tip was the final nail in the coffin, we were ready. The 'three' of us stumbled back to our apartment, and it took merely five minutes of making out before the drunken asshole had passed out in our bed.

Walking back into the living room, Antoine regurgitated himself out of me. Feeling him exit was always a bittersweet experience, euphoric in sensation but longing in sentiment. He floated in front of me, winking as he compressed himself under the door of our bedroom, slipping in with a quiet pop. Wiping the sweat from my brow, and taking a deep whiff of my dank sneaker like degenerate scent pig I'd become, I popped open a bottle of our nicer tequila to celebrate. As the yellow liquor began to pour into the glass, I heard the delightful sounds of possession begin to loudly bellow out from behind the closed door. A shriek, followed by squeaks and rubbery creaks atop elated moaning and gasping. Taking the two glasses, I meandered over to the couch, kicking my wafting, wet feet up onto the coffee table and grabbing the bong to pack a nice bowl.

The sounds of inflation and gargling, stretching skin and growing muscle were like candy to my ears, as I wondered what Antoine would look like. The guy was less than ideal before, though as a host, the sky was the limit to how gorgeous he was going to be. I lit the bowl, taking a deep drag before blowing an adequate cloud. Antoine's moans got louder and louder, his voice all the more recognizable as it progressed. One more puff from the bong and the sound of that final pop soared through the air. The house was silent apart from the heavy panting quietly emanating from the bedroom.

I sat there for a solid moment. He always was the master of the tease, knowing full well that I awaited his reveal. I could hear his chuckling before I heard the click of the lock on the door. Slowly, I stood up and walked to the bedroom door, pressing my ear against the wood. Nothing. I grabbed ahold of the doorknob with bated breath, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. The lights were on in the bedroom, and there in front of the mirror taking a selfie with his host's phone was my Antoine.

He was better than I ever could have imagined. That lanky, sad excuse for a man was long gone and in his stead stood the dreamiest hunk I'd ever set my eyes on. Our bodies were nearly identical in stature, as over the past several months he'd completely stretched me out to his own measurements. Though, his delicious golden eyes on that gorgeous, masculine face sent me over the edge. He was stacked, he was tall, he was caramel, he was packing down there, and he wafted that buttery, salty musk that made me drool. All he needed to do was to turn to me and wink in his new body and I felt myself harden.

"What's up, baby boy?" He flexed his massive arms, seductively licking his sweaty bicep for me. Let's just say that tequila and that bowl were still there the next day. We were rather preoccupied throughout the dawn, the morning, the afternoon, the evening... Endless hours of carnal pleasures and sensual overload. Simply washing the bedsheets of our intertwined cum imbued into the very threads of the fabric took longer than expected. I imagine you get the picture, so needless to say, such days were and continue to be frequent.

I suppose that brings us to today. As I sit here and write out how we got to this very moment, waiting for an Uber to take us to our honeymoon, I'll go ahead and mention that my former boss just walked by us, feigning pleasantries as if we were old buddies. Asking if now that I had a partner, I was finally ready to knuckle down and come back to work in a 'real job.' I turned to Antoine, he turned to me, and as we found our hands sliding toward eachother's growing bulges, basking in eachother's beguiling musk while my frump of an old boss indignantly watched, I flipped him the bird.

He stomped off, I doubt I'll ever see him again. Why should I need to? I have my man, I have our future, we have all the delicious men of this raunchy city to enjoy... What else can a guy ask for?

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Haunted

“You and I walk a fragile line

I have known it all this time

Never ever thought I'd see it break”

Masterlist Pt.One Pt.Two Pt.Four

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Reader escapes her abusive ex and moves to the alps. Bucky is in denial about some things, like what the year is, and if he’s dead. Part 3/6

Warnings: Ghosts, mentions of abusive ex.

AN: I’ve decided to give this more parts and slow down the pacing, I got an idea that I think is just better for the story than what I had originally planned.

The day carried on as if the man was never standing in your living room. Ranting about nazis and and Captain America. Your mind is just under a lot of stress from hiding out and worrying about your ex finding you.

You can’t imagine what soap opera of a movie you fell asleep to. You needed to keep your mind occupied. You had already cleaned and watched enough movies to last a year. You turn to the kitchen and search through the drawers. You only come up with screwdrivers and silverware. You spin on your heel, searching for something to do in the living room.

A light shines through a crack on the wall, behind the couch. You walk past the bar, and climb onto the couch cushions, running your fingers against the hard wood. You trace the outline of a door. You smile to yourself, no way you have a Harry Potter room.

You jump up, going to the end of the couch and giving it a huge push. You kneel down and grasp the small metal handle. You have to put a lot of effort into ripping the half door open. It was sealed shut. You put a foot on either side of the door and pull as hard as you can. You hear a crack and the your back hits the ground.

You look inside to see a small window, almost covered by snow. It was filled with boxes. You grab one and shimmy it out of the closet. After ripping off the tape you pull out a soldiers camouflage uniform, it was in pristine condition. The name plate read Wagner. You pull it from the box and a metal badge falls from the folded fabric.

You pick it up and examine it. It’s a skull with octopus tentacles coming from it. What a weird broach, you think. You’d never saw anything like it. You continue looking through the box to find only a file left. All of the writing was in Russian. You put everything back in the box and pull out another one from the hidden room.

This one only contained files. Except these ones held photos of soldiers doing daily tasks. One of a line of men doing push ups. A group huddled around a campfire. You open the next file and instantly recognize Captain America. You know how famous he was in the 40s for serving in World War II. But why were there pictures of him in this cabin?

You keep looking through the pictures and you see the man from before. He’s standing beside Steve Rogers, smiling with his arm thrown over his shoulder. You flip to the next picture and you see the man again. It’s definitely him. He’s wearing the same uniform as in the pictures. A chill runs down your spine and the smell of mint fills you nose.

You look behind you to see him standing at the door, looking through the glass panes. His hand is raised as if he was about to knock. You shoot up, not taking your eyes off of him. You slowly step towards the door. When all that separates you from the man is the locked door, you look him in the eyes. He looks sad, and confused. You feel no eminent danger radiating from him. If he’s friends with one earth’s mightiest heroes, then he has to be good.

You reach and unlock the door, twisting the knob. “Hello?” You say, heart beating out of your chest. The man’s face conveys pity for your anxious reaction to him. “Please, don’t be afraid. I need your help.” The man says. You step to the side “Please, come in.”. The man steps over the threshold and walks past you to the living room. You smell the same pine and mint that’s been haunting you. You grip the door handle and squeeze your eyes shut. It has a way of fogging your brain.

You shake your head clear and slide the door closed behind yourself. “What’s your name?” “Bucky, as I said before, I am a U.S soldier.”. You nod you head and sit on the couch, opposite of Bucky. “My name is Y/N.” You say, reaching your hand out to shake the strangers. Bucky smiles and reaches out his hand and gently grasps yours. He gasps lightly and you pull your hand away, afraid that you did something wrong. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, it’s just, everything I’ve tried to touch just falls right through my fingers. But I just touched you.” He looked dazed, as if his mind was working a thousand miles per hour. “You said you know Captain America, well I found some pictures of you two together.” He raised his eyes to yours, eyebrows tightly knitted together, “How would you have pictures of Steve and I together?” You maneuver around the couch, picking up the files from the floor.

“I found these in the closet. It was like no one wanted them to be found.” You say, handing him the pictures. Bucky looks through them, mouth slowly falling agape. “This is us, alright. I have no clue why they would be here. I don’t even remember these photos being taken, no one on the team had a camera.”.

You shrug your shoulders. Still trying to wrap your head around him sitting on your couch. “Were you frozen in ice for 70 years like Captain America?” You blurt out, curiosity killing the cat. Bucky’s world stops, he’s just looking at your face, seeing pure innocence being curious, he knows you’re not joking.

“I was just with Steve, days ago, what do you mean 70 years? Is he okay?” Bucky asks, needing to know now. Your heart breaks for him, you don’t know what’s going on, maybe it’s memory loss. “He is more than okay, he fights for us regular people every day, he is a real hero. He was found frozen in the Arctic Ocean. They melted him down and it was like no time had passed for him. I remember seeing it all on the news. It was sad.”

Bucky just nods his head, taking in all of the information. “Why was it sad?” He asks. You look at him, he looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Imagine waking up, and everyone you know is gone. The whole world is different, you woke up in the future. You find out that people worship you, for being a war hero.” You pause, not wanting him to feel like you’re ranting. “It would all feels so overwhelming, I think.”

“You don’t know Steve, he could do anything, overcome anything, I’m happy you people in the future recognize that he was a hero.” He says sadly, as if his friend was a memory of the past. “He is a hero. And any man who served in our military is a hero to me.” You say trying to cheer him up.

Bucky blushes at your words, flattery always working on him. “So, you say Steve’s alive? I need his help, maybe he knows what’s going on with me. How do I do that?” Your smile instantly fades. You have no clue how to contact an avenger. “There’s no way someone like me could get his attention, he’s basically a celebrity.” You say, instantly killing the energy in the room.

You chew on your lip in thought, “You have to go to New York, that’s where he is.”. The crease in Bucky’s brow softens. A glimmer of hope, “Could you take me there?” Your smile fades. You knew he was going to ask.

“I can’t, sorry. I wish I could help more.” You say, truly wishing you could help. “Why not? I mean, the way you made it seem, I’d really need someone guiding me through this new world.” He says, desperate.

You regret turning him down, instantly feeling guilty. “I just can’t, it’s dangerous for me there. I don’t have the courage of a hero like you or Steve.” Bucky hears you out, letting you explain yourself. “Why is it so dangerous? If you don’t mind me asking?” He says, shifting in his seat.

You start picking at the skin around your nails, you want to leave him in the past, talking about him to the first person you meet isn’t really doing that. You look into his eyes, and the blue hue made you feel safe, like you were free to be yourself, open and honest.

“My ex boyfriend. He wasn’t a good guy.” You say testing the waters. Bucky’s arms cross over his chest, he waits for you to continue. “He works for very powerful people, your friend being one of them, so he gets by with murder, literally. He gets paid to contract kill bad guys, and he’s good at what he does, so no one batted an eye at how he treated his girlfriend.”

Bucky sits in silence, letting you finish. “I am sorry you went through that. But hey, you’re here, that’s all that matters. I wish I didn’t ask.” “It’s okay, I just hope you understand, I really can’t help you any more, I can’t ring up Steve, and I won’t step foot in New York again.”

He unfolds his arms, he reaches out and grabs your hand, “I understand, and I’m not mad. I will figure it out.” He maintains eye contact, trying to instill confidence in you. “You have helped me more than you know. Apparently I’ve been floating around in some kind of walking nightmare for the last 70 years, I’m one step closer to figuring out what’s going on with me.” He stands, “ I don’t want to intrude anymore than I already have, I have a lot happening right now, and it’s obvious you don’t need my extra stress.”.

You look at the man in-front of you, he was such a gentleman. You’d never experienced such chivalry. Something inside of you told you that you’d never forgive yourself for letting this man fend for himself. You liked his company, and the thought of him leaving so soon, started to sadden you.

You had been so lonely these last couple days, you didn’t realize how much you craved human contact. “I could try a few things first, shots in the dark at most. But I’m willing to try.” You say, hoping the man would sit back down on your couch.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, wondering what changed your mind. Whatever it was, he’s grateful. “What can we do?” He says, taking back his seat opposite of you. “I can’t call shield, my ex will find me. We can’t use the power of the internet, he will find me. I can’t have anything trace back to me.” You say, clearly making boundaries.

“What’s the internet?” He asks, dumbfounded. You stop in your tracks, realizing how hard this will be. “We don’t have time for that. Any phone numbers rattling around in there?” You say, hoping to have a lead. “There’s one, the only one I know by heart, my ma’s. I don’t think it’s in use anymore.” He sighs. He leans his head down, knowing he’ll never see her again.

“I’m sorry, you can talk to me, if you need to. I know it must be hard right now.” Bucky looks up with tears in his eyes, “it’s like you said, waking up to find out everyone’s gone, it’s overwhelming.” He explains.

You nod, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “I’m going to do what I can to help you get to your friend.” This time you’re reaching over, and holding his hand. He gives you a sad smile, hoping whatever else you had in mind works.

“I have a friend, she’s an intern at shield, maybe she could get a message up the ranks. It’s a long shot, but I have faith in her, she was so proud when I told her I was leaving, I know she’d love to hear from me.” You say, praying she answers the phone.

You walk to the kitchen, typing in your friends number, “Hey, Darcy? Yes, yes it’s me. I made it, safe and sound. I need a favor. No, I’m not asking for money.” Even in this situation you laugh, Darcy has a way of cracking jokes whenever she can. “I need you to get a message to Captain America…. Hello?….Darcy? Yes I’m serious! I know you have your sneaky little ways, no one can resist that rack.” You stand there and listen to your friend give you every reason why she can’t. “Please, Darc. I’m risking a lot just making contact with someone I used to know. I wouldn’t do this if it didn’t mean a lot.” You turn around and see Bucky watching your side of the conversation.

Darcy finally gives in, not being able to resist the ‘power of friendship’ she said. “His name is Bucky, he was friends with Steve Rogers in the 40’s, like best friends. He’s been lost, kinda like Captain America was. I just need you to let Steve know Bucky is alive, and in Austria.” You end the call with a promise of reconvening the next day.

Bucky stands, walking into the kitchen, “God I really hope this works. Thank you.” You shrug your shoulders, knowing you might have just shot yourself in the foot. “So, we have at least 24 hours till she calls back, so could you tell me more about the whole hand phasing through objects? Or how you don’t seem to remember the last 70 years?” You say, wanting to get to the bottom of it.

Buck pulls a stool from the bar, sitting in it. “The last thing I remember is fighting on a train, with Steve. I fell off the train, and I remember landing in the snow, my arm hurt so bad. That was miles away from here, I ran through a storm and I found this place like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.” He stares off into the distance, trying to remember every detail. “No one was home, and I was hurting really bad, so I fell asleep on the couch, hiding out for warmth. I had the weirdest dreams, and when I woke, old women were putting groceries in the fridge, they brought that tv.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder.

“But the kicker is, they couldn’t see me, or hear me. Once they left, I had more nightmares, and you woke me up again, you didn’t see me at first either.” He says, clasping his hands in-front of him. You catch his words instantly, “What do you mean, at first? How long didn’t I see you?” Your mind races with all the embarrassing things that could scar you from the last two days. Crying to old romance movies, check. Unceremoniously stripping off your 6 layers of clothing, check. Eating pie for dinner, two nights in a row, check.

“I may have been here the whole time, but don’t worry, I didn’t see anything I shouldn’t have, I promise.” You trust Bucky, already knowing he has some kind of respect. “I’m sorry for whatever yelling at the tv you witnessed. I get very passionate about stupid movies.”

Bucky chuckles at that, “I love films, Casablanca is great.” You smile, having no clue what he’s talking about. “We have time to kill, let’s watch a movie.” You say, wanting to give yourself quiet time to think.

You switch on the little tv, flipping to the movie channel. “Here’s a classic, The Princess Diaries. Mia Thermopolis finds out her dad was secretly a prince of this country and her grandma, the queen, comes and gives her a makeover and forces her to become a political figure. It’s truly a masterpiece.” You finish, taking a deep breath, you have a lot of passion for the movies that raised you.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Bucky says, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

CROSSOVER NEXT PART WHEN please

So this next update is the BIG FINALE and as such it is... uh... really long. There's a lot of extra characters in the story (because I am DEAD SET on having an Avengers Endgame moment lol) so that means extra introductions and explanations for a few and etc. etc. etc.

Remember the last really long update I gave? The one that was over 7000 words? I crossed over that mark a while ago, and I'm only ONE THIRD OF THE WAY THROUGH.

yeh,,,

It's a big update, so it's taking a while.

Snek pek! ↓↓↓

"...Very well, then," rhg!Donnie exhaled, finally admitting defeat. "In that case, I'm not sure I know how to tend to 'mystic' injuries."

"I got it," Ghost volunteered, searching in the first aid for anything especially sparkly or glowing. That would be a good sign. After some rummaging, he managed to procure some mystic cream and began to salve the cuts and sores.

rhg!Donnie watched with interest and concern. He studied the label for future reference. He memorized the patterns in which Ghost anointed the child. He took internal photographs of the angles and shapes of Mikey's scars... and prayed that he would never have to see them on his baby brother back home. He had been concerned that this was the same Mikey he'd met earlier... they looked very much alike upon first glance. But after closer inspection, he saw that they had some differences. The scars were obvious. But this one was younger, and much smaller. Not just shorter, but skinnier too. He looked a lot like his brother in that sense. As for the Leon beside him -- the one that kept giving rhg!Donnie dirty side glances -- he looked like his twin brother. Except bald. No sign of the beautiful and soft hair that rhg!Dee used to braid and style for him before he'd left. He was frightfully thin, too. A thick scarf surrounded his neck to help insulate the miniscule amount of warmth his body could provide. rhg!Donnie happened to glance over at him when he didn't expect it, and saw him pocket a few extra medical supplies, subconsciously stuffing them into his pants. There were quite a few things already in his pockets, rhg!Dee realized. This kid was a thief. Not that it bothered him, he and his Leo had been sneaky like that on more than one occasion. District 12 wasn't a very generous place to live.

rhg!Donnie found himself reaching for his hand the next time he went to snatch something. Not so much to stop him as to simply just... hold something that was so similar to his brother. He knew he wouldn't get a chance like this again for a long time. If ever. It might be stupid, but for a moment he wanted to pretend that this was his Leo. It worked for half a moment, he could almost see his brother here in the room with him.

Leon turned to him as he grabbed his hand, wide-eyed in surprise before realizing that he'd been caught.

"Oh... Old habits die hard, I guess," he explained, sheepishly dropping the tube of ointment he'd taken.

"Next time, try it like this," rhg!Donnie whispered, showing him how to take the tube with better efficiency, while simultaneously distracting the victim while you repurposed their possessions. But he got the feeling this teen already knew all the tricks of the trade.

Leon smiled weakly at him.

"Thanks, but... well, there's not really supposed to be a 'next time'," he explained, while looking back at DvD and 'Phael. "I kinda have a family now... and a home."

"Congratulations," rhg!Donnie said, hoping the genuine delight that this Leon had his family all around him came through, despite the monotonous tone in his voice.

"The kleptomania just sorta... flares up when I'm stressed," he mumbled. "When I feel like I'm not safe. I take stuff so I can pretend that I have everything I might need in an emergency." He laughed as he pulled out all the band-aids and alcohol wipes and gauze from his pockets. "I don't even know what I'd do with half of this stuff!"

"It's better to have most of this than not," rhg!Donnie mentioned, taking half of the pile and stuffing them into his own pockets, despite knowing that if he were to be portalled home again the items wouldn't be going with him. "Just in case..."

@daboyau @boots-with-the-fur-club @amevello-blue

[meowcats734]

(prompt response) A girl grows up thinking that all doors are automatic, but it's actually the work of a polite ghost.

I'd thought the four of us had gotten to know each other pretty well at the Silent Academy. At the very least, Lucet, Meloai, and I hung out together for pretty much every waking moment we had, and it was a rare week that didn't see Sansen and I sipping slurry and brandy together in his comfortable, hand-built home. 

But as it turned out, hanging out together in the controlled environment of school was one thing. Trekking across the country and sleeping in the same camp for weeks was an entirely different level of intimacy that I didn't expect. In the first week alone, I learned that Lucet snored, Sansen liked staying up late humming to himself, and Meloai just flat-out didn't sleep at all, instead electing to keep watch for us as we rested. 

I learned other things, too. As the food supplies we'd brought with us from the Peaks ran low and I had to fall back on the foraging skills I'd learned as a child, I found out that Lucet was a surprisingly picky eater. I, personally, saw nothing wrong with the meat slurries that were a staple food of the Redlands, and the only thing Meloai ate was a couple soul fragments harvested from the gremsquirrels we hunted, but for some reason, Lucet didn't seem to be a big fan of the ground-up meat powder that I'd grown up on.

Explaining that the meat grinder was a metaphor for the constant violence in the Redlands didn't seem to do much for her appetite, either.

Things got even weirder when we started reaching villages. The first one we found—Hatebroke, according to the lonely entrance sign—was entirely abandoned, and stripped clean of anything remotely perishable. I was just getting comfortable with the empty village when a door suddenly swung open as Meloai walked past.

"Rifts!" I swore.

"Where?" Meloai asked, gaze swiveling.

"What? No, it's an expression—the door, Meloai. Did—you have to have to have seen that, right?"

"Uh, sure? But don't all doors do that?" Meloai asked, taking a step towards the abandoned cabin. The wooden door swung open with impeccable precision, and I could have sworn the hinges even oiled themselves as they moved.

"...No, Meloai," I said. "Doors do not normally open themselves as people pass."

"Really?" Meloai frowned. "They did all the time when I grew up."

"No offense, Meloai, but you grew up in a dead nobleman's creepy-ass extradimensional basement," I said. "I'm pretty sure that your definition of 'normal' is pretty different from human standard."

Lucet kicked me in the shin. "Hey. Be nice, Cienne."

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just a little bit stressed from... I dunno... getting chased out of the only home I had left by a fucking eldritch abomination? If this is Iola messing with us..." I took a step forwards and shut the door; it didn't open again.

"I don't think this is Iola," Sansen said, frowning at the door. "This... I think it's a different soulspace entity. And if my guess is right, it's one that probably decided to follow Meloai around ever since she left the Plane of Elemental Insecurity."

"Wait, so we've been stalked by some invisible soulspace entity for months now? How come we haven't noticed?" Lucet said.

"Say the part about it being invisible again," I said, "but slowly."

Lucet flicked my forehead. Ow, but I guess I deserved that. "You know what I mean. Meloai, does this door-opening thing happen all the time?"

"Yes," Meloai said, grumbling. "Not like it mattered much at the Silent Academy, since there were always so many people moving around that the doors were always open anyway. Look, I obviously turned out okay, and I spent twenty years with this kind of thing happening. Don't we have more important things to worry about? Like, uh, getting enough food for you guys to eat?"

"Well, hang on, maybe one of those problems can be a solution to the other." Sansen, by virtue of being older than Meloai, Lucet, and I combined, was the de facto leader of our little group of adventurers. "I've seen people come and go in my time, and I've even encountered the soulspace entities they've left behind. If this soulspace entity is formed from the soul fragments of who I think it is, then he's not going to be hostile."

"Didn't you just say it was something from Lord Tanryn's vault?" I asked. 

"Yes, but I don't think it's that puffed-up nobleman himself. He wouldn't stoop so low as to open doors for some commoner."

"Then... who is it?" I turned to Sansen, frowning. The old man had forgotten more than I'd ever know, and I trusted his judgement.

A faint smile spread across Sansen's face. "I think it's his old butler." He cleared his throat. "Meloai. Did the soulspace entity ever set tables for you?"

Meloai gave him an uncertain nod. "I... think? That's the thing where all the silverware flies into place, and the tablecloth straightens itself out with a whoomph, right?"

"...In this context, sure," Sansen said. "Did he—did the entity do the little thing with the three types of forks? The one with two little tines on the left, the bigger one in the middle, and that delicate, long, pointy one on the right?"

Meloai nodded enthusiastically. "See? It is normal for tables to do that."

"Oi," I muttered. "Well, I guess it's not the weirdest thing we consider normal nowadays."

"Yeah, that's ol' Mairel alright." Sansen's old gaze stared into the distance as he remembered. "He was my first crush, back in the day. If there's still enough of him left to remember how to wait tables and grease doors... well. Indulge an old man for a moment, will you?"

The three of us traded looks, then nodded at once. We may have been an eccentric little group, but we were tight-knit. We trusted each other. "Whatcha need, Sansen?" I asked.

His requests were fairly simple. We cleared out the front yard of the abandoned shack, smoothing over the dirt with our feet and hands—and as we did, something... else... joined us. Something that barely remembered how to speak or think, but still knew how to set a dance floor. Within minutes, we'd cleared a square of land, with Sansen standing in the middle.

And the old man began to dance.

Wordlessly at first, the waltz was an invitation. He took the lead, and empty air followed. And then, all at once, the air wasn't empty anymore. There was no flash of light, no thunderous miracles, but Sansen's steps became more sure, his weight more freely shifted, as he leaned on a partner who wasn't there but had been, once, long ago.

Meloai began to hum to herself, a wordless childhood lullaby that she must have heard when she was growing up, and the cadence of the tune matched the waltz to perfection.

The old man and the ghost finished their dance, and I felt a whisper of wind rustle around the impromptu dance floor.

Then the miracle was over, and suddenly, Sansen was holding nothing but empty air. He let out a long, contented sigh, memory coursing through him.

Then he opened his eyes, smiling.

"You wanted food, kids?" He stepped forwards, opening the door to the abandoned shack. Behind it, impossibly, incongruously, was a fully-set banquet table, resplendent with rich foods from an era long past, with three delicate forks set precisely by each setting. "Seems like there's something left of Mairel after all."

And the four of us ate gratefully, sustained by the memory of a ghost of an old man's friend.

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

First

Previous

Table of Contents

Next

[ilkkawhat]

I can't believe it's almost been a year since AW2 was released. It really changed my life. For better or for worse? Who can say, but I've been having fun.

lol it's so surreal to me that it's been less than a year that I bought and played Alan Wake 2 (one month past release, in November) purely on a whim because I saw people on the silent hill subreddit talking about it and someone even made a meme about "friendship ended with silent hill now alan wake is my new best friend" and I kid you not within just a few days my life just...changed entirely.

I have a lot of depression and anxiety and somewhere in 2023 things just...went wrong and I stopped creating. stopped giffing, never thought I'd write again and drawing lmao forget it, that shit's been hard for me to do ever since a very discouraging experience back when I was maybe like, 11 or 12. stopped going on tumblr, had given up on discord a long time before then and became a miserable ghost doing nothing but burying myself in work in what i will admit is a toxic, overwhelming and stressful environment. I still played games, still watched shows but nothing was like. Sticking with me, I guess? Not like to obsession levels and minus some good vacations I was just...empty.

And playing Alan Wake 2 for the first time was a legit terrifying experience for me--not on the levels of the first time I played Silent Hill 2 maybe (legit locked myself in my room and put on my lamp in the middle of the day cause of the sound of footsteps behind me in that game lol and my dishwasher at the time sounded like that one chugging sound in the apartments) but the dread I was feeling as I got legitimately lost in the woods of Cauldron Lake and turned around in Coffee World (having basically explored it all before triggering the parts where the enemies spawn in) and the basement of Valhalla Nursing Home was thrilling and I was excited to be playing something that was so disturbing and mind bending and emotional, too. Not even knowing the story of Alan and Alice, my heart broke during Alice's final tape. Not knowing Alan's character outside of what I saw in the second game, his "fuck it" moment where he went back into the Dark Place felt so heroic. I felt an odd sense of nostalgia watching the Koskela brothers commercials, like I had known them my whole life. Alex Casey (both the FBI agent and fictional detective) is my favorite kind of wise-cracking guy who has a heart of gold, the old guy who I wish could be my dad. Tom Zane was that mysterious wild card that you know under the surface has something sinister, unsettling esp with his manipulation of Alan but is just so fascinating to watch. Of course I saw so much of my obsessive self in Rose with her shrine for Alan. Saga's time in the dark place felt so real to me, I cried and still cry every time I read that note from her mom at that part of the game (I know you can read it sooner but it packs a bigger punch with Saga's fight to get out of her own mind.) All of the characters quickly stole my heart and ran with it and maybe it was over a few days, maybe it was all at once the floodgates just...opened within me.

I started writing again. First with a character that I never thought I'd write for again because at the time, even just thinking about him legit hurt me. Then I started scheming up fics for Alan. Then I started giffing even from self-captured gameplay footage that I don't think I've ever done before. Then I started drawing in my Alan Wake journal--a journal which, I had not done since the peak of my CSI obsession during my teenage years and even then it wasn't to the extent of what that journal is now (which admittedly, has not been filled out in quite a number of weeks and maybe that's partially cause I tend to journalize myself on here too) And then one day I couldn't contain it anymore. I started sharing again. I don't talk to anybody really like, ever outside of these asks and occasional replies but I truly never thought I'd be part of a fandom again. I worried I'd fuck it all up again (still worry about that) for myself, or others. Or both. But all the kind messages, the kind tags, the awesome people I've started following because of Alan Wake, I wouldn't give any of that up.

And of course things branched off, crushing so hard on him I got obsessed with Ilkka. I played some of Remedy's other games (still working my way through Max Payne 2 and Quantum Break very very slowly) and went back to the first Alan Wake, of course which if I had known about earlier or had an Xbox I'm sure I would have loved it back then as much as I do now. Hell I even platinumed that and Alan Wake 2 and as someone who is notorious for not finishing games other than like. The Legend of Zelda series and playing some other endless games...think it says something that I've managed to beat and complete (I always do the rhymes, stashes, lunch boxes, every playthrough) Alan Wake 2 almost 10 times now.

I was happy. I'm still, for the most part when I'm not at work, happy. Call it what you want, a delusion brought on by a distraction of obsession, a dangerous escape threatening the part of me that is still rooted in reality in the way that like, what if I become too crazy about it where it blinds me to certain things or experiences or chases people away from me because I'm too weird about it (a very real thing that has happened before)

But damn with all of that...I'm having fun with it too.

[itsscromp]

Hello! I'd like to request Logan Walker. There's not many Logan x reader stories around. Anything works but degradation. Thank you! 😭

Being best friends with Logan Walker

Just a friendly reminder, I am still currently playing the campaign, so some things may be incorrect But I wanted to get this one out in the open, This will be personal headcanons of my interpretation of Logan so far.

When you first met Logan, It was when you managed to finally scurry your way out of no man's land, surprisingly alive.

Being brought back to Elias, He decided to give you a chance and have you join the ghosts alongside him, Keegan, Hesh and Merrick.

Logan warmed up to you pretty quickly.

In my head I kind of see him as Johnny in a way, Always tries to find the good in everything.

It was evident how big his heart was when on missions, He noticed how small you felt originally.

While sure you can fight, Keegan and Merrick would shut you down immediately, Hesh constantly kept to himself.

It was a built-up frustration, when you headed back to base, ripping the mask off.

Giving a moment to calm you down, He gently went inside your room and sat down next to you.

"I know what it feels like y/n... To be the underdog initially. They don't mean to be that way... They're just a little stressed about trying not to die" He chuckled softly and patted your back. "But remember I got your back ok ??"

You nodded and started to smile "Ok..."

Turns out, you two had a lot in common.

Before the attack from the federation in San Diego, Logan loved to play video games.

And one day when you two were out on a mission, You began to walk back to base.

But there was something on the path inside a house that Logan missed, He saw a box seemingly undestroyed after the attack.

"Logan, come on we gotta head back to base" You noticed him stop and inspect the box.

"Gimme a minute" He opened the box and his eyes went wide. "No way !!" You could see the crow's feet in his mask.

Walking over, you found a games console inside, looking still intact 10 years later. "That's cool... But I don't know if it'll work" You chipped in.

"Well only one way to find out" He lifted the box off the ground and carried it back to base.

Meeting each other again, you found yourself trying to configure the damn thing. After some minor tweaking, you got it running.

"Looks like they still have some games in here" You pulled them out and inspected "Persona 5, Horizon Zero Dawn... Oooh Resident Evil 7"

"Oh we are so playing that" He swiped the case off of you and placed the disc in.

You watched in immense horror as he continued to play, Both jumping at the scares, Making you both laugh.

It was nice with moments like these during your downtime.

But Logan was also an amazing shoulder to cry on when things got way tough.

One mission having you come back from failing to save hostages from the federation, It broke you...

Walking to the bathroom to wash your face, Looking in the mirror. Seeing what an utter failure you were, You didn't save them.

Gripping the sink, You began to punch the mirror repeatedly, Not caring about how loud you screamed, Not caring hour your knuckles started bleeding.

Soon you felt a pair of arms pull you away from the mirror and gently sat you down.

"It's ok... I'm here y/n" He gently rubbed your back.

"I could've saved them, I could've..." You hicced.

He gently moved your face to his chest, Encouraging you to scream your emotions out. "It's ok... Let it out" He reassured.

To which you cried louder and started to scream, Screaming to the point of exhaustion.

You didn't even realise you passed out until it was the following morning.

And you found yourself, wrapped up in logan's arms, holding you close, comforting you and keeping you safe.

You two were as thick as thieves, You weren't leaving each other behind.

Not now, Not ever.

[incendio22]

FOR THE HOPE OF IT ALL

Chapter 4: The Three Broomsticks

The conversation with Ominis lingered in my mind throughout the entire day. After classes I decide I need to talk to Sebastian. I need to get things off my chest. He is most likely in the Slytherin common room or the library. I decide to start with the library since I know it's one of the places that brings him comfort and for some reason I sense he needs just that.

I enter the massive library. Bookshelves climbing each and every wall all the way up to the roof. For someone who loves books, like Sebastian, I can really see why it is a place of comfort and peace. The atmosphere in the library is calming. I see a group of Ravenclaw students studying. I shrug my shoulders and think that only a Ravenclaw would be studying the first day of the semester. I see Amit amongst them. He looks incredibly focused and does not notice me. I wander through the library and try to see Sebastian, but he is nowhere to be found. A ghost flies by and I nod out of politeness. I make my way to the common room, but he is not there either. I see Imelda, and even though I despise her she might have knowledge of Sebastian's whereabouts.

''How was quidditch camp?'' I ask her politely since I overheard her talking about a summer quidditch camp.

''It was absolutely marvelous!'' She looks ecstatic that I asked her. ''I think I have a good shot at becoming quidditch captain this year actually. Have you thought about trying out for the team?''

Sports were never really my thing in muggle school, but I did however have some good skills on the broomstick. Even though the thought did not fully appeal to me, it's too soon to say no.

''I havent't really thought about it,'' I admit. ''Do you really think I'd be a good fit for the team?''

''Hear me out,'' Imelda leans in and lowers her voice. ''No one has ever beaten me in my practice exercises, and we both know that I am the best flyer at school. I think you could make the cut.''

''Well, I'm happy to hear. I need to think about it, then.'' I say and smile to her. ''Have you seen Sebastian?''

''As a matter of fact, I have.'' She says and her voice is back in her normal pitch. ''However, I won't tell you unless you tell me what is going on between the two of you. I saw some sparks flying last year, but they seemed to die before the O.W.L.s... People, I mean, I am wondering.''

Her face looks devious and I really do not want to share the story with her. But knowing Imelda, she won't give me an answer unless I provide her with at least a crumble of what she wants.

''I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we are just friends. And had a small falling out when we got caught up in the stress of the O.W.L.s,'' I say, hoping she does not see my lie.

''Y/n,'' Imelda leans in again. ''I know a lie when I hear one. But I am also kind enough to understand that you don't want to tell me.'' She looks bitter and her facial expressions almost scare me. ''He was heading to Hogsmeade. Alone. However, next time you need a favour from me - Don't come empty handed.''

''Thank you, Imelda.'' I say and I try my very best to look grateful. Stupid witch, I think. Expecting strangers to spill their secrets to her.

I head out to the clocktower courtyard and mount my broom. It's gonna be a quick fly to Hogsmeade. As I take off and leave the castle behind me I see a thestral flying in the sky, just over the forbidden forest. I lean forward, increasing the speed of the broom and feel the chilly, autumn air stroking my cheeks. My hands are almost numb, since I forgot gloves. I land just outside of Hogsmeade and walk the last bit, thinking that he must be at the Three Bromsticks. I walk rapidly and greet Sirona in the bar. On the top floor I see him, sitting in a corner with a book in his hand. I walk up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

''What?'' He asks angrily before he turns around and sees me. ''Oh. It's you.'' His voice softens and he puts the book down. The best healing plants I read on the front.

''Still looking for a cure?'' I nod towards the book and sit myself down on the seat next to him. He nods.

''I will never stop looking for a cure.'' He looks sad. ''I keep thinking that if I find a cure, she may forgive me. I know it's silly, because how could she ever forgive me after what I did?''

There and then, I want to put his hands in mine to comfort him. But I know that by doing so and not having only friendly intentions, I might risk our friendship. And it is not a gamble I am willing to risk.

''You need to give her time, it's still very fresh.'' I say in my most sympathetic voice. ''It hasn't even been six months. It's gonna take some time for her wounds to heal.''

''I guess you're right. And I need to make amends with others, too.'' He says. His eyes are fixated on the small glass of fire whiskey.

''Really?'' I ask. Genuinely wondering who he is referring to.

''Let me buy you a drink.'' He insists. ''Assuming you chased me here, it's quite rude of me to not even offer you something to drink. What do you want?''

''A butterbeer, thank you.'' I say. He stands up and makes his way down the stairs.

I can hear him and Sirona talking. He sounds amused, laughing at whatever she is saying. A short moment after I see him coming back up the stairs with one glass of butterbeer in each hand. He gives me a large smile.

''One butterbeer for the new girl.'' He puts it down next to me on the table. He knows that I despise that nickname, but I don't say anything. ''So, travelling all around Europe this summer?''

''Yeah,'' I nod. ''Like I said, Paris was best by far. The rest is kind of a blur. Have you ever been there?''

''No, I barely leave Feldcroft.'' He admits, looking a bit ashamed. ''I did, however, read about Paris after you wrote that you went there.'' He looks into my eyes. ''Let me tell you, there is not much to be found about that city in wizard books. I had to travel quite far to get my hands on a muggle book about it.''

''Really?'' I ask, genuinely surprised he went that far to look up what I wrote him about. ''You could just have asked me to bring you one.''

''I haven't really been in a good state since, you know, so I didn't want to ask any favours of you.'' He looks down again. When he looks sad, he looks small. Almost childish. Not in a bad way, but more in an innocent kind of way. He looks like the kind of person you could never lay a hand on to hurt them.

''After what we went through I assumed we could ask the other one for favours.'' I say with resistance to his statement.

''You're right. Like I said, I haven't been myself since that. I did bad things to many people whom I care about. That does something to your mind.''

''I understand,'' I say with compassion. It's almost like I forget that I got hurt by the fire, too. ''Well, I hope in the future you can come to me.''

''I did enjoy reading about Paris.'' Sebastian changes the subject really fast. I assume I hit a sensitive spot. ''I would love to see it someday.''

''Oh, it's absolutely marvellous!'' I say with excitement, some foam from the butterbeer still on my upper lip. ''It's a stunning city with great architecture and the atmosphere is just... Romantic.''

He looks into my eyes and smiles. His hand is approaching my face and he strokes his thumb on my upper lip to remove the foam that I was too excited to notice. It feels almost electric, his thumb on my lip. I want to hold still and keep it like that for eternity, but my reflexes pull me away.

''Just some foam.'' He says, breaking his eye contact and looking slightly embarrassed. ''What I found most exciting about Paris is how many things happened to the city, almost breaking down completely from the revolution and uprisings. Just to find some peace and building it all back up.'' He looks around the room. We are alone. ''It just brings me some hope, if you understand.''

I nod, because I really do understand.

''I think you should talk to Ominis.'' I say. Now it's me changing the subject abruptly.

''I doubt he wants to.'' Sebastian looks a bit upset. ''I want to give him some time and space. And when the timing is right, he can let me know.''

''It does not always work like that.'' I tilt my head and look at him with empathy. ''You hurt him, Sebastian. And yes, he needs time. But first and foremost, he needs an apology. And then you can give him some more space.''

Sebastian nods and finishes his butterbeer.

''I owe you an apology, too.'' He says hesitantly. His voice is barely audible. ''For everything.''

''Thank you, Sebastian.'' I smile at him and without even thinking about it, my hand reaches for his. I put my hand on top of his and start stroking it. ''I have already forgiven you.''

''You are one of the best people I have ever met and I would never put you through that again.'' He squeezes my hand and once again, I get that electric feeling.

We decide it's time to head back to the castle. It's really cold, especially without gloves and scarf. I tell Sebastian that I have my broom with me, but we decide to walk. We walk through the dark and foggy September night, letting the frost bite our cheeks. I start shivering and Sebastian looks at me.

''Merlin's beard! You do not even have a scarf with you?!'' He asks with an upset tone. ''Here, take this.''

Before I can talk back he has taken his scarf off and puts it around my neck.

''Much better.'' He says proudly and grins at me. ''Now we just need to get you to the castle before you turn into an icicle.''

We walk slowly to the castle, despite the biting cold. Because right in this moment, with the tiny raindrops and stars in the night sky, everything feels peaceful.

[sequinsmile-x]

Time Went On for Everybody Else

Despite how much he would miss the place he learnt how to be part of a family again, he found himself kneeling on the ground where his blood had once marked the carpet, his eyes fixed on the spot where he had almost lost his life.

-x-

This all came from a conversation I had with @hancydrewfan about Aaron continuing to live where Foyet attacked him.

Someday y'all will learn if you say something offhanded to me this will happen...or you all know exactly what you're doing. I know what I'd put my money on 😉

-x-

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Mentions of blood/previous injury. Pregnancy.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

At first, it hadn’t bothered him. 

He hadn’t had time to think about what had happened to him in the place he called home. The pull at his still healing scars on his chest and abdomen enough of a reminder alongside his son’s empty bedroom full of clothes Aaron knew he would grow out of before he saw him next. When he was finally released from the hospital, Emily by his side with his bag slung over her shoulder after she insisted on driving home, the blood stain he knew must have been left behind was gone. 

He’d since found out in the years that had passed that Penelope had cleaned it up. She’d come over with bleach and her bright pink rubber gloves and scrubbed the floor until it was as good as new, leaving no physical trace of what Foyet had done to him in the one place he should have been safe. 

When Haley died, murdered in the place they had bought together, young and naive and so sure it would be their home forever, he sells the house. He can’t bare the thought of raising his son where he had lost his mother. Aaron couldn’t walk into their old bedroom where he’d found her body without being able to smell her blood in the air or walk past the room where he had killed Foyet. The sound of his facial bones fracturing under his fists echoing throughout the house in the middle of the night, the ghost of it only ever one step behind him.

Aaron knew that he could have moved, that he could have used the money he got from the house sale to buy somewhere new, but his overriding concern was making sure that Jack had some familiarity. His decision to stay, to live in the place he’d been attacked, was solidified when he brought Jack home after Haley’s funeral and he saw his son physically relax as soon as they were in the apartment, his tiny shoulders loosening from stress he never should have been burdened with at his young age.

Jack felt safe there, and that was enough for Aaron to stay. 

When he and Emily first started talking about moving in together, something they already did in all but name when the conversation came around, her moving into the apartment he once only shared with his son seemed like the most natural idea. She had no real connection to the apartment she’d moved into on her return from Paris, and she made no secret of the fact she’d never finished unpacking. She told him once, early on in their relationship as they were wrapped up around each other in the bed that was now theirs, that she never fully unpacked. It was a hangover from her childhood when she’d never lived anywhere long enough to have roots. She’d always leave at least one box packed, a way of reminding herself that nothing lasted forever. Something that life had continually reminded her of again and again. 

Aaron felt nothing short of pride when she unpacked everything when she moved in with him and Jack. A smile on her face and a thin sheen of sweat on her brow as she collapsed the last of the boxes without saying anything. He’d pulled her in for a hug and a kiss, tasting her smile as he welcomed her home. 

Eighteen months down the line they were moving again, into a house she’d bought them but they’d chosen together, her trust fund financing a home that they’d both been looking for longer than either of them would admit. It felt strange for the apartment to be empty, all of their furniture and belongings either already at the new house or about to be on their way in the moving truck. The emptiness of the apartment somehow made it seem bigger and smaller at the same time, leaving him unsure how so many of his memories with Jack and with Emily had taken place in such a relatively small space. 

This was the place his son felt safe again after so much uncertainty. It was where Emily had grown close to them and become part of their family. The kitchen was where Emily and Jack had tried to make him breakfast on his birthday, narrowly avoiding having to call the fire department when he happened to get out of bed and find them. The living room was where he’d proposed to the woman he was now lucky enough to call his wife, a simple night in watching a movie turning into more as he realised he couldn’t wait any longer to give her the ring he’d bought even before she’d moved in. 

The master bedroom was where she’d told him he was going to be a father again only a couple of weeks ago, their hopes from the last year finally coming to fruition, the timing of the move perfect. 

Despite all of that, despite how much he would miss the place he learnt how to be part of a family again, he found himself kneeling on the ground where his blood had once marked the carpet, his eyes fixed on the spot where he had almost lost his life. He’d seen the crime scene photos and could picture the bloom of the stain when he closed his eyes, a grim pattern he knew he’d never quite be free from.

“Honey, the truck is ready to go and…” 

Emily fades off as she walks into the apartment, the sentence she’d walked in already saying lost as she finds her husband sitting on the floor in a space that was all too familiar to her. She blows out a steady breath, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she makes a decision on the spot. She turns back to look into the hallway and she smiles at Penelope and Jack who were standing just a few paces away.

“Jack, sweetie, why don’t you go with Aunt Pen and follow the truck, your dad and I will be there soon, ok?”

Jack nods enthusiastically, any usual desire to be wherever she and Aaron were lost to his excitement over the move and his fascination with the large truck that held most of their belongings. 

“Ok!” He says, and Emily winks at him, grateful that he is so agreeable and once again, foolishly, hoping that the tiny baby inside of her would one day be the same. Something Aaron told her was absolutely not going to happen because it was half her. Emily looks at Penelope who nods, an understanding smile on her face as she loops her arm around the little boy’s shoulders, not so quietly whispering to him that they’d get a McFlurry on the way. 

Emily watches them go and gives herself a moment before she steps back into the apartment that was now empty apart from her husband and she closes the door behind her. She walks over to him and places her hand on his shoulder, smiling as she squeezes it when he looks up at her. 

“You ok?” She asks, and he nods before he looks back at the ground, his eyes fixed on the spot her gaze would still drift to on long nights when sleep escaped her and she made her way from their bed to the couch. She sighs and sits next to him, something that seemingly snaps Aaron out of whatever trance he was in for a moment as he reaches out, his hands on her hips as he helps guide her down to the ground.

“Em, you shouldn’t be-”

“Aaron, I am 8 weeks pregnant I can get on and off the floor quite easily,” she says, cutting off his already frequent attempts to help her or try to convince her she shouldn’t be doing something, “As soon as it becomes an issue you’ll be the first to know.” 

He smiles and nods, letting her settle next to him without further comment. She wraps her arms around one of his and kisses his shoulder before she rests her head against it, content to sit in silence until he was ready to talk. It was one of the many things they had in common - their need to work through something by themselves before they let someone else in. A side effect of both of their childhoods that they were working on together, each of them becoming the other's safe space. 

“Dave asked me once why I never moved after Foyet,” Aaron says, his voice quiet as he continues to stare at the carpet, “I considered it when I was still in the hospital, the thought of coming back here was…a lot.”

“Why didn’t you?” She asks, already knowing the answer but allowing him to talk it through. 

“At first the thought of moving also a lot. I’d lost Jack and Haley and Foyet was still out there,” he says, clearing his throat, “Some nights I sat here and waited for him to come back to finish the job.” The mere thought of it makes her freeze, her hold on his arm tightening as her breath catches in her throat. “Then after Haley died and I sold the house…”

He drifts off and she sighs, finishing his sentence for him, “You wanted somewhere Jack would feel at home.” 

He nods, turning his head as he finally tears his eyes from the floor so he can kiss her forehead, “Yeah. That felt more important than anything else.” 

She tilts her head to look up at him and smiles softly, releasing one of her hands from around his arm to cup his cheek. She pulls him in for a kiss, her thumb pressed into his dimple. When she pulls back she smiles at him, her hand still on his cheek as she looks at the floor herself, swallowing thickly as familiar panic climbs up her throat. 

“I’ll always remember just knowing that something was wrong that morning,” she says, chuckling humourlessly as she shakes her head, “I still can’t explain why, Pen likes to say now that it’s because you and I are meant for each other. That some unknown force let me know you were in danger because I love you,” they both laugh at the suggestion, and she looks at him, her eyes shining, “The ridiculous thing is I was completely in love with you at the time I just didn’t know it yet.” 

Aaron presses his forehead into hers, “I was in love with you too.” 

She already knew that, their long-felt mutual feelings for each other something they had both admitted to in the early days of their relationship, but it still felt good to hear. Good to know that she wasn’t alone in sometimes wondering what would have happened if they’d given in to their feelings long before they had. She liked to think if they’d been together then, if she’d gone home with him that night, that she would have been able to save him. 

“When I got here and called you, and heard your cell was inside, and when I realised your door was open. When I saw the blood…” she clears her throat, looking back at the floor again as she blows out a shaky breath, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared,” she laughs bitterly, “And I was once undercover as a terrorist’s girlfriend.” He joins in on the laughter, the sound loud and out of place given what they were talking about, but she smiles widely at him, a sure sign that was the response she’d been hoping for, “It’s why I was so insistent on helping you afterwards. Driving you to and from work, paying for your medical bills-”

“You…” he pulls back to look at her, his brow furrowing, “You paid for my medical bills?” 

She feels her cheeks flush, embarrassment that she hates flooding her body and making her feel warm, “Yes,” she replies, biting the inside of her cheek, “Who do you think paid for it?”

“I always assumed Dave, I guess,” he says, tilting his head at her, his eyes full of love and wonder “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

She shrugs, “I don’t know. It didn’t feel important.” 

“Em-”

“It’s just money, Aaron,” she says, a comment that had become a frequent one recently as they finalised everything about the move, “It’s something I have an abundance of, and at the time it was the only way I could love you.” 

He stares at her for a moment but he drops it, nodding before he smiles at her, “It isn’t the only way anymore.” 

She nods and she rests her head against his shoulder again, “No, it isn’t,” she sighs, her stomach rolling in a way it always seemed to these days, “We should get going though before I throw up on the carpet.” 

He places his hand on her still flat stomach, “Baby giving you trouble?” 

She hums, “As always.” 

He stands up first before he offers her hand, smiling when she rolls her eyes but takes the help anyway, letting him pull her up onto her feet as she grimaces at the way her stomach rolls again. He pulls her into a hug, his arms wrapped tightly around her as he looks at the carpet again, the invisible reminder of the violence he’d survived here flashing in his head. 

It wouldn’t be in the new house, a place where they could start afresh. His first home where violence didn’t linger in the background. His father’s anger ever-present in his childhood, Foyet’s ghost in the house he’d shared with Haley and then the one he shared with Emily and Jack. The new house would be free of it. A place where they could raise and add to their family.

A place where they would all be safe. 

“You ready to go?” She asks, pulling back and smiling at him, and he knows if he says no, if he says he wants to stay, she will do. But he doesn’t want to. 

He doesn’t need to. 

“Yeah,” he replies, linking their fingers together as he tugs her towards the front door, “I’m ready.” 

-x-

Tag list:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

[thewritingsandwich]

The Chiming Lady - Part 2

A Lockwood & Co. Fan Fiction

Other Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

Summary: The agents of Lockwood & Co. are invited to the Halloween-Party of a former client.

A/N: I originally wrote this for @ savelockwoodnco on instagram's filler episode theme. But I'm a month too late... anyways this takes place after 'The Empty Grave' but there are no major spoilers for it. Originally I wrote it in german, but I translated it for the internet with the help of DeepL.

Tag List: @ahead-fullofdreams

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, brief mentions of su***de and mu**er

I'm not quite sure what to think about the fact that I can only really celebrate Halloween this year. In the past, the last day of October was just that - an ordinary day. For many years, October was the start of a stressful time, as the early darkness meant that even more ghosts appeared and caused trouble.

I can still vividly remember a Halloween night when I was still working at Jacobs. Together with my friends, we watched old scary films and ate so much sweets that our bellies would burst. I spent all the other nights of 31 October either at home or in a haunted house. After all, parties and good humour seemed to be reserved for the rich who could afford a good security system and didn't have to chase ghosts at night.

It was the first time I'd ever been in a costume - or at least I couldn't remember any other time. I was wearing brown trousers and had wrapped a top over them with different fabrics. Over the wrapped top I wore a loose-fitting corset made of fake leather. On my back I wore a quiver with fake arrows and I had made a real belt with Holly with lots of storage space. I had painted on fake freckles with a little make-up and braided my hair into a braid. My ears looked pointed thanks to plastic prosthetics. I wasn't really happy yet, but I guess I could only disguise myself as far as my resources would take me - I still looked too much like Lucy Carlyle and not like Eobyn Truewood Heroine of Thalore.

I smoothed out wrinkles in my costume as the stairs to my attic began to creak. I turned to the opening in the floor and saw Lockwood climbing the stairs in his costume.

"Hello, I was wondering if you could paint my face red? George was actually going to do it, but he's locked himself in his room." He was holding a make-up sponge and red face paint in his hand. On his head he wore a headband with little devil horns.

"Sure, but can't you do it yourself?"

"I've already tried that. It looked terrible." He laughed briefly.

So I gestured for him to sit on my bed (the only acceptable seating up here). I sat down next to him and turned to face him.

The colour was really pigmented, but I left a few streaks that I had to painstakingly touch up with the sponge. In the meantime, I was just as red as Lockwood - if not more. I was just getting incredibly warm in this room, in my costume - next to Lockwood.

But we were finished. There were still spots here and there that someone with more knowledge of make-up could perhaps have improved, but Lockwood was happy, so I was too.

We waited together in the kitchen over a cup of tea for Holly and George.

Holly's outfit was truly stunning. She wore a long, loose pastel green dress and fake pointy ears too. Her make-up matched the pastel colour palette she had chosen for her character. Her dark skin made the colours particularly vibrant.

Just before the driver arrived, George finally made an appearance. And his costume was many things.

He had painted his skin chalky white and dyed his hair black. In his mouth, from which (hopefully) fake blood was running, pointed fangs were visible and behind his glasses he had red eyes. His costume resembled the suit of a Victorian gentleman with a long cape and a few pieces of armour.

The three of us knew that George was no ordinary vampire. He was Lord Glethin, a nefarious vampire who had taken control of a country and was now spreading fear and terror with the undead. He was the main villain of our campaign and had spanked us mightily a few times already.

Holly broke the silence that prevailed shortly after his arrival with a round of applause, which I joined in with, as did Lockwood. He looked impressive.

A car horn signalled us to leave and we ran to the front door. I had stowed all my essentials in my belt bag, while Holly carried a fashionable handbag and Lockwood slung a rucksack on his back - I didn't really want to know what he was up to.

Just as we were out of the amazement again, the next surprise greeted us outside our door. In the faint light of dusk and the greenish glow of the ghost lamps, an Austin Healey saloon was parked outside 35 Portland Row. And no, I don't know anything about cars, I just understood George's mumbling.

The driver, an old man with white sideburns, greeted us and opened the door to our seats. Even then I was sure that this was going to be a night to remember.

[literaticat]

Hello Jenn, I have a weird question. I've been working on a project for about 8 months or so now based on the urban legends of the city where I live. I borrow from a lot of them, and the general history of the city as well. The work isn't a retelling, but it does use those legends to support the overall narrative. Recently on twitter I saw a querying author pitching a book that is very different from mine, but also uses those same urban legends/history of the same city. They are two very different works both inspired by the same place/history of that place, but I'm worried about the world being what it is that if I give my book to my agent/go on sub/get a deal and an unagented author sees that I have the same inspiration they will worry about plagiarism.

How are issues with retellings or referenced histories managed? I've looked at their pitch a few times since it crossed my dash and it really does seem wholly different in intent and focus and how those stories are used. But it's impossible to separate the setting, the theme, the impact, and the spookiness of these legends. I had no idea who they were or what they were up to until that twitter post. But now I'm worried about hurting them since I have an agent atm and they don't.

People have similar ideas, settings, etc, ALL THE TIME. You know that you didn't plagiarize this book -- it very clearly is different in every way except the "Inspo" of these stories, which are stories that thousands (millions?) of people know. They are public knowledge -- it's not like this person INVENTED them.

A thousand books are set in Olden Days England, and include things like "getting a lemon ice at Gunthers" or "buying Hoby boots" or having a "well-sprung carriage" or whatever -- those books aren't copying each other AT ALL, they are making standard references to a real place and time. There can be multiple books that reference, say, Marie Laveau and other tales of New Orleans, or Anne Boleyn's Ghost and the Tower of London -- and nobody could really say "this person plagiarized me!" because those stories are like, part of history.

So I wouldn't stress about this. If anyone were to come at you with a wild accusation of plagiarism, well, you have receipts. You started writing your book years ago, presumably. You have word documents that have dates on them, research that has dates on it, emails and different drafts between yourself and your agent, etc. Their book doesn't exist in public yet, you don't know them -- how COULD you have read it?

As for the idea of randomly "hurting" a stranger's chances -- who is to say that this WOULD hurt them. Maybe it would HELP them. If your book gets a publishing deal and people are obsessed with it, maybe the thirst for stories with these themes will be increased. And as you say, their book iS different from yours, so somebody who is interested in these themes but doesn't want a carbon copy of your book would probably LOVE theirs.

You didn't know about this person until you randomly came across a tweet of theirs -- who is to say they'd ever even know about your book unless they randomly came across a tweet of YOURS? Thousands of books get published every year -- I'm not saying you aren't special, I'm sure you are, but like -- you are the main character of your own life. You aren't even a walk-on cameo in theirs. It's highly unlikely that your book getting published is going to change the trajectory of some random stranger's life and launch you into Villain territory.

If anything -- maybe the two of you should become friends, since you obviously have similar interests. If you DO get a book deal, maybe you reach out and say, hey, I noticed on Twitter that you are writing a book with similar themes -- I know they are pretty different, but if/when you are getting published, I'd love to help out with promotion, since I too am obsessed with [the ghosts of Charleston, or whatever]. Maybe you get a Ghostly gang together and all help one another's books!

TL;DR, don't worry about it.

[lulamadison]

131 please!

Thank you for the prompt 😃

Well, I said I was going to write a Lawrusso comedy, but I'd had a stressful week and several vodkas, and out came this depressing little Butterfly Effect style time travel fic...

I've spent the rest of this weekend cleaning it up, and I was hesitant to post it because it is so miserable, but here goes anyway 😉

Prompt 131: I’ll spend a thousand lifetimes coming back to you

Warning: Major Character death

Johnny had lost count of how many times he'd tried to bring Daniel back.

He'd altered the timeline so many times that he could barely remember what was real and what wasn't, but every time he came back one thing remained unchanged – Daniel was still dead.

And it was ridiculous really; the amount of desperation he felt to bring him back when they'd only ever been on one date.

One date.

One perfect date, where they'd laughed and drank and Daniel had kissed him chastely at the end of the night as they said their goodbyes.

Johnny had gone back to the date and instead of leaving Daniel in the parking lot as he waited for his Uber, he told him he loved him and confessed everything.

Told him how he'd loved him since they were 17.

Told him he'd beat him half to death because he didn't know how to deal with his feelings.

Told him he was sorry for everything he'd done.

And yet it still didn't work.

Instead of dying in an empty parking lot, he'd slipped at home and banged his head.

He'd died on the floor of his own garage when he went out for more beers and didn't come back.

It seemed that Daniel was destined to die, no matter what Johnny did.

Johnny went back again.

This time to before the date, and when Daniel had kissed him in the dojo and confessed his feelings, Johnny feigned indifference.

He told him he wasn't interested.

He wasn't gay or bi or whatever.

He saw the hurt in Daniel's eyes as he apologised for misreading the signals.

Johnny could live with the pain if it meant that Daniel lived.

He could hide his feelings.

He could live with the constant longing.

He could ignore the awkwardness of their interactions as he watched Daniel try to treat their relationship as nothing more than friendship.

But it didn't change anything.

Daniel still died.

This time he was found dead in the pond at Miyagi-Do. Drowned in the water below the balance wheel. No one knew how it had happened. He was always so careful around the dojo.

Johnny went back further, to the moment they bowed to each other at the All Valley.

When Daniel bowed Johnny reached over, pulled him in by the shoulders and kissed him in front of all those people. He didn't care who knew that they were in love.

Daniel was found dead the next day. Beaten to death in the LaRusso Auto parking lot.

A hate crime the news called it.

Amanda blamed Johnny.

Johnny blamed himself too.

He went back again.

They were in Miyagi-Do and Daniel offered Johnny a bite of his food. Johnny shook his head.

“Nah, man. I'm not eating that crap,” he said, then he stood up and walked away.

Daniel died, choking on the food he'd offered to Johnny.

Johnny went back further.

Daniel was at his apartment. Johnny offered him ham.

Daniel said no, and took a drink of beer. He said they needed to tell the kids it wasn't going to work out.

“Nah, man,” Johnny replied. “We love each other. We need to figure it out.”

“You love me?” Daniel asked, his voice hesitant, like Johnny had just confirmed everything he'd ever dreamed of.

“I do,” Johnny said, as he leaned over and kissed him.

Daniel didn't pull back. He leaned into the kiss and let out a moan.

“I need…” Daniel said as he pulled back, his eyes showing that he reciprocated every stupid feeling Johnny had ever felt for him.

“I need…” Daniel said again.

“Just don't leave me,” Johnny replied, his fingers still trailing across Daniel's cheeks like the ghost that he was. “I've been trying for so long.”

“What do you mean?” Daniel asked.

“I've loved you for so long,” Johnny replied as he ran his fingertips down Daniel's neck. “Every time I tell you it means nothing.”

“You've never told me you loved me before,” Daniel said with a huff of laughter.

“I have, so many times,” Johnny said, as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Daniel's neck. “But it doesn't change anything. Every time I tell you it still ends the same way.”

“Then don't let me go tonight,” Daniel replied, holding Johnny's gaze, and pulling him closer.

“I won't,” Johnny said, as he ran his hand down Daniel's chest.

They touched each other in a way Johnny hadn't experienced in any other life time.

They made love, and after it was over he clung to Daniel knowing he'd made a difference.

Knowing this time was different.

Daniel would still be alive.

He could live in this lifetime with Daniel by his side, just as he hoped he would.

But it didn't happen.

They woke, all warm and cosy, wrapped together under scratchy blankets. Kissing each other gently as Johnny felt like all his dreams had finally come true.

Daniel went to work in his car and didn't come back.

A tragic accident, the news said.

Drunk driver, they said.

Side swiped Daniel's car on Ventura Boulevard while doing 90.

He didn't stand a chance, they said.

Missed by his wife and family, the funeral notices said.

Johnny attended Daniel's funeral for the hundredth time, hidden in the shadows.

Hiding behind the trees.

Looking over toward the plot where he was buried next to his Sensei, as always.

Johnny tried again.

“Still got those Golden locks,” Daniel said, with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, but you based your whole life on kicking me in the face, huh?” Johnny asked before the other LaRusso Auto assholes could come across.

Daniel laughed. “Maybe I did,” he said, as he gazed at Johnny in a way he hadn't seen this far back.

“Guess I made an impression on you?” Johnny said cockily, as he took a step closer.

Daniel swallowed, casting a glance towards Johnny's lips before flicking back up again. “Maybe you did.”

Daniel died that same day.

Taking someone for a test drive in a red Dodge Challenger that they smashed into oncoming traffic

Every time Johnny went back he felt it sapping the life out of him.

He knew each time he went back it was killing him and he didn't care.

He was dying and it didn't matter when Daniel wasn't by his side.

Every time he went back as he tried to put everything right was a moment he didn't get to spend with Daniel where he came from.

Every time he tried to change things he saw that he loved Daniel in every timeline.

He saw that Daniel loved him in every time line.

The next time he tried he grabbed Daniel by the shoulders.

He'd gone back so far that they'd never even met yet.

“I know you don't understand this, but I have to tell you,” Johnny said, as they stood on the beach. “I’ll spend a thousand lifetimes coming back to you, and it'll never be enough.”

“What?” Daniel asked. “I don't even know who you are.”

“I can't put it right,” Johnny said. “I've tried so many times, but I'll keep trying.”

“What do you mean?” Daniel asked.

“I've figured it all out now. This is all the time we have together,” Johnny said. “I'll keep going because it's worth it.”

“I don't know what you're talking about, man,” Daniel said with a nervous laugh.

“I kept thinking it wasn't important, all these moments I spend with you across a hundred different timelines,” Johnny said, as he took hold of Daniel's shoulders again. “I thought the only thing that mattered was the outcome. The only thing I cared about was spending the rest of my life with you, but I can still do that.”

Daniel pulled away from Johnny's grasp. “I don't know who the hell you are, but you need to back off right now!”

“It doesn't matter what we do,” Johnny said. “It always ends in the same way, with you dead.”

“Is that a threat?” Daniel asked raising his fists.

“It's just how it is,” Johnny said, his shoulders sinking. “I can't save you. You always die.”

“OK, now you're freaking me out, so if you don't leave me the hell alone I'm going to kick your ass,” Daniel replied angrily.

Johnny couldn't help but grin. “This is what I love the most about you. Hotheaded little asshole, always spoiling for a fight.”

“I'm spoiling for a fight now, yeah,” Daniel said, as he took a step back.

“You're still going to die,” Johnny said.

Daniel lashed out, hitting Johnny in the cheekbone, knocking him backwards, as he shouted, “Leave me alone, man!”

Johnny was rocked backwards, but he didn't fall. He raised a hand to his rapidly bruising face, running his fingertips across the reddened skin. Every punch from Daniel felt just as good as a kiss these days.

“I might not get to spend the rest of my life with you in my timeline,” Johnny said, still running his fingers of the bruise. “But I can spend the rest of my life in these moments with all the different versions of you.”

Johnny went back again.

Moving between the timelines, even though his nose started bleeding and the headaches were lasting longer each time.

He knew he was dying, slowly killing himself with each jump.

He never went back to his own world again. He knew Daniel would never be there.

He travelled the universe. A spiderweb of encounters written across the timeline.

If he ever crossed his own path the whole thing could come crashing down, but Johnny didn't care. Daniel was always destined to die and Johnny would always be cursed to stand by his graveside.

What did it matter if the universe ended? What was left for him beyond the stolen moments with all the different versions of Daniel?

He kept travelling.

He spent the day watching Daniel through the windows of the dealership, as he smiled brightly at customers and staff.

He spent a day at the All Valley tournament as they agreed to work together to defeat Cobra Kai.

His nose barely stopped bleeding now. Sneezing red spots into his hands. Pockets full of crusty blood stained tissues.

He spent the day getting ready for their first date.

“Are you OK?” Daniel asked, as he sat across from him in the booth.

“Huh?” Johnny asked.

“You keep kinda zoning out on me,” Daniel said with a grin.

Johnny smiled softly. “I was just wondering if it was appropriate to tell you that I love you on a first date.”

“Wow,” Daniel said, sitting back. He was quiet for a moment, then he shrugged his shoulders and said, “It must be fine, because I love you too.”

Johnny smiled to himself even though he felt like his skull was about to crack.

“You're amazing,” Johnny said. “And every single moment I've spent with every you has been worth it.”

Daniel's brow wrinkled in confusion for a second, then he smiled and said, “I think I'll take that as a compliment?”

Johnny smiled.

Right here and now was all that mattered anymore. All he had to do was keep travelling.

All he had to do was keep coming back to Daniel for the rest of his life.