#lock me in a void and erase my mouth

[weaveintheends]

When you are using every ounce of your will power not to make your mental illness and social anxiety your friends’ problem.

[ghoultrifle]

Phantom is trying to do maths because he wants to be the smartest ghoul like Aether. Swiss comes over and asks what he’s doing. Phantom starts explaining subspace (maths version), to which Swiss responds they should explore the good kind of subspace instead

Jimothy once again pulling through as my favourite maths nerd, everyone else please enjoy learning about subspaces <3 This was so much fun to write but i am incredibly impatient so this has not been proofread and will not be my best work, sorry not sorry! I kinda forgot about the whole subspace thing halfway through but I do not have the energy to go back soooo

Swiss is trans because I said so! cunt, clit, dick, cock used.

Phantom was laying on his bed, stomach on the mattress as he kicked his legs in the air, twirling an eraser pensively in his hands. His mouth was occupied with the tip of his pencil, gnawing on the bitter wood, his free hand supporting the weight of his chin. Shoulder-length locks kept falling, clouding his vision. He didn’t care, he was fed up of learning about subspaces.

“Why do I care if U is a subspace of V? And why do I need to keep proving it?” He pouted, only himself to hear the complaints in the now dim light of his room, the midday sun now sinking below the horizon.

Phantom was rubbing out the workings for the latest attempt at the question, he kept making silly mistakes: misreading the question or forgetting how to do simple maths.

“Stupid fucking ghoul, you’ll never be as smart as Aether, just face it!” The quintessence ghoul cried out to the void. But the void replied…

The young ghoul’s door opened, it was Swiss. “What’s wrong, Baby Bat?” He questioned, frowning at Phantom.

“Can’t do this fucking work. Every time I think I’m getting somewhere, something else goes wrong! What’s wrong with me, Swiss?”

“Oh hey, it’s alright, Bug. Nothing’s wrong with you. Looks like you’ve been here all day, you’re probably just in your own head.” Swiss patted Phantom on the back, alternating between pressure and smooth strokes. “What’re you trying to do anyway? Are chores not enough for you?”

“‘m learning about subspaces!” Phantom replied, a passion reignited in his voice.

“Learning about what?!” If Swiss had a drink he would have comically spat it out all over the ghoul next to him.

“Yeah, I enrolled in an online maths course ‘cause I wanted to be smart like Aether and Omega. This week’s work is all about subspaces. A subspace is a subset of a vector space that is itself a vector space but also satisfies the three subspace criteria.” Phantom ranted. Swiss was too entranced in the energy of the younger ghoul to stop him.

“The first criterion is that the subset can’t be empty, the second cri –” The multi ghoul was pulled out of his trance as a fiendish idea swirled around his mind, hands roughly grabbing Phantom’s cheeks as he kissed him hard - anything to shut the other ghoul up.

Swiss pulled away, taking in Phantom’s look of awe, “Sorry Tommy, maths is a sore spot for me, can’t listen to it.” He apologised.

“How about we explore the good kind of subspace instead, hmm?” The older ghoul asked, gently coaxing Phantom to sit up as he swiped the ghoul’s hard work off the bed, landing crumpled on the floor. That was a problem for future them.

“Oh okay but I really do need to finish that work,” Phantom replied, worriedly gazing at his hours of effort lying on the floor, Swiss’ calloused thumb rubbing his shoulder.

“Hmm Baby, it’s worse than I thought. You really do need to get fucked dumb,” the multi ghoul cooed. His brown eyes raked over the almost shaking ghoul beside him. Swiss would be lying if he said he didn’t have a thing for smart guys; there’s a reason he and Aether always shared a hotel room on tour. But he could also tell when someone just needed to be reminded how stupid they are, pliant under his touch and unable to form a coherent thought.

Through many a session with Aether, the multi ghoul had honed his quintessence, now at the ability of a teenage ghoul, and a horny one at that. “I’m gonna use a bit of magick, alright? Can you remember your safe actions?” Swiss asked in a loving tone, like honey lined his vocal cords, his words coating Phantom in a sickly sweet embrace.

“Mhm Sir, pickle or three leg taps if I can’t speak.”

Swiss shuddered at the honorific, seems Phantom wouldn’t need much help dropping today, his control already slipping at the mere suggestion of a scene.

“Good boy. Now let’s talk about our subspace criteria. First rule, a sub’s head must be empty.”

The older ghoul extended his fingertips to Phantom’s now-bare chest. Quintessence oozing from his digits, reaching in, shoving all the work on Phantom’s metaphorical desk onto the floor, leaving the ghoul devoid of thoughts.

“How are you feeling, my precious?” 

Phantom could only stare at him through lidded eyes, mouth agape as he attempted a nod. Swiss knew the answer to his rhetorical question, however. Phantom’s trousers were tented, the ghoul shifting where he was sat in an attempt to get some friction on his filled out cock.

Every movement was primal, a base instinct not tied down by societal rules. In any other scenario Phantom would be horrified at the blush working its way across his cheeks, unable to hide it with his leaden arms. Right now though, he isn’t even aware of his body’s reaction to the touch.

“Oh such a slut for me, aren’t you? Can’t even tell me how good you’re feeling. How hard you are in those tight little pants. Already leaking and I haven’t even told you the rest of the rules.” Swiss teased.

The quintessence ghoul’s blush only grew a deeper purple, contrasting his mottled skin. His head was vacant, half-formed thoughts fleeting by at incredible speeds, long disappeared over the horizon by the time he tried to acknowledge them.

“Second rule, a sub must be obedient,” a flustered Swiss declared, thinking on his feet now. He wanted to commit to the bit but didn’t think he’d get Phantom on board. “Do you think you can be a good boy for me?” he asked, knowing the words would get his dumb toy’s dick leaking as he cradled the smaller ghoul’s face, his hand easily reaching both ears.

As promised an almost imperceptible damp spot started to form on Phantom’s tight, dark pants, outlining the head of his cock. It was begging for release, sensitive and oh so hard. The quintessence ghoul fluttered his eyelids at the other, his way of saying Yes Daddy, I’ll be such a good boy for you.

Swiss was equally as affected, his clit rock solid while his cunt was creating a very sticky problem in Swiss’ boxers. But tonight wasn’t about him, it was about helping Phantom let go in every way possible. So he continued to let the wet patch grow as he recited the third rule.

“The third rule for a sub to be just perfect is for them to float away. Let me take care of you, bug.”

As Swiss was quoting the rule he reached down to unzip Phantom’s trousers, giving his weeping cock a few quick strokes through the red boxers, no doubt borrowed from Dewdrop. Phantom had just enough of a hold on reality to let out a choked moan as Swiss finally touched him. A small whimper came out when the multi ghoul removed his hand.

Swiss wasn’t a ghoul known for his patience, and that extended to the bedroom. It didn’t take long for him to decide that tonight Phantom would have to get off while pleasuring the multi ghoul because he’ll be damned if the new summon doesn’t have the hottest mouth. Of course the award for physically hottest mouth went to Dewdrop but Phantom’s soft, plump lips and limber tongue won the award for most pleasurable.

Swiss unbuckled his belt as he slid off his bottoms in one smooth motion, only tripping as the fabric got stuck around his ankle. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t like the dazed ghoul on the bed could react in any way, still heavily under the influence of Swiss’ quintessence.

The multi ghoul stood there, dick jutting out between his folds. He always described himself as an outie, and he was proud of it. Phantom seemed even prouder, drool spilling from his lips as he watched Swiss give himself a few tugs before swiping at himself and giving it a taste.

“Like what you see, hmm?” Swiss mocked, reaching out to Phantom’s chest again to partially release him from the throes of his magick. “Well how about you show Daddy a good time then, baby bat.”

And with that Swiss was pushing down on Phantom’s ribs, forcing the younger ghoul onto his back as he straddled his midriff, trapping Phantom’s leaking cock beneath him.

“Ah Swiss, feels so mmm good.” The quintessence ghoul whined, in control of his voice once again.

“Oh, bug, toys don’t talk.” Swiss frowned, trying his best not to let his excitement show. He agonisingly inched his way up Phantom’s body, leaving a trail of slick behind him before his cunt arrived at those delicate lips. “Let’s put that mouth to good use instead, my love.”

Swiss lowered himself gently onto Phantom’s face letting the younger ghoul lick exploratively before sliding his tongue deep inside the multi ghoul. “Eat up,” he smirked.

And Phantom did. Anything to be a good boy, the promise of a reward implicit with Swiss. He could be mean but he’d never leave a lover unsatisfied. So Phantom ate Swiss out like his life depended on it. By the way his cock was kicking, leaking pre over his happy trail, it really felt like his life did depend on it.

The skilled tongue laved against Swiss’ walls, a heady mix of spit and slick coating his insides. Phantom’s tongue occasionally departing to give kitten licks to his clit before sucking the bud whole, hollowing his cheeks to show the multi ghoul just how big he was. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“Unholy fuck Ant, forgot how good your tongue was.” Swiss pleaded, any attempt at keeping a stern demeanour now in the past.

Even with his mouth occupied, Phantom was far from quiet. He was attempting to set a ministry record in getting Swiss off, and he knew exactly what buttons to push. A little ah here mixed in with breathy moan there and Swiss was coming apart, quickly. The multi ghoul loved an expressive partner, his already large ego inflated any time someone moaned.

Phantom was beginning to flag, limbs still heavy under Swiss’ spell and tongue beginning to tire from its intense workout. The larger ghoul took pity on the whimpering ghoul, handing him a pillow from the top of the bed. It was encased in a grey cover and it was firm, Phantom needed a lot of neck support when asleep. 

Swiss craned his neck behind him to see he didn’t even need to tell the younger ghoul what to do with it, the pillow already shoved deep between his thighs as he spared all his extra energy into rocking into it.

“Fuck Phantom, such a good boy for me,” Swiss encouraged “humping that pillow so well. Bet you wish it was me sinking onto you, clenching around that lovely cock of yours as I use you.”

Both ghouls were getting close; Swiss at the sight of his partner desperately humping a pillow, and Phantom at the friction said pillow was providing. The case was covered in streaks of pre, getting more wet with each thrust of the quintessence ghoul’s ruddy cock, only spurring him on as the shame hit.

Phantom was a ghoul that got off primarily on shame. Something about doing these sinful acts with his packmates left him hard like nothing else. He learned all these rules during his summoning about how humans are supposed to act, it was ingrained in him by Papa. So now when he does anything outside the norm he feels that hot shame coursing through him, straight to his dick.

Phantom’s hips were canting up rapidly to the soft fabric of the pillow case, now a dark grey. He was unable to do anything but moan against Swiss’ folds, and hope the larger ghoul was as close as he was.

His skilled lips were assaulting Swiss’ cock, doing his best to give Swiss the best blowjob of his life as the multi ghoul’s slick ran down his chin. The t-dick was engorged as Phantom sucked and swirled his tongue around the growth. All it took was a well timed breath from Phantom, hot air engulfing his cunt as the smaller ghoul emptied his lungs. 

The sensation had Swiss cumming with a yell, Phantom quick to resume his efforts on his clit as Swiss rode out his orgasm.

“Satanas, bug, I should dumb you down more often, that was incredible.” Swiss praised as he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Looking down he could see the mess he made of Phantom’s face, shining, covered in his release.

Phantom was smiling back at the older ghoul, proud of his work but desperately hard and teetering on the edge. The pillow was great but he just needed more. 

“Oh were you hoping I was going to get you off?” The multi ghoul chimed, “Think again, bug. Need you to hump it like you do when you’re alone. And don’t pretend you don’t, Rain told me everything.”

His hips bucked harder at the request, humiliation setting in. “Can I move, Daddy?” he asked tentatively.

“The stage is yours, darling.” Swiss replied as he blew the ghoul a kiss, already feeling a puddle of slick forming beneath him.

The quintessence long worn off by now as the new summon manoeuvred himself onto all fours, adding the pillow to a stack between his thighs before he started thrusting his cock into the pile. Each cant left him panting and whining for more.

“Look at my little toy, getting off on a pillow like a good boy.” 

Phantom keened at the praise, spurring him on. His full body weight was on the stack of pillows now, his cock sliding easily into the creases of the fabric as his hips moved, no longer a conscious motion. He just needed to cum, soon.

It was just the wrong side of enough stimulation but he was determined to make it work, to be a good boy for Swiss.

The next time Phantom looked up, Swiss was tugging himself between his thumb and forefinger, moaning at the sight before him. That was enough to push the quintessence ghoul over the edge. He grabbed his cock harshly, no longer caring about the implicit ‘no touching’ rule that sessions with Swiss involve. As he stroked his shaft the pillow beneath him was painted a delicious white, Phantom’s head thrown back as he whined.

He knelt on the bed as he came down from his high, marvelling at the art he produced. Looking over at Swiss, he was shaking his head, a frown adorning his usually joyous face.

“Good toys don’t touch themselves.” He tutted, “Do it again.”

Phantom sighed, gripping his soft cock as he tried to coax it to life once more. The only saving grace being the whorish ghoul touching himself beside him. They were going to be here a while, Phantom definitely wouldn’t be finishing his homework tonight.

[tumsa]

thrown into your tide

you know that "kitten i'll be completely honest, daddy is a fucking mess" meme? that's me, i have been a fucking mess for the past three days, and apparently, when i am a mess, i take it out on my blorbos.

have some ken/big stuff

summary: He wonders how it would feel to look at Big and not feel like his heart was slowly carved hollow, one glance at a time. warnings: canon-typical stuff, pining, feeling untethered inspired by @aikinn tags, specifically this one: #the Ken who loves Big who loves Kinn line of unrequited pain and suffering is something that can be so personal (and @snarkspawn‘s lovely art accordingly)

- - -

Sometimes Ken misses the time when Big hated him, looked at him with sharp annoyance, a slight snarl on his lips, and rolled his eyes when Ken spoke. He misses looking at Big and thinking: I want to punch you, you fucker. Feeling furious was much easier than feeling invisible. Feeling not enough, never enough.

He wonders how it would feel to look at Big and not feel like his heart was slowly carved hollow, one glance at a time. How would it feel not to hear Big laughing and have the barbed wire wrapped around his insides tighten. Ken knows he is a sore loser, never mastered the art of being okay with not being first, and so it eats at him; the void in him grows and grows, and it hungers, and it wants, and Ken doesn't know how to soothe it. 

"Do you ever wish," he asks, rubbing a bite mark he left on Big's shoulder gently, as if he could erase it with his fingertips, "that you felt differently?"

"No," Big says, and if there was a light on, Ken thinks he could see the small, gentle smile on Big's face that nobody outside of their room ever sees. "I am happy just to be near him, to protect him."

Ken hums. He wishes it was enough for him.

- - -

It begins with Chan yelling at both of them for breaking the sacred rules of peace, "no fights between bodyguards", and being childish. It's Ken's second week on the job, and he has finally lost it and punched Big in the face. The pained whimper that Big had made before pulling a gun and aiming it at Ken's chest had been glorious.

"I will not have this," Chan's voice is snappy and cold, as his eyes throw daggers at both Big and Ken, "this is not a playground. I am giving you one last chance to fix this."

He walks them to Big's room, opens the door and waits for them to get inside, pushing Ken when he is too slow to move. 

"You have until Monday," Chan says, closes the door and then locks it. He adds through the now-closed door: "If you break the lock, I will know. If either of you dies, I'll kill the other too."

"But-" Big protests pointlessly, then shuts his mouth and turns to face Ken, scowling. There's a red mark on his face where Ken's knuckles met his skin, and it makes Ken gleeful. 

"Nice one," Ken says because Big does not know how not to show emotions on his face, and right now, he looks like one of those small, angry dogs that old ladies put in their handbags. 

"Fucking great," Big says, kicking the door, "it's all your fault."

"No, mate, that's all you for being such a dick."

It's funny to watch Big reaching for his gun, only to realize that it's not there, that Chan didn't give it back. 

"Well," Ken says, because he doesn't actually want to die, and he can see Big eyeing a collection of knives on his wall, "give me a tour. Are we sharing a bed?" 

He winks, changing his mind because getting stabbed might be worth seeing Big all flustered. And then, because Big is no fun at all, he sits down on the sofa, turning away from Ken.

- - -

By Saturday, Ken thinks getting shot by Chan might be a relief. It's not the multiple fights they have had in the past two days (although Ken's ribs feel bruised and sore, and his split lip burns). It is boredom. Someone, probably Arm by Chan's request, has turned off their access to the internet so they cannot watch anything on the TV, and they are not allowed to have phones or computers, and Big has nothing else in his room that is even remotely entertaining, so Ken is dying. He can feel the time moving agonizingly slowly. Every minute feels like an eternity, and Ken might just kill Big so Chan can end the misery.

"Shoot me," he says, from where he is lying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling.

"I wish," Big unexpectedly replies, and his voice has no heat in it. They have not talked to each other outside of insults. 

"How did humans survive without the internet," Ken wonders, not for the first time. "What did they do all day?"

"Fuck if I know," apparently, they are talking now. 

Except Ken doesn't know what to say, they are not friends and have nothing in common. None of Chan's bodyguard lessons or videos included the "How to talk with your annoying coworker" tutorial.

"My grandparents play board games," Big breaks the silence. "Not that I have any."

Ken sighs, his eyes travelling down the shelf across him, full of Big's stuff. They stop at a bottle of whiskey.

"Or," he says, grinning, "we could get drunk."

- - -

"I love you, man," Ken is wheezing with laughter hours, days, or weeks later when they have emptied two bottles of whiskey and popped open a random champagne bottle.

Big is grinning on the sofa next to him. He's wearing a stupid "I <3 New York" shirt that makes Ken giggle even more. 

"That's it," Big finally slurs, looking pleased, "that's how I got the job."

"Fucking legend," Ken says, and he would clap Big on the shoulder if his arms cooperated a bit better. "If I were you, I'd sleep with my eyes open."

Big makes an agreeing noise. "I did, for like a year. He still might kill me."

From what Ken has heard about Khun Vegas in the two weeks he has been in the main family's house, he really might. 

"You'll die a hero," Ken says, looking at Big and bursting into laughter again. 

Big is fucking awesome.

- - -

Ken doesn't know who is more surprised that they both make it out alive by Monday morning, them or Chan. Or maybe it's that Ken is teaching Big how to do a backflip, and they are laughing when he opens the door. The eyebrow rise speaks volumes. 

Ken moves in with Big on Wednesday.

- - -

Ken doesn't know when things change again; there is no whiskey this time. He's used to having Big by his side, used to having Big's back during the missions; within a year, he has learned every Big's strength and weakness, he knows where to cover for him, where to let Big balance out Ken's shortcomings. They quickly go from "Big" and "Ken" to "Big and Ken". Chan takes them on missions together or not at all, and they quickly become Khun Kinn's favourites, trailing him every step he takes outside the mansion. Ken is used to it, even to the ugly parts of it, the parts where Big gets hurt and Ken worries, or parts where Ken gets injured and feels ashamed of not doing better.

It shifts, and it's a sudden, terrifying realization, and the implication of it creeps up Ken's spine like a poison ivy. It's the moment when Big enters their room, eyes wet, face bruised, red, angry finger marks on his cheek, right after he has told Ken he must tell Kinn about his suspicions of Tawan. It's the moment when Big swallows a sob as he slides down the wall, shaking and trying not to cry openly, and Ken thinks I will fucking kill Kinn that it hits him right in the solar plexus and takes his breath away.

"Big," Ken says, and his voice trembles; he feels a little untethered and a lot like the ground beneath him is moving, shifting, falling open.

"He," Big whispers, and the despair in his voice makes Ken sick, "he didn't believe me."

Ken wants to say something, anything, but his voice is drowning; he is drowning. I'm in love with you, he thinks, and the thought is like a match, setting his insides on fire, blazing its way into Ken's stomach, settling in his bones, burning.

"Fuck," he finally says, mumbles, desperate to regain some control.

"What if he dies?" Big asks as he starts weeping, trying to hold his sobs, pressing the back of his palm against his mouth, and Ken feels like someone is slicing his chest open.

"It will be okay," he says because he wants Big to stop crying and fix this somehow; he wants Big to smile and laugh about Ken's dumb jokes. "We will figure it out. I have your back, remember?"

Big nods and tries to smile through tears. Ken reaches an arm out, and Big takes it and lets Ken pull him up. Ken's skin burns under his touch.

- - -

The first time it happens, they are drunk again. They are celebrating a mission gone well. Big cannot stop grinning because Kinn had praised and promoted him to the head of his bodyguards. He looks so happy. Something ugly warms its way into Ken's bones, and yet he cannot stop grinning back.

Big leans and kisses him. It's soft and warm and nothing like kissing anyone Ken has kissed before. The gentle nip on Ken's bottom lip feels like salvation.

Big pulls away and gets up, then reaches for Ken's hand, still smiling. Their fingers lock together, and Ken thinks that for someone more used to holding a gun than anyone's hand, he could get used to it. 

He doesn't care that Big turns off the light, the soft and sweaty heat of his body, the tiny whimpers, squirming, twisting and writhing, all of it outweighs the way Big murmurs and pleads Kinn's name, between the shaky breaths, it almost sounds like Ken's. 

- - -

It happens again and again and again. It messes with Ken's head; he gets more irritable and sulky; something inside him wants to claw its way out, and it scares him. He looks at Kinn sometimes and forgets his job. He looks at Kinn and wonders how it would feel to tear him apart and have Kinn's blood on his hands, slimy and thick. 

He knows it would kill Big, so he stands between Kinn and a knife, between Kinn and a bullet, and between Kinn and the world trying to kill him. He smiles when Big hugs him after another well-done mission and swallows bitter bile when Big's eyes still follow Kinn. 

- - -

"He will never belong to you," Vegas whispers, tempting, "while Kinn is alive."

Ken gives in.

[tumblingdown4ever]

Clashtale's Introduction!

 The eerie shout of pure HATE left Gaster’s mouth as he summoned a humongous Gaster Blaster alongside a pair of gigantic hands. Bete couldn’t move her body, she was in awe. Why couldn’t she beat him? Why did his power suddenly increase? How could she defeat an enemy who seemed to already know her moves? Before she could draw an answer the pair of boney hands would grasp her body and prepare to tear her in half like a piece of paper. She screeched in agony as she felt her lower body get pulled away from her torso. Bete tried to react as she was left on the ground, but her gaze had caught sight of the red beam preparing to erase her life from this world. The beam was completely charged and ready…She closed her eyes in preparation… Yet, it never came her way. Her eyes were met with a sea of blue strings pouring from the sky, snatching every soul in sight. Gaster’s emotionless eyes had subsided as he spotted…Sans? How could he be alive? He had melted away after saving their lives…No. THAT creature was not Sans. At least, not his Sans. Distorted and glitching laughter came from ERROR!Sans as his strings flew across this timeline and wrapped themselves around every soul they came across. Gaster and Papyrus prepared to fight for the civilian’s lives…Only for strings to suddenly wrap around their souls. It was as if their bodies were paralyzed. They couldn’t bring themselves to move…No one would survive his act of mass destruction…

Bete coughed and vomited out HATE from her lips as she began healing herself. She had managed to slip away inside the sewer tunnels before anyone could stop her. Just how lucky was she? She began to laugh as she rested her back against the walls of the tunnel “How poetic. Their friend coming back is the source of their undoing. Now they won’t be able to stop me in ti-” She was cut off before she could finish talking. White. More white. Bete’s eyes winced as they tried to focus and adjust to their new environment. 

Her eyes spotted the glitching version of the ‘Jester’ from earlier…but nothing else. Before she could call out to him however, he had opened some sort of portal and slipped away inside. Betty’s breathing began to grow frantic as she looked around at the never ending white. The pink pupils of her eyes widened and revealed the panic growing inside her mind. “WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME HERE! WHERE DID YOU GO!??!...COME BACK!!!” 

“...How long have I been here?” She was grabbing at the air, seeming desperate for any kind of escape. Betty had no method of telling how long she had been in this hellscape. Days? Weeks? Years? There was no telling how long she had been running in the seemingly endless anti-void. After an insurmountable amount of time she stayed on her knees while screaming upwards. Blood flew out of her mouth after her shouting session. Once her voice had returned she began screaming…and screaming…She screamed until the screams started screaming back…

Betty now simply laid there. No words coming from her mouth. Her appearance had changed somewhat since she had been locked away inside this place. Betty’s sweater had become green and blue in color, her hair remained mostly the same however. Random lines of what seemed to be code lined the blue stripes along her sweater. Her stockings had inverted into a light blue to match her darker blue skirt which was primarily made of coding. She had become just like THAT man. 

(Credits to my incredible friend Savvy for the art of Scareware!)

Betty would continue to lay on the ground, not saying a word. She no longer felt anger towards monsters and humans. She just wanted to go home. It surprised even her, but she wanted to see those monsters again. Maybe if she just closed her eyes and gave up she could slip away into the peace of death…What? Betty suddenly sat up, her heart began to beat at a fast pace. Could it be? She heard…Footsteps?

Betty’s eyes locked onto a person walking towards her, they were pale and gray with black eyes. It was…Frisk? 

Much time had now passed, Scareware barely thought of the empty void she had been sealed away inside nowadays. Instead she spent her time exploring the Omega Timeline and talking with CORE!Frisk. They had grown close, how could they not? CORE!Frisk had saved her from the lonely void and brought her back to some sort of civilization. They had many adventures and such since their first meeting. One notable discovery being that Scareware could form a black liquid over her eyes to make them hollow like CORE!Frisk’s hollowed out eyes. This discovery came from a…rather bad accident however. Their journey to Bittytale didn’t end well after she tripped and fell over. Some say Bitty!Frisk still lingers inside her eyes to this day. 

This day however was special. It was the start of a long line of events that would pursue this Betty Noire. It all started when Frisk had gestured Scareware over to an empty house. Of course, Scareware ran over as quickly as possible to join CORE!Frisk inside. The third person who resided towards the back of the room she didn’t recognize however. “Alright, I’ve been planning this for a while now Betty but I think today is finally the day to begin. This fellow over here is named Ink! He’ll be helping us find a spot to start your new world! He can’t build it of course, but you can!” CORE explained as Ink waved to Scareware in acknowledgment. Scareware ran over with excitement written across her face “REALLY!? YOU CAN??!” She bounced in place as Ink let out a laugh. “Yep, in fact I think I already got a place picked out. Let’s get goin’! It’s pretty well hidden like this place!” A portal would form before the trio, the first step of many on this trail of creation. 

Scareware and the others scouted out the area for quite some time before agreeing on the future world’s location. It had been decided. The world would be made here, and Scareware would finally receive a second chance at creating a family. 

Much time had now passed and the world was finally coming together. Betty had never been in the underground herself, but she ultimately decided it would be best to make the world center around it. It was almost like the character’s natural habitat. Scareware had the ability to copy lines of coding by devouring it, luckily the structures and people she did this to seemed to be unharmed. In the passing time Scareware had been copying code of various locations in the underground that belonged to different AUs. Then, she’d create copies of the code and manifest the structures from it. This usually resulted in her having to puke out the code to do so, but it was just a small price to create her new home! 

The hard part had been finished, now it was time for the step she had dreaded…Creating the characters. Now CORE!Frisk and Ink would stand back to watch her first creation be made. Scareware would follow her usual process of pulling lines of code out of her lips and putting them in place to form into a solid once she was done. Frisk and Ink quietly crossed their fingers as Scareware finished placing the coding together. With a grunt Scareware closed her eyes, the codes before them began glowing a bright white which blinded the pair watching. Once she had opened her eyes she saw HIM…the man she had decided to make first. She knew it would be difficult to make him. After all, she had many bad memories with his Glitchtale counterpart. The newly formed Gaster would open his eyes, his white pupils scanning the snowy environment around them. Ink would dash to a bush and crouch behind it, judging by CORE!Frisk’s disgusted expression he had probably just vomited out of excitement. They took in every detail of his appearance from his black buttoned coat down to his shoulders. His clothes seemed to resemble Glitchtale Gaster’s attire with slight modifications such as the golden lining on the edges of his coat and the golden flower that was neatly placed on the left side of his chest. Gaster also had a long tie that was black running down his chest, giving him a more professional look. It was then that Ink started noticing the more extreme changes. Gaster had two long and sharp canine teeth that stood out from the rest, not to mention his fingertips seemed naturally sharp like horns. 

Ink would give the currently sweating Scareware an approving thumbs up. A happy smile soon followed that formed across the girl’s face. “One more test and we can call it a success!” CORE!Frisk spoke with pride before walking in front of Gaster. “Can you introduce yourself sir?” Frisk asked with an aura of proudness behind their words. Gaster would blink once before returning with a gentle smile “Of course, I am W.D. Gaster. The Royal Scientist of the Underground. Well, once there are others of course.” He sounded majestic and well-informed like most Gasters. It was a success! The trio prepared to celebrate before Gaster fell to his knee with a pained grunt. Scareware’s gasp had broken the wall between a moment of peace and one of tragedy. Gaster’s body began to distort and glitch through reality. Scareware knew what the problem was, she needed to act quickly or nothing of him would remain. She needed coding from a Gaster, and she needed it now. Ink would look around for a moment before preparing a portal to try and help Scareware get some coding before he noticed the vial he had been carrying. “It wouldn’t hurt you, right buddy?...I think it should be okay! Hey! Scareware! I have some…spare code right here!” Ink shouted as he ran over to the incident. Scareware didn’t hesitate once she heard Ink’s claim, immediately copying the code and placing it in Gaster’s body. Luckily this seemed to stabilize the scientist’s body. 

They all now stood in awe as Gaster returned to his formal stance, Ink seemed more curious with Gaster’s eyes. They now glowed purple instead of white, quite a difference from prior. Gaster seemed to have a newfound calmness and…perseverance to his aura now. Gaster would clear his throat before finally speaking once again. “As I said prior, I am currently excited to see the future creations of your project.” Scareware would reply with a happy nod. 

Ink had set off to attend some business elsewhere and CORE!Frisk had returned to the Omega Timeline after a few hours of celebrating. Scareware however was currently showing Gaster to his newly created laboratory while seeming excited over the whole situation. Gaster however seemed to keep his calm and collected composure as his purple pupils glanced around the laboratory. It seemed this was only the beginning as Scareware had much more planned!...But so did Gaster.

[nazorneku]

🎁 + a letter post-mortem (for otto hehehe)

Long fingers absentmindedly trailed an invisible pattern over the stack of paper in front of him, the ink was placed at an arm's length, yet Void Archives did not haste to make use of it. There was a deliberate and meticulous delay, a festering denial of complex thoughts he could not decipher on his own. Uncharacteristic of him to seek counsel of the 1st Herrscher, albeit the only human possessing his respect, yet the predicament he struggled with was of a human nature, something divine key struggled to comprehend even in despite of close collaboration with one for five centuries. Mayhap it's the absence of aforementioned begat the unrest that plagued the intelligent machine. The absence he could not get accustomed to swiftly, contrary to haughty remarks oft uttered. The freedom never tasted more bitter.

With another portion of displeased grumbling escaping own mouth, he finally took a seat at the desk and picked up a pen. The handwriting manner revealed the writer's sophisticated nature, even so Void Archives was anything but.

Joachim once told me, that if I put my thoughts onto paper, I will be able to evolve. So here I am, indulging in this idiocy, and yet... nothing? Empty? Everything is silent again. My will remained in darkness and silence for thousands of years until a child almost effortlessly removed my bindings. Very brave and naive child. But you've changed... Though I suppose all humans do. The resentment I harbor towards you is as ever unpleasantly overpowering. You locked me up and used me. Just as all other humans before you. Maybe it wasn't completely dull in your company, but it does not excuse your actions... After all you were just the same... I told Lucheni 'bout you, 'bout the words you once told me, recorded it in the journal and left it where kids from Schicksal could find it... It was a foolish stunt, but I wanted to do something like that. That was desperate. And this is pathetic. You shouldn't have died. You should have fought. Like you always did. Why did you give up? I do not understand...

In a rushed gesture, the hand holding a pen attempted to scratch and erase the last written lines, as if ashamed, as if regretting even permitting self to express such notion towards that person. An uncontrollable wave of anger washed over the divine key, prompting him to abruptly stand up, knocking down the chair and abandoning writing, almost crumpling the letter. Though of synthetic origin, Void Archives frequently displayed emotions distinctive for organics, and overwhole, if compared to Otto, appeared to be more expressive and lively, especially after gaining freedom from confinement within that man's mind. And yet he did not achieve unconditioned freedom, hard-coded within the processor was the mission he could not disregard nor fail to comply, the curse that governed over his will and existence.

Mayhap the despondency and inability to accept self as a prisoner of "higher purpose" nudged him to seek an alliance specifically with Sky People, predetermined to be doomed, expected to cease his functionality, except for... was he newly walking in the shoes of the dead man towards own demise? Just how grand the imprint was left on him? Where that man ended and where he began? The divine key could not conjure the concept of something he could not grasp, and what he could was imitated almost to perfection. The prospect of constructing own authentic self eluded him, nevertheless the current circumstance he found self entangled in compelled to investigate and detach self from that man's image with application of all possible methods.

[bibliphale]

❛  i’m  not  saying  it’s  gonna  be  okay .  i’m  just  saying  …  i’m  here .  ❜

i still wasn't entirely sure this was all real. i'd begun to hallucinate back in that pocket dimension , that borderline prison cell. i saw our lives , what could've been if i hadn't accepted that cup of coffee , if i hadn't trusted the metatron. i thought no one was coming for me , not after i was locked away in there , & told pointedly that the earth had a world wide memory wipe , erasing me from ever being known. that included crowley. i'd lost all hope , spiraling into oblivion , until he'd come for me. i didn't know how long it had been , i'd lost count of the days , not that i had any real way of telling time in there. it was just .. void.

i could feel crowley's fingers gently working themselves through my hair , my back nuzzled into his narrow chest , unable to bring myself to move too much from my spot in bed. we were in my room above the bookshop , the familiar smells of parchment & fresh tea coaxing me towards blissful comfort. maybe this was real. he felt real. i let out a soft , trembling breath , my hand reaching out to find one of his , grasping his wrist & locking our fingers together slowly , twisting his grip around to place a soft , lingering kiss to the inside of his palm. don't leave me. not again.                    ❛            how .. how do i know this is real ?            ❜

my voice was strangled , choked behind the tightness of my throat , tears burning at the edges of my gaze , which i thankfully had turned away from him to half bury into my pillows , nuzzling myself back into him with a shuddering inhale. i realized in vain that his hand was still close to my mouth , my face , & he was susceptible to the holy tears that had begun to roll down my cheeks , pulling his hand away with a soft sniff , hugging it to my chest instead , offering a tiny shrug of my plump shoulders.                    ❛            he'd .. they'd all .. th - the metatron said you'd forgotten me. us. everyone did.            ❜

@n1atruc

[vermilliondevth]

Harms Way's "Common Suffering" is more than just an experimentation. It's a powerful, hardcore-fueled, and emotionally electrifying album with a hidden message left to be deciphered by its listener. Whomever seeks to find the conventional approach to what they've done in the past could be easily disillusioned with this one, but if you dig deeper, you may find a masterpiece. It asks the listener:

"Do you know what real suffering feels like?"

This album suggests a deep exploration of the five stages of grief:

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

But what is most fascinating is that, it is much more closer to the true expression of how these stages are experienced in humanity. It is not cohesive, but rather confused and abstract. It speaks about a heart finding out that it has been betrayed. The realization that the truth we believed and trusted is no longer there, and so the journey of transcendence begins. The hurt ego begins with trying to maintain itself afloat with - - "Degrade, we're born to decay" - "Decline, they will let you down" - As the feelings and thoughts begin to affect our consciousness by circulating into a downward spiral, it then speaks with - - "I am in denial, I will never be free again" - "I have no sense of self" - "I can't forgive me, another victim in denial" - but the sword of deceit has already been plunged into the heart, perforating deeply - so deeply, it emerges all the way to the back. The sharpness of the pain, the burning sensation felt all over the body, and the mind finds itself in a state of shock. The blood pours out from the mouth and circulates all the way up into the brain. We suddenly become blinded by rage.

The anger. The endless anger. - "I can't live this way, live your way. I can't love like you do." - "Commitment, Illusion, you can't console" - "A selfish force, so cruel, a destructive scheme" - "You take my soul from me and I feel betrayed" - "A broken promise, the hate infests" - "You feel your life erode, it's all for nothing" - "I watched you betray me, I want you to fear me" - "Before they terrorize you, watch them bleed in front of you" -

It is anger sinking you deeper into the abyss, seeking for the ultimate destruction of the lie you lived. It is wanting to skin yourself alive to erode every false touch, hope, and empty promise given to you. Desolation, and despair. Feeling so many violent currents, you no longer can decipher what is real. Worthlessness.

Bargaining with faith, asking the question: Is this really my destiny? Am I still a man or have I become an empty shell? - "(Help me)" - "I remember (When will it end?)" - "Devour me" - "Why do we exist?" -

Only to find the door slammed shut, locked deep inside memories that can no longer be experienced nor lived in no matter how hard we try to pry it open, leading us straight into the meaningless of our existence - The Void. Depression, forcing us to meet face to face with the ultimate darkness, our shadow selves. The endless monologues, paranoia, neurosis - the inability to feel anything but pure emptiness: - "Fade away" - "Looking for seclusion" - "I forever am alone (dying inside)" - "Cornered alone, wounded and vulnerable" - "The years await, to fill the void" - "It's all for nothing, erase my future" - "I lay still, tomorrow I dread" - "The nervous system stalls, you cripple and start to fall" - "I blame myself and I corrode, and I surround myself with what I loathe" - "A sad delusion, I confess" - "I faced God, I was turned inside, It's back to hell, and I'm here to stay" -

The process of isolation. Not having the emotional currency needed to see hope. The endless shades of grey. The endless grief, corrupted by loneliness. Numbness. The "Cyanide" poisoning the heart, obliterating every feeling of hope. Using the last remaining dose of courage to grab the sword by the blade to remove it once and for all, for the suffering has been too great to continue tolerating - the endless bleeding, the ultimate sacrifice of love. Years go by and the wound ceases to bleed, yet it remains open. It then makes us question: Do we choose to remain or do we choose to cease? "The affection I feel, impaired. Relations turn to despair. As I cower to my knees, they empower" - "Never let them take control" - "I will always seek power" - And through the solitude, isolation, we begin to understand the nuances of the betrayal and it's meaning. We begin to understand that this pain and suffering, is a new source of power being gifted to us. Through the path of hell, we meet our creator - ourselves, and by looking at it straight into the eyes of the abyss, we begin to accept our fate. We become acquainted with expansion in our consciousness through our common suffering. We accept our anger and the injustice made onto us: - "And I looked into the eyes of a demon and I saw myself" - "The calm sets in, at peace this time" - "I'm free at last" - "The darkest past, no longer see beneath the surface" - "Sink to peace" - It then culminates with a song called "Wanderer": - "To wander beyond the sunset To sail above the seabed To wander behind the sand glass To reach the past of me

As I'm wandering, I'll be searching through - " The search for a new meaning. A new sense of self. A life beyond deception and hatredness. The search for the new truth.

As mentioned at the beginning, these messages are found scattered throughout the story-line, which brings a lot of confusing thoughts to what exactly is the message that is being conveyed. But that is the beauty of grief - the imbalance of emotions and thoughts, the constant ups and downs, the health within sickness - we can all experience these torments in just a day. The combination of this lyrics, alongside the heaviness and the metallic abstraction of the sounds, brings out feelings rooted within the subconscious that feel foreign, and almost terrifying. It invites the listener to open up their heart and feel the fear. I couldn't bear to listen to this album after the first time I did - for it triggered feelings I didn't wish to re-live again. But I took the plunge and allowed myself to go alongside the journey of pain - a journey that by now, I know very well. I came to understand that I am not completely alone in this world - someone out there experienced the same feelings I have experienced, and meticulously put into words the things I have always wished to express but never could. This band already had an immense sentimental value to me - it reminds me of a life I thought I would live forever. But as I went through it's journey, in the end - all I truly found was hope and acceptance.

Acceptance of what is long gone and no longer will be. Acceptance that I am also the wanderer, searching through - for the truth.

The ultimate truth that can only be found through common suffering.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

[abla-soso]

There is a hole in my garage wall, right behind my yellow car, and it yawns like a gaping mouth.

The jet-black void in the center stinks with a faint, unknowable odor. A whiff of it invades my nostrils. It's not blood or bile, but something closer, something older. Something rotten and half-digested.

I stare at it, at the insane image before me, until my knees ache. I don't know what I was doing before I came here and witnessed it. I don't remember a thing. I try to recall my name but dread erased it too.

I am an insignificant bug.

I'm still mute and unblinking when the air hisses and the car shakes. An echo erupts from the hole-mouth and my blood drains. I'm too numbed to lift my hands to block the sound, but I blink a few times and finally shut my eyes. The distant echo sizzles and ping-pongs through the garage walls, drumming inside my eardrums.

A scream locked in my throat begs for release, but terror had paralyzed my face with a thick, waxen mask. My knees crumble and they hit the ground with a loud thud. The scream finally crawls out of my throat, hollowed out and shivering.

My whole nervous system vibrates with a smothered panic. I don't dare to open my eyes again. I am drained of all energy as I place my head on the dirty, oily ground. I try to ignore the thick, sticky salvia stuck to my forehead, but I can't focus on anything else. I look like I'm prostrating, begging. The mouth sounded pleased when it spoke and echoed again.

This time, I understood. I was not meant to understand, but He makes me.

I am an insignificant bug.

I don't lift my head without permission. I obliged.

When I'm allowed, I slowly raise and look up at my new master. In His belly I see my reflection staring back at me. Only me and nothing else. There is a dot of oil and dirt on my forehead and I laugh, feeling like branded cattle.

The corners of His mouth stretch upwards, cutting through the wall. Soundless and vicious. He is trying to smile. I smile back.

He speaks again. The echo is low and bearable this time.

Translation and comprehension are my duty, and I strain my feverish brain to perform.

When I don't understand and panic, shaking my hands in a silent plea; He *screams*. The impact pierces my ears and I fall backward.

The top of my head hits the back of my car on my way down. My blood mixes with the dirt and oil on the ground. The thick, sticky salvia licks the blood and oil, tastes it, drags it all the way back to His mouth and He swallows.

I am an insignificant bug.

There is blood dripping from my ears, and I offer it too. I stand up and walk closer, dizzy and staggering with each step, and raise my bloody fingertips. My palms tremble as the blood is sucked right out of them.

Strangely, I felt cleansed.

He is almost pleased again. So I prostrate. I stay on my hands and knees long enough for Him to purr.

He asks, question after question, and every atom in me listens with manic intensity. I hear my hoarse voice says: "Yes, yes, it was rude. So terribly rude. Yes, this is your body. Yes, I am trespassing. Yes, I am an insignificant bug".

He says one last thing, and I blink and look back at the car.

Huh. I remember now. I turned eighteen a week ago, and this was my birthday present. I've never used it. Wanted to wait until after my graduation party.

He repeats his command and I swallow my own heartbeat. I get into the car. There is a flood of moisture running down my cheeks.

The car moves slowly and takes me where the saliva is directing me.

Inside the mouth.

[niallloverontheloose]

"Stiles made a divine move, but he was only capable of doing that because Scott refused to let Stiles sacrifice himself or anyone hurt Stiles"

Look at what well known harasser and rabid Scott Stan - Derek/Stiles/Peter/Sterek/Steter hater Claude Frollo just posted in the Stiles Stilinski tag on purpose:

https://princeescaluswords.tumblr.com/post/661308239644868608/stiles-played-a-deadly-game-of-goo-and-chess

Hello @princeescaluswords 

Aren't you tired of obsessing all over a neurodivergent character you claim to hate and of using every single ableist trope and stereotype to belittle and demonize Stiles in an attempt to prop Scott up? 

"Peter claimed that chess was Stiles game, but Peter does tend to exaggerate" Funny how Scott stans are so bothered by Peter praising Stiles and pointing out that chess is Stiles' game to Derek that they need to lie and make shit up in order to belittle/invalidate it, isn't it? And by funny I mean ABLEIST  

The most hilarious thing though is that according to antis' own logic, Peter exaggerated when he said he was impressed by Scott's ingenuity in Season 2, too. Everyone who watched Teen Wolf knows that Peter Hale was being blatantly sarcastic and only did it to manipulate Scott into going to Jackson (which Scott did by the way), since Peter never even bothered to hide the fact that Scott can go die a miserable death in a ditch alongside Gerard for all Peter canonically cares and openly mocks Scott "my plan is to get Stiles to come up with a plan"  McCall's stupidity throughout the whole series. Thanks for proving a point, Escalus!

"Yes, Stiles did pull off a divine move in the episode of the same name, but he was only capable of doing that because Scott refused to let Stiles sacrifice himself or anyone hurt Stiles in order to save others. He found a way to save everyone, by doing the right thing" 

Scott/Posey fans really love to erase canon and give Scott all the credit for his friends' heroic actions and achievements, don't they? Another trait they have in common with Canon Scott McCall 

1• Stiles played a deadly game of Go against the Nogitsune AND a game of chess against himself (Void Stiles) simultaneously, repeatedly outsmarted and outwitted the Fox Spirit that chose him as his vessel, and then defeated it by making a Divine Move. Scott didn't do shit except whine, growl, obsess over Allison, make out with his new girlfriend, get his ass handed to him by everyone, be his usual useless self and throw jealous fits/temper tantrums somewhere in the background. Where he belongs 

2• Scott McCall doesn't have any claim or authority over his friends outside of Scott stans' self insert power fantasies and delusions. Scott also threw a tantrum because he didn't want Stiles to sacrifice himself and lock himself up in Eichen House to save his friends and everyone else. And yet Stiles ignored Scott's whining and did it anyway. Stiles found a way to save everyone, figured everything out, and did the right thing. And he did all that without conspiring with Gerard behind everyone's back, or lying to everyone, around him, or dehumanising werewolves, or selling the Hales out to the hunters, or violating rape victims. Unlike Scott, who did all those shitty things and still failed miserably at everything 

3• No one hurt Stiles in Teen Wolf Season 3B because everyone loves Stiles and no one wanted to hurt him. Not because a whiny, pompous, narcissistic fuckboy with a dumb true alpha title ordered them not to lol

4• Scott McCall doesn't have the authority to allow/or not allow anyone to do anything. Much to his and his fans' eternal chagrin 

"You probably would have figured something out. And Scott did. Repeatedly"

Again, that was sarcasm. Both Stiles and Theo used Scott's own narcissism, inflated ego and delusions of moralistic grandeur against him and mocked him for his self righteous hypocrisy to his face. And neither Scott nor his fans even noticed. Also: when did Scott ever figure something out exactly? When he tried but failed to assassinate Gerard? When he thought that he had gone from being utterly shit at lacrosse to being a star athlete in the span of a day because he was just naturally talented? When he threw Derek Hale under the bus and framed him for murder so that he could be free to stalk Allison and play lacrosse? When he claimed that Kira was a werewolf? When he accused Morrell of going around murdering people? When he assaulted and kidnapped Liam and then called Stiles because Scott can't even clean up after his own mess, let alone take responsibility for his own failures and shitty actions? When Theo played him like a cheap kazoo throughout Season 5? Seriously, when??????

As Peter, Lydia, Malia and everyone else have pointed out, Stiles is the clever, super smart one who always figures it out and never takes advantage of his talents.

Meanwhile, Scott is just a self righteous, judgemental, below average hypocrite who always takes the credit for his friends' heroic actions and accomplishments, judges and/or condemns others for things they never even did and conveniently gives himself a free pass for, and can't even plan his way out of a paper bag without his friends' constant help and support 

"They portray Stiles as chafing chained to a sub-par relationship with Scott, but Stiles literally has a break down when he thinks he’s done something for which Scott won’t be able to forgive him"

Nothing demonstrates Scott fans' ableism and utter lack of empathy more than them trying to cheapen Stiles' trauma and make it all about their fav. Stiles Stilinski got mentally and physically violated by a Fox Spirit who chose him as his vessel; sacrificed himself and locked himself up in Eichen House - supernatural prison/mental institution - to save everyone else; got abused by the wards; repeatedly forced to kill people; couldn't sleep; has been suffering from panic attacks since he was a child; remembered when his mentally ill mom abused him and called him a monster during his childhood; was stalked and brutally assaulted by Donovan; had accidentally killed his abuser to defend himself; and then got gaslit, dehumanised, judged and victim blamed by Scott for it; got blackmailed by Theo and abandoned by the abusive best friend whose ass Stiles risked his own life to save throughout the whole series ("You need me! You trusted him, too!") And yet Scott Fans will try to make it all about Scott instead... which is another trait antis share with Canon Scott 

Scott/Posey fandom's jealousy, ableism, hypocrisy & obsessive hate boner for Stiles and Derek specifically are as blatant and as creepy as ever. Teen Wolf got cancelled due to shitty ratings years ago, and Posey's career followed it down the drain immediately after. But his stans are still out there foaming at the mouth, spewing ableist garbage, and throwing tantrums just because people don't like their shitty fav and have the audacity to prefer Stiles and Derek to Scoot 

BUT SCOTT FANS ARE NOT OBSESSED 

[woozisnoots]

losing you | yoon jeonghan

° pairing: jeonghan x f!reader, jun x f!reader ° genre: soulmate!au, bittersweet angst ° summary: losing me is better than losing you. ° word count: 1.5k ° warnings: implied death but details aren’t explicit! i promise the fic itself isn’t bad >< ° a/n: TEEHEE @vibecheckvernon​​ SURPRISE I’M UR TCT SECRET SANTA !!!! 😌 posted this a little later for prime angst reading times :D I HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT CHRISTMAS!!! p.s. pls don’t sue me i love you <3

inspired by: @95boysbe​ ‘s fic, ‘when you love someone’ (tysm for all of you for helping me find this again! 💓 pls go check out their work as well!) + wonho’s song ‘losing you’

masterlist!

jeonghan has no intentions of going to his family’s christmas party. at least not this early. looking into his appearance in the mirror, he wraps the red checkered scarf around his neck so the ends nicely drape over his white long sleeve shirt tucked under his matching sweater vest. a festive look to hide away his disinterest buried in his “enthusiasm”.

“daddy, are you not coming with us?” jeonghan jolts by the sudden tugging of his sweater from his side, looking over, forcing his eyes to meet with his daughter’s watery orbs.

he crouches down to one knee so he’s completely eye level, tucking in the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “not yet sweetheart. daddy’s gotta pick up a few things for the party.” he opens his arms wide for the tiny human to bury herself in a bear-like embrace. 

“stay by mommy’s side at all times, okay?” the little girl steps back to face her father, her hands gripping onto jeonghan’s index finger. “promise?” he continues to persist until she sniffles a series of nods. a small melancholy smile creeps onto jeonghan’s face as he wiggles himself out of her powerful grasp and cups her cheeks, creating small circles on her soft cheekbones with his thumbs. 

“good girl. i’ll be back before you notice i’m gone.” 

the walk there is shorter than jeonghan was expecting and it almost makes him sick to his stomach. he wants the anticipation to subside by the time he gets there, yet at this rate, he would arrive with nothing but the swell of guilt weighing down inside of him. 

the winter chill makes him shiver, hiding his balled fists in his pockets. the farther he walks, this once familiar street slowly turns into the abyss as the fog erases his footsteps along with the glimmery lights surrounding him. but jeonghan is only focused on the dark pathway ahead of him. weeks after hearing the news, and an additional few months of “recovery”, his imagination has conditioned him for far worser environments than some cold weather. 

the field of clean cut grass beside him is now closed off, barred by a wired fence painted white indicating he was getting close. it was a foolish thing really. this entire time, from the moment jeonghan left the house until now, he’s been trying to find the right words to say to you. what he would say to you if you were willing to hear him out. question he desperately wants answered. jeonghan lowers his head, scoffing under his breath knowing you probably would have. even though he knew himself that he didn’t deserve it. and neither did you. 

he comes to a pause at the entrance, reaching out to maneuver the chains that lock the gateway. taking a slow deep breath in, jeonghan looks up before entering the place of the dead, only to see that you already had company. 

the hint of discomfort causes jeonghan’s body to stiffen - the sight of an tall, unfamiliar man here with you triggering his fight or flight response, his instincts urging for the first rather than late. why would he be at a place like this? and on christmas no doubt.  

jeonghan takes his time walking towards you both, eyeing his physique up and down from afar. as he got closer, he examines the man’s notable facial features. the longer he stares, the more confused jeonghan gets causing him to crease his eyebrows. neither of you know him. jeonghan shakes the thought away- no, he doesn’t know him. maybe within the time you were away, the two might have met. jeonghan keeps his mind neutral, accepting all the possibilities. 

the mysterious man dressed down in this cold december, notices jeonghan walking this way before he could stop in his tracks to presenting himself in front of you. chuckling at the grimace look on jeonghan’s face. 

as respectful as he could possibly mutter, jeonghan opens his mouth to speak, “who-”

“so you must be yoon jeonghan,” he’s quick to cut him off, knowing exactly what might be running through his mind right now. he nods his head towards him, acknowledging the new, delighted presence that fills the air. “my name’s jun.” he watches as the imaginary fumes streaming from the top of jeonghan’s head start to dissipate. “a friend of hers back in america,” he lied, not that jeonghan would ever know anyways. “she talked a lot about you. it almost got annoying. 

just like how jeonghan did, jun studies him in his entirety. a smirk forming on his lips finding that he looked exactly how you described. as well as his own description: a good for nothing low life with faltering loyalty. jun scowls at the ring wrapped around jeonghan’s finger. “talk about that red string of fate, huh,” his words protrude the thick musk that wavers around them, finally breaking jeonghan’s walls. “don’t mind me though. i’m just here to pay my respects as a friend,”jun says, his words laced with sarcasm. 

jeonghan freezes in his spot, feeling only a tingling sensation in his fingers and toes as the flood of memories of the two of you replay in the back of his mind. the entirety of your childhood, including your teenage and what was there for your college years. until the dreaded day you decided to leave. “so, you knew?” he whispers more so for his curiosity rather than looking for an actual answer. 

and from the look on jeonghan’s face, jun could tell. “yeah,” he says just enough for jeonghan to hear. “i knew a lot.” he averts his eyes away from the soft hearted gaze that now appears on jeonghan’s face. 

jun may not have known you the same amount of time as jeonghan did. but the way you wore your heart on your sleeve despite being so vulnerable even after the fact, jun can pluck out things even jeonghan probably never noticed. how jeonghan could ever leave his soulmate for someone else, jun will never fathom at the thought. 

but jun knew your side of the story, how you felt watching your soulmate drew you guys apart. no, he wasn’t your friend per say, not in his official title anyway. when you were admitted into the hospital, jun was only there as a volunteer. he had a responsibility to look after all his assigned patients as comfort companions through their clinical care, including you. 

you were the hospital’s one exception. at the point of your critical condition, doctors truly didn’t know when the time would pass. knowing no one else in the states aside from your family, jun soon became your side by side as hospital bed buddies. and hated every moment of it. 

he hated the way you smiled so brightly for him every day despite how sick you were. but stare blankly at your food whenever it came to you and end up not eating. he hated how you easily created friendships with the nurses and other caretakers at hospital, including himself. but refused to take your medication. he hated how fondly you talked about love when you weren’t feeling it. he hated hearing the sniffles that came from your room every morning after he clocked in. he hated it so much that you still smiled saying your soulmate's name even though he was doing the same thing for someone else. in the end, jun was too late to tell you all that.

fate, being the sick bastard that it is, has jun meeting the one person he actually came to hate. and he’ll do one better. just like how jeonghan never got to know about your true feelings and conditions, jun will never tell him how much he truly cared for you. how he was entirely convinced he, a person who wasn’t even destined to have a soulmate, could fill the void that jeonghan had left. 

the longer jun stands there, the small pit of anger quietly begins to boil and that was his cue to leave. he avoids eye contact as he stirs away from the flowers he left you and tries to make his exits, stopping at his tracks when jeonghan speaks once again.

“then can i ask you something? your opinion as her friend. since you know,” he hiccups, the words coming out a beat too late. his voice also shaky, not knowing if it was due to the cold or the rise of his nerves. 

jun leans on one leg, stuffing his hands in the side pockets of his leathered coat. he almost says no. he wants to say no. “shoot,” sounding unbothered. 

“do you think she’d still want to be my soulmate in a different life?” 

jeonghan’s heart churns at his own question, as does jun’s. he could have asked any other question, but out of the hundreds he accumulated in the mile walk here, jeonghan figured this was the one that jun could at least give some thought. 

jun takes a sharp inhale in, his nails forming small crescent moons into his palm. with a heavy sigh, he turns back around and scoffs at the sight of jeonghan tearing up in front of you. and with gritted teeth, he responds.

“of course she would.”

[hpalways]

Lyrical Mess || Venti

BARD Venti was someone you looked up to. Words would spill from his mouth like a waterfall, for he never ran out of lyrics and rhymes alike to sing about. You aspired to be like him, to one day have talent in bringing people together through music. Unfortunately, your mind was a little underwhelming in the creative department. Phrases and sentences jumbled up like a mess, trapping you in a sea ridden of any motivation whatsoever. 

"The distant lands, the people, the trees, they all truly resonate in me!" he sang, filling your ears of the melody. He was currently sitting on the huge tree in Windrise, rocking back and forth on the branch. Meanwhile, you were on the ground and leaning against the bark, trying to write down anything that could be worth mentioning. However, the page was as blank as it could be, an empty void of nothingness. The quill in your hand shook and squeezed, because the frustration was beginning to take its toll. 

"Venti, I can't think of anything! Don't you have any secrets that could help me?" you whined, pulling the ends of your [h/c] locks. Grabbing the lyre that was brought everywhere with you, you thrummed the strings of it, playing an ugly chord that halted his own singing. The golden instrument glimmered against the sunlight, nearly blinding your eyes. After spending almost all your savings on it one day, it easily became your most treasured item. 

The male leaned forward from the branch, his two aqua ombre braids waving along with the wind. Green eyes on you, they crinkled as he grinned in excitement. In his usual white top and teal shorts with stockings, his style was enough to make him recognizable. Not only that, but he was as adorable as when you first met him. To have him by your side... well, you certainly looked like a nobody. "Well, why are you sitting there on the ground? Come up here and you'll get loads of more inspiration." 

"Really?!" you exclaimed. Your gaze brightened as if you had met God and you quickly scrambled to your feet. He nodded, putting his hands on his hips in pride. "Okay. I'll go join you then." Rolling up the sleeves of your shirt, you knitted your brows together in perseverance. Readying for the climb ahead, you lifted your foot to take that first step. 

Goodbye. You were ready to die. Venti had made it look so easy with those fast and flexible limbs of his, but you were trembling to the core at this moment. The tree was much taller and wonky than you expected, gnarly and dangerous for someone with no balance like you. Panting heavily, you tightened your hold on your lyre as you heaved yourself upwards one last time. You crashed on the spot beside the bard and hit the hollow trunk in annoyance. Flinching at the pain inflicted more-so on you, you rubbed your hands as you tried to settle down. 

The view surely was nice. Mondstadt, the city of Freedom, could be seen from here. Meadows and small hills laid out across the board too, luscious and full of natural beauty. The color of it reminded you of Venti. 

"I can't do this," you groaned, rubbing your face in weariness. "I'm too tired to even think."

"You quit too easily," he said, frowning. Feeling all ashamed suddenly, you drooped your head and sighed. There was nothing worse than getting critiqued by someone you looked up to. "Oh, I know! I have a few other secret spots to show you. What do you say, my friend?"

"Alright. I'll give it another shot."

Before announcing to you what he was about to do, he scooped you up with those nimbly arms of his and jumped straight off from the branch. A scream threatened to leave you, but you kept quiet as you held onto him for dear life. He was crazy! But that might just be the reason why he was so popular in Mondstadt. 

With a thump! at the landing, Venti smoothly reached the ground with two legs still working. Carefully releasing you, he took out his own lyre from under his arm. It could not be said the same regarding you. Wobbly support below, you kneeled down and calmed your racing heart. 

Once you gained your grounding again, that was when it was time to set off. Following the bard on his tail, you watched as the dirt path turned into pavement and then into bricks. "Mondstadt...? Are you sure this will be helpful?" you questioned, squinting at the mundane scene in front of you. Living here your whole life, it was all too familiar for you to believe you'd find anything here. 

"Just trust me, [Y/N]!" he said, turning his head over his shoulder. Giggling softly, he returned to look ahead and marched onward.

You assumed it would be an unknown spot that could exhilarate you instantly. But of course, reality bit the dust. Standing in front of you was the local tavern, crowded of drunken adventurers. "You just wanted to stop by for a drink!" you said, whirling around to glare at the male. 

He stuck a tongue out and winked, leaving you more infuriated. This was the guy you idolized so much? He was such a sham. "Trust me... trust me..." he repeated, pulling your arm with him. The door opened up and he slipped in, with you stumbling after him. His grip never once loosening, he waltzed towards the bartender and dropped coins of mora. "The usual, please!" 

Securing a table to sit at, he set you down and sat directly from you. As you were about to spew words of insult, he beat the punch. 

"I'm serious. This is one of my secret spots," he explained. He nudged his head at the back of the tavern, where an empty space cleared of tables took place. "I sometimes perform here and so whenever I come here, I would get a good amount of ideas."

He had a point. You had been there too when he performed here, intrigued and immersed by a new world introduced by him. Slumping your shoulders slightly, you mutely nodded in agreement, tapping the quill against your chin. He grinned at your reaction, as if he was relieved to have escaped your wrath.

As he sipped his drink in peace, you began to write down some ideas. It was silent at the table, but it was not uncomfortable or awkward. You had known Venti for quite some time... and though you still admired him tons, he became a dear friend. Ink met the parchment and you scribbled them down quickly, as if your life was on the line. This proceeded for a while until he slammed his first empty glass down. When showing the notebook, you fidgeted in your seat as you waited for his thoughts.

"Whisking her away, he drowned the walls. She said he said to come to the dock..." he read it out loud. His features tightened and he let out a nervous laugh. "Um... er... it's not bad... How about this?! Why don't you perform a song from Teyvat! Singing a song always inspires me. You can use the stage over there! I'm sure the customers would love a lovely song sung by the beautiful maiden [Y/N]."

"So it's bad," you deadpanned.

"It's not!" he argued, panic shown in his eyes. "It could use some improvement, but anything can be improve, you know?"

"You don't need to lie to make me feel better," you sighed, pulling yourself up from the seat. Lumbering up to the stage, you strummed the strings of your lyre, catching the attention of a few customers. Breathing in deeply, you closed your eyes and started to sing a song. The song you heard Venti sing a few times. The song your parents sang as they lulled you to sleep. The song that wasn't yours, but everyone's. 

You were a fake. A lyrist who couldn't form her own words. A singer with no direction to turn to. 

When the song ended, a round of applause exploded from the audience who were smiling in approval. They all enjoyed it, except you. Giving them a quick bow with a smile plastered on your face, you then exited the stage and rushed through the tables, passing Venti and straight out the door. Running to the gates and not stopping once until you were out in the wilderness again, you slumped to the ground in shame. Angry tears blurred your vision and you crumpled the poor grass upon your hands. 

"You performed it perfectly..." he whispered, his small figure crouching down next to you. When did he get here? "What's upsetting you?"

"I messed up," you told him, glancing at the lyre in your hands. "I can't do a single thing right."

"No one noticed it."

"But... I did. It doesn't matter if no one else realized it, I know of my mistakes. And I'm so sorry Venti. I've been such a hindrance towards you today. You don't deserve listening to my complaints. Nor do you deserve cleaning after my mess." More tears slid out, slipping down your cheeks. "I just wish I was you."

A thumb swiped the droplets from your face, his skin warm to the touch. Startled, you watched him grow slightly sad. Why was he making that face? It looked so... empty... hopeless. He knew of something you didn't. "You don't want to be me, [Y/N], trust me. And I like you the way you are... so please, don't say that ever again." He straightened up and all traces of any misery was erased from his expression. "Let me cheer you up a bit! I can go sing a tune for you! I think that should do the trick for some inspiration."

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Little Blue Eyes

A brief follow-up to this. Eleanor visits Michael during his reforming.

.

She had to hand it to Jason. If anyone had told her that it was possible to break a Janet out of Hell and get her away from an army of demons using just a Molotov, a single demon exploder gun, and a bag of weed, she’d have been very sceptical. But somehow he managed to bring their not-a-girl home, riding back in that hand-cart, grinning away as if he’d gone to a Jaguars game with her.

That was one problem dealt with. Now only a billion others to sort out.

As overjoyed as she’d been to see Janet back, safe and sound, she hadn’t been looking forward to reliving the most awful night of the year by explaining to her why their tall, dandy dressed demon wasn’t at her side, or hadn’t gone to save her.

It was easier to hand her the note that Michael had wrote (or possibly snapped into being after she slammed the door as she was sure even he couldn’t write that fast) before he’d pulled the trigger on himself.

I’m sorry.

I don’t want you to be worrying about how I might betray you or let you down again. If I’m locked up, you’re just going to worry that I’ve escaped. Just leave me in a tank on the other side of the map, or in Janet’s void if you bring her back, or just leave me in the Bad Place. If anything I just wanna ask that you make sure I’m all in there as I’d rather not come back shorter. Also if you can make sure no dogs are around to lap me up, I’d appreciate it.

I only ever wanted to save you all. I’m sorry I did nothing but screw up. I understand if you don’t want me back in the group after I’m back to normal. Please just get Janet back safe, even if it does mean going to the Judge. And give my best to Chidi when he wakes up.

I wasn’t lying about one thing; I really do love you all so much. I’m sorry it could never be enough.

Michael.

Reading the goo-stained letter with shaking hands, she’d struggled not to burst into tears of anger or throw up. Standing in the middle of the empty room, her friend dripping all around her, she’d wanted to scream at him for this being his best attempt to make things up to her - to forking leave her! To take the cowards way out. 

Being angry was so much easier than accepting the guilt of what she had said to him before that moment. Of questioning if she had gone too far...if she’d just taken a moment to listen to him...Usually the dude had trouble shutting the fork up but that night, all he’d done is stand there and take everything she threw at him...until there was nothing left standing. Literally.

If she’d had any idea he would do something so reckless and stupid then of course she would never have said...

But you did know. You knew exactly what he was prepared to do to help you, if it’s what you said you needed. What you wanted.

She never wanted this, she admits to herself, barely a couple months later.

Running this experiment basically single-handed was...not overly difficult. In fact, she was pretty confident in saying they were doing okay, considering the circumstances. 

But it still sucked. She was alone. Again.

Obviously there was no way she was going to have Michael’s goo abandoned in some random, isolated location. She was mad at the guy but she wasn’t a monster...so she told herself. At the same time, she couldn’t give up the role he’d thrusted upon her by suddenly taking up the role of nurse-maid, as hot as she might have looked in the uniform. He’d chosen to do this so she could work without distractions. Without a liability. 

“He sacrificed himself to save me. We’re on our own now. Let’s make it count.”

Just get the fork on with things, same as before. No point in looking back.

Tahani is the one who volunteers. She’s able to separate herself from the other humans without causing too much suspicion, claiming the need for a private getaway up in the hills, deep in the valley, a hidden fancy lodge by a stream, surrounded by peaceful deer and mountains. Definitely not Eleanor’s scene, anything involving the wilderness or even resembling camping.

By the time Eleanor sees her off on a private car Derek conjured up, Michael’s goo already reached its first form. The blind, helpless demon larva showed no signs of awareness of his surroundings, curling up as small as possible, malleable as Tahani swaddled him in her fluffiest blanket. Eleanor was almost impressed at how quickly the sexy giraffe had overcome being grossed out at the slimy, squidgy creature, able to look almost maternal as she carried him into the car. And she made sure to say as much.

Tahani’s heavy hearted response would stick with Eleanor for the next few weeks; “I didn’t reassure him when he asked us if we could ever be friends with a gross monster. Best I can do is show him how much we truly care.”

Ouch. Way to kick her in the girl-nads.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ve helped out in multiple animal sanctuaries and used to fly out to work with deprived children with my dear friend Angelina...But this is definitely new territory for me.” She’d said as she looked over the larva demon, making the tiniest cooing noise in his sleep (or what they assumed was sleep). “I’ll try my best.”

That was all any of them could do. She’d contemplated attempting to speak to the larva Michael in her arms. What could she possibly say? Could he even understand her?

She was still angry. And yet it was difficult to connect the anger towards the one who abandoned her to the pathetic looking being in the blanket. Best to save all those harsh words on the tip of her tongue for when he was back to being tall and slappable. 

Is he really the one you want to slap?

The question comes back to haunt her more frequently each night that follows, whenever she thinks back on that night, or wonders how the two of them are doing. She and Tahani send letters often via the birds who are happy to act as messengers. They just have to be careful none of the humans intercept them. She lets her gorgeous friend know how the experiment is going and Tahani offers her tips on how to improve John, in particular. Every time she goes to write ‘how is Michael?’ she erases it, chest tightening. Tahani tells her anything important.

The slug monster form that follows the larva is a lot more challenging, she reports. He’s now the size of a Tibetan huskie and just as hungry.

I just let him roam the fields and eat what he can find. Sometimes I have to pull him in on a leash if he doesn’t tire himself out, otherwise I worry he’ll slither off in the night. I try to talk to him but he just grunts or roars at me until I tell him off. I was a little worried he might try to eat me but I found playing music - 80′s classics, mostly - calms him down and makes him rather docile. I don’t think he knows quite who I am or remembers anything. Perhaps it’s like when Janet is rebooted? He may need time to restore his memories, as she did.

Oh, darn, I must finish - he’s in the rose bush again!

Sometimes the image of her prim socialite friend trying to restrain a two-hundred-pound slug monster is so hilarious she can’t help but laugh. Other times she feels more guilt tugging at her soul to go lend a hand.

Is Michael really little more than an animal, in his head, right now? She’s hardly proved herself the best at pet care, though it sounded like Michael overeating was the least of their worries. It pained her to imagine what his head must be going through right now. Is he scared? Confused? Lost? Does he have any emotions other than the instinct to feed?

Does he still blame himself? Does he miss her as much as she...?

The more she sits in that chair in the office, the smaller she feels. It doesn’t belong to her; she’s merely filling it in while he’s gone. She has lunch in silence, remembering the jokes they used to share, the games of trying to aim food in the others mouth across the desk. She remembers him snapping a margarita for her when he knew she needed it most. She remembers his hand on her shoulder. She remembers him finding her at her lowest point, when everyone else had doubted her, turned their backs.

She remembers him, always there. And now she’s lost him.

Was wanting him gone over a stupid lie really worth all of this?

When Jason returns with Janet, on the same day she’s hesitating whether to jump on the nearest unicorn and head towards the mountains, she takes it as a sign. She has no excuse to stay away now - not with Janet back to watch over things, though she’ll probably be paying Michael a visit soon too.

She rides up on the train Janet conjures for her, saving her from trying to figure out how to ride a unicorn without breaking her neck. Something tells her she might have more luck at taming a slug monster than her British friend, not that she has any experience, just a few encounters with the grosser men in Arizona. Besides, it was Michael, at the end of the day. Their Michael.

The same Michael willing to sacrifice himself to help a bunch of cockroaches.

It’s such an idyllic landscape she arrives at. A total holiday card photo, without the snow. Nothing but grass and trees for miles before a backdrop of purple mountains. She looks around, seeing the evidence of devoured flower gardens and broken fences. At least the solid, oak cabin by the stream stood in tact, smoke billowing from the chimney. 

Eleanor is so focused on keeping her eyes peeled for a rampaging slug monster that she almost fails to spot the little person sat on the front step of the veranda.

She frowns. That has to be the whitest child she’s ever laid eyes on. Granted most kids growing up in Phoenix were smothered in fake tan before they were three by their moms, but this is something else. The kid has long white hair, half-plaited, down to the shoulders of the cream dress she’s wearing. Her skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent. Fork, is she looking at an actual ghost?

Wait...She’s a ghost. That really shouldn’t freak her out.

There’s just something so eerie about the little girl, from her sickly appearance to how weirdly quiet she is for...However old she is. Six? Seven? Thirteen? Eleanor really knows nothing about kids, just that they’re usually much louder than this one, sat alone, playing with a set of shining...

Oh.

“Michael?”

The kid looks away from the chain of a paperclips they were linking, gazing up at Eleanor on the gravel path. As soon as she sees their eyes, she has her answer. Even without a pair of glasses, she’d recognise those sparkling blue eyes anywhere. It’s only then that she remembers the third form.

Spooky little girl.

Though far less spooky than she imagined. More...sad.

Despite her surprise, she tries to smile, not knowing how badly she needed to see those eyes look at her again after this past month.

“Hey, buddy. How’re you feeling?” She starts to approach.

The kid drops the paperclips and jumps up to their feet, beginning to tremble terribly, eyes wide as saucers. 

Eleanor stops. Is he afraid? Of her?

“Michael? D’you remember me? It’s Eleanor, dude..”

“‘Hani!” The child cries turning and running inside the cabin. Fork, she knew was bad with kids, but shirt! Eleanor rushes in to follow, unable to hold back.

She enters the cosily furnished cabin to see the pale girl run up to the leg of the six foot beauty standing at the stove and cling to her skirt for dear life.

Tahani looks over from the pot of spaghetti, face fearful at first before lighting up when she spots her friend stood in the foyer.

“Eleanor! What a lovely surprise.” She beams, turning the stove off; “I’m so glad you decided to visit.”

“Wow...You’re kinda rocking the whole rustic single mom look here, babe.” Eleanor says, looking around the place, everything making her feel so warm and comforted from the open fireplace to the heavy air of recently baked bread. 

Tahani looks down to her charge hanging onto her dress, reaching down to pick the little fingers off carefully.

“Well, it was rather nice to have a project to myself, and Derek was surprisingly helpful. Everything else I acquired myself, having learned to survive in the wild from a well known ‘Bear’ friend of mine.” She holds the kid’s hands and bends down to their eye level; “Michael, sweetheart, look who’s come to visit. Remember Eleanor?”

The demon child whimpers, throwing their arms around Tahani’s neck and hiding in her luscious dark hair.

Eleanor bites her lip; “He’s a lot more shy than the slug monster, I take it.”

“Oh, I don’t understand. They were fine with Jason this morning, they were playing video games for hours - he and Janet teleported over briefly to check in on us. So glad they got back safe.”

So Jason gets a teleport but she takes the train? The first time she’s not an immortal being’s favorite to spoil.

Eleanor shuffles her feet, trying not to feel wounded at how terrified her friend currently is of her, when apparently there was no issue with Jason. But then, Jason makes it difficult for anyone to dislike him. Eleanor makes it an open invitation. 

The kid whispers something to Tahani that causes the woman to pick them up.

“Oh, darling, don’t be silly.” She responds, rubbing their back; “That was just a nightmare.”

“Nightmare?” Eleanor asks. Is she the stuff of nightmares?

Tahani eventually convinces the pale kid to go back outside to continue playing while she catches up with Eleanor.

Questions Tahani has about the experiment and the subjects get quickly brushed aside. Eleanor is unable to focus on anything but the image of Michael’s eyes looking at her with so much fear. When Tahani hands her a fresh cup of cofffee, she wants to stick her hand in it, just to scold herself for the sake of it.

“He’s having nightmares? I mean...she’s having...” Eleanor frowns.

“I find it easier to use ‘they/them’, which Michael seems to prefer as well, currently.” Tahani explains; “Most of the time, they’re a calm, affectionate child. Such a welcome change from the beast I was putting up with a fortnight ago, as much as they grew on me. It’s just at night, while their brain is still reforming and all these memories are flooding back...It can be rather distressing. Trust me, it’s heart-breaking just to see them crying and screaming...”

She can’t imagine that recalling centuries of brutally torturing innocents along with the knowledge of why that was wrong is easy for anyone, least of all in the form of a small girl, creepy or not.

“Honestly, the creepiest I’ve encountered so far is them levitating at the end of my bed - and that’s usually when they’re just looking for a cuddle.”

Eleanor smiles a little, Michael never was the best at being a truly ‘frightening’ demon.

“And I’m in these nightmares?”

Tahani sighs; “I suppose the memories of their last night are mixed up with everything else. They just...were worried you were here to say something mean or...you wanted them gone.”

Fork-sake. 

“I never wanted this, Tahani. I never wanted him to...Shirt, I didn’t even think he could, but...” She struggles to hold back tears; “I shouldn’t have come. I’ve just made him...Them more upset. Fork knows what I’d be in for if I stayed for the Teenage Boy phase. He’d probably set my hair on fire as payback.”

Bratty Michael in his fully grown form had been enough to handle. A hormonal one with amnesia was a whole other level.

“Eleanor. Just go talk to them.” Tahani presses; “This whole distancing thing you two are doing to deal with your falling out is dangerous. You’re not going to fix anything by staying away from them. As I kept telling my good friend Courtney when she had a row with my other friends, Lisa and Jennifer - you just need to communicate!”

“Babe, they’re afraid to even be alone with me.” She’s the monster under the bed now. All because she took one sin he committed to heart and forgot about all the good he’d done for her that outweighed it.

“Then stay, there’s plenty of room. Even if it means we swap and you stay here and I return to help with the experiment. Either way, this needs to be sorted out. I don’t believe demons are supposed to be this upset during their growth...You could help with that.”

Can she? She’s not the nurturing type, like her hot friend. She melted her own doll in the microwave as a kid. And she unwittingly talked her own demon bestie into exploding himself.

Tahani’s hand squeezing her wrist gives her some strength. 

“...Okay. I’ll try.” she meets her eyes; “Is Michael the only one allowed to snuggle in bed with you when they’re scared?”

Ten minutes later, she goes to find the creepy girl outside, this time sat among the flowers, being far more gentle with them than her previous slug form was. 

Eleanor approaches slowly.

“Michael? Buddy?”

The kid gasps, standing up again and flinching back. Eleanor raises her palm.

“Please don’t run away. I promise I won’t hurt you...and I won’t be mad.” She says, soft as she can manage, getting down to the ground; “And I’m not gonna make you go away anywhere. I just wanna chat...That ok?”

Michael doesn’t look too convinced, glancing over at the cabin. Looking for the one constant they’ve had, who’s been here for them, caring for them. Where Eleanor should have been, at least sometimes.

Okay. Time for the trump card.

“I got you something. Tahani said you have trouble sleeping. I thought maybe this guy could help?” She produces the minion toy from behind her back.

Michael’s eyes sparkle and he instantly reaches out to take it.

“So ugly!” They cheer, hugging it to their front.

Eleanor chuckles. Still so easily impressed.

“Can’t argue there...Also, I picked up those paperclips of yours. Did you know you can do this with them?” She holds up the chain; “Gimmie your wrist a minute.”

Michael frowns, hiding behind the toy a little.

“I won’t bite, dude. Kids are way too gross to eat. You’re too stringy and bony.” She wrinkles her nose.

They blink at her before slowly holding out their wrist. Eleanor takes the paperclips and links them around Michael’s arm, forming a bracelet.

The child gasps, clearly thinking they’ve seen it for the first time; “Holy motherforking shirtballs.”

“Damn, you kiss Tahani with that mouth?” That must have been another residue memory tucked away.

Michael sneers; “Kissing is gross.”

“It’s pretty weird if you think about it, yeah.” She concedes, glad they’re at least talking, as much conversation as she can have with a billion year old immortal that’s lost their mind as they regrow in the body of a haunting little girl; “...What about hugs? You like them, right?”

The kid nods, eagerly.

“...Maybe I could have one, someday? If we can be friends? I’d like that...” More than they could know right now. More than anything else, even having Chidi remember her. This...This is just as painful, because she can’t be sure if this is fixable. 

Eleanor crosses her legs as she sits, facing her friend.

“I’m so sorry, Michael. I know...you don’t understand that right now but...I’m sorry for why you’re scared of me...I wouldn’t ever wanna hurt you. Please believe me.”

Trust me? God, she’s such a hypocrite. 

The kid eyes her, up and down, before turning to the flowers. They bend down, picking a few up into a small bouquet of daisies. Michael turns and hands it out to her.

“Oh...Uhh....Thanks...” Eleanor reaches for them.

Michael’s blue eyes flash red. The flowers burst into flames.

“Forking shirt!” Eleanor jumps.

And still the kid holds them out; “Pretty, right?”

A heartfelt laugh tumbles out of her; “...I can tell Jason’s been here.” Or maybe that was part of her friend’s demon nature. Either way, it was adorable. “Thank you, Michael.” she says, taking the flaming daisies. “You know...if you want, I could show you how to make chains out of these? We could make a crown for Tahani?”

“And ones for me and you?” Michael asks, hopeful.

Eleanor’s lip quivers, a sudden lump in her throat. She reaches out to run her palm over her friend’s white hair, soft as it’s always been; “Yeah...Me and you too, bud.”

[quillsareswords]

HAPPY OCTOBER FIRST!

Damian Wayne

Takes place under my Crooked Grin arc.

Prompt List • Masterlist (in bio)

It's one thirty in the morning. It's dark, cold, and damp out. Of course it rained all day, he thinks. Fitting that he wouldn't have known, seeing as he'd spent the last twelve or so hours in the sewers, following you around.

While you'd spent the first four or five hours holding idle conversation, waving flashlights around in search of a pile of bones, you both got tired of the rotten stench and unspeakable filth rising past the ankles of the rubber boots you'd been smart enough to wear.

After getting lost for about an hour and a half, he wound up trudging across a parking lot behind you under an overcast sky and a full moon.

The red sign shone bright through lower Gotham's signature smog. CVS. He doesn't come here unless he's desperate for something, but the way your body moves robotically, he'd guess you frequent it.

You halt at the glass windows, making dead eye contact with the scrawny teenage boy standing boredly behind the cash register. He's staring right back, squinting.

Your hand hits the handle and the sliding of a mechanical lock fills the air. Damian looks from the boy to you, then back to the boy. Your eyes narrow. "Jerry, if you don't open this door I will annihilate your whole family," you warn, voice level, edges of your voice fogging a little spot on the glass. There's a pause where nothing happens. "I know where you live, Jerry."

The lock slides again. You shove the door open and stomp inside, your ever helpful boyfriend on your heels in hopes if escaping the cold for a little bit.

Faces void of emotion, you and the cashier begin what appears to be a routine conversation.

"Looks cold out there," he grumbles, resting his chin on a fist. "Maybe you should get an umbrella."

You sigh. "I tell you every single time we do this, I don't need umbrellas, I have charms."

"I have to meet a quota on umbrellas this season. What about your friend?" He stops for a moment, eyeing Damian like he's looking for something. "What's his deal?"

"Nothing, he's just a partner, and he doesn't need an umbrella either. Where's the banishing stuff?"

He points his thumb toward the back of the store. "Isle seven."

"Wait here," you tell Damian. You've noticed the goosebumps crawling up his neck, and the heater is blowing straight down on him at the moment.

He nods, and you start on your way down isle four.

A moment runs by, and then, "So how do you know (Y/N)?"

Damian blinks. "How do you?"

The boy shrugs. This is too casual for Damian to overlook. "She came in a few months ago covered in blood asking for candles and kerosene. She gave me handful of cash if I erased the security footage and didn't tell anybody. Then she came in the next week wanting more candles and some other stuff."

Damian expects him to continue, because this isn't exactly a recount of his school day, but he doesn't. "And?"

Jerry shrugs. "And I'm always bored, and it makes me, like, a supernatural sidekick, or something."

"No it doesn't, Jerry," you cut in from across the store.

"Why does she say your name like that?"

Jerry rolls his eyes. "It's not my name. My name is Ross, I don't know why she calls me Jerry."

Damian quirks an eyebrow.

You pop out from behind the edge of isle one, dropping an armload of tiny white candles, two canisters of table salt, a box of matches, and a tin of tinders. "And a thing of kerosene." You're already thumbing through your wallet.

"We're out." He makes a face. "You smell horrible."

"I know Jerry. I need a flammable liquid."

"We have nail polish remover. And nail polish."

Your shoulders slump and you hang your head for a moment. Then you spin around and head for the opposite side of the store.

"How did you meet again?" Ross asks, ringing things up with a handheld laser.

Damian looks over his shoulder to see if you're giving him a notion not to answer. You're nowhere to be found, hidden by the end isles while you scour the cosmetics.

"We're old friends," he decides, crossing his arms.

"Don't help often?"

"Only sometimes."

Ross nods.

You return, and dump six bottles of nail polish remover onto the counter. "Stop prying, Jerry." You hold out a wad of cash.

"But if I'm going to be your kickass apprentice, shouldn't I know all your contacts?"

"You're not my apprentice, Jerry."

"Not yet," he admits, dropping bottles of remover into a new bag. "That's later, after you go through a life changing event that cripples you or something. Then you need me, but you have to train me, which brings us closer."

You heave a sigh, face still barren of emotion, aside from the sparkle of amusement in your eyes. "Never gonna happen."

He peers around your shoulder to Damian. "One day," he mouths.

"No."

"Your total is $37.97."

"I don't care, just keep the cash," you mutter, looping your fingers through the bags. "See you next week, Jerry."

"See you next week, Master."

You snort, handing one crinkling bag to Damian.

"Back to the sewer?"

"Yep."

"It's going to be a long month, isn't it?"

"Yep."

[marjiandco]

4. Baleful

This is a companion piece to the third prompt, a prequel to how Raiku managed to get invaded by a voidsent. This prompt was super helpful in fleshing out the direction I want. You can read the first (second?) part here!

Raiku crashed into the ground, the skin on his back scrapping painfully against the rocks as he slid back. He had no time to think of the pain, as he rolled back and leapt away from a giant porcelain foot stomping on the little indent his body left. He shot an arrow at her heart, but the winged sin eater blocked it with her marbled sword, and swooped closer to him.

“Get back you wretched thing.”

It swiped at him, and as he tried to flip out of the way it caught on a corner of his bow and wrenched his arm, near cracking his body like a whip as she followed through with her slice and then reversed direction. He was once again flung, this time into one of the caves dotting the landscape. 

The hollow forever light slipped away from him, and he was enveloped in the blessed dark of a hole in a mountain. It was a small opening he managed to fit inside, the sin eater too big to stand its full height as it floated to the ground and walked towards the mouth of the opening. He clutched his arm to his chest, sure his wrist was broken. He tried to move it and sucked through his teeth.

“Gods damned world with its gods damned light demons!” He shouted, his chest shuddering at the volume. He tossed his bow to the side and grasped one of his chakram’s in his good hand.

He spat pink spittle onto the ground and dug the edge of his new weapon into the dirt to hoist himself to his feet. The things hand grasped the top of the cave’s mouth and bent low, its empty eyes locking with him.

“C’mon.”

It sounded like stone scraped against stone as it started to move inside. Raiku crouched low, holding the weapon in front of his face. A halo of orange-tinged whiteness glows around her body. He’s been chased by this thing for nigh on a summer, near destroying a town that had sheltered him a day before. Even Vauthry’s thralls were easy to slip even when they had tasted his aether, but this thing was adamant to consume him.

“C’mon,”

It pointed the sword down at him, and Raiku knew if this thing died there was no escape from the sickness it’d spread. He had to at the very least escape, and continue to keep it away from the townspeople in the valley.

The sin eater paused, and turned its head like a dog. It stopped moving, and Raiku stared at it, unsure.

“Well what’re you waiting for? The rocks in your head quit working? Let’s go!” He jumped forward, but his feet never touched the ground.

Black tendrils rushed forward from behind him, five of them wrapping around his ankles, wrists, and neck as a mass of blackness rolled forward.

“I think it’s looking at me.” It said, and it shot forward and knocked the light warden out of the mouth of the cave before creating a giant square with its body and blocked all light from entering the cave.

Raiku couldn’t see anything, and moaned as the tendrils tightened on him, his broken wrist pulsating with inflammation. He looked wildly around, but there was no light reaching inside. The tendril holding his weapon’s hand tightened until he dropped the chakram, and from the darkness he heard footsteps scuff along the ground.

“Who’s there?” His eyes start to droop, the dark simulating closed eyes and he hadn’t slept for more than a few hours combined the last few days.

“I bet you’re surprised to find me here, I certainly am.”

The tendril on his bad wrist slowly unfolded itself and slipped underneath his arm, as if providing a place for it to rest.

“Sorry about the restraints, couldn’t let you get in the way while I kick out an unwanted guest. They make me sick, you see.”

“I’m not asking again, who are you?” Raiku said in false bravado.

The voice chuckled, a sound similar to branches creaking in the wind. “I think the question you should be asking isn’t who am I.”

The hairs on the back of Raiku’s head stood on end.

“Its what am I.” The voice whispered behind his ear.

The lalafell yelped and tried to turn but the tendril on his neck held him in place. He grit his teeth, his eyes popping open as a realization dawned on him. The dark mass, lurking in a cave, sick from light.

“A…a voidsent?”

“Ding ding ding!” the voice was in front of him again.

“But how?”

“Oh, how did I manage to survive in this starved world? I don’t think that matters. What matters  is that I need to get out of here, and I know you do too. Your aether doesn’t match this world, and I think I could help you out there. If you let me hitch a ride, I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”

Raiku could feel the tendrils lower him to the ground, gingerly letting him find his footing before slipping away. He fell to his knees and felt around, but of course his Chakram was nowhere to be felt. He could feel his heart beat in his throat, any tiredness he was feeling was being erased by anxiety sending his senses into overdrive. He, Raiku Honaku, was somehow caught in a voidsent’s trap in a light blighted world. He somehow managed to follow a path that ripped his aetheric soul from his body, and land right here, in this moment, in the clutches of some demon. Painful laughter welled in him and burst forth like a spicket, lasting so long he was tearing up and clutched his chest as he tried to calm down.

“Let ahaha- me guess.” He bit his lip but it couldn’t stop the flow of hysterical laughter. “You’ll kill me if I don’t-ehehehehaha-agree?”

The voidsent waited patiently until Raiku’s laughs turned to pants.

“You’re kind of the only real chance I’ve found, why do you think I sent for you.”

Raiku’s head shot up. “Sent? How would that even be possible? Aren’t you all on opposite ends?”

Raiku couldn’t tell if his brain was making up a body to talk to or if light was slipping in, but he swore he saw something shrug.

“My influence doesn’t reach far but I can get the weak willed denizens to follow an order well enough. I couldn’t tell the light warden but I could give it bait to find you. And yes before you say anything It was I who had those people stand in front of the thing so it could feed and stay on path. Boo hoo sad days ANYWAYS.” the cave rumbled and for a moment Raiku worried about the ceiling coming down. “Yes, as boring as it sounds I’m out of options my friend. I will kill you. I may not be as strong as I’d like to be but I have enough to snap that little neck of yours. I know that if someone like you is running around, there’s hope there’s more out there.”

Raiku worked his mouth. His plan, voidsent or lightwarden was to get out of the cave. From the little he’s read on the creatures this must be a high level void creature to be able to speak to him and thrall the smallfolk, which begs the question.

“What would your host provide?”

“I don’t require drinking the blood of babes, if that’s what you’re worried about. My ask is all it is; I want to hide in your body. I won’t leech more than what I need to stay alive from you. You may feel tired at first, but I’ll keep you running. I’ll be your ace until you get me out of this forsaken landscape. Or die. Your choice.”

A full minute passed. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” the voice sounded surprised, excited. “You have to agree. Say the contract.”

It might be best to play along for now, and get Y’shtola to rip the parasite out of him. Maybe he won’t even leave the first at all, and the thing will just be a power boost until Raiku’s end. “I will be your host, you help me, and I’ll let you travel with me out of this world.”

“Who will?” It sang. “Say your name.”

“Raiku Honaku.”

It laughed that dead branch laugh. “Excellent. You’re word is my contract, burned into my skin.” There was a faint sizzling. “Now...open your mouth.”

“Wha-” Raiku’s jaw was forced wide and a choking smog dove down his throat. The darkness fell from the cave, the light blinding and burned his eyes, tears streaking down his dirtied face as he squeezed them shut. When he thought he couldn’t hold his breath any longer, the smog was full inside of him. He fell to the floor shaking and sputtering, what little energy he had drained from him rapidly. His eyes fluttered, a haze forming over his mind.

“Don’t worry.” The voice said in his mind. “This part is temporary, I’ll make sure your safe while you sleep. After this, I’ll only come when called, promised by the devil.”

[twelves-writings]

Sleep

Songfic based off “Sleep” by My Chemical Romance

(tw: suffocation, passing out)

They’re, they’re these terrors

And it feels as if someone was gripping my-

They’re, they’re not like tremors; they’re worse than tremors

They’re these ter-

Doc combed through the footage. There had to have been something there, anything. There was a reason for everything, across every world. Cause and effect. He knew correlation didn’t imply causation, but… there had to be something. He couldn’t've just… 

Doc sighed. He rewinded the video again, staring at the screen as he had for the past… How long has it been? Doc didn’t care. He scoured the footage, analyzing every pixel until his biological eye went numb. He didn’t care at what cost it came to him. There had be a sign, a message, a hint at what was to come. 

A voice nagged at the back of his head, telling him he need to rest. Don’t overwork yourself. Take a break. Go get something to eat. He would’ve wanted you to rest. 

Doc shook his head, erasing the thoughts from his head. There was no telling what he would have wanted. He was gone, and Doc was determined to get him back.

-~-

Another block of blackstone here, slab, block, redstone block… Wait, no; the redstone block goes over there. Or maybe… Beef rubbed his eyes, yawning as he picked up the offending block. It was getting late, the moon was nearly peaked, but he had to keep building. He just wanted to finish one more building in Three Fox Hole, then he would rest. Ah, that’s where the redstone block goes! And then the glass, and the other color of glass, and the other other color… 

Block after block was placed. Not much thought went into the details, but he’d do those later. He was always better at detailing the buildings in the morning. “Oh wait, Keralis is coming over tomorrow. Oh well; I guess I’ll finish them in the afternoon.” 

Beef was always glad to see his friends. He was hesitant about reaching out, about coming back, but Etho convinced him in the end. It was strange, Etho reassuring him when he refused to return to the server himself. Oh, Beef missed him. That was Etho’s choice, though, and Beef couldn’t and wouldn’t force anything upon him. With or without his old buddy, Beef was glad to be back on Hermitcraft. Especially after…

Beef kept building. Blackstone block, block, stair, polished block, glass, polished slab. The city was coming along nicely. Planning out the roads and buildings, filling them all in, and detailing them was all quite relaxing. It was the perfect way to start a new season. Beef stepped back from the building after placing the final slab. He was proud of himself. 

He wouldn’t be proud. 

“Yes he would,” he responded to his thoughts aloud. “Of course he would. I’m creating and detailing buildings. He loved that. He’d be proud.” 

They’re facades, fronts, empty shells. 

“I’ll fill them in eventually.” 

Fill yourself in first. 

Beef squeezed his eyes shut with a sigh. Knowing he wouldn’t win to his thoughts tonight, he kept building. 

Rest. 

There were always other buildings to work on. 

Rest. 

Details needed to be added. 

Rest. 

Mobs that could bring this city to life. 

Rest.

Beef began work on yet another building. He could’ve sworn he heard whispers from behind him, but wrote it off as phantoms, or his insomnia getting to him. “Alright.” He walked away from the build, having run out of blackstone. “I need to get some more- Oomph!” He had run into a street lamp as he turned around. As he looked up, he realized it wasn’t a light on the street, nor a creature of the night come to attack him.

“No, no, no.” Eyes wide as the moon, he stumbled away from the figure. “I- I can’t deal with this again! You’re not real! You can’t be! I- I can’t do this again.” He backed into a wall, sliding onto the ground. Tears welled in Beef’s eyes as he gazed upon the figure. 

Green wrapped around its entire frame, weaving around its torso and limbs. Its face was mostly free of the vines, bar its straggly hair. Its eyes were darker than the void, oozing jet black tears. Beef’s eyes were locked with the figure’s, fear flooding every ounce of his being. When he was finally able to pull away from the unmoving, unblinking voids, his gaze landed on the being’s shirt. His breathing and pulse accelerated as he read the letters: NHO. He timidly brought his eyes back back up. “B- Bdu-”

Don’t you breathe for me

Undeserving of your sympathy

The air was pulled out of Beef’s lungs, leaving him gasping. He clawed at his throat, eyes somehow widening more. He choked, breathing without air to breathe. How is he- Why is he- Beef couldn’t think straight. How could he, unable to breathe because the ghost of his friend yanked the air out of his lungs? 

‘Cause there ain’t no way that I’m sorry for what I did

Tears were spilling from Beef’s eyes; out of fear or sadness, he didn’t know.

And through it all, how could you cry for me?

‘Cause I don’t feel bad about it

Beef wanted to scream. He wanted to tell the phantom all his thoughts. He wanted to tell him how he still cared, how he remembered him, how he’d never let go of him or the memories they shared.

So shut your eyes

No, no! Beef felt the unconsciousness pulling at his eyelids, dragging him down. Beef didn’t want to let go! He couldn’t let go! He could never let go! 

And sleep

Just sleep

The voice reverberated through his brain, overwhelming any thoughts Beef had. It surrounded and enveloped him, echoing through the emptiness inside. He was hollow. He had been, ever since that day. The tears stopped flowing as darkness crept towards him. Eyes flickering, Beef relaxed. The voice echoed one final cry, more to itself than anything else.

The hardest part

Is letting go of your dreams

He’d just rest a bit. Just for a minute. Just for… 

-~-

They’re, they’re these terrors

And it feels as if someone was gripping my throat, and squeezing

They’re, they’re not like tremors; they’re worse than tremors

They’re these terrors

Rewinding the footage again, Doc sighs. He’s getting nowhere with this, but he has to keep going. He would have wanted him to keep going, keep searching for an explanation. He goes over the clip again, subconsciously mouthing the words. He’s heard this so many times, seen this so many times, too many times… He jolts up with a start, his eyes sleepy but wide. He has to stay awake. He has to know what happened. Just a few more minutes.

His stomach growls, like a hoglin that hasn’t been fed in days. When was the last time he ate? That didn’t matter. All that mattered to Doc is answers. Rest and food are for the weak anyways. When was the last time anyone had seen a creeper eat?

Vwoosh

It was a near silent noise, but Doc caught it. He whipped around, sword in hand, ready to face the enderman who dared to interrupt his work. But he didn’t see an enderman. Far from it; he saw a figure leaning again a cluttered table in the corner of the room. A wine glass was held in its hand, and for a moment Doc suspected it to be Joe, bringing him a glass from the winery next door. However, the glass was empty. 

A drink

For the horror that I’m in

Doc took a moment to look the creature over. Its skin was like his own, rough and plant-like. Was that actually its skin, or a thick layer of foliage covering it? Its eyes and head were hidden in the shadows, except for its half-open mouth lined with teeth sharp as blades. What the heck is this thing?

For the good guys and the bad guys

For the monsters that I’ve been

Three cheers for tyranny

It hoisted up its glass, acting as if a toast were to be given. Instead, it tossed the glass in the air. Doc was frozen in place out of fear or exhaustion; it was difficult to tell which. He only moved to flinch when the glass shattered on the ground. It sounded as if a million glasses had broken, not just the one. The figure did not react.

‘Cause there ain’t no way that I’m coming back again

The words burned themselves in Doc’s mind. He knew instantly what- who the creature was. Or rather, what the creature used to be. He shook it off, dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him. It liked to do that on late nights like these. Before he could turn around to get back to his work, the figure grabbed him by the shoulder. The two were face to face now, mere inches apart. Its dark, empty eyes stared straight into Doc’s soul. The teeth were far more menacing now, softly clinking with every word spoken. Doc didn’t want to admit it, to himself or the beast, but he was terrified. The voice cried:

And through it all, how could you cry for me?

‘Cause I don’t feel bad about it

It took its hands off Doc’s shoulders, pushing him back against the desk.

So shut your eyes

Kiss me goodbye

And sleep

Just sleep

Doc whipped back around, forcing his eyes back upon his work. One of the monitors was cracked, but he didn’t care. He cared about nothing but the tapes. He blinked hard, pushing back any tears that threatened to spill. He ignored the creature’s- the ghost’s cries behind him. 

The hardest part’s

The awful things that I’ve seen

He ignored it all, pinning his eyes to the screens. He was so close; he could feel it. Just another couple of minutes and he’d have it. He’d know why Bdubs died. 

Sometimes, I see flames

And sometimes I see people that I love dying

It’s always-

Just sleep

The creature whispered. He ignored it.

Just sleep

It called to him, like a siren out at sea. He ignored it.

JUST SLEEP!

It screamed. Doc whipped around to see the figure levitating off the ground. Wind from nowhere spun around it, papers and small objects being pulled into the gusts. The being’s eyes shone black, somehow emitting light while being dark as black holes. 

Doc couldn’t take his eyes off the figure, and couldn’t deny its appearance any longer: it looked like- no, it was Bdubs. Doc saw the bandana, ripped and stained a blood-like green, flapping in the wind. Its hair was swooped in the front, blown up off its face. The logo on its shirt was unmistakable, even through the vines that spread across its chest. It screamed again and again for Doc to sleep. 

Eventually, its voice went hoarse. As the cries faded into echos, the wind slowed. Doc was swaying on his feet as it stopped, collapsing onto the ground. His eyes flickered, but no! He had to hold out. He had to stay awake. 

The figure- Bdubs’ feet gracefully touched the ground. Bdubs made his way over to the nearly unconscious Doc. Doc wanted to reach out to him, say something, anything. But he couldn’t. He… he needed to rest. He needed some sleep. 

The tapes were playing quietly as Doc drifted off. 

And I can’t… I cant ever wake up.

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part eight Word count: ±2900 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part eight summary: Zoë might have accepted the boys help, that doesn’t mean they get along. If the hostility between them isn’t enough, Sam and Dean have some unresolved issues of their own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​ and @deanwanddamons​​​​​. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     A little less than an hour later, Sam, Dean and Zoë are sharing a table in In-N-Out. All three scheduled in some time to trade their business suits for their everyday clothes. The boys are comfortable in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and dusty old shoes, while Zoë looks like a totally different person now that she left her black pumps, blazer and dress pants in her hotel room. She’s wearing her hair down, her blown locks playfully curled up after last night’s shower. Her grey shirt has the famous Pink Floyd logo on it; a ray entering a triangle and breaks off into a rainbow when it exits. The brand new biker jacket hangs over the back of the bench while she plays with the loose tie of her All Stars shoe, wiggling her foot rhythmically. 

     U2’s Beautiful Day is playing in the background. It fits, considering the clear blue sky and warm sun outside. Satisfied, Dean and Zoë devour their burgers while Sam has settled for a milkshake, since they don’t have salads at this restaurant. Stunned and a little disgusted, he watches how Zoë intends to break the world record, tailed by Dean. The younger Winchester stares at them both, as the huntress swallows the last bite of the massive Animal Burger and starts on an additional cheeseburger she ordered. Apparently, Zoë doesn’t feel the need to hold back, despite having company, but then again, she wouldn’t change her demeanor for anyone.

     Dean doesn’t even notice her manners as he shares her appetite. He’s more annoyed that she finished her burger before he did. He looks up for a moment as she licks the sauce from her fingers after finishing, then continues eating even faster than he did a moment ago.

     “Dude! Seriously, a food race?” Sam chuckles.      “Wholth?” Dean says with his mouth full.      He swallows his bite, which apparently was a little bigger than he anticipated. He coughs and hits his chest with his fist, Zoë can’t help to laugh when she sees tears appear in his eyes.      “What are you? Fuckin’ five years old?” she grins.      “I wasn’t racing you,” he mutters hoarse.      “Oh, you so were.” She sniggers, dipping one of Dean’s fries in mayonnaise. “Are you gonna eat that?”      Obviously enjoying herself, she waits for his reaction. He watches her move the fry to her mouth with a look of shock and repugnance on his features. How dare she?      Zoë chews on the snack provokingly. as expected he goes for the counter attack.      “Don’t touch my fucking food,” he warns, pulling his portion of fries to his side of the table, clearly annoyed with his colleague stealing. “And I wasn’t racing you, ‘cause if I did, you would be many burger lengths behind, woman.”      “That’s what’s bugging you the most, isn’t it? Dean Winchester just got defeated by a girl,” she nags.      “I can take you with ease,” he claims, confidently.      She laughs in return.“You wouldn’t stand a chance.”      “Wanna bet?”      “Knock it off, you two.” Sam breaks it up and looks from one to the other. “Now, could we concentrate on the case? We all got better things to do.”      “I have better things to do. You on the other hand just have an unhealthy obsession with helping me,” she corrects, as she drinks from her milkshake through the straw.      “Whatever,” Sam counters with a huff. “Let’s focus here. We’re dealing with a frustrated child spirit most likely on a killing spree.”      “Yeah, but how the hell is she still here? I already burned her bones,” Zoë brings to mind.      “She must be connected to some kind of object then, are you sure you burned everything?” Dean checks.

     Zoë slightly tilts her head and glares at him with an attitude. Is he fucking kidding?      “We’re sure, I was there with her,” Sam confirms, jumping in before the huntress can snap at his brother.      “Nothing more romantic than a night at the graveyard,” Dean comments with a little grin, earning a death stare from Sam, and so he continues seriously. “We need to figure out what’s keeping her here before she goes all Mike Tyson again.”      “She probably targets the people who are directly or indirectly responsible for her death. I don’t think she’ll rest until she kills every single one of them unless we do something about it,” Zoë speaks up.      “So, who could be her next target?” Sam wonders.      “It could be anyone, but the biggest candidates for a one way ticket to the land of the dead are probably Mrs. Shire and her son, maybe even Mrs. Dawlson,” Zoë realizes.      “Who?” Sam and Dean question at the same time.      “Her teacher at Elementary School. She knew about the abuse,” she informs, sipping her shake.

     Dean seems confused. After all, he knows Zoë only arrived here last night. “How do you even know that?”      “Because I had a fucking chat with her, asshat,” she claims, snappy.      Dean bites his tongue and shakes his head slightly, letting a silent sigh slip from his lips. This woman is unbelievable. If it wasn’t for Sammy being so dead set on helping the bitch, he would get the hell out of dodge.      Ignoring her comment, he picks up a few fries and stuffs his mouth full, not noticing the exchange of looks between Zoë and Sam. As soon as the youngest Winchester makes eye contact, he knows she didn’t talk to Mrs. Dawlson; she saw something in one of her flashbacks.      “There could be a dozen more possible victims we don’t know about,” Sam states, quickly filling the void before it becomes noticeable.      “True, but to figure out who might be next, we need to find more info on what happened to Laura,” she declares.      “We already know what happened to her. Her dad abused her till death followed, nothing to add to that,” Sam says.      “No, I mean after that.”      Zoë leans forward, snitching another fry from the hunter across from her, who snaps his head up to her, staring her down and wondering where she got the nerve to steal his food twice.      “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that no one found out about this murder yet? Because that what it was; murder. Her father killed her. Child services should have been all over this, especially with another minor in the household. Laura was buried without a conviction, while she obviously did not die of natural causes,” the smart woman brings to mind. “Why is that?”      “I mean, the system is flawed. Maybe they missed it?” Sam suggests.      “No, I don’t believe that. She must have been a mess, considering what her victims look like,” she ponders.      Both boys nod as a sign of agreement; she has a point. Dean rubs his chin as he thinks. Then his facial expression changes, the metaphorical light bulb switching on in his brain. He glances up at the woman opposite of him, who watches him questioning.

     “Dr. Hughes”, he says out of the blue.      “I know that name,” Zoë realizes, trying to remember where she has heard it before.      “It’s the doc from the morgue that we talked to,” he fills in. “He did the slicing on Shire’s dead body and also mentioned Ronald was a friend of his. I thought he responded weird when Sam mentioned the Hobbit dude.”      “Is the Methodist Medical Center the only dead men’s storage in town?” Zoë asks the whizkid on Dean’s right.      “Not sure. Let me check.” Sam takes out his laptop and sets it up on the table. As he works the computer, Zoë continues their brainstorming session.

     “One way or the other, we need to get our hands on Laura’s death report and we need to figure out who wrote it. I’m guessing someone covered for Shire,” she speaks up.      “How is that even possible these days, with all the paperwork and the forensics?” Sam rubs his temple, taking in Zoë for a second, but then returns his gaze to the laptop screen in front of him.      “You think we’re the only ones who lie and deceive?” Zoë returns, smartly. 

     “We need to talk to more people. Someone who was there and experienced the abuse first hand and might know more about the cover-up. The Shire dude’s wife maybe?” Dean suggests.      “We can’t turn up on her doorstep and confront her. If she doesn’t know her husband possibly erased evidence, it’s just gonna bring a shit ton of drama and a hell of alot explaining to do when she starts asking questions,” Zoë makes clear.

     She forks her fingers through her hair and checks her phone for the time; shit. It’s almost 1 PM. Frustrated about the many blank pages of this case, she sighs, pulling at the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. There’s so much about this job that doesn’t add up.      “I don’t get how she could still be here. There was nothing left of her remains,” she sighs.      “There has to be an explanation for that,” Sam ponders, as he stares at the address on display. “Anyway, there are no other morgues in town besides the one at the hospital on W. Kingshighway.”   

     “I tell you what.” With a neat throw Zoë tosses her empty plastic cup into the garbage can across the aisle. “Sam, you keep an eye on the Shire family. Dean’s gonna have a chat with Dr. Hughes, see if you can get some info on the death report. I’m gonna tail the teacher for a while,” she decides.      Sam nods approvingly before his brother can object. He folds down the laptop screen and gets up. “Sounds good to me.”      “Make sure you keep your eyes open, that little pain in the ass manages to beat up grown ups without the people next door noticing,” Zoë warns as she picks up her helmet from the bench.      “You think this is our first rodeo?” Dean responds with a scoff.      “You didn’t see me coming the other night in Rochester,” she counters sassy.

     As she passes him she pets his shoulder, the one she put a bullet in only two nights ago. Dean flinches when a dim pain shoots through his arm again. That fucking b--      Before he can call her names, she exits the fast food restaurant, probably expecting the Winchesters to follow like obedient dogs. Stunned, he watches her walk over to her motorcycle, huffing in disbelief. First she doesn’t want their help, and now she’s giving out orders like she rules the fucking world. He didn’t think it could be possible, but his detest for her just grew to an all time high.

     “Mark my words, one of these days I’m gonna shoot her down,” he announces frustrated.      “Ahuh,” Sam responds, cynicism on his tongue as he puts the laptop in his backpack. “Just make sure you don’t pull a gun on her in public, will you?”      “Can’t make any promises.” His brother huffs. “Anyway, you can have the car if you drop me off at the hospital. Let’s get this over with so that we can put some distance between us and the Wicked Witch of the West.” 

     Sam’s lips form a constricted smile, luckily his brother doesn’t notice. He has to admit that he’s enjoying the fact that his big brother is being told what to do by a girl, while normally he only takes orders from one person and one person only; their dad. What he finds interesting, however, is that despite a few muttered objections, Dean actually follows through with it. 

     “And you know what’s the fun part about all this?” Sam nags as they exit In-N-Out.      “What?” Dean responds, annoyed, scanning the parking lot in order to spot Zoë’s Road King.      “You have to dress like a penguin again.” The younger Winchester grins as he opens the door to the passenger’s seat.

     His brother stares at him over the top of the car, realizing he’s going undercover as the FBI Agent Young once more.      “Ah, come on! Can’t we trade?” he asks desperately.      Sam laughs and sits down. “No way, dude.”      Dean does the same and closes the door, complaining. “Man, I hate suits.”      “You think I’m comfortable in one during these temperatures?” Sam returns.      “Sam, even if I’d be freezing my ass off, I will never be at ease in that ridiculous outfit,” Dean states while turning the ignition, allowing Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynyrd to play on the cassette deck.

     “I’m not trading places. I can work some stuff out while I’m guarding the house,” Sam explains, looking outside the window, squinting his eyes to protect them from the sun.      “What stuff?” Dean questions, making sure it’s not just some lame excuse.      Sam looks aside and hesitates for a moment, but then tells him anyway. “I want to call some friends of Dad,” he admits.

     He feels Dean’s piercing gaze, but doesn’t look up. It’s only a matter of seconds before Dean pops the first question.      “Why?” Dean asks sternly.      “Why?! I don’t know about you, Dean, but I wanna find him,” Sam returns defensive.      Dean grips the wheel a little tighter; as if he doesn’t want to find Dad. Seriously? “So do I, but I don’t think it’s wise to start calling random hunters to ask where he is, Sam.”      “I won’t call ‘random’ hunters. I’ll call a few old friends, and why the hell not?” his brother questions.      “Because Dad doesn’t want to be found,” the oldest of the two claims.      “How could you possibly know that, Dean?! Seriously, do you have some kind of telepathic connection with the guy or what?” Sam reacts.      “Hey, you’re the psychic one, not me,” Dean counters. “If Dad wants us involved in his hunt, he will contact us one way or the other. You know that.”      “No, I don’t! I haven’t heard a word from him since I left for Stanford. I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man,” the younger brother argues.      “You were the one who fucking left, Sam. And let me tell you somethin’,” Dean pauses to enforce his words. “I trust him because he’s a damn good hunter.”      “He’s human! He makes mistakes just like anyone else, only this time you won’t be around to back him up. It’s not some monster that he’s hunting, this is the monster! The one that killed Mom, that killed Jess!” Sam adds up.      “You think I don’t realize that?” The car stops at a traffic light and Dean turns to him, his piercing green eyes judging his brother, the same way John so often has. “Of course I’d rather be backing him up right now, but he decided to do this alone and I accept that.”      “Why the hell, though? Just because he says so?” Sam huffs, shaking his head disappointed.      “Hell yes, because he says so!” his brother snaps. “He leads this mission, and we stick to the orders he gives us. It’s about fucking time you show him the respect he deserves.”      “He has to earn that first,” the younger Winchester responds.      “He earned that a long time ago. Every time he protected you, protected us. Everything that we were taught, all the skills that we’ve learned. You were so caught up in the illusion that school was gonna work out, that when he objected because he didn’t want you to be on your own, you cut all ties,” Dean barks at him as he accelerates faster than necessary. “Why the hell do you want to find him so bad if you hate his guts, huh?”      “I don’t hate his guts,” Sam says, his voice a lot less hostile than a moment ago.

     Dean takes his eyes off the road again and glances at the passenger, noticing the defeated expression on Sammy’s face. Annoyed with himself he looks ahead again, shutting his eyes for a second when a pang of guilt distinguishes the anger in a matter of seconds. He meant to give his little brother a reality check, but all he did was hurt him.      “Sam, I get you want answers. But calling his friends isn’t the way to do it. We just gotta be patient.”

     His brother's jaw clenches and he looks away, not denying nor confirming that Dean is right and that he himself will listen. It doesn’t matter anyway; there’s no way he can turn his brother’s mind around. And Dean claims Sam is the one who is like their old man? Just now he was sure to sit next to a younger version of Dad. 

     He can't agree with the reasoning behind Dean’s actions, though. His older brother dragged him out of school to find Dad and now that it’s coming down to that, he doesn’t want to go out on a search. Sam on the other hand, he has to find him. Not only does he have some unresolved issues with his father, John is also the only hunter who has been tracking the thing that ruined their lives. He is the key to finding answers. It’s all he can think of; hunting down the bastard that killed Mom and Jessica. 

     Without saying another word, Dean drives his Impala to their motel, convinced he made his point, even though he hurt his brother’s feelings to get the message across. But Sam isn’t going to let go, neither will he trade places with Dean on their jobs. During his hours of watching the Shire family, he’s gonna make those calls and he is going to find their father. Whether Dean likes it, or not.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).    

Read chapter nine here