#spring break hunt

[robo-milky]

More self-indulgent Yandere Rook(loche) for myself because the week’s been rough ;;

Ik this is already OOC of Rook but tbf, Yandere! Rook is already OOC in the first place- I swear he’s just shirtless because it’s logical to take off bloodied clothes but hey (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) and I was really lazy when speedrunning this for my widgets/ipad theme- and also just the vibe…

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part Three

This one got longer than I expected, so it's only about Spring Break. We return to the apocalypse next part.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

"-eve?"

Waking up again is disorienting. His head aches like the beginning of a migraine. There was something he was thinking about but it's fading quickly. A conversation in a boathouse...? That's not right. The boathouse was empty. The police had beat them there.

"Steve?"

No. No conversation in a boathouse. But there was a phone call. He knows he remembers that. Joyce had called last night. Her and Murray sharing a phone between them as Steve- Oh! Right. Steve told them he knew about Hopper in Russia.

"You have to go, though. Hopper is alive and waiting. And there's a demogorgon. Demodogs, too. You have to kill them all. Any connection to the Upside Down left alive helps Vecna. It's like having a tether to here makes him stronger."

"I can't just abandon El," Joyce sounds conflicted, and Steve gets it. He does.

"You aren't. You're going to be giving her back her dad. She's got Jonathan and Will and Mike. Argyle, too, if he wants to be there. Just. Just get them on the road and back here as soon as you can. If they don't leave soon than Brenner will-"

"Brenner? What do you mean Brenner? He's dead. Right? He's supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, well, he's not. He- I don't know the full details, just. I was just given an overview because, y'know, other shit was going down. But he makes El relive a lot of traumatic shit from her past and yeah, it gets her back her powers, but she's just a kid. She's just a kid."

"Her abilities, they aren't gone?" It's Murray who asks.

"No. She's just traumatized, in a different way. It was... it was Jonathan who said this, actually, to me. I mean, he hasn't said it yet, and if everything goes the way I want, he won't need to say it ever, but that's- sorry, that's not important. He said he thinks El blocked her abilities because she lost Hopper. An internal block, you know? 'Cause she couldn't save him with them, so what was the point of having them?"

"And you think bringing Hopper back will free her of that block?" Murray asks.

Steve can't help it. He laughs. "Hell no. I think years of therapy might, but having her dad will help. There's no way it hurts, right? Also, uh, you're the parent here, Joyce, so I'll let you decide what to tell her, but the big, awful thing that Brenner made her relive? It was a massacre. At the lab, when she was there. Another guy, another number, killed a bunch of the people there. It was El who saved the remainder. She stopped him from killing anyone else by opening the first gate to the Upside Down. She tossed him in and closed it. She's not a monster. Oh, that part you have to tell her. She's not a monster."

"Steve!"

There's more to the phone call, Steve knows he knows that but there's yelling and it's distracting.

"Steve!!"

"What?" Steve snaps, both with his shout and back into himself. He's sitting at the picnic in Forest Hills. Everyone is looking at him with varying degrees of concern.

"You okay?" Robin asks, "we've been trying to get your attention for a while now."

"What? Yeah, sorry," Steve says, distracted, standing up and looking around. Eddie's trailer is right there, and Wayne's truck is parked in front. He knows Wayne. Knew Wayne? He's in charge of the gardens at home base. A real green thumb, not that you can tell by looking at the trailer now. "You think that with Fred's death, they'll stop suspecting Eddie?"

"What? We don't know that they suspect Eddie," Dustin is quick to say, "I know he didn't do it, and so do you so-"

"Yeah, I know! I do know that, but Chrissy died in his home and then he ran. Of course, he's a suspect. But he was in jail last night. So. They can't suspect him still, right?"

Nancy purses her lips, giving Steve a look he knows isn't good. "Well, it will depend on when they apprehended Eddie, which we don't even know they did. How do you know he was in jail last night?"

"Good point. I don't, not for sure. But Wayne might," Steve says as he starts walking away. He can hear everyone at the picnic table shouting for him and scrambling to follow. Steve picks up speed, dashing up the steps and pounding on the door before anyone catches up.

"Steve, what are you doing," Max hisses, because she's the fastest and therefore the closest.

"I just gotta-"

"Can I help you?" Wayne Munson greets, voice even. Steve watches as his eyes sweep the group, pausing on Nancy before coming back to Steve.

"Hopefully. Uh, I'm a friend of- well, no that's a lie. I don't want to lie to you. I'm not Eddie's friend, but I want to be, and Dustin here is, so we just wanted to know if you could tell us if Eddie's okay?" Steve says. "You already talked to Nancy yesterday, but she didn't know that we, like, knew him. Have you heard from Eddie?"

Wayne eyes him with suspicion, which is fair, "I ain't heard from him."

"Please," Steve says, because he's got to try one more time. Either Wayne doesn't know for real, or he's lying because he doesn't trust Steve. He's not sure he'll be able to tell which is which, but he has to ask again, "I swear that we just want to help Eddie. Whatever happened to Chrissy wasn't his fault, I know that. I just need. I need to know he's not- not out there, alone and scared. Please."

Wayne stares him down and Steve refuses to look away. Wayne's eyes flick away from him to the single police cruiser still stationed nearby, then back. "Get in here."

He doesn't need told twice. Wayne retreats into the trailer and Steve follows. Immediately his eyes jump to where the gate will form. Currently it just looks like water damage on the ceiling, but Steve knows. No gate yet, but it'll be there tomorrow. Probably fully formed by the time Vecna tries to take Max.

Robin, the last one in, shuts the door behind her gently.

"I told her yesterday that Eddie didn't do this," Wayne nods his head towards Nancy but he never takes his eyes off Steve. "Didn't stop them from arresting him."

"Thank God," Steve breaths out, which is the wrong thing to say, given how quickly Wayne's face morphs to anger, so he quickly adds, "shit, I mean, that means, he was in police custody when they found another victim last night, right? That'll prove he's innocent."

Wayne doesn't respond right away. Instead, he takes his time looking at each and every one of them, lingering on Nancy before settling on Max. "You live 'cross the way, don't ya?"

Max looks surprised to be recognized. "Yeah."

"Did you see anything?"

"I saw..." she trails off, brows furrowing as she thinks. She looks from Wayne to Steve. He doesn't know what she sees on his face, but he watches as she steels herself, a decidion made, before looking back to Wayne and saying, "What I saw is whatever I'll need to have seen to help Eddie."

"You'd lie to the police for Eddie?"

Max and Wayne have a silent conversation following the question, judging by their stare down and raising and following brow lines. When Max does speak, she says, "I've lied to police for worse people."

"Huh," is all Wayne says as he settles back against the counter behind him.

"Thank you," Steve says, even as his mind starts to calculate. They'll probably keep him the full 48 hours, since there isn't evidence enough to charge him. Right? There isn't really any evidence. Except, perhaps, what Eddie might have told them. Shit. Would Eddie say anything? "Can you let me know when they release him? Whatever happened, whatever he saw, probably freaked him out. I don't want him to feel alone. I mean, we don't."

Dustin is looking at him now like he's grown a second head but Wayne. Wayne is looking at him like he's made a realization. Drawn some unknown conclusion that he must approve of because he nods. "Sure, son."

"You got pen and paper? I'll write down my number."

The silence from his friends is deafening and does not bode well for Steve. He just knows they're going to bombard him as soon as they leave the trailer.

Which is exactly what happens. They wait until they're back by their cars before starting in, though.

"Steve, what the fuck was that?" Dustin says.

"How did you know he got arrested?" Max demands.

"Steve, you are acting so strange right now," Robin says, worry painted across her face.

"Explain," is all Nancy says, crossing her arms.

Should he? Does he even know what's happening? No. Not really. He's got memories of a future that's bleak and dark and terrible and he doesn't want it to come true. Are they even memories? Did those events even happen? He doesn't know for sure. All he does know if he wants to do everything in his power to prevent it from happening though. He doesn't want to have regrets about.... about something.

"We don't win," he says. "We don't win this one. Or, we didn't? We might now. Things are different this time."

"What?" Robin asks.

Steve ignores the question, giving instead more of the information he knows, "Hopper's alive. Joyce and Murray are on their way to Russia to save him."

"WHAT?" he's not sure who asked. Maybe all of them.

"And El is- I don't know. On her way, I hope. But she won't have her powers when she gets here. Or maybe she will? If she believes she's not a monster and really is the hero."

"Steve, you are not making any sense!"

"I know!" Steve shouts and drops into a squat. "I know! I'm not the- the figure it out guy, or the plans guy, or whatever. I'm just the guy who knows things he shouldn't, and I can't tell if it's because I actually lived it, or if I was just given knowledge about it somehow. I know the Upside Down has a red storm that never ends, more democreatures that just gorgons or dogs, and that Vecna slash Henry slash One is a goddamn monster who opens a giant hell gate and causes the apocalypse."

"Whoa, whoa," Dustin sooths, and when Steve looks up, Dustin's got both hands up and approaching like Steve's a wild animal. He kind of feels like one right now. "Slow down and explain."

There's a lot Steve could say. Should say. Steve is kind and soft, even in the face of the end of the world, but he's also learning that he's a little ruthless. Not heartless, but enough that he can see where they are, where they need to be, and how to get there in the easiest way possible. His eyes flick to Max. "Chrissy and Fred. They were both seeing the guidance counselor. You've seen them both there, right Max?"

"I- yeah. Yeah, I have."

"And Nancy, you've got a hunch, right? You need to go to the library to check it out?"

She narrows her eyes at him but nods.

"Okay. So, uh, let's use that as proof. You and Robin go check out your hunch, and I'll stick with Dustin and Max. Take Max to see Ms. Kelley and see if she'll tell Max anything that connects them?"

"You already know what we'll find, don't you?" Nancy asks, and Steve shrugs. "You're right. I won't believe you. Not without this proof. So, we'll go, Robin and me. And when we meet up, I expect you to tell me what we learned."

Max is completely silent the entire drive, an exact opposite of Dustin who shoots off so many questions in a row that Steve can barely remember the first by the time he's onto the next. Not that it would matter, because Dustin doesn't pause between any of his questions or comments to let Steve answer anyway.

Max launches herself from car almost as soon as Steve pulls up to the curb with a loudly groaned, "finally" before she slams the door and bounds across the street.

"Steve! Are you even listening to me!?" Dustin has finally lost steam or ran out of breath or something.

"Are you done yelling at me?" Steve retorts.

Dustin lets out a really big sigh then says, "For now. I just- Let's start with this. How do you know that Hopper's alive?"

"Joyce and Murray confirmed it when I talked to them on the phone. They're supposed to be getting El and crew heading back this way while they go to rescue him, but I don't really know how that's going."

Dustin squints at him. "I thought you could see the future now."

"No. I saw the future, so like, lived it or something. And it's like... You watch Back to the Future yet?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so like, the part where his family starts to vanish from the picture? Because he made his mom want to bang him-?"

"That is a disgusting oversimplification of the plotline, Steve."

"-it's like that. Except I want to change the events because we definitely end up in the bad timeline."

"Okay. Say I believe you. You said we don't win this time. Explain that."

Steve sighs. "Can that wait for like, everyone? Explain it all at once?"

"What made it so bad you have to alter the course of all of human existence?" Dustin demands.

"The Upside Down breaks through, man," Steve says, "Like, toxic air and no more sunlight or blue skies kinda bad. Full on, end of the world apocalypse type shit."

"Shit. We, like, lose lose," Dustin says in a small voice Steve doesn't think he's ever heard Dustin use before he huffs and falls out of view with a click and the sound of squeaking leather. Steve watches as Dustin reclines his seat back so he can stare up at the ceiling of the BMW.

"Yeah," Steve says before they fall into silence until Max sprints back, screaming for him to drive before she's even got the door closed behind her and certainly isn't wearing her seatbelt yet.

They all converge at the school, and Steve tells them what Nancy and Robin learned at the library, then Max puts together the thread that connected Chrissy and Fred, and he has to watch, again, as she accepts she's going to die. She even looks to him, as if he'll confirm that with a shake of his head or a nod.

He just blinks back at her until she looks away.

They want answers he isn't ready to give. Not until tomorrow, after Vecna tries to take Max. Given how today has gone, tomorrow shouldn't be much of a change. Nancy and Robin will still go the Pennhurst, and Steve will take Max everywhere she wants to go, but this time he'll be ready. It's not too late, so the little music store down from Melvald's will still be open. Hopefully they have Kate Bush handy. He'll make sure Lucas has a backup cassette player and-

"Wait. Lucas should be told. He should be here. Why isn't he..." Steve trails off, trying to remember why Lucas would be here. He went to party with the basketball team and- and what? There's something he's missing. Something changed. His head hurts and the white noise is back, and it hits him so suddenly he sways and stumbles backwards until he hits a wall.

"Steve!" Robin gasps his name and rushes to hold him up. Dustin is at his other side just as quick.

"I'm ok," Steve says with eyes closed. He can't explain it, but he's changed something. He knows he has. Lucas is with them tomorrow, he remembers that, and there's this feeling that he should be here now. That he should have shown up at the school, but the reason eludes him. Slips from his grasp like he's trying to hold water. "It's- there was something that was supposed to happen. Something that made Lucas find us here at the school. I remember that. I- I almost hit him with a lamp. But he's not here. He didn't- something's changed. Whatever happened before didn't happen again."

"What, like, you changed the past?" Dustin asks.

The laugh Steve lets out is manic, even to his own ears. "I don't know! I can't remember! It's there, the why, but I can't reach it. It's faded, man, like the picture. It's faded."

"Okay, I think it's time we get some rest," Nancy says. "Dustin, you'll radio Lucas tonight and fill him in. Tell him Steve or I will pick him up tomorrow morning to join us. Let's go everyone, before someone does show up."

Nancy takes Dustin and Max, and Robin sticks with Steve. She doesn't even question his detour to the music store, just helps him find the Kate Bush tape. Doesn't even raise an eyebrow when he buys two cassette players, five blank tapes, and a tape recorder.

"Who is the mix tape for?" Robin asks him only once they're at Steve's house and settled in for the night in front of the fancy stereo in Steve's living room. Robin's called her parents already and told them she was staying with a friend, and they had leftovers for dinner from.

"Just in case. Now, shh," Steve says, and once Robin has properly quieted, he pressed record on the tape recorder and play on the stereo. He's already found the track he wants, so it's just a matter of waiting the song out, pausing the tape recorder quickly, then rewinding the tape. He goes too far back, so his finger just hovers over the record button until Running Up That Hill comes back on, and he repeats the process. Over and over again, until the hour long tape is filled with nothing but one song.

Robin watches him do it in complete silence. She doesn't move or shuffle until after he's paused the recording, stilling again once he hits record. He knows she doesn't understand why, but also that she doesn't need to understand. He knows that she knows he'll explain as soon as he's able.

He's just afraid to say too much right now. He can remember tomorrow; the Pennhurst plan, how it is supposed to go based on what remembers Nancy and Robin saying. Max will bully him into driving her around, and they'll end up at Billy's grave. He'll be ready this time, he already knows the answers they're seeking but he doesn't want to risk too much.

He has a plan. And it'll work. It has too.

Because he can't remember what happens after. Patrick dies, and there's... water? A lake? But why is Patrick at a lake in the dark? He isn't, is the thing. It's like there are two memories overlapping in Steve's mind and he doesn't know which is real. Or if either of them are.

There's a memory of... of Eddie? Eddie talking about Patrick floating but there's also a memory of hearing it on the news, Patrick found dead in his room, murdered the same way as Chrissy and Fred with no sign of forced entry in his house. Both memories feel real, but Steve doesn't know, can't tell, which is.

Robin and he falls sleep wrapped around each other that night.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @apomaro-mellow @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorrow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @yearningagain @starlight-archer @chaosgremlinmunson @aol19 @goodolefashionedloverboi @gutterflower77 @moomkin77 @wonderland-girl143-blog @krazyperson @sevenmerrymagpies

[bowehbowah]

is this anything

[rainy-day-revelry]

Very glad to be in a Latin class where I can wish the Professors and sometimes other students a happy belated Ides and have people know what I’m talking about. Don’t need IRL Tumblr friends to celebrate my fav holiday!

[m0nsterjuice-art]

What if Alex saw mob au springs as like a round lil baby bunny when everyone else saw him as like some horrible hare from the depths of hell. Y'know the whole softy thinks scary guy is baby trope

mob alex is a scary street punk that tortures ppl as Spring's henchman, but honestly that just makes this even funnier because that's sorta how I envisioned it? He thinks his lil fluffy tail is cute, likes his (mostly) soft fur, his funny ears, ect while everyone else is (rightfully) terrified of him for his sheer size, strength, and ruthlessness

[mugglesauce]

AHHH that's what I needed. Thanks Crunchyroll.

[bunny-jpeg]

better than home (kidnapper!simon) - you had seen enough horror movies to know that being kidnapped meant being on the news, being butchered, and being a cold case. but simon wasn't like that. except for the bruises he left when he took you, his touch had gentle. kind in a way that someone would brush their cat.

you flinched under his touch, but he just simply shushed you. "not gonna break a thing on ya, angel." that was his name for you. angel. he said that it was like you were given to him fro heaven, "if i do, i give ya the right to put a knife between my ribs."

it was unnerving to say the least. in the tiny home you both shared, locks on the windows, you had never seen a front door that needed a key to unlock from the outside. you tried getting out, but simon was simply so much bigger and stronger, that he didn't need to hurt you herd you back into a safer place.

"don't need to think about much anymore. safer here." he said in his gruff voice. you didn't know what kind of life this man had lived, but with the hunting knife on the coffee table, the well-used rifle over the fireplace and the old army formals in his closet. you knew that there was a story.

it didn't sink in till the first week, but you didn't have to worry about anything. you moved through the house on your own, when you scurried into rooms simon sometimes didn't follow. it was like he was bird-watching. keeping a close eye and admiring you. except you weren't exactly a free bird, rather a delicate beauty in a shiny cage.

you were surprised that simon had your favourite snacks in the pantry, even the same brand of plant-based milk you enjoyed. it was like he knew everything about you, and yet he was a total mystery.

"scary world out there." simon said, kept his distance from you in the recliner while you were curled up in the couch. you had taken a liking to a black and white checkered flannel blanket. it reminded you of the one back home, that you wondered if he just broke in a took it. he eyed you, which made it hard to read one of your many books, "pretty things like you need to be protected... bad men out there." as if this massive mountain of a man wasn't one of those so-called bad men.

you were in no place to argue. you still felt like you were in a spring locked trap and one wrong move would have it clamped down on you. that this was just some sick game before simon buried your body in the field behind the house.

"when can i go home?" you asked, finding your voice.

"this is better than home."

"are you going to kill me?" you asked before you swallowed the lump in your throat.

he shook his head, "no, ma'am. never." sounded like wedding vows rather than an answer. your curiosity only grew with each day. when you finished the books he brought you, he simply put them back in a bag and returned them from where they came from and came back with new ones.

"saw them on the shelf at the library, thought a woman like you would like them." he gave a curt nod as he dropped the canvas bag by your little nest of blankets on the floor by the television. you hadn't been able to watch television yet. primarily busied with sleeping, books, puzzles and notebooks where you had been writing.

and while it started a journal in the event the police found you. it had become more about fictional stories. for your personal pleasure. you thought about being a writer as a child, but the grind of corporate work in your adulthood seemed to dash that dream.

"next time." you said, feeling a little bold, "can you get some science fiction books too...." it felt uneasy to make any demands. he was your captor.

"well then, angel. be good for me then." he said, smiled under that mask. you looked over and made a face at him. you scampered off back into your nest of books and puzzles. maybe he was right, this was better than home. <3

a/n: this is unwell, i hope you enjoyed it. thank you!!

[girl-lostconnection]

Thinking thoughts about fae!Reader who looks just like a normal person, not a trace of magic in their appearances, not a smidge of glamour the rest of their folk use routinely.

Fae!Reader who crosses paths with 141, their eyes warm when they sell a handsome man with Mohawk a sketchbook in a tiny town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, when the lads are out there.

Fae!Reader who follows the taste of their bonds, who feeds off the “thank you, bonnie!” from a friendly Scot, their eyes shining for a single moment before they are normal again. Regular. Human.

Fae!Reader who meets the even friendlier sergeant right after, their fingers itching to trace the smooth expanse of his dark skin, to sink in teeth into the muscular forearm.

To see if the man bleeds as pretty as he looks.

It’s a different city and a different time now, their hook sinking into the soft underbelly of man’s genuine gratitude when they help him to pick up spilled groceries.

Fae!Reader who hunts Price down, two steps up on the ladder, their excitement vibrating so hard that part of their human, regular appearance start to melt off.

They meet him in a different place again, they get a short “thank you, love” — off-handed and hardly warm, for a cup of coffee they serve him.

But it’s still a thanks, it’s still another hook.

It’s still a debt.

Fae!Reader who comes to Price in dreams, their face always murky, their appearances ever changing, their weight on his hips making him ache for things he shouldn’t. Coaxing out a plea from him, getting their fill of his desperation, kissing the man stupid and leaving before sunrise.

Fae!Reader who now is three steps up, leaving them with the last one.

With Ghost’s heavy presence, with Ghost’s watchful eyes and iron all over the body. This one could be tricky.

Ghost, who knows that they will come — who have seen the dazed look in his captain’s eyes, the way Johnny itches for something and doesn’t remember what for, the way Kyle develops strange hungers he can never sate.

Ghost who bumps into you himself, ‘accidentally’ dropping your coat off the back of their chair in a bustling cafe, murmuring “here ya go, luv” when he picks it up and gives it back.

Fae!Reader who tilt their head to the side and murmur “thank you”, Ghost’s fingers lingering on your shoulders when he puts the coat back on them.

Cold outside, luv, wouldn’t want you to freeze when you are so far away from your court. Following them to the edge of the world.

Bond snaps in place like a tight golden lace, when fae blinks at him astounded, their eyes shining for a second too long, their human face starting to melt just above their left brow before they pull themselves together.

Simon knows he needs to be careful. Simon knows that fae are petty, that fae are dangerous, that fae hold grudges for as long as they live.

And they live forever.

But Ghost hums under his breath and pulls away finally, turning his back to the creature that haunted his whole team for the last three years, weaving themselves inside them.

When pretty fae comes back Ghost is already waiting for them — tugging them out of their shadows, biting down on their neck and holding them down.

You hiss at him, shadows curling around Simon’s ankles, threatening to break them in half. But Simon has the shadows of his own.

Ghost tuts at you like you are unruly pet being ridiculous, leaning in to lick your blood off, low growl rumbling in his chest. Fuck, that’s even better than he thought it’s going to be.

You are half dazed and half mad, when he pushes your back to his captain’s chest. John’s smoke curling like a live thing, John’s fingers angling your head up, thumb prying your mouth open.

Bad bad idea it was to come to them yourself, to make them want and yearn and wait.

Soap smiles, light bending around him, his eyes impossible blue of mountain springs, his teeth just a little too sharp.

His fingers getting into your hair, getting himself just a strand, just enough to tide him over while L.T. and captain take their fill.

Didn’t you know you need to be careful, bonnie?

Fae are petty, after all.

Fae are vicious.

Fae are dangerous.

Kyle’s fingers tug your shirt off, big palms of his coming up to your chest, stars dancing on the edge of his irises, his smile stretching a little too wide to be human.

Fae hold grudges for as long as they live, darling.

And they live forever.

[medusaesque]

Kim's itchy trigger finger

So, Kim reaches for his gun often. Very often. sometimes for the most ridiculous reasons- opening the bear fridge, the experiment in the church, a note from Klaasje.

This one is just from being anxious going into the communist reading group. Kim doesn't want to be the kind of cop who draws his gun constantly, who shoots instinctively, but he is, or at the very least it's very difficult for him to stop himself from becoming one.

Perhaps the most horrifying example is with The Pigs-

Even if he KNOWS the gun isn't loaded, even if he knows it's safe, the instinctual muscle twitch could have ended in an unnecessary death. Kim is very well aware of that fact, and it's horrifying to him. @shufflerock-jam has this really good post about it, where they wonder how many of Kim's kills were unnecessary. "Something about a pair of traumatized cops, one fighting against shooting himself and one fighting against shooting everyone else".

At the end of The Pigs exchange, if Harry says she tried to kill him, Kim begins to interject, but stops himself and agree this situation could've been very bad. Then Empathy chimes in- 'He's trying not to think about how bad it could have been had the gun been loaded.' Which is the heart of the issue, right? that leads us to Eyes-

This is such a fascinating background to give Kim as a character- not just losing his partner, which gives him the trauma and survivor's guilt that lead to this unhealthy relationship with his gun and frankly with death in general, but losing his Eyes, and having that not interfere with his shooting. Kim doesn't need to see well to hit, he doesn't need to think. It's all in his hands, a reflex. A reflex that nearly took an innocent life. That might have taken one before.

His awareness of looming danger, to him and to his partner, is fueling his version of Hand/Eye Coordination to have him constantly on edge, his whole body is like a loaded spring, always prepared to make sure it doesn't happen again. Then it does-

In his nightmare scenario, leaning over his partner's bleeding body, Kim only needs one word to shoot without a second's hesitation. He's never not ready to take that shot. He doesn't need his Eyes.

Harry is distraught to discover he's killed before- his body remembers it. He wants a drink to soften the feeling. Kim however is impressed with how little he's killed- especially coming from the bloody murder unit. He wants to be 'one of the good ones' (Kim's adamant belief in the possibility of a Good Cop is a whole other can of worms) the kind of cop he would think highly of. Kim is disgusted by cops who kill like it's a game. Espirit gives us a vision of a cop exactly like that, who kills so often it doesn't feel like anything anymore. In a way that is completely mechanical- no thought, no feelings, just a thing your body does. Not unlike the way Kim shoots- like a spring unloaded. Kim has 6 confirmed kills before the tribunal, double the amount Harry has. He doesn't react the same way though-

It's doesn't bother Kim that he has killed, even if he declines to elaborate on it, and he seems to frown upon (or worry about) Harry's destructive coping mechanism. If they're unable to save Ruby, he says "Control your emotions. We did our job. This won't be the worst thing that happens on this case… believe me. You can't let this break you." When you wake up after the tribunal, he doesn't dwell on the lost lives on either side. Harry's skills call him a killer, a bloodstained killer, but when he tells Kim he also killed he simply nods. He's smoking though. I'm not saying that Kim is heartless or careless, he's rattled by nearly blowing The Pigs' head off, very sorry for the lives lost during the case, and clearly hunted by death, having been surrounded by it for his entire life. But I do think death is a part of the job for him- not just possible civilian causalities, but his own potential death. He speaks plainly about how he might die in the lie of duty, and he narrowly avoided it more than once, with others dying in his place..

He walked into the line of fire with harry expecting for of them to die, and his quick fingers on the trigger made it so they lived another day. Even if more ghost joined the list that hunts him in his sleep, he is alive. He goes on. He can't afford to fix this habit, as much as he wants to.

So it's so horrible and so touching that when Dros asks "What have you done?" Kim says-

It's a tragedy, really. A wartime orphan who wanted to be a revolutionary pilot and played with Franconigerian knights, who grew up to be a cop, a job that slowly shapes his body into a killing machine. And when you ask what he does, what you both do, he says keep people alive.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fanfic Idea: The Contingency plan

Alfred Pennyworth has lived a long life. As a child, he was chosen to train for the Queen's army in exchange for dorms, education, and food. It was a golden ticket to a better life for a young orphan with no connections and no future.

He dug his way out of poverty by gritting his teeth and excelling in whatever task they gave him.

He has seen and done things in the name of his Queen and her country that keep him up at night. When he was free from his services, he started a family with a stranger, then realized he was too weak to raise that family, leaving them and his home country behind.

He found love in a woman promised to another.

He watched her marry a man he loved and hated in equal parts because while he could not have her, he at least lost to one of the kindest, most honorable men he'd ever met.

He raised their son when they were stolen from them too young. Stood by the lad's side as the boy slowly lost himself to his vengeance, edging on the line of madness and wondering if he would one day have to be the one to reunite his love with her son if he ever went over that line.

She would have never forgiven her son for becoming the kind of monster Alfred was raised to hunt. In the darkest, broken part of his heart, he often wondered if he would do it when Bruce wasn't looking—to save him the pain of being killed by the man who raised him as a favor for a lost love.

Alfred could never bring himself to, and when Master Bruce returned from his training, he doubted he could. He was good, but Master Bruce got better. He became dangerous to a near-uncontrollable level.

Alfred watched him set up his tools, prepare for his big reveal, and battle against crime with a passive expression and a hand curved around a hidden gun. He waited a few weeks to make sure Master Bruce wasn't the monster that he so clearly was capable of being.

He never told Master Bruce, never allowed a single hint of doubt to show in his words or actions, but he waited, watched, learned, and searched for an opening.

He was a master spy; an actual spy can wait years before they struck. Alfred had been gathering information since he was seven years old, searching for a way to make the older boys regret every looking in his direction. It became apparent that he would never win if Master Bruce turned his skills on him and went on a murderous spring.

So Alfred contacted the same program that made him a success story. They sent him a child who was more than ready to convince Master Bruce he was nothing more than a poor, unfortunate soul searching for a foster home.

Daniel Fenton. A young boy who appeared in England a few years ago in a swirl of green. He fell from a portal to an unknown world that the English hoarded. He was placed in a deep underground lab, used a lab rat, and slowly trained into a weapon for the crown. He was ready to bring Master Bruce to his knees should the need arise.

Alfred instructed him to only strike if Master Bruce ever stopped being the city's defender. The boy agreed, apparently willing to do anything to get out of the government's hands. Alfred had been counting on that.

He remembers those childhood days. The scars on his body are a gashly reminder of whether he ever dared forget. It helped that Daniel had an American accent- though from where was hard to pinpoint.

It was almost as if the lad was from a state that did not exist—and it was easy to slip him into Gotham's streets, easy to convince him to break into one of Master Bruce's cars to sleep in under the pretense of escaping the cold, and far more straightforward to persuade Master Bruce to offer him a warm bed for the night after his ward found the lad while parking in Wayne Manor's garage.

Alfred Pennyworth has seen many things in his life and has always had a contingency plan. He didn't like using them, but if there was one motto he lived by his entire life, it was this: "A good man can not kill a monster. Only another monster can do so."

It was cruel to place Daniel, who was abused by his countrymen, into this house only to kill the other boy he raised as a son. But it was necessary, as he had long ago accepted.

He just hopes he does not become attached to Daniel. He's seen that look in the younger recruits' eyes before, shining like a soft glint in the far corners of their eyes.

The glint of hope that one day, he would escape. Alfred would hate to have to take out his own contingency plan.

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

people be wondering why there's no appearance from hades in any of the sagas, especially the underworld saga (even if he wasn't in the odyssey itself) i have a theory!

spoilers for vengeance saga and future ithaca saga!

do you not understand how busy that poor guy/god is during odysseus' terrible, horrible, no good, bad journey home™

first he has 7 freshly made pancakes men (14 if you count the club smash noises in survive, but we'll go with 7 for this) sent by chef polyphemus, appearing one after the other.

not long after that, you have 550 very soaked (drowned) men pop through in the blink of an eye, no thanks to his younger brother, mr ruthlessness himself, poseidon.

then while he's still counting/organising the paperwork for them, a young man appears, who happens to be very drunk (talking about pig men?)

not long after that, somehow a warship filled with mortal men breaks into the underworld, ALL ALIVE, and the (king? leader? captain? he's not too sure at this point) starts singing outside his front door about becoming a monster????? but before he can sic cerberus on them, they leave on their own

finally he thinks he has a break when 6 men holding torches (are some missing limbs?!?) have now joined the party down under (granted they're all in no mood to party, they weren't expecting to become snacks for a sea monster)

and just as quick as they'd arrived, in a flash (just like the snap of lightning that took them out) 36 crispy/fried men (gods damn it zeus) appear, weapons drawn like they were about to attack someone (how does that one guy at the front swing such a big sword?)

at this point hades is wondering what the fuck is happening upstairs, because ain't no way these 600 men are all from the same fleet/island under one guy's command (turns out the captain's name is odysseus)

he thinks his prayers are answered because he has had peace for 7 years, just the normal flow of souls into the underworld- (wait whats that chanting)

suddenly those previous 600 souls are flying their way outta the underworld (he didn't know they could do that) while singing "six hundred men! (six hundred)" on repeat

they return though (thank the gods, he didn't need to go soul hunting) and once again he thinks everything will be calm

(he also found out from zeus, that their brother got his godly-ass handed to him by that MORTAL odysseus! WHO USED HIS OWN WEAPON AGAINST HIM (something to help make him laugh over spring & summer and while he waits for his beautiful persephone to return home))

he finally thinks his time with odysseus and the souls that come from him/being around him is over. when in minutes of each other, the souls of 108 men appear, all killed in gruesome ways. then they tell him that they were killed by beggar who then revealed himself as king odysseus, from trying to marry his wife and take over his kingdom (ok very understandable murder then)

at this point hades doesn't know whether he's excited for, or dreading the day he actually meets odysseus in the distant future (yes distant, i don't care about/ don't accept the telegony. let the poor man enjoy the rest of his life with his son and wife!!!)

but yeah, understandable why you don't hear from him throughout the sagas

[harmonyrae]

A Devilish Duke

Synopsis: You must be cursed, doomed to be an old maid, no one will ever marry you. You’ve tried to restrain your rebellious nature, but when you meet the devilish Duke of Tartarus, you genuinely have met your match. His brazen behavior could completely ruin your reputation. So why aren’t you running away?

AN: I tried my best to be historically accurate - my Google history is crazy & I have 7 pages of notes. However, some modern terms are just way easier to use for a smoother reading experience. All photos taken from Pinterest.

Content Warnings: SFW (future works could have NSFW elements fyi), plot & angst, violence & blood, death of parental figures mentioned, Sylus is a brat, Simon Basset coded tbh

Word Count: 7k

Another season, another abysmal attempt at impressing the Queen. While you hadn’t tripped like last season, you certainly didn’t improve your reputation. Instead of stumbling over your own feet, you stumbled over your words. Why couldn’t you just curtsy like everyone else? Even Angeline Ashby has a better chance at finding a match this season, and she’s a lecherous cow. 

The warm glow of the rising sun was the final straw, you weren’t sleeping tonight. You crawl out from under the blanket and shuffle to the wardrobe to find your riding coat. You braid your hair and tuck it down the back before grabbing your boots. You tiptoe down the stairs to the kitchen and sneak out the backdoor, crouching down for a moment to lace up your boots. 

The hem of your skirt dampens with the morning dew. You pull your coat sleeves down over your hands, you can’t wait until the warmth of spring extends into the early morning hours. It’s the only time you can be yourself, when you can go for a ride without hearing your mother lecture you about using your fathers hunting saddle. You’ll always be grateful your father taught you to ride astride, you only rode side saddles when you absolutely had to. 

The door of the stable creaks loudly and you wince as the horses whinny in response. You slide through the door and approach the first stall. You peek over the gate and see your mare, Misty, eating. The stable boy must have already come by, which means you don’t have to be as quiet. 

“Misty…”

She shakes her head, strands of her silky black mane falling down over her face. She snorts, slowly walking up to the gate to greet you. You rest your hand on nose and she nuzzles closer. You take a few minutes to dote on her, giggling as she licks your hand in search of a treat. 

“Come on girl, let’s get out of here, yea?” 

She sighs and backs up to let you into her stall. You throw on her horse blanket before putting your fathers saddle on her back. Reaching under, you secure the girth before slipping the bridle over her head and attaching the rein. You adjust the stirrups, patting her side while whispering praises. You lead her out of her stall to the stable doors and out into the paddock, closing the door behind you. A subtle click, and the back gate of the paddock locks, the open field before you begging to be explored. You use the gate to step up and swing your leg over the saddle, tucking your skirt underneath before sitting down. 

“Okay girl, let’s see where we end up today.”

You tap your heel against her side and she starts to walk, as she warms up you give the command for her to trot. The chilly morning breeze is a welcomed sensation, your mental anguish is finally silenced as the air whips past your ears. Another kick and she’s off, her muscles flexing under you, effortlessly carrying you far away from the stuffy manor you call home. You finally lean forward and tighten your hold on the reins. 

“Go on girl! Go!”

Misty speeds up, galloping through the field as the sunrise paints the sky gold. Your eyes burn from the rush of air, your cheeks ache from smiling, you’re free. Or at least you’re feeling free, your reality is far less enjoyable. 

You ride along the river, watching the water flow and break off in countless directions. You follow one of the streams and down a hill towards a large pond. Ducks waddle across the field towards the water, their babies close behind. You direct Misty to take a turn around a large oak tree along the bank and scream when you spot a man standing just an arms length away. Misty narrowly avoids him and neighs loudly, another horse lifts their head and responds, anxious hooves sinking into the wet soil next to their master. 

“Whoa! Whoa girl!”

You try to regain control of Misty, but your skirt bunched beneath you causes you to slide. You release the reins and cling to her neck as one of your feet slips out of the stirrups. With one harsh kick of her legs, you’re falling. You close your eyes, bracing for a painful landing and yelp when you feel arms wrap around your torso, catching you. 

It takes you a moment to realize the man you almost ran over has caught you. You’re laying on the ground in his arms, frozen. You cautiously look over your shoulder only to realize your hair has freed itself from your coat, the braid fully unwound, your wild curls covering the man’s face. You roll away from him and sit up, sweeping your hair over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask your embarrassment.

“What were you doing? She could have kicked you, getting so close like that!”

When you finally lift your head, your stomach drops. Of course, only you would nearly kill the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. He sits up, resting an arm on his knee as he gives you a once over. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned, showing a tantalizing view of his toned chest, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His clothes are caked in mud, but his face is clean, aside from a smudge of mud over his right cheek. Silver white hair swoops down across his forehead and as he lifts a hand to wipe away the mud from his cheek you catch a glimpse of a small gold hoop hanging from his ear. A prominent nose, sharp jaw, plump lips, but nothing is as striking as his eyes. The deep crimson reminds you of red velvet cake or your favorite wine. 

“A ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.”

No, his voice reminds you of red velvet cake with how rich and delicious he sounds. His words finally resonate and you instinctively scoff. Gorgeous or not, he shouldn’t have run up on Misty. You look around and don’t see her, panic slowly building in your chest.

“Oh really? You want a ‘thank you’ for scaring off my horse?”

He raises his brow, clearly surprised with your tone. 

“If I’m not mistaken, you almost ran over me. And I could have let you break your arm, would that have made you happy?”

“Oh, you’re so right! Thank you so much, my knight in shining armor truly saved the day!”

You hear hooves approach and turn to see Misty slowly returning to you. She greets the other horse with a soft neigh. The other horse, who is just as gorgeous as their rider, responds in kind. You groan as you struggle to stand up, you may not have hit the ground, but sliding off of your saddle certainly strained your muscles. You gesture for Misty and she trots over, lowering her head to accept your pats. 

“She looks fine to me. And you’re welcome.”

You whip around and glare at him. He brushes off his trousers and stands, his full height making you momentarily forget why you were angry with him. Thankfully, his smirk reminds you. 

“So you’re not only daft, you’re insufferable as well?”

“Daft, no. Insufferable? Debatable.” 

You roll your eyes and turn back to adjust Misty’s bridle. Not that it’s askew, you just need something to do with your hands. 

“I imagine if you had been riding side-saddle that might have gone worse.”

You tense, the reality of your situation setting in. You were riding in a manner deemed “inappropriate” for a proper young lady. You’re only wearing your nightgown with a riding coat and boots. And you’re alone with a man in the early morning hours. 

“I’m shocked, really. Your riding was impressive.”

As anxious as you were, your temper was still too hot to ignore. 

“Oh? And what’s so impressive about it? That I know how to ride astride or that I know how to ride at all?”

“I’ve never seen a woman –”

“Ahh, so it is because I’m a woman. I swear if men would stop focusing on what’s between my legs and rather what’s between my ears, perhaps society could finally move forward!”

The man is stunned, but he doesn’t look away. His gaze burns straight through you, and you’re suddenly aware of every breath, every blink, every strand of hair billowing in the breeze. He steps closer.

“I was going to say, I’ve never seen a woman ride so skillfully. But please, continue making assumptions about my intentions.”

You shake your head. 

“Arrogant as well. You’re quite the gentleman.” 

You don’t wait for him to respond, reaching up to hold onto the horn of your saddle to jump up. Balancing on your stomach before pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Your feet aren’t even in the stirrups before you’re giving the command to trot, waving at the man over your shoulder.

“Next time, don’t run up to a panicking horse. Have a lovely day!”

You hear the man laugh as you take off across the field, back the way you came. You rush home, unsaddling and brushing Misty quickly so you can head inside to start a bath for yourself. If your mother catches you with your mud stained riding boots and nightgown, you’ll get locked in your room every night until the end of the season. 

Thankfully, your mother doesn’t find out about your misadventure. She’s far too excited about the ball starting in a few hours. She spends extra time braiding and pinning your hair into the most uncomfortable undo. 

“The Duke visiting this season will help you.”

“How so?”

“Well, everyone is talking about him. His choice to reside in his mothers estate, the ball he is hosting tonight will be the first time its doors have been opened in nearly 30 years. He’s lived on his fathers estate his whole life, no one’s seen him since he was a child.”

“So they won’t have time to talk about my failures if they focus on him.”

“I have faith this season will be much better for you than the last. Just… don’t speak when we are welcomed by the Duke. Just curtsy and smile. Your sister and I will exchange pleasantries.”

Cordelia was finally home. While you loved her husband, you hated being apart all winter while they stayed in his home in Verona. She would be attending the ball with Rafayel, which would surely be the next topic of conversation after the Duke’s affairs. 

“Now stand up, let’s get your dress.”

She slips the dress over your head, careful to not undo her hard work. She adjusts the sleeves to sit just off your shoulders, given your smaller than average chest size, you could wear more unique styles without turning heads. Your mother encouraged it, claiming it gave you a “more feminine frame.” You slide on the matching gloves and face the mirror as your mother adds the final touches. 

“What kind of theme is ‘red’? Has the Duke ever hosted a ball before? A color is not a theme!”

“I think it’s a grand idea, it’s simple. Understated.”

“You cried tears of joy at the Windleton’s circus themed ball last season.”

“I can appreciate all styles! Now shush, get your shawl and let’s go. Your sister is waiting.”

The carriage ride to the Duke’s estate was lively. Rafayel and Cora discuss the renovations they’re doing to their winter home in Verona. Rafayel promises your mother his opera will debut in the Ton first before taking residence at the Verona opera house. Cora quietly asks about the cut on your arm, which you hadn’t noticed until now. You must have cut it during the fall this morning. You try to distract her with a story about Misty, but she just gives you a sceptical look - she can always tell when you’re lying. 

The Duke’s estate is larger than you had imagined. Your mother oohs and ahhs while Rafayel leans close to his wife.

“He’s the Duke of what again?”

“The Duke of Tartarus, he was born here but moved after his mother died. I heard he’s only been back a little over a week, I’ve no idea how he prepared to host a ball so quickly.”

“Money can make the impossible possible.” You mutter under your breath.

You stare at the manor in the distance, wondering why the Duke returned and what his plans were. You’re sure by the end of the night there will be plenty of rumors to discuss. 

You take Cora’s arm as soon as you enter the manor, she’s always been your safe haven amongst the chaos. She pats your hand before looping her other arm through Rafayel’s. Your mother leads you through the crowd to stand in line to greet the Duke. You can barely see past the wall of guests to get a good look, so you settle for taking in the intricate details of his home instead.

Dark red walls, black and white wood floors, intricate iron railings line the staircase and second floor balcony, chandeliers with onyx crystals. Rafayel gasps and points to the ceiling. When you look up you see a breathtaking mural, creatures of fantasy dance across the vaulted ceiling as if they’re flying. 

Tall windows, lined with velvet drapes, cover the entire south wall. Just outside you can make out a large garden and hedges so tall, you’re sure there’s a maze of some kind. You shuffle forward into the ballroom where a full ensemble plays and guests dance. Waiters float through the crowd, carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne. 

“Oh! I see him. Oh he’s so handsome!”

You hear your mother whisper, rather loudly, and crane your neck to get a better look. Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a shout, your mother and sister stare at you in shock. You didn’t look at them, you couldn’t look at anything other than the Duke. The man you met this morning, the man you nearly killed this morning, is the Duke of Tartarus.

He stands in front of the crowd with a confident smile, his sharp features much softer in the candlelight. He bows to each guest before motioning for them to head to the dance floor and enjoy the affair. He’d changed out of his mud-caked trousers and undone shirt for a dazzling red velvet tailcoat, a matching waistcoat with a golden brocade pattern and black trousers. His white silk stock tucked neatly into his dress shirt. He looked radiant, truly noble and very different from the dirty wanderer you first met. 

You turn to your mother and grip her hand tightly.

“Mama, I am feeling quite ill, I don’t want to embarrass you further by getting sick in front of the Duke. I will call for the carriage. I’ll be sure to send them back before I turn in for the night.”

Just as you’re about to let go and head straight for the door, your mother pulls you back. She loops her arm around yours and locks you in place beside her.

“You are not leaving the Duke’s party before greeting him. If you still feel poorly after, you may go. But right now, you will smile and curtsey and make a good impression with the Duke, do you understand?”

You whimper and nod. Cora places a hand on your shoulder, but before she can say a word you’re being pushed forward to stand before the Duke. You bow your head and stare at the ground, praying he won’t recognize you. The tall man beside the Duke clears his throat and gestures to you and your family.

“Your Grace, Baroness Raeton, Viscount and Viscountess Rafayel and Miss Raeton.”

You curtsy and as you stand you try to move behind your sister. 

“Your Grace, it’s an honor to be invited tonight. Might I say, your home is gorgeous.”

“Thank you Lady Raeton.”

You hear those around you gasp softly and your stomach drops. You’re about to slide behind your sister even further when a pair of boots appear on the floor in front of you. You bite your lip and slowly lift your head. The Duke stands before you, his smirk now a full blown grin. He looks down at you and you swallow hard, forcing your knees to bend as you offer another curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

“Miss Raeton. Miss…”

He looks over to your mother who is surely in total shock by now, she stutters before responding.

“Seraphina, m-my daughter Seraphina.”

“Miss Seraphina Raeton. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing a smile. When you open them, you see the Duke reach out his hand and look down at your wrist.

“Your dance card, if I may?”

You lift your hand and turn your wrist for him to see your card, but instead of writing down his name he pulls the thread loose and takes the card completely. You stand there for a moment, your wrist still extended, before looking at him with wide eyes.

“I don’t believe this is necessary if I am going to be your only partner for the evening.”

You, your mother and sister all gasp. Rafayel tries to cover up his laugh with a cough. The crowd around you reacts similarly, either gasping at the Duke’s presumptuous declaration or snickering at your baffled expression. 

“I will find you before the next song. I have a few more guests to receive.”

And just like that, you are dismissed. Your mother grabs your arm and nearly drags you off to the side of the dance floor. 

“Seraphina Charlotte Raeton, explain how he knows who you are this instant!”

“Mama…” Cora attempts to calm your mother's poor nerves. “Sera, have you met the Duke before today?”

You slump against the wall and cross your arms.

“Well… no.”

“Then why did he say ‘again’ - ‘it’s a pleasure to see you again’?”

Your mother was attempting to whisper, but it came out as more of a shout. Those around you were clearly listening in. Cora and Rafayel stand in front of you, blocking their view.

“I may have… gone on a ride this morning and… seen him…”

“Seraphina please tell me you were not using your fathers –”

“Hunting saddle, yes, I was…”

Your mother clings to Cora, she fans her flushed cheeks with her other hand.

“Did he only see you riding or did you speak with him?”

“Mama… I don’t know if we should be –”

Your mother squeezes Cora’s arm and she gives you an apologetic nod - she tried.

“I… I might have almost… ran him over and then fell off Misty and he caught me.”

Rafayel snorts, earning him a slap on the shoulder from his wife. 

“Sera… please tell me you were polite and amiable.” 

When you don’t look her in the eye she turns to your sister.

“I am going to get some fresh air, Rafayel, won’t you join your mother-in-law for a stroll around the Duke’s garden?”

Rafayel looks between you and Cora, confused. Cora nods her head and he smiles, offering his arm to your mother. 

“Cora, please… watch your sister. Make sure she doesn’t tarnish our family name any further tonight.”

She pulls Rafayel towards the door leading to the garden, leaving you alone with your sister. You turn and face the wall, balling your hands into fists. You can’t seem to fill your lungs and the enormous ballroom suddenly feels much too small. Cora’s hand settles on the small of your back and she rests her chin on your shoulder.

“Is Misty alright?”

You laugh weakly and rest your forehead against the wall.

“Spooked, but alright.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I called him daft.”

“Oh Sera…”

“And insufferable…”

“And don’t forget, arrogant.”

The Duke’s smooth voice makes you jump, you spin around and collide with your sister. She holds your arm and prompts you to curtsy.

“Your Grace.”

“Are you ready for our first dance, Miss Raeton?”

You stare at him like he has a second head, he surely wasn’t serious about dancing with you the whole night… right?

Cora nudges you with her elbow and you stumble forward, accepting his hand as he leads you to the dance floor. He stands across from you, hands behind his back, that cynical smirk as steadfast as ever. As the song begins, you panic, suddenly worried you’ll forget the steps to the simplest quadrille. The Duke reaches out, giving you the tiniest hint for your first step and as infuriating as he is, you’re thankful.

“You were not… serious about dancing with me… the whole night… right?”

“Completely.”

You grit your teeth and try your best to ignore the chill that runs down your spine each time your hand touches his. Half-way through your second dance, you decide you simply won’t talk to him. His snide remarks and smug expression wouldn’t bother you. You’d suffer through however many dances he wanted and then find a corner to sit in for the rest of the evening.

The Duke didn’t seem to mind the silence, he simply watched you. He steps up and lifts your hand to his shoulder, other pairs surround you as the waltz begins. The one dance you never enjoyed. Something about being led made you feel like a horse. 

“Do you truly find me insufferable?”

He finally breaks the silence and you jerk as he draws you closer with his hand on your waist.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“Well, this does appear to be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“I beg your pardon? It appears no one taught you proper etiquette. Taking a ladies dance card? Dancing the whole evening when you should be receiving guests.”

“I’ve always felt the host should partake in the festivities. What do I have to gain from engaging in mindless chatter all evening?”

“So dancing with me in utter silence is a better use of your time?”

“It certainly is more enjoyable. Aside from the accusations.”

“Why did you take my card?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

You maintain your smile, to anyone watching you were having a pleasant conversation with the Duke. You shake your head.

“I wanted to spend time with you, sweetie.”

You gasp and attempt to pull away, intent on running straight for the door. You’ll walk home if you must. The Duke’s grip on your waist tightens and he keeps you close. You glare at him, onlookers be damned.

“Have you no shame? You’re being incredibly improper.”

“I would have thought a young lady who prefers to ride astride and speak her mind would appreciate a genuine conversation. You are proving to be a difficult study.”

You’re at a loss for words. This man is unlike any you’ve encountered. Bold, brash, shameless and entirely intriguing. You attempt to scoff, but it comes out as a pitiful huff. When you finally find your voice you look at him directly, feigning confidence.

“I should slap you for your brazen behavior, but given this is your soiree, I shall restrain myself.”

The Duke laughs.

“I do so appreciate your candor. If you’d like the satisfaction of watching someone attempt to do so, attend my bout tomorrow evening.”

“I… I don’t…”

“I’m sure your brother-in-law already knows the details. Young ladies are more than welcome, it’s not as barbaric as you think. And perhaps… I would like to see you there.”

You’re once again rendered speechless. The Duke spins you as the song comes to an end. You face him and curtsy.

“T-Thank you for the dances, Your Grace.”

“Sylus.”

Your skin warms just thinking of saying his name. He bows.

“Good evening, Miss Raeton.”

Misty was restless, she wasn’t used to you just sitting in her stall, she expected a ride. You run the brush through her mane once more.

“Sorry girl, not today.”

She snorts and you kiss her forehead before reaching for another apple from the basket you brought. After spending the morning in the sitting room with your mother in utter silence waiting for suitors - how never came - you needed a break. Spending the afternoon in the stable with Misty seemed like the best option. 

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Cora’s voice makes you jump, which causes Misty to grunt, but once she sees Cora, she’s as happy as can be. She paws the ground and Cora giggles as she opens the gate. 

“Hey girl. I missed you too.”

Misty was a gift for both you and Cora from your father. You took to riding instantly while Cora preferred spoiling her with apples and oats. She holds out a hand and you pass her the brush. 

“Are you sure you want to go this evening? I don’t like lying to Mama.”

You hike up your skirt and step up on the iron bar lining the gate, you rotate to settle yourself on the thick wood panel along the top. Holding onto the wood pillar beside you, you swing your legs. Lying to your mother was the least of your worries. Curiosity was getting the best of you, the Duke, Sylus, is too confusing. He acts more like a stable boy than a member of nobility.

“I’m sure. And we’re not really lying to Mama, I told her I wanted to spend time with you and Rafayel. I barely know my brother-in-law and I need to make sure he’s treating you well. Seems she’s just as eager to know.”

Cora leans against Misty and gives you a pointed look.

“Yes, but telling her we are visiting Monsieur Arnaud to discuss Rafayel’s opera is too far. Rafayel hasn’t had a chance to call on him and if Mama, somehow, speaks to him…”

“Then we can tell her that Monsieur was feeling poorly and we went for tea instead.”

“Why are you going through so much effort to see the Duke again?”

I laugh a bit too loudly.

“I don’t want to see him, I want to watch him lose. Rafayel said Sylus is facing –”

“Did you just… call the Duke by his given name?”

You nearly fall backwards off the gate.

“Did I?” 

Cora nods, her teasing smile makes you blush.

“Rafayel said the Duke is facing the current champion, who hasn’t lost a match in two years.”

“What if the Duke is a skilled fighter? What if he wins?”

“I… He won’t. Surely.”

Cora continues brushing Misty and lets you simmer. Your foot twitches and you want to jump on Misty bareback and ride into the hills, away from the mess you’ve made.

“Mama is still angry with me.”

“She’s not angry, she’s worried. Mama knows you and Winnie will be… challenging to find a proper match. I have no doubt you’ll find someone, you’re quite a catch.”

You roll your eyes and snicker, Misty neighs and for a moment you think she’s mocking you. Then you hear the stable door open and look over your shoulder to see Rafayel with a hand over his nose.

“If we’re going we need to leave before sundown, clouds are gathering.” 

“You can come in Rafayel, Misty won’t bite.”

Cora pats Misty who shakes her head playfully.

“Well, she might. If I tell her to.”

You stick out your tongue at Rafayel and he puts his free hand on his hip. 

“It smells awful, I’m not going to the match smelling of horse shit.”

“Rafayel!”

You laugh at Cora’s scolding. She’s not even pregnant yet, but she certainly has a child. Rafayel is a handful, not that Cora minds. It’s been clear since the day they met they’d fallen in love instantly, you could only dream of being so lucky.

“Vulgar, but not wrong, you both should change.”

Cora gives Misty one last pet before reaching up to help you hop down. You kiss her on the forehead and toss the remaining apples in her feed bucket. You follow Cora and Rafayel into the house to freshen up where you spend far too much time contemplating what to wear to a boxing match. You dab your mothers scented powder over your collarbone and down your chest. 

“And I’m supposed to think you don’t want to impress the Duke?”

You spin around and catch Cora sneaking into your room. She doesn’t let you respond, she just turns you back around and fixes your dress. The dark red linen was comfortable and the ruffled sleeves give you a hint of shape. Cora isn’t shy about reaching into the front of your dress to adjust your stay, propping your chest up like they’re on a shelf. You swat her hands away and tighten the laces of your boots.

“Sera! You cannot wear those!”

“No one will see, it’s not a ball or social event where I need to look like a perfect lady anyways.”

Cora shakes her head, but doesn’t argue. She simply grabs your arm and hauls you down the stairs to the entryway. Your mother chases after you and Cora as you walk to the carriage.

“If it rains, don’t let your skirts get wet. Don’t travel home if it starts to storm, I’m sure Monsieur Arnaud would let you stay the night. And be sure to thank him!”

You wave to her as the carriage sets off for town. Once she’s out of sight, you lean back in your seat and rub your temples. Cora rests her head on Rafayel’s shoulder and chuckles.

“And you wonder why I tend to worry over everything.”

Rafayel kisses the top of her head and sighs with a smile. Cora has been calm since marrying Rafayel, like her worries are less troublesome. He’s made her peace his priority and you’ll never be able to thank him enough for that. 

The carriage enters town just as the sun sets, plunging the streets into a red haze of candlelight and shadow. When you arrive at the lounge you are escorted inside by two burly men wearing matching top hats. You’re taken all the way to the backroom, where a boxing ring is set up and rows of chairs are propped up on wooden palettes surrounding the ring. Almost all of the men wear top hats, you assume it is a sign of some kind of membership. There are a few women in attendance, most of them are serving drinks with too-wide smiles. You cling to Cora, who clings to Rafayel, who walks through the crowd with ease. 

“Right here, best seats in the house. Not too close, wouldn’t want to stain your dresses.”

You raise a brow and he points to the edges of the ring where you spot dark stains.

“Blood?” Cora whispers.

Rafayel nods and urges us to sit. He waves down a man in a white top hat. He approaches and takes a small piece of paper from Rafayel. Once he leaves Cora crosses her arms and glares at him. He gives her a sheepish smirk and bats his lashes. 

“It’s just a bit of fun, my love. I didn’t want the Duke to have no one betting on him. If he loses, it’s not going to hurt us.”

“You’re gambling?” Cora slaps your knee and shushes you. 

Rafayel turns his attention to the ring and begins to clap. You turn to see a large man with a shaved head emerge from a side room. His arms are as big as your head. You swallow hard, this must be Sylus’s opponent. Sitting back in your seat you look at your hands and start to realize where you are and what you’re doing and the image this may be portraying, not that any of these men care, but you do. 

“Sera…”

Cora taps your arm and nods her head in the direction of the ring. You look up and see another door open. You spot the top of Sylus’s head, his hair bright against the dark wood paneling of the room. The crowd around him slowly disperses, making way for him to walk to the ring. An unfamiliar sensation washes over you. Your cheeks flush, your stomach tightens, there’s so much pressure on your chest you want to scream. 

Sylus’s opponent was bare chested, but he had not elicited the kind of response Sylus had. His trousers cinched tight around his narrow waist, a deep line running up his abdomen and chest, muscles flexing as he walked, his wide shoulders gave way to toned arms. You watch his chest rise and fall, mesmerized by even the simplest of movements. His shoulders shake with laughter as friends gather around him to wish him luck. He turns for a moment and you gasp at the sight of his back, defined muscles under soft skin. Cora shakes your arm, quickly reminding you where you sit. You let your eyes slowly trail up Sylus’s body and when you meet his eyes you don’t bother trying to look away. He’d seen you staring, and while you’d expect to be mortified you just… aren’t. 

Sylus smiles and nods. You don’t realize you nod back until his smile turns into a cocky grin. He jumps up into the ring and rolls his shoulders. His opponent, Johns or Jonston or Jones or whatever, sizes him up. Sylus is well-built but definitely smaller. You roll your bottom lip between your teeth and shift uncomfortably in your seat, aware of how warm the room has gotten. Or is that just you?

A loud bell signals the start of the fight and the crowd cheers as the larger man - whom they’re calling Jones - hurls himself at Sylus. He lands a few blows to his sides before Sylus drops to the floor and rolls. The sudden movement surprises Jones and he stumbles to catch up with him. The fight continues like this for what feels like hours, Jones swinging wildly and Sylus dodging and rolling. Finally Jones roars and tackles Sylus to the ground, he slams his fists into Sylus’s face and you cover your mouth, a sob caught in your throat. 

“There we go Jones! Knock him out!” “Show him who’s boss! Attaboy Jones!” “Duke’s got nothing on you Jones!”

The crowd jumps to their feet, arms waving, hands clapping. You stand to see what’s happening, dragging Cora to her feet since your hands are locked around her forearm. You watch Jones continue to throw punches. Sylus twists and knocks Jones to his side, landing a solid hit to his gut in the process. But as soon as he’s up Jones kicks him down again. Jones grabs a fistful of Sylus’s hair and presses his face into the ground. You see blood gush from his nose and when he bares his teeth they are painted red. 

“Sera, we should leave…”

Cora has to shout for you to hear her over the crowds chants. You shake your head, but she still tugs on your arm. You pull free and turn to stand on your seat to see over the rowdy crew in front of you.

“Another minute and Jones takes the title once again!”

You stare down at the ring, Jones on top of Sylus, blood splattered, he’s barely fighting back. He opens his eyes and immediately finds you, not that you were hard to spot - standing on your chair was making you stick out like a sore thumb. He holds your gaze, his eyes wet with tears from the force of Jones’ punches. Your lip trembles as the noise of the crowd becomes deafening. And then…

“What! How?!” “Jones get up!” “What are you doing Jones?!”

Sylus throws his head back and blood spews from Jones’ nose, sending him flying backward. He releases Sylus and tries to steady himself. Sylus spins and pins him down instantly, his fists pounding into Jones rapidly. Thunder shakes the building as Sylus turns the tide in his favor. With one last brutal swing, Sylus knocks Jones out cold. The crowd, once cheering for Jones, goes completely quiet. Sylus stands and cleans the blood off his face with the back of his hand. With a single smile, Sylus earns the respect of every man in that room. Cheers of admiration ring out and you shake as you laugh, totally in awe of the man before you. 

“Seraphina, get down this instant!”

Cora grabs your skirt, you hop down and she catches you. She wraps her arms around you and presses her face into your ear. 

“What is wrong with you? Climbing on a chair like a child!”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking. “

Cora grabs your arm and weaves through the crowd to stand at the bar. 

“Rafayel went to get his winnings and speak to the Duke. He said to wait here.”

You nod and wave down the bartender. Ignoring Cora’s judgemental glance, you ask for a beer. The bartender laughs and fills a glass for you. You’ve finished your drink by the time Rafayel arrives, most of the crowd has dispersed as well. 

“They’re closing the lounge because of the storm. There’s an inn across the street, we can stay there for the night. I just need to fetch something from the carriage. Stay here until I get back.”

Rafayel rushes out the door, pulling his jacket off to place over his head. 

“I need to find the facilities, I’ll return shortly.”

Cora trails after you.

“Sera, I don’t think… Can you wait?”

You look over your shoulder and shake your head.

“I won’t be long.”

You wait until she concedes and returns to the bar. As soon as she’s sat down, you quickly walk to the side room where Sylus emerged from. You’d seen him return after the crowd had finished congratulating him. You quietly turn the knob and slip inside. 

The room is dark aside from a few candles in the far corner. You take a cautious step forward to get a better look.

“Bold of you to come in without being invited.”

You freeze, your eyes searching for him. You see a hand reach out and pick up a glass off a small table, as you move closer, you see Sylus sitting in a high-back chair nursing a whiskey. He winces as the liquor burns the cut on his lip. He lifts a cloth and dabs the blood away.

“You’re insane.”

He chuckles and finishes his drink before standing. Your breath catches when you realize he’s still without his shirt. His hand wraps and bloodied rags sit in a heap on the floor next to the chair. You look up at him, your rage barely contained. 

“He was larger than you, he could have killed you, and for what? A bit of fun?”

“I thought you wanted to see me suffer for my, what did you call it, ‘brazen behavior’?” 

“Had I known what this would be, I never would have come!”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t divulge that information.” 

“What is wrong with you? Do you enjoy mocking me? Putting me in situations where I’m bound to be flustered?” 

“Your current state is completely your doing, unless you intend to admit seeing me in pain affected you emotionally?” 

You take a step closer.

“The only emotion I have when I’m around you is anger. You are truly the most impertinent, ill-mannered, nonsensical man I have ever met!”

He takes a step closer, the warmth of his breath fans across your face. 

“Then why were you so afraid when I was pinned down?”

Your pulse quickens and that familiar pressure in your chest slowly builds once again. Every harsh word dies on your tongue as you lose yourself staring into his eyes. You challenge him at every turn and he drives you insane, but you’re itching to know more about this man. You gasp for air through parted lips. Your vision blurs and only his lips are in focus. The dip of his Cupid’s bow, the plump center of his lower lip. The sensations you felt earlier crescendo and you feel yourself falling right into Sylus’s arms.

Your hands reach up to hold onto his face as his arms circle your waist. The moment your lips meet an intense warmth rushes through your chest and straight to your lower stomach. He groans into your mouth, ignoring the sting of the cut on his lip and the tenderness in his jaw. Your hand slides around his neck through his hair, keeping him as close as possible. He guides you backwards and cradles your head before your back hits the wall. His other hand slides down your shoulder, lightly grazing the skin of your collarbone. His tongue traces your lip and you gasp.

“Sylus…”

Hearing you say his name makes him more desperate. He spreads his hand across your lower back and pulls you flush against him. The firmness of his chest against yours sends tingles down your arms. You remove your hand from his face to trail down his chest and he shivers. His thumb traces your jaw and gently tugs at your chin, your lips part, and his tongue slides into your mouth. You whimper at the new feeling and grab onto his shoulder, searching for something to steady yourself. He moans into your mouth as he feels your fingers glide through his hair. You press your chest against him again, eager for more. But he pulls back.

“No. I won’t do this.”

He lets you go and rushes out the room, leaving the door wide open. You lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Your body burning and a strange warmth between your legs making you twitch. You touch your lip and let out a quiet sob. He just… left.

“Sera?”

You look up through tear-filled eyes to see Cora standing in the doorway. She takes a step into the room and as the light spills in she sees what state you’re in. She stops, her hand flat against her stomach. Her cheeks flush and she closes her eyes.

“Where’s the Duke?”

You take a breath, your body trembling with suppressed sobs. 

“H-He left.”

Cora opens her eyes and stands tall, pushing her shoulders back. You’ve never seen her look like this and you don’t know if you should be afraid or in awe. 

“I’m going to kill him.”

🐝❀🐦‍⬛

(If you want to be on the taglist for ALL Regency AU fics make sure to say so in your comment! Thank you!) 𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @freddy-2002-blog @kiude @tati-the-fangirl @mtcozylove

[ni4lovesu]

school events to script ₊˚⊹ᰔ

⊹ ࣪ student hosted ˖ ʚɞ.

— back to school party : each year an epic party is thrown 1 week before school starts at a student’s house

— halloween party : weekend before halloween, everyone dresses up in their costumes and it’s extremely chaotic and hype

⊹ ࣪ faculty hosted ˖ ʚɞ.

— spring festival : takes place on spring equinox, right before the start of the spring break. essentially a day for students to cut class, destress and have fun! rose petals littered everywhere, flower mazes, bouncy castles, school wide egg hunt, picnics while watching the sunset, school wide bonfire after sunset, school dance in the evening, large picnic area with seasonal foods and drinks, flower crown making etc.

— summer solstice picnic : students relax on blankets, playing a ton of fun board and card games. buffet section with snacks and drinks

— summer festival : outdoor games include watermelon eating contest, slip and slides, bouncy castles, basketball shootout, ring toss, orbeeze fun shootout, and DIY bracelets etc. and refreshments include cotton candy machines, ice creams, popsicles, slushies served in frozen fruit, juice stalls, fruit stalls, bbq chicken skewers, pizza, tacos, frozen yoghurt cup, wraps, hotdogs, corn on a cob, doughnuts, churros, french fries, fried carrot cake etc.

— fall festival : takes place annually on the fall equinox and includes activities such as apple and pumpkin picking, apple bobbing, pumpkin carving, outdoor harvest feast, pie eating contest, cornmaze, in season food and beverages, bake off etc.

— christmas festival : a day where we do a bunch of christmas activities such as gingerbread house contest, ice skating, snowman building competition, making diy ornaments and going to fun christmas booths selling small goodies, at night there is a christmas concert consisting of songs, dances, plays by students and one performance by some teachers

— winter festival : a day where we do a bunch of winter activities such as ice skating, ice fishing, snowboarding, building snowmen, building igloos, snowball fights, stargazing. in between these activités we can go to nearby towns and drink hot choco and eat chocolate muffins, pancakes etc.

— new years gala : held annually on new years eve. guests gather out in the school square to celebrate the final hours of the year, culminating in a stunning fireworks display and light show as the new year begins. the evening is simple yet elegant, featuring champagne or sparkling cider, an array of delicious finger foods to start, followed by a buffet dinner with exquisite dishes. guests can enjoy dancing, warm company and festive touches like sparklers, small safe firecrackers, party poppers etc. for added fun. attire is unofficially cocktail attire, and music goes from smooth jazz to upbeat and lively tunes as the night progresses

— valentine’s ball : masquerade ball held annually in february in celebration of this romantic month. the venue is adorned with roses, hearts, and soft lighting, creating a dreamy atmosphere. tables are filled with themed foods and sweets with secret messages hidden within its wrappers. waiters also double as letter carriers, allowing students to send anonymous messages to one another throughout the event

— halloween ball : held annually on halloween day, the venue is transformed into a spook show, adorned with eery decoration fitting the season. students can dance, mingle, enjoy themed foods lining the tables, and explore adjoining rooms and hallways designed as haunted corridors filled with jumpscares, riddles, and puzzles to go through in exchange for candy. scare actors also roam the school, ready to give unsuspecting students a great fright.

— lantern festival : the celebration begins with a school wide picnic but as night falls, the focus shifts to designing lanterns and releasing them into the sky. other activities include lion and dragon dances, fireworks display, and rice ball eating competitions

— ice cream socials : buffet full of a wide array of ice cream flavors, a toppings bar, cookies and brownies for crafting personalized ice cream sandwiches, a float station, as well as specialty gelato, sorbet, and frozen yogurt stations. people can relax on provided picnic blankets spread out on a field while partaking in a myriad of activities like slip 'n slides, live band performances, photobooths, ice cream eating contests and even water balloon fights

— storybook carnival : making the school a magical world of stories by decorating the classrooms as different books, having haunted houses, cosy hangout areas around the school, book sale + donations, special book-themed foods etc.

— basket auction : people place bids on baskets filled with food to win the opportunity to have a picnic with the basket owner and its contents

— workshop day : students can learn skills such as woodwork, sewing, gardening, or cooking from local experts

— creations week : art exhibitions, fashion show, game development club’s game exhibition, robotics club’s robots, ceramic crafts, music student’s musical artworks, poetry by literature students

— bonfire : late night bonfire by the beach roasting marshmallows, stargazing and talking

— prom : fun dresses, great music, dancing all night, hype band, air conditioned room, good food, cute date

— overseas trips : ski trips in switzerland, london, greece, hawaii, italy, tokyo, bali, etc.

— learning journeys : science museum, zoo, aquarium, butterfly sanctuary, national gallery, art gallery, farm, planterium, petting zoo, historical landmarks, theatre, industry tours, adventure park, laser tag, bowling, amusement parks, escape rooms etc.

— school wide sleepover : games, movie, pizza, endless amount of beverages and snacks, etc.

— arcade night : the school rents arcade games and puts it all around the gym

— school assemblies : w/ school performances that are hype asf, some even by teachers

— school wide paintball fight, annual barbecue day, founders day, volunteer day, sports festival, pyjama day, no bag day, picture day, talent show, cultural fair, science fair, school play, book fair, movie night, trivia night

[ultravi0lence14]

Thoroughfare

DEAN WINCHESTER X DOE!READER

WARNINGS: sexual content (MDNI), fingering, hair pulling, finger sucking. first smut, pls i know it’s bad🫣

SUMMARY: with a light whisper of ‘do you wanna see the west with me?’ dean had you right where he wanted; by his side and sitting pretty in the front seat of his car.

WC: 3.3k

the humid air of the western skies lingered on your skin, bringing a humid and sticky sheen to your arms and shoulders. dean had all the windows rolled down, a testament to the light breeze that broke through the stickiness of montana.

your cotton tank top stuck to your skin, slick sweat making you feel like it had melded with your body. the cutoff’s you wore weren’t any better, adhering to your thighs like glue. the stubborn weather of a mid july afternoon didn’t allow for any cold; no chill wracking you through the bone, only a sickly, immobilizing heat that crashed through your senses and made it’s way into your dna.

though some part of you didn’t seem to mind. the rolled down windows allowed you to stick your head out the open space, wind blowing in your hair as you took in the blurred and rolling sights of crooked leafless trees and dried up fields.

dean wasn’t any better. one of his hands rested on the steering wheel, long nimble fingers clutched tightly so he could steer you to wherever the road leads you two. his other hand — firm in it’s grip, rested on your thigh. his fingers travelled into the inside of your leg, fingers delicately dancing across the seem of your shorts as his eyes stared at you from his peripheral vision.

you were ethereal, an angel sent from God just for him. your hair, unruly in how the wind tossed it about, was flowing behind you like a fairy with her wings. the side profile of your face was directed towards dean, your back facing the passenger side door as you stuck your head out in the placid and dry air.

the fullness of your cheeks was properly on display to dean’s eager eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to run his lips across the skin, brushing delicate kisses onto your cheeks and face until you were covered in his love. he could faintly see the plump pout of your own lips, eyes shimmering with admiration and desire as he pictured running his tongue across them; your soft lips pressed timidly against his as he pulled you into his body, almost swallowing you whole.

he loved you, so incandescently. you were the face of beauty, a true goddess in the eyes of the eldest winchester. it wasn’t just your delicate features that pulled dean in, it was the way you carried yourself, a graceful mist following you wherever you went.

softness rolled off of you in tidal waves, and dean loved how your gentle nature contrasted and grounded his frequent pessimistic and grumpy behaviour. the human embodiment of a doe; a creature full of love and life, who walked through flower gardens erupted by spring like it was her calling.

it didn’t help that your eyes resembled one of the animal; big and round, always so soft and caring. he loved you so much, it physically made his soul ache.

you were always there for him, never wavering even when times got tough. you didn’t love his job, believing that hunting was dangerous and the stem of all of his childhood and lasting trauma. but dean always waved you off, saying that this was his life, and he would never do anything that would jeopardize a life and future with you.

but he could still see the emotional tole it was taking on you, weighing on your heart like a heavy burden that you shouldn’t be carrying. he ached for you to feel secure in this life that he was giving you, but dean also knew that everyone needed breaks. so, he decided to give you one.

a couple nights ago, the two of you found yourselves tangled in the sheets of a nebraskan motel, limbs intertwined as dean embraced you in his arms, your fingers drawing small hearts on his chest.

“let’s go to california.” the random outburst from dean had you pulling away from him slightly, lifting up on your elbows so you could get a better look at the man who’s eyes glimmered with hope and mischief. “what are you talking about, dean?”

“what i’m trying to say is,” dean sat up as he spoke, resting against the headboard and grabbing your hips so he could pull you into his lap. “let’s go to california. you are always begging me to go to malibu, and you deserve a vacation every now and then.”

the smile on your lips was beaming, a shine that could light up a thousand skies. dean wanted to bottle it up, put it in a jar, and never let it leave his side. he felt your hands move to his shoulders, those big, beautiful eyes staring at him with unbridled excitement. “you’re being serious right now? this isn’t just some sick joke?”

“no jokes baby,” he drawled, hand brushing your soft hair away from your face. pulling his face closer to yours so he could brush his lips against your ear, dean whispered so softly you believed you were imagining it. “do you wanna go see the west with me, pretty girl?”

you were elated the whole car ride, excitedly babbling about all the things you two would do in the golden state. as the nights rolled into days, the air started to get more and more humid, which led to the very moment that dean was in now. he shook his head from the memory of how he got here, watching your smile take up your whole face as you giggled at something unbeknownst to him. he didn’t really think about the why, he was too busy getting drunk on the sound of your laugh.

lightly patting your thigh, dean grinned over at your windswept and sticky frame as your giggles danced alongside the flow of the wind. “c’mon crazy girl, get back in here. can’t have you falling out.” his words held a joking lilt, yet you could see the concern in dean’s eyes. with a joking huff, you retreated back into the car, legs immediately sticking to the leather as the hot air melded your skin like sticky glue.

“oh c’mon dean, it’s so hot.” you groaned out, another giggle rippling through your lips as you saw dean playfully role his eyes in your peripheral. “i can basically feel my skin melting off.”

“you’re so dramatic,” his teasing was palpable, you could feel it in the way his smile reached his eyes and how his fingers clutched a little tighter onto your thigh. “what do you think cali’s going to be like, baby? think it’s going to be an ice box?”

letting out a grunt as you smacked his arm, dean watched with love struck eyes as your grin got impossibly even more wide. “you’re such a jerk, dean winchester!” dean swore he has never smiled harder in his life than when he was with you. that sweet, playful nature always brought out the best in him, and he didn’t even dare think about a life without your brightened presence.

crossing your arms over your chest, those pretty pink lips dean loved so much puffed out in a pretty pout. dean’s hand itched on your thigh, wanting to reach up and pull down your bottom lip. “i’m prepared for the weather in california, dean.” your voice broke him from his revere, making dean slightly cough as he intently listened to your ramble

“we won’t be spending all the time in the car. we’ll be at the beach, santa monica pier — oh i’m so excited for all the rides!” the vibrant glimmer of your excitement shined through the car, hitting dean straight in his heart, spreading until it was pumping through his veins.

“yeah, no rides, doe.” the previous excitement in your eyes dwindled, a shocked expression breaking through. “what? we have to go on the rides dean! it’s almost like a birthright.” he just loved how you expressed yourself, loving how when you defended the things you loved, your eyes got wild and your cheeks tinted. it was such a pretty sight, though dean was starting to believe everything about you was pretty.

dean’s words came through his lips in a chuckle, a grin etched onto his face as he looked at your pretty features. “i don’t do rides. never have, never will. sorry, sweets.”

shaking your head in disdain, a sad pout decorated your face, turning towards dean as he continued to drive down the desolate, montana road. “you’re such a buzz kill, do you even know what fun is?”

your question was a joke, your voice light and airy as it always was, but this time with a twinkle of comedy. but dean was already so wound up from the image of how pretty you looked with the wind blowing in your hair, illuminating you like a framed painting, that an idea slid into the depths of his mind.

a smirk adorned his lips as he shifted the wheel, pulling the impala off to the side of the road. your face twisted up in confusion as dean pulled the gear shift into park, cutting the ignition and turning his body to face you. your lips parted in question, about to voice your thoughts before dean’s hands grabbed at your calves.

with a squeak from your lips, dean hauled your legs onto the front seat, moving your body so your back was leaned against the door. he then tracked his fingers down the smooth expanse of your skin, grabbing at your ankles and pulling you down until you laid flat on your back.

the space was cramped, but dean somehow found a way to make it work; bending your legs at the knees and spreading them open so he could fit in between them. words were lodged in your throat, a sputter of air leaving your lips as dean situated himself. he had that shit eating grin on his face, and you could already tell that he had something wild up his sleeve.

“dean!” you exclaimed, hands going to rest against his chest as a laugh erupted from your lips. “what are you doing?”

he just smirked, trailing his hands from your ankles up your thighs, one hand gripping your waist as the other worked to pop the button of your shorts. “just showing my girl how fun i can really be.”

the words that fell from his lips were amplified with the sound of your zipper undoing, and your eyes widened suddenly at the realization of what dean had in mind.

“we can’t do this now, dean.” you exasperated, hands pushing at his chest as his fingers worked to take off your pants. “someone could drive by, they could see us for christ’s sake!”

dean just leaned down to leave a lingering kiss on your forehead, shimmying the waistband of your shorts a little ways down your waist before his hand on your hip shifted to go under your ass. “no one’s been on the road for miles, sweet thing. we’re alone, everything is going to be okay.” his words were followed by the softening of his eyes, the hand that had been undoing your zipper went up to stroke your cheek. “do you trust me?”

sliding your hands up from his chest to around his shoulders, a soft, serene smile graced your lips. you brought your face upward, brushing your mouth against his as the shallow breath’s leaving dean’s lips hit your own. “of course, i always do.”

you felt him smile against your lips, placing a delicate kiss on your nose before he pulled back slightly. “good,” he breathed, hands going back to your waistband. “now, lift your hips f’me, baby.”

a dusty blush adorned your cheeks as you obliged, hips lifting slightly as dean slid your jean shorts from your legs. when they got to your ankles, dean helped you kick them off, picking them up and throwing them somewhere in the backseat with a grin.

“that’s much better.” words wrapped around a grin as his fingers dipped into the waistband of your panties. the giggle that left your lips at his comment turned into a shallow whimper as one of his fingers dipped into your folds, his fingers slipping through your already wet cunt.

a breath left dean’s lips, eyes blowing wide as he watched your face twist in pleasure from the finger he had down your pants. “jesus, sweets, you’re already fucking soaked. did i do this to you? was it my words and my finger that got you this wet?”

a high pitched ‘mhm’ left your lips as you nodded your head, eye’s half lidded as you watched dean stare down at his finger teasing your folds. moving the finger that was teasing your entrance towards your clit, lightly pressing down and eliciting a sharp moan from deep in your gut. “there’s my girl,” dean cooed, his fingers moving in tight circles on your sensitive bud. “you’re doing so good for me baby, such a good fucking girl.”

the sensation was overwhelming, a shot of bliss the curled in your gut and wound into your soul. your half-lidded eyes caught sight of dean, his head down as he watched the way his finger played with your clit. the mid-day sun was washing over his figure, bathing him in such a light that made him look almost angelic.

as dean pulled his finger away, you felt a sense of emptiness unfurl in your stomach. a deep whine left your lips, hips lifting upwards to try and chase the high that dean was providing you. “more dean. please, give me more.”

“patience, pretty girl.” his voice was soft, but there was an air of demand and dominance that hid behind the cracks of his voice. “i’m just getting started. didn’t know you were so needy for me.”

another whine tore from the depths of your throat, whimpering as dean slid the side of your underwear out of the way, exposing your cunt to his eyes and the cold air that was whirling through the car’s vents. a groan rumbled in his throat, your eyes half lidded as you watched him put the finger covered in your slick in his mouth.

“jesus christ, you taste like a fucking dream.” his words sound slurred, and they were heightened as two of his fingers went back to your leaking pussy, prodding at your entrance as tiny whimpers left your throat. “i can’t wait to see how you look stuffed with my fingers, gushing all over my hand like the good girl i know you are.”

the whine that would’ve left your lips at his words turned into a deep moan, dean’s middle and pointer finger entering your tight walls, his own ragged breaths mixing with yours as he felt you clenching around him.

he watched as your breathing grew ragged, chest heaving up and down as you gripped onto his shoulders for dear life. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so dean waited until you gave him the green light, his other hand smoothing down the hair the fell in your face.

after a couple of moments, he felt your hips rut into his hand, eyes screwing shut in pure pleasure. that was all he needed to thrust his fingers into your tight walls.

high pitched whimpers left your lips as dean’s fingers prodded at your cervix, a guttural moan leaving your lips as he brushed against your g-spot.

“there it is,” he breathed, hollow breaths leaving his own lips as he watched his fingers go in and out of you. “that’s the spot, isn’t it baby? you like it when my fingers make you feel good?”

all you could let out was a guttural moan, hands clawing at dean’s clothed chest for any sign of resolve. too caught up in your own pleasure, you didn’t realize that dean had forgotten to roll up the windows, your loud moans and whines flowing through the wind and alerting anyone who drove by about what was going on inside of the impala.

but in the moment, you didn’t seem to care. dean started to move his fingers faster, your hips rutting up to meet the frenzied pace of his hand. the coil in your stomach was starting to tighten more and more, and you couldn’t help but scrunch your eyes closed and slightly turn your head as the euphoric feelings started to intensify.

though that didn’t last for long, because without a warning, the hand that dean had previously used to smooth down your hair tangled in it’s strands, gripping tightly as he pulled your head upwards so you were face to face with him.

“open those pretty eyes for me, sweetheart.” his voice held that same softness with a lilt of dominance, fingers quickening as he felt your orgasm approach. “i wanna see you when you cum. see how good i make you feel when i fuck you with my fingers.”

your eye’s shot open, lips parted and heavy pants and whines leaving your throat as dean kept going with the relenting pace. “i can’t- fuck, dean! i’m gonna cum!”

the pace at which dean’s fingers were moving inside of you was relentless. each thrust of his fingers hitting your g-spot as his piercing green eyes stared into yours. at your words, he moved a little faster, lips brushing yours as his voice travelled from his lips to yours. “c‘mon, my sweet girl, come for me.”

you could feel it, the bliss that started in your core and creeped it’s way into your entire body. the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening until, like a crashing wave, it gave way.

you came with a loud cry, back arched and head leaning into dean’s hand embedded into your hair. you watched as dean kept moving his fingers inside of you even as you gushed around his fingers. he was transfixed, completely enchanted by the bliss that took over your face.

“there you go,” he cooed, the hand in your hair lessening as his fingers started to slow down. “pretty girl, all messed up, coming on my fingers. you look fucking unreal.”

his words were mixed in with the small whimpers that left your lips, mouth parted and cheeks flushed with bliss. there was drool running down the corners of your mouth, and you felt as dean took his hand out of your hair and wiped it away with his thumb.

you whined as he pulled his fingers out, feeling empty without his fingers deep inside of you. looking down, you watched as your juices spilled out of your entrance, dean immediately dipping his two already wet fingers in the mess and putting them in front of your mouth.

“open up for me, doe. want you to taste yourself on my fingers.” with wide, wet eyes, you parted your lips for dean to place his two fingers on your tongue. when you closed your mouth, sucking on the two digits, you felt as the pads of middle and pointer finger prodded at the back of your throat.

“that’s my girl.” dean breathed out, watching in awe as he stared at your pretty face sucking your juices off of his fingers. he swore you weren’t real in that moment, too good to be true. yet as you swirled your tongue around his fingers, he realized that you were his, and he was yours, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world.

as you came down from your high, dean cleaned you up with a napkin that he found in his centre console. when he was done, he helped you sit up, moving your underwear back into place and allowing you to take a breather.

realizing your shorts were in the backseat, you leaned over the seat to try and find them, jumping as you felt dean land a smack on your ass.

“jesus dean,” you laughed, grabbing your shorts and sitting back down. “can’t get enough can you?”

“when it comes to you?” he grinned, turning the car back on and starting to pull back onto the street. “i can never have enough,”

TAGS: @haunteres @starzify @floralscented @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @foolinthera1n @vaiieydoii @bluemerakis

NAT BABBLES: i’ve been so wrapped up with my angel series, that i wanted to reset and write a little dean story. also, this is my first time writing smut, so i know it’s probably ass, but just bare with me😭

[27spoons]

You Are a Memory. | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/gn!reader

summary: Natalie says goodbye to an old friend. (mid-late s2)

wc: 2350

warnings: mentions and depictions of suicide, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, y/n usage, natalie scatorccio cannot catch a break

a/n: i wont lie to yall and say this is an easy read. i was writing smut then started listening to the linked song, and, well.... here we are. here we are.

"Nat, you don't have to do this," Van says, breaking the quiet. "Maybe…" They glance around the room before gesturing to Travis, “Trav can take them down to the plane, keep them there 'til spring. You don’t have to be the one to do this—"

"I'm fine on my own." Nat snaps—too quickly. She regrets the bite the second it leaves her mouth. "I did it with Jackie, I'll do it with y/n." They wouldn't have wanted anyone else to do this, anyway, she leaves unsaid, tightening the seatbelt around her waist as she prepares to face the howling wind outside.

Unlike when she was carrying Jackie's bones to the plane, Nat doesn't stop to look back this time. God forbid she let the entire cabin see the way tears had started to spring to her eyes.

The wind batters against her exposed skin as the door to the cabin opens, but it does little to deter her as she steps out into the air, kicking the door shut behind her.

Your bones are already packed—neat, contained. A far cry from Jackie’s, scattered and scorched, cradled in a sheet like the aftermath of a storm. No, she takes you with far more care. She’d watched as Shauna carved your body open, face stone-still. She hadn’t looked away—not once. 

Because in the end, wasn’t it her fault?

I was calling For the last time

"Have you seen y/n?" Nat asks, voice casual, maybe too casual, as she kicks snow from her boots. Another empty-handed hunt. "Found a piece of scrap wood. Figured they’d want it—been carving a lot, lately." She glances at the fireplace, the mantle lined with various woodland creatures and other shapes. 

Mari makes a face and shakes her head, stirring the pot of… belt soup. Yum. "Nah, not since we crashed last night, I think." She pauses, considering. "Wait. Actually—yeah. I don’t think I’ve seen them since we fell asleep." She glances up at Nat, "Aren't you two like… besties? Shouldn't you know where they are?"

That makes Nat's jaw tense. Last night? 

So the last time anyone saw you—was before they all fell asleep?

"Lot?" Nat whips her head around, looking for the former center back. "You seen them? You're always awake before anyone else?" She tries to steady her voice, but it’s already starting to shake—just like her hands.

Lottie considers Nat's question for a moment before shaking her head. "Not that I can remember."

Nat makes a slight sound and immediately throws on her boots again, preparing to go back out into the snow. "I gotta… this isn't like them. They wouldn't just vanish like this without a trace. It isn't like them."

"Wait, you're going back out?" Travis glances up from where he had sat near the fire, "Nat, we just spent hours out there. Maybe they're just taking a walk, or something." He dismisses her like she dismissed his concerns about Javi, but Nat doesn't hear any of it.

"If I'm not back by sunset, come looking for me." It's all the response she gives before she's out the door for the second time that day, trying not to give in to the panic that threatens to overwhelm her.

The walk to the plane feels longer than usual, her steps burdened by the heavy weight she carries—metaphorical and physical. The wind shrieks through the trees, dragging icy fingers across her cheeks, and she doesn't bother to wipe the tears that freeze as soon as they fall.

It feels wrong to bring you here. You don't belong here.

Sure, she did it with Jackie. But that had been about closure. Ritual. This? This is different.

This is a goodbye she hasn't earned, a goodbye she doubts that she'll ever earn.

The crunch of snow under her boots becomes almost unbearable. Rhythmic. Final. She wonders if you would've said something poetic about it—some half-assed line you'd mutter just to make her roll her eyes and secretly smile.

She tightens her grip on the bundle in her arms.

No, not a bundle. Not firewood. Not a pack of furs, or a dead buck.

You.

She hates how light you are now, all the weight of the meat and flesh that you had once worn cut from the bone, resting inside the stomachs of anemic and tachycardic teenagers who didn't value your sacrifice nearly as much as they should have.

The hull of the plane creaks as Nat steps into it, kicking her snow-covered boots on the floor as she walks towards the seat you had sat in when the plane went down, placing your bones carefully onto the cushions. A deep sigh leaves her as she kneels, her hands reverently splaying over the bag that carries you. "Fuck. I should’ve found you sooner." Her voice cracks, "I should've—you wouldn't have… if I'd just—" She presses a hand to her mouth as her eyes squeeze shut, "God, I'm so sorry."

We'd been here before  They found pictures in the snow

"Y/N!" Nat calls out, boots crunching through the snow that had settled over the past few days. "C'MON! THIS ISN'T FUNNY!" She tries to coat it in anger, but you’d know better. You’d hear the crack—the fear under it.

It's been over an hour since she left the cabin. 

An hour of calling your name. 

An hour of holding her breath like that could keep the worst from happening.

The sun is starting to set over the horizon, and she knows that she doesn't have much time left before it becomes too dark even to find her way back to the cabin, so she heads to the last place she thinks you would be. Maybe it's the first place she should have gone, but this has always been a spot you two visited together. Why would you go there alone?

So, she makes her way to this small alcove that the pair of you had found over the summer, before you were worried about starving, before you were concerned about freezing to death in a cabin surrounded by malnourished and fatigued teenagers.

When she approaches the clearing, she almost sighs in relief when she sees your form, lying supine on the ground and staring at the treeline. But you're still. Too still.

"Oh, Jesus-Fucking-Christ, dude. You scared the shit outta—"

The snow underneath your arms is stained a dark crimson colour, the exact colour that Nat had seen game bleed after she had successfully landed a fatal shot between their eyes. 

"No—" Her voice breaks, all semblance of sanity gone out the window. "No. No. No—" 

She drops to her knees adjacent to your lifeless form, hands on your shoulders as she shakes you vigorously. "No, you aren't fucking doing this to me! You know I can't fucking do this with—without—" The first sob falls from her lips when it finally sets in just how pale and waxen you are. 

Nothing else matters now. Her ears begin to ring, drowning out the already muted sounds of the forest, and she presses her forehead into your shoulder as the tears begin to streak down her cheeks. Her words collapse into broken sobs, muffled by your jacket as she clings to you like she could anchor you in place. Like if she just held on tight enough, you wouldn’t leave her again.

The silence in the plane feels just like the clearing.

Still. Too still.

Her hands, still red-raw from the cold, twitch as she brushes a bit of frost off the bag holding your bones. The skin is tight and shiny, fluid-filled sacs blooming at her knuckles—painful reminders of how long she's been in the cold, of what she'd do just to carry you back here herself.

"You looked so peaceful," she murmurs. "I fucking hated that." A scoff leaves her throat, watery and laced with pain. "You never looked like that when you were…" alive. 

Nat's jaw tenses as she looks down at the ripped-up carpet that lines the plane floor, blood-stained and perfectly resembling the emotional turmoil that bubbles beneath the surface. 

"Even when you were sleeping, you… your eyebrows were always pressed together, y'know? Like you couldn't get peace even when you slept." A beat, "I… God, y/n. I hope you've found some fucking peace."

She wants to hate you. She really does. She wants to lash out and tell your bones how selfish you were—but she can't. No matter how hard she tries, how hard she tries to push anger to the surface, you were never someone she could hate, not even when you stole her laces before Regionals last year and made her faceplant in front of the entire goddamn school.

No, you were always the best of them.

I could tell your eyes  Looked beneath the blue

It's well past nightfall when Travis and Gen find her.

Nat sits next to your body, face devoid of all and any emotion, fingers plagued blue and curled in on themselves with superficial frostbite. Her body's stopped shivering—given up on the core instinct to keep warm.

Her thousand-yard stare cuts through Travis as he kneels before her, his voice falling on deaf ears. 

All she can see is you. 

All she can hear is you. 

All she can feel is you.

The world feels as though it's been submerged in water as she's helped to her feet and back to the cabin. 

It isn't until Gen mentions something about coming back to retrieve your body in the daylight that Nat flinches.

"No—" Nat immediately rasps out, her senses returning to her as she struggles out of Travis's grasp. "N-no. We won't… we aren't gonna… not like we did Jackie. We won't. I won't let us. I won't. I won't. I won't. I w—" She chokes on her own words, falling back down to her knees adjacent your corpse. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry—"

Travis says something. A reassurance. An empty string of syllables that don’t matter. 

She doesn't hear it. His words bleed into a static sound that floods her senses and threatens to consume her whole, almost like the darkness that had consumed you.

The walk back to the cabin is a blur. Someone boils snow for a bath. Nat doesn't speak. Doesn't look up. She lets them peel off her coat, strip her down, and lower her in like a doll.

The water stings. She doesn't flinch.

She doesn't even feel it.

Her knees ache against the floor, but she doesn't budge from her position.

The plane is cold. Not wilderness cold—ghost cold. The kind of chill that sinks deeper than skin and doesn't go away, no matter how many layers you wear or how many nights pass.

Nat stares at the bag holding your bones—at you. Her fingers twitch again. She wants to open it. Wants to unzip it, lay you out, see you—but she's afraid of what won't be there. The parts of you that were taken, that they took, that she took.

Her throat tightens. She exhales sharply through her nose.

"'member what you said that one night?" she murmurs. "The night the plane crashed? That if you died out here, you wanted to go out with a bang?"

A weak laugh huffs out of her. Her hand moves slowly, trembling against her will, as it comes to rest over the bag.

"Well. I'm sorry it wasn't as exciting as you had hoped." A pause. "Y'did get eaten though, which you'd argue is pretty cool, but…" The laugh she attempts doesn't make it past an attempt—the sound coming out far more broken and frail than intended. "It wasn't supposed to end like this. Not you."

I woke underneath the trees For the first time

"Here," Shauna says quietly, holding out a pale heart with areas of purplish mottling to Nat, "you should be the one to do it."Nat's lip trembles as she delicately takes the heart—your heart—from Shauna's hand, cradling it like it might still beat. It's still cold from being in the elements for so long, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from the fireplace. 

She debates speaking for a long moment, but decides that words wouldn't mean much right now, not in front of a crowd of people you had grown a strong distaste for in the previous months. 

Before she can talk herself out of it, she takes a bite out of your right ventricle, the taste of congealed blood and half-frozen viscera coats her tongue, metallic and wrong. 

She nearly gags. 

So, she swallows hard. Forces it down. As quickly as it entered her mouth, it leaves, sliding past the lump in her throat like it might claw its way back up.

Nat stares at the half-eaten heart in her hands, slick and heavy with blood that no longer belongs to anyone.

She can't do it.

Not all of it.

With a sudden, shaky breath, she stands and crosses to the fire.

"You don't deserve this," she mutters—not to you, but to them.

And before anyone can stop her, she tosses the heart into the flames.

It hisses as it hits the heat, blood bubbling on contact. The smell is awful, but Nat doesn't flinch. She watches it burn until it's blackened and cracked, until nothing that once loved or was loved remains.

Only then does she turn her back to the fire and let the rest of them have their feast.

"I'm sorry, y/n," are the last words she speaks to you as she takes off the necklace that dangles around her neck—a rifle bullet on a long silver chain—and places it into the bag where your bones rest, and will remain until the ground thaws.

Nat doesn't look back as she leaves the plane, but she never forgets how your inanimate body looked when she found you there—your once bright eyes dimmed and devoid of life, your once beautiful laugh snuffed beneath the oppressive weight of the winter snow.

No, Natalie never forgets you, just like she never forgives herself.

a/n: we take a break from our regularly scheduled angsty-smut for just angst. anyways, back to you, angsty-smut! (translation: 'light up floor' next)

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito

TW: slight NSFW, degradation, dehumanization, Stockholm Syndrome, Mahito in and of himself, platonic to romantic yandere

fem reader

Mahito makes it a point to treat you like an animal – his human pet.

Ever since he first took you. The cage, the collar, the petting, and the treats. 

Most of the time, when he talks to you, he acts as though you’re incapable of understanding complex conversation, using only a few words and simple commands – a smile stretching his face, stroking your head when you do good. Other times, he acts as though he’s forgotten you can even speak at all. The worst part is – you don’t really know whether he’s faking or not. 

He takes you for walks and plays with you – letting you off the leash for a game of hide´n´seek in the forest where he chases you down barefoot – he doesn’t really care about the rules or that he’s breaking the basic premise of the game. He just laughs, liking the way you pant and wince against the mossy floor after he’s hunted and tackled you down for the umpteenth time, sweaty while you beg him to take you home with teary eyes and puffy cheeks. Home – being where he keeps you.

You used to refuse, you used to run away and fight him when he caught you – with scratching and clawing and biting and barking, but you soon learned to behave. He told you he had no use for rabid pets and threatened you with transfiguration, warning you not to bore him, and ultimately – after having seen him twist enough people into mockeries – you stopped doing much more than obey.

You’re constantly blue with bruises and stinging from scratches – but you wash in the hot springs when Mahito brings you along – soaking your aching muscles in the warmth while he cheats in playing Marco Polo, sneaking a peak and tagging you with a laugh – awfully resembling that of a child. You swear you often have to shake the feeling of mothering him out of your head before doing something regrettable.

Other times, he’ll take you to the beach. You asked him once how it was possible, but he’d just booped your nose with a smile and told you it was something you wouldn’t be able to wrap your little head around – and, looking towards the horizon of the never-ending sea, inside what you could have sworn was a concrete building, you couldn’t help but agree with him.

Sometimes you see his friends and hide behind him. He thinks it funny and excuses you, laughing out that you’re shy. And you suppose he’s right. 

You used to be shy around him, too. You don’t know when you accepted it – being his pet.

Lately, he’s been inviting you to sleep with him in his hammock instead of your cage. And everything except your left brain betrays you as you lie snug against his side, with his arm softly holding you around your midriff. He’s so warm, and your whole body feels cottony at the pleasantness of another’s embrace after having gone so long without it. Actually, you almost cry, resting your head atop the rise and fall of his chest, closing your eyes to the steady beat of his heart thumping just beneath your ear. In the moment, you even forget he isn’t human. It just feels nice. 

You don’t even mind when he dances his fingers up your arm in ticklish touches. Instead, you nuzzle into him with something so vulnerable as a moan leaving your lips. 

His eyes travel from reading the pages of his book to the blissful look on your face and the way your smaller hand grips his tunic – but he doesn’t make much of it aside from raising a brow.

He’s seen scenes like this at the theatre – sappy love stories Junpei used to cry his eyes out over – awkward teenagers in dark silent bedrooms and clothes on the floor, then kisses and hugs and naked flesh and sweat and heavy breaths and moaning. He can’t deny it makes him curious despite never having felt any personal need to truly understand any of it. It's a human thing after all.

Your warmth makes him wonder, though. He’s always enjoyed the soft feel of your skin on his fingertips, whether you’re trembling or not – it has an interesting texture – warm and doughy. He could imagine it would feel good pressed against his body, too.

Without a word, he tugs your shirt up your torso, pulling on it until you raise your arms and allow him to remove it entirely. You became a little tense then, hiding your naked chest from him by folding your arms. 

He takes off his tunic just as casually, and you don’t understand it, but suddenly you feel a little blushy. But you don’t say anything – almost as though you’ve forgotten you can speak just the way he pretends.

His skin’s ashen and pale – but his torso is just like a normal guy’s – toned with muscles, two nipples, and a belly button. Oh, and stitches. Like a patchwork.

He lifts his arm, and you take the cue, laying down again – now skin to skin. He’s even warmer now, you note – and something about the feel of bare skin makes your head hot. And you can't help how that heat spreads between your thighs – but you keep it to yourself.

He lifts his book and begins reading it again, turning the pages with the same hand he holds it up with. But his free hand travels from resting on your hip to your chest.

You suppress a shudder by biting your lip, and he cups your tit with absentminded curiosity – paying you not a glance while his eyes lazily skim the words in front of him, giving your breast a firm squeeze.

He keeps track of your small shufflings despite you trying to keep them to yourself – charting what touches elicit your reactions. Soon, he finds your nipple, feeling it stiffen with yearning beneath his thumb, pushing it like a button only for it to bud out again. You stifle a sound he hasn’t heard from you before.

He reads his book finished, then lets it drop flat on the floor beneath you. His statement is like a resolution. “Let’s play a new game.”

You peek up at him from the nook of his arm. “Game?” You ask, but he's already maneuvering your body despite it causing an unsteady swing in the hammock.

He ignores both it and your question. Giving you those very curt commands one would say to a trained pet. “Up on my lap.”

You follow. “Okay-”

You’re straddling him next. Bare-chested while he lifts both hands to cup each tit.

You’re fully flushed now, face steadily getting dewy from the heat as you look away – bowing your head off to the side with your teeth sunk into your lip.

He’s playing. Groping the pillows with fingers now swallowed in the fat before releasing again, twisting the perky nips with eyes feeling a little foggy at the sight. His mouth suddenly waters, thinking about how it looks as though they were made to be eaten – no, not eaten exactly, but something else, something similar...

Indulging the thought, he leans in and envelopes the sensitive things between his lips, sucking on them with his warm wet tongue circling and flicking the point.

Old instincts resurface at the pleasant feeling and you grind your hips down on his lap without thinking.

He falls victim to it, too – taking your hips in both hands while grinding whatever it is that’s gaining weight between his thighs up into that place between yours.

The feeling is more than nice, forcing his entire body to be both mellow and tense with a hunger for more all at the same time.

He presses his face entirely against your chest, nuzzling between the soft mounds there with his cheek. Hands slipping from your hips to pull you closer and grind you harder down on his lap, slithering his arms around the small of your back and hugging you hard.

And you don’t want to think about how fucked up it is when you need it so badly – rolling your hips down, riding that bump you feel nudged against your crotch – like it's the only source of comfort you've had for months. You think about its size – it feels big – you can’t help but picture it – long and pale, probably with a curve and a sharp spine – fuck, you need it – want it pounding your guts, want his pelvis slapping against your clit as his fat cock shoves against your womb – filling you up with thick and filthy warmth-

You still with a shudder when you climax, breaths heavy and shaky. In the blind chase, you’d caressed his head and held it to your chest like a lover would, hugging him close with your body pressed flat against him.

He’s also panting, hot and damp huffs dewy against your skin.

There's something sticky in his pants… and he could have sworn your souls had merged there for a moment...

He’s never felt that before.