#so please can you share a comfort fic this Halloween

[cyberb07]

Good day, my fellow readers ~ 🤲

I'm in need of comfort. Know of any good comfort scenarios involving some of my fave crushes? 🙏🩵

Loki or Vision (Marvel) | Hobie (Spider-Punk)

Ishimaru (DR1) | Twogami (SDR2) | King Cold (DBZ)

The Duke (RE8) | Mr. Burns | Horned King (Disney)

Ennard or FT Freddy or Monty or Sun/Moon (FNAF)

Oogie Boogie (TNBC) | Cagney Carnation or Devil

Lord Royal Highness (SpongeBob) | skekZok (TDC)

Psycho Weasel (ft. Smartass) | Caine (TADC) *latest*

What's my scenario?

Well, I competed, wholeheartedly, in my office's Halloween costume contest this year... and I lost.

This. I was Withered Chica. How did this lose? Against a girl in a black lolita dress with platforms and a white mask with blood tears? Against an OC??

So, any comfort scenarios you can link me to? Or, if you're bolder, could someone write my scenario?

If you want more details, read below ~

(warning; a bit whiny, which I try not to do, sorry)

I'm known by most as being a sweet, reserved, and devout worker; but also with a reputation for going all-out on dress-up days. Especially for Halloween. 🎃 I have for years.

Like always, I stayed up late and worked for weeks on my costume; compiling clothes & props and painting into the midnight hours. Was hard work, but it's always worth it when I step into my building and everyone flinches. My colleagues said I was a shoo-in to win Scariest Costume. In the office & out in the parade, I walked robotically everywhere. I had a sound box tucked away so I could make her groans & jumpscare noises. And mind you, I live in Florida! ☀️ I did all this, without eating anything after a light breakfast, and barely sipping any water through my under-mask's mouth slots. (Yes I had a 2nd mask on, of Nightmare Chica, for its second row of teeth!) But I didn't complain about it. I relished in it~

It's a personal thrill of mine. Performing in costume, either using my hip-long hair or hiding it in a net, especially to scare. ^^ I scare because I care, lol. (Monsters Inc/University scenarios are great too)

This time, I thought I had it in the bag. For years, the judges wouldn't choose me because my costumes, while very scary to my coworkers, were too obscure for the judges. I thought, surely, Chica would be scary *and* recognizable. And some of them did know what I was from. But alas~ 💔

I went back to my office desk sad, tearing up behind my mask. No one in my office has ever seen me cry, and thanks to my double mask, no one would. Several of them gave me sympathies, which I appreciated, but I kept my thanks short. I'm the nice level-headed trainer, and yes, there have been close moments before, but they couldn't see me like this. It was foolish to cry, I know, but I was hurt, and I never make a fuss or ask for anything. I just wanted.. Thankfully, everyone was excused to leave work early if they wished. So, I took my time peeling off my costume in the restroom as most everyone left. To the few left behind, I tried to excuse my flushed face and shiny eyes on the 1pm high hot sun. I stuck around just a little more, to finish a job. A half hour later, I was the 2nd to last one out. Drove home, listening to my Toon Patrol & The Duke playlists. Once home, I got myself a poké dinner, chugged bottles of water, took a pill for my aching head, and retired for a nap. X3 Imagining comfort scenarios, and passed out in minutes.

So, after all that, if I could be linked to a comfort fic for my situation, 😌 it would be much appreciated. Yes, I'm feeling better, but it'd still be nice, ya know? 👏 And I do enjoy reading new x reader scenarios.

Thank you for hearing me out ~

#looking for comfort scenarios #comfort x readers #i lost #scary costume contest #withered chica costume #chica costume 2023 #comfort ask #asking for comfort scenarios #i tried so hard #i never ask for anything #do you have the time to listen to me whine #Halloween comfort please #and I was supposed to have a date go with me to the fnaf movie but they canceled #yeah that gave me more time to work on my costume #and yeah I do like my finished work #it was just a bummer #so please can you share a comfort fic this Halloween #diy fnaf Halloween costumes #store bought but modified #i suffered for my art willingly #it's my thing #i just could use some comfort

[reiderwriter]

Elevator Pitch

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 2k!!

Warnings: Smut, fingering, semi-public sex/ foreplay, praise kink-ish, some pet names completely ignored Spencer's germophobia to make this work 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive you're sharing the metal box of death with has an interesting idea about how you can pass the time.

A/N: This is just a really quick drabble for @imagining-in-the-margins Meet Cute challenge for this month!! I have an idea for another one that I'll post closer to Halloween too, so look forward to that alongside all the kinktober fics 👀

Check out my masterlist here!

You weren't planning on running late on your very first day on your new team, but here you were. You were scheduled to meet Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner in his office at 9 a.m. sharp, and here you were at 8:57, trapped inside an elevator. At least you weren't alone, but alone with a stranger, and one who seemed to be talkative in the worst way wasn't exactly ideal either. 

"Hey, don't panic. There are about 6 elevator-related deaths per year and about 100,000 injuries. I'm pretty confident about those statistics." He said, taking a sip of his coffee as he stood calmly by the door, pressing buttons and waiting for something to happen. 

"Oh god, I'm gonna die in here." You whimpered a little bit, falling to your knees and screwing your eyes shut. 

"No, I said we're not gonna die. Or its at least very unlikely." 

"And I'm supposed to trust you?" 

"Yes, I'm very good with numbers. Elevator accidents account for 0.00024% of all elevators in service in the US. There you don't have to panic anymore." Almost punctuating his words, the elevator gave a low groan and fell an inch lower, pushing him off balance and toppling to the floor right next to you. 

"That was just unfortunate timing." He said, his breath hitting your face. Your eyes opened again finally, and you noticed that due to his topple, he was way closer than before, face merely inches from your own. Whoever this overconfident stranger was, he was attractive. Distractingly so, as you didn't respond to his sentence the entire time he was there in front of you, words suddenly escaping you as you stared into his dark, wide eyes. 

"Mechanical issues are the cause of about 15.3% of elevator incidents. Since we're in Quantico, we can probably rule out foul play, which means that they'll probably have us back up and running in around 27 minutes." Opening his mouth ruined the fantasy for a minute, waking you up to the reality of your situation. 

"Did you work an elevator case or something, why do you know so much about this?" You regretted the question as soon as you asked it, as he launched into another speech. 

"I read the statistical reports published by the CPSC and the OSHA. It’s really interesting stuff actually, there are-”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but I need you to shut up. I don’t think I can take any more statistics about my inevitable death by elevator. Can we do something else instead?”

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Can you… Can you hold my hand?” You felt yourself flush red the second the words left your mouth, and suddenly it was your turn to talk too much. “My mom used to do it when I was scared as a kid, and obviously you’re not my mom, and you don’t even know me, but I thought it could help comfort both of us. Human contact and touch is supposedly comforting in times of distress so I just thought…” He cut you off by silently grabbing your hand and settling into a seated position beside you and you sent a little prayer up to god to spare both your soul and your heart. 

Because Jesus Christ it was beating hard now.

“Oxytocin,” he said and you looked up at him with a questioning look. “Oxytocin is released when you come into contact with other people, it’s the reason newborn babies benefit from skin-to-skin contact and why humans enjoy petting domestic animals so much. And the whole sex to destress thing.” He nodded and looked away, but you could have sworn the oxygen was completely sucked out of the room when he mentioned sex. 

“Sex?” He turned to you as you said the word, as if processing the conversation you were in the middle of it. 

“Yeah, never heard of it?” You rolled your eyes and squeezed his hand in your own for a second, but his body was leaning closer into yours now, his entire attention on you, as if he expected you to answer the question. 

“Of course I have.” 

“And what do you think? Can it help you de-stress?” 

Your mouth moves before you can stop it. “Can we stop talking about this please, I’m already scared, I don’t need to be scared and horny.” You close your eyes and groan as his widen again, and suddenly you’re praying again, but this time you wouldn’t really mind if you became one of those six elevator malfunction deaths. 

“I don’t know, maybe it would help you. There are some studies that show that stress can have aphrodisiacal impacts in women, you know?” His voice was light, but your entire body stiffened as you looked into his eyes, trying to gauge what this stranger was offering. 

“So what, you’re suggesting I just get more and more turned on until I’m not worried about death?” 

“No, I’m suggesting I close the gap between us and distract you for a while.” You spared a glance down to his lips then, his tongue darting out to lick them and pulling you in closer. You nodded quickly, a small movement and he pushed his lips down into yours. 

He was soft at first, and you almost felt like pulling away and scalding yourself for engaging in risky behavior during a near-death experience. But just as you moved to pull away, his hand came up to your hair and you melted right back into him, the kiss deepening as you slanted your neck up to give up more of yourself to him. 

You barely feel his hands pulling you into his lap, but you’re suddenly there and so happy you are. Your free hand wanders up to his chest as he squeezes your connected digits again, sending your heart into a fit of palpitations. In a panic you pull away, groaning a little as you can feel his not stiff member poking between your legs. 

“Sorry, I don’t think we exchanged names. I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N..” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” His lips fall down to your neck as he whispers the words into your skin, and you let your head fall back as his hands untangle from you and fall to your hips, encouraging your movements as you begin grinding over him.

“And you said we had twenty-seven minutes before we’re free, right?” 

“Whose the one talking too much now?” He bit into your neck sharply then, and you moaned out, battling the urge to let him take you there on the elevator floor. From it’s perch on your hip, his hand slips down and pops the button in your pants, pushing inside and finally touching you through your panties.

“That’s it, good girl, just keep grinding down on me.” Unconsciously, you press your hips into his hands, the pressure leaving you letting out a whistful sigh of relief. 

“God,… Should we be doing this here?” Your words were unsure, but your movements weren’t as you pushed yourself into him again and again, desperate to feel more of him as he rubbed circles into your clit, driving you closer and closer to your peak. 

“Let’s assume for now that the elevator malfunction has wiped out the CCTV,” he says, lips pressing against your skin as you lose yourself in his touch again. “We absolutely should be doing this.” 

His words fell straight to your core, and you felt yourself grow more aroused as you pondered being caught in such an intimate position with a stranger.

“You think you can cum right here, baby? Think you can give me one soon?” His words almost sent you over the edge, his smile widening as your hips twitched over his. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, please, don’t stop.” 

“Not so scared about this elevator anymore are you? Or did you want to spend your last moments coming undone in my hands?” With his words, you lost the ability to speak, simply moaning out your agreement to his every word. 

“I think I can hear someone talking through the walls, baby, you’re going to have to cum now for me, can you do that?” You nodded to him as he increased his pace on your words, and within seconds, you were letting it all out, head falling against his shoulder as you twitched through your orgasm. He pulled his hands out of your pants quickly and pressed a kiss to your lips, pulling you up to a standing position and making you look presentable as the doors to the elevator were finally pried open from the other side. 

“Hey, how are you guys holding up in there?” The call came from the maintenance staff, and you were sudden;y thankful that he’d finished you off when he did because as horny as you’d been, actually getting caught like that was something entirely different than the fantasy of it. 

You’re almost sorry that you have to leave when you do, suddenly absolutely involved in helping him “destress” the same way he’d helped you out. But he removes his hands from you and strikes up a conversation with the maintenance staff working to get your elevator level with the floor doors. You gravitate to the back of the stall, gripping the railing while your brain catches up to the circumstances. 

In no time, the elevator is back in working order, and you and your stranger are stepping foot on steady ground again, and saying your goodbyes.  

“Aaron Hotchner’s office is through those doors. Up the stairs to the left.” He smiles and nods at you before turning down the corridor and leaving you there by yourself. A glance at your clock tells you you’re too late to question his words, and how he even knew where you were going. You take off down the hall, ready to profusely apologize to your new boss and pledge to take the stairs for the rest of your days. 

When Hotch finally greets you, he has already heard about the elevator malfunction, and all is thankfully forgiven. You have to bite your tongue before asking if everyone on this floor is psychic. But you’re still late, and you have a case, so your introductions have to take place in the briefing room and you half-run, half-walk behind the older man as he makes his way down the hall. 

“Everyone we have a new team member today, please help her out for this first one and show her the ropes.” He introduces you by name, and you’re suddenly doing your best to memorize the names of a Prentiss, a Rossi, a Morgan, a JJ, and one Penelope Garcia. They seem to be waiting for someone else, but with the clock ticking, Penelope begins debriefing you on the next case.  

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice calls from the door, and you feel the hairs on your neck stand up in shock as everyone slowly turns to greet the newcomer. 

“What time do you call this?” Morgan laughs as the familiar man approaches, and a quick glance around tells you that the only seat left at the table, which had been so obviously reserved by the pile of paper files in contrast to everyone else's digital alternatives, was right next to you. 

“Spencer, we have a new team member, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us on cases from today onwards.” Hotch quickly says, and you lock eyes with the man just as he falls into his seat. 

“I think we’re acquainted. Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Spencer Reid.” The room falls silent as he holds out his hand for you to shake, and you do your best to not show your shock and embarrassment on your face. You let your hand fall into his, the same one that you’d held earlier, the same one that had worked you up to the edge and then helped you pour over it, the same one that had pulled you together afterward. You said nothing after you’d finally pulled apart, waiting for him to make the next move once again. 

“I look forward to working with you.” 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #meet cute #mentioningmargins

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Jan 16th

LINK LIMIT REACHED (please look in replies for more recs ^^)

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1. Hello, looking for fics that discuss or focus around wy being in a different body and yeah kinda just focused around that. thanks!

the soft animal by cafecliche (T, 5k, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, the physicality of moving on: the fic, LWJ is the best husband, Podfic Available, (the presence of) MXY, and a whole bunch of Baby Lans)

a better world by ilip13 (G, 1k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Soft WangXian, mild body dysphoria, Hopeful Ending)

a kind of emptiness by ScarlettStorm (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Eating Disorders, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorder Recovery, low angst, Happy Ending, seriously in spite of the tags this fic is very soft, Tender smut, Frottage, Praise Kink, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)

~*~

2. hopefully something similar to this

thank u!! @/weiwuxianfan34

hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)

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3. Hi, for the next itmf, do you guys have and lwj/wwx/lxc recs? Like with the three of them together in a relationship. It can be cannon era or modern era, I don't really mind either but I would prefer cannon era. Thank you for the help.

our close and kindred ties by exmanhater (E, 41k, WangXianXi, Pregnancy Kink, Incest, almost incest, Post-Canon, Gender Changes, Always a Different Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Riding, Vaginal Fingering, Established Relationship, Situational Incest Only, POV Outsider, Pregnancy, Family Feels, Fluff, Incest Adjacent, Threesome - F/F/M, Relationship Negotiation, (slight) Pregnancy Kink, Kid Fic, Parenting, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Double Penetration, LWJ is a service top, Strap-Ons, Anal Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Restraints, Parenthood) has f!wangxian but otherwise i think it's post-canon-ish setting?

oh we have moved forward in pain by rainbowshoes (E, 47k, WangXianXi, past 3zun, past Niecest, Incest, Post-Betrayal Depression, Severe depressive episodes, Bruises, Bite marks, Consensual sexual injuries, Self harm through sex, self harm ideation, Nightmares, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Excessive Drinking, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Scars, Past Child Abuse, implied ace jc, Explicit Sexual Content, Guilt, Canon-verse version of safe-wording out, Canon-verse version of subdrop, Child Abuse, discussion of death and murder, Discussion of wwx’s first time in the burial mounds, Broken Bones, Starvation, eating corpses, Insecurity not-so-accidental child acquisition, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sort Of, Sibling Incest, mix and mash Mashup of cql verse and novel, anti-lqr)

set my soul alight Series by Skadiseven (E, 42k, WangXianXi, Modern AU, Jadecest, Sibling Incest, Toronto, Halloween Costumes, Halloween, Canada, Jade Xianwich, WWX POV, Power Play, LXC POV, Rough Sex, Intercrural Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Aftercare, Sort Of)

take this weight of mine by soliloqui (E, 84k, WangXianXi, Post-Canon, LXC in Seclusion, Depression, touch starvation, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Canon-Typical Violence, Unreliable Narrator, Dual Cultivation, mild fuck-or-die, Mild Consent Issues, please check end notes of chapter 2 for more information, Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, gentle smut, Healing, demisexual LXC, demisexual lwj, Protective LWJ, Protective LXC, Protective WWX, lqr's a++ parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🔒Embers by xantissa (E, 38k, WangXian, XiXian, WangXianXi, Jadecest, Angst, drama, Fluff, Falling In Love, sex pollen trope (curse), dub con, Comfort, Grief, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Sibling Incest, Switching, Flirting, Learning to live again, Magic, Curses, Everyone is Badass, lwj has a sense of humor, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M, Slow Burn, Angst and Hurt/Comfort)

🔒Magnificent by Anonymous (E, 36k, WangXianXi, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Deepthroating, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Blow Jobs, Jadecest, Light Angst, Past NieLan, Sharing a Bed, Canon Compliant, Top LWJ, Switch LXC, Switch WWX, Spitroasting, Face-Fucking, Come Eating, Snowballing, Facials, Praise Kink, over-stimulation, Ass to Mouth, Intercrural Sex, Laughter During Sex, Rimming, Come as Lube, Magical Healing Cock, i guess, Come play)

给我再去相信的勇气 // the courage to believe by howodd5ever (E, 55k, WangXian, WangXianXi, Threesome - M/M/M, Jadecest, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Undernegotiated Kink, Choking, Spanking, Dom/sub, Rough Sex, dub con but trust me wei ying is into it, Polyamory, Getting Together, First Times, porn with a tiny bit of plot if you squint, Bottom wwx, bratty WWX, Marks, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, mostly cql canon timeline but otherwise franken-canon, angst but not about the poly stuff, Cockwarming, a little rimming as a treat)

Fraternal Fissures by Foregone_Shadow (E, 33k, Jadecest, WangXianXi, Angst with a Happy Ending, Threesome - M/M/M, Dual Cultivation, Healing Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Sibling Incest, Explicit Sexual Content, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Somnophilia, Reference to relationships between 3zun, POV Alternating, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Tender Sex, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Care and aftercare, Bondage, dom!lwj, Sub!lxc, Top / Bottom Versatile Characters, LWJ is canonically huge, Size Kink, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Light BDSM, Voyeurism, Depression, Dubious Consent, LWJ talks dirty, Marathon Sex, switch!WWX, Lots of bathing, gagging, Blindfolds, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Belly Kink, Orgasm Denial, Prostate Play)

~*~

4. hello! this is an itmf request. i would love:

A) recs on good case fics - i have a soft spot for those that take place during the cloud recesses study arc, but any and all case fic recs welcome :)

B) recs on de-aging/age regression fics - whether wangxian or other characters. thank you thank you! @/potatokunst

4A)

see you yesterday by glyphic (M, 138k, WIP, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Ghost Hunters, Time Loop, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn) if OP is open to modern AUs

🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ’s canonically big dick, sort of a ‘thirsting for your co-worker ex’ vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)

🔒 Vagabond by xantissa (E, 65k, wangxian, Slow Burn, Mystery, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Frottage, Case Fic, murders, Supernatural, Angst, Fluff, those two are so in love it hurts, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, badass LXC, Canon-Typical Violence, topLWJ, Bottom LWJ)

build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot   washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, …then sexual intimacy, [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)

爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 68k, WangXian, Case Fic, Blood and Injury, Demons, Body Horror)

in your skin by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Horror, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Non-Consensual Body Modification, kinda??, Reflections over death and self-worth, mentions of canon suicide, Near Death Experiences, [Podfic] in your skin by flamingwell)

there was recently a whole event about casefics! Not all of them are wangxian but a lot are so maybe one will catch your interest

💖 I’d be the one to hold you down (kiss you so hard) by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf & tardigradeschool (E, 85k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, NMJ/LXC, modern, leverage au, canon-typical violence, unhealthy relationships, depression, heists, found family, murder, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending)

🧡 moonlight caught in mutton fat by Raitelzen (T, 45k, WangXian, Case Fic, Curses, Curse Breaking, Transformation, mild body horror, Hurt LWJ, Ghosts)

Your Hand in Mine by cerbykerby (T, 20k, WangXian, Humor, Comedy, Pining, cursed to hold hands, Light Angst, Sharing a Bed, First Dates, Embarrassment, Fluff, bathing together, Canon Compliant)

Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Case Fic, Intimacy, Curses, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Romance, Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, m.. maybe??, its not as intense as a kink, Fluff, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Nonverbal Communication)

this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending)

4B)

grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, podfic available)

home is where we are by halfdemonvash (T, 17k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng are Bad at Communicating, JC & WWX Reconciliation, but only somewhat because these these things take time, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst and Feels, Hijinks & Shenanigans, accidental baby acquisition but it's actually your older brother, references to wwx's past being homeless, and also his past food insecurity, rated T for jiang cheng's language, and light sexual content in the beginning, Post-Canon, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, Junior Trio Shenanigans)

Bringing Up JC by Mikkeneko (T, 31k, JC & WWX, JC & JL JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, Kid Fic, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff and Angst, anticipate about one part kid cuteness to two parts angst, Reparenting, reliving trauma, unpacking JC's childhood issues, no therapy in the jianghu so this will have to do, Take Care reveal, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, WWX Is Good With Children, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Golden Core Reveal)

🔒 Silver & Gold by beeswaxing (E, 162k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, fluff & angst, happy ending, fix-it of sorts, family bonding, established relationship, non-sexual intimacy, BAMF WWX, pining, protective WWX)

found your writing on my wall by howodd5ever (T, 25k, WangXian, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, De-aged WWX, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Referenced Child Neglect, discussion of parental loss, child food insecurity, Case Fic, kind of, Nightmares)

🔒suddenly an old song fills my heart with home, my eyes with tears by RoseThorne (T, 724, WangXian, JC & WWX, Curses, Rebirth, Memories, Memory Loss, Age Regression/De-Aging, Recovered Memories, POV Third Person)

~*~

5. Hi, I am looking for fics in the canon-ish setting where characters undergo major injuries or illnesses that disable them but they are still bamf? (Last part added to a FF)

we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) WWX loses a leg & continues fighting the SSC with no-one being the wiser

🔒 no new age by everythingispoetry (M, 146k, wangxian, LSZ & LWJ, LXC/JGY, LXC/NMJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Growing Up, Family Dynamics, Self-Discovery, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Families of Choice, Developing Relationship) LWJ is left disabled by the 33 lashes punishment, & pushes through it, which I would think qualifies for BAMF status

🧡 Company by WithBroomBefore (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, POV LWJ, Fix-It, Pre-Canon, at least to start, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, But Not In The Usual Way, fear of character death, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, good teacher LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, brief discussion of past minor character suicide, Kitten, Not YZY Friendly)

🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

Obscuring the Sun by Karmiya (E, 24k, WIP, WangXian, WWX & WN, the sunshot campaign, Past Domestic Abuse)

~*~

6. ITMF a fic where preferably wwx is an amputee but lwj is okay too and I’d also prefer it in modern setting but again cannon timeline is fine as well @/zerokogane

we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) link in #5

🔒some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)

Work in Tandem by MimiSpearmint (E, 23k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Single Parent LWJ, when you just want disability-led sword lessons for your child, swordflight instructor!wwx, swordflight instructor!lwj, Fluff, give lwj friends agenda, Protective LWJ, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Implied off-screen D/s negotiations)

~*~

7. Hey! Do have any recs where wwx never loses his golden core? Like the Just Say Yes series? Could be an au, or anything. Thank you!

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not YZY Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

Until The World Embraces Me Home by azri (T, 5k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ LWJ, LWJ Has No Golden Core, Role Reversal, Not LXC Friendly, Not JC Friendly, Not cultivation world friendly overall tbh, Sunshot Campaign, Friends to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, WangXian Get a Happy Ending) LZ loses his core but WY keeps his

A Thousand Things by tickertape (M, 108k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX is not adopted by Jiangs, develping friendships, miscommunication, misunderstanding, nightmares, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, slow burn)

~*~

8. Hi, itmf recently completed wips. What's new and good is ready for the binge reading. Thank you! @/best-before-end

pale shadows of forgotten names by Chrononautical (T, 56k, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Good Sibling LXC, Badass LXC, He gets there in the end it just takes a while, Not particularly JGY friendly, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the universal fear of growing up to become one of your parents, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives AU, Except WN but he's very polite, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Imprisonment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, not between wangxian, Drunk LWJ, to lighten the mood, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Traumatized WWX, though he will not admit it, Taking time to heal, canon-typical communication skills)

~*~

9. Hello! I am in the mood for a wangxian arranged marriage fanfic. I would prefer a longer story (over 50k words, if possible). It can be canon or even AU. I would like the story to focus not only on the relationship between LZ and WY but also on the politics behind it. It can also be omegaverse. It would be great if their relationship is rocky at first and then becomes better. If there's more fanfics like this, I would be grateful for all of them. Thank you very much. @/broodyelii

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke (M, 179k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage) Definitely meets the length criteria, though its been long enough since I last read it that I don't recall how much it went into the politics of the marriage

love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, wangxian, immortal WWX, slow burn, pining, arranged marriages)

❤️ A Myriad of Blossoms by Itszero (E, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, YLLZ WWX, Hurt LWJ, Cruel wwx, he's cruel until he's not, Protective WWX, Caring WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Dark WWX)

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)

~*~

10. Itmf wangxian fics with WWX in peril (happy ending only please).

pitfalls of greed by glitteringmoonlight (T, 3k, wangxian, post-canon, outsider pov, BAMF WWX, kidnapping, violence)

❤️ kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)

~*~

11. I am currently reading "Get it right (mdzs time travel) Series" by AmiraAlzilu (AO3) and now I'm ITMF for a time travel fic where LXC and LQR are specifically called out for their lack of trust in LWJ witness testimony (aka child/elders in the Burial Mounds) and believing a sworn brother over family. Bonus for a) apologies or b) digging a deeper hole aka surely LWJ is mistaken, Meng Yao would never, I'm looking at you chapter 15 to 17 of this fic LXC (yes I'm salty). Bonus bonus for consequences on LXC's loose lips telling things to others he was asked to keep in confidence.... @/mreisse

I'm #11, and you know what? Recs calling out LXC and LQR is also fine :)

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) Okay so this isn't a time travel fic, so feel free to disregard, BUT! Does have LXC coming to WWX for help & seeing the truth, & characters calling him tf out on how it took him this long, so requester may still be interested

~*~

12. this is an itmf ask!!

fics where wwx is in his full yiling patriarch glory, I want to see scary yllz, possessive yllz (for lwj ofc) anything. longer fics pls but anything is fine, just no wips please haha!!

🔒hold me fast, fear me not by cicer (M, 16k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fairy Tale Elements, Mpreg, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, YLLZ WWX, brief reference to abortificants, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, may be interpreted as noncon by some)

curse of the dragon emperor by lulu_kitty (E, 96k, WangXian, Dragon AU, Canon Divergence, Mythology References, Identity Porn, Cursed WWX, Trans LWJ, Trans Male Character, Misgendering, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender Dysphoria, gender euphoria, Phoenixes, Dragon WWX, Fox WWX, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Dirty Talk, Submissive LWJ, Trauma, WWX Has PTSD, Minor Character Death, Prince WWX, Emperor WWX, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Mpreg, Trans Male Pregnancy, Size Difference, Dragonxian has two dicks, YLLZ WWX, technically!, It's more like YLLZ adjacent)

your darkest roads by comefeedtherainn (E, 76k, WangXian, YLLZ WWX, non-yunmeng wwx, Kinda, No Golden Core Transfer, Dark WWX, d/s dynamics, No noncon, playing with subverting some tropes/expectations)

~*~

13. I swear the only reason I can still consume Wangxian content daily is because of your recommendations.

There’s a couple fics I’ve been craving for a while and haven’t been able to find any I really love, so any help/ recommendations would be much appreciated!

A) Lan Xichen focused fics. It’s so hard to find fics that centre him.

B) Lan Sizhui focused fics. Mainly him with his dads/ family, but also him remembering his past would be great! Baby or adult A-yuan.

C) Wangxian being parents. Wei Wuxian being single parent. Just them being amazing dad’s content.

I’d appreciate any of these prompts 💞✨💫 @/jinxedjaz

13A)

Chapter 2 of Every Mother's Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, Madam Lan & WWX, Madam Lan & LWJ, Madam Lan & Lxc, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, Madam Lan rescues women from abusive husbands in feudal Japan and honestly that's so valid of her, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & QHJ, Give Madam Lan a name of her own, let Madam Lan find out that QHJ died in a fire as a treat, now with bonus Lan Xichen!) chapter 1 is more focused on LWJ and WWX, I recommend both :)

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) link in #11

i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized (M, 50k, OFC/LXC, minor WangXian, Isekai, Transmigration, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Amateur cartography, Butterfly Effect, Sunshot Campaign, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, No Golden Core Transfer, Dimension Travel, Politics, LXC the politician, Self-Insert, Foreknowledge, Angst with a Happy Ending) it's SI/OC but heavily features LXC (including some chapters from his POV). also has one of my favorite characterizations of LXC i've seen in fic

To Love What Is Mortal by treemaidengeek (T, 22k, LXC/SL, Post-Canon, Grief/Mourning, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, [Podfic] To Love What Is Mortal by flamingwell) as well as most of the works in this series.

Gentle Exile by rynleaf (E, 9k, LXC/SL, Post-Canon, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Study, Epistolary, Post-Canon Exploration, [PODFIC] Gentle Exile by flamingwell, semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

13B)

When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场 by acertainrogue (T, 39k, WangXian, WWX is in a coma, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Single Dad LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Parenthood, YZY's A+ Parenting, JFM's A+ parenting, wangxian family) this is completely from lsz's pov

this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Post-Canon, POV LXC)

The Living Looked That Day by violettressed (T, 19k, LSZ & WN, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Ritualistic Self-Harm, Mild Gore)

🧡 Lan Sizhui Sees Dead People Series by darkbrokenreaper (T, 30k, WIP, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ, JC & LSZ, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, lsz sees dead people, Paranormal)

as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, wangxian, canonical character death, found family, food issues, trauma, LSZ pov, angst w/ happy ending, fluff) LSZ raised by ghost!WWX

Symmetry by Vir_Abelasan (M, 13k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, One-Sided ChengXian, One-Sided ChengZhui, Canon Divergence, LSZ is raised by wwx, Wwx still dies sorry, Revenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dark LSZ, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Torture, Not JC Friendly, JC’s Canonical 13 Years Murder Spree, BAMF LSZ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, LSZ Gets to Go Apeshit) LSZ gets to have a lil revenge, as a treat

Remember, Remember by Izzyaro (Isilarma) (G, 1k, LSZ & WN, LJY & LSZ, Character Study, Post-Canon, Family, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Angry LSZ, LSZ Needs a Hug, not for jc fans, LSZ gets a hug) LSZ remembers a few things, & gets to be angry

the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser (M, 39k, wangxian, after yiling date, sick child) LSZ is sick for a chunk of this but is still the central character

keeping score by hauntedotamatone (T, 6k, LSZ & WWX, Background WangXian, the opposite of reconciliation, Protective WWX, Duelling, Grief/Mourning, not for jc fans, Swordfighting, Resentment, LSZ centric, No JC & WWX Reconciliation) featuring protective dad WWX

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) being a coming-of-age type story as LSZ discovers his past with WWX

13C)

emergent properties by luckymarrow (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Family Fluff, Trans Male Character, Trans LWJ, Queer Families, Queer Youth, Adoption, Baby LSZ, Teen MXY, Crossdressing, but not as a kinkgender expression, Dilf4Dilf Wangxian, Penis In Vagina Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, gender euphoria, Cunnilingus)

at no other time by luckymarrow (M, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Queer Families, Queer Youth, Child LSZ, Family Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, farming, Wangxian Run an Organic Farm as God Intended, Found Family, Families of Choice, Adoption, Trans Male Character, Married WangXian, Established Relationship)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending) this one also has WangXian being great parents, but it's not the main plot of the story.

my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher!lwj, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining)

box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)

❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, [PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)

~*~

14. thanks for your hard work admins! itmf darkji fics :) once again, ty!!

~*~

15. Can you please give me all the Fic Recs you can find on A) WWX getting his body back? Post canon. I’m struggling to find them. And also B) post canon reconciliation docs with JC and Jin ling, and/or C) post canon fica where wwx night hunts and gets injured, and nearly dies? And worries everyone. Please and thank you. @/the-daydreamer

15A)

Touch That Body, (It's Not Mine) by brrrrrRawr (T, 3k, WangXian, WWX in WWX's original body, Fluff, Pet Names, Blushing, No Smut, Genius WWX, yunmeng bros reconciliation, endgame lotus pier, big bro wwx rights, also dad wwx rights, BAMF WWX, Bad Writing, Body Dysphoria, So OOC)

15B)

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL, [PODFIC] Rotten Work by sakizar) qualifies for both 15B and 15C

Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) this fic works for both b and c I think

Imprints by Lisa_Telramor (G, 47k, WangXian, accidental puppy adoption, Humor, Panic Attacks, phobia recovery, Post-Canon, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Poor Life Choices, Self-Acceptance, Developing Relationship, fluff with a side of anxiety lol, WWX adopts a puppy, Dogs)

other side of paradise by blueseam (T, 12k, JC & WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Platonic hair-washing, excessive amounts of communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)

singing through the dark by twigofwillow (G, 13k, JL & WWX, WangXian, Post-Canon, Yunmeng bros reconciliation if you squint, angst with a tiny bit of fluff)

everyone else is spring bound by Lise (T, 18k, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Minor WangXian, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, JC Needs a Hug, POV JC, Family Feels, Light Angst, Reconciliation, Awkward Conversations)

some good mistakes by Lise (T, 18k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Road trips, rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Conversations, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, [Podfic] some good mistakes by kisahawklin )

an aging wound by Lise (G, 7k, JC & WWX, POV WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, Awkward Conversations, Light Angst, but mostly just the awkward conversations, Dysfunctional Family, Post-The Untamed (TV), Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels)

With Absolute Splendor by Lise (T, 43k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Wedding planning, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Complicated Relationships, Angst with a happy ending, [Podfic] With Absolute Splendor by kisahawklin, [PODFIC] With Absolute Splendor by Gwogobo)

Jiang Cheng goes Traveling Series by gbuzy12 (G, 11k, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Light Angst Post-Canon, yunmeng bros reconciliation)

Reeds in the Wind by merakily (T, 26k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, Rabbit Therapy, Sewing Therapy, PTSD, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC Needs a Hug) 15C)

let the yoke fall from our shoulders by occultings (microcomets) (G, 2k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Character Study, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Established Relationship)

~*~

16. Any fanfiction about the xicheng ship.

Audience of One by WinterDreams (T, 181k, XiCheng, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Celebrities, Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Singer LXC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Slow Burn, Family Feels, Family Bonding, past emotional abuse, Post-Betrayal, Venerated Triad Feels, Yunmeng Duo Feels, Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Babysitter Ā-Qìng, Domestic Fluff, SongXiao mentioned relationship, Soft XiCheng, Eventual Happy Ending, implied MingYao)

~*~

17. pls rec some post canon fluff :)

with such a suffering, such a deadly life by cqlorphan (T, 7k, wangxian, post-canon, curses, curse breaking, getting together, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, affection, touch-starved LWJ, LWJ whump, cuddling & snuggling, love confessions)

Continuation by thefaceofno (T, 13k, WangXian, Canon Continuation, wwx builds a lotus pond in cloud recesses, Hair Brushing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Pining, gay disaster lwj, Post-Canon Fix-It)

Deeper grows my longing by feyburner (T, 4k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, First Kiss, Deeper grows my longing [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

[konboyblues]

January 8th - 14th, 2024

Monday, January 8th - Sins of the Family // Isolation

Tuesday, January 9th - Prophecies // Deadly Devotion

Wednesday, January 10th - Superman Cults // Possession

Thursday, January 11th - The Forgotten One // A Hole in the World

Friday, January 12th - A Parent Knows Best // Eldritch Horror

Saturday, January 13th - It Takes a Village // Inheritance

Sunday, January 14th - Mistakes Were Made // Horror Movie AU

Purpose?

Not enough horror-themed fanworks in the world about the Superfam. Got jealous of the Batfandom having all these horror-themed events and projects, so I decided to host one for the Superfam.

Why should we participate in this?

Because you like seeing the soupeyfam in ever-increasingly fucked up situations that elicit a deeply-rooted, ancient dread :3

So how does it work?

The release date for fanworks is from Monday, the 8th of January through Sunday, the 14th of January, 2024. 

This aint a Halloween-themed event! You have well over three months to write, draw, and create fanworks. However, use the spooky season to help generate some ideas and propel you forward! :3

This an opportunity for people who’d like to explore the Superfamily characters, dynamics, and relationships through a variety of prompts. Although romantic ships are nice, please make sure the Superfam are the focus of your fanwork.

Superfamily characters include, but are not limited to:

Clark Kent

Lois Lane

Kara Zor El

Jonathan and Martha Kent

Jon Kent

Osul Ra and Otho Ra

John Henry Irons

Natasha Irons

Kon El/Conner Kent

Chris Kent/Lor Zod

Karen Starr

Kong Kenan

Superfamily characters of ANY comic book universe are acceptable. If you want to spend the entire fanweek exploring Ultraman and Injustice!Superman because you love drama, then be my guest! If you want Ultraman to kidnap Lois this time instead of Jon, go for it!! Let that imagination run WILD!!!

Darkfic, horrorfic, genre-specific work, and other both safe and not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell tropes are welcome. Just make sure that you post any Mature content on a landing page that doesn't restrict Mature content (like AO3). I don’t want anyone getting their blog banned. We cannot defeat our capitalist overlords, but we can definitely work around them.

This fanweek will not have a dedicated blog. These prompts are free for anyone to use. Because it is a non-traditional, non-monetized, and free-to-opt-in casual event, there will be no mods but moi, no advertising of paid services, and no ratings or participant restrictions. I will open a collection on AO3 in January for anyone who wants their work collated for this event.

In order to ensure that both creators and the audience are making informed decisions about what they engage with, all creators are encouraged to include triggers, ships, and any other squick warnings. 

Please utilize the read-more function for fanworks that are longer than 250 words. We're tryna read yer stories, not get spammed with a wall of text. Please Be Courteous.

And last but not least - if you are engaging with any of the fanworks, reblog, reblog, reblog! Share the work with your followers. Send all the love to the creators for crafting their masterpieces!!

What can I contribute?

Fanart (standalones, comic strips, etc.), fanfiction (one-shots, multichapter, etc.), fanmixes, gifsets, graphics, meme collections, fanvids, whatever your heart desires! Go wild!!!

Can I create/write not-safe-for-tunglr dot hell content?

Yes!!! All creators are encouraged to include triggers warnings, sub-genre specifications, ships, and other warnings in their posts. I will not discourage you from writing your 16k Kara-goes-evil fic, but please... Be Courteous and tag your fanworks appropriately so people can make an informed decision on what they're comfortable with viewing.

What does (X) prompt mean?

Each day has two prompts!! You can either pick a prompt OR you can combine prompts in different ways. Let your imagination take you where you want to go with each prompt!! If you want to explore both in the same fanwork, then be my guest!!

Mainstream Canon, Elsewords, and AU content is acceptable! Just make sure to stay within the comicsverse. Creativity is key! Have fun!!!

Can I crackship/multiship/harem/OT3/polyam the characters?

Absolutely!!! Just please remember that this is the Soupeyfam horror week, not the Lois-Has-A-Harem-of-Elseworlds-Supermen week. We love ships and things, but this week is about the Superfamily. The characters can have their lovers, but their personal romantic dalliances shouldn't overtake the Soupeyfam dynamics (unless you're pulling a Cersei and Jaime, lmao, if that's the case, go wild).

Does this have a tag?

During release week, use the general “superfam” tag to share your work with the wider Superfam fandom on tunglr. You can use whatever other tags you fancy. The best way to share, however, is to directly @ me so that I may reblog it.

I didn’t read a damn thing before this, Ava.

TL;DR: Over three months until the fanweek!!! For all fanwork creators out there, now’s the time to start thinking about what prompts you want to utilize for your creations. There are no creative restrictions, but I do ask that you follow these posting tips:

All fanfiction should be under a read-more.  

Not-safe-for-tunglr fanwork should be LINKED to whatever landing site the content is being hosted on (Twitter, AO3, etc). This includes both fanfiction and fanart. I don’t want your blog getting flagged bc tunglr hates gay people.

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[jo-harrington]

Standard Operating Procedures 1.03 (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is no stranger to disappointment, but it still stings, regardless.

Previous Part: Standard Operating Procedures 1.02 (Like...it immediately precedes 1.03)

Warnings/Themes: AU where the Upside Down doesn't terrorize Hawkins. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. Mutual pining and slow burn (yes still, always). Chekhov's...Guitar(?), Sad Boy Eddie, Disappointment, Kind of an argument, Disillusioned Eddie, Hurt/Comfort, fluff at the end as per usual.

Note: I am admittedly just making some shit up in this chapter strictly because I don't know how certain things were in the 80s and have already done my fair share of research and math for this fic. I'm a tired girl. Suspend your sense of disbelief. I hope it's seamless regardless.

Also, I just want to say, thank you for all the love this little series has gotten so far. Everyone has been so kind. If you haven't gotten some already, here's some soft internet magic to help you find your own Eddie Munson or mall romance or whatever it is you're looking for. *perpetual magical forehead smooch*

You can find my masterlist here for more featuring our resident Store Manager and all of my other random Eddie Headcanons.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

"M'home!" Eddie announced as he bounded into the trailer. "Isn't it time to make the donuts, old man? Didn't expect you to still be here."

"Eh, Marty's got some appointment tomorrow, so I traded him for 2nd shift," Wayne sighed, sinking further into his arm chair. "Didn't get home too long before you and I don't plan to leave this chair for a good few hours."

"Well, I'll make myself scarce so you can enjoy Johnny Carson in peace," Eddie chuckled, knowing his uncle didn't get much of a chance to indulge in his favorite programs with his work schedule.

"Did ya' have a good session tonight?"

"No session. We went out to celebrate Gareth getting his drivers license."

"S'that why you're so giddy?" Wayne teased good-naturedly.

Eddie thought about it for a second as he kicked off his sneakers, realizing that he had been in a pretty good mood tonight. It had been a fun night out with the guys. And of course, you were there.

It made him happy that you got along with his friends.

And he got to sit next to you and sneak little glances when you didn't know he was watching. And he got to hear the little hitch of your breath at the jump scares and imagine that it would do the same if he kissed your neck the way he wanted to, someday.

You had leaned in close at one point and put your head on his shoulder...only to whisper some joke about a continuity error you spotted. And then grinned when he burst out laughing, only to get confused looks from the guys and curses from the other moviegoers.

It only got better when you agreed to go out on Halloween, as much as he felt like an absolute idiot for asking you.

Who asks a girl to go Trick or Treating? What was he, in 3rd grade? On the upside, it meant you still planned to be his friend come October.

Maybe you would be more than a friend by then.

If he could just get the courage to...actually ask you out.

It wouldn't be that hard, right? He would just have to...maybe hold your hand and ask if you'd ever want...well no that wasn't right...

Fuck. He'd done it before; he'd mostly gotten no's but...

"Y-yeah," Eddie finally responded, realizing his uncle was waiting for an answer. "Zombie movie. You know I like those. Gareth was practically pissing his pants."

"Well good. And you tell that boy not to let the driving thing get to his head," Wayne coughed. "He still owes me a new mailbox after your driving lessons.

"Speaking of which, there's mail for you on the counter," Wayne waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen.

Eddie shuffled over and thumbed through the envelopes, debating whether or not to pull a Carnac the Magnificent just to get a laugh out of his uncle, only to freeze when he reached the bright blue envelope at the bottom of the stack.

ROANE COUNTY PARKS, RECREATION, & COMMUNITY SERVICES

He didn't even need a second to think before he sprinted across the trailer to shove his feet back into his sneakers, grabbed his keys, and shouted a quick "imgoingtojeffsdontwaitup" as he raced out the door.

If it was any other time, he would have called first. Or waited until the morning. But if he knew his friends--and he knew them well--they went and got Dairy Queen after the movies, and Gareth would be pulling into Jeff's sleepy little cul de sac off Maple any minute now. There was no time to waste.

This was big, for all of them. He couldn’t do this alone.

He drove with the radio off, he kept his hands at ten and two, made a full stop at every stop sign, and didn't even speed like he usually would. Not one mile over the limit. He couldn't risk Callahan catching his scent tonight. And he prayed to every god, goddess, demon, devil, deity—every pantheon—he knew that everything could just be in his favor tonight.

It's just the fair, but what if this is the next step on the road to something bigger.

Eddie started honking as soon as he could see the tail lights of the station wagon. He didn't care who he woke up or what neighbor would call the cops. He didn't even remember putting the van in park before he jumped out; it could have rolled off a cliff, he wouldn't have cared.

The other guys started screaming as he waved the envelope at them.

"This is it, this is it. Did you open it yet?

"A real show, guys."

"Do we need new equipment? Shit, do we need eyeliner?"

"Alright guys calm down," Eddie grinned. "We have to open the envelope first."

They huddled together in the middle of the cul de sac, hovering over the envelope and Eddie held his breath for a moment. This would be the moment...

The moment that they could tell everyone they really started on the road to making it big.

The moment they got their first real set, their first big crowd.

Maybe there would be some talent scout at the fair. They showed up at these sorts of things right?

He might not even need to go back to Hawkins High come September.

Or even if he did…to know that he might be a real rockstar some day...He could ignore all of the shit from the kids and the teachers. It wouldn't need to be another year of ridicule and humiliation.

He ripped through the thin blue paper and pulled out the folded letter within, dropping the envelope immediately in favor of clutching it with both hands as he read.

His hands started to shake as he read, and it was only getting worse by the second.

He was going to vomit. Or...or pass out. Or...

Unfortunately due to the family-oriented nature of this event, the genre of music included in your proposed set list has been deemed inappropriate and we regret to inform you that your application for this year's Roane County 4th of July Festival has been denied.

Eddie was going to die. He would lay down, right here in the middle of the street, and die. They could just re-pave the street right over his corpse.

Here lies Eddie Munson.

Wannabe Rockstar.

He didn't even make it to his 20th birthday.

He finally looked up and passed the letter around, watching--painfully--as their dreams were shattered too. He gauged Jeff's reaction most of all, since he had been the one to propose the idea in the first place. But Jeff was fine; he was just looking right back at Eddie.

"You ok, man?" he asked.

"It's just a stupid fair," Eddie sniffed, ignoring the stinging of his eyes as he fought back the tears.

"Yeah," Dave nodded. "There's always next summer."

Next summer. Next year.

Another year he probably wasn't gonna graduate again. Another year stuck in this not-even-one-horse-town.

Sure, he was probably getting ahead of himself with the ideas of fame. But outright rejection? It stung. To be denied the chance to perform, to show off all of their talent, because of the set list he chose.

The guys all trusted him, he always chose songs that highlighted their strengths. Always wanted them to look and play their best. He was so proud of them, he never wanted them to fail.

But they trusted him and it let them down.

And because of that, Eddie couldn't let everything fall apart because he failed.

"They couldn't even let us pick some new songs," Eddie swallowed his pain and laughed dryly. "They don't know what they're missing out on."

It wasn't much, but it was enough to get them going.

"Hey maybe we could write some more original songs for next year?"

"I think if we practiced, I could really nail that one drum solo, hey Ed?"

"We would have totally melted some faces!"

They always held it together for him; he definitely could do it for them too.

---

“Are you sure he’s gonna like this one?”

“This is the newest model,” Eddie explained with a sigh, turning the box over to show off the list of New and Improved features on the back.

The customer was a sleepy-looking older guy in glasses and a wrinkled polo, who walked in 10 minutes before closing, whose wife apparently sent him out for their son’s birthday present: a new Walkman.

And the asshole was really dragging his feet on a decision. Eddie had all of the options they offered laid out on the display case, they'd gone over the different features several times. He almost had the sale, and then the guy realized it was the red model instead of blue. Like it even fucking mattered.

It was Sunday night too. Not like Eddie had anywhere else he needed or wanted to be.

“And if I go to Sam Goody, they’re gonna say the same thing?” He asked.

“You could go down there and ask, but I’ll bet you that it’s gonna be marked up at least 15% more.”

If he left now, the gate would get closed right behind him. The sale wasn’t worth it.

“Hmmmm, fine,” the man harrumphed and began pulling out his wallet. “And throw in a couple tapes too, I guess. I don’t know what Michael likes; whatever you think is popular. You're the expert here, not me.”

As soon as the guy had paid and was walking out of the store, Eddie pulled down the gate and grumbled under his breath "what a fuckin' dickhead, can't make a decision to save his life or even be bothered to know what his son actually wants for his birthday."

Kyle's barking laughter echoed across the store from where he was doing markdowns.

"I can definitely hear you from over here kid," he chuckled. "You've gotta chill.”

"Sorry man," Eddie sighed as he approached the registers to start the closing tasks. "I'm just...I dunno, in a bad mood I guess."

"Well, you're doing a good job, people just suck sometimes."

The first time Kyle told him what a good job he was doing, Eddie nearly confessed that he was channeling Kurt Russel in Used Cars and rolled a D20 for persuasion before each shift.

Whether or not the D20 roll actually worked, Eddie still had some of the best sales numbers on the team. They’d nearly doubled their sales goal today alone. Because despite the entire town seemingly having it in for him, no one seemed to mind that he was the one helping them find whatever it was that they needed.

"Stop thinking about it so much," Kyle laughed. "You just keep making those sales, we keep beating our numbers, and your bonus check's gonna be enough for the last payment on that Warlock you've been drooling over since you started. Doesn't that cheer you up a little?"

Eddie hummed dismissively as approached the cash wrap to start closing procedures, and glared at the stack of handmade fliers for Corroded Coffin’s Tuesday night shows at the Hideout, sitting neatly on the electronics display case next to all of the special order catalogs.

Yeah that was the dream.

A stage-worthy guitar and an actual stage and crowd to go along with it.

But it was gonna be forever to get there at the pace he was going.

When he’d gotten home on Friday night and told Wayne about the rejection letter, his uncle clapped him on the shoulder and said “good things come to those who wait.” Of course, Eddie was grateful for whatever advice his uncle gave him. He was just…tired of waiting.

And he'd have to wait even longer, because tonight it didn't even feel like they were going to be able to leave the store at all, let alone on time.

Nothing was going right--or so it seemed thanks to Eddie's mood. And it just seemed to get worse as time wore on. He couldn't get the registers to balance, he kept fucking up the combination to the safe when he went to put the deposit away, the mixtape he put into the shop radio earlier in the evening had jammed, and it took both him and Kyle combined to jimmy it out of the player.

They ran into a problem with every single closing task.

And before long, you were outside of the store waiting, when he had typically made it his habit to wait for you.

It was just...one of those things that Eddie liked to do.

He could imagine he was picking you up for a real date. Watch you as you finished up your own closing tasks, enjoy the little things you probably didn't even realize you did--bob your head along to whatever residual music was playing in the mall, fiddle with your earrings with one hand as you signed deposit slips with the other.

The way you lit up when you saw him outside of the gate--gave him a bright smile and held your fingers up to say how much longer it would be--was one of the highlights of his week, after gigs at the Hideout and crushing the guys dreams during Hellfire.

He could have really used that tonight.

Instead, you were out there waiting as Eddie continued to fuck things up. You smiled and waved as you usually did when you first arrived, leaning on the little coin-operated horse right outside the store. Thanks to his frustration, he couldn't bring himself to smile back. He glanced outside every now and again, and felt his stomach lurch whenever he saw you kicking your feet or picking your nails. Bored. Annoyed. Sick of waiting for him, probably, if the lack of an expression was anything to go by.

He debated simply telling you to leave. That your night out was canceled and you could reschedule another time.

But if you agreed...you might get pissed off for wasting your time and avoid him whenever you saw him from that point forward.

How did this happen? How was it just 48 hours ago that he was coming up with a plan to ask you out? And now he might never talk to you again?

Because he was a loser, he wasn't worth the trouble, that's wh--

"Alright Ed, let's go," Kyle clapped a hand on his shoulder and Eddie jumped.

"What?" he stared at Kyle for a second.

"What do you mean what? It's time to go," Kyle explained.

"But the checklist," Eddie frowned, mentally tallying all the tasks they hadn't gotten to. "It's not done."

"You wanna stay and clean the bathroom? Mop the floors? I can just have Paulie do it in the morning," Kyle grabbed him by the shoulder and led him to the door. "Let's fucking go. There's a whole pan of lasagna waiting for me at home, and your girlfriend is out there waiting for you. Unless you want me to take her out instead?"

Eddie fumbled over his words as Kyle pushed him outside and locked the gate.

"Try to have a good night tonight; someone's got a crab up his ass," Kyle warned you with a wink before heading towards the exit.

You pushed yourself off the play horse and approached Eddie with a frown.

"Hey if you're not up to going out tonight, we don't have to," you offered.

Here it was, the first steps of rejection.

"Yeah, no," Eddie coughed weakly. "If you don't want to go out, that's cool."

He'd heard it all before.

"God you're such a loser."

"Who would ever want to hang out with a freak like you."

"You think I'd actually be into you?"

"It's not about me, I'm asking about you," you smiled gently. "I don't know if you had a bad customer or something. That always gets me in a mood."

Eddie scratched the back of his neck for a second and fumbled over his words. You weren’t turning him away. No you had to be letting him down easily...right? That had to be it.

Eddie…he’d just been burned too many times by so-called friends at even smaller inconveniences. It was hard not to expect the same from everyone else he let into his life.

Except that really wasn’t the way you did things was it? How many times has he expected one thing from you and you'd surprised him with another?

You weren't tricking him or out to get him or waiting for him to mess up. You were accepting him as he was and offering him whatever care or friendship he needed.

"Yeah," he finally scoffed, playing along. "This...this guy who came in right before we closed. Couldn't decide what he wanted. Wasted time walking around. Real piece of shit."

"Well fuck that guy then," you frowned, then paused. "You sure you're up for going out? Even if you don't want to be out and about, we can go back to my place and...I could cook something? Wouldn't be pizza like I promised, but I pretty much subsist solely on pasta if I'm not grabbing takeout or going out with you. You can just hang out, listen to music or something, it’s not a big deal.”

It sounded like the best night ever. Getting to see your space, adding another layer of trust to your friendship, giving you shit about your cooking just like you did with his dinner choices…but…

Eddie knew you had scheduled yourself to open on the 4th so you could see Corroded Coffin’s set. Of course this had all been planned before he knew they weren’t going to play. And he knew he would have to break the news sooner rather than later.

But...just like with the guys...he didn't want to let you down. You, who had your entire life together, who he was lucky gave him the time of day. If you got too comfortable listening to music, you might be reminded and you would ask him about it, and when you found out...

So he would keep you in the dark. For now at least. And then come that night when you met him at the Fair Grounds he could just tell you there was a mix up and you could just enjoy the fair and eat carnival food until you puked instead.

"As tempting an offer as that is, you'd be missing out on your first Benny's experience," Eddie forced an enthusiastic laugh. "Uncomfortable booths, shitty atmosphere. But you haven't really lived in Hawkins unless you've had a patty melt handmade by Benny himself."

"Surely not the famous Benny."

"The one and only. I can only semi-promise he won't scratch his back with his spatula, but he will blend a piece of apple pie into your milkshake if you ask nicely. It's the Munson Special."

Your eyes sparkled before you looked down at your feet for a moment, and Eddie vibrated restlessly, nerves getting the best of him once he wasn't being observed by you. You then looked up at him with your lips twisted to control a smile and you nodded.

What a relief...

---

It was an undeniable fact that Benny's was the heart of Hawkins, and Benny himself the soul.

He was a severe-looking man at first glance--wide-shouldered with a wild beard and furrowed brows--but he always had a laugh and a story to tell. He went out of his way to learn everyone's name and make them feel welcome and would already be prepping the grill for one of his regular's orders as soon as he saw their car pull into the parking lot.

And Eddie, by the grace of his mother's previous employment at the diner, was one of Benny's favorites. He told you as much and warned you of his "celebrity status" on the drive there.

"He's gonna be very loud, but he's really funny. And he might grill you about what sports teams you like, so he might give you some shit if you don't have one. Actually, are you a big sports fan? Oh, and he might grab me by the collar and shake me around a little, but it's ok...that's just his thing. He's been doing it since I was a kid after the one time I ate all the mints in the jar by the register."

"Eddie, don't worry it'll be ok," you laughed and shifted in the passenger's seat to get a better glimpse of him. "Oh my god, are you blushing?"

"What, no," he scoffed.

Yes, he most definitely was. And he could feel himself get hotter as you continued to watch him.

"It's ok, family can be embarrassing sometimes," you shrugged. "At least it's just funny embarrassing and not painful embarrassing."

Eddie swallowed nervously and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

Yeah this would be like meeting someone from his family, wouldn't it.

He was so caught up in his nerves and self-pity, he really hadn't thought of it that way.

"Unless Benny has some baby pictures of you on the wall something," you continued with a conspiratorial grin.

Fortunately, no baby pictures; unfortunately there was a picture on the wall near the old jukebox of a 9-year old Eddie with Benny and Rick, standing next to some massive fish they caught out on Lover's Lake. Whether to emphasize how big the fish was or how short Eddie was, he couldn't recall. All he knew was that he was missing a few baby teeth and his knees were all scabby from one fantastical adventure in the woods or another.

But you didn't need to know about that.

The diner was, thankfully, busy by the time you guys arrived, so you were spared Benny's theatrics short of a "how's it going kid" shouted from the kitchen and a bunch of muffled greetings from some of the regulars who were around when Eddie's mom was still alive. You did, however, get to meet Lynn, the blue-haired waitress that probably worked at Benny's longer than Benny had even owned the place. She was a crank and incredibly opinionated and always let Eddie's mom, then eventually Wayne and Rick, know all of the ways they were failing at raising him.

Now that Eddie was grown, she simply let him know every time she had a problem with him.

But Eddie was shocked at how swiftly you navigated the interaction with her, dodging all of the tricks and traps that typically set Eddie up for some kind of insult or life lesson.

Lynn simply took your orders--patty melts and fries with the promised apple pie shakes, "oh and extra whipped cream please"--hummed judgmentally and stalked off to top off various coffee cups. She didn't even say anything about the lack of vegetables on Eddie's plate when the food was finally ready, like she usually did when he came in for late night bites with the guys.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Eddie leaned across the table conspiratorially. "She's had it out for me for years."

"Old people love me," you explained. "I've driven my papa to enough doctor's appointments and sat through enough of his stories that I have...what did you call it? In your game? A bluff?"

"Buff," he corrected with a nod.

"Grandchild buff," you agreed and he laughed.

"Repel the Elderly," Eddie puffed out his chest and adopted his DMing voice. "A level 4 spell. No damage taken from anyone over the age of 65. But it only lasts 2 rounds. Let's hope the Harpy doesn't come back otherwise I'll need you to make a constitution saving throw. If you roll below a 10, she deals double poison damage; you might not survive."

You threw a fry at him and stuck out your tongue, then asked him to tell you more about Dungeons and Dragons. Everything was normal for a little while as you ate and talked.

Until Benny came to check on his patrons. He typically made the rounds every hour or two, stopping at tables and saying hello. The two of you were laughing at some joke Eddie made by the time Benny got to your booth.

"Hey, kid," Benny leaned his hip against the booth with his arms folded across his chest. "Long time no see; heard you got a real life, grown up job."

"Hey Ben, yeah. At the mall. Been more than a month now. I'm guessing Rick's been by?"

"You know how it goes: holiday weekend coming up, he pulls an all nighter getting supplies from his guy up in Milwaukee. Then he gets the waffle platter with extra bacon and we talk about all the town gossip."

"Nice to know I'm still gossip-worthy."

"You know how proud he is of you. This, uh...a coworker or something? You gonna introduce me or no?" Benny changed the subject and gave Eddie a knowing look. You, however, swooped in to introduce yourself as Eddie shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

He hadn't exactly told Wayne or Rick about you yet. Just that he had some new friends who worked at the mall too. It wasn't the same as talking to the guys. How many times had he had a crush over the years and came home excited about someone only to get his hopes obliterated. How many pep talks had he endured? Now, thanks to Benny's big mouth and Rick's unending need for gossip, they'd know he had taken a pretty girl to the diner.

He could truly only hope that there wouldn't be another pep talk associated with you.

"...ok Chicago," Benny sniffed as your short conversation came to an end. "You're alright. Backing the wrong football team...but still alright. Nice to meet you.”

He then turned back to Eddie.

"I need to get back to the kitchen but Rick told me about the 4th of July thing.” Eddie froze and his mouth went dry. "I'm sorry to hear about it. If you and the guys want, you can do a show here that night instead. Lot of families stop by for ice cream and pie and such.

"Maybe not that real heavy stuff you're into, but I know you boys know how to play some of the classics off the old jukebox. We could set you up in the parking lot. Phil's got some folding tables from the tree lot."

"Yeah thanks," Eddie nodded. "That sounds great. I'll bring it up to the guys when we have practice tomorrow."

"Just let me know so we can make sure you have everything you need." He turned his attention back to you. "Again, it's nice to meet ya'. Don't let Eddie scare you off, he's a big old teddy bear."

"Ben!" Eddie groaned and put his face in his hands.

"Oh he won't; I'm definitely scarier than he is," you cackled. "Nice to meet you too Benny."

Once he was gone, Lynn swooped in with the check. You immediately made to grab for it before Eddie could dare, but Lynn stopped you.

"No need honey; Edward already paid," she hummed. "As a gentleman should; seems Wayne taught you something right."

"It's always nice to see you too Lynn."

The older woman rolled her eyes and shuffled away.

You waited until she was gone before you turned your attention back to Eddie, gritted your teeth, balled the check up and threw it at him.

"Stop doing that! When did you even--"

"When you went to the bathroom," Eddie grinned triumphantly.

"You are a menace and you must be stopped!" You threw your hands in the air as you pushed yourself out of the booth to leave. "I'll get you back one day, I swear to God."

Eddie clasped both hands to his chest and gasped dramatically.

"No, please," he exclaimed. "No holy oaths in front of a lowly devil worshiper like me. I can feel the bullshit burning through me."

"Shut up, I hate you." You laughed. "Just let me pay for dinner next time."

“No, I let you pay for pizza," Eddie argued.

"You let me pay for a pizza. One. And you didn't let me do anything, I had to jump out of the van before you could. I don’t even think you had parked it yet."

“This is slander! I object.” Eddie put his hands on your shoulders, leveling you with the most stern expression he could muster. “I also let you buy cannolis.”

“Alright Perry Mason,” you rolled your eyes at him and swatted his hands off your shoulders. “You win this time.”

“Excuse me but Perry Mason always wins!"

---

You finally brought it up on the way to Lover's Lake.

It hadn't been Eddie's intention to always end your Sunday nights out at the lake, it just...happened. Pizza that first night, then Chinese food the following week when you lost track of time sitting in the employee parking lot debating which Indiana Jones film was better, Raiders or Temple of Doom. (It was Raiders. Obviously.)

Tonight, the plan had been to make s'mores on the fire pit in Rick's backyard. He had suggested it after he'd spotted a sandwich board outside of Scoops Ahoy advertising their knew Gimme S'mores flavor. He'd subtly asked you later if you had ever made s'mores before, and then gave you shit for your absolute throwaway answer.

"Like...yeah, in the microwave."

"The micr--are you shitting me right now?!"

"I'm sorry, there wasn't really an opportunity to start a bonfire in my fully paved backyard."

"Did you even have a childhood? No s'mores, no pudding, no sugar cereal? NO QUISP!"

So Eddie had gone to Bradleys and gotten marshmallows and chocolate and a variety of cookies. The plan, if you were ok with it, was going to be to smoke for a little bit--he'd dreamed of a s'more made with chocolate chip cookies when he had gotten high the other night and was very much looking forward to it--and enjoy the sweetness of both the s'mores and your company.

Instead, it had all shattered around him as he turned onto Cornwallis.

"So..." you began hesitantly, tapping your hands on your lap.

"So...?" Eddie asked, glancing over at you. You leaned forward a little, eyebrows raised expectantly. "What?"

"Benny's offer...for the 4th..."

"What about it?"

"You guys should do it!" you exclaimed. "That sounds like a really fun time."

You went on about the intimate venue and the regulars who already seemed to know Eddie and the guys, if what you had just seen at the diner was any indicator. The more you spoke, the more irritated Eddie seemed to get.

Not irritated...with you. No, just uncomfortable in his own skin. Uncomfortable with the fact that his failure was being perceived.

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip, his hands fidgeted on the steering wheel, his chest hurt. The van seemed to be getting smaller and hotter, the seat more uncomfortable, the longer you spoke.

By the time you finished, he barely felt like himself.

"No," he coughed. "No, I don't think the guys would be up for something like that."

"Why not?" you questioned. "You were getting ready to play at the fair right? What makes this different?"

"It just is," Eddie shrugged.

"I mean I get it's not a stage but--"

"You're not even gonna ask why we aren't playing at the fair?" Eddie cut in, attention fully taken off the road as he stared at you expectantly.

Because...because yeah you were nice, but it didn't make any sense that you were just...going along with whatever you heard. Why were you so quick to try and get him to accept this pity offer from Benny. Why weren't you throwing it in his face that plans had changed and his dreams were shattered.

"Ok. Why aren't you playing at the fair?" you asked and Eddie scoffed. "I'm not trying to be passive aggressive or anything, you just seem irritated that I didn't ask first. So now I am asking."

"Does it matter?" Eddie shrugged.

"Yes, because you're upset."

"I'm not upset."

"Eddie, please," you sighed. "Even Kyle said something was bothering you. I'm not trying to stir the pot and if you want me to drop it, I will. You just...when you talk about your music and the band you're always so excited. I want to understand why you don't want to take this opportunity."

"Because it's a reminder that I'm a failure!" Eddie shouted, hands coming off the steering wheel as he held them up beside his head. "Sur-fucking-prise! I can't seem to do anything right and that's usually fine, but yeah, you're right, this was one of the only things that really mattered to me and the guys. And I couldn't even get that right.

"Benny isn't asking if we wanted to play because he likes our music, because he thinks we're any good. No, it's because he feels bad that we can't play at the Fair. Because I chose what I thought was a really fucking cool set list and they turned us down. Because I fucked up and he wants to cheer me up."

"What's so bad about that? What's so bad about people who care about you wanting to take care of you?" you asked.

"Because it isn't care; it's pity!" He argued. "It's always pity of one kind of another, right? Pity that my mom died, pity that I live in a trailer park, pity that I have this dream that's gonna get me nowhere, pity that I can't even pass senior year after two freaking tries. What's the point anymore? I'm tired."

The van rumbled along, but it was silent otherwise. Eddie couldn't look at you after his outburst so he wrung his hands around the steering wheel.

Fuck. He really did it this time.

Eddie knew, he knew you were gonna ask and he was gonna try to avoid it and he was going to disappoint you. But he didn't know...

Eddie didn't like getting angry or really showing those kinds of emotions. It was different if he snapped at the guys to reel them in, or snark at stupid kids at school. It was harmless, no actual malice behind it. There were just some times...where he felt it all get too overwhelming inside of him and he didn't want to...

He didn't want to be like his dad.

It's why he liked smoking. And why he liked smoking. He wouldn't say he was someone with a lot of sharp edges to begin with, but they helped smooth out whatever rough burrs that came from the every day were left over on his soul after a tough week.

If only he had made it to Lover's Lake before you asked.

He had made the next turn back onto the highway when you spoke.

"Do you think I'm hanging out with you because I pity you?" you broke the silence with a small voice, and when he looked over, you were playing with your fingers and gnawing at your bottom lip. You didn't look scared or upset, really. That was a bit of a relief. But...

"No, I didn't mean..." Eddie paused for a second, because actually...he didn't think you were hanging out with him out of pity. But he was just waiting for the moment you realized it wasn't worth hanging out with him anymore because he was pitiful.

So maybe it was just worth it to end this whole thing now and save himself some unexpected disappointment. Just like it had been with everyone else who suddenly dropped him like a hot potato.

"I mean yeah," he shrugged. "Look at you. And then look at me. We don't exactly make sense."

"Make what sense?"

"You're like...you have everything figured out, you have your whole life together, you're like...on top of the world. Got your promotion to Store Manager, your apartment, everything. Meanwhile--"

"Eddie."

"--I can't even finish high school, my band can't play a bigger crowd than the Hideout, I'm pretty sure I...accidentally sold my soul or something because Kyle hired me and I'm actually doing a good job? But where am I gonna be in 5 years, in 10? Probably still right where I am. I've literally screwed up everything I've ever put my mind to. It doesn't make sense."

"When things don't work out for us, when we're disappointed, yeah it does feel like nothing makes sense," you sighed. "But that's why you need to let the people around you who want to help you, actually help you.

"It's not a bad thing to accept he--Why are we back at the mall?" You suddenly asked as he pulled onto the Mall drive and headed towards the employee lot.

"Well I figure the night is over, I would take you back to your car," he shrugged weakly.

You opened your mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and nodded.

Yeah, that's what he thought.

He still got out of the van and opened the door for you when he parked next to your car, he offered you some chocolate to take home if you wanted, and he even kissed your hand before you got in the car to leave.

"See you around sweetheart," he said softly through your open window.

"See you Eddie, have a good night please," you offered a small smile. "Please...be good to yourself ok?"

He tucked his hands into his pockets and watched you drive away before he got back into the van.

Be good to himself.

Weird, but that definitely sounded better the "fuck you" he usually got when people disappeared from his life.

---

Except you didn't disappear from his life. You lived in the same town, worked at the same mall, for crying out loud; you still parked your car kind of close to his when he came in for the rest of his shifts that week. You didn't eat lunch together like you'd gotten used to doing...but he would still catch glimpses of you as you passed each other on break.

It was almost...back to how it was before he had gotten the nerve to go and talk to you that first time. You would smile and wave and he would look away. Neither of you said anything to one another, but you weren't hostile and neither was Eddie.

The 4th of July arrived and Eddie had to work. He had originally traded shifts with someone so he could do a short mid instead of a close and he'd forgotten to switch it back. But that meant he caught you leaving Tape World at the end of, what should have been, your 15 minute break.

"What was she doing here?" Eddie asked Kyle, who was surprisingly decked out in as much flag gear as he could get his hands on.

"Who? Oh your girlfriend?" Kyle pushed his star-shaped sunglasses up the bridge of his nose as he filed some receipts away. The grin on his face was obnoxious.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Uh huh. Sure. Well, her shop radio broke again and she forgot her tapes again," Kyle shrugged. "What else is new? Hey maybe if I send you up there on official Tape World Business, you two can make up and you can stop being such a fuckin' grump."

Eddie ignored him.

That night, there was no concert at Benny's but he and the guys did end up going to the fair and eating funnel cake until they puked.

They actually had a good time; they had even watched the musical lineup for a little while. Whatever the clerk at the Park Department had chosen wasn't nearly as good as Corroded Coffin would have been. And that knowledge, paired with Gareth's heckling and Jeff's booing, kind of made him feel a little better.

The following Sunday passed by without your usual date night. Eddie still passed by your store on the way out to the employee lot. You didn't look at him or wave this time, you were at the register going over something with, what looked to be, a new hire. You laughed and his chest hurt a little.

Eddie knew how much those little dates, how much those lunches and breaks spent together, really brightened up his week. But it wasn't until he didn't have them anymore that he realized just how strong of a foothold you had in his life in such a short amount of time.

He really should never have pushed you away like he had.

He had fucked up.

He missed you.

---

"Hey Ed, once you clock in can you check the shipment in?" Kyle asked as soon as Eddie crossed through the doors to start his shift the following Wednesday.

"Yeah, great," Eddie sighed. “No problem.”

It wasn’t that he hated checking the shipment in….it’s just that there were about a million other parts of working at Tape World that he liked better. Talking to customers, choosing what would play on the store radio for the duration of his shift…shit, even counting down the registers at night. But this was tedious. Busy work.

It was an endless stack of boxes and he needed to make sure what was inside matched the packing slip. Thousands of little tapes. Great.

"There's some special orders back there too, if you can give the customers a call!" Kyle hollered after Eddie as he slipped into the stock room. Sure enough, there were a few larger boxes propped up by the little break area.

Now that was something Eddie enjoyed a little more. He'd call the customers--usually some desk jockey who got themselves something to get through their mid-life crisis, or a parent getting some dream gift that their kid would forget about come next month--and tell them their special order had just arrived. Then typically, they would drop into the store that day or the next day and he would get to help them unpack and test out their brand new guitar.

Aside from selling the sparkling new guitars from one of the many catalogs at the counter, this was the best part of his job. And knowing he would get to do it immediately brought his mood up.

Eddie himself had been waiting for the day where a package would be there for him. On his first day, as they were setting up the store before the mall had even opened, he had unpacked the box of catalogs and found a doozy of guitar that he had his eye on: A BC Rich Warlock. And he had been putting money towards it with every paycheck. Tape World had a plan, just like the holiday layaway at K-Mart, and combined with his employee discount...he was almost there.

He dreamt about it as he grabbed a box and pulled the packing slip from where it was attached on the side of the box.

Maybe in the next few weeks? Next month? He'd come back here and the label would say...

Edward Munson/Tape World/1 StarCourt Drive/Unit F3

Eddie blinked.

Yeah. That's what it would say.

Wait. Was he still high from after last night's show? When they'd made a very late McDonalds run and smoked in Gareth's garage?

Edward Munson/Tape World/1 StarCourt Drive

He blinked again. Nope, still the same.

Edward Munson

"Well?" Eddie jumped at the sound of Kyle's voice by the stockroom door. He had his arms crossed and he had the biggest grin on his face. "You gonna open it or what?"

"What the fuck man? Where did this come from?" Eddie questioned.

"I would assume wherever BC Rich makes their guitars? California, I don't know. I work here, remember dingus?"

"No I mean," Eddie fumbled over his words. "I hadn't made the last payment, where did it...did you..."

"Look at the packing slip man," Kyle gestured. "The order form."

Eddie quickly flipped to the Tape World order form stapled to the packing slip. There were lines of his signatures, and the amount of money he had put down with each payment...and then at the very bottom...

A very intricate signature. Yours. And the last hundred dollar payment, marked in red pen.

No. You didn't. You couldn't have. When did you even?

"I told you she was your girlfriend," Kyle cackled. "I fuckin' told you."

--

Kyle had been gracious enough to let Eddie take an early lunch so he could find you...confront you...kiss you...Eddie wasn't sure yet.

You opened on Wednesdays so right about now you would be taking the cardboard out to the loading dock and then taking your last break. He knew because, if not for the fact that he hadn't talked to you in over a week, he would be right there with you.

Still you jumped in surprise when he burst onto the loading dock, the heavy dock door slamming into the brick wall, just as you were hitting the button on the baler.

"Jesus Christ, Eddie," you put your neon pink, fishnet glove-clad hand on your chest. "Gave me a heart attack."

"Why did you do it?" Eddie asked.

"Do what?"

"This," he pulled the order form from his back pocket and crossed the short distance to show you. He tapped on your signature several times. "Why would you do this for me?"

Your mouth formed a soft "oh" and you sighed.

"Because you're my friend," you explained as if it was obvious. "Because you've been really down and you needed cheering up."

"This isn't just...cheering a friend up. It's too much."

"It really isn't," you shook your head.

"It's a hundred dollars!"

"I have savings," you continued.

"And you have, like...rent and bills and stuff."

"So do you...you said you've been helping your uncle with rent and bills and stuff," you said in a way that mocked him. He gritted his teeth.

"I was gonna use my sales bonus for the final payment."

"Well I'm due for mine coming up too."

"I'm paying you back!" Eddie insisted.

"No you aren't. I wanted to do this for you so I did it."

"If you felt sorry for me or--"

"I just wanted to cheer you up Eddie!" You exclaimed, slamming your hands on the baler button again in finality, as if crushing the already-crushed cardboard was somehow going to drive your point home. "I don't feel sorry for you. I don't pity you. You're my friend and you were really down, disappointed.

"Tell me yes or no? Were you on the verge of giving up? Yes or no, right now."

Eddie froze.

No he wouldn't. Except...hadn't he? There was no 4th of July Fair, which meant there also wasn't a show at Benny's. Their last set at the Hideout wasn't...well he wasn't as good as he could have been. As good as he usually was.

Maybe he had...given up on himself a little. Let the self pity get the best of him.

"No," was the answer he gave you though.

Your eyes hardened and narrowed in challenge. You placed your hands on your hips and stood toe to toe with him and although he was the taller one between the two of you, it certainly felt like you were a giantess towering over him, complete with layers of fishnet and rayon and tulle fluttering in the slight breeze off the loading dock.

"Maybe you didn't hear yourself in the van after Benny's but I did," you began. "You felt like everyone pitied you, that no one was your friend or on your side. You were alone, and in place of real pain and disappointment, and you said you were tired. What is the point of trying anymore, you're tired. You said that, Eddie. You did.

"And I've been there, ok? I'm not that much older than you but I kind of am in a different stage of my life. So I'm sorry if I've ever made it seem like things are easy for me...I'm sure in some aspects they are, but in others...yeah I've been there. It's hard not to compare yourself to others when you're down, but also, you can't just...push people away or think that they're taking pity on you when they're just trying to help.

"And I know it's hard to get over that little hurdle of feeling like everything is a trick or a trap and accept nice things from other people, so excuse me if I took the initiative to do it without your permission. Because when I was at a place of giving up and not wanting help or advice, someone did that for me. So I'm doing it for you now. And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

Eddie stared directly into your eyes as he processed everything. Back and forth, left and right, as your heavy breathing went back to normal.

"Because, if you fail to remember, you have been doing nice things for me these past few weeks, and you really haven't let me return the favor quite yet, so if you don't want to accept that I'm just doing something nice for a friend, then accept that I'm paying you back for all the nice things you've done for me."

He swallowed and looked down at his feet for a moment.

"It was just...some pizzas and snacks--"

"And chili cheese fries, and surprise sodas on the days we don't have our breaks at the same time, and that movie ticket, and dinner at Benny's, and all the gas you've used to drive us around when at this point I can probably navigate town by myself," you finished for him.

Eddie did a mental tally and yeah, you were right. He did do all of those things, and no, he hadn't and probably still wouldn't let you return the favor if you gave him the chance to be your friend again.

"I know friendship isn't supposed to be transactional, but the scale has been tipped immensely towards you, so instead of just sitting back and watching you feel like a failure and give up on your dream because some stupid...I don't know, festival...person has no taste in music, I wanted to do something to surprise you. To cheer you up."

"Why haven't you talked to me then?" he asked.

"What do you mean? You haven't been talking to me," you laughed. "I've been waving and saying hello...you dropped me off at my car that night and then...you haven't even looked at me since. So I figured you just needed the space. I get that too; needing some time, some space."

"I guess I thought you didn't want anything to do with me anymore," Eddie replied lamely. Because yeah, you had been doing those things. Maybe...maybe you were right, maybe he did need the space too. God, you were such a know it all. "I'm here now."

"Yeah I see that," you deadpanned. "Hi."

"Hi," Eddie parroted. "Thank you. For the surprise. I really...really was...surprised."

"Of course, any time," you nodded. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Just like you said, I needed some time to work it out. Spent some time with the guys, it cheered me up."

"Good."

"You missed out on all the carnival food. Made the guys ride the tilt a whirl...Gareth's puke was purple."

"Yeah," you scrunched your nose. "I really missed out."

"There's always next year."

"Great." You offered him a small smile. "We good?"

"Yeah. You still want to hang out with me on Sunday? I, uh, really missed you."

"I missed you too. Maybe...you can give me a private show this Sunday? With your shiny new guitar? Only if you're up for it, of course."

"Absolutely. Sundays with you are my..." Eddie hesitated.

Should he say it? Would it scare you away?

Before he could finish, you put your hand on his arm and squeezed.

"They're mine too."

---

Next Part: Interview Prep

Sales Associates (AKA the tag list): @gaysludge @storiesbyrhi @tayhar811 @spookybabey @word-wytch @maidenofartemis @dreamlandcreations @wickedbelle @blue-eyed-lion @aysheashea @blue-mossbird @abibliophobiaa @jabbatheslutt420 @ghost-proofbaby @bakugouswh0r3 @ghostinthebackofyourhead

If you weren't given any hours this week (aka if you aren't already tagged or if I forgot to tag you) let me know via ask or comment. I'm sure I can find some extra payroll.

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson imagine #Eddie Munson stranger things #stranger things fic #Eddie Munson fic #stranger things fluff #store manager verse

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Serial Killer Marcus Pike x f!Reader (Reader is a police officer with the nickname “Cricket”)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: This is a Spoooooooky fic for Halloween season. Please heed the warnings; this is not darkfic, per se, but it explores dark themes and contains elements of suspense and horror. The following subjects are mentioned in the context of cases that the reader deals with. I do not go into explicit detail about any of these themes and any violence is implied rather than seen, but please heed the warnings for: child abuse, domestic abuse, alcoholism, drunk driving, implied sexual assault, suicide, drug use, drug overdoses. Whew. Okay, for the story itself, please be warned that there is: derogatory language (someone calls reader a “bitch”), murders, body horror (corpses!), Marcus Pike being a bit unsettling, Very Enthusiastic Pussy Eating, unprotected PIV sex (this is fiction! use protection and also maybe don't fuck a serial killer!)

Summary: When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

Additional A/N: OKAY, so things definitely pick up in this chapter! Please heed the warnings, as Cricket’s past cases feature in a big way. There are more corpses, more unsettling!Marcus, and, of course, more MURDER. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for being an amazingly supportive human, beta reader, and crime consultant! Thanks for making sure my self-indulgent fanfiction always has its roots in reality!! They can’t fuck if I can’t make it make sense first. PLEASE check out our Playlist for all the spoopy Midwest Gothic vibes. The title of this fic itself comes from Family Tree by Ethel Cain, which is of course on the song list!

Masterlist | Part 1

The next morning starts with a headache.

"Wha'th'fuuuuck," you croak. You’re so disoriented that it takes you a few moments to realize your alarm is going off. 

You fumble for it, surprised to find it on the charger. You don't remember plugging it in. For that matter, you don't really remember getting home last night. Did… Did Marcus…?

Confusion and dread cut through the hangover, and you switch on the lamp as you sit up in bed. 

You're still in your clothes from last night, but your boots are untied and placed neatly on the floor next to the foot of the bed. 

You look around your bedroom, looking for more clues as to how you got here. There's a glass of water on your nightstand, and upon further inspection, two ibuprofen next to it.

You rifle around beside it looking for a note, but you come up empty-handed. It doesn't really matter; you can pretty much guess what happened: You got so wasted that Marcus Pike had to help you get home. He took off your boots, but clearly didn't feel comfortable taking off the rest of your clothes. He made sure your phone was on the charger and even went so far as to anticipate your need for water and pain medicine in the morning. 

Something still feels off, though. Just call it a gut feeling, an instinct, some vestigial part of your hindbrain that's telling you something.

Maybe you forgot your purse…?

But no, when you finally drag yourself out of bed to check the entryway, your purse is there, hanging on its usual hook. 

Shaking your head (probably a mistake, going by the ache that shoots through it when you do), you chalk up the odd feeling to the hangover. You don't remember the last time you had that much to drink, after all. 

You feel slightly better after taking a shower and downing another glass of water, but your stomach still roils and your head still hurts as you throw on your uniform. You're thankful for the dark sunglasses that come with it when you step outside your house. 

Fuck. Why did you drink so much?

You pull into the station about thirty minutes late, which isn't that bad, considering how many glasses of whiskey you had. How many, exactly? You lost count after three, but you know there were more. You were upset about Bobby and unsure of whether you even made a difference in this town and… wait, did you cry last night? In front of Marcus? An image flashes through your mind: Your head buried in the crook of his neck. A wet patch on his white dress shirt from your tears.

Oh, fuck. 

The man in question gives you one of those characteristic grins when you enter, still wearing your sunglasses. 

"Moving a little slow today, are we?" Marcus asks playfully. 

"Jesus fuck," you murmur, collapsing into your chair with a sigh. "I guess so."

"I've never seen a woman put away that much whiskey," he comments with a wink in your direction.

"And you never will again," you groan. "I'm swearing off the stuff for life."

"I don't blame you."

"Jesus, I don't even remember what happened last night. I woke up this morning with no memory of how I got there."

Marcus laughs. "You don't?"

"I barely remember what the hell we talked about. Oh, God–was I an ass? Would you tell me if I made an ass of myself?"

"You didn't make an ass of yourself," Marcus promises.

"I feel like I got all maudlin about the job," you say, frowning.

"You did, a bit."

"Sorry if the evening was a sob-fest."

"I think you're allowed to be upset after finding Bobby Pearson like that."

Cold dread shoots down your spine. Heart in your throat, you stare at Marcus open-mouthed.  

"Did… Did I tell you that last night?"

"Didn't need to." He holds up a copy of the Hannibal Courier-Post with a grim expression. Oh. Right. There it is, right on the front page, accompanied by a picture of you deep in conversation with the Coroner. 

You shake your head, laughing slightly. "Jesus, guess I really am out of it this morning."

"You up for a ride?" Marcus suddenly asks.

"Huh?"

"To the St. Louis field office," he explains. "I texted you yesterday about forensics, remember?"

"Shit, that's right! I'm–I'm sorry–"

"Don't be. There was a lot going on," Marcus insists. "But they've got some stuff for us to look over. Wanna go for a little drive?"

"Only if it's you who's doing the driving," you say. 

"Done."

"And if we stop for coffee."

"You drive a hard bargain, but I accept."

An hour later, with a latte in your hand and your head tipped against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, the fog of your hangover begins to clear and you start to feel much better. The sun glints off of the pavement of State Road 61 as Marcus speeds along in the left lane on the way down to the city. Everyone steers clear of what’s obviously an unmarked police car, and like all officers before him, Marcus takes full advantage. The tall grass next to the road blurs as you stare out over endless fields, dotted with the occasional farmhouse. The day is crisp; one of those beautiful fall days where the temperature stays low even though there’s not a cloud in the sky. If you squint your eyes, you can pretend you’re flying.

At the Field Office, Marcus breezes through security with his badge and his characteristic toothy grin. After you’re presented with a visitor’s badge, the two of you walk down the stairs to the basement, and down a dimly lit hall until you reach a door that reads “Forensics - Art Crimes.”

"Basement, really?" you ask, wrinkling your nose.

"Windows are bad for the degradation of paint," Marcus points out. Then, with a grin, he adds, "Plus, they always give Intelligence the prime real estate."

When he opens the door, your face brightens. Unlike any forensics department you've been in previously, this one is full of… well, art. You aren't sure why that surprises you, but Marcus chuckles as you gaze, open-mouthed, at the selection.

"It's like our own little secret museum, huh?" he says, eyes twinkling.

"Okay, I think I get why you like your job now," you say quietly as you examine what looks like an ancient Greek vase on one of the tables. 

"Is that…"

"Fake," one of the lab workers says with a shrug. "Art museum still purchased it for two mil, though. Oops, right?"

"Oh. Is most of this stuff fake, then?" you ask.

"Nah. This one's a genuine Picasso that was recovered from the black market," the woman says, waving her hand at a colorful painting leaning against the wall. "We're in the middle of returning it to the rightful owners."

"Holy shit," you breathe. 

"New to art crimes?" the woman asks.

"Not a lot of paintings to steal in Hannibal," you say with a smirk.

"Ah, so you're Rockwell.”

“No, I’m–oh. Haha, I get it.”

“Damon’s been taking the lead on that one. His office is there in the back; he’s expecting you two.”

Marcus greets Damon like an old friend while you stand by his side doing your best to look ‘official.’ Something about being here–in the FBI building–makes you feel like a country-bumpkin of a cop. Maybe it's just the ever-present chip on your shoulder (Okay, it’s definitely that.), but the moment makes you feel like you need to fight to take up more space, puffing out your chest and straightening your spine. And when Damon offers his hand for you to shake, you grasp it more firmly than strictly necessary, something you’ve learned over the years is an effective tool to assert yourself as a female officer.

“So you’re the lead detective on the case?” Damon asks as you shake his hand.

“Yessir.”

“Fantastic. Well, I hate to bring you all the way down here to deliver bad news, but running the prints didn’t give us any matches.”

Your heart sinks. 

"But," the agent emphasizes, "your team did excellent work canvassing the area around the museum for CCTV footage, and we got some hits at one am at a few different places. Compiled it in a presentation for ya, if you wanna take a look."

At your eagerness nod, Damon turns his second monitor around to face you.

"So, first hit is at Main Street Bed and Breakfast," he explains as a grainy, black and white, blurry photo appears on the screen. Hard to ID, but it looks like we've got got male, maybe six foot, two-thirty, on foot heading away from the museum, which would be just across the street over here–" he points at the corner of the screen. 

"Then the same individual shows up walking past Java Jive–" another grainy photo, not much clearer than the first, " –and then he turns down the alleyway behind the Dutch Country General Store, and gets into a white Pontiac Grand Am."

"He puts something in the backseat," you exclaim, pointing at the blurry shape.

"Mmhmm, something skinny and long," Damon says.

"...Like five rolled-up canvases," you offer, raising your eyebrows.

"It's not a lot to go on, but this is the only individual we saw out walking that night that didn't originate from any of the establishments we analyzed."

You watch the series of images, squinting as if it will help with the pixelation. The license plate, of course, is completely illegible as the car drives away.

"We've got people analyzing the plate, but best they can do is determine that the first letter is either a 'C' or an 'O.'"

"Better than nothing," you concede.

"Obviously, a Grand Am is gonna be a pretty common car in the area, but it's somewhere to start. We'll start pulling state records, and we'll be in touch if we–"

The loud ringing of your work phone interrupts Damon, and you wince apologetically as you pull it out and see 'SGT HUBBARD' on the caller ID.

"Hullo," you chirp amiably.

"Hey," Hubbard says on the other end. "We've got a body."

You straighten with a sharp intake of breath. Two deaths in Hannibal in less than a week? You don't think you've ever seen anything like it. Frowning, you duck out of Damon’s office and walk several paces away.

“I’m in St. Louis for the Rockwell case, but I’m finishing up,” you tell him. “I can be there in an hour and a half.”

“See that it’s quicker.”

You roll your eyes, mutter a “Yessir,” and end the call.

“Pike,” you bark, causing Marcus to look up with those pretty, soulful eyes of his. “We gotta go. There’s a case back in Hannibal that needs my attention.”

“Yes ma’am.” He gives you that wide, toothy smile again, and you remember how last night it had felt… unnerving to you. Like there was something lurking behind that earnest grin that no one else knew about. You shake your head. Jesus, you had way too much to drink last night. Get a grip, Cricket.

Lights on and sirens blaring, you zip past farms and woodlands. The official GPS time says one hour and forty-nine minutes, but you can do way better than that. Other vehicles automatically part for you, leaving them all behind in a blur of red and blue. Tongue poking out between your teeth in concentration and hands on ten-and-two, you think this might be the best part of the job. The part where you’re flying. 

You drop Marcus off at the Station with your apologies and race to the address Hubbard gave you.

The coroner’s office and a local news van are already there when you arrive, and the Sergeant looks disapprovingly in your direction, as if you could have shortened the drive from St. Louis through sheer force of will. 

“What is it?”

“Harold Dalton, 54. Apparent suicide.”

“What? What the hell is in the water that–”

“Hush. Keep your voice down. Right now, we’re waiting on State Police to come help with this one–there was a firearm involved.”

“He shot himself?”

Hubbard’s mouth is a thin line as he nods grimly. “Not a pretty sight.”

“Dalton…” you murmur to yourself. “Why do I know that name?”

“He’s got some priors,” Hubbard says. “Possession, some assault charges that were dropped, and–”

“Child neglect,” you whisper, as the realization hits you. “Oliver Dalton.”

“Shit, yeah,” the Sergeant says, realizing the connection at the same time. “God, how many years ago was–”

“Five,” you answer automatically. 

“That would make Oliver…”

“Sixteen.”

“Mm,” Hubbard grunts. “Ever check in on him?”

“He’s bounced around from home to home,” you answer, trying to keep the emotion and bitterness out of your voice. “Doesn’t last in one place for very long.”

“It’s a fucked up thing for a kid to go through,” Hubbard mumbles. “Can’t imagine he’s all that well-adjusted.”

The two of you stand in silence on the run-down, rotting porch. What a fucking shithole, you fume, scraping a piece of flaking paint with the toe of your boot. In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of sirens coming closer.

“Know we’re not supposed to say it,” the Sergeant finally says, as the State Police car pulls into the gravel driveway, “but good fucking riddance.”

Dalton. Now that the connection has been made, you can’t believe you didn’t remember immediately. You suppose you have tried your best to put his name–and several others–in a tidy little box in the corner of your mind. It’s easier that way.

Except… Why does it feel as though you were just thinking about him? As soon as you hear it, the pang of familiarity rushes through you, but you can't put your finger on why…

Hubbard is shaking hands with the two state cops that just arrived when your phone pings. You pull it out and glance at the thumbnail. 

“Hope everything’s okay! Talk to you later.”

It’s from Marcus. Something prickles across the back of your neck, and you slide your phone back into your pocket without responding.

“Officers,” you greet the newcomers, forcing a cordial smile and sticking out your hand to shake.

It was just the cold breeze making your hair stand on end. That’s all. 

“Sorry I had to dump you at the station like that this morning.” You tap out the message on your phone as soon as you get back into your squad car.

“It happens, don’t worry I know how it is.”

After a few minutes, Marcus begins typing again. 

“Want to meet up for a drink?”

“Fuck, no. You have any idea how shitty I felt this morning?"

"Noted. How about dinner, then? And some water?"

You pause. Drinks are one thing. But dinner? That could be considered "date" territory if you think about it too much.

You must be silent for too long, because your phone pings again.

“Had something I wanted to ask you about the CCTV sweep.”

It’s an obvious effort to sweeten the deal and get you to say yes, and you know it. You should tell Marcus you’ll discuss it tomorrow at work, pick up some fast food on the way home, and eat it in front of Jeopardy!–alone. 

Instead, you find yourself typing, “Dinner sounds good. Water sounds better. Where were you thinking?”

Marcus begins typing almost immediately. “How’s the Mark Twain Dinette?”

You snort to yourself. “Just as bad as you’re thinking. But Finn’s Food and Spirits is surprisingly edible if you’re looking for local eats.”

“Edible, huh? That’s not really a ringing endorsement, but I try not to go to chain restaurants when I’m traveling, so… let’s do it! :)”

It isn’t until you get into the shower that the reality hits you of how strange it is to be washing off the remains of two very similar cases in as many days. Not just two consecutive deaths–but two suicides, in a town of barely fifteen thousand people. 

And you knew them both. 

What you find most jarring, however, is the difference in your own mood between the two days. Yesterday, the weight of Bobby’s death felt as though it was dragging your body down. Today, though, there’s a weight off your shoulders. A burden you didn’t even realize you were carrying, suddenly gone. Hubbard had said it well, earlier–said what you’ve been thinking the entire day since. 

Good riddance.

You arrive a few minutes before Marcus, so you go in to grab a booth for the two of you–sitting where you can see the door, as you always prefer to do. Being a police officer has left you with some funny habits; it’s actually pretty nice to be able to talk to another person in law enforcement, for once. It isn’t like you go out much with Hubbard, who is both your supervisor and over twenty years your senior. Evan strictly works nights, so you don’t see much of him, either. You’re acquaintances with some of the officers in surrounding towns, but you don’t have much patience for their “I’m a cop” bravado–or even worse, the “Thin Blue Line” stickers on their car windows. 

Marcus seems different, though. Sure, he’s got an air of confidence around him, but you can tell it’s not an act at all. And yet, despite that confidence, there’s a softness to him: something in the upturn of his eyebrows, in the way his lips part when you speak, the way he seems enraptured by your every word–

When the man consuming your thoughts enters, you jump slightly, afraid, for just a moment, that he could read your mind. His expression brightens the moment he sees you, eagerness written all over his face, and you shake yourself.

This is why you can’t let him in.

“Everything go alright today?” Marcus asks amiably as he slides into the booth opposite you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, shaking your head. “Nothing big.”

The lie sits heavy on your chest. He’ll find out tomorrow–along with the rest of Hannibal–when the day’s Courier-Post arrives at the station. It’s just that you don’t want to talk about it, not tonight. 

“Yeah,” you say again. “So what was the thing with CCTV?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Marcus says, taking his eyes off the menu for a moment and giving you a discerning look. “Why don’t we just save work stuff for tomorrow, huh? C’mon, take a break–what’s good here?”

You shrug. “The catfish is usually fresh-caught from the river, if that’s your sort of thing.”

“Is it your thing?” he asks, a glint in his eye.

“I make it a point not to eat anything that was recently pulled from the river.”

Marcus hums in response, scanning the menu again. When the waitress comes by to take your orders, he gets the catfish.

“Country-fried steak,” you say, handing her your menu. 

Silence falls at the table; without reading material or decisions about food to be made, you aren’t sure how to talk to the man opposite you. He intrigues you; he attracts you… he also scares you, just a little. Is it possible to be too disarming? Too earnest? If so, Marcus certainly is, and something about his sincerity… puts you off.

Fuck, when you think about it that way, maybe you’re just an asshole.

“So the CCTV question was just a pretense to lure me here,” you say, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Marcus holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “I plead the fifth. But I–listen, the truth is, Cricket–I can call you that, right? You, uh, you never gave me your first name.” When you don’t offer an answer, he forges ahead. “I’ve been told I’m forward, and that’s probably accurate, but the truth is, I think you’re one hell of a good looking woman, and I’d love to get to know you better.”

Your stomach flips over at his words. As much as you’d hate to admit it, you’re not immune to flattery, and certainly not coming from such a beautiful man in his own right. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“I find it easy to talk to you,” Marcus continues. “I’m on the road a lot, and it can be… lonely. You don’t know how much of a relief it is to have someone to talk to who gets it, who’s been there, you know?”

You nod thoughtfully, tracing the rim of your water glass. “I do get it. I–I’ve been alone for quite some time, too, and there are few people in Hannibal that I can really sit down and just talk to. I–I guess what I’m saying is, it’s a relief for me, too.”

Marcus reaches slowly across the table and, in a barely-there caress, runs his index finger across the back of your other hand. 

“I–” you say hastily, pulling your hand back and settling it in your lap, instead. “I want to be clear that I’m not in the stage of my life where I’m looking for anything temporary.”

“Me neither,” Marcus says, his eyes burning intensely into yours.

“Anything between us, is, by very nature, temporary,” you point out. “I live here in Hannibal. You’re going back to Washington upon completion of this case. I’m not against seeking mutual relief from loneliness, but I’m just… I’m not sure if I know you well enough to go down that road.”

Marcus’s eyes are full of understanding and acceptance. He draws his hand back and sits back against the booth with a small, wry smile.

“So, what’d’you wanna know?” he drawls, letting the Texan accent slip out in full force.

So… you talk. And talk. 

And talk. 

Your plates have long-since been empty and the ice in your water glass has melted, dripping condensation onto the checkered tablecloth–and you feel as though you’ve been given a glimpse past the toothy smile and confident demeanor, into a deeper, hidden vulnerability underneath. 

“...She–She broke up with you via text message?” you ask, dumbfounded at Marcus’s most recent admission.

“God, when you put it that way, it sounds… way worse than it was, but yeah,” he chuckles. “But honestly, when I look back, the writing was on the wall. I was rushing, she was dragging her feet. There… there wasn’t a future there.”

“Do you do that a lot? Rush, that is?” 

Marcus hums loudly as he seemingly deliberates his answer. “Mmm, I don’t like to see it as rushing.”

“How do you see it?”

“I’m a man who knows what he wants,” he says simply, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours.

It makes you shiver slightly.

“Has that made me hasty, on occasion? Impulsive? Sure. But I don’t see the point in hiding what I am only to be disappointed later. Eventually, I’ll find who matches me beat for beat. Someone who has the same ambitions, the same drive. The same passions.”

His eyes bore into you again, and you swallow. 

“You are forward,” you comment, somewhat breathlessly.

“I know what I want,” Marcus says again–quieter, this time.

“I wish I had that degree of certainty,” you whisper, laughing shakily.

“I think you do. In here,” he says, placing a palm over his heart. “But you second-guess it in favor of what’s up here.” He taps his index finger against his temple. 

“I happen to think humanity in general should obey their brains a little bit more, speaking from experience.”

Marcus laughs loudly, breaking the intense mood that had settled over the table. “I don’t think you’re wrong. But when it stands between you and your desires? Sad,” he comments, pouting his lip slightly.

“Some desires should remain just that–desires, nothing more.” Your voice wavers.

“I respect that,” he says lightly. Signaling to the waitress with a wide, friendly smile, he asks for the check. “But you don’t strike me as a person who indulges most of her desires. You put everything else first, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you object, bristling slightly at the blatant call-out. 

“I’m sure,” he grins as he scribbles a signature on the receipt. “Well, Cricket, I hope I’m wrong. I hope you chase the things you want, that you indulge in the little things that bring you joy, that you live your life not being afraid to say ‘I’m doing this for me.’ After all, I’m seeing such a fleeting moment of your life, aren’t I? A blink of an eye in the scheme of things. You and I are merely ships passing in the night, never to be seen or heard from again.” He stands. “Have a good night, Cricket.” 

And with that, Marcus gives you one last fond smile and disappears through the front doors, leaving you stunned–frozen to your seat as you absorb his speech.

You wake up confused for the second morning in a row.

Bright and loud. Why is it so bright and loud?

This time, the confusion resolves itself quickly as your brain comes back online and you realize that your work phone is ringing again. 

The old-fashioned alarm clock across the room reads 5:23 AM.

“Hullo?” you croak.

“You’re not going to fucking believe this.”

At the sound of the Sergeant’s voice, you switch on your bedside lamp and blink rapidly in the harsh light. 

“What is it?” you ask, trying to sound more awake than you actually are.

"Maisie Fletcher called the station around four saying her husband never made it home from the Waterhole. Evans drove the road from town to their house about a mile south just to take her statement, and found solid evidence of fresh skid marks leading into the river.”

Your heart sinks. The river. 

“Any sign of a vehicle?” you ask, already suspecting you know the answer.

“No.”

You take a deep inhale through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Pulling a body from the Mississippi is miserable, unpleasant drudgery. First, you’ll spend hours directing boat patrols back and forth in a cross-hatch pattern for miles south of the suspected entry point. Then, once you finally find the vehicle, the work to exhume it from the water begins. The fire department will need to be coordinated with, and, depending on the depth of the car, a SCUBA team or a crane. 

“Fletcher…” you repeat, frowning. “Isn’t that–” 

“The domestic disturbance couple, that’s right,” Hubbard confirms. 

You snort. ‘Couple’ is a strong word, in your opinion. The husband, Gavin Fletcher, was single-handedly responsible for half a dozen trips out to their house along the river over the years, but every time you’d asked Maisie–with increasing urgency in your tone–if she’d like to press charges, she had declined. And every time, you’d leave the house with a lead balloon in your stomach. 

You always worried it was a matter of time before the “domestic disturbances” turned ugly. Or worse… fatal. 

And now… he’s in the Mississippi. Maybe. Possibly.

Is it bad if you find yourself hoping he’s at the bottom of the river?

Yes. Yes, it is. 

“Understood,” you sigh into the phone. “Let me throw on my uniform and I’ll meet Evans down at the bank.”

After a long day of standing on the banks of the Mississippi, watching patrol boats pass back and forth in slow, deliberate lines while drizzle slowly seeps its way down into the innermost reaches of your clothing, a vehicle turns up around six pm. You watch as the fire department uses the Jaws of Life to pry open the driver-side door, sending a cascade of muddy water onto the ground. 

It’s difficult to recognize the former person being pulled from the wreckage–even after less than twenty-four hours of being submerged, water can do a fucking number on a body–but a search of the wallet in the back pocket of its jeans confirms the identity of the swollen, bloated corpse that used to belong to Gavin Fletcher. 

Predictably, the task of notifying Maisie Fletcher is handed down to you. 

Your mouth is a thin, tight-lipped line as you drive down the gravel driveway that you wish wasn’t so familiar. You barely have to knock before Maisie is at the door and falling to her knees in a display of grief that you simply can’t find yourself to feel. Try as you might, you can’t force anything–any emotion other than ‘numbness’ onto your face as you deliver the news as gently as you possibly can. 

Maisie, still weeping, agrees to meet you at the morgue tomorrow to officially ID her late husband, and as she shakily rises to her feet, you can’t help but note the not-quite-healed-over bruise on her temple. 

You need a fucking drink. 

Thirty minutes later finds you at the Waterhole nursing a cold beer and an even-colder mood in your still-damp uniform. 

Palmer, ever the charmer, leans into your personal space with all the enthusiasm of someone attempting to disarm a bomb, and mutters, sotto-voce, “You smell like a goddamn fishmonger, Cricket.”

At your deadpan glare, he backs away, hands in the air, and makes a show of cleaning cocktail glasses instead.

You don’t much feel like talking. 

For one–yeah, the lingering smell of river brine–with the barest hint of ‘bloated corpse’ underneath–doesn’t put you in a sociable mood.

But what’s really bothering you is all of those old “domestic disputes” hovering in the forefront of your mind ever since Hubbard said the name ‘Fletcher’ at 5:30 this morning. God, you had all-but-begged her to press charges; in hindsight, you probably sounded insane. And each time, you took her refusal personally–as if it were happening to you, not to her. You’ve worked hard over the years to put that hurt, that anger away in a tiny little box in the corner of your mind, but the death of Gavin Fletcher seems to have released it all over again.

He’s dead, you point out to yourself. There’s no point in resurrecting your demons.

“Back at it, I see?" a slightly amused voice calls out from your periphery, and you close your eyes in exasperation.

You can't do this dance now.

"Marcus," you say with a resolute sigh. 

"Fancy seeing you here," he grins, and slides onto the barstool next to yours. "I'll have the same," he says to Palmer, who nods.

Seated next to you, you can tell exactly when the odor of your uniform hits his nose. He pauses, beer bottle halfway to his lips, and cocks his head in a way that would be comical, had you been in a better mood. His eyebrows pinch together, causing a little crease to appear between them, as he looks at you. 

"Did you… get dumped in the river earlier?"

You sigh again. "Not exactly. Had a car go into the river last night. Had crews searching all day, and finally found it this evening."

Marcus lets out a low whistle. "Roads must have been slick last night with all the rain," he points out.

"Yeah, exactly," you agree. "Honestly, it's probably worth it to put a feature on hydroplaning in the local paper after the news comes out. Not enough people take it seriously."

"Occupants?"

"Just the one. Male, forties. I can't release any names until tomorrow, though."

"I know," Marcus says, smiling fondly. "So after a day in the rain and the Mississippi mud, you're so ready for a beer that you don't even change out of the wet uniform, huh?"

"Fishmonger," Palmer grunts from the other side of the bar.

"I wasn't going to say it, but…"

"If you two are gonna gang up on a woman drinking, I'll damn well go home and do it alone," you grumble.

"Nonsense," Marcus grins. "If I bought the second round, would that convince you to stay?"

"One," you say, holding up your finger. "You have me for one more drink. Then I'm going home and getting into a hot bath."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawls, a glint in his eye when you mention the bath. "Guess I'll have to get my fill in the span of two beers."

You drain your first bottle and set it down challengingly. 

"...One beer," he amends.

"It's just as well," you tell him. "I'm less than pleasant company tonight."

"Impossible," Marcus promises. "Your company becomes more and more entrancing to me the more I'm graced with it."

"I guess if you can't handle me at my 'smelling like rotten fish,' then…"

"Don't make me beg to 'handle' it."

"Marcus!" You bark out a surprised laugh in spite of yourself. 

"Ha! There it is," he crows triumphantly. 

"Are you trying to cheer me up or piss me off?"

"You looked like you could use the former. Seems as though you already have enough of the latter."

You can't help but chuckle again. Damn him that it's working.

"Is it so wrong to desire the company of a beautiful woman who smells like the bottom of a river?"

"Leaving," you sputter through your stifled laughter, although you make no move to get off of your stool.

"You wound me."

"I'm not the one habitually insulting your smell.”

“If I smelled like that, I’d hope someone would ask why,” Marcus points out with a teasing grin.

"I guess if I had known I'd be doing… this, I would have gone home and showered first."

"Doing… what?" Marcus asks, a flirtatious glint in his expression.

"This. This… dance, this back and forth." You gesture between the two of you.

"This… dance?" he repeats teasingly. "Cricket, if you wanted to dance, all you had to do was say so."

"Do you ever stop?" you laugh, rolling your eyes.

"Of course I do," Marcus answers, sounding affronted. "I'd never push someone if I didn't think my feelings were returned."

You close your eyes and exhale shakily. "You know I do… I do feel the same way, Marcus. And it isn't like I haven't thought about what you said last night–in fact, I've thought of it a lot. But I keep coming back to the fact that I just… I don't want to just scratch an inch. I'm looking for…" 

"Connection?"

"Yes," you say emphatically. "Exactly. Not to be melodramatic, but I'm just too damn old for anything else."

"I feel the same way," Marcus murmurs.

"If you feel the same way, how the hell do you reconcile the fact that we're from two different parts of the country?" 

"I don't know," he says softly. "But I know I can't ignore what I feel for you–the connection I feel between us. I know that's real, don't you?"

You drain the last of your beer and set it down on the counter. 

"Guess that's my time," Marcus chuckles resignedly.

"Walk me to my car," you say quietly. 

Marcus nods, throwing some cash onto the counter and extending his hand to you. "Shall we?"

Not taking your eyes off of his, you gently slip your palm into his own. He walks you to your car, one hand resting perfectly at the small of your back and making the skin there tingle slightly.

“I won’t ask to kiss you,” he announces as you open your door. “But from one passing ship to another, I’ll just say that you look so goddamn beautiful right now under the streetlights.”

You turn carefully around. Marcus’s expression is open and earnest. His lips are parted, his eyebrows upturned as he watches you. He’s made his desires clear, and you… you simply want to bask in that all-consuming attention of his for just a few moments. 

Slowly, achingly slowly, you bring your palm up to lay against his sternum. Your eyes meet–a question in his, an answer in yours. 

Just as unhurriedly, Marcus steps closer. He gently cups your chin in one of his large hands as he tilts his head just slightly and lowers it to meet you. 

His lips are soft when they slowly brush against your mouth. The kiss is sensual, full of longing and barely restrained passion lurking just under the surface. His lips are parted, but he makes no attempt to deepen the kiss; you never feel the careful slip of his tongue into your mouth or the sting of teeth. Despite this, it might be the most sexually charged kiss you’ve ever received. A wave of pure want surges down your spine and into the base of your core and your grip on his shirt tightens to steady yourself as a small, involuntary noise escapes from deep in your chest.

You expect things to escalate from there. You wait for your back to hit the side of your car, to feel the weight of Marcus’s body against you as he pins you against the door. You wait for his hand to grip your hip, his fingertips to dig into the back of your neck as he takes control.

Instead, he pulls back–breathing shakily as he does–and rests his forehead against yours.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done that,” you laugh breathlessly, thinking of how the hell you were supposed to to work with him now.

“Maybe not,” Marcus chuckles back. “But I don’t regret it. I can’t.”

The orange light from a nearby lamp casts half of his face in shadow, making his features stand out in dark relief: the bow of his upper lip, the angle of his cheekbone, the strength in his brow, the line of his nose… 

He’s the one who looks beautiful, you think. Out loud, you say something else. 

Just one word.

Your name. 

Marcus’s lips part in surprise, eyebrows turning upward as he realizes the gift you’ve given him. He could have used it all along, of course, had probably seen it in the city directory before he’d even met you. 

But he waited for your consent, instead.

And oh, how sweet it sounds when it falls from his lips for the first time like this, his mouth just inches from yours.

“I can’t believe I let you kiss me smelling like this,” you joke, trying to dispel the heavy cloud of tension.

He laughs quietly, and murmurs your name again, his thumb brushing delicately back and forth against your cheekbone. “Go home,” he whispers. “Take that bath. It’s late.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “See you tomorrow.”

Marcus steps back, giving you a fond, warm smile. “Sure will.”

Christ, what have you done?

The thought doesn’t hit you until the wee hours of the morning, when you bolt upright in bed before your alarm and realize that you’re going to have to continue working alongside Marcus for the foreseeable future. 

You don’t know him, not really; you don’t know how he’ll act in a professional setting after a very unprofessional moment between the two of you. He brings out a softness in you that you don’t recognize, a deep yearning at the very core of you that had been shoved down and suppressed for years. Vulnerability is punished in your line of work, especially as a woman, and you’ve gotten so well-practiced at stamping out any trait that could be perceived as weakness that you, unknowingly, eradicated it from your personal life as well.

How long has it been since you’ve let someone in?

How long have you denied yourself the comfort of another’s touch?

Damn him.

He’s brought all of these feelings to the surface, and now you have to worry about not only his reaction to seeing you at work today, but yours as well. 

Will you be able to hide the way your body seems to gravitate toward him? Can you keep your face from betraying you? 

Will he be able to remain aloof and businesslike, or will the mask drop–showing everyone the hunger in his eyes? 

You shudder slightly. Please, let the day go smoothly. 

As it turns out, all your nerves were misplaced. There’s no awkward reunion, no shy smiles or stilted small talk. 

“They ID’ed the guy!” Marcus exclaims loudly as you walk into the bullpen. 

The outburst from the typically softspoken man surprises you so much that you nearly drop your coffee.

“What?” 

“Your Norman Rockwell thief! His name is Reuben Porter, and he lives in Moberly.”

A slow smile spreads across your face. “No way.”

Marcus grins back, dimple on full display. “Fancy a drive to the field office today?”

“Hell yes. Gotta be sooner than later, though,” you add, thinking of Maisie Fletcher. “I’ve got a meeting at three.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smirks. “Shouldn’t take too long. They’ll share all of their files, and you and your precinct can be the ones to make the arrest.”

“Wait… you’re not doing that?”

“Told you it was still your case,” he points out. “Yeah, before you know it, I’ll be out of your hair and on a plane back to D.C.”

“What a relief,” you joke, but the words hardly have any bite to them. Back to D.C.? Part of you wants to have your fill of him first; that kiss last night only left you craving more. All you can think about is his lips on yours, and wonder about the feel of his body as it pins you to the bed. 

“I’m sure it is.” 

Marcus’s voice deepens, his tone tinged with amusement, and you fight the urge to avert your eyes like a schoolgirl. 

“Shall we, then?” you say lightly, raising your eyebrows and tilting your chin upward.

“You’re driving, this time,” he says with a boyish smile.

The car is where the tension finally returns. The air feels dense, each lull in polite conversation pregnant with what goes unmentioned and unacknowledged. To your surprise, you find yourself itching to address the elephant in the squad car, even after what feels like hours of giving yourself pep talks before work, promising yourself you wouldn’t be the one to slip.

“When… when is your flight?” you ask instead.

“Tomorrow.”

“...Oh.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Marcus says seriously.

You blanch. “You do?”

“Mmhmm. ‘Good Riddance,’ right? Mister Big City Agent, finally getting out of your way so you can arrest the jerk who had the audacity to defile the Mark Twain Museum.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of Hannibal or not.”

Marcus makes a show of appearing offended. “I would never poke fun at the birthplace of Samuel Clemens.” Sobering, he adds, “I hope you know by now that I care very deeply about every art case.”

You can’t help but beam at him. Taking a leap of faith, you respond. “And I hope you know by now that I’m not hoping the door hits you on the way out.”

“Yeah?” he asks quietly. 

“‘Course.”

Marcus slowly reaches his hand over to you and drags just the tip of one finger from your wrist and down your hand to the end of your pinkie finger in a barely-there caress. 

You let out a shaky exhale as the squad car pulls into the lot of the St. Louis field office.

Damon greets you and Marcus cheerfully as you enter the Art Crimes Department. He shakes your hand, offering his congratulations, as you follow him back to his office.

“Here you go,” he says, handing you a singular flash drive. “The final identification reports identifying Reuben Porter as the thief, and all related case notes.”

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh,” you say, turning the flash drive over in your hand. “Why not just email it?” 

“File’s too big,” Damon shrugs.

“Got some stuff for you, too,” Marcus adds, pulling out his field notebook and a manila folder and handing them to you. “My notes, and my formal report of my involvement in the case.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking at Damon, and then at Marcus. “For your expertise and your support. I’ll–”

You’re interrupted by the loud ringing of your work cell. Grimacing, you give the agents an apologetic smile and duck out of Damon’s office.

“Yeah,” you say impatiently into the phone.

“Hey,” Hubbard replies, sounding, for once, incredibly hesitant.

“...What’s going on?”

“Can you go on a call?”

"I'm at the St. Louis field office with Pike," you tell him. "You'll have to call Evan in."

"Evan is already here," the Sergeant says, making you frown in confusion. 

"He is? Then why–"

"We’ve got a body, but Cricket? …It's Johansson."

You don't realize your legs have given out until you feel the cold chair underneath you. Your breath comes in short pants after hearing That Name. That fucking name.

"Jakub," Hubbard continues, as if you needed to be told.

"H-How?"

"Looks like an overdose, but the autopsy will have to confirm it, obviously."

You feel as though you're floating above yourself. That fucking case. You hadn’t been on the force long; it was the first time the system had failed you. Failed her. 

"I just thought you should know," the Sergeant is saying. "If you need to take a few days–"

"I don't," you interrupt. "Thanks for telling me. You still need me to come?"

"Nah," Hubbard says. "Have fun in St. Louis."

"Yeah," you hear yourself saying over the blood rushing in your ears. "Thanks." You robotically set the phone down on the table, eyes unseeing as you process the conversation. 

A warm palm lands on your shoulder, and you exhale shakily. "S-Sorry, just give me a minute."

"Are you okay?" Marcus's voice is full of concern.

"Yeah, it's um… just a name I haven't heard in a while, is all."

But that’s not true… is it? The name is fresh in your brain, feels familiar when you silently form the shape of it with your mouth. Jakub Johansson. You’ve tried your best to put him–and all the other cases that keep you up at night–in the past, but ghost after ghost keeps turning up this week, in more ways than one. 

“Do we need to get back to Hannibal?” Marcus asks.

“Nah. No. They’ve got it handled, they were just–it was one of mine, so… informing me, I guess.”

“One of your… what?”

“Sorry. Just an old case. Someone connected with it, anyways.”

“Everything alright?”

“They’re dead,” you deadpan. And even as you say the words out loud, a weight you didn’t realize you had been carrying seems to lift from your shoulders. Finally unparalyzed, you turn and look at Marcus. His gaze is burning, his eyes searching your face with unrelenting intensity. 

“Do you need to take a moment?” he asks softly, plush lips barely moving and his wild eyes never once leaving you.

Suddenly, the windowless Art Crimes Department feels stifling, like there’s not enough air. You can’t speak; you can’t breathe. Instead, you nod as you quickly rise from your chair and all-but-bolt from the room, walking quickly down the hall and up the stairs until you reach the lobby, then rushing out of the main entrance. It’s only then that you feel as though you can suck in a deep, ragged breath of crisp autumn air.  

You’ve carried this case with you for almost seven years. Seven years of feeling like you were the one who failed–not the system. You. You could have collected more evidence, you could have fought harder, you could have–no. You pace the sidewalk, repeating the statements the Force’s therapist gave you all those years ago. You did everything you could do. You helped a woman in need and brought a bad man to justice. His light sentence is not your fault. 

And now he’s dead.

Why doesn’t this feel like relief?

That feeling, the one you've been having all week, returns. That feeling of wrongness, like you’re forgetting something important. 

“Hey.” A soft voice cuts through your thoughts.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” you murmur, not turning to acknowledge Marcus. “What the fuck is happening this week? Pearson, Dalton, Fletcher, J-Johannson… I’ve seen more dead bodies in one week than I’ve seen in a fucking lifetime.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Marcus points out, “not a dead body.”

“The case with Johansson, it… it fucked me up for a while,” you say quietly, not looking at him. “I had to take time off, I was appointed a therapist to speak to, I–” 

“The details must have been really upsetting to you,” he says gently, laying his hand on your forearm.

“I had panic attacks,” you whisper, feeling the leftover shame wash over you. “We’re supposed to keep our own emotions out of the job, and I… I failed–”

“That’s not a failure–” Marcus starts, but you interrupt quickly.

“I failed her,” you grit out through clenched teeth, spinning to face him head-on. “I thought I was doing everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.”

The soft sound of your name causes a sob to catch in your throat.

“Listen to me,” Marcus says softly. “You did everything you could, I know you did. You’re a caring, capable, brilliant cop, and you did everything in your power. And besides, the universe has a way of making things right, doesn’t it? He came to justice in the end.”

You snort. “He fucking overdosed in his own home, and his victim was left with a lifetime of trauma. If that’s justice, the universe has a funny sense of humor.”

You deflate with a sigh. Checking your watch, you give Marcus a humorless smile. “We’ve gotta go, anyway. I need to be back to meet with the wife of a drowned man at the morgue.”

Maisie Fletcher’s demeanor is far more stony than it had been the day before. Head held high and lips pursed, she strides confidently into the observation room and watches expressionlessly as the sheet is peeled back to reveal Gavin Fletcher.

“That’s him,” she confirms with no emotion in her voice.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say, because it’s what you’re supposed to do.

Maisie snorts, the first time her facial features have changed since she walked in. “Really? Knowing what you know about him? You might be the only other person who knows the truth about what he really is.”

When you don’t answer, she speaks again.

“This might be the best thing that's ever happened to me." The words are whispered, barely audible even in the cryptlike silence of the morgue.

You nod at the mortician, Milo, who you remember from a few grades below you in school. He nods back and carefully replaces the sheet.

You escort Maisie back out to her car with a heavy heart and brooding thoughts.

"What are you going to do?" you ask quietly.

"I'm leaving town. Soon as I can. I–I never meant to stay here, but…"

"It's hard to leave," you murmur. "The town, mean," you correct quickly. "It sucks you in. Believe me, I know."

"You could go, too," Maisie points out. "Every town needs cops."

"And leave all this?" you joke. "I'm good. Really. Just been a week for the record books."

As Maisie drives off, you turn and see that Milo is watching you from the front entrance.

"There a problem?" you call out.

"Nah, just wanted a second opinion on something. You busy?"

You shake your head, walking back into the morgue behind the mortician.

"Lot of new tenants this week," Milo says. He pauses, looking over at you as if waiting for your laugh. You manage a weak one, but it seems to satisfy him. He stops in front of one of the metal drawers and turns toward you. "This one, the one they found yesterday? The autopsy hasn't been completed yet, but I wanted to run something by you to see if you agree with my analysis."

You shrug, holding your arms out in a gesture for him to continue. He grabs the handle and pulls, revealing the pale, stiff corpse of Jakub Johansson. You suppress a flinch.

"It doesn't take an autopsy to conclude that the overdose killed him," the mortician says. "We've got all the classic signs of a fatal dose of Fentanyl. Should be cut-and-dry."

You pause, a small frown on your features. “If it’s cut-and-dry, why am I sensing a ‘but’ there?”

“Well, the overdose is cut-and-dry. No one walks away from that many drugs in their system, but… well, it looks like he got into a fight or something right before.”

“A fight?”

Milo sweeps the sheet back from the corpse’s arm. “Here. See, there’s the puncture from the needle, but look–” he gestures at the upper arm, where, through the discoloration of the already-decomposing skin, you can clearly see five purple marks. 

“Someone grabbed him,” you say quietly. 

“Mmhm. And here.” He points to the forearm, where a larger bruise runs horizontally across the skin. 

Staring at the marks, the image starts to crystalize in your mind. “It looks like… like someone grabbed his upper arm, and held his forearm in place with their knee, or something.”

“That’s exactly what it looks like,” Milo nods grimly. 

“He was held down,” you murmur, barely audible in the silent room. “He was held down and given a fatal dose.”

“The injuries were perimortem,” the mortician adds. “They would have been sustained just before he overdosed.”

“How long before?”

“No way to be precise, but…” he clicks his tongue, “...no more than an hour or two.”

You thank Milo in a daze, heading back out of the morgue with rapidly swirling thoughts. You can no longer ignore the facts: All the people who have died this week, with the exception of Bobby Pearson, were on your list of ‘Cases that Haunt your Dreams.’ That list… subconscious, but so vivid that you may as well have it written down on a piece of posterboard and hung opposite your living room couch. They were the cases that kept you up at night, the reason you… 

… the reason… you…

…drink… to… forget.

The phrase seems to set off a chain reaction in your mind. You hear it again and again, but not in your own voice…

In the voice of someone else. 

“They say there’s only two kinds of people,” Marcus says. “Those who drink to remember, and those who drink to forget.”

You remember his soulful eyes, the understanding in his expression as he acknowledged that he knew exactly which of those people you were.

“I drink to remember.”

“The living, and the dead.”

The dead.

Images flash rapidly in your brain. Him telling you the work matters. Urging you to tell him the names. Pouring you another drink. You, crying against his dress shirt. Him pleading with you to let it all go, the burdens you carried.

The names…

Nothing makes sense, anymore.

Well, actually, everything makes sense, it’s just that you don’t want it to. 

Everything that’s happened over the past week is leading you to one conclusion–and you simply aren’t ready to face it. Not yet. 

You can’t face it… but you can’t let it go, either. It would be against everything you thought you stood for. So rather than go home and drown your suspicions in more whiskey, you go back to the station.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, you sit down at your desk and power on your computer. The blue light is harsh in the dim bullpen as you open the FBI’s website and search for the Art Crimes department. You glance at the directory–Supervisory Special Agent Marcus Pike at the very top, of course–then navigate over to the department’s news page and scan the recent case headlines. 

Wilton Man Admits Operating Fraud Scheme

Palm Beach Art Dealer Sentenced to Federal Prison for Laundering Money From Art Fraud Scheme.

Lips pursed, you open up a second tab and search for ‘Wilton.’ It’s a small town in Connecticut–and you find the town’s local newspaper easily. You click back to the FBI page, look at the date the man was arrested, and look through the newspaper archives on and before the same day. 

No major headlines stand out, but when you read the obituaries for the week, goosebumps begin to rise at the back of your neck. Elliott Bradford, 42. Overdose. Mark Hampton, 38. Suicide. 

Those kinds of deaths are common everywhere, you try to tell yourself. But, pulling up yet another tab, you search for the first name. Immediately, article after article appears in the results. Heart in your throat, you click on the first. 

Sex Offender Elliott Bradford Implicated in Trafficking Ring. The news is from over a decade ago–but the details are enough to turn your stomach. He’d been sentenced to ten years in prison, which means he would have just been released… last year. Mere months before Marcus would have been there for work. 

When you search for Mark Hampton, you find a similar story. Marjorie Hampton Files Suit Against Husband Mark Citing Repeated Abuse. And just a few years later, he’s dead, too.

A little voice in the back of your head tells you to stop digging, but you can’t seem to quit. You repeat the search with Palm Beach, and find that again, the obituaries are filled with accidental deaths and suicides from the town’s most violent men. 

Minneapolis. North Hollywood. Palmdale. You’ve gone as far back as 2016, and every town has the same pattern: Marcus Pike arrives for a case, and days later, known abusers start turning up dead. 

Every. 

Single. 

One.

It’s nearly two in the morning when you finally force yourself to stop. Your mind is swirling with names, dates, and heinous crimes. And all of them died within weeks of the town being visited by a certain FBI Art Crimes Detective. There’s still a part of you that can’t believe your conclusions are real–that the sweet, kind man you can’t deny your feelings for any longer is actually a killer. Which is why, hands trembling, you do the one thing you definitely should not do at this moment.

You text Marcus Pike.

“I need to talk to you.”

You regret it almost immediately. Part of you hopes that he’s asleep. He has to be, right? It’s two AM. Shaking your head and inwardly chastising yourself, you slip your phone into your pocket and start shutting down the computer. 

When you get up to leave, however, your phone pings.

“Where and when?”

"I–I need to talk to you,” you blurt out the moment the hotel room door opens, but the sight before you almost makes you swallow the last few words.

Marcus is shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sleep pants low around his hips. You can’t help but stare at the sight, taking in his broad shoulders, the light musculature of his arms, his slender waist and the soft skin on his stomach. A light trail of hair disappears below the waistband of his pants, and you swallow thickly as you drag your eyes back up to his face.

"So you said," Marcus says quietly. If he’s amused at your obvious staring, he doesn’t show it.

"You–what're you doing up so late?"

"Never did sleep much," he says with a crooked grin. One of his eyebrows raises as he looks you up and down. "Why are you up and at my door at this time of night?"

"Losing my fucking mind," you murmur shakily.

He steps forward, reaching his hand up to tenderly cup your cheek. Your eyes flutter closed as your body instinctively responds to his touch.

"Marcus," you whisper. 

"And why does that bring you to me?" he asks, his voice deepening. His thumb traces back and forth across your cheekbone.

To confront you, you want to say. To make you tell me I'm not crazy. That I figured out your secret.

Instead, you reach out and touch one trembling hand to his sternum, indulging in your desire to touch that expanse of golden skin. 

You open your eyes to find him watching you with a hooded, coal-black gaze. His eyes flick down to your hand on his chest, then back up to your face.

The moment feels like the drawing back of a bowstring. It seems to linger, seconds stretching out longer and longer until the inevitable moment where everything snaps.

Suddenly, Marcus is pulling you forward, shutting the door, and pressing you back against it in one swift, fluid motion. 

His entire body molds to you–hips, hands, lips–with far more ferocity and less restraint than the night before. You feel the sting of his teeth, the grip of his fingertips as he takes from you.

You aren't exactly idle, either; your hands map the planes of his chest, hips canting up to grind against the hard length you can feel there. When he pushes right back, you groan loudly and dig your fingernails involuntarily into the meat of his upper back, and he hisses.

"Sor–"

"Again," he growls, so you scratch harder.

A low, feral sound escapes from deep in his chest he breaks away from your lips and kisses a frenzied path down your neck.

"This was always going to happen," Marcus rasps into your skin. "You, and me. Can't you feel it?"

"Feel–?" you gasp, arching your back at the little nip of teeth at your shoulder. What you feel, right now at least, is the hard, thick length of his cock pressing insistently against your stomach, and it empties your mind of all other thoughts. 

"Feel the electricity between us. The connection," Marcus clarifies between kisses back up your neck until he gently nibbles your jaw. 

"Mmhmm," you whimper. Your knees almost buckle.

"Tell me," he orders. 

"I feel it."

You reach down and grasp his erection through his clothes as if to punctuate your meaning, and Marcus’s knees do buckle slightly as he sags against you with a broken groan.

"Every fucking night," he growls, "I pictured how you would look spread out on this bed. You'll forgive me for indulging that, now."

"Tell me," you parrot coquettishly, staring up at him coyly from behind your lashes.

Another low sound emanates from deep within Marcus's chest at your command. Spinning you around so fast you nearly lose your sense of direction, he pulls you further into the room and deposits you on the bed before crawling over you. 

"Tell you, huh? Tell you what? How I would close my eyes and think about the sounds you'd make for me? Or about how I'd get so worked up imagining the way you'd taste, the way you'd look coming undone beneath me that I'd have to fist my cock just for a little relief?"

"I wanna see that," you say lazily, licking your lips and making a show of pulling your shirt over your head. 

"Next time," Marcus promises darkly. “Next time I'll do it just like this, with you staring up at me, watching me fuck myself for you. But I don't think I can go one more night without being inside you."

"Please," you whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

"Yeah?"

"Fucking… yes, Marcus, shit–"

He chuckles, straight, white teeth showing as he grins and starts to unbutton your pants. You let him draw them down your hips, along with your underwear, your breath getting shakier as you see the hungry look in his eyes. It makes you feel powerful, the way just the sight of your bare center seems to affect him. 

When your pants reach your ankles, he yanks them off the rest of the way and casts them aside in the corner of the room. His gaze is almost predatory, but you get the feeling you are the one who has him under your thumb at the moment. Giving him a sly, crooked smile, you spread your legs wide.

Marcus pitches forward onto his elbows, dropping down onto the bed as if deep in prayer, but everything about the man in this moment is sinful. With his mouth inches from your pussy, he breathes in, closing his eyes and shuddering visibly. When he opens then again, they're deep obsidian. They don't move from your face as he lowers his mouth to you.

You aren't sure who moans louder at the first generous lick of his tongue into your pussy. Rather than start at your clit, he dives in; thrusting the wet, warm muscle as deep into your cunt as he can while his nose presses deliciously against you. 

He devours you greedily, licking up into you as if he could pull pleasure out of your channel with just his tongue. He seems to be getting almost as much satisfaction out of doing it; his eyes are closed as if savoring you, low, muffled moans from deep in his throat punctuate every lap into your pussy, and every so often, his hips thrust slightly against the bed as though he can't help but seek a little relief.

His hands scrabble at your hips, yanking you closer as soon as he can find purchase, and you throw your head back on the pillow as he buries himself even deeper than before.

Christ, how is he even breathing?

His nose rubs back and forth against your clit, and you can feel your orgasm starting to build. Growing bolder, you rock your hips subtly against Marcus's face, and by the loud groan that escapes him when he feels you do it, he enjoys it.

He pulls at your hips again, wordlessly commanding you to continue. 

"Fuck," you murmur. "Marcus, your mouth–"

You slowly grind on him, gyrating your hips as you chase the sensations that feel best for you. It causes everything to pull up tight, and before you even realize what's happening, you're falling apart on his tongue.

"Have to have you," Marcus pants in your ear, having surged up to cover you with his body even as you were still trembling with aftershocks. "Tell me I can have you."

"Yeah," you agree. "Fuck, take it. It's yours." Make me forget.

"Condom?" 

"Clean. You?"

"Clean. You–You sure? Tell me now, because I don't think I can wait any longer."

"Please," you whisper, reaching up to gently wipe away some of the slick above his upper lip with an amused smile. He looks wrecked already–the only time you've seen him with a hair out of place–and it's incredibly endearing. 

You don't have time to dwell on that thought, because with a broken sound, he sheathes himself within you. 

The noise that escapes you is involuntary–an instinctual, guttural reaction from somewhere deep in your subconscious brain. You can feel Marcus everywhere at once, pressing against nerves deep inside of you, nerves you didn't even realize you had. 

Anyone would be forgiven for expecting sex with this clean-shaven, softspoken man to be just as gentle and sweet as the man himself. You would have thought the same thing, except for one feature of his that always made you feel as though something darker was lurking underneath: that smile. Wide, toothy, eager; the rows of straight, white teeth; the boyish little dimple it exposes.

It's his eyes when he smiles like that that have always made you wonder what he's hiding; what demons are being concealed behind pearly whites and laugh lines.

But you think the way Marcus fucks might expose far more than anything else about him. 

The fire that dances in his eyes has certainly hinted at a deeper passion, but you've yet to experience anything like the way it feels to be on the receiving end of this much intensity. 

He's unrelenting in his pursuit of pleasure; fervent and raw and so very physical. He doesn't shy away from the messiness of sex; he licks an escaped tear as you reach your second peak, he spits on your clit and rubs it in with his fingers, and when he finally pulls out and finishes on your chest, he immediately covers you with his mouth and sucks himself off of your nipples.

You'd also be forgiven in thinking Marcus was done with you. That, given the late hour and the vigorous, explosive way he had fucked you, he'd collapse on the bed with a tired, sated sigh.

Instead, he pulls at your hip and guides you to turn over on your stomach. You're about to open your mouth and question his motives when you feel his hot, wet tongue press against your other hole.

You squeal involuntarily, burying your face in the pillows as you surrender to the onslaught of Marcus’s attentions. In this, just as in every other way he's already had you tonight, he's incredibly vocal. He straightens his tongue and pushes it inside, and moans loudly as he feels you give way for him.

"Good girl, so fuckin' good, gonna make me hard again, aren't you? Mewling so prettily into the sheets like that while I take you apart. You like that, don't you? Filthy fucking girl, huh? Good. I am, too–told you we were made to do this."

Marcus is merciless, giving you his tongue, fingers, tongue again, over and over and over in your pussy and your ass until you come undone again with a wail. 

You're boneless and pliable as he hauls your trembling body up onto your knees and enters you again, this time from behind. 

He's equal parts brutal and reassuring: ample, generous praise spills from his lips with every rough punch of his cock. 

You're so overwrought with pleasure, you can't even speak. Marcus is destroying you in every delicious way, and you aren't sure how you're supposed to come back from this. How you're supposed to confront him after he's made you feel things you didn't even know how could feel.

His lower hands are pressing down on your lower back, intensifying the arch in your spine and causing his cock to hit the perfect spot inside you.

"Gonna–" you gasp.

"I know," Marcus answers. "Together, this time. With me, yeah? I'm so close, but I'm waiting on you. Cum for me, let me feel it baby."

You sob into the pillows as he fucks you through your orgasm, your walls aching and ultrasensitive from the relentless onslaught of his cock. 

You're only barely aware of him pulling out and letting you collapse forward onto the bed. You aren't sure why it surprises you–perhaps just the intensity of the moment before–but you aren't expecting the warm, gentle arms encircling you as Marcus follows you down and wraps you up, pulling you into his chest. 

You're still panting, trying to catch your breath and regain equilibrium as you hear his voice behind you. It's not rough and rasping like before, but soft and soothing as he croons into your ear.

"So good for me, so perfect. Took me so well, look so good in my bed. Incredible.”

Giddy and overwhelmed, you start to laugh breathlessly.

Marcus chuckles too, nuzzling the spot behind your ear with his nose with a satisfied hum. His fingers start to trace a path up and down your stomach, and you sigh bonelessly and settle against him.

"This… this wasn't what I came here for," you murmur after a few moments.

"No?" Marcus nips playfully at your jawline just below your ear.

"No, I… I…"

The teasing kisses continue, causing sparks to shoot up and down your spine.

"Marcus," you sigh, as you feel another little nibble on your neck. "Marcus. Stop."

Slowly, cautiously, he pulls back. You turn in his arms, frowning slightly.

"I came here… Jesus, this sounds–I need you to convince me I'm just being jumpy. That I've been spooked, scared of my own shadow…"

“You’re under a lot of stress,” Marcus says gently. “You’ve had a hard week.”

You scoff. “Hard week? I’ve had hard weeks. This week was devastating. I’ve seen more deaths in one week than in almost my entire time on the force, and–” you swallow and look up, meeting his dark eyes, “–they’re all connected to me.”

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “They were bad men, and they all had their vices…”

“Every single one,” you forge ahead, “was connected to a case assigned to me. But that’s not the only connection, is it?”

Marcus cocks his head to the side, not dissimilar to a confused puppy. “What do you mean?”

“They were all connected to cases that keep me up at night. Cases that didn’t end in justice. Cases that I confessed… to you.”

Confusion melts away into an easy, casual smile. Marcus chuckles softly. “I thought you said you didn’t remember anything we talked about that night.”

“Details might be blurry, but it’s the only thing that makes sense,” you say, laying back to stare at the ceiling. “I was upset over Bobby. I was disillusioned with the job. You were all too eager to lend an ear, to let me drown my sorrows and whisper the names of the men whose faces I’ll never forget. I cried on your shoulder, Marcus. And you… you took those names, and—”

“Are you saying you’re accusing me of being some kind of one-man vigilante justice machine?” Marcus asks, beginning to laugh outright. “Cricket, do you have any idea how that sounds?”

“It sounds crazy," you say, turning toward him again. "So convince me otherwise. Tell me I've lost my fucking marbles on this one."

"I think it would be natural for anyone to look for some kind of reason behind a string of deaths of people they know," he offers gently. "And these men, they've… they've affected you more than most–let's not mince words, you were traumatized by these cases. It's only natural that you would look for answ–"

"Answers?" you interrupt. "My job is to find answers, you should know that. I've been researching you on your own website, what do you have to say about that? I know where you've been for other cases."

Marcus chuckles, although it seems… deeper, this time. "That's publicly available information on the government's own servers. I'm not sure what your point is."

"I also looked up all the newspapers from the times you would have been there," you say. "And just like in Hannibal, there's a rash of suicides and accidental deaths, and all of the victims? They all had rap sheets miles long."

"Cricket," Marcus intones softly. "I know you're desperately trying to find connections here, but you have to realize these all sound like huge coincidences–"

"You got sloppy," you accuse, picking up steam and confidence as you continue to talk through it. "Did you know that? Johansson's death was no accident. He was held down and given a fatal dose. It was rough; whoever did it wanted it to hurt–"

"Stop." Marcus cuts you off, his voice harsher than you've ever heard it. "You're grasping at straws. You're under a ton of stress, and you've concocted a wild fantasy to cope. It's a good story, but that's all it is. The things you're accusing me of, the person you've made me out to be… it's not rational, and it's dangerous. I'm an agent with the US Government, and you're throwing around some pretty serious allegations."

"I know what I've seen…" you murmur, shaking your head.

"You haven't seen anything," Marcus insists. "I'm not sure what your game is here. You come to my hotel room in the middle of the night saying you want to talk, you come onto me, we have sex… and now you're telling me you think I'm, what? A serial killer?"

"I–I think I should leave," you say quietly, getting up from the bed and padding over to pick up your uniform–where your gun is still holstered in your belt. You grab the pile of clothes and retreat to the bathroom to breathe and regroup. You splash cold water on your face, trying to ignore the fact that your hands are trembling slightly. 

Get it together. 

The pull you've felt for the man all week doesn't matter. Put it aside. Do the job. 

You take a few more deep breaths, then pull on your clothes. With a set jaw, you unholster your gun and slowly open the bathroom door.

"Marcus Pike, you're–"

You freeze mid-sentence, staring at the now-empty room.

"...gone?"

Epilogue (1 year later)

“I know it’s not much, but–”

“It’s perfect,” you breathe, walking into the small office, carrying a paper box full of your belongings, all waiting for a home among the bookshelves and desk space.

“Sure,” the other agent laughs.

It might not have a window. It might not have much charm. But it has a door–a real door that closes and everything–and even more importantly, it bears your name on a plaque.

A real office.

Yours. 

“You’re coming to us from… Saint Paul?”

“Saint Louis,” you correct amicably. 

“Welcome to White Collar Crimes,” your new coworker says with a wan smile. “It’s like Organized Crime, except instead of bodies, you’re examining accounting spreadsheets.”

“Good,” you say emphatically. “I’ve had enough death for several lifetimes.”

The other agent makes a face. “What the fuck was going on in Saint Louis?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “You don’t wanna know.”

You set the box down, taking out some of your most prized possessions: A Mark Twain bobblehead, your Bachelor’s Degree in Criminology from the University of Missouri, and more recently, a certificate from Quantico labeling you as a Special Agent with the FBI.

It had taken most of the year to coordinate your exodus from the tiny town of Hannibal where you grew up. Sure, you could have simply gone to another city to be a cop, but the endless parade of speeding tickets, accidental overdoses, and orders to break up tent cities was wearing on you. Were you really making a difference where you were? 

No.

No.

You wanted to go after the real criminals. Those who swindled the vulnerable out of their hard-earned money. Those who gamed the stock market only to make a few million more than they already had. 

White collar crime.

“Well, welcome to D.C.,” the other agent says, his tone tongue-in-cheek, but your smile is genuine nonetheless. He leaves you to your task–setting up the tiny, cramped space that serves as your office. 

You unpack a box of your favorite pens, your stapler, a potted plant (fake) to add some greenery. Maybe when you get an office with a window, you can get some real plants, you think as you rearrange your notebooks on the small bookshelf beside your desk.

You glance down at the badge on your lapel and smile.

It had been a year since your strange run-in with the Art Crimes Agent that changed the course of your career. 

After Marcus Pike fled the scene of his own hotel room–leaving most of his belongings behind–you couldn’t find it in yourself to continue down the road of being a small-town police officer, handing out tickets and misdemeanors and investigating every tragic case that came across your desk. And they were all tragic, make no mistake. 

After a few months of being angry and indignant, you’d grown to respect Marcus Pike. You’d realized he was telling the truth all those months ago: he’d felt useless as an Agent, cutting through all the red tape and bureaucracy, and he’d simply taken matters into his own hands in the end.

He used his connections within law enforcement to gain access to the world’s undesirables: the violent, the unhinged, the maladapted, the unacclimated. 

The bad men who had gotten light sentences or slaps on the wrist when they should have been removed from polite society for the gain of humanity.

Compared to you–fighting through the red tape of Government at every turn–Marcus was unstoppable. You guess that’s why so many people like to read about comic book heroes who spend their time doling out vigilante justice. Fighting for prolonged sentences within the criminal justice system was one thing. Living by your own creed of law and order? That was another.

Marcus simply… went around the law.

Did the ends justify the means?

That was a question that kept you up for months on end–that still causes you to shoot up in bed, panting and sweating, fighting off the remnants of a nightmare.

Even now, you aren’t sure of the answer.

That, on top of the real job opportunities that the FBI awarded you, is what really brought you here.

Marcus Pike… is a murderer.

You’re here to keep an eye on him.

Putting aside your… more personal connections, the man is dangerous. After all, you have no way of substantiating that his moral code, the way he kills for his own perceived sense of good, will always match the general sense of human morality. Is Marcus the type of man who would take a personal slight and warp it into his own twisted sense of justice? Would ever kill to satisfy his own grievances? Would he ever simply kill for the sake of it? You have no way of knowing.

A soft tap on your office door interrupts your reverie.

“Got a briefing on the Waters case in five. I’m assuming you read the file I emailed over?” 

At your nod, the other agent continues. “It’s in conference room 2E63. Since this place is a bit of a labyrinth, thought we could walk there together.”

“Appreciate it,” you say cheerfully, snapping your laptop shut and grabbing your notebook. 

Time to work.

“Got any questions for me before the meeting?” your coworker asks as you navigate through the halls.

“Are other departments involved in this case?” you ask. “There’s the embezzling scheme, stock fraud, that’s obviously us. But what about some of the company’s other operations? The file mentioned something about illegal smuggling and money laundering, surely that’s–”

“Organized Crime, yup. We’ve got two representatives from that team, they’ve been heavily involved. It was recently discovered that some of the goods smuggled were uh, famous paintings or something? So we’ve recently added someone from—This is us, by the way.”

Your coworker opens the conference room door, and across the room, a familiar set of deep brown eyes flicks up in surprise.

“Anyway, yeah, we also recently added someone from Art Crimes to assist in the recovery of the, uh–” your coworker trails off, turning to the only other agent in the room that you happen to know, apparently hoping for him to complete the sentence.

He doesn’t. Agent Marcus Pike is still staring at you, lips parted, his face white as a sheet. Fear lurks in his wide eyes.

When he blinks, though, the mask suddenly drops back down over his expression, his agitation replaced with cool confidence.

“Cézanne,” he answers patiently. To you, he extends his hand. “I haven’t seen you around here,” he says carefully. 

To anyone listening, the words are straightforward, said by a stranger, but you catch the hidden, underlying message. I’ve seen you before, but in a different world. You are out of context. 

“Just started today,” you comment lightly before giving him your name, taking his hand, and shaking it firmly. Very firmly. Marcus blinks. You see a flash of that wild intensity that you know lurks beneath his unassuming exterior.

When he smiles, you take in the rows of perfectly straight, white teeth and his singular dimple. 

A warning. Or a promise.

“I look forward to working with you.”

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #Marcus Pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal

[busycloudy]

Hiii! Can I ask for prompt 6, cuddling by the fire with Lilia as a fic please? Gender neutral mc💙

OMG I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS FYSIOSUSHD anyways, here you go!

It was late at night, and you were cold so you laid on the couch by the fire, with a blanket. You took a deep breath in and out. Relaxation. It was a bit before Halloween, you could smell the cinnamon scent. This was calming...

You heard the Ramshackle dorm creak open, but didn't bother to look, until you felt a body cuddle up next to yours. It was your dear Lilia of course.You turned to cuddle him to. This was comforting. You put the blanket over Lilia so it could be shared, the warm air enveloping you both. Lilia cuddled into you, holding on to you tight as if you were going to leave him, which you both know you'd never do, as you loved him with all your heart.

The two of you had a tiring day. You who had decorated all of Ramshackle and had to keep Grim in control from eating everything and just being in trouble in general, and also having to do things for your classes had tired you out. Now, you didn't know what Lilia did that day, but it seemed like it was pretty tiring. This was the calmness, and maybe another word could be "reward", you two got in turn for all your hard work.

Lilia rubbed your back in a soothing way, making your eyelids feel heavy. Soon enough you couldn't sleep any longer, and the two of you went into a deep sleep on that couch by the cozy fire.

Omg WHAT is up with me and short fics😤😭 I hope you enjoyed this!

#☁️cloudy writes⁠☆ #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia twisted wonderland #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland lilia #disney twst

[eevans22]

Wizarding World Kinktober Fest 2023

presented by

Wizarding World WIPs & Mab’s Server

Join the Wizarding World Kinktoberfest to share some terrifying tantalizing tales! These spooky salacious stories will be shared anonymously until the authors on unmasked on Halloween Wizarding World WIPs (find us here) and Mab's Server (and here) are collaborating for a Kinktoberfest, open to all ships/pairings! The only real requirement is spice (of course). Fic and art submissions will be posted once a day in October anonymously, culminating in an October 31 (Halloween) reveal. The fest is open to anyone (please note that that we will give priority in prompt claiming to our servers’ hosted authors if there is a conflict!).

RULES & GUIDELINES

Important Dates

Prompting opens August 21 at 9am EST – link for prompting here

Prompts revealed & claiming begins August 28 at 9am EST – links to prompt list and for claiming to be provided UPDATED: link for prompts here and link for claiming form here

Deadline for 1st group of submissions – September 17

Deadline for 2nd group of submissions – September 24

Posting begins – October 1

Author/artist reveals – October 31

What to Know

Wizarding World WIPs and Mab's Server are collaborating for a Kinktoberfest, open to all ships/pairings! Fic and art submissions will be posted once a day in October anonymously, culminating in an October 31 (Halloween) reveal. The fest is open to anyone (though we will give priority in prompt claiming to our servers’ hosted authors if there is a conflict!).

Anyone can submit a prompt! Please specify a particular kink you would like to see featured, as well as any other detail you care to provide (as well as triggers/squicks you'd prefer be avoided). Please note the author/artist are not obligated to follow but will be encouraged. Authors/artists may also choose to gift their creation to the person who submitted the prompt – prompters can provide usernames/info for AO3 and other socials when submitting a prompt if comfortable with that!

We will ask claimants to specify whether they can meet a September 17 or September 24 submission deadline so the mods can get everything ready for posting.

Contact the mods at [email protected] with any questions!

Additional Rules

Participants must be 18+

Submissions may not feature incest, SA or underage relationships

Please include any and all trigger warnings (happy to help if you need it)

All fic submissions must be read by a beta in advance (if you need assistance finding a beta, please contact the mods!)

Fic submissions must be minimum 1000 words but all lengths above that accepted!

Prompts may be claimed by one author and one artist only

Any fic gifted to a prompter must comply with requests to avoid certain triggers/squicks

You may only claim one prompt at a time. However, if we do not receive 30 claims by September 3, we will allow second prompts to be claimed by anyone who submits their first submission no later than September 15

Fics should be complete when submitted (i.e., one shots or with all chapters posted for multi-chapters) but of course we would love to read any sequels, etc. later!

Claiming

Please provide up to 3 choices for prompts you would like to claim and indicate whether you would like to submit a fic or art. (We will do our best to connect you with anyone who has claimed the same prompt for art/fic respectively if you are interested!).

We will respond within 48 hours with your assigned prompt. We ask that you respond within 72 hours to confirm your participation in the fest and acceptance of your assigned prompt.

Submitting/Posting

We encourage early submissions! We will update this space with a link to an AO3 collection and instructions for posting ASAP.

Please email us at [email protected] with the following information when you are ready to submit:

Title:

Author/Artist:

Rating:

Word count (if applicable):

Art medium (if applicable):

Warnings:

Additional Tags

Summary

Your tumblr/twitter/AO3/etc. if you would like us to tag you

Link to your work: - we will provide a collection link so we can control posting

Extensions

If you feel like you will not be able to meet your specified deadline, please let us know ASAP. We have a tight timeline so extensions may not be possible, but if you contact us at least 3 days before your deadline we will do our best to accommodate you within the planned posting schedule – please let us know.

#hp fanfiction #hp fests #drarry #drarry fests #dramione #dramione fests #wolfstar #literally any pairing I just am not very savvy at tumblr tags and am in charge of sharing this so we did not have to make a new tumblr

[mysticalsoot]

halloween costumes & anxiety

part 1 of 'glances of love'

➸ note; I bit the bullet. alright so context, glances of love is a fic series based off my chaos dr which is basically just a streamer dr hybrid. some details, like the dynamic between reader and Wil, readers behaviors and anxieties, experiences like this fic, are all pieces of my dr. so if it's unconventional, I'm sorry but it's my Dr, my blog, my writing. i choose to share this bc I want to and I want other people to enjoy my work. anyways! on with the reading (please don't throw stones at me, my bones are like brittle glass)

➸ pairing; male!reader x cc!wilbur, he/him

➸ summary; reader avoids going to wilbur's shows for one reason--the fans. he has no qualms against them, they just scare him. he decides to go for the second Halloween gig, dressing up as a humanized tardis as wilbur is the tenth doctor. everything goes smoothly until it's time to meet fans. Wilbur then comforts reader yay!

➸ warning; uses of babyboy including other nicknames, one use of daddy but in a sfw/jokingly sweet context! maybe swearing? mean depiction of some Lovejoy fans-- sorry! wilbur dresses up as the tenth doctor.. nerdy and dorky shit. reader has much panic and anxiety, some hints of an anxiety attack mixed with an autistic shut down (haha me-- /lh)

➸ age-rating; 15+

➸ wordcount; 3.2k

main masterlist

glances of love masterlist

you love wilbur, that was something you were sure of and wholeheartedly so. you supported him, mostly from the safety of your shared home. making posts online basically being his biggest cheerleader, helping him calm down from panics or spirals, smiling and cheering whenever he shows you something knew. you love him. you support him. you adore him.

but his fanbase scares you. it's nothing against them, really. maybe it's the daunting size and intensity of the group of people. maybe it's the negativity that manages to be at the forefront of your mind. whatever it is, they scare you.

you haven't been to one of Lovejoy's shows in ages, and you really hadn't planned on it. you still sort of don't yet Wil's been talking about the next big gig; the Halloween show in Brighton. he wants you to be there, wherever comfortable of course, all dressed up in a matching costume, cheering him on and right there so he can kiss you the second he steps off stage, utilizing that adrenaline to his advantage. he wants you by his side through everything, and while he'd never push you to something you don't want to do, he can't help but be a little pushy about it. he isn't mean or harmful, he just mentions it more. he talks and he talks about it, bouncing and stimming in joy at the mentions of it and the plans he has for it and how cool it's going to be. he wants you there so bad, and it's painfully clear.

"so, what do you think, baby?" he asks as he spins around in front of the TV, showing off his costume in all its glory. you made a joke a few months prior that he reminded you of David Tennant's doctor who, and he took it and ran with it. he's clad in his old converse, some of his funky socks, a pair of brown patterned pants. he tucks in the white shirt a bit more, adjusting the tie before putting the trench coat on. he smiles widely, hands in his pockets just like Ten.

you smile and nod, clapping softly, "you look lovely, darling!" you try your best to sound as excited as possible, giggling when you see him try to stick his hair upwards, but it flops down over his forehead and he sticks his lip out in a pout. "don't think your hair is made for that, bub."

you shake your head with a smile as he shrugs, striding over to you and plopping down beside you on the couch, tossing his legs up on the coffee table in front of you. he tugs you into his lap, "c'mere," and you oblige with a giggle, settling between his thighs comfortably, your legs around his waist as you rest your hands half on his chest half on his shoulders. he holds you by your lower back and hips, hands flat out on your body.

"why don't you come, just this once?" he speaks barely above a whisper as he pushes a bit of hair out of your face, a kiss placed on your opposite cheek.

you think for a moment, you need to go sometime. being on the sidelines won't cut it for much longer, and going means more time with him, less time spent alone. but that also means being near a lot of people, or being in a crowd. or meeting fans--

"yeah, why not?" you smile softly, part of you immediately regretting your words but holding up to your word anyhow.

the following week is spent in preparation, costumes, after show plans, travel, rehearsal, set list writing-- most things Wil handles alone. alot of time spent tucked away in the office in the flat, or on the phone or in the studio. but you both manage time to spend together, and to work on your costume. you both decided on a simple costume, a flowy shirt, a leather jacket, some boots and a tardis key around your neck.

a simple omage to the doctor's forever partner, the tardis. you both thought it was sweet, a nice way to say "forever?" in a rather dorky and cute way.

the day of the show snuck up on you both much quicker than expected, Wil was scrambling to leave early and you were trying to calm your nerves the moment you woke. of course you'd be home on your own for a bit, until you went to the venue a couple hours before it started. you'd help out in whatever way you could and then help wil with makeup if he decided he wanted to add some, just for a special touch.

"if you need anything from me, don't hesitate to call okay? or text. I'm right here, baby. I'll make sure you're okay." he smiles, kissing your forehead as he goes through his mental bullet points of what to remind you on.

• I'm here

• you're safe

• text me

• call me

• I love you

• goodbye/see you soon

the way he had this little pre-venue routine was sweet, and it helped calm your nerves even for a bit. it brought you peace of mind and helped settle that fire that always lit in your stomach in moments of anxiety.

he was like a natural anxiety remedy, and you loved every second of it.

"I know, I know. I'll tell you if anything's wrong. now, go have fun at soundcheck. i love you, bee," you lean up to try and reach his lips to kiss, yet you don't quite reach that height. he leans down and closes the gap for you, your lips moving in sync with one another as you sigh into the feeling. it's nice, it's warm and it buzzes your skin. he pulls back, smiling before biting his lip. he brushes some hair out of your face as he admires you.

"I love you so so much, thank you for coming tonight.." he peppers kisses all over your face, holding your head in his hand as you giggle, holding his arms gently.

you giggle, smiling sweetly as he kisses all over your face and then he kisses your nose and stops, pulling back to smile down at you.

"I love you soo much more!" you giggle, kissing one more time as you both bid one another a sweet 'see you later'. you drop down onto the couch the moment the door clicks shut. you take in a deep, shakey breath, spending the next few hours wondering and pondering on how you expect to handle being at the show.

a few hours pass and you're on the walk to the venue, it isn't far from Wil's apartment building so you manage a swift 10-minute walk, wilbur's acoustic guitar slung on your back. you managed to avoid the crowds lining up and queuing for the show, slipping into the venue through the backdoor, sighing in relief once the door was shut and locked behind you. you hurried over to the green room, holding the guitar strap on your chest and putting the guitar down in the corner. Wil walks in a moment later, hurrying up behind you and wrapping his long arms around you. he rests his chin on your shoulder and you sigh happily. turning in his grasp, you shove yourself into his chest and keep close.

"I'm glad to see you, honeybaby.." he moves to rest his chin on your head, his hand on the back of it, scratching at your scalp with his fingertips and he presses kisses onto your hair.

"'m glad too.." you mumble against his chest, hands grasping at his back, fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt.

"how was your walk, baby?" he picks you up by your waist, placing you gently onto his lap after he finds his spot on the couch. you rest your hands on the bottom hem of his shirt. his fingers and thumbs rub at your thighs, trying to soothe you.

"good, I got to come in through the back," you shrug, leaning yourself down to press against his chest. you nestle your body between his thighs as you gently whine in content. he presses a hand against your back, as his other grazes your cheek gently.

"mm, good, baby," he smiles, kissing your nose. you both stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other's limbs. legs tangled, arms around one another, fingers fidgeting with each other's. your head is nestled on his shoulder and his head on top of yours. it's sweet and it's warm, and your anxiety slips away with every breath of his you hear. every tingle of your skin at his touch.

"I have to go soon, hun," he whispers against the shell of your ear, placing a kiss there as he rubs your upper arm. you whine at him, hiding your face in his chest, head tucked under his chin. he giggles at you, kisses placed on your hair before he gently pulls you back.

"I have a show to play, baby boy," he smirks, kissing your forehead. he's so.. sweet, you think, kind and gentle and you love his touch and affection.

"how much longer?" you hold a gentle pout on your lips, playing with the hem of his shirt.

"mm.." he pauses in thought, not actually thinking but pretending to, only to make you laugh, "five minutes? is that good for you, baby?"

you nod, resting back on his chest as you rest your legs on either side of his thighs, cuddling close to him and letting your eyes rest. wilbur draws shapes on your back with his finger tips. his other hand plays with your hair, twirling strands around his fingers before letting go and massaging your scalp. you let out soft, contented sighs with every touch, simply taking in every feeling and savoring it.

the five minutes pass and he's putting you back to stand, hugging you and kissing you as you help hype him up. he runs on stage and you head into the crowd. you thought it might help your anxiety, to be around everyone. you easily slip into the crowd, finding a spot off to the side and clapping and screaming with the crowd.

you blend in easily, getting drawn into the music and enjoying it just as anyone else. you eye wilbur lovingly, watching him bounce around and perform in his costume. he looks so silly to you, adorable and lovely. you smile so widely and he glances over to you every once and a while, a smile and a wink thrown in your direction.

the show moves along smoothly, he talks in between songs when he's tuning his guitar. he's careful not to point you out, but he talks about you. gushing over his boyfriend, how sweet you are and how you're the reason he has a costume this year. he smiles so wide, and his eyes sparkle. he really loves you.

once the show ends, they go out to the back, and you slip back through the backstage door. the crowd finds their way out to the back, ready to meet the guys and your heart starts to pound at the idea. you fully plan on going out with Wil, wanting to be beside him despite your fears. surely it'll be fine? no one will bother you and all in all, he'll be there so you'll be okay.

he meets you in the hall outside of the green room, picking you up by your waist and spinning you around before kissing all over your face. you giggle, humming and grabbing at his shirt.

"hi, baby-" he coos, pulling back and resting his forehead on yours.

"hi, wilbee.." you let your words fade, sighing and shutting your eyes. he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs as he looks down into your eyes.

"ready, lovey?" he smiles, pulling back and dipping his head to meet your eyes.

you nod and he puts out his hand for you. you wrap your hand around his finger, not bothering with holding his whole hand as he leads you outside through the backdoor. you keep your hold on him, hiding in his side or behind him. you're sure to hold onto him, so you don't lose him somewhere in the crowd. there isn't a barricade outside like there sometimes is, so fans crowd around and cluster up in his (and your) personal space. you stay quiet about it, keeping your fast breathing and spinning mind under wraps. wilbur tells a few people to back up just a bit, for safetys sake as he speaks with a few fans. he lets you keep that hold on him, only letting go when he takes photos.

your mind wanders until a few voices catch you. they're simple whispers, ones that surround you and come from behind you. you don't turn around to see the source of the voices but you hear what they say as clear as day.

"does he really have to bring his boyfriend everywhere?"

"we're here to see Lovejoy, not wilbur's lost puppy."

they laugh together, and wilbur doesn't even hear, and you don't bother to speak up either. you try your best to zone out, to pull those voices out of your mind and crush them, but they seem to consume you.

"everyone knows he's probably just a gold digger. someone like him can only be a gold digger."

"wilbur's too old for him anyways. we all know wil would be happier with someone older."

you lean your head on wilbur's side, whining softly as your brain spins and drowns in fear and anxiety. he doesn't stop his conversation for a bit, not until you grab onto his shirt and tug it slightly. your head is tilted back and your eyes are sad as they look up at him.

he pulls you aside gently, crouching just barely so your eyes are at the same level. he holds your face, kissing your lips once before pulling back to smile at you.

"what's wrong, baby? do you need to leave?" he asks in a gentle tone, you shake your head gently. you know you aren't convincing but if you can be just enough, maybe he'll go back out again. maybe you won't ruin the night.

"no, no, I'm okay. just tired. um.. let's go back? i don't want anyone to be upset." you hold a soft, yet fake, smile on your lips. wilbur frowns, not believing your facade for a second but taking it knowing how stubborn you are. you grab onto his belt loop this time, following him back over into the crowd of fans.

he continues going about interactions, signing things and talking amongst everyone, he takes photos and he hugs people.

you tune yourself out of what he's busy with, not wanting to be bothersome. but as always, you regret that decision.

more people start talking about you.

it's driving you crazy.

"such a pitiful guy, his boyfriend protecting him- Jesus, wilbur deserves someone better."

tears start to prick at your eyes due to the words thrown at you. you bite your lip and let go of wils jeans, walking away and wiping tears from your cheeks with your sleeve.

you hear more comments, most are seemingly happy about your absence and you don't get a cool breath until you're back inside the venue. you decide packing up would be your best bet, putting away what wilbur brought. his laptop and charger, a book and guitar picks. you pack everything you can, letting sobs rip through your chest as tears pour down your cheeks. you're a mess and you feel it. you aren't even sure if wilbur had noticed your absence but you sort of hope he didn't. you didn't want to steal him from everyone anyways.

a few minutes pass of frantic packing and burning tears before footsteps are heard. wilbur opens the door to the green room gently, walking over to you and pulling you into his arms. he's silent, not a word needs to be spoken for you to know how okay it is. you let it out, crying into his chest as sobs ripple out and you grasp at his shirt. he rubs your back with one hand while the other pets your hair. he kisses the top of your head, shushing you sweetly.

"shh.. shh, baby it's okay. I'm here? okay, I'm here." he mumbles between kisses to your head. his fingers rub and press on your back to help ground you. eventually you're able to catch your breath, voice still shakey but at least you aren't crying. the tears have been shed and all that's left is a broken voice and stains of sorrow on your cheeks.

he holds your face, rubbing away the tear stains with his thumbs. you sigh, holding his wrists with your hands, rubbing the inside with your thumbs.

"what happened?" he asks again and you want to brush it off, but instead you spill. you tell him of all the horrible things you've seen and heard, how you feel like the only one that experiences it. you ask why you're so hated, and he doesn't have the answer. he can only see the beauty in you, he sees no reason for one to hate you or even dislike you one bit. he nods and sighs, kissing your forehead before pulling you into his lap and placing soft kisses to your neck and jaw.

"you're okay now, baby. I'm here, I won't let anyone hurt you. i promise, none of those things are true and I promise I love you, and I love you for who you are." he smiles, watching your eyes sparkle with an admiration at his words. you feel the sobs build up in your throat and you want to cry again, to sob hysterically just by hearing such sweet words.

"i mean how can someone be a gold digger if they insist on helping pay bills on an apartment they're not even on the lease for?" he chuckles, kissing your forehead as you find giggles escaping you instead at his silly words. it's true, if anything you're farther from a gold digger than anything, "they don't know you, hun, so don't let them get to you."

he kisses your forehead one more time, before pulling back and letting you tuck into his lap for a few minutes rest. he lets you lay there, rubbing your back until he has to pick you up. he does so, and you both begin to pack the van up, ready to go home as soon as possible.

he stops you by the back door, holding your hand and looking down at you, "home, my tardis?"

"home, doctor," you smile up at him and he kisses you once, twice, three times before hurrying you both to the van. he helps you in first, buckling you in before he slides in next to you.

"what was that for?" you inquire gently, his hand reaching out to you, insisting you wrap your hand around his finger and you do so, but keep your gaze on him in order to keep his attention.

"I wanted to show extra care, that's all."

you nod softly in agreement, resting your head against his shoulder as he sighs.

"g'night, baby," he kisses your temple with a sweet smile.

"goodnight, daddy.." you smile to yourself as sleep takes over and you finally feel a blanket of peace over you.

it wasn't the best experience, but at least you had wilbur along the way.

taglist; @lcvejoy @lillylvjy @ella-fella-bo-bella @lotusanonymouse @ughtreyparker @whos-nicooo @zebonos

© 2023 mysticalsoot

#wilbur soot #bee<3 #wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur soot x male reader #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur soot #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x male!reader #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur #dsmp #dream smp

[ryuichirou]

Replies

A couple of Kuroshitsuji questions today, wow! Plus, some twst ones.

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

GODS YOUR GREENVIOLET COMIC!! FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKK It's so good!! I love the idea Violet is somehow a lil kinky that Greenhill but Violet would somehow blame him for a mess in his sheets lol

Hehehe thank youuuuu!!!

I really like to think that Violet has a kinky side, but maybe it’s just because he is the artistic “weird” type and therefore more “in touch” with this hidden side of himself; compared to Greenhill, who is a proper polite boy, but also quite horny when the situation gets even a little bit spicy lol He’ll learn a lot of things about himself when he and Gregory start sleeping together.

Anonymous asked:

I see you like Black Butler. Let me ask you, do you have any art of the Undertaker of Grell? The way I simp is hard but if you don't, that is fine. Please remember to take care of yourself and drink water. Love your art <3

We don’t have any relatively new art with Grell, which is ironic, considering that Grell is the character that I always drew thorough the years whenever we rewatched Kuroshitsuji; I just love the design very much…

We do have some stuff with the Undertaker though! He is one of our favourites actually, even though compared to some other guys I haven’t drawn him much. Which is honestly a shame…

Thank you for loving our stuff! <3

Anonymous asked:

recently I read a fanfic where idia was a cat beastfolk and got absolutely gang banged by octavinelle and I feel the need to share this thought with everyone because cat idia being fucked by octotrio lives rent-free in my head and I can successfully say that gregory violet art did not help

Oh god, a fic about Idia’s absolute true form lol And what a company for him to be in, of course he would get gangbanged by Octavinelle. Thank you for sharing, Anon… Now I’ll think about this concept too…

Gregory is such a kitty cat boy! This is insane, I always forget that technically when it comes to their animal symbols he is supposed to be a wolf. And even in the yesterday’s comic where he is supposed to be a wolf, he still has cat vibes. I guess this is just his and Idia’s genetics lol

Anonymous asked:

I love love love your jackvil art! I hope you receive nothing but blessings

This is so incredibly sweet, thank you so much, Anon! <3

Anonymous asked:

What does Idia think about cosplay in general?Personally I love it and I’m even going as Idia sometime this year.

Anon! This is cool, enjoy your time cosplaying Idia.

If I remember correctly, Idia does like cosplay to some extent – he did cosplay as Pumpkin Knight for Halloween, and definitely had a lot of fun designing, creating and wearing this costume. The only thing is that for Idia to actually want to cosplay a character it needs to be someone who has his head completely covered, because he isn’t comfortable showing either his face or his hair: even if you don’t know that his hair mean that he is a Shroud, it still attracts unnecessary attention… not to mention, ruins the cosplay :( So he isn’t really a cosplayer, but if he is in the mood? He’ll create anything from scratch in like 3 hours and do the most perfect cosplay imaginable.

But! He has a lot of opinions about others’ cosplay. About how they did the hair, the clothes, the swords, the details, every single thing. He appreciates the artistry and creativity, but he is also a bit of a snob.

Anonymous asked:

Referring to the headcanons about Ortho putting things in Idia’s food and drink, I suddenly see why he pees in a bottle 😔

(the hc is from this post)

Yeah, this is also a reason lol but honestly he doesn’t need Ortho’s “help” with this… he really is the type to go “I finish this one level and THEN I’ll go” and basically sits there until it becomes unbearable. A very bad habit!

Anonymous asked:

Bold of you to assume that I wouldn’t eat Lilia’s hand too if it came anywhere near my spaghetti.

Don’t leave this man handless, he needs it to smack butts lol

#replies

[bubblessunshinehoney]

day 31- Cockcage with Bucky Barnes

915 words

18+ only! NO MINOR INTERACTIONS

kinktober masterlist

A/N: it's the last day. I'm a bit emotional to be honest. i wrote 31 one fic this month. didn't miss a day even when i thought i would never be able to finish it in time. I explore new way of writing, get out of my comfort zone and i enjoyed writing this 31 fics.

My first account might have been suspended, but this one is going strong. im almost reaching 200 followers in less than 15 days, so thank you all to join me here and i can't wait for you to read more of my creations!

Enjoy this one for now,

Cloudy

Don't be shy to reblog, comment or like!

TW: fluffy smut, cockcage, oral (f receiving), handjob (m receiving).

not beta read, english is not my first language, all mistakes are my own.

It was him, who wanted to try it for an entire day. Him who suggested for you to act like normally…but now he regrets it. Well, yes and no. It hurts sometimes, but he can’t help but like the pain. He might be a bit of a masochist.

It’s not that he loves the pain, it’s more that he has control over it. And he likes to be able to control how much he endures. It’s a bit of a therapy for him, a way to deal with the trauma of being under control, electrify, of having his arm cuts off and for having this vibranium one.

“How do you feel, cowboy?”, you murmur in his ear. That makes him shudder, gosh, he loves your voice.

“I’m good, hurts a little but in a good way”. You kiss in sweet spot on his neck, and he moans faintly. “Doll, please…”

You giggle and hugs his waist, resting your face on his chest. “Please what, cowboy?”

It was your idea to dress up as cowboy and cowgirl for Tony’s Halloween party. Bucky was incredible in his costume, and you were…stunning. He couldn’t take his eyes off, well he never could do that, you were too gorgeous for him to look away.

“You know what… it’s always the same and you know it.” You smile softly, he was always shy to accept he was aroused. His mind was free and he felt like his younger self, having to catch up for lost times and you were always happy to help, happy to let him explore and try new things.

“Does my sweet boy need me to take care of him? “, he nods, blushing slightly. You kiss his chin and bites it just like he loves, and you can feel the rumble of his growls.

“Doll.”, he growls deeply, you laugh softly and takes his hand. You’ve stayed long enough, and it was time to relieve him. And honestly, you couldn’t wait to have him all for you.

Straight after the door of your shared appartement is closed, Bucky kisses you hard and pushes you to your bedroom. You wrap your arm around his neck, and you hum happily into the kiss.

Soon enough, he’s bare, cock red and precum leaking even with the cage on. “Look at you, you’re so pretty”, you purr face between his legs, your nose nudging the constrict member. Bucky blushes and giggles. Your man actually giggles, and you look at him. “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you do that” He giggles more and hides in the crook of his elbow, you bite his inner thigh.

“Oi, you are a cowgirl, not a vampire!”, he says with a big smile. “So, can we take off the cage or you want to see me in it more?”. You smile and strokes his legs, his constrict cock, jumping at the slightest touch, you feather touch his balls and he moans, arching his back and more precum leaks out, you lick it clean, and he looks down at you. “Fuck, doll…you’re the devil tonight”

“Happy Halloween, James.” He strokes your face and smiles softly.

“Happy Halloween, dolly.” You go up to kiss him, and he holds you close, slowly taking off your clothes too, needing to feel your skin against his. “You’re so soft and warm.” He kisses your neck and slides down while pulling you up, to be between your legs. “Be my cowgirl and ride my face?”.

You laugh and nod. “I can do that, you sure it’s going to be okay ? We both know you can cum just by eating me out.” He spanks you playfully and nods.

“I can do it, and if it gets too much, I’ll say orange or red or my safe word.” You give him a look. “Moon”. You smile and lower yourself, his tongue licks you straight away and you moan, loving the warmth of his mouth and the dexterity of his tongue, reaching every spot that pleasures you. You cum quickly, legs trembling, panting. He holds you and helps you lay down beside him.

“How do you feel, Jamie?”, he smiles and kisses you, you moan when you can taste you on his tongue.

“Like I’m going to explode.” You giggle against his lips and takes the key. “Yes, please, take it off”. You free him and his cock takes her original size and more, he gets fully hard, and you have the impression that he’s bigger than normal.

“What do you want?”

“Just your hand, I’m over sensitive just with the air on it.”, he giggles and hides in your neck. You take some lube to help sooth him and little and you stroke him gently, he moans like if you were stroking him hard and fast, so you can understand how sensitive he must be.

“Feels good, baby?”, he nods, already too gone to form sentence or even words. You continue and he cums hard, bending in half and biting the crook of your neck.

He pants, and he holds you close, purring when you stroke his hair. “I’m proud of you, bucky, you did so good tonight, today.” He kisses your neck, not fully recovered to be able to talk. “I think a day in the cage it’s too much. Don’t want my favourite cock to fall off”, he laughs and nods, relaxing under your touch and he’s soon asleep. You smile and kisses his hair, snuggling before falling asleep too.

taglist : @navybrat817 @christywantspizza @buckyalpine @iloveprettyboysblog @ethreal-love @nailedbymandy @captainsimagines @buckybarnesandmarvel @rogersandlightwood @sparkledfirecracker @barneswinterraven @hansensgirl @blades-and-heartbreak @runa-falls @chrisdrysdale

#kinktober #kinktober22 #kinktober 2022 #cloudy&bellaskinktober #clo&bellaskinktober #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fandom #bucky barnes x dom!reader #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan characters #winter soldier

[m0rbidmacabre]

One for Eternity 🦇

Summary:

Dracopia, a vampire, visits Brasov in search of rare magical materials for his rituals. He meets a witch in an occult shop who offers him a companionship locket.

Notes:

As you are all probably aware my Dracopia obsession is taking over - I've been meaning to do something like this since kinktober day 20 got me hooked, and then reading all the fabulous vampire/ghost fics over halloween... just this is needed! ;) ENJOY chapter one. this is going to be another rolling series for now.

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, blood, violance, vampires, blood drinking, swearing, mature nature, human/vampire relationship

READ ON AO3

Chapter 1

Dracopia awoke his eyes, blurred from his slumber. The scent of the cold night air wafting through the window, saturating the pitch-black dwelling. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, remembering where he was. He wasn’t in the comfort of this Transylvanian mansion, no… He was in a boarding house. One that reeked of piss and blood, but as a vampire, you can hardly afford to be picky on your lodgings and his plan was to move unnoticed. He sighed dragging himself to his feet, walking over to the open window, peering around the pitiful bit of fabric the boarding house called a curtain.

Darkness had fallen, the city of Brasov was safe once again for him to roam, the orange glows of the streetlights dancing on its gothic architecture. Dracopia had just left his home in the mountains to meet with a local in the historic city. Brasov itself is the largest city in Transylvania, it held many enigmatic mysteries within the city walls, it was a beautiful place to visit and Dracopia often felt safe here. It was densely populated, so a vampire like himself felt safe concealing himself in the sea of human life for a short time.

 His current visit to Brasov was one where he was in a search of rare magical materials he needed to gather for his upcoming rituals. His life as a vampire had been bare, he spent most of his time alone in the mountains, reliving the days in his head when he was Papa of the satanic church. His rituals were often focused on trying to conjure up a life partner or familiar he could spend the rest of eternity in the arms of. They all had failed. Sure, he had his ghouls for company, but they weren’t the same thing as being with someone to share companionship, His ghouls were more his protecters and often a reminder of his previous life that haunted him. His problem was that being a vampire meant eternity and living for eternity wasn’t something most people found attractive. Life had hardened his once soft shell, and he wasn’t the nice, understanding man he once was, all he had to offer was trauma upon trauma from his previous life that seemed so distant now. This loss of his brothers made it all too much to think about and his hardships multiplied by the days, months, years that passed by.

Dracopia walked to the local occult shop where he had planned to meet the local who ran the store, He could smell the stench of their mortal soul before he even entered the door of store. The small witch stood behind the counter of the store which was cluttered with ancient relics and tomes. The interior was quaint, the dark wood furniture which stored the shops treasures stood proudly behind glass, to avoid being touched by hands that didn’t understand their true powers.

The witch looked up at Dracopia, studying his every move as he walked in through the door.

“Hello Sir, please come in” the witch offered a greeting after noticing Dracopia’s uncomfortable demeanour.

“Si, hello” Dracopia replied lifting his eyebrows into a squint, studying the witch in front of him. She oozed an eccentric nature, but you could tell from her eyes that she was wise beyond her years. She looked friendly.

Dracopia looked around the shop studying its wares, yet keeping a watchful eye on the witch behind the counter, always keep an eye on your company. Especially if you don’t know them, you don’t know the harm they could bring you. Safety first. Dacopia’s mind again lingering on his unearthed trauma.

The witch spotted a change in his Aura and asked “Do you need any help? I’m quite well versed in the occult; I can offer you advice if you would like?” the witch peered at him as he shifted around the store looking extremely suspicious. Being quiet and elegant was never his strong suit, even as a vampire he was still clumsy as hell.

Dracopias eyes pierced into her, as if he was trying to decipher her intentions. She seemed harmless, maybe he should accept her advice he thought to himself. What has he got to lose?

“I'm looking for something, something to help me call out for a companion...” not letting too much information slip as he announced why he was here.

“I see, is this companion someone you already know? A love spell perhaps?”

“No, no, I don’t think I already know who they are. I just need to summon the companionship... Someone who will be with me and well, understand me”. He said letting a little more information out for the witch.

“I see, I have this...but It’s not an item to be taken lightly, it sounds like what you need” she said pulling out a locket from the dark wooden shelving.

The locket itself was wooden and had intricately detailed carvings of the reflection of companionship inlayed into its ancient body.

“It’s a companionship locket, it contains a charm of powerful magic that can summon the ideal companion. This companion can be human, spirit, magical creature or even a powerful familiar. As I’ve said, it comes with a price… once your companion is called, they are bound to you, enslaved without their own free will”. She explained to him as Dracopias eyes widened, was he willing to do such a thing to another living being for his own selfish need? Of course, his ghouls are bound to him, but they still have some of their free will... Most of his ghouls that remain with him are ones that have chosen to stay by his side and remain on earth within their pack that they have known for centuries now. He knew this may not be the right idea, but he made the choice anyway and without hesitation.

“Si, I understand. I’ll take it”.  Dracopia didn’t need to think about it, his longing far outweighs his rational thought. His rational self-died long ago, all that was left was half the man he was when he was Papa, and if he hurt a few people along the way to finding the happiness he's craved his whole life then he didn’t see an issue with that, they could grow to love him, he wasn’t hideous after all, even though on the inside he felt more like an evil comic book villain these days.

The witch studied Dracopias face as she packaged up the Lockett and gave him the instructions, “For it to work you need to do your normal nightly ritual and ask the dark lord to bless the Lockett for a companion to appear. Then you wear the Lockett, your companion should then appear to you. It might not be instant, but I can assure you, it will work”.

He nodded his approval and thanked her. Leaving without a word.  He was starting to feel hungry, leaving the witch alone was a good idea, it was like his blood lust was going to take over his senses. Maybe the smell of human life was too much for him these days, he tried to be good, tried not to kill, but sometimes his urges were too much. Instead of going back to the boarding house, he decided to take a walk through the city and watch the drunks wonder out of the taverns… maybe one of them would be enough to quench his thirst until he got back home to his mountains. He didn’t like to make a scene and if he was going to hunt, it had to be the lowest of the lows... The people who were out for blood, just not the blood he wanted. It would have to be someone the city wouldn’t miss.

He soon spotted a group of men stood outside a tavern, all of them stood huddled in a circle. He watched, silently. Watching them with eager eyes, from here he could smell the blood pumping through their veins. One of them was angry, shouting... They were clearly stood over something, so Dracopia moved closer in the shadows.

“Look at you, you’re fucking pathetic” the angry man shouted. “You're just a fucking slut ain’t you... You thought you could have some fun with us didn’t you, little witch.” he kicks the person in the centre, but she was small, and able to dodge and weave most of the attack by Dracopia hears a small whimper and the strong scent of blood. She drags herself to her feet and bolts like an animal running from its prey. They follow, in chase...

Dracopia sees her clearly for the first time, a small human... a woman... with raven black hair and her clothes all dirty, with a bloody nose and bruises appearing on her skin running for her life, he could smell her fear as she ran into an enclosed alley way, the men running behind her. They caught up to her, the man punched her in her stomach, and she folded in half in pain, crying out as she fell to the floor.

Dracopia sees red, and within an instant he is holding the man by the throat. Not giving him a second thought, he punched him, hard... Blood oozed from his face, and he had clearly passed out from the punch. Dracopia looks down at his suit. “Now look what you’ve done you cunt, you’ve got blood on my suit. what makes you feel like such a god that you can hurt such a beautiful creature?” he says to the man he is still holding. His lifeless body hung against the wall. His friends had seen the attack and bolted, leaving him alone with Dracopia and the man's victim. Dracopia looked back at the women, she was passed out in a heap, so he took advantage, piercing his fangs into his lifeless victim, closing his mouth around the holes he created as the blood leaked into his mouth, giving Dracopia the feast he needed. He was soon done, he let go of the man's neck and he dropped to the floor, lifeless... drained of all his life force.

Dracopia wiped the blood from his chin as he came back to his senses, noticing the women still laying still on the floor. He was sure she had not seen anything that had just transpired but he could never be sure. He walked over to her, picking her up in his strong arms. She came too for a moment, shaking in agony from the attack.

“Shh shh.. You're ok… I’ve got you... You’re safe” Dracopia whispered to her, pushing a wisp of her Raven her from her face. She looked up at him, her brown eyes sparkling with tears, and let out a sigh. Passing out again, Dracopia took her back to the tavern where he had found her, carrying her the whole way. Making sure she was safe. He walked in and asked the barkeep who she was, explaining to him what had just happened... But leaving out that it ended in dinner.  The barkeep seemed to know the women, so Dracopia unwrapped her from his arms and passed her to the man that was tending the bar. Dracopia thought she was safe, and it was time for him to vanish before she woke up asking questions. He made his excuses to the bar keep and left her safety with him.

He moved quickly back to his boarding house, a place he could be safe. Walking through the door, he looked down at what was a pristine black suit, now full of blood stains and dirt. He sighed, pulling the package from the shop out of his pocket and placing it neatly on his side table. Slipping out of his suit and changing into some clean slacks. He would wait until tomorrow evening, then return home to the comfort of his mountains. He thought, back to his safe haven.

#the band ghost #ghost fandom #ghost #ghost fanfiction #ghost bc #cardinal copia #papa copia #papa emeritus 4 #dracopia #copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #popia #vampire #horror fanfiction #smutty fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 link #ao3feed #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own

[oliverreedmasterass]

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Interlude | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Second Interlude | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Epilogue

Chapter Summary: The group makes their way into Frankenmuth, ready to fight against the hunters to protect their nest and pack.

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: grotesque violence (more intense than in previous chapters), gun violence, blood, head injury, language, implications of death

Notes: I'm writing this to hold myself accountable: Chapters 12 and the Epilogue will be posted by Halloween. If that doesn't happen, I will deactivate my account (jk) (also thanks to @infinisonicosm for the fic idea!!)

-----------------------------------------------------

Rae was sure she wasn’t the only one feeling the day weighing on her shoulders, but no one else showed it as they briskly moved through the woods back out to the residential streets. A part of Rae was relieved that her gut had been telling her the truth so they could get back to town faster, but she was also concerned. Where did this intuition come from? Rae had never noticed it before, and now it consumed her mind. 

The sun was just starting to make its way over the horizon when their feet met pavement for the first time in hours. Beside her, Morgan let out a sigh of relief. Jake turned around and looked back at Rae and Morgan, his face twisted with concern. 

“I heard your phone call with your mom,” he told Rae. “You and Morgan need to go home and stay safe. My dad said that Bri is in town, which is really bad news. Both of you go and let your parents know you’re okay. We’ll be able to fend things off.” 

“Look, I don’t know who Bri is, but we’ve made it this far, I don’t want to leave your side,” Rae tried to protest. 

“She’s a hunter. The best, actually. A vampire killed her parents and filled her with such an intense rage, she’ll kill whoever gets in her way, even if they’re human.” 

“People say she took out an entire nest in less than five minutes with nothing but a cheese grater,” Sam popped into the conversation, widening his eyes as he shared his story. “She kept one alive so he could tell the tale.” 

“I doubt that’s true,” Danny rolled his eyes at Sam. 

“No,” Karen countered, “It is.” 

Rae grimaced at the thought but held her ground. “This seems like an all hands on deck kind of deal.” 

She noticed that Jake was looking closely at Morgan, and then turned to her brother as well. In the fading sunlight, Morgan’s skin was entirely sapped of color. His rustled hair looked like it might never properly smooth down again. He was starting to fold in on himself like he couldn’t stand upright any longer. 

Jake caught Rae’s eye and Rae sighed. 

“Okay, Morgan definitely needs to go home.” 

“I can stick it out,” Morgan gave a weak protest. 

“Take one look in the mirror and you’re gonna change your mind,” Rae cut him off. She looked around at the group and wasn’t sure whether to smile or keep a straight face. She opted to let the side of her lip curl upwards slightly, and gave a joking salute. “Please be safe,” she told them. 

Josh gave Rae a comforting rub on the back. 

“What time is your chemo tomorrow?” he asked Morgan. Morgan looked caught off guard by the question, scrambling to come up with an answer. 

“10?” he guessed. 

“See you at 9 tomorrow,” Josh winked at him. 

Kelly and Karen gave waves to Rae and Morgan, and Danny and Sam called their goodbyes as well. As Josh rejoined his family, Jake remained behind, looking at Rae with those melancholy eyes. 

“Get some rest and lay low,” he told Rae. “I’ll swing by and check on you guys later.” 

“Don’t worry about us,” Rae shook her head, even though she did desperately want to see him later so she knew he was alright. “Watch out for Bri. If anything happens to you, I’m legally obliged to kick your ass.” 

“I’ve personally never felt more threatened in my life,” Jake’s face warmed slightly. 

“Now, go out there and get em, tiger,” Rae told him. Jake laughed, but he looked unsure. Rae watched him with interest, wondering what was going through his head. Before she could react, Jake stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close so she could feel his heart thundering in his chest. “Hey, hey,” Rae softly spoke. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

“Just in case,” Jake whispered back. Then, just like that, he released and took a step back, focusing his attention on Morgan. “No more running into the woods, okay?” 

“Trust me, I’m never going back there again.” 

Jake looked over his shoulder to see his family slowly disappearing from sight. 

“I’d better go,” he said. Rae saw a flash of fear cross his face. She wanted to tell him to sit this one out, that he had been through enough and should stay with her and Morgan, but her words stuck in her mouth. She knew he would never abandon his family when they needed him. Her heart broke that, at just 17, Jake already had to put his life on the line over and over again. 

“Be safe,” Rae reminded him, and then Jake was off. Rae felt a knot form in her throat as she watched him leave but, before the emotions could take hold of her, she focused her attention on Morgan. “Let’s get you home, bud,” she told him. 

All it took was crossing the street and walking half a block for them to make it back to their new house. Rae was in the middle of twisting her key in the lock when her mom flung the door open with a relieved cry. She engulfed Morgan in a tight hug, leaving Rae standing awkwardly to the side. 

 “Four hours!” their mom exclaimed into Morgan’s shoulder. “I thought you were dead!” 

“We’re fine, Mom,” Rae promised her, trying to hide her hurt that she hadn’t received a hug as well. 

“Where were you?” their mom had her eyes glued on Rae. “What were you doing that was so important you couldn’t answer your phones?” 

“I went into the woods,” Morgan cut in before Rae could think of an answer. “I got lost and Rae had to go in there and find me. Neither of us had cell reception.” 

Their mom held Morgan out in front of her so she could study him. “Why were you in the woods? You’ve heard all those stories about people going missing, Morgan. You know better than that.” 

“I was trying to clear my head,” Morgan levelly answered back, not breaking eye contact. “You know, before tomorrow.” 

Their mom let out an exasperated sigh and hung her head, unable to continue with her scolding. 

“Come on,” she told Morgan and Rae. “Let’s get you two inside. Dad has some dinner that he can reheat.” 

Rae took a look over her shoulder at the empty residential street before she made her way indoors. They were alone. 

The next hour and a half was torture for Rae. All through dinner and creating countless white lies about what had happened in the woods, she couldn’t stop thinking about how she was in the wrong place. She needed to be with Jake, Josh, Sam, Danny, Kelly, and Karen, defending their nest and pack from the hunters. They had been through too much for her to tap out early. 

Her eyes kept falling on the front door and, after probably her fifteenth time gazing longingly out the window, Morgan seemed to pick up on her thoughts. For a brief period where neither of their parents were in the dining room with them, he leaned across the table. 

“You want to go back out there, don’t you?” he asked. Rae could only nod. Morgan took another bite of his pasta and chewed thoughtfully. 

“I do too.” 

Even though the color had returned back to Morgan’s face and he looked more like a teenage boy than a ghost, Rae quickly shut him down. 

“I don’t think you really do,” she said. Morgan looked back at her in surprise. “You’re still recovering,” Rae continued. “You need to get your rest. Also, as your older sister, I can’t afford to see you endure any more of this violent shit.”

Morgan’s shoulders slumped. 

“I honestly do want to help, but I am feeling super gassed. I haven’t moved around this much in a crazy long time.” 

“You’re gonna stay here,” Rae decided for him. “And you better pinky promise you won’t come looking for me or do anything stupid while I’m gone, okay?” 

Morgan rolled his eyes, but offered his pinky out to her. “Promise,” he said. 

Rae took his pinky in hers and then stood from the table. 

“I’m gonna go out through the back,” she thought aloud. “Can you cover for me?” 

“I’ll tell Mom and Dad you’re in your room,” Morgan agreed. “Put on one of your weird folk albums super loud and stuff your bed with shit so it looks like you’re sleeping.” 

“You’re the best,” Rae grinned at him. She never had to sneak out of the house back in Folsom, but she and Morgan had had plenty of conversations over the years talking about how they would pull it off. She was so glad that Morgan had remembered their plan. 

Rae gave Morgan a kiss on the head which he returned with gagging noises, and then slipped out the back door and rushed through the side gate to return to the street. She wasn’t sure where to look for her friends, but heading downtown seemed like the best option.

Rae started to run down the middle of the road, her ponytail whipping behind her with each step. The streetlights were starting to flicker on overhead, and Rae sputtered as some gnats made their way into her mouth. The closer she got to downtown, the more Rae noted that things felt off in Frankenmuth. The streets that she and Jake had strolled down just a few days before when they first met were in disarray. Houses had their front doors entirely ripped off the hinges and their windows smashed. People stood, lost, on their porches, trying to make sense of everything. Off in the distance a werewolf howl rumbled. Rae couldn’t tell if it was Jake, but it made her run faster. 

She was moving quicker than she ever had before, but then skidded to a stop to clutch at her stomach, which was twisting in agonizing knots. 

“Oh god,” she groaned out. “This can’t be good.” 

While she held her middle, she heard footsteps rush to her side. She lifted her head slightly in the hopes that it was Jake or Josh to help her out, but was instead met with the boney face of a middle aged man who had a large scratch running from his forehead to his right cheek. 

“Gotcha,” he rasped. “Fuckin werewolf.” 

Rae’s stomach turned again and in a blur, she saw the man start to reach for her waist to hoist her up. She blinked and saw that the man was still standing over her, waiting to make his move. Then, his hands started to reach for her. Because she knew what he was about to do, Rae did the first thing that popped into her mind and jumped out of the way. The man turned around to look at her in surprise and she sent her foot flying up into his crotch. The hunter clutched downstairs and stumbled around in a daze, but then Rae saw him take out a large knife and slice at her. With another blink, she saw that he was still keeled over. After a few beats, he straightened back up, growled at her, and reached for his weapon. In a flash, Rae rushed to his side, snatched the knife out of his hand, went behind him, and held the sharp edge to his throat. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Rae hissed at him. 

“What the fuck?” the guy choked back. Rae saw a flash of him turning out of her hold and thwacking his hand through her arm so she dropped the knife. She waited for him to move and, as he started to shift on his feet, she sent the hilt of the knife into the back of his head. The hunter thumped to the pavement with a groan. Rae sent a few kicks into his side and head for a little extra insurance, and stole his leather knife holder to tie around her waist. She inserted the knife into it and then wiped her dirtied hands off on her jeans as she caught her breath. 

Something moved out of the corner of her eye and she felt the adrenaline rush back through her veins. The knife came back out in front of her and Rae turned to face Sam, who jumped with wide eyes. 

“Woah!” he called out. “It’s me!” 

Rae let out a hefty sigh and dropped the knife back down to her side. 

“I was gonna step in to try and help you but, Jesus, you handled that all on your own.” 

“I don’t know what happened,” Rae admitted. “It was, like, I could see what he was going to do before he actually did it.” 

“It sounds like you’ve got some tricks up your sleeve,” Sam nodded with a smile. “Speaking of tricks, look at this!” 

Sam squeezed his fists and let out a straining grunt which made Rae wince. This went on for an uncomfortable amount of time, but Rae caught sight of a nice set of fangs coming in from Sam’s mouth. He wiped some sweat from his brow when he was finished, and then flashed a wide grin at her. 

“I’m a hybrid!” he announced, opening up his arms like he was reintroducing himself. 

“That’s amazing!” Rae congratulated him.

“I still can’t turn into a bat or a full werewolf but, you know, baby steps. I was helping a nest move into hiding a few blocks over and one of the elders told me what I had to do to get the fangs. The guy was a genius or something because it only took one try!” 

“Those hunters better watch out,” Rae joked. 

“Right back atcha,” Sam nudged her side. Rae laughed, but was still filled with uncertainty about what had happened between her and the hunter. It was like she wasn’t herself for a second. 

Rae looked around and then back at Sam. “Where’s everyone else?” 

“My dad and mom are with the other leaders trying to put pressure on the mayor. Danny’s also there so they can prove they had nothing to do with his disappearance,” Sam shared. “I have no clue where Jake and Josh are, though. The last I saw them, they were by the river trying to get back some members of our pack who were taken by the hunters.” 

“I want to help,” Rae said without thinking twice. Her words seemed to relieve Sam. 

“Uh, yeah, I could use your help,” Sam nodded. “Don’t tell anyone, but being on my own out here has been kind of terrifying, even if I have my fangs now.” 

“Let’s find Jake and Josh so we have strength in numbers,” Rae suggested. 

Sam couldn’t argue with that, so he began tracking around, trying to pick up their scents. Rae followed behind him, putting every ounce of her energy into focusing on her stomach to see if it sent her any more distress signals. Rae didn’t know where it had come from, but she had total faith in the power of her gut feeling. 

Sam led them through more empty streets, which started to look familiar. Rae realized that they were moving closer to the high school and reflected on how confused she had been about Jake earlier during her first day. Ringing sounded loudly in her ears and her vision blurred, replacing the street in front of her with a disturbing scene. Rae saw Jake and Josh fighting in desperation against a staggering number of hunters who had them backed into a corner. It was dark and hard to see, but Rae could tell that they were struggling to defend themselves and growing afraid. 

Her sight returned back to normal and she immediately saw Sam in front of her with his hand on her shoulder. 

“What did you see?” he asked her with concern. 

“Jake and Josh,” Rae told him. “They’re in trouble. Somewhere dark, I don’t know where.” 

“I can smell them near the high school,” Sam replied. “Let’s go.” 

Sam started to run, and Rae followed behind him. With each step, Rae grew more anxious and worried. Considering all that they had been through, she had never seen such terror on Jake and Josh’s faces. It was as if they could see their end in sight. 

They made it to the front doors of the high school and Sam hurdled his body into them with all of his might. Rae watched in awe as the doors groaned at his weight and flung open. Sam let in another deep inhale and then looked back at Rae. 

“You said they were in a  dark place?” 

Rae nodded. 

“I bet they’re in the basement.” 

Rae started to move towards the staircase leading downstairs, but stopped in her tracks when she noticed that Sam wasn’t following behind her. Instead, he was glued in place, squeezing his eyes shut with his fists clenched, making more groaning noises. Rae watched in confusion, unsure what to do. The last thing she wanted was for the kid to pop an eye out. 

“Dammit,” Sam grunted. “I’m so close.” 

“Can I help?” Rae found her words, stepping back to join him. Sam shook his head and continued to strain. 

“AGGHHHHHH!” a voice bellowed with a crack from beneath their feet. 

“Jake!” Sam opened his eyes to shout. He then squeezed his eyes shut again and, in one fluid motion, transformed into a werewolf, fully equipped with bat wings and a set of murderous looking fangs. Rae took a second to gawk up at Sam, who had nearly doubled in size, but Jake’s screams were still sounding beneath them, so they headed for the stairs. 

Rae kept waiting for her stomach to kick into gear, or for her to see another vision, but her brain instead buzzed with panic. Sam led the charge downstairs with a low growl and immediately sliced through two hunters who had rushed to them to see what the commotion was. Rae had the knife out and pointed in front of her, waiting to see who would attack her. Finally she saw an image of a woman rushing behind her with a stake and then quickly turned, cutting at the woman before she could make her move. Rae caught a part of the woman’s arm, which made her cry out in pain, and then pushed her in Sam’s direction. In his monster form, Sam seemed to have lost every ounce of his human self. It was hard to believe that a fourteen year old was somewhere inside the terrifying monster that was fighting through a whole crowd of hunters with vicious strikes, bites, and blows. 

Jake’s screaming had stopped, which made Rae worried. Sam looked to be fending off the hunter with ease, so she rushed farther into the basement. Metal piping ran along the walls and her footsteps echoed in the space around her, lit only by a few dying light bulbs suspended from the ceiling. The farther she moved from Sam, the more she slowed her pace so she could listen for any signs of where Jake and Josh might be. After turning a corner, she heard voices and leaned against the wall, trying to stay quiet. 

“Bri should be here soon,” an unfamiliar man’s voice spoke. 

“She’ll be happy with what we caught,” a woman replied back. Rae could tell she was grinning from how she spoke. “Children of the Kiszka Pack and Wilson Nest, how lucky are we?” 

Rae thought hard about what to do. Jake and Josh were obviously behind the wall, but there were at least two hunters she would have to get through first. But she needed to make sure they were okay. Rae tried to force another vision to come to her, to no avail. Her mind remained blank, and she cursed to herself. Then, a thought ran through her mind: 

Just go in there. 

Rae felt like that was probably an incredibly stupid idea, but it was all she had. So, holding the knife firm and steady, she slipped out from behind the wall and took in the scene. The two hunters were facing away from her as they looked down at Jake and Josh, who were tied back to back on the ground. To Rae’s relief, they were both conscious, but the gash in the side of Josh’s head and Jake’s black eye left her concerned. 

“We use the children to get to their mommy and daddy, and Bri can finally get the justice she deserves.” 

Jake was gazing in front of him, looking like he wasn’t actively looking at anything, but he must have picked up Rae’s scent because he slowly rolled his head in her direction. She could see the surprise hidden beneath the wounds of his face, but he made no sound to give her away. Instead, he made brief eye contact with her, widened his one open eye, and nodded at the hunters. Rae nodded back and took in a deep inhale. 

Go. 

Rae lunged forward and plunged the knife in between the man’s shoulder blades, immediately causing a waterfall of red to ooze down his back. He fell down hard with the knife still in him, and Rae moved onto the next hunter, who was coming at her with her gun out and ready to unload. Rae caught a vision of something, but it confused her. It was just a brown blur. 

The hunter started to press on the trigger but then, in a flash, Sam soared into the room with a blood curdling shriek and slammed straight into the hunter with his talons clawing into her chest. He lifted her from the ground and threw her at the wall so her head slammed into one of the rusty metal pipes. She fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. 

Rae pulled the knife out of the man, and then looked at Jake and Josh. Their mouths were both hung wide open. 

“Jake,” Josh whispered. “I think they did something really bad to my head. I just saw the craziest shit.” 

Jake was focused on Sam, who was examining his body to make sure he hadn’t gotten any serious injuries from his fight against the herd of hunters. Considering no one else was coming into the room for backup, Rae could only assume that he had entirely eliminated that problem. 

“You turned,” Jake breathed out, taking in his brother. “You’re a full hybrid.” 

Sam let out a few beastly huffs, transformed back into a human, and crossed his arms over his chest, as if he was trying to hide himself. 

“That was my first time fully changing.” 

“You’ve got a lot of power in you,” Jake told him. 

“I just wanted to make sure you both were okay,” Sam softly spoke back. 

“We will be once we’re untied,” Josh replied. “I gotta get away from this guy. He smells like a wet dog.” 

Rae came up to them and started sawing away at the thick ropes with the blood-stained knife. Josh caught the ropes as they fell from his wrists and dropped them onto the floor with haste. 

“You shouldn’t be surprised, that’s what happens when a werewolf is in a damp place,” Jake complained back, looking offended. 

“What happened to you both?” Rae asked as she helped them to their feet. 

Josh grabbed at his injured head and huffed. “Let’s just say I put a little bit too much faith into the guy with the supposedly good sniffer. The hunters set a trap and we walked right into it.” 

“We were able to get back seven families and I thought I had a lead on one of the last ones that’s still missing, but it turned out the hunters had just gathered their stuff to lead us here. It was stupid on my part.” 

“No, no,” Josh backtracked. “You had the right idea. I mean, how could you know?” 

Jake shrugged, unable to answer. 

“How many more families are missing?” Sam continued to press. 

“Three,” Jake said. 

“Fuck,” Sam cursed. 

“Language!” Both of his brothers scolded him. 

“Any updates from Dad or Mom?” Sam asked. Josh and Jake both looked down at the ground and shook their heads. 

“Nothing,” Josh spoke. Then, he looked at Rae and Sam. “I know this probably isn’t the time, but do you think I could get to Danny kinda quick? My head hurts like a bitch. I can’t see out of my right eye.” 

“A hunter hit him over the head with a pipe,” Jake explained. 

“We should go to City Hall,” Sam told them. “Danny might still be there with our parents trying to talk to the mayor.” 

They began to move towards the hallway leading back to the staircase when Rae was hit with an overwhelming wave of nausea and a vision. A tall woman wearing all black. Armed with a gun and stake. Moving fast. 

“Guys,” Rae choked out, trying to get the image out of her head so she could warn her friends. 

“What is it?” Josh looked at her, concerned. 

“I think it’s Bri,” Rae said in fear. Sam wore a large frown on his face. Across from her, Jake had gone more pale than he already was. 

“Where?” Sam whispered. 

A wooden stake came whizzing through the air and just barely missed Sam, clunking against the wall only inches from his head, and clattering to the floor. Sam’s eyes were bugged, and his breaths quickened as he looked beyond Rae at something. Rae turned and saw the tall woman, maybe a few years older than her, rushing toward them through the darkness. 

“Fuck,” Sam, Jake, Josh, and Rae all said at the same time. 

“You took out my hunters?” Bri barked at them as she neared closer. Without any struggle this time around, Sam transformed back into his hybrid form. Rae could tell that Bri slowed down at the sight of Sam, but continued to project herself forward. Even though Jake looked entirely sapped of energy, he sucked in a deep breath and turned into a werewolf. Josh let his fangs grow out and touched his head gingerly. 

“I’ll be okay,” he told himself. 

Sam pounced on Bri, knocking her to the cold pavement, and held her down by the shoulders, foaming at the mouth. Jake joined his brother and tried to put weight on her feet to keep her entirely immobile. Before he could secure his paws around her ankles, she kicked free, and twisted out of Sam’s grasp, rolling away from the brothers. With a crazed look on her face, she reached behind her and pulled out another wooden stake, tossing it from hand to hand. 

“Which one of you wants to go first, huh?” she asked them with a malicious grin. 

“Preferably none of us,” Jake said under his breath. Josh sped at Bri, hissing and attempting to swipe at her. Bri expertly dodged his blow and held the stake up, ready to insert it through Josh’s back. Jake rushed at her and smacked the stake from her hand so it rolled away. Sam booked it to the stake and threw it into the distance. While he did this and Josh tried to regain his balance, Rae was struck with another image. Bri had a gun and pulled it on Jake, pressing it against his heart. 

“No!” Rae shouted, throwing herself in between them right as Bri flipped the gun out from her sleeve. To Rae’s surprise, instead of Jake’s chest, the gun was forced against her head. 

“Oh Jesus Christ!” Jake cried out in surprise. The feeling of the cool metal just above her ear made Rae tremble. “Let her go! She’s not one of us!” 

“But she obviously means something to you,” Bri smirked. Jake’s face fell. “How about we strike a deal,” Bri continued. Josh and Sam were by Jake’s side now, gaping at Rae in fear, unsure what to do. “You three hand yourselves over to me, and the girl doesn’t get shot.” 

Rae knew that, no matter what happened, it wasn’t going to end well. She pictured the bullet waiting to launch from the gun and let out a shaky breath. 

“What do we do?” Josh whispered to Jake. Rae could see Jake deteriorating in front of her. 

“Any day now,” Bri called to them. Rae squeezed her eyes shut and saw Sam holding his hand out towards Bri, closing his eyes. Hypnosis, Rae thought to herself. As a hybrid, Sam can hypnotize Bri. She reopened her eyes and stared at Sam, meeting his gaze. While he first looked at her in fear, his scrunched face opened with recognition at what she was trying to tell him. Whether it be intuition or some kind of telepathic connection, Sam quickly shut his eyes and lifted his shaking hand towards Bri. 

“What’s he doing?” Bri stared at Sam. Jake and Josh studied their brother in confusion. 

“Close your eyes,” Sam hummed at Bri. While Bri first looked at him like he was crazy, Jake and Josh let out a collective gasp. Although the gun was still held against her, Rae dared to peer out of the corner of her eye and saw that Bri was standing stiff, her eyes shut. “Put the gun down,” Sam continued. The cylinder jutting into Rae’s skull was quickly removed. “Now sit.” Rae watched Bri drop herself to the floor, her face placid. Jake and Josh hurried to her side and used the ropes from the previous hunters to bind her in place with her arms behind her back. Sam took a brief pause and looked around at them. 

“Go,”  he said. “I’ll keep her in place here.” 

“What, are you crazy?” Josh shook his head. “Absolutely not. We’re not leaving you on your own. I’ll drain her and we can get a move on.”

“No,” Jake cut in. 

“No?” Josh’s voice rose in surprise. 

“We can’t,” Jake said down to Bri, who was sitting at his feet. Josh stared at Jake like he was out of his mind and threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can’t be responsible for taking another person’s life.” 

“Then leave the room, you’ll never know it happened,” Josh said. Jake frowned.

“How about this,” Rae proposed, “We’ll tie her up extra good and keep her down here where she can’t hurt anyone else. Sam, how powerful is your hypnosis?” 

“What do you need me to do?” 

“Tell her she has to stay down here until she hears some obscure word like, I don’t know, Raisin Bran or something.” 

Sam held his hand out towards Bri and began his humming sound again. “You must remain here, unmoving, until you hear the word antidisestablishmentarianism.” 

“That should do the trick,” Jake said, looking relieved. 

“Just,” Josh cut in, “let me tie her up a bit more. To be safe.” 

After ten minutes of tying knots that would floor a boy scout, they left the high school, en route to city hall. Bri remained behind, restrained against a pole in the far back corner of the basement, her head rolled down, still under Sam’s spell.

****

Taglist:@lvnterninthenight, @writingcold, @myownparadise96, @i-choose-the-road, @psychedelicsprinkles, @mama-likes72, @ascendingtothestarssasone

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner #the frozen light #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fanfic #greta van fleet fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fanfic #gvf fic #gvf werewolf au #gvf vampire au #gvf witch au

[peanut-tyrug]

DS Fanfic: Hallowed Tales

Come one, come all! For Hallowed Nights is finally upon us! Listen loud and clear as our dear old Nightmare King shares his chilling collection of Hallowed Tales…

—

TRIGGER WARNING: This fic contains death, suffocation, voices, electrocution/electricity, caps, and creepy depictions. If you aren’t comfortable with this things, please don’t read this.

It’s dark. It’s cold. You seem to have wandered into a deep and eerie forest within the Constant. Only a torch sits in your quivering hand.

Although afraid, you continue to press on. Maybe you’ll find enough wood and grass to make a campfire, but your axe is about broken and there is barely any grass to be found.

All hope for a light source dwindles as your torch’s light quickly begins to dim.

However, just as your torch begins to die out and you enter a small clearing, shadows suddenly appear and begin to swirl around you.

'What’s this?' You ask yourself. The shadows then hover over a decent distance from your front view.

A shadowy and swirly circle appears on the ground below the circling shadows. Ribbons of darkness hover around small area.

From the ground, a figure begins to emerge.

The figure appears to be red in color, although still having a human silhouette. There are horns, on the figure’s head, horns similar to Krampus’, oddly enough. As the figure becomes clearer and clearer, the figure appears to be a man dressed up as Krampus.

…What in the world…?

“MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

A loud and booming cackle comes from the figure. Your eyes widen in fear at the sound. It’s so loud that it practically makes the trees around the area tremble and birds flock out of their settlements.

The figure hovers in the air and looks down upon you with a pompous look in their eyes. You quickly make another torch with the spare twigs and grass you have to get a closer look at the person.

They look awfully familiar.

Big nose and chin. A familiar gaze. The only difference seems to be the fact that this person is just dressed up as Krampus.

Then it hits you.

Maxwell the Nightmare King. The man who trapped you here.

Your brows furrow in anger. You desire revenge. Before you can do anything however, Maxwell speaks.

“Hello again, pal.” He says smugly. “I see you’re having trouble keeping a night light there.”

Your anger continues to bubble as you hear him call your torch a 'night light'. You then look at your torch. It’s light is slowly dwindling.

“Let me lend you a hand, pal.” Says Maxwell.

Shadows encompass your torch. It’s form changes into a very recently lit lantern. Your eyes widen in awe.

“That should last us awhile.” Says Maxwell.

Us? Does he plan on staying? You don’t really want him around, but he’s probably not leaving anytime soon. What could he possibly want now? You stay in place and wait until he breaks the silence between the two of you.

“Now, it’s just the two of us… don’t you know that Hallowed Nights is almost upon us?” Says Maxwell is a pompous tone.

The name doesn’t exactly ring a bell. What in the world is Hallowed Nights? It sounds like another name for Halloween… is that what it is? Your brows furrow in confusion.

“Ah, I forgot.” Says Maxwell in a slight apologetic but still smug tone. “You’re new here… Hallowed Nights is what I call my world’s Halloween, see?”

You were right. It is like Halloween… is Maxwell here to play some kind of trick on you, or treat you to some kind of sarcastic praise?

Knowing Maxwell, possibly both.

“I’m not here to play a trick on you. I only wish to provide an extra bit of chill to your night.” Says Maxwell slightly maliciously.

You don’t think that was really worded in the best way. You automatically think it’s some sort of trap. Your brows furrow.

Maxwell notices your reaction. His eyes widen a bit. “Listen pal. I’m not playing around.” He says. “I have some stories to tell.”

You would be all good for some Halloween tales, but when they’re coming from the man who has been torturing you, you can’t exactly trust it. You step back a bit.

Maxwell looks at you, brows still furrowed. “Say pal…” He begins. “You don’t want Charlie on your tail, do you? I’d suggest you stay, or I’ll strip you of your light and leave you to die in darkness.”

Before you react, you think about Maxwell’s words. You would rather die to Charlie than be with Maxwell, but you’ve already got a good base set up. And you don’t want to have to restart for the beginning either. Maxwell has been making it harder and harder to find resources every time you come to in a new area.

A part of you also thinks he’s telling the truth too. Maybe he does just have some stories to tell.

You sigh and reluctantly decide to stay with Maxwell. Although you hate the fact that you’ve committed to his deal, it’s better than having to start over. You sit down and look up at Maxwell.

“Good.” Says Maxwell. “Now…”

Maxwell hovers down to the ground and sits down in front of you. Maxwell lifts up his right hand and shadows appear from it. From the shadows, the Codex Umbra appears.

“…Let us begin.” Says Maxwell.

The Codex Umbra opens…

~~~

“Higgsbury’s Monster”

A large castle-like structure sits in a large plot of land, all owned by one man: Wilson Percival Higgsbury. Or as he called himself, Dr. Higgsbury. Within the large Victorian structure he called home, he always toiled away, working on whatever mad science project he was making. On most of his experiments, he gave up. Nothing really seemed to come out how he wanted it to.

Whilst working on his most recent project however, something incredible occurs.

Something Dr. Higgsbury would consider a scientific breakthrough.

—

Dr. Higgsbury sits alone in his lab on his special red chair. His hair as crazy as ever, with a large white bolt running through it’s center. His goggles are up on his forehead. He’s dressed in beige lab coat and black gloves.

He looks as if he’s pondering, deep in thought, with a touch of 'I’m so aggravated right now.'.

Dr. Higgsbury dramatically lifts his hands into the air and shouts. His wail scaring the birds out their trees. “AAAGGHHH!! Why must it be so hard to succeed!? Time and time again, I never seem to achieve SCIENTIFIC GREATNESS!!”

Dr. Higgsbury plops back into his chair and leans his head back. He breathes steadily. He lifts his head back up and looks out the window in front of him. He gets up and walks to the window. He looks out into world outside.

Dark grey clouds cover the night sky. A storm is brewing by the looks of it. Down below on the ground, multiple grave stones have been placed down. That cemetery has been there for as long as Dr. Higgsbury has been there, possibly longer.

“Oh, being above.” Dr. Higgsbury pleas. “Please, I beg of thee! Give me a sign!”

Suddenly, rumbling is heard. Heard from outside.

A large lightning bolt strikes the ground. Dr. Higgsbury yelps and moves away from the window. Once the bolt disappears and the rumbling stops, he runs back to the window and pans his eyes across the plot of land. Once his eyes go down to the cemetery, a trail of smoke can be seen from the spot the bolt has hit. The bolt had hit a particular grave. Directly in front of the grave stone.

Dr. Higgsbury looks at the spot.

Realization suddenly hits him.

His eyes widen and a large grin appears on his face.

—

Dr. Higgsbury rummages through his small shed to find himself a shovel. It takes a lot of digging around and coughing due to the amount of dust laying about, but Dr. Higgsbury eventually finds one.

Dr. Higgsbury heads outside to see dark clouds hovering over his home. He feels a few drops of rain fall on his face. A storm is brewing.

Perfect conditions for what he needs.

He heads into the cemetery and speed walks directly to where the smoke trail was. He stops once he approaches the gravestone. He reads it.

Here lies Winona Rosemary

The name doesn’t ring a bell at all. Dr. Higgsbury wonders what this person was like.

He sticks his shovel into the ground and begins to dig into the grave.

—

It takes awhile, but the grave has been dug into. Dr. Higgsbury takes a look at the casket. It looks fairly expensive. How much money did this person’s family spend on this casket?

Dr. Higgsbury shoves his fingers into the side of the casket to open it up. It takes a lot of force, but he manages to open the casket up.

The body has been revealed.

It didn’t look like it had been buried for long. The body resembled a young woman.

Dr. Higgsbury looks at the body and smirks.

Thunder is suddenly heard.

Perfect.

—

Dr. Higgsbury has dragged the body out of it’s casket and into his home. Since he lives so far from society, no one would ever suspect he had dug up someone’s grave.

Unless maybe someone were to look and see a dug up grave and know that a mad scientist lived near the cemetery where said grave was dug up.

He prays no one ever notices.

He enters his lab and places the body on a large table and straps it down. He rummages through the room to find some bolts and wires. He attaches the bolts to the body’s chin and and adds the wires to the bolts.

Now he had to head to his roof.

He heads up higher into his home to his attic where he opens up a hatch leading to his roof. He climbs up and peeks his head out from the opening to feel the wind that has picked up.

He takes in a deep breath before climbing up onto his roof. He stands up tall, arm in the air.

One of his stupidest ideas yet.

What? He doesn’t have anything else to prop the wire on. If only he had some machine to do that, but this decision of his was made last minute.

He waits.

And waits.

For awhile, nothing happens.

Dr. Higgsbury feels it’s a lost cause.

Until…

RUMBLE! BOOM!! CRACK!

Directly onto Dr. Higgsbury, a large lightning bolt hits his head. Electricity flows through his body. His skeleton can be seen.

Down in his lab, the corpse shakes as lightning courses through it.

Eventually, the lightning dissipates. Following it is the sound of loud and booming thunder.

Dr. Higgsbury falls to ground, knocked out.

Until he suddenly gasps for air.

He continuously inhales and exhales.

Then he feels himself slipping from the roof.

Dr. Higgsbury falls directly into his attic. After a bit of a struggle, he quickly gets up and rushes to his lab.

He bursts into his lab and straight to the table the corpse laid on. He stares at the body.

It doesn’t move.

He continues to stare.

Once more, it doesn’t move.

Hope fades from Dr. Higgsbury’s eyes. He sighs and and puts a hand to his face. “…Ugh… now look at what I’ve done…” He says, looking at the corpse. “…Not only am I a failure of a scientist… I’m a disrespectful one…”

After a bit, anger builds up in his body. He angrily inhales and exhales.

He then slams the table with his fist, wallowing in his despair.

Then…

A small jolt of electricity travels through the corpse again.

Dr. Higgsbury notices, and looks at the body.

He stares.

Then he sees it’s fingers fiddling a bit.

Hope returns to Dr. Higgsbury as the arm of the body slowly rises…

Dr. Higgsbury stares in astonishment. “…It’s alive… it’s alive…! …IT’S ALIVE!!! IT’S ALIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!!”

As the body slowly regains it’s life force, Dr. Higgsbury gushes about his achievement, maniacally laughing and giggling like a witch.

The body slowly picks itself up. Dr. Higgsbury eventually stops gushing and watches as the body returns to life.

The body then open it’s eyes.

It slowly turns to face Dr. Higgsbury.

She stares. Dr. Higgsbury stares back. Until the doctor suddenly speaks. “Welcome back, Winona Rosemary!” He says, a large smile sitting on his lips.

“…C-Charlie…?” The body, or really Winona Rosemary, asks. She speaks slowly and drearily.

Dr. Higgsbury’s smile fades a bit. “…W-what?”

“…Charlie…?” Winona asks again.

“…Who is Charlie?” Dr. Higgsbury asks. “Are they a friend?”

“…Charlie…” Winona says again.

Winona then rises from the table. She stumbles.

“Ms. Rosemary! Wait!” Says Dr. Higgsbury.

Winona hastily stumbles over to the lab’s door. She sloppily places her hand on the doorknob. Dr. Higgsbury grabs onto her arm of the hand that’s grasping the doorknob. He looks at Winona. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asks.

Winona stares at the doctor. She furrows her brows a little. He slowly takes Dr. Higgsbury’s hand off of her arm and stares at him. “…Work… to be done…” She says.

“…What work!? You were just reanimated!” Says Dr. Higgsbury.

Winona then smacks open the door. She runs.

Dr. Higgsbury stares in disbelief. He immediately runs after Winona. “Hey! Get back here!”

Winona charges foward while Dr. Higgsbury trails behind. She’s oddly fast for being one of the undead. Maybe it was the shock? He couldn’t believe that the corpse seems to still have a good amount of intelligence either. Whoever Ms. Rosemary was when she was alive must’ve been very intelligent. Or her brain had yet to rot, considering her body’s condition.

In the distance, Dr. Higgsbury can hear his front door slam open.

She’s escaping.

“No! Wait!” Dr. Higgsbury shouts. “I’ve yet to introduce you to my enemies from University!”

He eventually comes upon his front door, wide open. In the distance he sees Winona blazing off. He’s unable to catch up with her. He stares as she runs off.

Dr. Higgsbury sighs. “…Like usual… all my experiments go up in smoke…” He says. He shuts the door and goes back into his home.

~~~

The Codex Umbra shuts. “How was that?” Maxwell asks you.

You look upset. You feel bad for Dr. Higgsbury. You wish that he could’ve had his great scientific breakthrough, but maybe without the grave digging.

“Hm. I find it understandable that you react in that way.” Says Maxwell. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to be fond of a story such as that.”

You shake your head. You aren’t. You wish there was more to it. You wonder why Maxwell ended the story like that.

Then you remember. This is Maxwell. He would write a story about someone not being able to achieve greatness.

“How about another tale?” Asks Maxwell. “This one’ll send some chills. I understand the previous story wasn’t exactly bone chilling.” Maxwell says, surprisingly genuinely, yet slightly pompously. You’re surprised that he’s being this genuine to you. You smile a bit and nod.

Maxwell smirks. “Prepare yourself.” He says as the Codex opens again.

~~~

“Tale of the Mandrake Woods”

Three Survivors tread through a small field toward a forest, desiring to retrieve firewood. The three Survivors being a mechanic named Winona, an automaton named WX-78, and a muscle man named Wolfgang. They stop just in front of the thick forest.

“Brain-lady tell us we need to find perfect spot, yes?” Asks Wolfgang.

“Yep. Not too many trees, but not too little.” Says Winona. “Let me take us to that sweet spot.”

“NO.” Says WX. “YOU ARE TERRIBLE AT DIRECTIONS.”

“Hey!” Says Winona. “I know my stuff!”

“NO YOU DON’T.” Says WX. “THE LAST TIME WE TRUSTED YOU TO LEAD, WE ALMOST GOT KILLED BY HOUNDS.”

Winona pauses before speaking again. “That was one time!” Says Winona. “I know better now!”

“OH, REALLY?” WX takes out a compass. It’s pointing North. “WHICH DIRECTION IS THE NEEDLE POINTING, MEATSACK?”

“Uh… South?” Winona asks.

“NO. IT’S NORTH, INFERIOR FLESH PILE. I KNEW YOU’D FORGET THE LIBRARIAN’S TEACHINGS.” Says WX. “YOUR COMPLETE MISUNDERSTANDING OF DIRECTIONS IS WHY I SHOULD LEAD.”

“You can’t lead because you’d try to get us killed.” Says Winona. “And what did Wickerbottom say about trying to kill us?”

WX’s eyeholes widen. That had actually been why they tagged along. “…UGH.” WX grumbles. “IF I TRY TO KILL YOU, I LOSE MY HUNTING PRIVILEGES…”

“Exactly.” Says Winona. “But, if neither of us can lead…”

“…OH, NO…” Says WX.

The two look over to Wolfgang.

Wolfgang’s eyes widen a bit. “Me?” He says, pointing to himself.

“Yes sir, big guy.” Says Winona. “You’re the only one that can lead us without getting us lost or killed.”

Wolfgang looks into the forest ahead. He trembles a bit.

“Hey! Don’t be scared!” Says Winona. “You’ll be fine. Get some confidence in ya! You’re mighty!”

Wolfgang looks down to face Winona. A confident smile then appears on his face. “Yes! I am mighty!” He flexes.

“Then lead us to that good 'ol sweet spot!” Says Winona confidently.

“Wolfgang lead friends to sweet spot!” Wolfgang says confidently.

“That’s the spirit!” Says Winona. “Now, lead the way, big guy!”

“Yes!” Wolfgang takes out his pre-packed map. “Follow Wolfgang, friends!”

The three enter the dense forest.

—

“Here! Is sweet spot!” Says Wolfgang.

Trees are scattered around the spot. Not too many, not too little, as Wickerbottom had suggested.

“Welp, let’s get choppin'!” Says Winona. “And you, keep that axe away from our heads.” She says, referring to WX.

“…AFFIRMATIVE.” Says WX, a tad reluctantly.

The three separate. Each of them chopping down a few trees one by one.

Chop, chop, chop!

BANG!!

Each tree falls, yet amongst the silence In between the chopping of trees, rustling can be heard from a nearby bush. Only Wolfgang hears the sound.

The strongman stares at the bush, slight fear completely coating his face.

The feeling only builds up as the rustling becomes more and more prominent.

Wolfgang begins to quiver while the others take a break from their chopping. The strongman braces for the worst…

“Meep! Meep!” Says a small squeaky voice.

Wolfgang peers down.

It’s a mandrake.

Wolfgang looks down at the small plant creature. A worried smile covers his face. “Hehe. Is just little plant…” He says.

As Wolfgang begins to walk away from the little live crop with his collected wood, it follows his trail. As it follows, little meeping can be heard.

“Meep! Meep! Meep!” The little mandrake says.

As Wolfgang continues to head back toward his fellow wood choppers, he turns back to the plant. Wolfgang’s brows furrow. “Go away, little plant!” Wolfgang grumbles.

“EW. ANOTHER ORGANIC.” A robotic voice says.

Wolfgang looks forward to see WX and Winona have appeared, likely trying to look for the strongman.

“Yep. Grams said they’re called 'mandrakes' I think.” Says Winona.

“Wolfgang know that.” Says Wolfgang. “I want plant to stop following Wolfgang.”

“I don’t think it’ll leave, unfortunately. I think it thinks you’re it’s leader.” Says Winona. “Did you pick it?”

“No. It appear from bush.” Says Wolfgang.

“…Weird.” Says Winona. “I thought Wickerbottom said they only follow you if you pick 'em…”

“CAN WE KILL IT?” Asks WX.

“Later.” Says Winona. “We can use it for food.”

The area around them then begins to darken. Dusk has arrived.

“Speaking of later, it’s getting later.” Says Winona. “We should find a way outta here. We got enough wood. Lead the way, Wolfgang.”

Wolfgang nods. The three turn back to the direction they had entered the 'sweet spot' from. The mandrake follows behind.

From the trees, various pairs watch their decent into the land of bark and bite…

—

The trio continue to tread through the forest. Their path feels aimless. Fear slowly builds up in Wolfgang. Worry builds up in Winona. WX, however, feels excited. What if night comes and the 'disgusting fleshsacks' died? Although through their excitement shines the idea of them dying, which isn’t necessarily pleasant.

And that same little plant from before still following them…

The Survivors try to ignore it’s constant meeping.

“Weird.” Says Winona. “We should’ve been out by now…”

“MAYBE THE STRONGMAN LEAD US DOWN THE WRONG WAY.” Says WX.

“No, we’re walking down the same path. There’re footprints here. We’ve walked here.” Says Winona. “We should be getting close.”

“Wolfgang could check map.” Wolfgang suggests. “Just in case.”

“Yeah, sure.” Says Winona. “I wouldn’t imagine you wouldn’t need to, but go on ahead.”

Wolfgang checks his map.

Worry quickly covers his face.

The entire map is coated with trees.

Not a single exit in sight.

“…Is not what map looked like…” Says Wolfgang worriedly.

WX and Winona peek at the map. “…What in the world…?” She says.

The area begins to darken even more.

The trio quickly begin making torches as night begins to settle. Wickerbottom had packed them just in case. She wanted the group to be prepared just in case they got lost and couldn’t get back before night, as she had instructed.

“…Oh, no…” Says Wolfgang. “…Wolfgang no like this!”

“Hey, hey, calm down!” Says Winona. “We’ll get outta here, I’m sure of it!”

The mandrake then walks in front of the strongman. It looks back to Wolfgang and motions it’s stubby hand, gesturing the trio to follow it.

“…Plant know way?” Wolfgang asks.

The mandrake motions it’s arm again.

Wolfgang looks back over to Winona.

Winona’s brows furrow in suspicion. “…We may not have a choice…”

Wolfgang nods and walks foward. The others follow. The mandrake leads.

From the trees, various pairs of eyes watch the quartet…

…Along with a pair of eyes from a shadowed figure…

—

The mandrake leads the trio deeper and deeper into the forest. Each of their sanities steadily drop, all while the mandrake hops around like a happy child.

No one amongst the trio knows if they’re being taken the correct way. Wolfgang especially.

“I KNEW IT.” Says WX. “WE ARE GETTING ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE. LET’S BLAME THE INSIGNIFICANT LITTLE PLANT CREATURE.”

“No, WX” Says Winona. “The lil guy might know what they’re doing. They probably know this place better than any of us.”

“…Wolfgang hope so…” Says Wolfgang, trying his hardest not to tremble.

The trio then enters a decently sized clearing.

“Why’d we stop little guy?” Winona asks the mandrake.

“…SOMETHING IS COMING…” says WX.

Out from the bushes, more mandrakes begin popping in.

“…MORE ORGANICS. UNFORTUNATELY.” Says WX.

“Little plant monsters creepy…” Says Wolfgang.

“…What in God’s name…?” Winona asks herself.

The mandrakes begin to quickly approach the trio. They circle around them and stay in their places. The trio moves back.

Suddenly, mandrake vines pop out from the ground. Some vines holding torches lit with a green flame. As for the free vines…

Each Survivor is suddenly entangled. Their torches fall to the ground and extinguish.

“I WILL NOT FALL TO PUNY VINES.” Says WX, squirming in the vine’s grip.

“Let Wolfgang go!” Says Wolfgang, also struggling.

All three of them continue to squirm as the vines slowly creep up the automaton and strongman’s bodies. The exceed their shoulders and up to their necks.

Winona’s coils have yet to rise.

The other two Survivor’s voices, mainly grunts, become more and more muffled as the vines coil around their heads. The vine’s grip tightens. Pushing against their skills and lungs.

…Then silence.

Neither of them are no longer making sound.

Winona continues to struggle as the vines begin to slowly coil up her body.

Then, from the darkness within the trees…

A new face appears.

Winona can’t make out who it is. She squints her eyes.

The figure then steps out from the darkness.

The figure appears to have green, short, and leafy hair. The body of the figure appears to be covered in mandrake skin. A horrified face sits at the center of skin suit. As for the face, it had painted cheeks that resembled those of a mime’s rosy cheeks, but rectangular and green.

The figure stared into Winona’s soul. She looks on at the figure, afraid, yet trying to keep herself together. “Y-you don’t scare me!” She says.

Then the figure slowly approaches.

Winona then begins to struggle even more. Trying her hardest to break free from the vines, but to no avail.

The strange figure continues to slowly approach.

Winona’s struggle continues. The vines slowly creeping up her shoulders…

Then her neck…

The figure finally stops in front of the mechanic. He stares into Winona’s soul.

She stares back.

As the vines slowly coil around Winona’s head and appear in her peripheral vision, the strange man stares at her with piercing eyes. He puts his index finger to his mouth.

…Hush…

The vines coil around Winona’s eyes, completely obscuring her vision.

It’s dark.

It becomes harder and harder to breathe…

…Then off to sleep she goes…

~~~

The Codex Umbra shuts. Maxwell looks at you with a smug smirk on his face. An expression that screams 'What did you think?'

You’re a bit stunned. It was creepy… how in the world did he go from a scientist not being able to achieve his dreams to a group of people getting suffocated to death by vines!?

A small yet fearful smile appears on your face. You nod, Indicating you liked the story.

Maxwell notices how worried you are. He shrugs. “Understandable. Not everyone is fond of tales such as those.” He says. “I’m glad you like it however.”

You smile a bit and nod in agreement with the Nightmare King.

“Hm. We still have some time on our hands.” Says Maxwell. “Why don’t we start up another tale?”

The Codex Umbra opens once more.

~~~

“The Haunted Home of San Francisco”

Two passersby’s, Wilson and Willow, stand in front of an old abandoned house near the edge of a lake in San Francisco. Willow had insisted on checking it out. And although Wilson is a man of science and prefers not to believe in the supernatural, he decides to join Willow. If he decided not to, she’d constantly bug him about being 'chicken', as she put it.

Willow looks upon the house smugly while Wilson appears to be suppressing trembling.

C'mon Wilson!” Says Willow, looking over to Wilson. “You’re a grown man, and your acting all scared over an old house?”

“S-scared?” Says Wilson. “What are you talking about? I’m not scared!”

“Oh, really?” Willow pauses. Wilson waits for her to speak again.

“BOO!” Willow shouts as she quickly faces Wilson. She lifts her arms into the air dramatically.

“AHH!” Wilson yelps. He walks back and almost trips. Willow laughs at him.

“Ha! You really ARE a chicken! BA-GAWK! BA-GAWK!” Says Willow, moving her arms around as if she’s a chicken.

“I AM NOT!” Says Wilson. “Act your age, Willow!”

“ACT YOUR AGE!!” Says Willow.

“You know what? No. Let’s just… get this over with.” Says Wilson. “I refuse to believe anything we see in here. I’m just coming with you to PROVE TO YOU, that I’m not a 'chicken', as you call me.”

“Sure, fine.” Says Willow. “As long as I get to hear you scream like a girl.”

Wilson’s eyes dart over to Willow’s. “I won’t.” He says as calmly, yet firmly, as he can.

“What ever you say, Willy.” Says Willow.

“Don’t call me that.” Says Wilson.

“Fine, I’ll shut up.” Says Willow.

The two open the door to the abandoned home to see a long hallway at the entrance, a long carpet on the floor. It’s absurdly dusty. The house’s interior smothered in a dusty odor. Cobwebs are scattered around the area. Spiders are likely hiding somewhere within the walls.

“a-A-ACHOO!” Wilson sneezes. “This place is flooded with dust!” He says.

“It looks filthy too.” Says Willow. “Come on.” She begins to step inside.

“In THERE!?” Asks Wilson. “It’s filthy!”

“We’re both already filthy, Wilson.” Says Willow. “You’ve been living in a nasty shack for months now and your bathroom isn’t even clean!”

Wilson grumbles. He couldn’t argue with her if he tried. They likely weren’t going to get cleaner anytime soon. Neither of them really had a lot of money.

“…Fine.” Says Wilson.

“There ya go.” Says Willow. “Come on.”

Willow enters. Wilson reluctantly follows behind her.

The door suddenly shuts closed.

The duo look back to the shut door.

“Haha. Sick.” Says Willow.

Wilson shudders a little.

'…That’s not real. Ghosts aren’t real…' Wilson tells himself.

Above the duo, the seemingly broken lightbulbs on the roof turn on. They aren’t the most bright, but they still work and light up the hall to a decent degree.

Wilson’s expression reads a feeling of suppressed terror. He also appears to be suppressing trembling once again.

Willow looks over to the scientist. “Stop being such a baby!” She says. “And I thought you said you wouldn’t believe anything you saw in here!”

Wilson quickly stops shuddering and looks over to Willow. “I-I don’t!” He says. “Nothing in this disgusting place holds any value to me, for it is not scientific in the slightest.”

Willow smirks. “Okayyy.” She says. “Say what you will.”

“Hold your tongue!” Says Wilson. Willow chuckles a little.

The two walk deeper into the house. The only sounds being their breathing and and creaking of the old wooden floors below the carpet. The two eventually stop inside a large living room like area. There isn’t much in it, other than a couch that’s slightly torn sitting in the middle of the room. There are a few hallways leading upstairs and to different hallways. But at the sides of the area are two pathways, both leading to their own seemingly short hallway.

A smirk grows on Willow’s face. She looks over to Wilson. “Hey. Why don’t we split up?”

“What!?” Says Wilson, darting his eyes and head over to Willow. “We don’t know the layout of this place. What if one of us gets lost?”

“Those hallways look stupid short anyway, Wilson.” Says Willow. “Tell you what, we can go upstairs together, IF you can prove to me that you aren’t chicken, and you’ll go alone.”

Wilson’s cheeks go a bit red. “I’m not-! …I think I’ve already proved to you I’m not a chicken by coming in here.”

“No, that ain’t enough for me, boy.” Says Willow. “You aren’t gonna lie to me either. I know what you like when you’re scared! I could tell you were trying not to shiver earlier.”

Wilson averts his gaze and grumbles. “…Ugh, fine.” He says. “I’ll play your little game.”

“That’s the spirit!” Says Willow. “Now, I go left, you go right.”

Wilson nods.

The two head toward their designated hallways. Willow takes out her lighter, as the lights don’t seem to want to come on. Wilson doesn’t have a light on him, so he touches the wall to help see where he’s going. He doesn’t like that fact that he can’t see where he’s going. What if something jumps out at him? He tries to suppress his fears.

Willow was right, the hallways were short.

At their ends were just old wooden doors. The doors were chipped and pale, as the paint on them had likely grown old.

Wilson turns back to Willow’s hallway. “There isn’t anything here, just a door!” He yells.

“Same here!” Willow yells from her hallway.

Suddenly, ectoplasmic hands pop out of the floor and entrap the Willow and Wilson. Completely. They can barely breathe as their entire bodies are being held up by strange hands.

They both get pulled underneath the floor.

—

Wilson slowly wakes up, groggy as hell. He blinks a bit and groans before slowly picking himself up.

“…Where…?” Wilson asks himself.

He was in a different hallway, a long one. And one that was actually well lit. The walls had wallpaper on them. The wallpaper adorning a floral pattern. Doors line the wooden walls. Each one looking exactly the same. Wilson is put in a place of unease as he takes a gander at the eerie hall.

The scientist slowly rises and looks forward. He takes a deep breath and walks.

“Willow?” Wilson calls out. “Stop playing around! I know you are!”

No response.

He thought she ended up in the same strange hallway as him.

Wilson walks down the long hallway. It’s eerily quiet. Not much else can be heard other than the sound of Wilson’s breathing and footsteps.

Fear crawls up Wilson’s back.

“��Willow…?” Wilson desperately calls again. “…Anyone at all…? …Hello…?”

'Hello?' A young voice calls out.

Wilson turns around.

No is there.

Wilson’s brows furrow. He continues to walk down the hallway.

'Hello?' The voice calls again.

Wilson tries to ignore the odd voice. He keeps walking.

'Hello?'

'Hello?'

'Hello?'

The strange voice loops. The same voice. The same phrase. Over and over. It echoes in Wilson’s ears. Some calls are louder than others. Wilson begins to pick up the pace. First speed walking. To jogging. To running.

'This isn’t real! This is not real!' Wilson tells himself.

The voice continues to echo.

Until it suddenly stops.

Wilson sees that he’s reached the end of the hallway. He turns his head to the left.

Shock immediately blankets his face.

This hallway is also fairly long, but at its end stands a small blonde girl in tattered blue clothing with a small red flower in her hair. Next to girl is, to Wilson’s disbelief, a specter with a similar red flower on it’s head.

“…Come play with us, Wilson…” Says the girl.

Wilson’s face quickly transitions from shock to complete and utter horror. “…No… no… no, no, no, NO, NO!” Wilson cries. “This isn’t real! My scientific brain refuses to perceive it! YOU. ARE. NOT. REAL!” He says, dramatically pointing at the specter in particular.

The air becomes thick. The hallway becomes quiet…

The girl points at the man. “Get him, Abby.” She says.

The specter immediately charges toward Wilson.

“…AAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!” Wilson screams. He dashes away and runs back down the same hallway from before, the specter hot on his tail.

In the midst of the chase, Wilson looks back. He sees multiple apparitions and ghouls phase through the doors and join the specter’s side.

Wilson goes pale. He looks forward.

The hallway suddenly appears endless.

Wilson can’t help but run for his life.

Until he sees a wall. Which he phases through.

He then suddenly runs into something in front of him…

—

Willow wakes up, very groggy. She slowly rises.

“Ugh… Wilson…?” She calls.

No response.

Willow takes a look around.

She appears to be a slightly dense forest of some kind. It’s incredibly dark too. She discovers her lighter next to her. She picks it up.

Willow slowly picks herself up. She takes a gander at the setting she’s been placed in.

“…Creepy.” Says Willow.

Willow begins to walk forward aimlessly, not really certain of where to go.

Until the rusting of paper is heard. Willow looks down.

A note. Under her feet.

Willow picks up the note and reads it.

Find the notes. Find the shed. Then you’ll be free.

Willow looks at the note a bit confused. She then shrugs and decides to accept the challenge. Be it a tad reluctantly. She stuffs the note in her pocket and holds her lighter high as she walks deeper into the forest…

—

Willow continues down her path, bored out of her mind. She looks upon the various trees.

Or what she’d like to call: Kindling.

A smirk appears on her face.

She walks up to a nearby tree and touches her lighter’s flame to it. The tree quickly begins to burn.

“Hehehehe.” Willow giggles. “BURN!!”

As Willow gazed upon the slowly burning tree, she spots a note. She picks it off the tree.

The note has an arrow drawn on it. It points right. There’s also a little message on it.

Do not burn the trees.

“Psh. I burn what I want!” Willow scoffs. “…Stupid note… stupid fetch quest…”

Willow grumbles to herself as she walks away from the burning tree.

—

Willow follows the direction of the arrow on the note.

It’s eerily quiet.

Willow is lowly begins to become more and more on edge.

Suddenly, a low snarling sound is heard.

Willow turns around. Nothing is there.

“…You don’t scare me!” Says Willow.

The snarling then becomes louder. Willow moves back.

The snarling becomes louder.

And louder…

…Closer…

Willow continues to move back.

Until a faint silhouette of a dog-like creature quickly approaches.

Willow’s eyes widen. She runs off. The creature hot on her tail.

As Willow runs, the creature sounds as if it’s getting closer and closer…

Suddenly, Willow smacks into a tree.

And the sounds from the creature seem to have suddenly stopped.

Willow rubs her nose and slowly rises. She looks at the tree she bumped into to see another note. She takes the note. It has an arrow on it. It’s pointing left. It also has a message.

Beware of Dog.

Willow’s brows furrow at the statement. “Couldn’t have told me that earlier!?” She exclaims. She groans and heads in the direction the arrow says.

—

Willow heads in the arrow’s direction, hoping nothing sudden or weird happens. As she scours the trees for a note, she suddenly spots one. She hurries over to the tree and picks off the note. Its arrow points forward. It also has a message.

Freedom awaits you.

Willow smirks. She shines her lighter forward. A large shed sits just behind the tree. She walks up to the shed and discovers the door is unlocked. She enters, but leaves the shed’s door cracked open, just in case.

She gazes upon the mostly empty shed, which mostly consists of old gardening tools.

“Hello?” Willow calls. “I’ve found your stupid notes and shed! Now, let me out of here!”

It becomes eerily quiet.

Until Willow feels something is watching her…

She turns back.

Shock covers her face.

A small blonde girl stands. A small red flower in her hair. Next to her is a specter with a similar flower on it’s head.

“…Come play with us, Willow…” Says the girl.

“…Who the hell are you!?” Willow exclaims.

The girl points at Willow. “Get her, Abby.” She says.

The specter charges toward Willow.

“AAAAHH!” Willow shouts. She quickly dodges the specter’s charge and bolts to the shed’s exit. She runs aimlessly through the forest, the specter hot on her tail.

As Willow runs, she sees multiple other ghosts and apparitions appear from the trees. Willow begins to pick up the pace.

While she isn’t paying attention, she phases through a large tree.

Then suddenly bumps into something in front of her…

—

Wilson and Willow look up each other. They’re back in the living room.

They had bumped into each other.

The two quickly recollect themselves and stare into each other’s souls. Fear coating their eyes and faces.

They both grasp each other’s shoulders. “…WE’VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!!” They exclaim in unison.

They let go of each other and dash to the door.

Only to slam directly into a wall.

They both begin to feel the wall in front of them.

Dread quickly builds in both of them.

The door was no longer there.

“What’re we gonna do!?” Willow exclaims.

Suddenly grotesque snarling can be heard.

The two look back.

The same spirits and ghouls from before have appeared. In the center of the eerie ensemble, the same girl and specter look at the duo.

“…Come play with us…” Says the girl.

The group of ghosts then quickly head toward the fearful scientist and arsonist, who are holding onto each other.

And from outside the home…

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

Anguished screams.

Then silence…

…Never to be seen again…

~~~

The Codex Umbra once again shuts. Maxwell looks at you with this same expression as before.

You liked the story, although the tonal shift between it and the one about mandrakes was odd. It was still creepy, yet more humorous.

Maxwell’s smile grows. “I’m glad you appear to be liking my work.” He then chuckles a bit. “Oh, how fun it is to mess with that little scientist.” He says more so to himself with glee in his voice.

You still hear what he says though. Your brows furrow in confusion. Until it hits you.

Wilson.

And when you think about it… the name sounds oddly familiar… maybe you knew a Wilson from somewhere? …University?

“I see you know Higgsbury.” Says Maxwell. “Or Wilson, as he’s called. He’s an… acquaintance of mine.”

You don’t like the way Maxwell said ‘acquaintance'. The cogs in your head begin turning…

…Could this Wilson be stuck here too…?

“I suppose I’ve got time for one more tale.” Says Maxwell. “Shall I begin?”

You’re suddenly knocked out of your world of thought. You decide not to press on what you were thinking about and nod.

Maxwell chuckles. “Alright then…” He says.

The Codex Umbra opens for one final time…

~~~

“The Axe Murderer… Beaver?”

Ms. Wickerbottom always had a fascination for learning of the world around her. Preferably through the written word. Settling in bed and reading a good book. Any knowledge committed to paper becomes impervious to the brain fogs of age, you know!

And although she liked to discover through others, she also had an interest in documenting things herself. Not only was she an avid reader, she was an author. She had self published many a book in her lifetime. The books she wrote mainly focused on various creatures or animals, or just nature itself.

And once again, during a trip to Canada, something amongst nature has piqued her interest.

—

Wickerbottom and a friend of hers, a mysterious clockmaker by the name of Wanda, sit near a small café, chatting about their days.

Until Wanda brought something new.

“Did you know that there’s an axe wielding beaver man in the woods?” Asks Wanda.

“That’s absurd.” Says Wickerbottom. “That cannot possibly be real.”

Wickerbottom was more interested in facts, really. Anything that sounded absurd to her, no matter who or where it came from, just felt fabricated to her.

“It is!” Says Wanda. “I’ve got pictures!”

Wanda rummages through her skirt’s pocket and takes out a few colorless photos of a silhouetted and large creature holding an axe. Wickerbottom looks at the photos with furrowed brows.

“There’s been plenty of sightings of it, too!” Says Wanda.

“Are you for certain that this creature is real?” Wickerbottom asks, extremely skeptical of the information Wanda has provided. “And I thought you weren’t into superstitions.”

“That’s not important.” Wanda says quickly. “And, oh, botheration, you’re stubborn. Why would I lie to you?”

Wickerbottom goes silent. She knows Wanda wouldn’t lie.

…At least she thinks she wouldn’t.

Wickerbottom decides to trust her friend. She had always acted as if she could be trusted.

“…Alright, I believe you, but it feels so… otherworldly…” Says Wickerbottom, her skepticism still circling in her mind.

“There are many things that feel otherworldly, Wicker.” Says Wanda.

“What do you mean by that?” Wickerbottom asks.

Wanda hesitates a bit before speaking. “…I’d rather not talk about it, I’m sorry.” She says.

“Oh, my sincerest apologies Wanda.” Says Wickerbottom.

Wanda always had an air to her. One Wickerbottom couldn’t really pin point…

“You’re fine, it’s alright.” Says Wanda. “But about the beaver creature, they say he kills. Not just with his teeth. Also with his axe.”

“…Intriguing, yet odd.” Says Wickerbottom. Then, a question pops into her mind. “Why are you telling me all of this exactly?”

“Oh, I wanted to see if you could document it.” Says Wanda. “I’m aware you aren’t too interested in creatures like this, but I believe you could figure out if it’s real or not?”

“Hm… I suppose I could try to find this being myself.” Says Wickerbottom. “You do have solid pictures. It could put an end to my skepticism.”

Wanda smiles. “Good.” Says Wanda. “Show me what you found next time we meet.”

Wickerbottom smiles back. “I will.” She says. “I’ll be paying as well.”

Wanda nods in response to Wickerbottom.

The two eventually separate from the café and head to continue with their days. Wickerbottom in particular heads home.

She’s got some preparing to do.

—

It’s the middle of the night. It’s so late that the full moon has risen.

Wickerbottom treads quietly toward a small forest, a small notepad and pencil in her hand in her skirt pocket. She stands in front of the large collection of trees just nearby a quiet road.

Wickerbottom sighs. “Oh, I pray I am not doing this for nothing.” She says.

She enters the forest sneakily. Although it looks as if nothing is around, you never know when you’re treading through darkness.

—

Wickerbottom quietly treads through the trees, fear slowly creeping up her back. It’s extremely desolate and quiet. Occasional animal sounds are heard, from owls to cawing birds. It only sets a dark mood.

“Tread lightly, watch where you walk…” Says Wickerbottom, trying to be as cautious as possible.

Then, out in the distance fairly far from where Wickerbottom was…

CRASH!!

Wickerbottom’s head darts toward the source of the sound, her eyes wide open.

Nothing…

Then again.

CRASH!!

Wickerbottom looks on, puzzled. A part of her wants to find the source of the sound. But she knows better. She tries to get further away from the unknown sound. As she walks, she ponders on the sound.

It was likely the sound of falling tree slamming onto the ground.

…Intriguing…

—

It’s been lord knows how long. Wickerbottom’s legs are tired. She may be tough, but that doesn’t mean she’s impervious to the disadvantages of having been alive for quite some time.

Although she is tired, she continues to press on.

As she walks, she notices the amount of trees beginning to slim.

A possible clearing?

And she was right.

Wickerbottom stops in a small clearing. Within the clearing is… a wooden cabin. There aren’t any windows. A horseshoe has been placed on the top of the cabin. At the cabin’s side is what looks to be a wood storage of some kind, or so Wickerbottom speculates. In front of the cabin is a lone tree stump.

“…Peculiar…” Says Wickerbottom. She steps out of the clearing to take a closer look.

Until loud, quick, and stomping footsteps can be heard.

Wickerbottom looks back. “What in the world?” She says.

Her eyes widen.

The large beaver-like creature is charging toward the librarian, axe in hand. Strangely enough, the creature is… dressed in black suspenders?

Wickerbottom quickly jumps to the side as the creature dashes toward her. It stops with a screech. It turns to look at the librarian.

Wickerbottom looks at the creature with shock in her eyes. “…Oh, dear… do my eyes deceive me?”

The beast then charges again, axe ready to be swung. Wickerbottom quickly, but barely, charges again.

“…My eyes, they do not deceive me!” Wickerbottom cries. “…It’s real! The axe murderer beaver is real!!”

The creature then charges again. As Wickerbottom attempts to dodge, the beast catches her by the leg.

“Let me go, beast!” Wickerbottom cries again. The beast refuses as it turns Wickerbottom over. The beast wraps it’s clawed hands around the librarian and holds her up. The axe is still in the beast’s hands, barely, the side of it’s blade almost touching her side. Wickerbottom begins to try and wriggle out of the beast’s grasp.

“You’re chopped wood, sister.” Says a jovial feminine voice seemingly coming from nowhere.

Wickerbottom suddenly stops squirming. “W-who said that?” Wickerbottom asks in a concerned tone. She darts her head around. Unfortunately, she gets no answer.

The beast then snarls the librarian. It’s buck teeth showing right in her face.

Wickerbottom gives up on escaping, and awaits the worst…

Suddenly, the area brightens.

Wickerbottom and the creature look to the sky.

The sun is rising.

The sky quickly begins to turn a dark blue as the sun starts rising. The moon has also already set.

Suddenly, the creature’s body begins to contort and change. Both Wickerbottom and the turning beast fall to the ground. So does the axe.

Wickerbottom slowly recovers. She blinks and slowly rises. She rubs her head. She looks in front of her.

The beast is gone.

And has been replaced by…

…A ginger man with a long orange beard?

The strange man is also wearing the same black suspenders as the creature. He’s also wearing plaid. Along with white gloves and boots. He seems to be completely out cold, but still alive, as his chest can be seen rising and falling.

Wickerbottom looks at the strange man in utter confusion and shock.

…This whole time… the axe murderer beaver was a human man?

“You keep away from him, you home invader!” Says the same jovial voice from before.

Wickerbottom looks back. Directly to the axe. She stares at it.

“Keep away from him, or else! Off with your head!” Says the voice.

The axe moves a bit each time the voice is heard.

…And his axe can talk!?

Then, groaning is heard.

Wickerbottom looks back to mysterious man. He’s waking up.

“Ugh…” He rubs his head, then looks up to Wickerbottom.

The man’s face suddenly goes pale. He quickly gets up and picks up his axe. He moves back. Wickerbottom stays in place.

“Woodie!” Says the axe. “I was worried I’d never see you again.”

“Heh, I’m alright, Luce.” Says the man. “Nothin' to worry aboot.”

“…Ahem. Excuse me.” Wickerbottom begins. “I don’t mean to be rude, but… what is going on here?”

The man looks over to Wickerbottom. “I don’t mean to be rude either, ma'am,” The man begins. “But what were you doin' near my cabin?”

“Yeah!” Says the axe. “What? Were you gonna steal!?”

“Oh! I had no intent to break and enter.” Says Wickerbottom. “I came across it while I was searching for… oh, dear…”

The man begins to wonder about what Wickerbottom wanted to speak of. Then, it hits him. “Ah, I get it.” He says. “The axe murderin' beaver?”

Wickerbottom hesitates. “…Yes.” She says. “I didn’t know you were the beaver. My sincerest apologies, sir.”

“Oh, It’s fine. I’m used to it.” Says the man. “People come here all the time looking for me.”

“Oh, I’m glad.” Says Wickerbottom. “I am curious about a few things, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Says the man. “Just keep it between you and me, eh?”

“I will.” Says Wickerbottom. Maybe she can find a different way to explain the creature to Wanda? She had originally wanted to spread the word of the creature around too. Although she doesn’t want to lie, she does want to respect the man’s boundaries.

“How aboot we chat in my cabin, eh?” Asks the man. “Not a single soul will hear us.”

“That’s alright by me.” Says Wickerbottom.

“Alright, come with me.” Says the man. He guides Wickerbottom to his cabin. He opens the door. Wickerbottom looks around.

The cabin itself appears very desolate and dark. There aren’t really any light sources. On the floor is a bear skin rug. On the wall is a pair of snowshoes. Around the cabin is a few chairs, one blue and one red, and a ladder leaning against the wall. A little fire place also sits in the corner. And next to one of the chairs is a small table with a little radio on it.

“It ain’t much, but it’s home.” Says the man, shutting the door behind him. “By the way, ma’am. I forgot to ask, what’s your name?”

“Oh! I am Ms. Wickerbottom, but you can call me Wickerbottom.” Says Wickerbottom. “What is your name, sir?”

“I’m Woodie. Nice to meet you, Wickerbottom!” Says Woodie. He lifts his axe up. “And this is here is Lucy.”

“Howdy!” Says Lucy, wiggling as she sits speaks.

Wickerbottom smiles. She’s intrigued, yet a bit preturbed, by Woodie’s talking axe still. “Nice to meet you both.” She says. She looks over to the blue chair in the left corner of the cabin.

“I don’t mind you sitting in that.” Says Woodie, referring to the chair Wickerbottom is eyeing. “Make yourself at home!”

“Thank you, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. She takes a seat in the blue chair. Woodie then sits in the red chair beside it. He sets Lucy down, having her lean against the chair.

“So, what’d you want to ask me, eh?” Woodie asks Wickerbottom.

Wickerbottom takes her notepad and pencil out of her pocket. She opens up the notepad. “I just want to ask a few things.” She says. “How long have you been able to turn into a beaver?”

Woodie sighs and sits back. “Hoo buddy, for as long as I can remember.” He says. “I don’t remember a single night under a full moon where I haven’t been able to turn into a beaver.”

“Interesting.” Says Wickerbottom. “And what about Lucy? If you don’t mind answering. How can she talk?”

“Oh, uh…” Woodie ponders for a bit. “…I ain’t certain.”

“I don’t know either.” Says Lucy. “…I can’t remember.”

Wickerbottom nods.

In the midst of the silence among the three though…

BANG!!

The cabin’s door is suddenly slammed open. Everyone looks over to the doorway.

It’s Wanda.

“…Hi, Wicker.” Says Wanda.

“…Greetings, Wanda.” Says Wickerbottom. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright.” Says Wanda.

“Whose this hoser?” Woodie asks, looking over to Wickerbottom.

“Who’re you calling a hoser!?” Wanda asks angrily.

“Settle down! Settle down!” Says Wickerbottom. “Woodie, Lucy. This is Wanda. She’s a friend of mine.”

“…Pleasure to be your acquaintance, miss.” Says Woodie.

“Hello.” Says Lucy.

“Nice to meet you too.” Says Wanda. She looks over to Wickerbottom. “Did you see the beaver?” She asks.

Wickerbottom goes quiet. She looks over to Woodie.

“Ah, you can tell her.” Says Woodie.

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks.

“He’s right there, dear.” Says Wickerbottom. “In the red chair.”

Wanda looks over to Woodie. He waves at the clockmaker.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Says Wanda. She looks back over to Wickerbottom. “What happened?”

“Oh, my.” Wickerbottom begins. “A lot happened. If Woodie doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t.” Says Woodie.

“I don’t mind either.” Says Lucy.

“Alright then! Let us begin…” Says Wickerbottom.

She then goes on to explain what had happened overnight.

Whatever they talked about in the cabin, stayed in the cabin.

~~~

The Codex Umbra closes one final time. “A sweet treat of an ending, wasn’t it?” He asks.

You nod. You’re a bit surprised. All of the pervious tales ended off on a low note. You’re glad that Maxwell had saved a sweet ending for last.

“Well, pal, it seems I need to get going. I appreciate your participation and audience etiquette.” Says Maxwell. You nod.

“I wish you well. Have fun, pal.” Says Maxwell…

Who appears to be smirking a little too gleefully…

Maxwell then snaps his fingers. He disappears in puff of shadow.

…And so does your only light source.

The world around quickly becomes are dark void. You can’t see a thing.

Then, from the darkness…

HISSSSSSSSSSS…

You feel something bite you.

…Charlie…

You quickly scurry through your pockets.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing to make a light source with.

Not only did Maxwell’s snap rid you of your lantern, it also took your inventory.

…Damned Maxwell… you knew you shouldn’t have trusted him. Ending off his time with you not with a treat, but a trick. Of course! Why wouldn’t he do that!?

Before you can scream into the darkness about how much you hate the slimy king…

HISSSSSSSSSSSS…

Another attack from Charlie.

You try to recover…

…But you don’t have time to.

HISSSSSSSSSSSS…

Another bite.

You can feel your consciousness quickly slip away. The life draining from your body.

…Then complete and utter darkness and silence…

- END -

#don’t starve #fanfic #my writing #dst maxwell #dst charlie #dst wilson #dst winona #dst wickerbottom #dst wx78 #dst wolfgang #dst wes #dst willow #dst wendy #dst abigail #dst wanda #dst woodie #dst lucy #tw death #tw suffocation #tw creepy #tw electrocution #tw electricity #tw caps #tw voices

[carelessflower]

Can you suggest me an exciting malec fic? please💜

anon i don't know specifically what type you would prefer so I will be very broad with my range, excuse me for a bit. also im not very good with words so dont expect much from the summary i give you, you should click on them yourself to find out:D

Awakening

alec gaining magic!!! i love the worldbuilding (if you can say that in this fic). and it's part of a series!!! (i adore the other works in this series as well)

Dress For Success

alec surprises magnus with his halloween costume, it just very fun and cute and fluffy and i turn to this author a lot when i want some malec comfort

Love Really Hurts Without You by @onetimetwotimesthreetimess

it's like being slammed into the wall repeatedly with a few ice cream breaks. definitely recommend.

Hath No Fury

personally i think everyone should read this fic it has magnus going off on some demon cause they hurt alec,,,it everything i need in life

Reconstruction

my all-time favorite show-based fic, the way they write alec emotions and headspace in this fic, simply divine

On The Sands Of Edom

alec asking magnus to pretend to love him one last time as alec lay there dying, instantly classic

Once Upon a Time in the Clouds

its sky high malec au, of course it gonna end up on this list are you kidding me

Detest, Demise, Desire by @dustandducks

vampire x vampire hunter excellence

Cinched

alec in a corset, need i say more

the strength of your restraint

no elaboration i just adore this fic

don't mess with the high warlock of brooklyn

assassination attempt fic, honestly some of the best ive read

Cold (my Beloved)

snow white!malec with a few twists! abandoning my gatekeep business to share this to you all better appreciate this author more their works are so so great

Mary On A Cross

i just discover this fic last night and omg i need to eat it chew it swallow it

Expectations vs. Reality by @magnus-the-maqnificent

i would call this fic idiots to lovers but the more accurate depiction would be idiots and lovers

#ask #malec #malec fanfics #i actually have even more but that all for today

[maybeimamuppet]

i'll be there for christmas II

YEEHA HAPPY MEAN GIRLS DAY MY BELOVEDS!!!!!

schedule is gonna be even more wack than it normally is for a bit lol. i have this and something drafted for halloween but beyond that. idfk what’s going on. but it should be fun!! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this is a sort of spiritual successor to i’ll be there for christmas bc some people (read: like two lol) wanted to see more of these versions of them and tbh so did i so here it is!! it was originally entirely different but i read @ijustwanttoescapethatfrog s fic Come In With the Rain on ao3 and simply fell in love with it (go read it now her writing is simply majestic and that story is so comforting istg i’ve read it at least 14 times) so i wrote a new little thing inspired by that and here it is yeeha happy day!!

i don’t think i need any tws for this one (shock horror) but if i’m forgetting something please let me know and i will add it in!! enjoy!

—————

“Mommy?”

Janis wakes with a snort when she hears the little whisper come from behind her. She tries to roll over and realizes she’s much more cramped for room than normal in the massive bed she shares with her wife. She opens her eyes as she’s facing the other way and finds herself less than an inch from her son’s sweet little face.

She smiles to herself as she sees his little brown eyes right in front of her and brings up a hand to stroke through his strawberry blonde hair. Her voice is still soft and croaky with sleep when she says, “Hi, Jakey. What’s the matter?”

“I scared,” Jacob whispers, following his statement with a pitiful pout. Janis pouts too, and gently tickles behind his ear.

“You’re scared?” she asks. Jacob nods. “Uh oh. What are you scared of?”

As if to answer, a loud clap of thunder rumbles outside the large window. Jacob squeaks in fright and hides against Janis.

“Oh,” Janis says in understanding, gently holding the back of her son’s head as he buries his face in her chest. “Are you scared of the thunderstorm?”

Jacob nods. His little voice is muffled when he replies with, “Dunderstowm.”

“Thunderstorm,” Janis says with a little chuckle. “You wanna know a secret?”

Jacob pulls back just enough to look into her eyes and nods with that childish curiosity reflected in his own. Janis smiles and sneakily points to her wife behind him, still sound asleep.

“Mama’s scared of thunderstorms too.” Jacob’s eyes widen. Janis nods. “It’s true. She’s been scared of storms since she was your size.”

“Mama scared?” Jacob questions innocently. Janis smirks and peeks up and over him at her sleeping wife. She nods.

“I think she might be. You wanna wake her up and see?”

Jacob nods and crawls over to Cady. Cady’s asleep on her side, so Jacob hooks his little chin against her neck and cuddles in against her head. Cady snuffles awake and grumbles to herself. “Janis.”

“It okay, Mama,” Jacob says sweetly, patting her shoulder with his little hand. Janis can see Cady’s movements stop briefly in confusion. She gently brings a hand up and pats around on the head resting against hers. She chuckles to herself when she feels the little curls instead of Janis’ waves, and Janis can almost see the fond roll of her eyes even though Cady’s facing the other way.

“Jakey,” she groans. “It’s so early. Why aren’t you in bed, bubby?”

“Dunderstowm,” Jacob responds.

“What?” Cady asks. Another clap of thunder echoes her. “Oh, thunderstorm.”

“Mama scared?” Jacob asks in his infuriatingly precious baby way that has gotten him more than a few toys and treats he didn’t really need. Cady chuckles again and rolls over to press her nose against their son’s.

“Just a little,” she says. “Will you and Mommy cuddle me better?”

“An’ sissy?” Jacob asks.

“Where is sissy?” Janis asks.

“Sissy sweeping,” Jacob responds, rolling over to see her. “Hafta wate her up.”

“Let’s let sissy sleep for a bit, she’ll wake up when she’s ready,” Cady says, gently holding Jacob to her to distract him with cuddles before he can crawl out of bed to go wake up his twin sister.

“Yeah, sissy can get her cuddles when she wakes up. We want some mommies and Jakey time,” Janis says, squishing her son between herself and Cady and tickling his belly. Jacob chortles in their ears and wriggles to try in vain to get away from the tickles. Cady smiles and reaches down to tickle his little toes too, and winces as she gets a shriek in the ear in response.

They stop at the same time to let their child catch his breath back, smiling at his rosy cheeks and dimpled grin.

“Jay. It’s official,” Cady says, gently booping their son’s nose. Janis looks at her wife in confusion.

“What is?”

“We have the cutest kids in the world,” Cady says. Janis laughs.

“Of course we do. They’re us,” she hums haughtily. Cady laughs too. “And mostly you.”

“Shut-” Cady begins to say fondly before she remembers their company. “Shush.”

“Never,” Janis laughs maniacally, snatching their son and rolling over onto her back to hold him up like an airplane. Jacob squeals happily and laughs as he looks down at his mothers. Cady rolls to see him too, and takes him as Janis moves him close for a transfer. Jacob continues giggling as Cady steers him around before she brings him in for a landing.

“Where did you get these jammies, pumpkin? I don’t remember buying these,” Cady asks, gently adjusting the top of the pale blue and white gingham pajamas away from his neck.

“From gwanmuvver,” Jacob responds.

“Of course,” Cady sighs affectionately. Her mother was arguably more excited than she and Janis were when it was announced Janis was pregnant with twins. They don’t get spoiled much more than their other cousins, but the twins do have an extra special bond with their extended family.

Another clap of thunder booms outside. Jacob squeaks in fright and looks to his mothers for comfort.

“It’s okay, sweet boy,” Cady says lowly, resting a comforting hand on his chest. “It’s just a scary noise, it won’t hurt you. Mama won’t let it hurt my babies.”

Just then, they hear his twin crying through the baby monitor. Cady sighs to herself as she pulls the covers off herself and stands up.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, stretching and sliding her feet into her slippers before padding down the hall towards the twins’ room. Janis cuddles their son and smiles as she listens to her wife with their daughter Isla through the baby monitor.

“Good morning, sweet pea, what’s the matter? Did the storm wake you up?” Cady asks, so low Janis can barely make out what she’s saying.

“Eated bubby!” Isla wails. Cady laughs a bit, and Janis can hear a rustling as she scoops their daughter up to comfort her.

“No, baby, no, bubby’s fine! He’s with Mommy in the big bed. He got scared of the storm too,” Cady hushes. “Come here, I’ll show you. Everybody’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

Janis hears the floorboards in the hallway creaking again, and then Cady reappears with their daughter in her arms. Isla’s little face is teary and red, but she seems to calm down a little when she sees her twin was, in fact, not eaten by the thunderstorm, and is perfectly fine with their mommy in bed.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” Janis greets sadly. Isla reaches out for her, so Janis takes her and kisses her forehead before her daughter nuzzles her little button nose into her neck with a sniffle. “What’s the matter?”

“Funder loud,” Isla sniffs quietly. “An’ no bubby. Got scawed.”

“Yeah, the thunder is loud. I’m sorry you thought bubby was gone, though. That’s scary,” Janis says. Cady climbs back into bed next to them and smiles gently, lying on her side to see her whole family.

Jacob is very concerned for his twin sister. He sits on his knees and leans in as close as he can to her face. “It okay, Iwa. I here.”

“Yeah, see?” Janis hushes, gently patting Isla’s back and stroking over one of her frizzy strawberry blonde braids. “Jakey was just in here, he’s okay.”

Isla shifts away from Janis in favor of tackling her brother in a hug. Jacob laughs heartily as he’s knocked backwards by the weight of his twin, and before they know it, Isla’s joining in. Cady picks her back up and sits her on her lap. Janis does the same with Jacob, and they all cuddle in together.

“This is quite nice,” Cady says softly, holding Isla’s head to her chest. Janis fidgets with Jacob’s ear and nods.

“Yeah, it is,” she responds.

“Tickle, Mommy,” Jacob giggles, batting her hand away with a little one. Janis chuckles.

“Sorry, munchkin.”

They sit in silence for a while. Cady cuddles their little girl close to herself, and Janis snuggles their little boy. Janis listens to Cady’s quiet sigh of contentment and smiles as she scoots closer to her for better cuddles. The rain keeps slamming against the large windows of their bedroom; falling from the sky in large, grey sheets. She can just see the shadows of the trees outside being blown and blustered in the wind.

But then she looks down and sees her family.

Cady has her head resting on her chest, halfway between lying on her back and her side. Isla and Jacob are wrapped monkey-style around each respective mother, looking as identical as fraternal twins can.

They always have. They popped out with the complete opposite features Janis had always envisioned their children having, but they were still absolutely perfect to both their mothers.

They have Cady’s hair and complexion; her freckles scattered all over their faces. Isla’s got her form, short and willowy, while Jacob takes a little more after Janis. He’s slightly taller than his twin, though not by much, and has a ruddier build. And, of course, they both have the most precious rosy cheeks, and Janis’ brown eyes. They’re lighter than her own, more of a honey-brown than the rich, dark, coffee tone of hers. But they’re her eyes, mirrored in their little ones, and she fell in love with them as soon as she saw them.

All she can really see now are three matching sets of strawberry blonde hair, and she smiles. It’s been almost twelve years since she first met Cady. Even back then, part of her longed deep down for mornings like this, though she’d never have admitted it then. Even as recently as five years ago, she’d have called you crazy if you told her this was in her near future. Twins? Come on.

But here they are.

Her beautiful wife tucked soundly against her side while they share a morning cuddle as a family to comfort their wee ones from a strangely soothing storm roaring outside.

And they’ve never been happier.

Cady suddenly whispers, “I love you.” And Janis knows she’s been thinking much the same things.

“I love you too,” she murmurs back. Cady tilts her head up to see her, bending her neck at a strange angle. She smiles as soon as she lays eyes on her wife, and Janis does the same. She tips her head up briefly for a sweet kiss, which Cady happily returns.

Another clap of thunder roars outside. Isla, who apparently was falling back asleep, whimpers and starts to cry again. Cady looks back down at her and gently scoots her up higher.

“Oh, pumpkin,” she coos sadly. “It’s okay, baby, I know. Mama’s here. Everybody’s here. We won’t let the storm hurt you.”

Jacob reaches a hand for his twin to hold. Isla takes it desperately and tries to calm down. Some extra loves from her mama help, but she’s still teary after a few minutes. Janis rubs her back and blows her kisses. Cady peppers little kisses to the top of her head and hugs her close against the softest part of her chest so the storm outside is muffled.

“Would you like to hear a story?” she asks.

Isla looks up at her with her heartbreakingly pink face. “Dowy?”

“Yeah, you want to hear a story?” Cady repeats, gently patting her back. Isla sniffles and nods.

Cady looks to Jacob, and he nods too. Cady smiles and settles back against Janis, looking up at the stars patterned on the ceiling as she begins. Janis rests her cheek against Cady’s hair and listens too.

“A long time ago,” Cady begins. “There was a lioness. She was the only lioness in her whoooole pride. And she was from a big one.”

Janis smiles faintly as she catches on to the story almost immediately.

“Mama?” Jacob interrupts.

“Yes, munchkin?” Cady responds, seeming perfectly delighted to be interrupted.

“Whassa lioneth?” Jacob asks. Cady chuckles a bit as his lisping.

“A lioness is a female lion. A girl lion,” she explains.

“Oh.”

Cady prepares to start the story again, but her deep breath is cut off by another, “Mama?”

This one came from Isla, so she looks down at her. “Yes, pumpkin?”

“Whassa pwide?” Isla asks in her adorable, sweet little voice.

Cady smiles. “A pride is what we call a family of lions. Or a group. So if we were all lions, we would be a pride.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe I should’ve made this about people,” Cady chuckles to herself. “Any more questions?”

The twins both shake their heads.

“Okay. So, there was a lioness from a very big pride, and she was the only one. She had lots of family around all the time, but she still felt lonely. Being the only girl with so many boys, sometimes her family didn’t pay attention to her. So she worked really, really hard to become the fastest runner, and the best hunter, and the best swimmer, and everything she could do to beat the boys.

“But it didn’t work. Her pride decided that she had to find someone to marry soon, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She had to do it anyway, or they would be very upset with her.

“She was upset, so she went for a walk all around her home on the savanna. And she met lots and lots of different animals. Elephants and gazelles and crocodiles and ostriches and monkeys and all sorts. She made friends with a few creatures she thought she would never even meet, and she almost managed to forget about what her pride had said.

“But then one day, while she was still on her walk, she met the most beautiful zebra. She had gorgeous stripes and a very nice mane. But she had accidentally pushed the zebra into the watering hole, so she and the zebra had an argument. The lioness was sad, thinking she’d never see the zebra again.

“Until she went back the next day to the same watering hole, and found the same beautiful zebra. She had a chance to apologize, and they had a talk. The lioness knew her pride wouldn’t like the zebra. So she thought if she brought the zebra back to the den to pretend she found someone she loved, her pride might not ask her to get married again for a long time, and she could go back to doing what she wanted to do.

“So she asked the zebra, and the zebra happened to be a very brave zebra. She knew the lioness’ family could very well eat her alive, but she said yes, and she went anyway, just to help the lion.”

“I think the zebra had about a hundred thousand other reasons,” Janis pipes up. Cady gives her a gentle whack and continues her story.

“The lioness was right at first. Her pride didn’t approve of the zebra. They tried everything they could to get rid of her, but none of them worked. The zebra wanted to stay, so she did. And throughout her stay, she and the lioness had a lot of time alone together. They had a lot of chances to talk and really get to know each other. They told each other things they had never told anyone before.

“And eventually… they fell in love. But they had to stay hidden, because the lioness’ family still didn’t like the zebra.”

“Why not?” Isla asks sadly.

“Because she was different,” Cady explains gently. “They had never met someone like her before, and they knew she could change everything for them, but they liked how things were.”

“Oh,” Isla responds. Cady gently tickles her nose with the end of one of her frizzy braids and keeps going.

“Then one day, the zebra and the lioness had a big fight, in front of the whole savanna. Everyone saw, and they all found out that they were in love. The lioness’ parents found out too, and they tried to make the zebra leave. The zebra was afraid, and she agreed to go. But when the lioness found out, she was so angry. She had a big fight with her parents and threatened to run away for good if they continued being so horrible to the zebra.

“And it took a long time, but eventually the lioness’ family realized a few things changing weren’t so bad. They grew to love the zebra just as much as their own cubs. And the lion and the zebra got married, and they had two absolutely perfect little babies. And they lived happily ever after.”

Janis smiles as the story comes to an end, and thanks the stars her children don’t yet have reason to question how a lion and a zebra could have babies, especially with both being girls.

“Good dowy, Mama,” Jacob says. Cady laughs.

“Thank you, honeybunches.”

“Da zeeba lub da lion too?” Isla questions urgently.

“The zebra loved the lion very, very much,” Janis responds soothingly. “She still does.”

“The lion loves the zebra too,” Cady says softly.

“Dowy ‘gain?” Jacob asks sweetly. Cady smiles and ruffles his hair.

“I’m sure you’ll hear it again someday. How about we see about breakfast now?” she responds.

“Okay,” Jacob says, happily crawling out of the bed and running as fast as his little legs will carry him towards the door. He stands on his tiptoes to try to open it, but still isn’t quite tall enough to reach properly. “Nee’ hewp, p’ease.”

Cady hands Isla to Janis and rolls out of bed to help him open the door. “Very nice manners, pumpkin.”

Jacob smiles up at her before he goes toddling down the hallway towards the stairs. Cady follows quickly to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself, and Janis and Isla bring up the rear together, content to take things slow on this leisurely morning.

By the time they’re all in the kitchen, Jacob has resorted to trying to climb the fridge to see inside. Cady laughs and scoops him up. “What should we have for breakfast, my little treasures?”

“A muffin,” Isla suggests, looking at her mama with that adorable sleepy smile on her face when Janis sets her next to her twin on the counter. She jumps at another loud clap of thunder, but Jacob takes her hand to hold again and they both noticeably calm.

“A muffin? That’s a good idea. What kind of muffin?” Cady asks, leaning against the counter in front of them and kissing each of their little button noses.

“Dawbaby,” Jacob suggests. Cady tilts her head.

“Huh?”

“Dawbaby,” Jacob repeats.

Janis comes up next to her wife, trying to piece together what their son is trying to say. What could go in a muffin?

“Oh, strawberry?” Janis asks. Jacob nods eagerly.

“Yes! Dawbaby muffin.”

“Strawberry muffin,” Janis repeats. “What do you think, I? Strawberry muffins strike your fancy?”

“Yeah,” Isla says softly with a nod. Janis smiles and kisses her cheek.

“Strawberry muffins it is, then,” she says.

“Lucky we got strawberries with our last delivery,” Cady says, pulling the large carton out of the fridge.

She had been quite insistent on them leading as normal a life as possible once the twins were born, but Janis was just as insistent on allowing them a few luxuries here and there. A house that might be a bit larger than they need, expensive bassinets when the twins were newborns, hired help to keep the house clean and the gardens maintained. And, her favorite part, grocery deliveries. Not having to shop for her own groceries is worth the inordinate delivery price they pay once a week.

Cady carries each baby to the sink to help wash their hands while Janis washes the strawberries on the other side of the large basin. She gives each of them one to snack on while they wait for the muffin process to begin.

Cady preheats the oven and grabs a bowl while Janis dries the twins’ chubby little hands. It took them a while, but both Cady and Janis know this recipe by heart. It’s been one of their personal favorites for years, and they make them even more frequently now that they have an extra two little mouths to feed.

Cady rests the bowl by the twins and starts measuring out all the ingredients. Janis grabs a cutting board and knife to start chopping their titular berries into small enough chunks for the muffins. She smiles to herself. She’s glad Cady’s so comfortable in the kitchen now. She remembers vividly what their first time ‘cooking’ together was like. It was fun, but nerve wracking for the both of them for several reasons. Now, Cady handles measuring the dry ingredients out like a pro, even with two little ‘helpers’ scrutinizing her every move.

She hands Isla the first measuring cup of flour, and Jacob the second. Jacob gets to add the baking soda, and Isla the salt. They continue roughly in this fashion, knowing full well what’ll happen if they don’t, with all the dry ingredients. Then comes the rest, which get mixed in another bowl.

Things go smoothly with the butter, and the milk, but a small toddler-sized snag comes when they get to the eggs. Jacob bursts into tears as soon as Cady cracks the first one in. “I do it!”

Cady freezes with the eggshell still in her hand. She quickly tosses it into the garbage and comes back to comfort their son. “You wanted to do the egg?”

“I do it!” Jacob wails again.

“Oh, honey,” Cady says soothingly. “It’s okay, you still helped lots! Eggs are messy, I didn’t want you to get your pajamas dirty.”

“I do egg!”

“I know, baby, I hear you,” Cady says. “Can Mama hold you?”

Jacob nods, so Cady picks him up. He cuddles in and wails against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask if you wanted to help with the eggs. I know you’re frustrated you didn’t get to,” she says. “But you still helped us so much!”

“Egg,” Jacob sobs.

“I know, I know, you’re so sad about the eggs,” Cady hushes, trying not to laugh at her son’s succinct explanation for his (by his standards) very small tantrum. “You can help with the eggs next time, how about that?”

Jacob just wails again. Cady hushes him and gives him a little bounce.

“Shh. Here, I’ll even write it down so Mommy and I don’t forget, how about that?” she offers. She grabs a sticky note and a pen from the drawer and sets Jacob back on the counter to scrawl a short memo. Jacob finally goes quiet as he watches her hand move. “There. It says, ‘Jakey gets to crack the eggs next time.’ So now we won’t forget.”

She pins it to the bulletin board that hangs on the wall near the entrance to the kitchen. She hears Jacob sniffle behind her as she pushes the tack into it.

“Better?” she asks, gently drying the remaining tears from his pink cheeks. He nods with another sniff. “Good. Somebody’s sleepy, huh?”

“No,” Jacob protests immediately. Janis snorts quietly as she scoops all the chopped berries into their bowl.

“No? Not sleepy? You were up early,” she reminds. “We all were.”

“Not sheepy,” Jacob insists. Janis smiles. “Whatever you say, munchkin. What about you, chickadee, are you sleepy?” she asks, looking at Isla, who’s already on the verge of falling back asleep where she sits on the counter. Her eyes keep fluttering, and her head is clearly impossibly heavy, if the way she keeps tipping it from side to side is anything to go by.

“Yeah,” Isla yawns. Janis laughs at her admission. “Deepy.”

“You wanna go take a nap?”

“No,” Isla says with a shake of her head. She points to the bowl Cady is stirring the strawberries into.

“Oh, you want your muffin first?” Janis asks with a chuckle. Isla nods. “I see. We’ll get you your muffin, then.”

Jacob is satisfied with helping Janis scoop the muffin batter into the pan, while Isla watches with heavy eyes from Cady’s loving hold. They have a slow waltz around the kitchen while their breakfast bakes; Janis holding Isla and Cady with Jacob.

The twins get sat back on the counter once the muffins are out of the oven and cool enough to eat. They’re still nice and warm and fluffy, and everyone hums happily as they dig in with their first bites.

Isla’s eyes start fluttering even more as she nibbles on her muffin, and eventually she completely falls asleep into it. The muffin comes out a bit smushed when Cady gently lifts her head from it, and a few crumbs stick with her, but she doesn’t wake up. Jacob cackles so hard he almost falls off the counter when he sees the state of his sister’s muffin, laughing his adorably sweet baby laugh around a bite of delicious strawberry muffin.

“Sleepy little girl,” Cady hums affectionately as she brushes a crumb away from Isla’s eyebrow and picks her off the counter. She almost made it to morning nap time anyway, so they’re content to just let her sleep the morning off. Cady makes a little nest of cushions and blankets in the living room and gently rests her baby bird into it before returning to her family in the kitchen.

“What do you think, bubs? Good muffins?” Janis asks. Jacob nods happily around a large bite.

“Be careful,” Cady chides lovingly around a laugh. “Don’t choke.”

Jacob smiles at her as best he can with his mouth full of muffin. Cady takes a large bite and does the same, making him laugh again. She leans in for a little kiss, and he gives her a gentle peck in return.

Surprisingly, he finishes his whole muffin himself. The warmth and having his tummy full hit quickly, and he rapidly drifts off in almost the same way his sister did. Janis laughs and catches him before he can fall off the counter, and deposits him next to Isla in the living room. Cady finishes off her own muffin and brings Janis what remains of hers so they can sit together on the sofa.

Janis takes her muffin with a smile and a grateful kiss. Cady happily returns it and cuddles into Janis’ side, hugging her arm and looking at their babies asleep on the ground while her head rests on Janis’ shoulder. She takes a deep breath, absorbing the warmth and love of her wife as she looks around. Janis finishes her muffin and tugs Cady’s arms tighter around herself.

She looks at Cady when she feels a moisture soak into her shirt where her wife’s head rests. She frowns. “What’s the matter?”

“They’re going to leave us,” Cady whispers shakily, looking at the twins cuddled up in their sleep. “They’ll… go to college, maybe, or get married. They’ll grow up and they won’t need us anymore.”

Janis looks at the babies. “Cads, they’re not even two.”

“They almost are. Their birthday’s next month,” Cady defends with a sniffle.

“I know it is,” Janis snorts, burying her nose in her wife’s hair.

“Just look at them. How much they’ve changed in… almost two years. How much they’ve grown,” Cady continues softly. “They used to be so tiny.”

“To you,” Janis chuckles. Cady rolls her eyes.

“Just because they exited your vagina instead of mine,” she huffs.

“Why, Miss Cady Heron. How crass of you to say,” Janis taunts in an absolutely abysmal high society accent.

“That’s Mrs. Cady Heron to you,” Cady hums in her haughtiest voice. “Didn’t you hear I married an absolute heathen? It was quite big news.”

“Yeah, I did. Heard you married the hottest heathen in town,” Janis says. Cady whacks her, but Janis can feel her smiling.

“I sure did.” She breaks into giggles after the statement, and Janis can’t help but join. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Janis says softly.

“You know something?” Cady whispers.

“Hm?”

“I don’t think I’m afraid of storms anymore.”

—————

thank you for reading!! i hope everyone has a wonderful day and a wonderful october!!

lots of love, ezzy

#cadnis #space safari #paint by numbers #cady heron x janis sarkisian #cady x janis #cady heron #janis sarkisian #mean girls #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #mean girls on broadway