#Mary Drenched in Blood

[cowgirlcherrie]

georgia canned peaches — ⋆｡°✩ 🐎 cowboy! ellie

pairing: cowboy! hitwoman! ellie x black! fem! reader. wc: 5.0K

synopsis: on the run was Tennessee’s peach, who trades a life of discomfort for security with a Texan stranger

warnings: 18+, MDNI! mommy issues, slight religious trauma if you squint, heavy touching, ellie has an accent, mentions of death and loneliness, heavily inspired by Bones and All ( minus the c*nnibalism and gore), dom! ellie, domestic! ellie, heavy use of petnames (peach, sweetness, sugar, doll), stranger danger lowkk…, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, mentions of weapons, killing, black feminine coded reader, running away, taking care of injuries, injured ellie (so mention of blood, bleeding),

━━━ ♪ peach & georgia by kevin abstract

a/n: heyy everyone!! here's a quick lengthy one-shot for cowboy-ish Ellie! if you enjoy it babis my ask button is open and I'm always accepting requests if you want headcanons, etc, but enjoy!! ⊹˚. ♡⊹˚. ♡

✧˖°.

Mama didn’t raise no bitch! Or a conniving little thief either. 

You tested that theory. Your hands became sticky with anything remotely flashy. Perhaps that was how you found out how to survive on your own. Times like this you wondered where you would be if your mama had just been a perfect Mary Sue. Made dinner, taught you how to wash your clothes and braid your hair, tucked you in at night, and just maybe taught you how to be better than a man. But now you were alone, in the hot Texan heat, and it felt like a smack to the face. Similar to her handprint the night she let you loose and hissed that you are on your own. You didn’t wanna cover the bills anymore or hear her bullcrap about how it was Adam and Eve — not Eve and Eve. You grew tired, and so did your feet that seemed to get you as far as you were now. Perhaps it wasn’t smart to smash your piggy bank taking the $500 dollars you spent bussing tables to go and a messenger duffle that could fit 3 heads. No plan either, which was significantly negligent, but your sticky fingers got you farther than you ever could, and they made sure you were fed. 

That would explain why you were stealing in a gas station grocery. Crouched by the nonperishables stuffing anything and everything into the duffle bag. Georgia peaches, check. Canned pineapple, check. Dried beans and nuts, double-check. You weren’t exactly careful, but the place loomed with unfamiliar faces who certainly were too full of themselves to stop you. So you kept going, a first aid kit for the bruises that were forming on your knees and sewing material to fix the rip in your jacket. Well not your jacket, but your dad's jacket. Brown thick cotton over your shoulders to cover the long dress you were in, it was a smart decision. The jacket kept you warm on the desert nights, and it made home in your hands during the day. The little pockets are perfect for stuffing loads of crap you don’t need. With the crack of another can hitting the floor, it paralleled a shiny brown boot. Drenched in leather and gold detailing as it smacked the tile. Left foot – right foot – left again. Your eyes followed the trail of feet, ignoring the can that rolled away from you as a hand reached down to pick it up. A roughened, bloody, feminine freckled hand. Now the mystery girl was looming over your figure, in an authoritative stance, as if her ego had been bigger than her height itself. But she was also bleeding. Her right arm clenched to her hip as blood seeped between her fingers. 

“Yers’ drop somethin’ peach?” The accent sent a shiver up your spine. It was thick and unfamiliar but maybe the word peach, at the end masked her roughness. You now made eye contact with the girl, green eyes looming into yours as you shakily took the can of peaches.

“M’sorry that was my bad,” you mumbled taking the peaches back and tucking them into your chest. You couldn’t slip it back into your bag now, next thing you know she would yell THIEF! and drag you by your collar to the front counter. But the woman was in such poor shape to do so, her freckled face wincing ever so slightly with every movement her body made. She was a cowgirl, you’ve heard all about them in the papers but didn’t take them for the real deal. Her hat told you all you need to know, brown to match her thick belt and blue bell bottoms. Oh, she was the real deal.

“Could ya be a doll n’ grab me a kit” The woman groaned out, pushing her body weight in front of you. Her standing position contrasted yours that was crouched down, at eye level with the material. “You’s a real catch ya know? Put the peaches back in. I know you were stealin’” This made you freeze. Fuck!Fuck!Fuck! Your brain shouted you were screwed.

Your hands now moved slower reaching for the kit in front of you, and you suddenly realized how overly close the woman was to you. Almost blocking your field of vision from anything to your left. You ignored her statement, as you shakily lifted the first aid kit to her hands. 

“Peach…you are a delight, but now you listen,” The woman didn’t take the kit, “A camera has been pointed at ya for the past 5, and now you got Tina’ at counter watchin’ ya. You are gonna live up to bein’ delightful and pay for this one thing” The woman was scrounging in her pocket and you took the moment of silence to think to yourself, you had barely any money. $500 was something you needed to make stretch.

“What?”

“I don’ take you for a fool, I’m Ellie, and I mean no harm.” Ellie took off her hat placing it over the left side of her chest at her heart, giving you a simple nod before putting the dusted brown hat back on her head. Ellie this time put a stained $10 bill on top of the first aid kit that had been suspended in the air by your hand. This action made you stand up – eye level with this time. Noticed the girl has a height to her, her figure looming over you as you stood.

“Give me the bag [what?] your bag sweetness! we don’t got all day, dammit I’m hurt” Ellie stated bluntly. There was no more time for jokes or stealing any more Georgia canned peaches. There were better things to worry about. Like the fact that you can go to jail for stealing and Ellie who was bleeding out in front of you. You slid your brown bag off your shoulder handing it to Ellie who swung it over her left shoulder. 

“Go see Tina with ‘er blonde hair, act sweet, say your visitin’ family. If they ask, say the Williams Ranch, she’ll give you no hard time” Ellie started as she was giving you instructions, “When ya finish, keep the change, meet me at my car I’ll be outside. You get your bag – I fix my wound, and you get the fuck outta town.” Ellie finished. This time her look was stern, and aggressive as if she was testing you. Testing your loyalty, your honesty, your act. She wanted to see how you worked under pressure, she wanted you to suffocate from fear. All you could do is nod, swallowing harshly, as Ellie turned her body walking down the Isle to your left.

You took the initiative to make your way to ‘Tina’. Ellie was right, the blonde had been suspicious of you. Asked you all the questions that Ellie said she would, but she backed off once you mentioned the Williams Ranch. Handing you the exact change of 0.50 cents and a hospitable smile, saying “Have a great day.” Tina’s defensiveness changed with one simple title. This made you wonder how much authority Ellie had over the place, questions flooding through your brain as you pushed the door and walked out, being met with the setting sun.

The sun was getting low, and there wouldn’t be a motel for another mile out. Sure you could do the walk but you weren’t guaranteed anything. A whistle brought you out of your trance, belonging to Ellie who this time had a toothpick between her cushioned pink lips, as her body leaned against a ran down red car, with muddied wheels. You jogged over this time seeing that your bag was missing from her shoulders rather this time in the passenger seat of her car. 

“Here you go, what you asked.” You pushed the first aid kit into her hands like you’d done back in the store. Ellie mumbled a thank you, as she nibbled on the toothpick. This time, taking the kit and putting it on the hood of the car. 

“Yous’ as quiet as a mouse, but orders ya take well…Peach could you help me patch up, I ensure you a place to stay and food in return – all comfort no lies…” It took you time to think about it. What did people call this…southern hospitality? She was sweet to you despite not really knowing you but the situation was still tit for tat. You do for me, I do for you. Wax on, Wax off. You weren’t gonna say no to a place to crash, where you didn’t have to worry about the faucet being broken or water barely coming out because the bill wasn’t paid. You were certain her bills were paid. 

“Yes, please…uh thank you!” You exclaimed as you began to dig through the box, taking out a bottle of water from your coat pocket, also stolen using it as a hand wash and something to clean the area, temporarily where the wound is. “doncha thank me just yet, you’re just getting started, peach.”

 Ellie was surprisingly still gentle with you, taking her time to crouch into the backseat of the car, while you sat next to her with the kit on the center console. Ellie took her time to untuck the white button-down shirt, as her hands shakily fiddled with the buttons. Due time, her snail speed started to irritate you making you smack her hands away doing it yourself. The exchange was silent, but you preferred it to keep the awkwardness at bay. Ellie shook off her white button down, leaving her in a white tank top — Ellie this time took the initiative to roll the tank top up to right below her boobs allowing you to wince at the large gash on her hip.

“Holy Sh—”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Not my first Rodeo” Ellie continued as you poured water on the wound making Ellie grit her teeth. Tilting her head back as whimpers left her mouth at the sudden coldness. All of it was hard to do when you’re in the back of a car trying to patch up a borderline dead woman. But before you could ask any questions, Ellie took the initiative to do it herself. 

“W-Where you headed, whats yer’ story?” Ellie grimaced through the pain as she held her head against the headrest, pants escaping her lips at an alarming rate. “God…I’m sorry,” You hesitated, you couldn’t even answer one simple question, your hands shaking at the blood that was covering your hands as it just wasn’t slowing down.

“Jeez– I hope a lil’ blood don’t scare you peach, I woulda done it myself baby,” Ellie hissed, trying to stay moderately sweet as she was now gripping onto the door handle, her right hand finding its way to your thigh, squeezing for the endless support. That’s when you noticed her tattoo, a death’s-head hawkmoth, and vines. Beautiful, yet chaotic, she had a story. Ellie squeezed again your thigh again making you look back at her. “Eyes up here baby [sorry] where [shit] ya’ from?” You couldn’t lie, the rifle at the back of her car taunting you. If she wanted to kill you she certainly would have done it by now. She wasn’t a threat, and she proved that in the store.

“I’m from Tennessee, I’ve been traveling on foot. I’m runnin’ away” You confessed as Ellie nodded her head in response, Your accent was slight, barely noticeable making more sense in Ellie’s head at why you struck her as different. Your beautiful brown skin glowing under the setting sun, you were a beauty to her. “Figured, how old?” Ellie questioned as you continued to stay frozen, eyes on her face to continue the conversation. “21” Ellie nodded again. 

“Thought so, 22” Ellie responded. There it was again, the tit for tat. 

“You seem like a good girl, far away from home aren’t cha. What’s wrong with yer family? Perhaps your mama?” Ellie tilted her head watching as your face transitioned from bliss and tranquility to fear and panic. She knew she struck a nerve, your mama was the problem. She didn’t wanna pressure you, hell it didn’t matter now. You were on your own, like a scared little lamb that has been deterred from its family. Possibly you were the black sheep, different from the rest. Ellie, once again, didn’t wanna pressure you. 

“You look like you need someone to take care of ya, don’t worry Peach I’ll take care of you” Ellie whispered, her voice all velvety like icing a chocolate cake. Smooth and sweet with care and caress. Ellie was unlike others you’ve met. Or any ex-lover you had. This time you weren’t afraid to let her in or take care of you. Hell you wanted that, you’ve been craving it for all years of your life while you had to do it for others. Maybe it was time someone exchanged the favor. The good karma bell rang in your ears, as a smile tugged at your lips.

“Make sure you cared for, if you let me” Ellie whispered some more, her hands this time traveling to your waist, giving a gentle squeeze, to which you could only hum in response. She was a charmer and knew all the right words to get you sunken in with her. Mama always said to not trust strangers, but why didn’t she feel like one? Her scent was intoxicating all you wanted to do was lean down and sink your pointed fangs into her shoulder, hearing her cry of satisfaction while she continued to call you Peach. Peach…Peach…Peach. You liked that name, no one called you that but considering that's what she handed you when you first spoke, it didn’t run as a surprise. 

Ellie squeezed, “Words, sweetness?”

“Yes” you squeaked, which probably sounded oddly sexual now that you thought about it. Unholy thoughts plague your brain at the sight of the Texas beauty in front of you. Realizing your task still was unfinished you got back to work. Hands working fast as you took your time, threading the suture thread through the needle as it came in contact with the flesh that was Ellie’s loose and separated skin.

Ellie wincing as you dug the needle in, and back out with an exhale. It was a semi-shitty stitching job, but you were able to tightly close the wound and stop the bleeding. Ellie didn’t speak, considering she’d risk completely yelling every curse word and potentially scaring you off, she settled on biting the hem of her tank top instead. Thick black lashes coated with tears at the sudden pain and blood crust. You were gentle though, Ellie caressing your waist as you put down a gauze pad, followed by wrapping it with the gauze roll and securing it with the adhesive tape. Patting to let her know that you were finished. 

“Yer’ such a good girl you know?” Ellie cooed as her hands found their way up to your braids, bringing your head down so she can give a chaste kiss to your head. Right…Right… Southern Hospitality. The feeling almost made you cry. Praise, followed up with affection? Like nothing you have felt before – hell you only thought they did that in movies. Ellie, however, was like a movie. Purley a fever dream, you were scared to fall asleep, what if you imagined the whole thing? You were enjoying your runaway escapades too much for it all to be fake. 

“Let’s get the show on the road,” Ellie gave a smile, making her way out of the back, suggesting that you do the same. So much for not trusting strangers.

✧˖°.

Father, Forgive me for I have sinned… it was blurry 

As we forgive our trespassers…still blurry

Trespassers…clear

You were a trespasser, is what you were getting from Ellie’s narration. Over the 30-minute car ride to her Farmhouse, Ellie explained to you the whole ordeal. Her cowboy hat was on your head as you listened to her tell narration of the cowboys' sealant for the townspeople. Why Tina, at the gas station tried to make you a friend. This Texan desert, farmland was constructed with the passage that cowboys and cowboy decedents protect the townspeople from narcs and trespassers, which in this case you could have been either. Debunked neither. It was one of those towns that people suggest you pass, hell probably inquire why it's still on the fucking map.

Ellie confessed that she was also a trespasser, just like you. Taken in by her late found father Joel who showed her how to run the rodeo. How Millers Ranch, became Williams Ranch. It was impressive, your eyes gleaming with admiration. Then it hit you, why she had the shotgun she did bounties on narcs, drug smugglers, the whole ordeal. People who came in to steal, wreak havoc, and destroy the peace. She was the town's grim reaper. She was the one who knocks. You felt faint, as the realization knocked into you like a brick. Nothing was truly sweet about her, that accent was to mask how with one click she’ll hunt like they were rabbits. You were trapped in her cage.

Upon arriving at her farmhouse which was large enough for more than one, it made you sad to see. She was alone, by herself. No wonder it was easy for her to drag you into her company, human interaction seemed obsolete out here. A dim light shown from what you assumed to be the horse stable, that was rather quiet as the nightfall had put you at ease. You held your jacket to your body tighter at the sudden gust of wind, hearing the weeds brush against each other — almost screaming in the wind. You held tightly onto your bag while Ellie limped past you, with the white button-down rested over one shoulder. Fiddling with the keys in her pocket. 

“Shoes off at the door, watch your step,” Ellie spoke up as she opened the door, you were hit with the sudden aroma, it smelled like fresh wood, pine, and just a hint of freshly baked cookies. It was how you pictured going to visit your grandmothers to be. Warm and welcoming. Complying with her wishes, you took your boots off, leaving you in mix-matched socks with funky designs that you have bought out of quirkiness. Ellie found this amusing. White ones to contrast your colors, the two of you had a lot of differences. But for the lack of similarities came an understanding. A mutual grounding between the two of you. A grey area. Ellie was behind you this time, taking her hat off your head, hooking it onto the wall, your thick jacket as well, and placing it on the hook beneath it. 

“Welcome, home” 

Now that made your stomach curl, you didn’t know what home is, besides yourself and your belongings. Attaching your home to people, not places. It was a wave of worry and fear that hit you. Your feet stuck as it felt like someone took a hammer and nailed your feed to the wooden floors. It was lively and well-decorated for someone that lived alone. Breaking free from your sinking feet you started to observe the living space. There was art, tones of it, stumbling across a photo in the bookcase of a much younger Ellie and an older man with salt and pepper hair who you had presumed to be Joel. The name fit his face well, A small smile creeping up to your face at the closeness of the two. Ellie seemed happy – carefree now that you look at her, that happiness seemed sucked away from her life, she didn’t smile quite like that anymore. Not until you cracked jokes in her car and made her laugh.

“Ya thirsty peach?” Ellie questioned her voice coming out muffled as her figure was far away in the kitchen area, hearing as the refrigerator closed. “I’m good, thank you though.” You put the photo back where you found it, following the trail of her voice. She was very trusting for a stranger, you were already infatuated with the woman, yearning for more. Yearning for her to give you a taste or perhaps a touch. Now you were sitting on her marble countertop, placed there by Ellie as she moved quickly around the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water from the glass pitcher, drowning it all in one go. She wiped the falling water around her mouth with the back of her arm eyeing you in the process, Ellie laughed. You knew her for a short amount of time, but long enough to know that laughter from her was rare – take it as a compliment, you thought. 

Ellie made her way over to you, her hands now on your knees, moving them further apart as she pushed her body in between her legs. Her arms resting on the counter space behind you,  trapping you in her arms.

“Mama didn’t teach you no good...to trust strangers? Oh…Babygirl you’re dangerous” Ellie scolded, laughing as you give the girl a doe-eyed look – your hands finding a  home on her arms. Wrapping your hands around her biceps, as your thumb move up, down, and in a circle. 

“I figured if you were gonna kill me, you already would have done so.” You mumbled as Ellie’s face got a lot closer to yours now. You can see the freckles that decorated her cheeks, her hydrated pink lips from the water she just had, the slit in her eyebrow, and her eyes. The piercing green forest that was her eyes, but it was beautiful, reminded you of the trees that you had seen when you walked. The storm that was your life, before Ellie became your superhero, the knight in shining armor. She saved you, and you owed her big time.

“Bingo! I know you smart peach, and that’s why imma tell you once, listen t’me real good.” Ellie specified, bringing one arm up to grip your chin gently, not allowing you to look anywhere else but herself. Ellie seemed possessive, maybe she lost too many people or her lack of social interaction but she didn’t want to let you go, and you could tell. She needed you just as much as you needed her, a packaged deal.

“You don’ trust nobody that ain’t me.” Ellie began, “Someone’s overly nice to ya’ you tell me. Mean? You fuckin’ tell me. Both don’t fly with me baby, if it ain't from me” Ellie finished, letting go of your jaw to which you nodded. Ellie was a fuckin’ force to be reckoned with, It was like digging into a mystery box, you were unsure of the flavors and layers she had to herself. Hell, she could be manipulating you and you wouldn’t even notice. Hospitality for comfort or comfort for hospitality, it all looked the same.

“Ay Ay, captain!” You playfully military saluted the girl, making Ellie roll her eyes at your statement, you were exceptionally fun. Which Ellie didn’t have anymore...fun. If you classify a night at Typsy Bison as fun then so be it. “You hungry? I can run you a shower before you eat – it’s leftovers if that's alright with yourself?” Ellie questioned and that’s when it hit you, you’ve been traveling afoot all day, and the thought of even having a meal slipped your mind, but you were famished, stomach lightly growling at the mention of the word food.

“I could use food, yeah — as long as there’s no cheese.” You challenge making Ellie back away this time as she took out a glass plate, a fork, and a knife. “No cheese sugar, but something to get you settled – I always have dessert peach if you want that instead?” Now you felt like a kid in a candy store. Dessert was a rarity and boy did it sound delightful right now. Ellie smiled as she watched the way your eyes gleamed at the mention of dessert.

“Got a sweet tooth huh?” Ellie smiled, making you laugh in return. You did have a sweet tooth, anything sweet was enough to bring a smile to your face. That’s why you had a love for canned peaches. The taste reminded you of peach pie that you would get at the diner as you worked a closing shift. Sitting at a booth as you devoured a piece of peach pie, it was heated, like a warm hug in the winter. You cried every time you had a piece. It reminded you of all the good things in life – like how good your mother could be. 

“I hope you have pie” you pleaded, making Ellie nod her head. “You aren’t pressin’ yer luck! I got an apple pie from a good friend of mine, I think you’ll love it – not too sweet, but fillin’” Ellie smirks in satisfaction as she placed one hand on her hip. 

“Let’s run’ya a shower” 

✧˖°.

How were you supposed to explain to Ellie why you were crying? Pajamas that you stored in your bag resting on your body as the matching white tank top and light blue shorts attached to your frame — you just had the best shower you’ve ever had in a while. Not only was the water hot, but it didn’t cut out every five minutes, and the faucet wasn’t leaking, everything was comfortable, perfect. Ellie herself took the time you were in the shower to clean up herself, now in different clothing —  a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that clung to her body nicely. The two of you sitting at the dining table as Ellie watched you eat the warmed pie, a tear fell from your eye with swiftness. Ellie’s gentle gaze transitioned into confusion and eventually fear as she watched you cry. 

“Oh god, wait!... I’m sorry” you laughed in between sniffles, taking the back of your hand to rub your face.

“Jeez, I thought I did somethin’ sugar” Ellie exaggerated holding her hand over her heart as if someone pierced an arrow through it. Now it was your turn to reveal your story, like how you cried every time you ate pie, specifically with peaches. It made Ellie give a small grin. Feeling as though she did something right in her life where she wasn’t playing god,  It was wholesome that’s for sure. The redhead found it odd, but it was a sweet moment and she understood it. Ellie’s smile fell when she noticed the clock behind your head striking 10:30pm making her frown. The good times she was having at the moment were coming to an end, for both her and yourself. 

“You go’n watch the tv til your tired, I have some business to take care of before tomorrow” Ellie didn’t wanna scare you, her business was taking the grey cloth, as she wiped down her guns and reloaded them for tomorrow. She didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.  

“Can you watch it with me?” You inquired, ignoring the part where she said she had business. 

“I’m cleaning guns.”

“So? You don’t scare me cowgirl” You wiggled your eyebrows as Ellie snatched the empty plate from your hands, placing it in the sink as she let the sponge soap up to wash the plate clean with hot water.

“Fine. I see you jump – I’m goin’ to another room, I don’t mix business with pleasure” Ellie confessed as she was less focused on you this time. You chose this time to leave the dining area, entering the living room as you hit the squared television's 'ON' button. It was small and run down, similar to the one at your moms before you left. You pulled at the antenna to catch a signal. The static glitching before on came Looney Tunes. You enjoyed the show finding amusement in the animals chasing each other and the crescendo of the music at all the right moments, it was comical and amusing. You spread your body out on the couch, laying on your side as you watched the television in silence, laughing every few minutes at something that you found funny. Ellie walked into the room with a black box and 3 guns in her hand. The redhead gently settled down the weaponry, being careful not to startle you, as she slipped into the seat on the far left — your legs now found a home in her lap, Ellie gently sending a rub at your legs. If someone walked right in, they would assume the two of you were probably married for some years now. 

“This okay?” Ellie whispered as you mumbled a “yes” while your focus was still not on her. Ellie could see that you were getting tired, the way your eyes were low, and your breathing slowed down. You were at peace with yourself and with Ellie, this was one of the times when the silence was okay, a mutual serenity, and understanding — everyone was mindful of each other and it was pure love and bliss.

Ellie eyed your figure as your eyes fluttered shut, this time you were sleeping, fully this time letting yourself melt into the softness of the couch as Ellie reached over to her left to grab the blanket and drape it over your sleeping figure. This was also the time she finally got started on cleaning her guns, knowing that you were relaxed and cared for. Ellie wasn’t sure what she was doing, She felt vulnerable and that was rare, but she was doing what she said she would. Taking care of you, like you were taking care of her. You saved her life, and she saved yours, tit for tat.

Ellie in this moment craved nothing more than your lips on hers, perhaps your teeth to graze her flesh, biting…hard into her – wanting to connect and morph bodies. She craved for your love and your intimacy, she wanted you to love her bones and all. Ellie wanted you to love her past, her insecurities, her mistakes, and her wrongs. You were too good for her, she knew it, but there was nothing a sweet peach like you couldn’t fix. 

#tlou2 #modern au #cherry writes 🤍 #ellie williams #ellie x reader #sapphic #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x black!reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie angst #ellie fluff #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x black! fem! reader #ellie williams x black!reader #tlou x reader #cowboy! ellie #cowgirl! ellie #modern! ellie #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x y/n #farmhouse! ellie

[soulcandi]

𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴 | 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲

synopsis: sorority!reader stumbles upon ghostface behind a closed door at a halloween party and decides to play along with what she assumes is a cruel prank.

warnings: blood/gore, murder, implied alcohol and drug use, bimbo!reader, finger-sucking (lmao), written with afab!reader in mind.

a/n: first tumblr post! this is cross-posted on wattpad and ao3 too! lowercase intended.

word count: 3,841

it wasn’t the muffled screaming that drew you toward the room at the end of the upstairs hallway, but it was certainly what inspired you to press your ear against the door.

at first, you weren’t sure what you were hearing—the music from the party downstairs was making the floor thrum beneath your feet and it was impossible to try and hear anything over the deafening, base-heavy music blaring in the downstairs hallway. especially in your state. but then through the thin wooden frame, there it was again—the screaming, the pleas of terror reduced to stifled, high-pitched whines. 

you held your breath, reaching down to set your big gulp full of jungle juice on the floor of the hallway. the entire first week of zeta orientation was focused solely on helping sisters in trouble and recognizing unsafe situations at parties like this one. and with your ear plastered to the door, you could tell that there was nothing safe or orderly going on in the room behind it, and not even the joint you stole from the guy dressed as danny zuko downstairs was going to change that. 

you had seen date-rape frankie hanging around downstairs, slinking around the kitchen on the prowl for incoming zetas to prey on, but you hadn’t seen him in a few minutes. in fact, you hadn’t seen him much at all since you lost track of your new freshman friend, tara.

biting down hard on your bottom lip, you rapped your knuckles against the wood. there was a slight pause before the sounds of struggle grew louder. 

oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.  

“tara?” you called, it felt like your mouth had been stuffed with cotton and you could still taste the sour hawaiian punch mixer on your tongue. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt someone’s fantasy of hooking up in pike house on the thirsty thursday before halloween, but you would rather not just walk away when it sounded like someone was being gutted—or worse.

the knob turned with ease and you found yourself stumbling into the room before you could reconsider turning right back around and locating one of your sober sisters to investigate on your behalf. you had half a mind to slap a hand over your eyes to avoid seeing anything you rather live your life without ever seeing.

“tara, is that you? it’s—” you peaked between your fingers for a fleeting second but all you saw was red. 

desperate, angry red claw marks marred the white carpet in a breadcrumb trail leading all the way from the door to the back wall just underneath the window. you stumbled, ankles wobbling in your strappy pink heels as you reached for the doorknob to catch your balance.

there was a figure cloaked in familiar black robes wearing a gaunt white mask that you knew all too well. his hand was raised with a knife poised to stab the girl currently wriggling in his arms. they both watched with bated breath as you gaped at the scene before you. 

“uhm…?” you mumbled, not entirely sure you were seeing this right. you glanced over your shoulder to find that you were completely alone in the upstairs corridor. you coughed and shook your head disbelievingly. you really needed to thank danny zuko for his potent product.

or maybe you needed to stop stealing people’s weed when they were too busy making out with girls dressed as marie antoinette to notice. 

the girl’s head lolled to the side, blood running like rivers through the crevices of her face. her eyes were half-lidded, the entire front of her slutty cowboy costume drenched in blood. you squinted down at her, unable to place her at first. but then it hit you like a slap to the face. 

“courtney fucking carter.” you pointed almost accusingly down at her limp body. it was courtney. she posted a mirror selfie in that exact same outfit just a few hours ago, minus all the gore. ew, you really needed to take her off of your snapchat. 

you felt like an idiot for believing all those heartfelt ‘your first college roommate will become your lifelong friend!’ facebook posts that your mom sent you the entire summer before your freshman year because courtney fucking carter was the furthest thing from a friend that you had at the moment. 

from the split second she’d gotten wind of what you went through a few years back—of what you had seen and survived, it was all downhill from there. fake blood in your body wash, ghostface masks in your closet, daily prank calls, and anonymous threatening texts every morning, noon, and night.

her little display tonight was no different from last halloween when she paid the entire lacrosse team fifty bucks each to wear those stupid costumes and stalk the zeta house while you were sober sister. 

she coughed and even more blood started bubbling in the corners of her mouth. her perfectly winged eyeliner was smudged at the tips and her face was blotchy and red from crying. you were honestly a little impressed that she would make herself look so disgusting for a silly prank that didn’t even scare you. 

“(y/n)...” she blubbered, gasping as she reached out with a limp hand in your direction. “please…”

the killer hadn’t moved since you tripped into the room and if it weren’t for the labored breaths making his chest rise and fall every few seconds, you would have thought he was a statue. you wouldn’t have been surprised if she hired an actual actor to help her with this one.

“oh, this is too good,” you sighed, twirling around and grabbing your drink off of the floor before walking into the room and letting the door ease shut in your wake. as soon as it did, it was like you had hit mute on the entire rest of the party. sinking to your knees on a wet, bloody patch of carpet, you took a long sip from your straw, ignoring the delicious sting it delivered to the back of your throat.

you were just nearing the point of the night where a rum and coke only tasted like coke and you started forgetting that there was liquor in your cup at all. 

courtney’s eyebrows tethered in confusion, but you weren’t even looking at her anymore. the masked figure cocked his head to the side, gloved fingers clenching around the steely hunting knife hovering a foot or so over your ex-roommate's chest.

trauma sure had a funny way of presenting itself because there was absolutely no reason that you should be so spurred on by that sight. biting your lip, you mirrored his empty expression, tilting your head parallel to his. “well? go ahead. finish her off.”

“please, no! oh my god, no!”

“shut the fuck up, my god. you act like I wouldn’t have paid like a million dollars to see this happen to you for real. grow up and let me enjoy this.”

leaning your back against the door, you pulled your barely-parted knees halfway up to your chest, not caring in the slightest that your satin slip was leaving very little to the imagination. chewing lazily— drunkenly—on your cherry-red straw, you gestured vaguely for her accomplice to proceed.

he bristled at your attention, testingly bringing the knife down a few inches to gauge your reaction. the movement elicited a weak cry from the girl lying victim in his lap and you smiled with the nibbled tip of your straw pinned between your glittery-painted lips. “do it.”

through the floorboards, you could hear the opening chords of SLUT ME OUT, followed by the excited screams of your sorority sisters. the stars were aligning in the most perfect way. if this ended quickly enough, you could link up with tara and ethan and make your way to the dance floor with time to spare before the song was over. 

a long, labored breath was smothered by the smooth plastic of the mask but you heard it anyway in all of its gruff, ravenous glory. not even a full second passed before the stainless (probably retractable) blade disappeared and plunged straight between courtney’s ribs. she arched her back as her body mimed a reaction to the pain and you watched from afar with hazy curiosity. 

“yes!” you clapped, throwing a weak fist in the air. “get her ass!”

“fu-fuck you, (y/n),” she spat.

“ditto. no, actually you can eat shit and choke. you’re honestly such a good actress that this is kinda sad.”

every insult, every bitter comment that you’ve been holding in since last september came threatening to spill out of you. courtney’s body lurched as the knife was yanked out of her torso, but when it re-entered, there was no reaction. no more pleas for her life, no melodramatic dying remarks. in fact, she went deathly still—her body slumping over in an awkward heap on the carpet as ghostface rose, shoving her aside in order to stalk his way over to you. 

his heavy black combat boots made deep imprints on the stained carpet, now half-dried and tacky to the touch. with one more sip for good luck, you abandoned your cup beside the door and crawled on your hands and knees to meet him halfway at a tantalizing pace.

pointing your half-lidded eyes through the black eye holes of the mask, you wondered which of her sick and twisted friends was watching you back right behind them. but honestly, who were you kidding? the not-knowing was what made it just a teensy bit sexy. 

“you gonna kill me next?” you pouted, sitting up on your knees less than a foot away from where he stood, shooting him the biggest, roundest doe eyes that you could manage. your pitiful frown only deepened as he shook his head, dragging a leather-gloved hand through your hair and knocking your little plastic tiara aside.

you couldn’t help the airy gasp that slipped past your lips as he made a fist in the back of your head, pulling your face up toward his before tapping two fingers against your lips. 

heaven. you had flown straight of out pike house and somehow landed right at the pearly gates of heaven. 

your mouth fell open obediently, tongue rolling out like a welcome mat for his two thick digits to bully themselves inside. the stiff leather was coated in a warm, sticky substance that made your mouth water and your fists clench where they were folded neatly in your lap. fake blood. nice.

the flimsy plastic mask seemed to shiver as a hushed groan echoed inside of it. your tongue swirled over the leather pads of his fingers, sucking them clean like your life depended on it—and maybe it did, who knew?

the stranger’s thick index finger curled against your tongue and coaxed a soft whine to rise from the back of your throat. the stretch wasn’t too much, but paired with the sharp yank of the tight ponytail he had formed with your hair with his opposite hand, you were borderline delirious from stimulation. 

when the hand in your hair loosened without warning—like he was struggling to keep a solid grip—you blinked up at him with wide eyes and listened as the muffled breathing grew louder and even more rapid. you were desperate to see how far this would go while your shitty ex-roommate was still playing dead in the corner. 

an unexpectedly hard yank to your hair had you sitting up on your knees, face angled up toward the mask as a pleading whine bounced against the leather digits exploring the cavern of your mouth. your face had long since been reduced to pins and needles and the only thing you could do to ground yourself was seek reassurance in those black, empty eyes looming over you, even if all he did was stare back at you with blank, unfeeling apathy. 

you pulled your lips off of his knuckle with a quiet pop, wet eyes blinking up at the mask as you hesitantly wrapped your hands around his wrist. when he did nothing to pry you off of him, you pressed a gentle kiss to the tips of his fingers, licking a long stripe through the slit between the two digits and forcing them to part.

only when you were 100% certain that every trace of gooey, thick artificial blood had been licked clean from his glove did you sit back on your heels with a sickeningly sweet smile. “thank you for sparing my life, mr. killer.”

the mask was aimed directly at your face and you weren’t quite sure that it ever moved. he gave you a quick, restrained nod before finally releasing your hair. 

you shook your head to free your hair from the ponytail shape, only slightly concerned with the red handprint that must have been slapped across the back of your head. downstairs, you heard a lapse in the music and pouted as you wobbled to your feet. you missed your favorite song. 

almost instinctively, ghostface offered you his arm, leaving yet another bloody handprint on your elbow where he caught you from falling. “thank you,” you snorted, finding that small lapse in character insanely funny. this whole thing was hilarious to you and you really hoped that you would remember it when you woke up tomorrow morning for your econ lecture at noon. 

whose bedroom did courtney borrow for this? you prayed for that poor fucker’s sake that he was well-paid because there was no way in hell that all of that gore was coming out of this carpet. he could kiss his security deposit goodbye.

speaking of courtney, you turned to flip her off one last time before dipping to collect your abandoned drink and pointing an accusatory finger at the guy who was still pretending to be ghostface. “Make sure she cleans this up before one of the pledges sees. I don’t want you getting blacklisted.”

he nodded, slow and considerate. your lips found the straw and you took an idle little sip, reaching up to boop the sunken plastic nose of the mask before twirling around and slamming the door behind you. the air around your body instantly chilled—compared to the rest of the party, that bedroom had been broilingly hot.

another one of your favorite songs began to play but you ignored the urge to wobble your way downstairs and instead felt along down the dark hallway toward the bathroom. 

the dim yellow overhead lights flickered to life as soon as the door shut behind you and you leaned your entire weight over the porcelain sink. someone had been rifling through the medicine cabinet—some loose odds and ends were strewn across the counter.

you reached forward to pull the door of the medicine cabinet closed so you could catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror but your eyes instantly grew round and your mouth fell open at the sight of your own reflection. 

the entire bottom half of your face was painted in cartoonishly red fake blood. it caked your skin and rivered down your face like drool. you looked like a vampire immediately after chowing down on some poor unsuspecting person. your last-second princess costume had been transformed into a carrie-at-the-prom nightmare. 

you reached up and smeared the blood across your lips with the tips of your fingers, taking a single drop and tapping it against your tongue. it didn’t taste like cherry or corn syrup or chemicals. it tasted like old pennies. copper. 

it tasted real. 

a loud, blood-curdling scream echoed down the corridor and you felt your face grow numb. not even a full second later, there was a series of rapid knocks on the bathroom door and you blankly fumbled for the doorknob, eyes practically glazed over. all you could focus on was the taste of blood— blood—in your mouth. what were the odds that she sourced actual, genuine blood for this?

as soon as you unlocked the door, it swung outwards and you blinked up at the figure standing in the doorway. 

ethan’s face was flushed, eyes nearly half-lidded. he took one look at you and swallowed thickly. black mascara cast dark shadows across the apples of your cheeks and if you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought you had just been thoroughly fucked-out. 

you felt disconnected from the rest of your body, a dull prickly sensation stabbing over every inch of your exposed skin. ethan gulped, glancing up at the ceiling for a split-second before he could bring himself to meet your eye. meanwhile, you were scoping out the red-hot issue brewing in his khakis. 

“eth,” you whined, pulling a sad face as you shifted all your weight to one heel. “were you dancing without me?”

he always tended to get a little stiff whenever you dragged him out to the dance floor with your girlfriends at parties like this one. it wasn’t his fault. after the first few times, you started to realize that it kinda just…happened. it was flattering, honestly. 

ethan was a sweetheart—your sweetheart. your heart would have shattered into a million pieces on the floor between you if he’d told you that he had been downstairs dancing to your song while you sucked the soul out of some poor creep’s fingers in the upstairs bedroom. 

he cocked his head to the side, eyes wide and pleading as he silently begged you not to tease him. not here. not now. he really wouldn’t be able to handle it once you started.

ethan’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and he pushed the door open wider, reaching for your hand. “we gotta get out of here,” he croaked. “something happened.”

“oh shit. cops?” 

you glanced toward your cup on the rim of the sink and immediately swatted it into the trash can. there was no way in hell that you were getting busted for underage drinking the night before your favorite night of the year. spending halloween in a holding cell was at the very bottom of your bucket list. 

the world was moving in slow motion—the weed, the two lime-green jello shots you took downstairs, plus the drink you’ve been nursing since the pre-game you hosted in your room earlier that afternoon were all hitting you at once. 

ethan let out a stressed groan and glanced behind him. “not yet, but chad is talking to 911 downstairs. they’ll be here soon.”

you just then noticed that the music had stopped completely and the sound of voices were echoing up the stairs in its place. a breeze was crawling up the staircase from the front door which had been propped open as partygoers filed out onto the front lawn. “come on,” he said, voice on-edge as he guided you out of the bathroom by your hand. “i have to get you home.”

he said nothing about the blood that was trickling down your face and staining the neckline of your slip. you wrapped your fingers around his instantly, trailing absent-mindedly behind him as he guided you down the hall. when you passed the room at the top of the stairs, the door was propped wide open and a trail of blood was spilling out into the corridor.

you tried to peek over ethan’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of courtney begrudgingly scrubbing red goo off of the carpet, but she was still playing dead in the corner. 

“don’t look.” ethan snapped, instantly pulling your face into his chest. you planted your hands there against him, feeling every hastened breath and rapid thundering of his heart. the palm of his large hand closed over your eyes and you gasped at the sincerity in his tone, stumbling blindly as he led you back downstairs blindfolded. 

the dots were starting to connect and you felt yourself begin to sober up as an anxious, dreadful feeling began rising in your throat. “eth…”

courtney was dead—or hurt, at least. and you were the one who encouraged her attacker to stab her in the heart. you were the one who refused to listen when she begged you to get help. you were the one who licked her blood clean off of his fingers, looking him in the eye the entire time as if begging for him to let you do more. 

“ethan…” you tried again when he ignored you. “i think I’m gonna puke.”

“no, no, no— shit. you’re fine, (y/n). you’re okay.”

if eth said you were okay, you were going to be okay. simple as that. 

you felt numb—completely brainless—as he shoved his jacket over your bare shoulders (his jacket, because when you left the zeta house earlier that evening, you proudly proclaimed to him that a hoe never gets cold and that you wouldn’t need one). his hand found the small of your back and he rubbed comforting circles into your skin. 

the taste of copper was like acid on your tongue. you could only stare ahead as two police cruisers rolled up onto the lawn outside of pike house—the lawn which was now littered with red solo cups and the odd strands of toilet paper that also hung from the trees like thin ghosts. 

ethan squeezed your hand and you looked up, eyes blank and bleary. he shot you a quick, pitying smile, like the way someone would look at a cat with a jar stuck on its head. it was cute, but you couldn’t help but feel bad for it. “we’ll take that shortcut you like,” he said, thinking out loud as he led you toward the sidewalk away from the police. “the one that takes us by 7/11.”

with your back toward the house, you didn’t see the forensics team barrel inside through the front door. you had no way of knowing that at that very second, there was a group of officers closing off the room that you had stumbled into earlier that evening or that they were swabbing the carpet, the door, and every surface in between for dna. 

“mhm,” you hummed absently, almost completely spaced as you relied on ethan to guide you down the bustling new york city street. he supported your weight happily, knowing that when you woke up for class the next morning, it would be devastatingly easy to convince you that most of what took place tonight was a product of your vivid imagination. 

you would have no idea that after hours of labwork, they would find zero evidence that you had wandered upstairs at all or that ethan—your sweet baby ethan—had erased all traces of you from pike house, down to the big gulp you threw away in the upstairs bathroom.

he couldn’t have you blamed for his crimes. are you kidding? that would have defeated the whole purpose of putting courtney fucking carter at the top of his hit list. he wanted you to watch him play his sick little games without ever getting your hands dirty. 

what else were friends for, really?

#ethan landry x you #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #scream 2022 #bimbo!reader #scream fanfic #phantom #ethan landry x y/n #jack champion #ghostface #ghostface x reader #scream 1996

[st-danger]

I'm begging u, LITERALLY BEGGING U,

I need quintosis daddy Aether/Swiss. Mayb wreck Swiss a lil, at your discretion, but like Aether's still a sweetheart, ykwim?

I am desperate. Please.

Aether kisses him and Swiss feels the quintessence bloom within, a pleasurable glow that starts in his stomach and rapidly branches out, as if carried by his blood. He can't help but to moan, a noise Aether licks, and Swiss feels the tingling, intense and so good from his ears to his toes. He arches up against Aether, trapped between him and the many blankets that cover Aether's bed, and lets the sedation claim him. Were he still clothed, he would be begging to be stripped now; his skin is wildly sensitive, every nerve singing in the nicest way possible, every point of connection he makes with Aether lying on top of him, with the bed-

He throbs against Aether's belly, and hears him huff a laugh through the fog that encompasses his brain. He can't even raise his arms, which lay splayed out beside him.

"What do you think?" Aether asks, like he doesn't know.

"Unholyshit," Swiss slurs, stumbling over the words. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. He feels useless. He feels like he could cum right now, if Aether would let him. Aether shifts above him, pushing himself up, and the loss that comes with the movement actually makes Swiss sad. He can't remember the last time he's felt so needy.

"Hang on," Aether says, amused, smiling down at him with that sweet look that gives away how utterly besotted he is, eyes crinkling in the corners. "Can I suck you like this? Is that okay?"

Swiss nods, gathering strength enough to tilt his head up so he can watch Aether spread his legs to make space for him. To watch him lie between them. Aether wraps his fingers around Swiss's thick cock, and he expects to see and feel pretty lips closing around the head, but what he gets instead is Aether nuzzling his sack, and then drawing his tongue over his balls.

It's agony he couldn't possibly have prepared himself for.

He tries to swear, to form anything resembling a real word, but all he manages is noise, a low groan pulled from the very pit of his stomach, his abs clenching.

"You're so hard," Aether murmurs, and Swiss notes the pleased tone, the pink cresting on Aether's cheeks, right before his head hits the pillow again, pressing into the soft down. "Dick's so pretty like this."

"Please," Swiss begs. "Suck me, unholy fuck."

He can't bear to look when he feels lips brush against the head, pressing a sweet kiss to the tip.

"Can you say it? And I will," Aether promises, sounding almost shy. "I'll suck it as long as you want, I'll make you cry."

Swiss would say absolutely anything right now. He'd recite the Lord's Prayer, say a Hail Mary or five if that's what gets him inside that hot mouth. Under different circumstances, if he wasn't so narcotized on the magick Aether has drenched him with, he might find it funny. Goofy.

"Daddy," Swiss manages, summoning the willpower to clutch at the bedspread. Aether makes a small noise.

"Oh," he whispers. "Yeah, daddy's here. Gonna make you feel so good."

#st-speaks #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #ghost headcanons #aether ghoul #swiss ghoul #nameless ghouls #swiss/aether #swiss x aether

[bensonsbobblehead]

Mistakes— Spencer Reid x Mom!reader

Summary: Spencer choosing to leave you when you were pregnant

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Mom!reader

Category: Angst & Fluff

Content Warnings: Pregnancy and abandonment

Word count: 1.9k

[masterlist]

Spencer is the love of your life, you both had a deep connection among no other. He had known you inside and out. Spencer was your everything and you were his. You were both in school in Vegas and both had fell in love fairly quickly. Moving in together and you were the best versions of each other.

“Hey baby, I’m home!” Spencer shouted as he walked into the apartment. You were in the bathroom face drenched with tears. You were pregnant, and according to the ultrasound very pregnant. With you both in school and Spencer getting a job you could raise a child, you thought. You also knew he was waiting to hear back from the FBI.

Spencer talked about being a dad in the future all the time. It made you happy knowing you were the one he wanted to raise his children.

You quickly wiped your face and stuffed the test and ultrasound back into your bag. You opened the door to see a very smiley Spencer “I have great news, I got into the BAU!” he said excitedly “Well I more so had an interesting conversation with a man named Jason Gideon but still.” He ran to you hugging you. Your mind was completely scrambled.

“Oh my gosh, babe that’s so great! I’m so happy for you!” You said with a smile. You were genuinely happy for him. You knew where the FBI headquarters were, meaning you would have a transfer. You didn’t mind though if it meant starting a family with Spencer.

“Are you okay though? It looks like you’ve been crying” Spencer said with concern in his eyes.

“Spencer…I’m .. im pregnant.” You said in a whisper with a slight grin, and the blood drained from Spencer’s face.

“What? How?” He said in a blank tone. “I’m pregnant Spencer, one month exactly and you know how” rolling your eyes, He stared off, you were so nervous. It was silent for a few minutes before you spoke up.

“Spence say something.” You begged he turned towards you. “I’m sorry but .. I can’t have this baby with you, I just got into my dream job Y/N.” He said grabbing his keys and heading for the door.

You stood there completely in shock. You never thought he would react this way. You were willing to move with him. This was everything you wanted and he doesn’t want it. You started to quickly pack everything you could all the things that were important. You didn’t want to ruin his life and he made his choice.

Once you had a few bags packed you drove to a cousins house, somewhere Spencer couldn’t find you. Spencer broke your heart but you wanted this baby. You didn’t need him at all, you had your cousin. He didn’t deserve you and or your child.

He chose the job over your child. Spencer had been anything but a coward but he proved you wrong.

Spencer came home heartbroken and in tears. Noticing all your things were gone he couldn’t hold it together. All your books, the mug he gave you for your first anniversary, everything was gone. He blamed himself for you leaving.

He was ready to have the baby, he wanted to do everything with you. The job didn’t matter, he always wanted a family especially with you. He called you and your best friend and couldn’t get a hold of you. Spencer knew he fucked up big time.

Months later you were giving birth to your baby girl, Beatrix Marie. She was so healthy, she looked like a perfect mix of you and Spencer. You hated him even more now that she was here. Her perfect nose and eyes that are bound to be huge like Spencer’s. You can’t believe he didn’t want her, to raise her, and love her but he made his choice.

No matter how much you disliked Spencer Bea was every part of him. She was a curious baby and had such a goofy smile like him. Years later Bea was still such a sweetheart and it broke her heart when you moved her across the country.

“Mommy, why do we have to go to Virginia?” Bea said after as you both were watching Doctor Who, which was her favorite show even for a 6 year old.

You had to move to Virginia to finish school and your residency. The pay was decent so you worked at the bookstore which Bea loved. She would also get to see the Smithsonian which she ended up loving. The move was great, life was great, and Bea was amazing.

On her 7th birthday she asked to of course go to the Smithsonian Zoo and to her favorite book store to see her favorite Liberian. Bea was so smart, you didn’t want her to move up in school just yet, she enjoyed the grade she was in for right now. Spencer always lingered in the back of your head. You never knew if you were making the right decisions without him.

The Smithsonian was great, Bea squealed looking at the different animals. She had a love for books, sugar, and animals of course. The bookstore was your next stop, you didn’t even call to see if Ms. Willis, the old Liberian women that would read and watch Bea when you first got to Virginia was in today.

Bea ran off as soon as you hit the door. “Bea no running honey, and stop laughing so loud.” You said in a loud whisper. “Sorry mommy.” She giggled as she ran off. “Hey, Ty is Ms.Willis here? Bea wants her to read to her for her birthday.” Ty was the cashier and a sweetheart who would babysit Bea sometimes when you worked late.

“Yeah she’s in the back I’ll go get her!” Ty said walking to the back. You went to the section you knew Bea would be in. You faintly heard her laughing and smiled. That’s when you heard a man’s voice and your smile dropped. Thinking the worse you walked quickly to the voice and there he was.

Spencer Reid, with his legs folded reading to his daughter, your daughter. “Hey Bea, go up front with Ty and I’ll be right there.” You said looking at Bea and Spencer noticing how she looks more like him then ever before. “Butt mommy, he was just reading Charlotte’s Web from memory.” Bea whined, “Beatrix. Now” she quickly stood and walked off “Bye spencer” she said in a defeated tone.

“Bye Beatrix.” He smiled faintly, you knew how much this was hurting him. “Hey Y/N” he stood and was now standing in front of you. He was tall, he had a tab of weight on him but you liked it, with his perfect hair identical to Beatrixs.

“Hi Spencer. Don’t come anywhere near her again“ he cut you off “I’m so sorry I didn’t know what I was thinking. It was the biggest mistake of my life.… I’m sorry.” He said as you seen his eyes began to water.

“Spencer you downright told me you didn’t want her and now?” you had no words, you never thought you would see him again. You knew it was a possibility but you haven’t thought about it in so long.

“Beatrix Marie Reid, happy birthday to my favorite 7 year old!” Ms. Willis said loudly with a ballon and a book Bea been asking for. The look on Spencer’s face when he heard her full name. You still named her after him even after what he did.

“It’s her birthday today, Spencer I’m mad at you, I love you and you left me, you left us” You said quietly looking at him with tears forming in your eyes. Spencer wanted to be in Beas life, to read with her and take her to ice cream. He wanted you most of all, he was still madly in love with you.

“I’ll give you time to process but here’s my number and address so we can .. talk.” You passed him the note. You didn’t know why you gave it to him. Beatrix was a smart girl so she had questions about her dad.

“Why does Mariah have a dad but I don’t?” Bea asked while you both were eating breakfast. “You do have a dad baby .. you just don’t know him.” You wanted to be honest and open with Bea.

“Did he not want me?” She asked looking down with her hair falling in Her face. Spencer didn’t want Bea you knew that, you just hated seeing her like this.

“How about I’ll tell you the whole story when you’re a little older.” Pushing her brown curl behind her ear. She pushed her glasses off the bridge of her nose “I love you mommy.”

——-

Beatrix had an amazing birthday she enjoyed it so much. It was always time for her last birthday request which was any horror movie of her choosing. To no surprise she chose The nightmare before Christmas her absolute favorite movie.

Bea had just showered and but on her pjs waiting on the couch for the popcorn. As your putting the popcorn in the bowl the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Bea hopped up fast knowing she wasn’t allowed to open the door. Making an exception this time cause her best friend was supposed to be coming over also.

She swung it open with you behind her quickly, “Spencer! How do you know where we live? Do you think you can read to me? After the movie please.” Bea rambled so fast you could barley understand.

“Of course only if it’s okay with your mom.” He smiled at her, even missing 7 years of her life he still looked at her with a love you never seen. “I’ll think about it B, go watch the movie.” Kissing her head and handing her the popcorn.

You and Spencer walked to the kitchen watching Bea from the island. The love was still there between you and Spencer.

“I won’t keep her away from you. She deserves to know you but you have to tell her why you left.” You said looking him dead in his eye.

“Okay. Let me explain to you wh—“ you interrupted “Spencer this is about you and Bea not you and me. You explain to her why you left. Now come on her favorite movie is on.” You said walking towards Bea as Spencer trailed behind.

They both talked through the entire movie. Bea asking every question and Spencer there with an answer. Bea laughed and laughed so much with him. 45 minutes later Beatrix was sleep. You quietly picked her up to walk her to her room with Spencer trailing behind.

You laid her down and tucked her in giving her one kiss on the forehead. Spencer watched the entire thing in awe of how amazing you were with her. He always knew you’d be the perfect mother.

As you walked out and turned out the light Bea whispered “Can spencer still read to me mommy?” In her sleepy voice. “Maybe next time B, Goodnight” you said walking out with Spencer in front of you.

Once you were in the living room the room fell silent. You both pick up the tv room and headed to the kitchen. “I want Beatrix to have the most normal upbringing I can give her.” You started catching his attention, “if you tell her there’s no backing down. You will not come in her life and leave her.” You said in a stern tone.

“I will never leave her or you again.” Spencer said knowing he meant it, he was ready for everything fatherhood had to offer.

#spencer Reid x you #spencer Reid x mom!reader #spencer Reid dad #dad Spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds mom #spencer reid daughter #spencer reid x daughter!oc

[prolix-yuy]

Writers' Iron Chef #13: Lovesick

[PROMPT] Patching up a wound

[ADDITIONAL PROMPT] “Why would you put yourself through something like that?”

[TIME LIMIT] Optional, 10 minutes prep. time 30 minutes writing time Optional, 10 minutes editing time

Pairing: Joel Miller x GN!Reader

Rating: M, descriptions of wound care and blood, allusions to dubcon due to drinking and drug use. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.

Summary: You've been greedy for Joel for too long.

Notes: Written for Writers’ Iron Chef Prompt 13

I've had a Joel story idea bouncing around in my head for several months now, but it's not much more than disconnected scenes and a vibe, you know? I decided to try and exorcise a part with this prompt. This was imspired by a scene in the movie Foe with Saoirse Ronan and Paul Mescal (which was excellent, btw) that got the creative juices flowing.

Thanks to @writersironchef for always giving the best prompts!

The blood that runs into the sink isn’t yours, but it is Joel Miller’s and that’s hardly better.

Laying the needle and scissors beside the sink, you dry your hands on a towel that doesn’t make you feel much cleaner. There’s probably still blood under your nails, half moons of frenzied memories you can look back on when you’re in bed tonight.

“Joel, what the fuck?”

“I need…”

He didn’t have to say much more, and your stomach sours for it. Joel could say he needed you to balance on the edge of a razor and you’d do it just for the fact that he needed you. Pitiful, lovesick, desperate you.

He’d shredded his back coming back into the QZ scrambling away from patrol lights. Tess split off from him, trades to be made and deals best done without her loyal attack dog. So he’d stumbled back to his apartment, stopping just long enough to knock at yours across the hall.

“Jesus Christ, how did you fuck yourself up this badly?”

“FEDRA’s patrolling our usual spots, think they’re onto us…fuck!”

You salved his wounds with apologies as you cleaned grit from long scrapes and worried at the beads of blood that melted across your fingers. The worst was a gash you had to close, infection too present a worry. Hardening your gut, you tried to disassociate how much like sewing leather it felt. Joel bit down on his belt and stuffed his face in a pillow, but fists still slammed on walls around you at his ruckus. 

“I’m done, I’m done, it’s finished.”

“Jesus ‘n Mary, there ain’t much left for you to piece back together at this rate.”

Walking back to the bed, he’s disheveled but alive. He asks for booze, which you find in a high cabinet. He asks for pills, reluctantly revealed to live in a false drawer bottom. You don’t have to say he can trust you with these secrets. Vices were too expensive for you most days. Once he downs both he lays back, injury padded with the cleanest cloths you could find. His breathing hitches, pants in pain, then slows as the drugs and drink take effect. 

And then it’s just you, sitting next to your neighbor as his body releases. 

You should go. Tess would be back any time now and you didn’t want her to see your longing. There are whispers about if Joel is hers, and while you know they belong to each other in a way drenched in darkness, you’ve never been sure if the claim is on their hearts as well. It’s just vague enough of a partnership that when Joel has a good day and shares an extra ration card, your heart flutters. 

But it’s too dangerous. He’s too dangerous, the both of them. You can’t get mixed up in whatever they have going on. Why would you put yourself through something like that?

It’s not the first time he’s come home bloodied, and not the first time you’ve pulled him back together. There’s trust there, but also foolish hope that life could march on and a man could desire you again. Maybe even care for you enough to break teeth and bones. 

A brush against your arm turns you back to Joel, eyes half-lidded but trained hazily on you. One large hand skims over your shoulder, down your arm and lands heavily in your lap. 

“Joel?” you ask, looking down at his thick fingers splayed across your thighs. He hums, low and rumbly as his lips part. 

He’s surely too far gone to know you’re even here. It would be best to slip out unnoticed, talk to Tess tomorrow about checking his injury for infection. 

But you don’t. You’re frozen as the calloused skin of his thumb catches on the worn fibers of your jeans. It’s a caress you haven’t known for years. 

He doesn’t know it’s you.

“Joel,” you say again, and enough courage bolsters you to slide your hand into his palm, the other circling his wrist. He’s so warm, thick-skinned against your fingers. You start to lift from the bed, intending to place his hand where you sat, when it makes a drunken path to cup your chin. Pressure against your jaw turns your face to him spread out on the bed beside you. His chest is bare, light perspiration beading along the cut of his collarbone. He licks his lips slowly, the slip of tongue drawing an ache up from the deepest well. 

“Hey there,” he drawls, and god, you could shatter from it. Tears build in your eyes but you can’t move, his hands drawing you down to him. 

“Joel, it’s…I’m not…” you choke out. It’s a final defense. He’ll hate you tomorrow, but you’ll have said something. His lip quirks, not quite a smile. 

“I know,” he husks before leading your lips to meet his.

You’re not sure he does, but you’re too greedy to say more.

END

#lissie’s writers’ iron chef #writers’ iron chef 13 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn!reader #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #prolix fics

[kai-anderson-whore]

Bloody Mary (austin sommers x fem reader smut) (kinktober fic 4)

Summary: you just got back from your first feed and Austin couldn’t help but find you hot in blood

Warnings: smut, blood, blood kink, vampire shit (feeding), sex covered in blood, little nipple play, floor sex, p in v penetration, hickeys, riding Austin.

Word count: 1,1k

A/n: I have this figured out better in my head but got this I’m not mad at it but it could be better

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

The cold night crept out you sat in the passenger seat of Austin's car. You just had your first feed after taking 'the muse' as Austin likes to call it, both of you caked in someone's blood but you didn't care, you were just glad the hunger was gone till next time.

"Ready to go inside?" Austin asked a little impatient, desperate to get inside his house. "Yeah come on" you answered getting out the car. You didn't notice the way Austin practically jumped out the car rushing you into the front door. "What's the hurry" you giggled shrugging out your coat once in the door.

"Seeing you drenched in blood" Austin answered desperate for you. "So me in blood turns you on?" You teased stepping closer to him. "You have no fucking idea, your like my own little bloody mary" he smirked. You let out a laugh at his little nickname “bloody Mary?” You asked. “Mhmm”his arms around your frame, pressing his lips on yours feverishly. Your hand coming down to cup his erection through his pants, 'he wasn't half turned on' you thought. Austin groaned against your lips taking this as your opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

Austin moaned against your lips, "let's go to the bedroom" you whispered pulling away biting your lip. "I want you right here" Austin protested you nodded not caring where he take you. Austin's lips moved to your neck licking blood that coated your skin there. "God you're so fucking hot" he groaned marking your neck.

His hand cupped your breast through your blood soaked vest top before removing the fabric tossing it away. Your bare breasts on full display, taking one hardening nipple into his mouth licking away the crimson liquid that seeped through. You sighed closing your eyes in pleasure, arching further into his touch. Your hand back to rub him through his clothes.

"Austin, please" you whimpered, laying you on the floor Austin gave into you. You shivered at the cold wood coming in contact with your bare back, arching a little. You didn't want any teasing, already so worked up. Austin's licked up the blood from your chest to your lower abdomen, hooking his fingers in your skirt peeling away the fabric doing the same with your underwear.

Austin stood up quickly removing his clothes, he wasn't in the mood for teasing either. Dipping back down his hard cock between your folds teasing you just a little, you bucked your hips in a desperate attempt to get him inside you. Austin let out a cocky laugh seeing you so desperate beneath him. "Eager now are we".

"Please just fuck me Austin" you whined. Austin gave himself a few tugs before entering you. You gasped at the sudden full feeling, feeling like the air was knocked out your lungs. holding into his upper arm for some sort of leverage. "God your so tight" Austin groaned from above you, letting you adjust to his size. Still not used to it in the few months of being together.

His mouth attached to your neck once again, peppering his lips along the pulse point making you sigh. "Y-you can move now" you say, hips slightly bucking as Austin nodded his head, retracing his hips before thrusting into your in a slow pace. You could feel every inch of him deep in you, driving you wild.

"F-faster" you moaned out, clamping your legs around his waist making Austin hit deeper in you. His thrusts became more faster as per your request, fulfilling your needs. "Can't get enough of you" Austin groaned into your ear, your walls fluttered around him almost making him come undone then and there.

"Is that so" you teased breathlessly unclamping your legs from his waist, managing to flip you both over so you were now straddling him. Austin let out a shaky breath, eyes drinking you up, you are truly a vision to him. He just couldn't take his eyes off you, seeing you on top of him naked sinking down on his cock, he would take a picture and frame it if he could.

“Uh huh” Austin’s eyes scrunched shut at the overwhelming feeling of you sinking down on him. His hands gripped your hips, fingernails destined to leave marks on your skin. Your mind clouded at the feeling as well, your mouth agape, hand on his chest keeping you steady as you began slowly bouncing on his cock.

“Feel good baby” he smiled seeing you lost in your own pleasure. “Y-yes” you moaned out picking up a pace, one of Austin’s hands roamed to your ass caressing the plump skin. You moaned out letting him know you were enjoying this just as much as he was.

Austin sat up from the position you were both in taking one of your nipples back into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud you arched more towards him, his other hand fondling with the other nipple giving it some attention. Your hips never stopped moving, legs starting to feel weak from the pleasure and moving along his length.

Austin took notice and began thrusting his own hips upwards hitting that special spot each time. “Oh fuck right there” you cried out gripping into Austin’s shoulders for dear life. You were close to the edge, your hips struggling to meet his erratic thrusts, the erotic sound that filled the hallway you were sure the neighbours would hear.

Sweat glistening over you both mixed with blood, any other time before you became a somewhat of a vampire you would have never been seen dead in such a way. But now, now it was probably the most hottest thing you ever experienced. Your lips attached to Austin’s neck leaving purple marks along the skin marking him, you felt his cock twitch inside you, his thrusts starting to become more sloppy.

“I’m gonna”-. “I know baby just let go” Austin panted bringing you over the edge. Your body almost collapsed at the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm almost screaming out his name, Austin continued to thrust into you, making your legs shake at the overstimulation, till he came undone beneath you.

You felt lightheaded, resting your head on Austin’s shoulder catching your breath. “T-that was the hottest thing ever” Austin panted his body slick with the afterglow of his orgasm. “Definitely” you smiled weakly, you gained enough energy to get off the floor,Austin watching you with a pout.

“What?” You asked running a hand through your hair. “Where you going?” He asked not wanting to leave him just yet. “Austin I have to shower get this off me” you giggled gesturing to the crimson red and over you. “Stay with me for five more minutes” he says with that cute pout still on his lips.

“You can join me if you’d like” you smirked, swaying your hips seductively. Just as those word left your lips Austin was up in a flash “you don’t have to ask me twice” he grinned like a kid in a candy store chasing you up into the bathroom.

#evan peters #american horror story #austin sommers #james patrick march #tate langdon #kai anderson #kit walker #ahs asylum #evan peters x reader #jimmy darling #kyle spencer #evan peters requests #evan peters fluff #evan peters imagine #evan peters smut #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fanfiction #evan peters x y/n #evan peters x you #evanpeters #ahs x reader #ahs double feature #austin sommers x reader

[sophsicle]

tw blood and murder 'n' stuff

oh darling

oh sweetheart

oh love of mine

"Lily -"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! I don't know how it happened, I don't know-"

"It's okay, it's alright," Mary walks towards her, slowly but confidently, she doesn't flinch, she doesn't look away. Blood has never scared her much. "Just give me the knife okay?"

"I was only going to stop him."

"I know."

"I didn't mean to kill him, I didn't mean to -"

"Lily," she's in front of her now, reaching out and slowly taking the knife out of Lily's sticky, trembling hands. "It's okay. You don't have to explain it to me."

She's drenched in it, dressed in white and stained in red. The angel of death incarnate. Mary carefully slides the blade onto the desk beside them before her hands come up to hold Lily's face, thumb wiping away some of the splatter. Lily's eyes are wide. Beautiful.

"Mary," she whispers.

"It'll be okay. I'll call James and Sirius, we'll figure it out."

But Lily gives the smallest shake of her head. "No it's not that it's - " her eyes glance down at the body on the floor. Albus Dumbledore's pale blue eyes stare up at the ceiling unseeing.

"Hey - hey?" Mary leans forward, brushing their noses together, getting Lily's attention again. "Look at me okay? Just look at me."

Lily does, but the worry in her eyes doesn't go away.

"What is it? If it's not dealing with the body, than what is it?"

Lily bites down on her lower lip. And it shouldn't turn Mary on, not right now, not while they're standing next to a dead body, Lily covered in blood, but...

"I liked it," Lily whispers finally, eyes fluttering closed when she says it. A confession. Forgive me lover for I have sinned. "Fuck Mary, I enjoyed killing the bastard."

And Mary can't help herself. She pulls the other girl in. She takes her mouth. Lily moans. She tastes like iron.

#I AM PROCRASTINATING OKAY #also listening to hozier #and i just had this vision of lily covered in blood #sue me #marylily #mary x lily #mary macdonald #lily evans #soph rambles

[360iris]

my two favorite girls, maren and marie (also taylor & jaz <3)

if I had a nickel for each time I felt seen, but also in love with girls who somehow always end up drenched head to toe in blood

and have to go on a wild journey of sacrifice, fall in love not only with another person like them, but also learn self acceptance along the way

and have to make peace with the possibility that they are a rare exception to the ordinary, average human

and maybe even are capable of being a monster at times, but that’s okay because who living isn’t a little fucked up, in one way or another—

I’d have ten cents, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice..

#gen v #bones and all #maren yearly #marie moreau #jaz sinclair #taylor russell

[betterbooktitles]

The first time I ever saw someone answer a cell phone in a movie theater was in the middle of a midnight screening of Mel Gibson’s The Passion Of The Christ. A blood-drenched Jim Caviezel was being whipped when I heard “Hello? Yeah, what’s good? I’m in the movie.” My stomach started to bounce as I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh. My friend Jeremy elbowed me to either egg me on or stop me, knowing the laughter would catch on with the rest of our group: ten other Saint Ignatius High School students who chose to go on an “Urban Immersion” retreat our senior year.

I saw Mr. Grady’s tear-stained face turn in the darkness. He was sitting a row in front of us, and he appeared to be livid. He let out a sharp “shhh!” then looked over to let us know he’d do far worse if we did anything further to disrupt his viewing experience. Disciplinary actions would be taken if we giggled again. Our trip would be cut short. A teacher threatening to send us all home to our parents that week, however, would have been welcomed.

Most Ignatius students went on “Kairos” retreats (Greek: “God’s Time”) that featured three days of camping and praying, followed by a “witness” portion where students arrived back on campus to share, at the center of St. Mary’s chapel, what they’d learned during their period of reflection. Typically, they said “I love you, Dad!” while fighting back tears before running back to their pews. They also wrote letters about their newfound or newly confirmed love of Jesus Christ. I received one of these letters from my best friend who was a year ahead of me. His words moved and excited me. I anticipated my trip all year.

The students in the movie theater with me that night, however, had all signed up for a retreat in which we spent the week living as if on the streets of inner-city Cleveland. The Urban Immersion retreat was four days of sleeping in a church basement, living off the equivalent of food stamps (about $5 a day for groups of four), and eating the rest of our meals at shelters where we also volunteered our time. There was also a “scared straight” period where we sat in a circle of folding chairs at the 2100 men’s shelter my friend Luke’s dad ran and listened to grown men scream about how “crack does not discriminate!” 

Also, we got to see The Passion of The Christ opening night.

Perhaps you read about the record-setting earnings this movie made the week it premiered. The first $125 million was thanks to big groups like ours attending. Also thanks to the guy who had to answer his phone while the Romans killed Christ. I’m not sure how we as mock-poor kids on our immersion trip were supposed to be able to afford the movie ourselves in keeping with the rules, but the timing seemed right, so our teachers took us.

Read the rest here.

#essays #essay #writing #funny #jesus #christ #saint ignatius #memoir #dan wilbur

[ravenvsfox]

something electric in the blood

hey woah it's my birthday again! this year I've decided to subject you all to the tfc superhero au that's been in my back pocket for 2 years. feedback would be a very chill birthday gift, but I'm also just happy to be here (not letting this story languish in a textedit file)! ok! rock on etc

________

Neil’s mother could call a monsoon down from a crisp blue sky. Her power was tearful and tormented; she was always wreathed with rainwater, a grey veil obscuring her face.

Neil’s father was righteous electricity. His power was a fork in a wall socket. He went off before he was even born; his lightning struck his mother dead from the inside out. A killer before he even entered the world—a born murderer.

Mary spent the first few months of her pregnancy wishing quietly for a miscarriage, petrified of a fatal lightning strike from the storm brewing inside her. Lucky for her, Nathaniel was never anything like his father. (He takes solace in this many times, when he’s old enough to understand how dangerous his powers can be.)

Long before he was Neil, he could cradle sunbeams in each hand, whistle for hail, and bend fog around his enemies like blindfolds. He could cover his footsteps with peals of thunder as he ran, and wash away crime scenes with downpours. 

When his mother was killed, he struck their car with lightning over and over, and watched the white flames burst the windshield and warp the metal. He set the beach on fire all around him, staggering and tearing his hair, smoking the sand into glass and then cutting his feet to pieces as he ran. 

He kept running for months after that, his powers spilling like loose change out of a hole in his pocket. And he was so determined to survive that he no longer had a say in which parts of the weather he wanted, like—instead of checking specialty books out from the library, he was pulling down entire shelves by accident. 

Now, in the final stages of his weather sickness, he finds himself screened behind fog and ice most of the time, tidal waves dragging anyone who comes close, sunlight pouring in and out of his body like fever. Most urgently, an electrical storm is always very, very close to the surface; lightning is thick in his nose, tickling his throat, writhing half-formed above him in the veins of clouds. He’s afraid it will make a weapon of him, when he’d give anything to be something else.

Read on AO3

_______

The stranger finds him in an abandoned mall, at the tail-end of his breakdown. Neil had filled the first floor up to his waist with rainwater, filtered down through the caved in ceiling—a shattered skylight that he had ripped lightning through like a hacksaw. He'd beckoned clouds down over all of the windows and finally slept, exhausted, in the eye of the storm. 

The man appears out of the blue, drenched, in the foodcourt-turned-swimming pool. Water laps around his belt and bleeds up his shirt. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his expression is unreadable. Neil peers at him steadily across the water. Reflections of the graphic 90s wall decals float innocently between them.

“Neil, I bet.” He wipes his wet hands on his shirt. Through the water, Neil can see his boots grinding against broken glass. “Call me Wymack.”

Neil unfolds his legs, letting his feet dangle from the table he’s perched on. He waits patiently for violence. “How do you know who I am?”

Wymack smiles, half-cocked, maybe a little pissed off to be up to his waist in Neil’s mess. 

“Not every day that a storm eats a shopping mall.”

“I asked how you know who I am,” Neil reiterates, “not if you have eyes.” His voice is raw from misuse. Everything is kind of echoey and green, in this washed-out mall of his.

“Alright smartass. I’ve had you flagged for a while,” Wymack says. “I keep tabs on supers who I think might be a good fit with my Foxes. We’ve known the general shape of you since you flattened that barn in Ohio.”

He narrows his eyes. “There’s no way you could connect me to that.”

Wymack raises an eyebrow. “You’ll notice I said flattened. As in levelled. As in hailstones the size of kittens. In the middle of August. Who else has that kind of power? A functioning dairy farm, Josten. It was a slaughter.”

Neil flinches. “Fine,” he mutters. “I know. Why are we talking about it?”

“A ruined barn, a glass beach, a total whiteout in the middle of a grocery store, this castle in the clouds you’ve hooked up for yourself? Seems like a pattern. Seems like a breakdown, actually. My job is to step in when a super loses their shit, and I think we both know you fit the bill.”

“So what happens now?” Neil asks slowly. He’s struggling to keep his voice even, but he can feel thunder brewing, metabolizing in his gut. “You take me to superpower rehab? Give me dampeners and lock me in a basement? Fuck off.” 

Wymack looks unimpressed. “Talking out of your ass must be another one of your special powers.”

Neil scowls.

“Look,” Wymack starts, wading two steps closer. “I’m offering you an opportunity to be a part of a team of people like you. We all know the heroes and villains model is psychotic, but shit, powers are made to be used. We use ‘em. Find people, fix things. Or break things, if they’re not working right.”

“You’re vigilantes,” Neil says.

“No,” Wymack says, breaking out in a wicked grin. “We’re government mandated. Barely. My team is powerful. It’s in everyone’s best interest to let them hunt criminals so they don’t become them.”

“You left out the part where we’re all already criminals,” an entirely new voice says. It takes a moment for Neil’s eyes to adjust to the fact that it belongs to someone standing directly in front of him, having materialized seemingly out of thin air.

Neil clambers backwards, and a little taser beam of lightning ricochets perilously close to the water they’re all standing in.

This new stranger is so close that he can see the tawny colour of his eyes. He’s short, nearly chest-deep in the water, with a shock of blond hair and a chalky, sullen face. 

“Jesus, Andrew,” Wymack complains. “How long?”

Andrew’s static expression twitches, and he’s a foot to the left without straining a muscle.

“Don’t fucking pause me when I’m talking to you,” Wymack says, nonsensically.

“Were we talking?” Andrew asks. “I forget.” He circles Neil carefully, nearly soundless in the water.

Neil frowns, still in the slippery process of righting himself on the table. His shoes screech against a flaking metal chair.

“Speed?” he demands. It comes to mind immediately, the way Andrew is sort of flitting like a hummingbird, punched out of reality and then clipping back in somewhere else. Neil has always been obsessed with the straightforward usefulness of super speed.

Andrew’s gaze turns shrewd.

“Wrong brother.”

“Excuse me?”

“Settle down. He’s green, Andrew,” Wymack interrupts. “He doesn’t know shit about the Foxes.”

His eyes flicker to Wymack and back. He glitches, and Neil’s neck is wrenched to the side by an open-handed slap to the face. His vision blurs. Lightning strikes the roof.

“Interesting,” Andrew murmurs. 

“Christ,” Wymack exclaims, “what have I told you about antagonizing volatiles?”

“You can manipulate time,” Neil breathes, holding the back of his hand to the pain-flushed apple of his cheek. Andrew snaps his fingers and disappears.

“He can manipulate my patience,” Wymack says, turning a slow, sloshing circle in the water to scan the balcony overlooking the food court. His eyes focus suddenly, and Neil follows his gaze to find Andrew lounging at the top of a long-broken escalator. Wymack sighs. “Quit showing off.“ 

Andrew blips directly behind Wymack, who trips a little bit, slapping his hands uselessly into the water to find purchase.

“Could you turn this to ice?” Andrew asks coolly, stirring the water with his index finger.

Neil shakes his head. “Once it’s out of the atmosphere I can’t really do shit with it. What else can you do with time? Reverse it or—“

“There’s only one button on my remote,” Andrew says simply.

“Not that I’m not enjoying these pleasantries,” Wymack says. “But I’ll take an answer now, Neil.”

“You called me a ‘volatile,’” Neil accuses.

Wymack rolls his eyes. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Every single one of my Foxes was classified as a volatile when I found them. It’s not an ugly word.”

He thinks of his father splashed through the news attached to that word, of being hunched over a police scanner full of dirty voices hissing volatile spotted, in pursuit of volatile, volatile resisting arrest. It was always about putting down anyone with powers before they could even think about being empowered.

“Depends on who’s using it,” Neil says. He shivers, and it snows a little, a miniature avalanche like something off of a disturbed tree branch. Andrew puts his hand out into the flurry, producing a fistful of slush that he promptly chucks at Wymack. It collides wetly with his chest, sticking there momentarily like a pathetic badge.

Wymack looks skyward. “Give me strength.” He seems to realize that the sky is Neil’s domain when a few more errant snowflakes catch in his hair, and he shakes them off, disconcerted.

“If I come with you,” Neil starts. “Can I stay anonymous?”

“Sure. We’ll get you a mask,” Wymack says, stone-faced. Neil can’t tell if he’s joking or not. He squints. Wymack sighs. “Look kid, I don’t care what you’ve done up until exactly now. You leave here with us, we officially work together. That means I accommodate you. I get you what you need to function. A place to sleep. Doctor visits. Dampeners if you need them.” Neil bristles, but Wymack powers on. “And in return, you work for me. Help us keep things balanced.”

Neil looks at him for a long, searching moment, feeling the snow blowing out of his chest, a sudden spring thaw. His sneakers are soaked, and the thought of a place to sleep where the weather can’t find him is so tempting.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll do it. But how do I know—”

He’s barely spoken when he feels a strange vertigo, a retreating, phantom pressure, and he realizes he’s been transported instantaneously to the back of a car. It’s indescribable, the absence of even a blink between one set of surroundings and the next. He feels like he was in some sort of virtual reality and his headset was ripped off.

“Fuck,” he gasps. 

“You ask too many questions,” Andrew says.

“You moved me here?” he demands. Andrew looks at him blankly, as if this should be obvious. “I can walk,” he grits out. “Don’t waste your powers on me.”

“I was tired of your babbling,” he says. “You already agreed to come with us. The Foxhole needs us more than you need your self-punishing little enclosure.”

Neil glowers out the window, his fingers itchy on the unlocked door handle. A dozen metres away from their spot in the faded tarmac grid of the parking lot, Wymack is wedging open the defunct automatic doors at the mall’s entrance, emerging in an absurd flood of rainwater. 

“If the ‘foxes’ are so capable, shouldn’t they be able to take care of themselves?”

“You would think,” Andrew says wryly.

Wymack wrenches the handle on the driver’s side door, but it just snaps back into place, locked. Andrew twirls the car keys on his middle finger. 

“Enough,” Wymack says, long-suffering. He raps on Andrew’s window until his fingers jangle, and he and Neil realize at the same time that the keys are now dangling from his wrist. (Andrew’s middle finger is still raised.)

Climbing inside the belly of the car, Wymack jabs a button on the console and the headrests whack down and catch Andrew and Neil both on the crowns of their heads.

Andrew makes an affronted noise. “We have a guest,” he says.

“We have a time crunch,” Wymack says. “Not that that’s ever meant anything to you.”

“Renee will take care of it.”

“She shouldn’t have to,” he argues, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of the parking lot before the tide from the mall can roll out to meet them.

“What does Renee do?” Neil asks.

Wymack meets his eye in the rearview mirror. “She deals with a frankly inhumane amount of bullshit, mostly.”

“I meant—“

“I know what you meant,” he gripes. “I was getting to that part. You’re going to have to learn at least an ounce of patience if you’re going to—“

“She’s a shifter,” Andrew says.

“A shapeshifter,” Neil repeats incredulously. He’s so frantically jealous for a moment that he has to bite down on his tongue.

“She can turn into pretty much anything with a face,” Wymack says.

“You’re joking.”

Wymack rolls his eyes. “I wish I was.” He takes a hand off the wheel to jab a thumb at Andrew. “You think one of him is bad, imagine three of him underfoot.”

They lapse into silence for a moment as Neil considers this. Scrubby spring scenery whips past, Wymack taps an absentminded tattoo on the gearshift, and Andrew sits utterly, perfectly still at Neil’s side.

“What do the rest of the Foxes do?” Neil asks, badly feigning nonchalance. He’s calculating how much of this could be useful to him, the ways he could co-opt supernatural speed, stopped time, or a thousand disguises. The possibilities are staggering.

“They should probably tell you themselves,” Wymack says, slanting another knowing look at him in the mirror. 

Andrew snorts.

Neil narrows his eyes. “What, are they bad?”

Andrew glitches into the passenger seat, and Wymack nearly loses control of the car, clipping the horn with one flailing hand. “Last time he got too comfortable with the secret identity reveals, Kevin made him walk out into traffic.”

Neil absorbs this like a punch to the stomach, thinking of miscalculated lightning and swift punishments, a father with a bolt in each fist.

“Don’t listen to him,” Wymack says, “It’ll rot your brain.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Andrew says simply. He flicks a circle of beads dangling from the rearview, and less than a second later, they’ve disappeared.

“Jesus suffering christ,” Wymack says. “Put those back.”

“What?” Andrew says blankly, and Neil considers that any of these glitches might represent minutes, hours, or days where Andrew has been suspended, alone, in time. 

He wants to ask him how long he can stay outside of time, if he ages in the infinite space between seconds, or if it’s as peaceful as it sounds to be the only moving thing in the universe. Instead he asks, “How do you make someone walk into traffic?” 

Wymack sighs. “Well, if you’re Kevin, you get inside their head and tell them what to do.”

Andrew glances backwards. “Your worst nightmare, I would imagine.”

Neil’s neck is hot with anxiety just thinking about it, but he sets his jaw, defiant. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I know what someone who’s afraid of their own powers looks like. And I know how easy it would be for Kevin to set you off like a firecracker.”

Neil wordlessly rolls down his window and calls down a hailstone the size of a baseball.

“No more powers in my car,” Wymack snaps, deftly forcing Neil’s window up so he has to snatch his hand back, dropping the ice out into the street. “Honestly, it’s like I’m running a daycare.”

“You don’t have a power?” Neil asks.

“I have the almighty ability to withstand annoying questions.”

“Excuse me if I’m curious about how a powerless stranger tracked me all the way to nowhere, where my—where no one else thought to look, just to enlist me into his knock-off suicide squad.”

“Well first of all, let’s make one thing absolutely fucking clear,” Wymack says, twisting in his seat, one hand steady at the bottom of the wheel. “Just because someone can’t—or won’t—use any superpowers, it doesn’t mean they’re powerless. If you listen to a word I say to you today, let it be that. Got it?”

They watch each other for so long that Neil starts to feel uneasy. The car should’ve drifted off the road by now. Maybe Andrew’s correcting their course by increments. Maybe Wymack actually has a banal, embarrassing kind of GPS power that keeps wheels to pavement.

“Fine,” Neil says, clipped.

“Good. If you call Abby powerless, I guarantee she’ll give you an earful about nursing school.”

“Who’s—“

Andrew makes an irritated noise, and when Neil looks up at the sound, he’s disoriented again by an instantaneous shift in light. His head snaps to the right, and he finds Wymack dumped unceremoniously beside him in the backseat. Andrew is busily turning the engine off up front, and a sleek, black parking garage is spread out around them, like a high-tech hangar in a sci-fi movie.

“Chrissake,” Wymack says. “Give me the keys.”

“You have them,” Andrew says tonelessly, and then he disappears. Wymack sighs and starts working on disentangling the keys that have just been magicked onto one of his earrings.

“Does he move other people around like that very often?” Neil asks.

“When the mood strikes him,” Wymack says, kicking the door open and swinging a leg out. Outside of the car, he continues, “he used to say that things have different weight, when they’re paused. All that shit like gravity, velocity, friction—they function differently when time isn’t affecting you.”

“He told you that?" Neil asks. Wymack nods. "Huh. Wouldn’t have thought he’d be so forthright.”

“Amazing what sobriety can do to a person.” Wymack holds up a hand before Neil can speak again. “More on that later. We have a facility to tour.” They’re approaching the subtle seam of a door in a broad expanse of wet-looking dark concrete. Neil hadn’t even been able to make out that it was a door until it was close enough to touch.

“Right now?”

“You have something better to do?” 

Neil shrugs. He was kind of hoping to be shown somewhere dry and windowless, but he can play house-tour.

Wymack puts his thumb to an inconspicuous tab jutting out of the near-invisible door-frame, the mechanism beeps and clicks, and the the wall sinks inward. 

“That was the main lot, this is the atrium.” The door folds itself away like a bird’s wing, and Neil follows his host into a dark hexagonal space, black walls and cubbies like something from a locker room, everything lit up at the seams with artificial techno-orange. “We usually meet here before a mission, gear up and ship out.”

Neil rolls his eyes at Wymack’s back. Between the faux-military slang and the wannabe spy movie facility, the benefit of the doubt is already stretched paper-thin.

The hallway ahead is long and uniform, with identical corridors extending in either direction every ten paces. They come across a series of matching but modified outfits behind glass, displays full of black, orange and white leather, bulky looking jackets, masks, caps and gloves, boots and holsters. 

“Gear,” Wymack says, lingering at the farthest case, a petite, broad-shouldered suit with a full mask, strappy vest, and brass knuckles on a hook. Wymack taps the glass. “Each of these cases opens up into a personal changing room. You’ll get a custom suit. Probably something water-proof and—“ he purses his lips against a smile. “Shock-resistant. Hope you like rubber.”

Neil examines a suit with thick, elbow-high gloves and an ornate half-mask. “I don’t really care what I wear.”

“Glad to hear it. Some of my Foxes were not so flexible.” 

“Someone say flexible?” 

Neil looks up just in time to see a shape drop from an air-duct overhead, like paper spit from a printer. When it hits the floor, it’s a person.

“What the hell,” Neil says flatly.

The newcomer grins. He’s tall and wiry, and his hair is gelled up into deliberate-looking peaks. Even with a complete, three-dimensional heft to him he seems stretched out, like a teenager still growing into his legs. He offers Neil a friendly hand. “Matt Boyd. And you’re the new recruit, Neil, right?”

He nods, accepting the handshake. He glances meaningfully upward. “That can’t be more than a half-inch gap.”

Matt laughs, obviously pleased. “They don’t call me Flex for nothin'.” His hand becomes putty in Neil’s grip, and when Neil tries to extract himself, Matt has him in hand-handcuffs.

“You could escape anything,” Neil marvels, half-gawking at the unseemly image of Matt’s taffy-stretched, bisected hands, slithering back and becoming whole.

Matt looks sideways at Wymack, still smiling. “He is fresh. Still has the capacity for surprise. That’s kind of nice, actually.”

Neil’s shoulders hitch upwards, defensive. “It’s been a while since I’ve met new supers.” His mother had kept him in the most oppressively average and un-stimulating hideaways she could. If he ever met supers it was by accident.

“Well that ends today, dude,” Matt says. “We see crazy new shit pretty much all the time.”

“I’m starting to get that.”

“Your thing is weather, right? You got a demo in you?” Matt asks slyly. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Wymack says quickly, but Neil is already feeling his way skyward.

They’re underground, but he can still kind of always sense the atmosphere, whispering in from outside through filtered air or natural light. It’s as simple as finding a loose end and tugging.

He blinks, and suddenly, the hallway is a wind tunnel. It’s just a little air show, but still, the gusts are so intense that Wymack has to take a step back and steady himself against the wall. Matt whoops joyfully, his immovable gelled hair whipping back. He uses his stretch powers to balloon outward like a parachute, and the wind catches his rubber body and drags him twenty feet down the hallway.

Neil rolls his neck, satisfied, and the wind dies out. “If we were above ground, I could give you a real show.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Matt says, jogging breathlessly back towards them. “Man, we’re going to work so well together. You can be the wind beneath my wings.” He quirks a genuine smile at Neil, who relaxes in spite of himself. 

“Don’t you have crime to stop?” Wymack asks drily, and Matt rolls his eyes. 

“I mean, if I can’t stop some trouble, I can always make some.” He swerves unnaturally out of the way, laughing, when Wymack reaches out to cuff him over the head. “See you soon, Neil,” he calls, taking one enormous stride to the very end of the corridor, around the corner, and out of sight.

“Everyone shows off for newcomers,” Wymack says, pushing steadfastly ahead. “Please don’t give them the weather-works every time.”

Neil shrugs. “He asked for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re a real people pleaser, huh?”

The tour trundles on, through the tunnelling halls of a facility that is slowly revealing itself to be as well-appointed as it is well-hidden. They pass through a wide-open common kitchen area with enough dining space for twenty; an enormous training gym outfitted with targets, mats, a reinforced spectator box, and a fully stocked library of weapons and armour. 

There are a couple of available sleeping quarters, spartan, but outfitted with sturdy furniture, clean bedding, and storage like Neil has never even thought to ask for; a lounge with a beaten-looking couch and chairs, a smaller kitchenette, an entertainment system, and a pool table; and a professional-grade medical station, equipped to hold what looks like the entire team at once. 

Neil meets a laser-focused Abby Winfield in the med bay, where she’s tending to a surly Andrew look-alike with a bruise-mottled grimace on his face. Aaron’s gaze darts and slices like a bird unsettled from its perch when Neil enters the room.

Neil asks him if he ran into someone’s fist, but he doesn’t rise to the bait, just casting a haughty look down Neil’s rain-soaked jeans as he hops from the exam table. Abby seems to realize what’s coming a moment before it happens, because she waves a still uncapped tube of ointment in one hand and says, “Aaron, don’t, I’m not—“ but he’s already blazed from the room, head-spinningly fast.

Wymack shrugs an apology for their intrusion, and Abby sighs, offers Neil a surprisingly generous smile, and shoos them from her office—but not before promising a full physical exam for their newest team member.

Neil swallows his instinctive horror to being examined in any capacity, and forces himself to follow Wymack out from the exposing light of the medical hall. From there, they find their way to an imposing set of steel double-doors at the heart of the labyrinth.

“Mission control,” Wymack says, scanning them seamlessly inside. Neil can tell from the quality of his voice that this is the tour’s grand finale.

It’s a massive space, tech-ed out, and the obvious hub for the entire operation. There are sprawling screens full of moving data, a huge table, lit up from within, with stray files and blueprints littering its surface. There are also towering rows of black filing cabinets lined up against the far wall, a computer system too complex for Neil to understand most of its controls, and a couple of inconspicuous doors leading to what must be private offices.

“We do most of our planning here.” Wymack gestures towards the network of screens and keyboards. “Comprehensive database, files on every super in the country, past battle strats,” he nods towards a white-board over by the meeting table. “Individualized training schedules. My office over there.” When Neil follows his sightline he finds a woman standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes level and keen. Neil waves awkwardly, and her mouth pulls charmingly to the side like a swept curtain. “And that’s Dan Wilds,” Wymack finishes.

“The most important part of the base, right boss?”

“If you say so,” Wymack says, but he's smiling.

“Nice to finally meet you, Neil Josten. Gotta say, I was pretty impressed by your glass beach.”

He tries not to grimace at the thought of it. “Thanks,” he says. “It was accidental.”

She laughs good-naturedly until he doesn’t join in, and then she raises both eyebrows. “‘It was accidental,’ he says. Like he didn’t change the geography of half the East coast.”

“It’s not modesty,” Wymack says. “He really doesn’t know what kind of trail he’s been leaving.”

“I don’t really like to look—back,” Neil says.

Dan’s eyes glint. There’s something sturdy and well-balanced about her, like a broadsword. “Well. Amen to that.”

“Wait, why did no one tell me he was here already?” someone exclaims, bursting in from the double doors behind them. Dark-haired and animated, the new guy is wearing a hyper-casual graphic crop top and joggers, and when he sees Neil properly, he says, “oh christ, your aura.”

“He means to say, hi, I’m Nicky,” Dan says. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, for sure, hi, I’m Nicky,” Nicky says, waving a distracted hand. “I can’t believe how fucked up you feel.”

“Excuse me?” Neil says, face burning, caught (as he often is) between anger and shame.

“I feel what you feel,” he says, with some relish. “No wonder we’re having inclement weather.”

All of Neil’s gauges go haywire—instant panic. It’s even worse than Kevin’s supposed powers of compulsion. The thought of all his hard-won habits, straight-faced lies, and tooth and nail emotional regulation being undone by a little empathy is too terrible. Like a bad joke. 

Wind whistles in his ears. Dan winces sympathetically as Nicky makes a wounded noise and grabs his own skull, staggering backwards. A wave of energy flows visibly through the air from his body, and Neil feels it impacting his own chest. Suddenly, he feels calm and docile as a lamb. He sits on the floor exactly where he is.

“Hey,” Wymack snaps.

“Nicky, stow the powers, okay. You know most of us vollies aren’t empath-compatible,” Dan says.

“I’m sorry, I—“ Nicky’s eyes screw shut. Immediately Neil is in control of his body again, and he slides sideways, panting. “I wasn’t ready.”

“What did you do to me?” Neil demands. Somewhere above ground, thunder grumbles.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky says again. “It’s an instinct sometimes, I swear I can’t help it.”

“He gave you an emotional sedative,” Wymack says, crossing his arms. “Nicky can manipulate feelings.”

“But I don’t,” Nicky interrupts. “Usually. I didn’t expect it to feel like a war-zone in here all of a sudden.”

Neil stands, and starts to stalk threateningly towards Nicky, but a hand closes in his collar and lifts him clean off the ground.

“Let’s not escalate things,” Dan says, holding him easily aloft. “Nick, will you promise to turn off the charm when Neil’s around?”

Nicky puts his hands up in surrender. “Done and done.” Softer, he says, “It’s actually—nice to meet you Neil.” He smiles sheepishly, and Neil shakes his head in dull disbelief. A total stranger just took the full force of the storm at the centre of Neil’s consciousness, and he’s still smiling at him like he’s not a monster.

Dan sets Neil carefully back on his feet, and he shrugs out of her grip, putting several paces between himself and everyone else.

“I understand powers that happen without your consent,” Neil says slowly. “But if you mess with my emotions again I’m not responsible for what’ll come out of the sky.”

Wymack holds up a staying hand, moving between them. “Alright, alright, enough posturing for one day.”

Nicky looks flushed and upset, but as Neil watches, the air around his body shifts and undulates as a new wave of power is compressed inwards. His expression slackens, hazy. “It’s okay. I don’t intimidate easy.”

Neil blinks at him. “You can turn your powers on yourself?” he asks, putting his own discomfort on ice.

Nicky smiles. He seems to be following Neil’s mood at a distance, matching him beat for beat. Neil’s not sure if it’s a byproduct of his abilities or a true personality trait. “Sure. I can chill myself out if I can’t sleep, get pissed before a fight. I don’t do it very often though, it can get intense. Draining.”

“How do you know if what you’re feeling is real? How does anyone around you?”

Nicky’s smile twitches. Neil suspects he’s stepped on a nerve. “It’s not a memory thing. My power lets people know its been there. It’s why I can’t tell anyone to forgive me, or love me, or anything. They would know better.”

“Eh, I know better,” Dan says, walking close enough to rope Nicky in by the shoulders. “But I do it anyway.”

“Aw shucks,” Nicky says, clearly pleased. 

“And you’re—super strong?” Neil asks, eyeing Dan’s thick upper arms.

‘Something like that. I can nudge gravity where I want it.” She looks slyly at Wymack and he uncrosses his arms, taking a step backwards.

“Don’t do it.”

“Come on, not even for the new guy?”

“Dan,” Wymack warns.

“Alright, fine,” she says, hands up. She looks to Neil. “Just know in your heart that I can lift the boss with one finger.”

“It’s a real crowd-pleaser,” Nicky agrees, perching on one of the many data-projecting desks, capped with swirling, changing screens. “But what about you, Stormy Weather? What’s your story?”

He frowns. “I thought all of you knew everything.”

“We’ve seen the highlights reel,” Nicky says. “We don’t know you, though, not yet.”

Not ever, Neil thinks. He plans to treat this like a workplace that he clocks in and out of. After hours, he’ll stay warm and remote in a fog where no one can find him. It’s safer that way.

“I know him,” Andrew says, and Neil looks over to find him cross-legged at the centre of the conference table. The interior glow makes him look haunted, lit ungenerously from below. Andrew tosses a baseball-sized hailstone into the sleek stretch of floor in front of Neil. Preserved, somehow, from when Neil summoned it in the car. “He’s a storm chaser with an attitude problem.”

“Where the hell did you get that?” Dan asks. Then, pinching the bridge of her nose, “never mind, actually. The less I understand the monster, the better.”

“Excuse my cousin Andrew,” Nicky starts. Andrew looks away, apparently bored. “He thinks it’s funny to scare people shitless.”

“I don’t see him laughing,” Neil says tightly. 

“His sense of humour was dropped on its head as a child,” Nicky replies sadly.

“Okay, I’m calling it,” Wymack interrupts. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, Neil. Whole lotta new faces today. You’ll meet Kevin, Renee, and Allison when they get back from mission.”

“When will that be?” Neil asks. He’s already paranoid that the shifter will appear to him without him knowing it.

Wymack shrugs. “When it’s done. In the meantime, I don’t want any more gratuitous powers in my base. No throwing shit, no lightning bolts, no—“ Andrew blinks across the room, perilously close to Neil’s side, jaw craned up to examine his face. Neil looks down instinctively, and finds Andrew’s eyes boring into his own. “No pausing me, Minyard, I’m dead serious. If I have to repeat instructions for you again it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“What was that?” Andrew asks, but Neil’s pretty sure he’s fucking with him, because Wymack just sighs.

“Get out of my sight, all of you.” They all start to disperse, Dan back into Wymack’s office, Nicky over to the doors that lead hall-ward, Andrew into thin air. Wymack catches Neil’s eye. “Get some sleep, okay? See Abby for pills if you need ‘em. We’ll get you something dry to wear.”

“Thank you,” Neil says stiffly.

“Don’t thank me yet. Tomorrow we see how you play with others, and that’s never pretty.”

“Is that a threat?” 

Wymack looks tiredly to the largest screen in the room, beyond the place where stats and mission details are spinning in space. “More of a promise, really.”

Neil follows his gaze to the focal point of the screen, where a hundred thousand tiny golden lights are scattered into a world map like beads. Supers, embroidered into the dark fabric of the world, punched into time by some celestial power source or trick of science that they'll never understand. 

All that running, all that wishing to disappear, and he was always just a dot on this map. There was never a reality where he was going to be able to hide forever. Not even in the eye of a hurricane. Not even in an underground bunker. And if he can’t conceal his powers, he might as well control them.

He looks back at Wymack, feeling like a season on the cusp of changing, a monsoon shaking itself dry. “Let’s get started.”

#I've been tinkering on this for years and for what!!! #my weather boy neil must finally see the light of day #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc fanfic #andreil #mine #if ppl want a second chapter speak now or forever hold your peace #anyway love you

[hekateinhell]

Anne may have been all over the place sometimes, but other times she was right on the money (French history, Shakespeare, etc). And not to project onto her too much but she seems exactly like the kind of woman that would have had a vintage book of flower meanings.

I learned a few things when I was doing fic research on the language of the flowers that are shown in the illusion Armand creates for Daniel in Daniel's turning scene in Devil's Minion (consider this an addendum to my Armand & The Flowers post). It's the last thing Armand will ever share with Daniel through his mind before he commits the act he thinks will condemn Daniel forever—from Heaven to Hell, Paradise Lost, so to speak. Now, there's no way of knowing whether or not Anne was intentional with the flowers she chose for this scene but she obviously put a lot of thought into it being a instrumental moment in Armand's character arc, so you know that - I'm pretending that she did!

Before we get it into it, I just want to say too that these definitions will obviously vary from culture, time period, so on. Unless otherwise noted, the references I used for this came from an antique Victorian book: Language of Flowers.

Such roses and chrysanthemums, how enormous they were. And light poured from the doorways of the Villa of the Mysteries. Was there music playing? Why, the whole ruined place was brilliantly illuminated under the incandescent blue of the night sky.

Roses (QotD doesn't specify what kind, I went with Maiden's Blush for the meaning): If you do love me, you will find me [seek me] out.

Chrysanthemums: I love/I love you.

The flowers were crushed against them, huge drowsing yellow dahlias and white gladioli, such lovely drenching perfume.

Dahlias: Forever thine [forever yours].

Gladioli: Ready; armed; Flower of the Gladiators

They stood beneath the dead tree twined full of airy purple wisteria blossoms. And the blossoms stroked his face, the clusters of waxy petals. Something came back to him, something he had known long ago—that in the language of an ancient people the word for flowers was the same as the word for blood.

Wisteria: I cling to you.

*This one wasn't on the PDF list so I had to look elsewhere. Every site that I saw listed the Victorian definition as some variation of the above. X

Bonus:

But it was real! Look at the crumbling old brick walls, and the flowers in their long deep beds, and the path itself with Armand's damp footprints! And the stars overhead, the stars! He turned around and reached up into the lemon tree and broke off a single fragrant leaf.

Lemon Tree: "Because they simultaneously flowered and bore fruit, lemon trees came to signify both the Virgin Mary and the goddess Venus. Their hidden meaning is a promise to be true, or fidelity in love." X

#i promised 'quick flower meta' earlier and then proceeded to spend an hour of my life on this #yk what i'm not ashamed #i love them so much #vc #the vampire chronicles #armand/daniel #armand #daniel molloy #devil's minion #armand & the flowers #mildly meta #quotes

[jellyfshing]

C3彡 red fox id pack !!

☆~{ for anon }~☆

C3彡 names :

red , fox , foxie (y) , fluffers , paw , foxette , foxian , rufus , scout , yip (pers) , yappy , snow , snowbelle , bella , forest , berrian , bushesse , bush , mary , bark , rojo , baya , zorro , nieve , bosque , arbusto

C3彡 pronouns :

fox foxes , nussle nussles , snout snouts , fluff fluffs , paw paws , pad pads, paw pads, pawpad pawpads , floof floofs , snow snows , forest forests , puff puffs , red reds , orange oranges , white whites , soft softs , nib nibs , nom noms , chomp chomps , bite bites , gnaw gnaws , tail tails , wag wags , trot trots , twitch twitches , berry berries , rabbit rabbits , hunt hunts , fluff fluffers , yip yips , yap yaps , yop yops

C3彡 titles :

[prn] who dives in the snow , the red fluff - ball , the sly one , the red fox , [prn] whos ( fur / fluff ) is a ( red ish / orange ish ) colour , [prn] whos paws march throught the ( snow / forest floor ) , the one who yips , [prn] whos fluff is snow covered , [prn] whos snout is drenched in ( snow / blood )

C3彡 genders :

foxberrix , invifoxyawngender , foxsoliangender , winterfoxic , furoosjagofoxic , foxgender , angelfoxgender

#fox #red fox #name #names #name suggestions #name help #name hoard #name ideas #name inspo #name inspiration #name change #naming #prn #prns #pronoun #pronouns #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun help #pronoun hoarder #neoprns #neopronoun #neoprn #neos #neopronouns #title #title suggestions #title ideas #id pack

[birgittesilverbae]

mmm what about parallels and beatrice caught in an explosion, exhausting the halo so shannon has to crawl through the smoke and debris. turning her over with a ringing in her ears (a tolling of church bells, a call to prayer, to please please please be alright).

bea’s face painted in concrete dust. a bloom of red around her body like hibiscus flowers in summer, a younger beatrice picking them and tucking them into shannon’s duffel. a silent plea for when she’s away, invisible, ducking bullets and blades - ‘think of me. come back to me.’

wiping the blood off her face with the edges of her palms, feeling for breath. climbing onto her knees, bent over bea with head bowed, shoulders hunched and stretching the halo scar on her back. the others are coughing, retching in the aftermath, but shannon’s still got a streak of strength in her. or an inuredness to pain.

tracing her hands over bea’s abdomen, a sob breaking through her lips like a sprinter from the starting line when she feels it move. internal things spurting up onto her downturned palms. the halo a loose pealing of illumination. she thinks of lighting votive candles and the match burning until it almost touches her fingers, but this time she can’t let go.

unbuckling the brace of knives, hands shivering with adrenaline as she sets it gently aside. the ground is fluted with blood, like those paintings you make by flicking the brush against canvas. there’s metal, too. pronged and twisted into shapes meant to sink inside a body and grip.

shrapnel designed to do more damage on the way out. just like the halo.

peeling up bea’s shirt she can see the ruin of her stomach, the places where her ribs are shattered so the wounds contain explosions of bone. her skin shines with it, halo light and the daylight creeping through the cloud of smoke and dust. sounds of fighting, far away, orbiting this scene that feels painted, but wrong. the colours are too precise, too easy to pick out the cadmium, all the reds bursting out at her.

sometimes in mixing paint you put a little blue into the colour of blood, to make the reds more vivid. the sword lies a hand’s breadth from bea’s fingers and it glows. too much blue so the reds feel muddled, nonsensical.

a hand on her shoulder and she cries out without her own permission.

it’s mary. she’s got a cut on her brow and her eyes are fixed on bea. questions, strung in the air between them.

numbly, shannon reaches up and tries to click her fingers. they’re wet so it’s a pale sound, and anyway she doesn’t hear it. she tries speaking, to tell mary that she was too close to the explosion, earplugs still intact but she can’t make out language over the ringing.

and what does it matter? she paws at mary’s arm, pulling it down towards bea. she’s still unconscious but the halo’s shining out through the wounds. too weak to displace the metal.

‘help me,’ shannon says. hopes she says. there are girls making a perimeter around them, and now the pool under bea’s body is touching her knees. when shannon touches her, she’s growing cold.

puncture wounds are always bad. the halo won’t shut around foreign objects and it’s spent from pulling bea’s organs back together.

they kneel side-by-side. her hands are steadier now, as the ringing in her ears turns to keening, and the hum of mary’s voice breaks through like water lapping back into a tide pool, carrying stranded things back out to sea.

she steadies mary’s hands, speaking low.

god i hope you can hear me

they do it together. it’s messy, violent, pulling the shrapnel out. sounds like unplugging drains, or dipping a brush into a tub of paint. but when the metal comes out the wounds seal behind them. it’s not divinium - and by the end shannon’s crying from that fact. it’s just metal. warm and slippery and sharp in her palms.

but all the shrapnel comes out, and nobody dies.

they lift her up when she’s stable. stomach unmarred, drenched in blood. one on either side, their hands linking at the small of bea’s back, each holding one of her arms. her boots drag on the ground, painting a wending brushstroke of blood in their wake.

in the van, using the wet wipes to clean her face, her eyelashes, so that they don’t stick together when bea wakes up and sees them both, halo manifesting a glow around her like it wants to remind them what she is.

low, tired. ‘what happened?’

shannon feels mary’s hand tighten around hers. she smiles. it’s unconvincing.

‘that bad?’

mary runs her thumb over bea’s brow. ‘it was pretty bad.’

they believe in honesty. but honesty hurts.

‘sorry.’

no, shannon thinks, i’m sorry.

everything that happens to you now is my fault.

#fucked around and found out #again #ask #'anon' #babea au #warrior nun #mywn #i am a broken shell of a man #long post

[notbecauseofvictories]

Halloween Week of Horror (Games)

It’s that most horrible time of year, and I’ve decided to explore the spooky world of text-based games. My list of games is cribbed from this post and this post.

Just a couple today, since tomorrow and Halloween I’m going to focus on some of the bigger names on my list!

GAMEIFY HORROR // DAY 1 // DAY 2 // DAY 3 // DAY 4 // DAY 5

DAY 6, mary's hare, god is in the radio, if on a winter's night four travelers

mary’s hare

Mary’s Hare is short interactive horror story about a woman and a rabbit, based on the story of Mary Toft.

I have to admit, I love the story of Mary Toft. One of history's strange parables about scientific certainty, hoaxes, people, and the human knowledge-making project. Just recently I was reading about how incredibly painful Mary Toft's deception would have been, and reevaluates whether Mary was pushed or driven by those around her.

This game, though, this took the little parable to its blood-streaked ending, much more than reality ever did. I loved the creeping sense of horror (Mary wasting away; the missing husband!) and then the visceral, haunting ending. I have to admit I like it when these horror poems are brief, stark and almost poetic—it makes me think of Emily Carroll, and terror that is also poetry.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 5/10, mostly for medical horror (pregnancy, blood, etc.)

OVERALL GRADE: A-

god is in the radio 

you are death, one of 22 members of the major arcana, a cult dedicated to some far-off god. the night is halloween, and you watch in scorn as the unknowing dance among devils and dress to indulge in sin. the high priestess receives a message from the all-mighty himself: the arcana must gather in an abandoned house and find his song on an old radio receiver.

I think one of the most surprising parts of this game is that it was all written in a few hours; something so well-realized seems like it should have taken longer. Dreamlike and strange, not entirely explained, but still a neat little story—neat as in “cool,” not as in tidy. (Especially given that picking “HOPE” means you die as a bloody sacrifice in the name of your nameless god...)

Still, the storytelling is lovely, and I loved the growing awareness that you’re missing pieces of what came from before (e.g., the brief mention of your brother; the injuries that you know have an explanation but that no one recalls.) I'm still thinking about one of the endings, where you break out, run---only to realize it’s just a regular Halloween night.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 5/10 for gore, but otherwise it's just spooky

OVERALL GRADE: B-

if on a winter's night, four travelers

a narrative-driven point-and-click adventure with horror elements that explores the stories of four characters in a masked ball taking place aboard a train in the late 1920s.

Quite haunting and lovely, which is especially impressive given the limited scope of its graphics. Yet for a pixelated world, it managed to be intensely gripping---the sun-drenched hotel room, the gloomy mansion that is suddenly revived in a dream, the cramped rooms near the surgical theater, and even the shadowy train car you find yourself in. Not to mention that the images presented are shifting, flexible, from the transformation of the beautiful home (beautiful and sunny, to grey and increasingly destroyed) to the hidden underside of the world (haunted by monsters, drowned, bloody).

Special credit to the third plotline you explore---I am still dizzyingly weak for European magic, and that underside of the world is so hauntingly painted.

As a last note, I loved that it took haunted people and gave them---well, not exactly a soft place to land, but perhaps softer than they might have had otherwise. It was a gentle note to end on.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 3/10, and then mostly for death, decay, and grief; nothing jumps out at you

OVERALL GRADE: A

#gameify horror #the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind

[her-midas-touch]

prompt - golden (Mary/Lily, 616 words @sapphicmicrofics)

(mentions of war and blood)

There is nothing sweeter than seeing Lily Evans on a battlefield. She’s stunning already, with her sparkling eyes and red hair, and kind smiles which have the slightest air of mischief.

Still there is something sacred about that animalistic wildness in her eyes, the almost cruel snarl on her face, her blood speckled cheeks, hands coated in shades of crimson, yet she moves like a dancer, a figment of poetry, slashing down those in her way, mouth firm, eyes hardened, flashing like a goddess in rage.

She had cried the first time, returning to Mary by nightfall, no sound emanating as heartbreaking as her sobs.

‘I can’t do it Mary.’

‘You can.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Run away with me then.’ Mary cupped her face. ‘They won’t make you become anything you don’t want to be.’

Lily had pulled away from the contact, laughing bitterly. ‘There is nothing they could make me that I am not already. A monster. A killer.’

‘War makes criminals of the best of us.’

Lily looked down, refusing to meet her eyes, as if ashamed. ‘I am far from the best.’

‘You are no monster Lily.’

Just a girl. A girl with haunted eyes and hands that never should’ve known the cruel art of spilling blood.

‘Promise me.’ Lily pleaded. ‘That this won’t defile me in your eyes.’

‘You are the purest thing I’ve known, love. Nothing could defile you beyond redemption in my eyes.’

A tendril of crimson makes its way down her neck. Mary had the inexplicable urge to sink her teeth in that spot till she drew blood, the blood of gods, the golden streams of ichor that must flow in Lily’s veins. She was no less than holy, even then, coated in the tears of blood, and the ghosts war left behind to taunt the living.

*****

Sometimes there are nightmares. Ugly things. Lily wakes shaking, drenched in sweat and tears, scrubbing blood off her hands, blood that isn’t there.

Mary holds her till the voices are whispers.

‘They don’t leave.’ Lily tells her. ‘I suspect they never will.’

When the city sleeps, Mary rediscovers religion ; there is no prayer she wouldn’t utter for Lily Evans, each kiss a show of devotion, each gasp a plea, a prayer. More. they can always ask for more in their insatiable hunger.

And Mary can always place the exact moment Lily’s worries fade to a distance, tucked away for tomorrow. In the many kisses exchanged, she is not the monster she sees reflected in every mirror, in dull armor before landing the killing blow.

***** When the blades fall at last, there is celebration. People rejoice and marvel. They chant names in adoration. Lily’s is a ripple among the voices.

Lily does not smile. She does not hold her head up high. She stands straight ahead. There is satisfaction somewhere there, Mary can tell, from the cry of rage she is rumored to have bellowed in the heat of battle, pride, because she has fought for this, fought every bit as hard as she loves.

And there is nothing deadlier than a blade matched with the same intensity of the way Lily Evans loves.

When the festivities dim, Mary sees her, alone. Not a princess, not a trained warrior. Just Lily.

‘Mary,’ She says. It is filled with relief and regret and pride. Mary kisses her. She tastes like salt and iron.

‘I think I’m ready,’ She whispers, burying her head in the crook of Mary’s neck. ‘To run away.’

‘Then we’ll leave.’ Mary says simply. And they stand there like that, making up for weeks of tentative promises, kisses dangled in uncertainty.

But for now, they are gods.

#mary macdonald #lily evans #marylily #mary x lily #lily x mary #sapphic microfics #marauders girls #mary macdonald x lily evans

[jeanmoreaux]

top 9 books

tagged forever ago by @doctorsrose & @rosesau (🫶🫶🫶)

tagging: @lvnchs | @permanentreverie | @tolerateit | @speaknowtv | @henwilsons | @newtmsa | @greenribon | @brimay | @hollyfhumberstone | @tbosas | @alinastarkovz (ofc no pressure <3 would love to hear about your fav books in whatever way you wanna share and if you don't then that's okay too!)

rules: list your top 9 books obviously. like the people before me and probably most people who did this i cheated and put series or several books by the same author as one thing bc rules are made for breaking <3 this is very much both an 'off the top of my head' as well as a 'laboured over this for hours' kind of list that's heavily biased to the present moment.

(1.) all for the game by nora sakavic; i don't even know what to say about this. either you read it and Get why this is on my list or you Don't. and if you haven't read it this is not a recommendation btw. this is just me saying these books did irreparable damage to my developing teenage brain. hit me like no other series probably ever will again because i read this at the Right Time while being the exact right amount of Insane. and just like seed mentioned in her list if you want to know Me and Understand Me then you need to know this series. i am sure there are traces of it in my dna by now.

(2.) the raven cycle by maggie stiefvater; same goes for this one tbh. if you want to know Me and Understand Me then you need to know this series. another instance of Right Time and Right Me. these books burrowed themselves deep into my bones and became a part of my dna. they shaped soo much of my taste in prose, storytelling techniques, tropes, and dynamics. this story and these characters took me apart and put me back together again but rearranged some essential parts inside of me. much like with aftg, i came out of this series irreversibly changed and drenched in blood final girl style.

(3.) frankenstein by mary shelley; a beautifully written story with soooo much room for whatever literary lens you want to apply to it. i know i answered an ask once where i talked about my love for this book in detail but i can't find it. but i found this rant on frankenstein and the creature. i think a lot of my love for this story comes from the fact that i had the chance to work closely with the text several times. but also it's just a heart-wrenching tale about how we define humanity and how love is essential nourishment for the soul. it reminds me of that one quote from the good place: "people improve when they get external love and support. how can we hold it against them when they don’t?" because frankenstein basically answers the question what happens when someone gives you a life you didn't ask for and then opts out of any (emotional) responsibility and leaves you desolate and utterly forsaken.

(4.) the green bone saga by fonda lee; an epic family saga i still think about A Lot. kinda succession without logan but make it fantasy mafia. sibling relationships are a big part of this story too. which if you know me. big fan of that. it's also a series that grows in scope (world building wise) and keeps adding complexity So Naturally it's impressive. amazing storytelling craft at work fr. definitely an underhyped series in my opinion.

(5.) the sword of kaigen by m.l. wang; another fantasy story focusing on family dynamics but also functioning as a character study. it's a self-published work and it shows in the BEST way. there's just something about it that makes me insane one a storytelling level because it breaks so many conventions and you either hate that or love that but no matter your opinion on it i think it's undeniable that this book has some of the best character work written in recent years. i desperately need to reread.

(6.) on earth we’re briefly gorgeous by ocean vuong; another book that fucked me up with its beautiful prose and incredibly gut-wrenching emotional honesty. it really feels like you're reading about someone ripping out the most vulnerable and messed up and complex parts of their soul and laying them bare for you to see expecting nothing but acknowledgement in return. and while my own lived experience is nothing close to ocean vuong's the emotional core of this book rings so true. also i just have to say it again. the prose fucks severely.

(7.) the grisha trilogy & the six of crows duology by leigh bardugo; another (two) series i read in my teens that shaped my taste to a drastic degree. the crows are just forever ingrained in my brain. alina's story will forever fuck me up. you all know. you all understand. w're not getting into it. i think the fact that tgt is so misunderstood and undervalued just makes me love it more. because if you get it. damn. devastating. if you don't. so sorry for you because you're missing out.

(8.) the song of achilles & circe by madeline miller; tbh both of these retellings did something to my brain. you all know these i don't have to elaborate. it's very typical queer of me to fawn over anything to do with greek mythology and retellings but. these two just HIT different. also, the prose? makes me a little insane.

(9.) giovanni’s room by james baldwin; this book has some of the most insane prose i have ever read. baldwin's grasp on language is uncanny fr. every other sentence packs a punch in one way or another. he manages to capture some aspects of the queer (specifically the bi) experience in a way that felt so familiar to me and put words to so many of my internal experiences. it's about the self and identity and being lost and refusing to let yourself be found. it's also about human connections and how you'll wither when you deny yourself to open up to the people closest to you. it's about so many things without being about one think in particular. like all the other books on this list, love and belonging are at the core of it, but in a very distorted way. i don't think you can really understand unless you've read it. it's So Good.

honorable mentions; emma by jane austen (cunty women RULE), wuthering heights by emily brontë (severely fucked up in the most entertaining way. that's how you write drama.) east of eden by john steinbeck (cain and abel shit and deranged women? sign me up), these violent delights by micah nemerever (be gay do crime in the most mentally ill way possible), if we were villains (love it when characters haunt a narrative. also definitely a book about the gay sex that is not happening), women in love by d.h. lawrence (still currently making my way through this one but it's so deliciously messed up and queer i am almost certain it will leave a permanent mark)

#none of these are actual recommendations. just books that eat at my brain and shaped Me as A Person. #tho a good few of these books i do recommend or did recommend on other occasions #but this is very much a 'essentials to mish's fav books' list #that doesn't have more meaning behind it than my messy little brain coming up with it. #tag game #books #abt me