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scaryscarecrows · 4 months

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The Wolf kicked the spindly corpse of an old woman aside with a rough scoff and an unsympathetic, “Crazy fuck.”

The corpse, lips still pulled back in a terrible snarl, did not reply. The Hunter committed a further indignity of wiping her axe blade on the corpse’s skirts, nodded once, and moved on through the long grass.

There were rumors of a witch spreading through the fields and the town. Bodies had surfaced, with arcane symbols carved into their flesh and their eyes torn cleanly from their sockets. Neither man nor animal was safe–the earliest whispers had been about horses. Witchcraft was as likely as anything, but the Wolf cared only for putting an end to it. Yarnham had enough trouble without this.

Hemwick had always been an unpleasant region, she thought. Cold, damp and dark, and treacherous to boot; one wrong step would land you in the mire, and most folk never walked back out of there. Aside from that, the area was littered with hags, and if it wasn’t some old crone throwing molotovs, it was her slavering dog, covered in spikes, trying to tackle you to the ground. It was, to put it bluntly, a pain in the ass and only worth the bother to keep the witch–or would-be witch, if that be the case–from causing more problems in the city.

An old house, rotting from the inside out, rose up on the tor and the Wolf changed course to move towards it. It looked deserted enough, but most places did, these days. But nothing came at her, not even a bird, and when she stepped through the doorway, the little room was so dust covered that she almost thought twice…if it hadn’t been for the reek of blood and death, and the scarcely-imperceptible whispers that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. And, well, all the bodies. Some hung from the ceiling, some merely lay on the floor, but all of them were missing their eyes.

Something was here. Or using this place, at least.

She adjusted her grip on her axe, drew comfort from the weight of her gun, and stalked forward. Seemingly empty, but there was a smaller room on the far side, half-covered with mangled horsehide. As good a place to start as any.

Her lantern threw manic shadows on the walls and twice she leapt back at a sound that turned out to be creaking rafters, but soon enough she was pushing the horsehide aside with her gun.

This room was small, but busy: it was filled with broken-down bookshelves and heavy wooden tables laboring under the weight of knives and books. The floor was littered with decaying papers, a metal jug lay broken on the floor, and the planks were stained red with blood. Far more interesting, however, was the corpse bound to a chair in the middle of the room. The blood was likely his, given the damage to his clothes, and he hadn’t been here long enough to decay.

Poor bastard, she thought, advancing on him to check his pockets. What did she do to you–

The corpse sucked in a desperate breath all of a sudden, head snapping up. His face was battered and bruised, and at this range she could see that there were patches of skin flayed off his ribs, but his eyes were clear and if she squinted, she could see on his neck the same mark she had on her left palm.

“Good God,” she said, dropping to her knees and drawing a knife. “What the hell happened?”

The man’s throat worked, then his jaw, and finally his lips as he spat up a gob of blood. She peeled the ropes out of his wrists and chest before shrugging off her pack and rifling through it for a blood vial and some bandages.

“Rituals don’t quite stick,” he rasped. “You wouldn’t believe what it feels like to get your eyes scooped out.”

The Wolf hid a grimace behind her scarf. She’d had her fair share of mishaps, especially when she was still very new, but not that one.

“Lovely.”

“Mm-hm.” He flicked the syringe, found a hole in his ragged trousers, and rammed the needle into his thigh. “Thanks for the rescue. Much longer and I’d have gone mad.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” He sat up a little more, clothing clinging to the chair for just a second, and raised his arms enough for her to wrap his ribs. They’d heal soon, but the sight of the bone, gleaming amongst tattered clothing and ragged flesh, was enough to unsettle even the hardiest of souls. “It isn’t just one witch. It’s two. Sisters, I think.”

Well, wasn’t that just wonderful. Lone witches could be rough, if they were strong enough, but two of them fed off each other, strengthened each other, and could easily cause a massive amount of trouble in a minimal amount of time.

Something in the main room screamed and she turned to her new companion. He still looked ghastly, injured and underfed, but she’d looked worse in her day and still come out on top.

“You up for a little revenge?”

Cracked lips split further when he grinned, blood spilling over his teeth and down his chin.

“You think you can keep up?”

She thrust out her hand to help him to his feet and he waved her off, instead reaching down for a cane and using that to lever himself upright. The brief glimpse she got showed serrated metal on the stick and a raven’s head that fit neatly into his palm. His gun was smaller than hers, a narrow pistol rather than a blunderbuss, with flying ravens engraved on the handle. She would be lying, now, if she said she wasn’t a tad nervous; the Raven was not a Hunter to cross. A witch, even two witches, getting the drop on him was not a good omen.

Something screamed again, something inhuman, and she adjusted her grip on her axe. Beside her, the Raven flicked his cane, loosening the whip, and nodded to the horsehide.

“Ladies first, or hide behind me?”

“Such a gentleman.”

And with that, she charged into the main room.

There was only one witch, or only one visible one. A hunched old crone, all but crawling along the floor, with long, sharp talons scratching at the wood. They descended on her, slashing at her eyeball-covered body, and she shrieked piteously.

Then something shrieked back.

The shadows melted and molded and moved, slowly, oh, so slowly. Humanoid yet not, with long, spiky hair and misshapen fingers wrapped tight around sickle handles, something shuffled out of the black.

A Mad One. She had only seen one once before, in a dark place, and she’d let it alone, then.

It kept coming, steps slow and patient, eyes glowing, and she shot it. It staggered and howled, and then, above on a decayed walkway, she saw more.

Dear God.

The Raven’s whip lashed out, catching it across the chest, and before it could recover he flicked it back the other way, this time snapping its head sideways with a sickening crack.

“Find those little bitches, I’ll keep these at bay.”

The witch had melted away, but there was an odd shimmering across the room and she dashed for it, raising her axe above her head and bringing it down just as the shimmering became an eyeball-laden back. The witch screeched, arching and clawing at the wooden floor, and she hacked at her again, blood and pus and mucus spattering across her clothes. She was already flickering again, trying to get away, and the Wolf made one last vicious slash at the back of her neck. It wasn’t quite enough, but it was damn fine all the same, and one more good whack should bring her down.

A gunshot rang through the room, followed immediately by a shriek and the tearing of flesh. A Mad One fell and the Raven whirled, whip glittering like stars, to slash at the two others trying to come up behind him. Above them, the air shimmered and she ran for the stairs.

Come on, come here, you sorry little–

What felt like a squeezing fist stopped her in her tracks, tightening until she could hardly breathe, let alone move. A choked curse and the sudden spooling clatter of metal said her companion was in the same boat.

This witch wasn’t injured like her sister, but that was the only difference. She came close, robe leaving sticky tracks as it dragged on the ground, and reached up, up, up towards the Wolf’s face.

True to her name, she bit the questing fingers and held on tight, jaw clenched and tongue rebelling at the taste of putrid flesh. The witch’s scream reached a new height as she yanked on her hand, thrashing the Wolf’s head back and forth, before a Mad One finally slashed her across the back. The shock and pain made her let go.

“You,” the witch hissed, clutching her fingers to her chest. “You are no better than the Beasts you hunt.”

“I learn from my prey.”

The witch cackled. The clenching fist dragged her towards the middle of the room, nearer to the Raven.

“Lovely, lovely eyes, sister!” she crowed. “We’ll have an infinite harvest of eyes now!”

The Wolf tried to kick out, to thrash free, to do something, but the invisible fist held firm. Beside her, the Raven was breathing slowly, his eyes closed as the blood dripped down his cheeks. The injured witch flickered into view, laughing breathlessly, and hitched towards him.

“I say we start now,” she wheezes. “I need to feed.”

She drew a finger through the blood trail and slurped it, too-long tongue winding around her skinny digit. When it was clean, she moved closer, fingers (talons) scratching at the rough bandages around his ribs.

Her mistake.

She’d moved too close, and the hand wasn’t a total restraint, certainly not enough to keep him from headbutting her. She squealed and staggered and the hand around the Wolf’s body loosened enough for her to kick and claw her way free, hurling herself at the nearest monster.

They hit the ground in a snarling ball. Fire enveloped the Wolf’s chest, burning through her clothes and her skin and deep into her bones, but she kept her knees firm on the boney hips as she brought her axe down on the head. Finally, mercifully, the flames died as the body shuddered and fell silent.

Gugh!

What felt like a rope wrapped around her throat, pulling taut and squeezing. Her axe hit the ground with a clatter as she clawed at it, trying in vain to get her fingers under it and just breathe just breathe just fucking breathe–

SQUELCH!

The witch shrieked and the rope was gone. The Wolf scrambled away, gasping, and turned in time to see the Raven rip his hand back out of the thing’s chest, fingers clenched tight around stringy, mangled organs. The creature finally fell to the floor and did not move.

“All right?” the Raven asked, dropping his bounty atop the corpse. She nodded.

“Thanks for that.”

Her chest still burned. It ought to–it was still smoking, even–but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It would heal.

She got up, snatching her axe as she went, and looked at the corpses. They were an ugly pair, even without having been hacked at. Their cloaks were the worst, covered with eyeballs as they were, the glassy, dead things gazing into the void.

The Raven kicked one over and crouched down, flicking out a penknife as he did so.

“Think I’ll take these,” he said easily. “Could do with some upgrades. You want the other?”

May as well. Waste not, want not.

Now, without the adrenaline, her back was stinging and her muscles were aching. She was looking forward to getting out of this filthy hovel, taking a minute to breathe before throwing herself back into the fray.

“You’re bleeding.”

“So are you.” Ugh. Eyes were slippery and thoroughly unpleasant to handle, gloves or not. “I’m low on vials or I’d offer you another one.”

“Be still.” He knelt down and scooped up a handful of the witch’s innards. “This’ll help the burn.”

“Thought that was a load’a rubbish.”

“No. Forgive me the impudence…”

His hands were firm under his gloves, but still gentle as he rubbed the innards against her smoldering chest. True enough, the burns felt soothed. When she risked looking at them, they looked less red than they should have been, the skin less flaky.

“There.” He sat back on his heels. “Little better, anyhow.”

“Thank you.” She suddenly remembered she ought to be breathing. “I need to take stock of my supplies, but I’m not doing it here.”

“Agreed.” He eyed the fallen witches warily. “If I never come back here, it will be too soon.”

“I know a house nearby,” she said suddenly, the words tumbling out without permission. “If you’d like a safe place for a few hours.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

She stood up and thrust her hand out to haul him to his feet. Her back twinged at the pull, but she ignored it. It wasn’t the worst injury she’d suffered, not by a long shot.

“Right, then. With me.”

Hemwick had always been a wretched place. But this excursion had turned out all right.

THE END

#fic #bloodborne #i dunno man #i woke up at like 3 am and this needed to happen and like HELL am i keeping it to myself

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valeriasfragments · 7 months

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The Rigors And the Heft - Part 1

She was born a mad woman, mad as Mae, mad as Arla, mad as Lærke. Mad as all of them, maybe more. She lost count the number of times she lost her mind, lost down the rabbit hole with Alice, down the well with Sadako. Not many people wake up in an irrigation ditch at 11 years old with their pants around their ankles without going mad from time to time.

Regaining her sanity (as if), in the ruins of her life, shredded by her own hands, bloody boney things, hateful things. No excuse powerful enough to undo the curses cast from her own maddend hands. They say we hurt the ones we love the most and she was efficient.

Years of this cycle and Chance has run herself aground, a bloated whale corpse heart ready to burst with rot. Laying on this beach of a bed wracked by nightmare after nightmare, screaming awake on an air mattress with a leak, she wakes up every few hours and reinflates it in the dark of her room while the anxiety of her nightmares drains away.

She wakes when she dreams, she sleeps when she wakes, she stays up the whole night. She takes the little green and blue capsules when she starts to hallucinate at the edges of her vision. Hydroxyzine Pamoate to dull her mind and lull her to sleep, she's stockpiled more than a lethal dose, though she has never even thought of doing that, probably very painful anyway.

She rolls out of bed and onto the filthy carpet, half deflated bed like arms of a desperate lover who can't get enough. Stark angry noonday sun lancing through the crack in her beige lifeless curtains to ensure she is awake. The same drapery supplied with the apartment 10 years ago, never bothered to replace them either, apathy was her favorite interior decorator.

Just 24 hours prior she was in Kansas on the threshold of her aunt Arla's single wide mobile home, maroon and white corrugated aluminum shoebox similar to the one Chance grew up in. Two big windows on the front like doe eyes, a barren planter box, and a carport filled with dozens and dozens of 30 quart rubber bins.

The smell of the dead woman is thick in the air, she's wearing two masks and still has the urge to vomit, it's a smell that doesn't leave her for days. Not even the first dead body Chance has smelled, though her aunt was taken away 2 days ago, he stinking days old rot still clung to the air.

How does one begin to even go through a mad woman's hoarded possessions? A life of clutter accumulated in every nook and cranny, barely a walkable path though the trailer.

The hallway lined with National Geographic magazines from floor to ceiling, they have congealed from an unfixed leak, the soggy paper shape of a stack of magazines. There's even a perfect handprint in the paper wall where an EMT mistakenly put their hand.

The floor in the back bedroom squelches under foot and sags in the middle, a putrid smelling mattress with decomposing bits of her aunt's body, a shit river stain and a floor covered in never been clean clothes and half filled bags of trash.

One end of the room is a closet that dominates the wall, inside it is full of boxes, some collapsing, and others with odious stains on the corners. The dresser built into the wall had no drawers, in fact Chance couldn't even find them anywhere on the premises.

The other wall is a gaping hole where the fire department cut out the death trap horizontal slot windows, the type long out of style and only found on older models without any renovations. The hole is lined by cancerous pink cotton candy that Chance's intrusive thoughts keep telling her would be a good idea to eat.

Chance finds nothing in the house worth saving but she does spend a few hours i going through the tubs in the carport. She dug out a copy of Mysterious New England from 1971, a ratty later edition of Prometheus Rising by Robert Anton Wilson, a cat skull, some small glass bottles with cork stoppers, things her mom would call "witchy shit" oh and Dino Crisis for the Playstation, her crazy aunt contained multitudes.

She would be kinder to her aunt's memory if she hadn't been so cruel, her mad woman aunt who talked to the dead and heard their voices. Chance's kindness long lost because of a knife at her throat, a gun to her head, and the constant stream of verbal abuse that made it hard to function.

Now jetlagged Chance is on her bedroom floor, her clothes covered floor, just like her aunt and her grandma and her mother too. Everyone's mad in her family, a long line of mad women as far as she can remember. Chance and her mother are the first generation to never be committed but that isn't a very high bar to clear in these supposedly more enlightened times (yeah right).

Chance retrieves the pack of clove cigarettes from the pocket of her jeans on the floor, flips it open, retrieves a single clove wrapped in black paper, and places it between her lips still caked with last night's lipstick, a cheap black from the drugstore, a small cheap comfort she allows herself.

She lights the clove cigarette and takes a short, quick pull from it. The aroma hits her nose and she is immediately taken back to that first kiss, to the girl who smelled of patchouli and cloves, and left a taste in her mouth for the rest of her life, the kiss never forgotten, a soul moving kiss nobody had ever duplicated, almost against her will, the girl who smells like heaven or the closest she had ever been.

She remembers this kiss each time she smokes, the only reason she really smokes them anymore. Chance still won't let anyone else call her "baby" or "lover", those words belonged to her, the girl who hated her guts, the girl she hadn't seen in 20 years. Chance doubts the girl would even recognize that boygirl she kissed in high school.

#Chance #Elise #Fragments #lesbian #queer #More soon

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sailor-toni · 1 year

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Danny Fenton Football Captain and the East Coast Vampire Ch 2

You can also read it on A03, FF.NET, and on Wattpad

The inside of the house was worse than the outside; the walls were black and flaked off in small burnt bites whenever a breeze looked at it the wrong way. The wooden floors were in a similar state, they cracked and creaked under with every step they took. The wood itself looked and smelled rotted through, well what was left of it. Some parts felt as thin as paper. And all around them was the thick scent of mold mixed with animal feces. Paulina used the walls to keep her balance on a thin piece of flooring and found her hands coated in black soot and mold. She made a gagging sound and tried to wipe it all away on her skinny jeans, spreading the darkness all over her.

“Nobody touch the walls. There is some stuff on it, and it’s getting everywhere,” Paulina said.

“Stuff? What kind of stuff?” Danny snickered.

“Yeah, is it white stuff Paulina?” Dash said.

“You guys are gross! I’m not talking about that!”

CRACK!

“AH!” Something large, fuzzy, and small ran past Dash’s leg.

“What was it?”

“Where did it go?”

“It touched me! EW!” Star cried.

The creature ran through the house till it tumbled until a patch of dying sunlight. Revealing it to be a large squirrel. It stared at the kids as it rubbed his little black head before running off into another part of the house. The group took a breath of relief.

“I don’t know what everyone was so scared about? It was just a dam rat,” Dash said.

“Hey! I heard you were the first to scream!” Danny said.

“I was just doing this to spook the rest of you. I knew it just some dumb animall. And look! You all fell for it.”

Everyone groaned and said some version of “Shut up Dash” while Danny and Valerie said “Fuck off Dash.” But Dash just laughed as he led them further into the darkness. The smell became stronger as they went in. When they passed what must have once been a grand staircase with a broken chandler frozen in decay and dust below it in a deep hole. The ceiling had small holes burned into it allowing the sunset to high up what remained of the broken crystal trapped in the floor. The smell of decay was freshest at this hole. Star pretended to gag while Paulina held her crop top over nose, tears welled up in her eyes.

“Are we there yet?” Valerie coughed, trying not to let the stench into her body.

“Almost! We need to get to the sitting room. That is where everyone says the ghost is,” Dash pointed ahead into darkness. The sun was now below the horizon and the path before them was only lit by phone flashlights. When they passed through the sitting room doorway, Danny’s nerves lit up like fireworks. Goosebumps spread like the plague all over his body.

“Hey Danny,” Kwan whispered. “Are you okay bro?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” Danny replied.

The sitting room was lighter than the other rooms of the house but that was only because of the large broken windows around the smashed fireplace. The fireplace’s iron gate had twisted and melted into a solid form of water; the black bars twisted away from the fireplace and towards the shattered windows. Above the fireplace was what Danny thought was a cross. The top two arms and head were still there with the silver peeking out from mountains of soot, but the bottom had melted down into a stream of soot covered sliver that led down to the metal twisted maw of the fireplace.

“Okay so we all have to sit in a circle around the board,” Dash began. “And everyone has to have one hand on the planchette, and nobody can remove their hand, or move from the table until we tell the ghost goodbye and let it go,” Dash sat in front of the doorway and watched as everyone took their spot in the semicircular room. Danny sat to the side and examined the Ouija board. It had a strange energy emitting from the old wood. The letters had been hand painted and showed their old age in the small cracks along the paint. And the planchette. Someone had painted a portrait of Jesus Christ that looked like it came from a medieval bible on it. His right hand extended towards the point. A small black dot on his palm represented a hole and the three thin red lines must have been blood. When his fingers brushed the planchet a painful spark hit his hand. He flinched but moved forward, small sparks hit his fingers as if the board resisted his very being.

“Is everyone ready?” Dash asked.

“Yeah as long as you don’t scream like a child again,” Valerie said.

“Pff I won’t, but nobody can leave until I call the ghost off. Okay, or else the ghost will follow us home!”

“We get it Dash. Don’t let go and don’t leave the circle. Anything else?” Kwan said.

“There are a few other rules. We have to ask questions one at a time, and the ceremony starts when the candles are lit,” Dash pulled a pale yellow candle from his jacket and placed it near him.

One by one everyone placed their hand on the planchette, Paulina was shaking a bit while Kwan and Valerie both had a mix of doubt and uncertainty painted on their faces. Star elbowed Danny with her free arm.

“Don’t worry Danny, if you're scared, just know I can fight any ghost who shows their ugly face around here.”

“Thanks, but I’m not scared.” Danny replied. Star mouth okay and looked back to the board.

Dash lit the candle, the flame went from a small bud to a large flame. “Oh spirits,” Dash spoke. “We come to you with questions that only the dead can answer. If you are here please show us a sign.” Nothing happened. “Oh great spirit I call you here to answer our pressing questions.” Nothing happened.

“Oh no, it looks like nobody is home. Let’s go to Nasty Burger,” As if it had agreed with Danny, the planchette slowly moved to the word yes .

“It moved?” Kwan cried.

“Dash, you're moving it,” Paulina said.

“No, Star is moving it,” Dash said.

‘What? I can’t move it, everyone else has their hands on it. You guys would like to be able to tell if it was me.” Star said.

“Then Danny did it, it moved after he talked about leaving,” Paulina said.

“It wasn’t me!”

“It had to be you, it wasn’t us,”

“If it wasn’t Danny, or Dash, or Star….then it had to be the ghost? Ghost, what is it like, your name?” The board responded to Kwan’s question.

“ M-A-S-T-E-R-S ” the board spelled out.

“Masters? Who names their kid Masters?”

“Maybe it's a last name? Ghost is Masters, your last name or first?” The board moved to yes .

“What is your first name?”

“ M-A-R-I-A ”

“Maria Masters? I Think I heard that name before.” Valerie said.

“Mrs. Maria, how did you die?” Sash asked the next question

“F-I-R-E”

“Whoa, was that like, painful?” The board moved to yes

“Dash!”

“What?”

“Was that painful? It's a fire, of course it's painful!” Valerie shook her head

The board began to move again

“G-E-T-O-U-T”

“Wait what?” The planchette moved over the board spelling out get out over and over again until everyone's hands were shaken off the board. A new message began to build itself now

“H-E-I-S-C-O-M-I-N-G”

“Who is coming?” Danny asked

“P-L-A-S-M-I-U-S ” The board shot itself into the fireplace with a loud clang! Dash ran over to grab the board, but his fingers were burned as the room lit itself on fire.

“No, that's my grandma’s!”

“Dash, there are more important things right now!”

“Get to the ground and crawl out!” Valerie shoved Star and Kwan to the floor

“But it's gross!”

“PAULINA!”

“Okay okay!” Paulina dropped to the floor and began to army crawl her way out of the room, Star and Kwan were quick to follow her. Danny turned his head to see Dash throwing himself into the fire, pulling the board from the pit.

“DASH WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”

“MY GRANDMA WILL KILL ME IF THIS THING GETS BURN!”

“DASH YOU DUMBASS!” Valerie screamed, running to the blond and throwing him back away from the flames. The board edges were black and flaking but besides that it looked okay from a distance. The half of the paint on the planchette had chipped off, and now Jesus was missing part of his face. But it was fine. Very fine.

“Oh Thank God,” Dash breathed.

“You can thank God later, now move!”

Ahead of them they could see Kwan pulling and pushing against the front door. Smoke was filling the hallway and obscured their vision and caused any vermin to fly out of the woodwork and run in every direction, scampering over the teenager’s feet.

“Fuck it!” Kwan yelled before launching himself at full force at the front door, His head and shoulders crashed through the door before the rest of his body fumbled through the broken door. Star and Paulina watched as Kwan's body hit each and every step on the way down.

The smoke followed behind him, its black plumes soared into the night along with the ghost’s ear-drum searing screams. The two girls took no time in addressing their friend’s health, and instead each one grabbed one of Kwan’s legs and dragged him down the front path and back towards their bikes. Rag-dolling his body along the dirt and stone.

Back in the house the ghostly woman’s screams shook the walls around the remaining three. Dash pushed the Ouija board and planchette closer to his chest while small whimpers escaped his shaking lips. The building began to splinter around them releasing soot, dust, and black mold into the flames, fuelling them until they had engulfed the back of the house. A wooden beam cracked and flew past Valerie’s head, a loose nail ripping out strands of her hair. A second rumbling sent the beam’s latter half crashing down below it. Danny threw her aside and prayed the darkness would be enough to trick her eyes. The wooden beam felt like loose jelly as it phased through his back and lodged itself into the floor behind him.

“Fenton! Oh god are you okay!” Dash screamed.

“Yeah! I’m fine! Now keep going!” Danny pulled Valerie back to her feet and pushed her before him, keeping her in between him and Dash, who true to his name, was dashing to the front door.

Flashes of white and pink flew past his vision, destroying chunks of wood around his body. Even in the heat Danny’s breath was as visible an October fog. The ghost was unaffected by the flames and was shooting hot bolts of ectoplasm at them. Whatever she was saying was cut off by the roar of the flames consuming her translucent form. Danny began to fire back, sending small bolts of green energy her way. Each time a faint glow of green circled his palm before firing through the flames and struck the ghost. The silent battle raged on as Dash and Valerie lunged and jumped out of the house and took to the ground running. They ran towards their bikes fleeing the heat behind them.

The brief moment without his friends was enough to allow him to build up more energy in his sweaty and stained palms. His eyes turned a sickening neon green as white streaks began to show in his black hair. “Hey didn’t you listen to the rules! When we say goodbye you have to leave!” Danny said, his hands engulfed in a large orb of neon green. “So, bye!” A neon green beam blasted through his palms into a spear of light, striking her in the stomach. She flew backwards crashing through several black burning walls. Quick on his heels, he turned and leaped out of the front door, crashing on the ground and rolling down the path.

Outside was ablaze in orange light as the fire spread from tree to tree evaporating the leaves and sending ash into the air. Sirens could be heard approaching the inferno.

“Danny!” Valerie called him. “We need to go!” He didn’t need to be told twice. Running to his old bike, Dash dropped the dam board into Danny’s basket.

“Are you fucking serious Dash?”

“I didn’t bring a bike! Are you seriously going to leave me behind?” Dash said. Danny thought about it. His eyes stuck in a hard stare at Dash, until a ghostly scream from the house spooked the thoughts out of his head.

“Fine but next time bring your own damn bike” Dash hopped on the back and the two rode away from the house and flew down the hill speeding away from the attention of the neighbors.

Several blocks away, the group of soot stained teenagers crashed against the edge of the McDonald’s parking lot. The golden arches and fluorescent street lamps lit their heaving bodies. Paulina rubbed Star’s back as she used her inhaler, while Valerie was shining her phone flashlight into Kwan’s eyes.

“According to google it doesn't look like you have a concussion.” Valerie said, putting her phone back into her pockets.

“Thank god. I can’t afford to get a concussion at the start of football season,” said Kwan.

“Kwan,”

“Yes, Valerie?”

“We almost died,”

“Don’t remind me. I can’t afford to die at the start of football season,” At Kwan’s words the girls paused, and just stared at their friend. A moment of silence followed before they dropped the topic. The creaks and groans of wheels announced the arrival of the last two members. Danny has sweat pouring down his face as he peddled Dash into the parking lot.

“Are you guys okay?” Star asked.

“Yeah we’re fine,” Dash said.

“Speak for yourself Dash. God, how do you weigh so much?” Danny said in between heavy breaths.

“I’m not fat, you just need to get more muscle,” Dash said as he hopped off the bike.

Danny let the bike fall to the ground with a clunk and a clang. Then, he crumpled to the asphalt next to his friends. “Never again, you guys can go to the next haunted house by yourself,” He said.

“Yeah, I think I’m done with haunted houses for now,” Paulina said.

“I second that. God what the hell was that?’ Star said.

“A ghost?” Kwan said.

“Well duh, but… It wasn’t like the other ghost in town. Like before you start there was that gross meat ghost and the fat one obsessed with boxes or something, but those guys didn’t act like that ,” Star said.

“Maybe this one was on her period?” Dash chuckled, but it slowly died down as the three girls glared at him.

“Danny, are you okay? You have something stuck in your hair?” Valerie said.

“I do? What is it?”

“It’s some white stuff, here let me-” She tugged at his hair.

“Oh! OW! Uh thank you but I can get it later. Hopefully it will come out of the shower,”

“Uh sure,”

“What do we do now?” Kwan spoke up.

“I guess we go home, and hope nobody saw us at the house,” Paulina was the first to peel herself up from the ground. Holding his hands up Danny was helped up by the others, and one by one they disappeared into the night.

#Danny phantom #writing #fic #multi chapter #Popular AU #fanfiction #danny phantom fanfiction #chapter 2 #ch 2 #fanfic #Dash baxter

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strawberry-barista · 1 year

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⚅ — @kingsmedley asked: — ⚅

⚅ — 😢 (sorry lol) — ⚅

Dream a Dream Meme

— ★ ⚄ ★ —

Hanekoma found himself holding a bowl of deep black liquid. Tea, he reminded himself, and he was taking it to his grandparents. They were sick, and they needed the tea. His eyes panned up to the ceiling of the hallway. The same as it always had been except... Except there was a black sort of mold growing over its surface, and spiders seemed to crawl from cracks and holes. Was this place in such disrepair?

He crossed into a room and saw his grandparents both sitting across from each other on either side of a hearth, and he noticed that the tatami around them was rotting and splitting away. He went down onto his knees between them and passed the cups to sit before them, slow and steady movements. There was a deep sense of dread growing within him as he gazed down at the cups he was putting in front of them, as he studied the stagnant tea within them, and the splits along the cups that held it. As he settled there, he suddenly became aware of a sense of great danger. Something was in the house, and it was going to kill them. They were already so sick, he didn’t want something to kill them.

But he tried to ignore the feeling, even though there were now tears in his eyes, and he reached up to gently grip his grandmother’s thin shoulder, “Hey, it’s time for your medicine, Gran. Com on, let’s get this all drunk up, okay?”

His grandmother stared dead ahead, but she wasn’t looking at her husband. Her eyes were dull, and her mouth was drawn, and her lips were dry and split. She looked like a husk that had been left without its soul for ages, and she didn’t respond at all to his voice. Dry ashy skin and a frame brittle and thin, she was more sick than he remembered. Hanekoma struggled to get her to respond to him, but she never did. He moved then to his grandfather, who had a similar visage as his wife, and attempted the same. Again, he was met with silence and a terrible musty stench around him, as if he were rotting from the inside out. Hanekoma was feel desperate now, as he moved between them and lifted the cups to their mouths. As he tried so hard to get them to take the medicine made for them, even though he grew more and more concerned of its contents with every passing second.

There was suddenly a terrible roar of thunder outside, and the house groaned under heavy wind and sheets of rain. And the smell of mold filled out deeper, and its black fingers stretched out over the household, and Hanekoma looked up to watch it only to realize there were patches of roof that were no longer even there, where rain poured in and soaked the tatami. And the pressure of that imminent danger became deeper and deeper, that sense of dread began to suffocate him. And suddenly it was there, banging on the walls, screams of pain and terror behind him.

Hanekoma wheeled back around to see what had happened and found blood in place of his grandparents. Just in the moment that he had been turned around, looking at the rain coming into the house, that intruder had gotten them both, and there was nothing left behind but the stains on the floor and a distant wailing of his father crying for his parents. Begging to know why Hanekoma hadn’t done more to save them. He couldn’t even see his father or understand where he was in the house, but the beams were creaking under the weight of the storm and the chaos was driving him mad. And why hadn’t he helped? Why hadn’t he been there? He’d been right there! It had all just... happened so fast.

And then suddenly he was opening his eyes into the darkness, and the weight was still heavy in his chest and there was still the prickle of danger on the back of his neck. He sat up and wrapped his arms around himself as he tried to gather himself, tried to get the stench of mold and the memory of his grandparents’ faces out of his mind. He understood immediately that it had just been a nightmare, that there was nothing really wrong. But it was hurting him so bad for some reason, and he was still so afraid. He cradled himself as tears poured out, and he lamented how much he missed his grandparents, and how he wanted to be held by someone so badly. He was aware suddenly of the imprint on his arm, and he leaned over to one side to feel closer to that imprint. And he sobbed quietly to himself, trying to find comfort in his Ancestor’s last memory. He felt so alone and lost in that moment, and he didn’t know what to do other than to just try to ride it out. Tomorrow would be another day. Everything would be fine. Surely...

#anonymity annoying me ⤙ooc⤚⚄#you still lack in experience ⤙answer⤚⚄#i will follow you my destiny — kingsmedley ⊸#mentioned: catncore #spiders tw #insects tw #decay tw #nightmare tw #blood tw #violence tw #violent imagery tw #dereality tw #derealization tw #ask to tag #//some nightmares are just #distressed decaf #but nobody knew who wrote it ⤙drabble⤚⚄

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chestnuts2024 · 1 month

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Makes You Stronger: Narrative Sequence Based on the Poem Makes You Stronger (2022) by Nina Oyama

Scene 1: The share house Establishing shot of the share house exterior. It’s a vertically cramped terrace house in Newtown that has definitely seen much better days, but rent is high and income is low. We see Nina on the porch of the property being greeted by a man. Nina walks into the house, entering the living room of a dilapidated looking share house. Sparse, random and incoherent decor attempts to make a liveable space out of an otherwise rotting building. The man attempts to laugh off the obvious structural failings and safety hazards in the house as Nina is led through the property, down a corridor to a bathroom on her left. The bathroom is a cramped space with basic amenities featuring rotting pipes and grimy tiles. Upon opening the already ajar door, Nina makes eye contact with a large, bald man on the toilet. The moment is immensely awkward. Unsure of what else to do, Nina slowly closes the door and turns down the corridor. As she continues down the corridor, a drop of water from a rotting patch of the ceiling falls. In slow-motion, we follow the drop down as it makes contact with Nina, boring a hole in the centre of her forehead.

Scene 2: The Ship of Theseus - part 1: the cabin Inside of Nina’s head, a figure (Nina) crashes through the cabin of a strange-looking cargo ship via the ceiling. Inside the cabin is a warped, cluttered space that vaguely resembles the share house but includes weirdly specific 2000s toys and memorabilia, ballet trophies, and other paraphernalia from Nina’s life. Motivational posters featured on the walls read “It’s actually self care to self hate” and “Never get too happy!”. Nina rises from the floor, looking left to right. As she turns her head, a second, smaller Nina is ripped out of her body in a semi-grotesque manner. Meet child Nina. Adult Nina, overcome by the sudden urge to impress this child Nina, begins taking her through the cabin of her ship. Showing her child self the assortment of 20+ years of hoarded goods, Nina looks to her younger self for validation. Unimpressed, child Nina picks up a random piece of junk and drops it, but Adult Nina catches it and carefully places it back on the pile of garbage with great intention. Child Nina, in Adult Nina’s mind, just does not get it.

Scene 3: The Ship of Theseus. - part 2: the ship Leading child Nina out of the cabin onto the deck of the ship, Adult Nina scoops her child self up in her hands and holds her out over the edge of the ship as if they are Simba and Rafiki. Look, little one, this is our kingdom! Nina implores. Don’t you see what I’ve accomplished? This is it! This is what 25 goddamn years of living has created! A massive fucking pile of garbage in a sea of more fucking garbage! Indeed, the sea is strewn with endless shipwrecks of similar looking boats. It is a graveyard of Nina’s mind. She’s been here many times before on many other ships. Child Nina looks deeply unmoved, a bored yet confronting stare on her face. Adult Nina, still desperately trying to prove herself, gestures to the ship. She’s adding a Guy Fieri buffet to the ship. She’s adding a big-ass waterslide to the ship. The ship begins to crack and groan as it wildly morphs, trying to keep up with Nina’s nonsensical demands. Suddenly, the ship snaps in two and both Ninas are plunged into the water. Looking out onto the wreckage as it slowly sinks into the water, Adult Nina is emotionally enraged.

Scene 4: The ocean and its depths Grabbing at her younger self, Nina begins a brawl in the water. As the two Ninas twist and fight, their appearances morph and stretch. It is no longer clear who is who anymore. All we know is that it is Nina against herself. One Nina manages to get ahold of the others’ neck. She goes to wring it, only for the second version of her to dissolve into bubbles. The bubbles float to the surface, momentarily forming the word ‘relief’ before floating away. The ‘victorious’ Nina, tired, floats down, down, down into the depths of the sea, making no attempt to save herself from drowning. The set darkens, and we enter back into the world of the share house through Nina’s eye.

Scene 5: Makes you stronger (The share house: reprise) Nina is still in the corridor of the share house. We are focussed on her forehead. Another drop of water hits her on the head, the word ‘hey’ visible inside. A second drop falls, this time with a more aggressive “HEY”, catching Nina’s attention and startling her. We zoom out to see Nina and the man showing her around standing in the corridor of the share house. The words ‘Makes you stronger’ appear on the walls as the man shrugs and walks away. Credits roll.

Category: Story

Medium: Text

Created + contributed by: Story by Chest Nuts, written by Tess

Notes: Written narrative sequence outlining the story of the film in a text-based format. This was an exercise in getting everyone on the same page about the mood and beats of the film in addition to articulating the film as a story with distinct scenes, locations, etc.

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crystalkleure · 3 years

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I have multiple broken teeth due to the fact that my wisdom teeth came in sideways and have progressively been pushing all of my other teeth together more and more until they crack due to a combination of the pressure and a fucked up dental procedure I had years ago [when I was a minor and had no say in whether or not it happened, my mom was the one who signed off on it and I STILL actually don’t even know exactly what the fuck they did to my fucking teeth] so I am in horrible pain but can’t afford to go to the dentist, and even if I could, my mother will not take me or even allow me to go myself if there is any way she can possibly stop me.

My coping tactic of choice today is going to be to think really hard about anime and shitpost on Tumblr dot com.

#There are just straight-up chunks missing out of several of my teeth. I have literally been spitting out Fragments Of Tooth.#One of my molars has been pushed completely sideways and is now burying itself in the floor of my mouth under my tongue #I think it's about to expose the root #And my mother has the fun and healthy tendency of going into Extreme and Aggressive Denial about Any Problem Whatsoever #Like she'll literally just vehemently gaslight everyone around her and insist that The Problem isn't even real #Other people are simply overreacting or deliberately trying to make her life harder don't you know!#There are rotting holes in the floor walls and ceiling of this house and she keeps just stacking furniture on them or painting over them #And then insisting They Don't Exist and Violently Shooting The Messenger when someone tries to tell her those problems aren't solved #This killed her cat. He was sick for months and I tried to tell her she needed to take him to the vet.#She refused; said he'd be fine; and then ripped into me about acting so ~holier than thou~ because I...was worried about him #She acted like I was shaming her and turned Not Taking Him To The Vet into a way to make some kind of point to me about how --#-- She Was Right And I Was Wrong and there is nothing wrong and I was just being a melodramatic little bitch.#That animal that I loved suffered for months and then died.#She's trying to make the same fucking thing happen to me. I say I want to go to the doctor because my horrible health is getting --#-- intolerable and I guess I'll just open a GoFundMe or something; and she won't even let me out of the house or let me use the phone.#Trying to prove to me that I'll be fine and I'm just being a hypochondriac who enjoys making life more difficult for her bc I'm evil.#Yeah I don't know what to do. I have visible gaping holes in my teeth. You can SEE the fucked up wisdom teeth and the sideways molar too.#I am in so much pain #.It speaks

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dmwrites · 2 years

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Gem was wandering around the community area, gardening as a stress relief, when she saw in the chat that Joe had died to a skeleton.

“AAAHHH oh hi Gem nice to see ya!” Joe appeared in the garden next to her, looking harried.

“Hi Joe! Do you need help? Do you want me to kill something?” Gem rose to her feet and wiped the dirt off of her hands.

“I wouldn’t want to bother your stress-gardening time.” Joe said.

“It’s okay! Killing mobs can also relieve stress!” Gem grabbed her sword.

“Thanks Gem!” Joe smiled at her and lead the way over to the cave he had been trekking through. Gem killed a bunch of zombies while Joe ran to his things. They both had to very quickly escape the cave after that because a horde of creepers decided to rain down on them.

“Man, that cave was intense!” Gem said, throwing a few more of Joe’s items at him. “Even you still look a little pale from it!”

Joe chuckled and looked away. “The monsters still get me I guess. Well, thanks for helping. See ya later!” He walked off rather fast and abruptly.

Joe’s troubles, however, seemed to continue. One, two, three times he fell off of his roof and died. On the third death message, Gem headed over to his house to make sure everything was okay.

Joe was picking up his items as she approached him, but something was definitively different about him. Most notably, she could see the brick wall that should have been blocked by his body.

“Joe? Are you… okay?”

Joe turned around to look at her with a wildly frustrated and surprised look on his face, which she could also see though.

“Ah, yes, I can understand why this might be distressing for you. It’s been so long since we had newcomers, I forgot you didn’t know.” Joe finished picking up his items. “Come inside, let me explain myself. I need a break from falling off of roofs anyway.”

He lead her inside and sighed. “I’m so sorry for all of this, it’s been quite the day for me too, if that’s any consolation. So, you may be looking at me and wondering why I am looking so light and airy. And more see-through then normal. All valid questions.”

“Joe, for goodness sake, stop doing a soliloquy and just tell the damn story.” Cleo fell through a hole in the ceiling and landed on the floor next to Gem. “I swear, he tells this story like he’s trying to reach the word count on an essay.”

“Cleo! Hey! How long have you been in my house?” Joe asked, looking tiredly at the new hole in the ceiling.

“I was rotting in your attic for like a whole day to see if that would improve my mental health. It did, which is good because you seem to be going through it extensively. Now tell Gem the story before we traumatize her more.”

“Fine, okay, abridged version. So way back in my meddling days I did some things that I shouldn't have to a person I should have stayed far away from. I didn’t stay away, and they cursed me for the rest of my life. Basically, whenever I die, like, for instance, falling off a roof, a percentile of my living being disintegrates. With every death, I become closer to the spirit world then this one, so I begin to loose color and transparency. And eventually, I lose my sense of self.”

“He turns green and malevolent. It’s funny.” Cleo said.

“And that all get resets once a day at 6am. An infinite death loop, an eternal punishment.” Joe sighed. “It’s become easier over time to deal with. Being transparent isn’t too bad, but the Other Joe isn’t my favorite. He likes to cause property damage and steal.”

“Joe… i don’t even know what to say.” Gem looked utterly bewildered.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s old news to most. You can, however, now put your hand through my chest and grab a golden apple as a reward for helping me and bring so kind today.”

Gem did just that, and it was very weird to see her arm through Joe. He and Cleo waved Gem off.

“Watch out for green malevolent creatures!” Joe called, still very transparent.

“Like Shrek!” Cleo said.

“No, I don’t think Shrek is canonical to Hermitcraft, but honestly-” Joe’s voice cut out as Gem walked away.

Gem walked straight to Pearl’s house and kicked open the door.

“Pearl, holy shit, you’re not gonna believe what I just found out.”

#March 13 2022 #fic #hermitcraft #s9 #geminitay #joehills #the jhost #long post

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 3 years

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Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Bonus Chapter 😉

Finally, the last last chapter. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m burnt out from Gally lmao. I think I’m just happy I’ll be able to focus on other things without having to worry about “what comes next” in this story. Anyway, prepare for some tooth rotting fluff and smut.

by the way, please don’t hate me for putting in a star wars reference in this chapter, i already hate myself enough for doing it lmao

NSFW WARNING

~~~~~~~~~~

(not my gif)

Months later, after everything was over and done with, you only just started to feel comfortable in the Safe Haven. Having to risk your life almost everyday, always having to keep moving place to place, you didn’t have high hopes for the supposed haven.

You still had nightmares every single time you fell asleep.

You couldn’t sleep the first couple days at the Safe Haven until exhaustion finally took over. You eventually excepted that’s how it was going to be, that you were going to have these nightmares for the rest of your life. Then it was just learning how to live again; learning how to live with the guilt that weighed you down constantly; living with the fact that you could’ve saved Newt, saved Teresa. You might’ve died trying, but that wouldn’t have mattered to you.

Why did you live and they couldn’t? It was fucking fair.

You were thankful for Gally though. He was your beacon of light when the nights got too dark, when your guilt and pain was blinding. He helped you to the best of his ability, even though he knew that pain you carried would never go away. He made things bearable, and that was more than enough for you.

Looking out to the ocean, seeing the tide rush in with the sun slowly lowering on the horizon, painting the sky in an array of orange, pinks and purples; you wondered, wondered what would be left of the rest of the world after abandoning it.

You felt the sand beneath you, how it stuck to your skin, and you started to feel your eyebrows furrow in irritation. You didn’t like sand. It was rough, course, and it always got everywhere. Being in a Safe Haven, you would’ve thought it would be more comfortable to live in. But those were just bratty, selfish thoughts.

You looked up to see seagulls, hearing an occasional caw from their beaks. You let yourself smile, trying to find some happiness in the small things, or beings.

The loud crashing of the waved filled your ears, blocking out everything else around you almost like a trance, that you didn’t even realize the boy who just sat next to you.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You’ve heard that voice so many times that you didn’t even flinch at the sudden sentence. “Yeah, it is.” You smirked. “Just wish sand wasn’t so irritating.” You huffed, wiping some flecks off your hands.

Gally chuckled. “You say that, yet you come sit out here almost every night.”

“I can handle sand for some peace and quiet, away from everyone else.” For a moment, Gally looked offended. “You’re the only exception, obviously.”

He grinned, taking a hold of your hand. “You used to do this in the Glade too.”

“Yeah, it’s not so different here. We obviously don’t have to worry about any Grievers. Just in the way everyone has communal housing, no privacy.” You frowned. “But, that’s just how it’s gotta be, I suppose.”

Gally nodded, directed his gaze back to the ocean, delicately rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. It could’ve put you to sleep, but he cleared his throat, gaining your attention. “Oh, I’ve got a surprise for you actually.” He smiled nervously.

You tilted your head in confusion, but chuckled anyway. “A surprise? Wha-?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Gally quickly stood up, bringing you with him and then leading you away.

“Wait, Gal, I don’t think we’re allowed to be far away from camp right now.” You said worryingly, looking back and forth between Gally and the camp on the beach that was slowly getting further and further away.

“Shh, don’t worry, it’s fine. Just come on!”

Never in your life have you seen this boy so excited. Must be one hell of a surprise if he looked like a kid on Christmas Eve. The trek was far into the woods, away from the beach, you couldn’t even hear the ocean waves anymore. “This is a long way.” You said, somewhat nervously.

“We’re almost there, close your eyes.”

You only went wide eyed. “What?!”

Gally chuckled softly at the outburst, coming up behind you and placing his hands over your eyes. “It’s part of the surprise.”

“I don’t think I like surprises...” You pouted.

Gally only placed a kiss on your cheek. “Trust me.” He said, starting to lead you blindly through the woods. Only the occasional root or hole in the ground made you trip, most of the time you were just tripping over your own feet out of nervousness.

“We’ve stopped. Are we here?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He said softly, removing his hands to allow you to see.

The sun had only just begun to set, so it was dim enough that you didn’t have to adjust to the light. But it was light enough to see what was in front of you.

You gasped softly when you saw a little hut in a small clearing of the forest. It was quite simple in structure, but just one look over and you could tell how delicate the process must’ve been. You knew that cause your Builder senses were tingling.

“Gally...” You awed, unsure how to react. “Did you...?”

“We never got to build your home in the Glade. So, I asked Vince if we could build away from the beach, and he agreed. It’s not my best work, but there’s always room for improvement.”

You threw yourself in Gally’s arms, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you. “Gally, it’s perfect.” You whispered, almost on the verge of tears.

“You haven’t even seen the inside.” Gally laughed.

“Then show me!” You giggled goofily, making Gally blush slightly.

“Of course, but first,” You squealed as Gally lifted you up in his arms bridal style, walking to the door of the hut. “Gotta walk you over the threshold, like in the movies.”

You blushed as you giggled, burying your face in his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this, Gal!”

There wasn’t a proper door in the frame, only a thick cloth. “There wasn’t enough time to fix up a door, but I’ll do it eventually.”

Gally finally set you down when you entered the hut, and you were in awe in a matter of seconds, seeing how beautiful the interior was. The floor was sanded down perfectly, a beautifully woven rug smack dab in the center of the room and a small table next to the right wall.

Gally grabbed your hand, quickly leading you into another section of the small building, not even giving you time to breathe as he was too excited to show you everything.

“The bedroom.” Gally smirked, quirking up an eyebrow suggestively.

You stifled a giggle as you surveyed the room. The medium sized bed lay in the corner of the room, a small makeshift window carved into the opposite wall, a bedside table with a wooden vase occupied by various colored flowers you assumed native to where you were.

“Gally...” You whispered.

“I know it’s not much, like I said, but we could always expand. Brenda helped a bit, she said that flowers would be a nice touch. I don’t know why, but she seemed genuine. But if you don’t-”

“Gally!” You interrupted him with a laugh, gently grabbing ahold of his face and placing your lips against his with a smile.

Gally chuckled breathlessly as you pulled away. “I guess that means I did good?”

“Gal, you did perfect. You’re perfect.” You said, knowing it would make him blush.

“You’re the one who’s perfect.” He countered, making you the one blushing.

“Stop.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m serious.”

You huffed. “I’m not gonna argue with you.”

“Yeah, good, cause you’d lose.” You refrained from snapping back at Gally, knowing that he was right and the argument would go nowhere.

You shook your head with a smile, walking to the bed and plopping down rather ungracefully. “Oh my god...”

“What?”

“This is so comfortable.”

Gally grinned and laid down beside you. “Oh yeah, better than those stupid hammocks we had to sleep on in the Glade.”

You tried to keep your eyes to the ceiling, realizing how close you two were. You two had slept beside each other obviously, but you quickly took notice of how needy you felt around him, and it made you nervous. It’s not like you were touch starved, but every time Gally put his hands on you in the simplest ways, you felt yourself wanting more than just hugs, handholds or kisses. You were pretty sure he felt the same way too. The way he’d reluctantly hold back during any make out sessions, or how he forced himself to look away from your body if you two were working together. He wasn’t making it that subtle.

Gally putting his hands on your waist got you riled up the most, even if it was to stop you from falling off or ladder or something similar, it was so frustrating. You wanted something to change, but you had no idea how to bring it up without feeling like an absolute moron.

Just the thought of Gally exploring your body with his big, warm hands that would give you chills down your spine and make you we- “Ugh.” You huffed loudly.

“What’s up with you?” Gally chuckled.

“Oh, uh, nothing. Nothing really.” You cleared your throat.

Gally smirked. “Well, ‘nothing’ is making you clench your fists.”

You forced yourself to unclench your fists as soon as he pointed it out, trying not to wince as you felt your nails removing themselves from being slightly imbedded into your skin. “Ugh, sorry...I was just thinking.”

“‘Bout what?”

You felt your cheeks increase in temperature, but you sat up and rubbed your hands over your face. Gally quickly sat up with a look of concern of his face, obviously not understanding why you felt frustrated. “Are you seriously okay? Do you feel sick or something?” He placed the back of his hand on your forehead. “You don’t have a fever or anything...”

You couldn’t help but smile, almost seeing him in an innocent light. “No, I’m not sick, Gal.” Gally furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, tilting his head slightly.

You saw Gally’s lips slightly parted, and you felt the sudden urges come forward again. You leaned in to place your lips on his feverishly, him immediately reciprocating, making you smile into the kiss. As soon as you snaked your hands up to tangle themselves in his hair, he pulled away. “I guess this must’ve been what you were thinking about, huh?” He chuckled breathlessly.

“I’m sorry.” You pulled your hands away, but Gally grabbed your hands.

“Hey, don’t be sorry.” He said softly. “Just took me by surprise, is all.”

“You don’t want to, do you?” You frowned.

“No, no, I do! I just...” He sighed. “I do. I really do. You have no idea much I want to. But, I also want you to be comfortable with it too. I would never want you to feel pressured or anything like that. I want you to be a hundred percent sure, Y/N.”

You grinned. “I’m sure, Gally. I want you.”

Gally grinned back, a light shade of red dusting his cheeks as he leaned back in to kiss you gently. He grabbed ahold of your waist, pulling you closer to him. “If for any reason you wanna stop, tell me and we can stop. Okay?”

“Promise.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss as you felt Gally’s hand travel underneath your shirt, lifting it up over your head. You did the same, smirking as you felt his fit Builders torso. Gally leaned back in to kiss you more roughly after the removal of his shirt. The feeling of his tongue dancing delicately with yours elicited a satisfied hum from you.

You laughed as you awkwardly fiddled with Gally’s belt buckle, ultimately looking to him to undo it for you. “I’ll get the hang of it eventually.” You giggled.

Gally laid you on your back, him hovering over you as he undid your pant’s button with one hand and the other resting beside your head as he tenderly kissed and sucked on your neck. He smiled when he pulled back to see you gazing at him lovingly. “You are everything to me.” Gally whispered, kissing your cheek as he slowly pulled your pants off, trailing his hands up and down your thighs.

“I love you.” You whispered back with a grin.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said after he removed your bra, leaning down to kiss between the valley of your breasts, trailing kisses down your stomach and stopping just above the lining of your underwear. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, more than okay.” You nodded eagerly.

You exhaled a shaky breath as Gally gingerly removed your undergarment, looking back to make sure you were okay with his actions. You gripped onto the blankets tightly as you started to feel his hot breath wash over your sensitive flesh, placing kisses on the inside of your thighs, brushing over the spot you wanted him most.

You were aching with anticipation already, so when Gally finally ran his tongue up your folds, you gasped loudly and quickly become putty in his arms.

You tried not to squirm as Gally kept up a steady pace of licking up and down your lips, causing you to softly rut against him. You let out your first moan when he finally placed pressure on your aching clit, you could’ve sworn you saw stars. Never in your life had you experienced a pleasure so powerful. You didn’t even know if Gally was experienced himself, but fuck, he was doing such a good job.

“Are you okay?”

“God, yes, Gally! Please, keep going.” You whined, desperate to keep that friction against your bundle of nerves.

Gally had to hold you down as you kept involuntarily bucking your hips, keeping that delicious pressure on your clit with his tongue. You moaned loudly as he inserted a finger into your entrance slowly, the sting of him stretching you only adding to the warm pleasure on your clit. “You feel so good, Gal.” You panted, biting the skin of the back of your hand to try and stifle your loud moans.

Adding a second finger inside you and keeping up the pace with his tongue, you soon started to feel intense shocks course through you occasionally, it felt foreign but so amazing. Your moans got louder as the shocks got stronger, bringing your other hand down to hold on to Gally’s hand tightly. “Gal, I think I’m gonna-”

Your eyes closed tightly as you felt waves of electrifying pleasure run through your whole body, causing you to almost shake erratically, a mix of a grunt and moan escaping your throat.

You panted heavily as Gally smirked, coming back up to kiss you. You blushed furiously when you noticed the shine on his nose and chin. “Sorry.” You grinned sheepishly, bringing a hand up to wipe some of yourself off his face.

Gally shook his head with a smile, turning his head to kiss your hand. He gasped suddenly when you gently stroked him through his boxer briefs. “You know, you still don’t have to.” He said, holding in a groan.

“I want you to come too.” You said, your innocent sounding voice juxtaposing the not so innocent statement.

“You sure?” You answered by pulling his briefs down to his knees, giving him a soft kiss. “Okay then.” Gally smiled nervously, him pulling his briefs all the way off his body.

Gally soon lined himself up with your slick entrance. He wanted you to come first just in case you couldn’t handle his size and you had to stop, he wanted to give you the best first experience possible, even if he couldn’t have you. He wanted to give you everything, but he couldn’t bare the thought of hurting you. So, he asked one more time, “Is this okay?”

“I’ll be okay, Gally. I promise to tell you if I want to stop.” You kisses his cheek, assuring him this is what you wanted.

Gally nodded gently, slowly pushing himself in, carefully watching your facial expressions to see if you were in pain.

Your breath caught in your throat, the size of him surprising you and making you bite your lip to keep from crying out. He was big enough to the point it stung as he pushed himself in, but you knew you were strong enough to wait, so you stayed quiet about the slight ache.

Gally stopped, waiting for you to adjust. You started to grind against him, getting used to him before you nodded. “I’m okay.” You smiled. Gally started a slow pace, still scared of accidently hurting you, but you moaning in pleasure gave him the indication that you were enjoying yourself.

Gally buried his head in your shoulder as he thrusted at a faster pace, his lack of experience causing him to be close already. He groaned softly as he felt your nails dig into his back for support, but he was surprised at how nice the sting actually felt. You moaning his name is what eventually sent him over the edge, holding on tightly to your wrists as he thrusted faster. He pulled out of you, rubbing himself until he came onto your bare stomach with a loud moan.

Gally fell back down beside you with a heavy sigh, both of you sweaty panting messes. But you started giggling happily, causing Gally to giggle right along with you. “I didn’t know it would feel that good.” You said after catching your breath.

Gally grinned, pulling you close to him and laying a blanket over your naked bodies, still trying to stifle a few giggles due to the post coital high. “If jerking off gave me any indication, I had a feeling it would be even better.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have me for that now.” You joked.

“You are absolutely right.”

It felt like hours that you two just stayed there, laying there with your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly calm down as he relaxed. You smiled sleepily as you thought about how you’d do anything for this boy, how you loved him more than anything in the whole world.

~~~~~~~~~~

literally listening to Isabella’s Lullaby from The Promised Neverland on a 5 hour loop is how I managed to keep myself from writing rough smut lmao. Can you tell I have a boner for consent? Consent is so fucking sexy though like for real 🥵

#sweet pandemonium series #the maze runner #the maze runner smut #tmr gally #gally x reader #gally smut #gally

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liptonsbabe · 3 years

Text

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: Molly knows about the reader’s relatives and she’s not so sure to put her trust in a girl that had just betrayed her own family

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Hi! i’m so happy that you guys liked this thing! thank you so much for your support and, again, if you want to keep reading this let me know. Same note as ever, english not my mother language, so tell me if something’s is wrong.

Chapter 2: Not your family

The next morning turned out to be quieter than you imagined.

You slowly got out of bed and looked at everything around you noticing how quaint Bill's old room was. The ceiling was lined with grainy wallpaper with stacks of photographs of Quidditch players hanging from the reeds that moved from side to side, simulating the playing field; the right side of the room had a huge hole behind the small stool that tried to hide it, and from that hole a small garden gnome was sleeping peacefully with a small piece of cloth on top of his head. You stood up, walking towards the huge window that gave you a beautiful view of the Weasley's garden that at that moment was covered by a thin layer of drizzle that had fallen during the night.

Molly's fruit trees gleamed under the faint rays of the sun and you saw how a doxy from between the leaves poisoned Mrs. Weasley's apples, causing them to fall from the tree branches in a thick black mass with a foul smell coming out of it. You shook your head, excited to witness a very different way to wake up.

Even though several minutes have passed since you woke up, the house continued to remain in a strange silence that made you think that the family had decided to leave the burrow with the intention of buying more supplies or something like that. You knew that Bill wasn’t at home precisely for his obligations within the Order, so you didn’t worry about looking for him around the room, so you decided that a better option was going down to the dining room and know what was happening.

As you went down the spiral staircase, you cursed in a whisper when you forgot to put on your slippers before leaving the bedroom cause the floor was so cold that you slipped a couple of times. Back in the days, when you were still welcome in your parents' house, you had many servants who did all the things for you - putting on your shoes as soon as you woke up was one of those things - but now that your life had changed so much, you assumed that you would have to adapt and start taking care of your own needs.

Your curious eyes roamed the walls covered in family photos that caused a big warmth in your chest. In each of those photographs, all of Molly's children appeared along with their father, smiling for the camera and sending effusive greetings. A pic was hanging at the fireplace were Molly and Arthur were carrying a small white bundle crying his lungs out. You assumed it was Bill as his parents seemed too young back then and even as a small baby, you could recognize those tantrum features anywhere.

A giggle escaped your lips when you noticed a funny sequence from that same photo in which, even with Bill crying in his mother's arms, his father tried to carry him for a moment to calm him down, however the baby's cries didn’t stop. The baby was so annoyed that he ended throwing up the milk ration that he must have had before the photo session on his father's neat shirt.

You laughed because you knew that William's impertinence was something he had carried with him for several years now.

"Bill hates those photos." You jumped in your place scared to see Molly standing behind you. Your cheeks turned red “He says that it’s embarassing but i think that’s nonsense. He was an adorable baby”

"he was," you answered, looking anywhere but into Molly's shrewd eyes. "but I guess displaying them in the fireplace isn’t the right thing to do."

“Is it not?

"No, they should be at the front door where everyone can see them”

Molly giggled as you watched the sequence of photos over and over again. A silence settled between you, but surprisingly it was not an awkward silence, but one that was allowing you to create a bond that neither of you expected. Mrs. Weaslsey brought up a rag, wiping it around the corners of the photo from the dust.

"Arthur and I had to save up for months to take those pictures," she mentioned wistfully, "we just had Bill and it seemed like a good idea to welcome him into our family with a gesture like that. Arthur was new in the ministry and wasn't earning too much, but we had that quirk and decided we could afford to skip certain things to pay for the pictures. It cost us ten galleons and it still took us four months to gather them”

“Oh” You didn't know what to say, but you just kept looking at the photograph feeling a bit uncomfortable. You never had those problems at home because your family was insanelly rich thanks to the inheritance in life that your grandfather Tim had left to his son and later to his grandchildren. Even the descendants of your grandfather's servants came to work in your house, reason enough for you and your siblings to grow up with no sense of responsibility other than your own wishes. Molly sighed remembering those times when life seemed to be easier.

"So when Bill asked me to remove it from the fireplace, I refused. He doesn't know how hard it was to raise that money, but I think he has nothing to be ashamed of, he was too adorable!

"I don't doubt it for a second, Mrs. Weasley."

"You can call me Molly," she said, walking back to the kitchen where you continued watching the way the pans moved back and forth preparing breakfast. You were not very good at cooking - in fact, you had never cooked before- however, that didn’t stop you from offering your help. So you took a pan, placed it on the stove, and decided that you would find a way to make a good mountain of strawberry-filled pancakes just like your dear nanny did. Molly observed you carefully. "I think that now that you are living with us it is appropriate to have a more cordial treatment.My son told me a lot about you”

“Just the good things, i hope”

“Kind of” You stopped mixing ingredients to look at her carefully” He told us a bunch of marvelous things about you and how you two met. Actually, what worries me the most is what he didn’t tell us”

And there was the recrimination you were waiting for. You were aware that it had to arrive sooner or later, however, you would have been grateful that it did it when Bill were by your side to give you the opportunity to defend yourself properly. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, knowing that what Molly needed to hear from your own lips was which family you came from. You continued your task with the pancakes, turning out as bad as you expected.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way, Mrs. Weasley."

"Molly," he corrected.

"Molly" you smiled slowly "But believe me when I tell you that it was me who asked William not to mention anything about my last name or where I come from. I know that in this case, with the war above our heads, it is necessary to be certain of the people who enter your family and I apologize for that, it's just ... Bill is very important to me” Molly's eyes narrowed “Since we met ... I have found a home in him and well, all that feels when someone is in love. "Mrs. Weasley shook her head, understanding the feeling." I have experienced the rejection before. When people know that Tom Riddle is my family ... they run away in fear, curse my family and even walk away from us, as if sharing a blood bond makes us as evil as he is.

“And it’s not like that?” Molly asked with a hand on her neck. She didn’t want to be like the others and judge you without knowing the full story, just as she had promised Bill the night before that she would, but it was so difficult not to remember the death of his brothers by Voldemort’s hands and to pretend nothing had happened in the past. You sighed because the eggs you cracked on the bowl got mixed with their own shell “ I've heard of the Grants before, they're all Death Eaters, including your siblings!”

“It is difficult to have to choose a side when you don’t have your own convictions”

"And you have it?"

You looked at Molly in pain. Of course you expected those reactions from Bill's mother, she was within her right to be upset that her oldest son never told her that he was in a relationship with a girl who seemed to have the most fucking powerful and evil wizard in the world as a great-uncle. No, Molly wasn't mad, she was deadly angry, she felt like she was bursting!

Her hands became fists and without knowing how, you found yourself between the wall and Molly's big arms from one second to the other. The pancake batter was forgotten, as was the woman's promise to treat her son's girlfriend in a good way.

"How is it possible ..." Molly questioned in an agitated voice, pressing your arms against the wall, "... that a single deer leaves the nature of its own herd?" How can you ensure that one rotten apple even in a gold container doesn’t rot the others?”Your breath caught at the questions of the woman in front of you. Once again, you were aware that your presence wouldn’t be good news to them, but at least you hoped they understood your motives before judging you “Explain to me, (Y/ N) Grant, when have you seen a pig away from his equals?”

Your words caught in your throat at Molly's fierce question. Bill had talked a lot about the temper of his mother. Even if she could be really grumpy at times, she was in general a very sweet, pleasant and maternal woman with everyone; however, you didn’t fit into that generality because it seemed that the woman was determined to kill you with her own hands.

"If my presence bothers you so much, then you shouldn't have let Bill and I to stay here."

“He's my son! All I want for him is to be happy, and that's why I don't understand what he managed to see in you”

"Maybe the same thing you saw in your husband." Molly's lips twitched in anger, but you didn't stop. You hoped that she would at least understand what your words meant, because that would make it easier for both of you to try at least get along better, even if Molly seemed not to want to do it under any circumstances. How is it that this haughty little girl dared to compare herself with her dear and wonderful husband? "I'm sorry, but I don't think this conversation is going to take us anywhere."

"If someone betrays his own family ..." Molly stopped you before you walked out the front door. The others got down the stairs, seeing the scandal formed in the kitchen “The rest of us can't expect too much, can we?

Your eyes blured.

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagines #bill weasley x reader #harry potter imagine #domhnall gleeson imagine #domhnall gleeson #harry potter #fred weasley imagines #weasley

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3laxx · 3 years

Text

Late Night Visits

Set after the events of "Young Blood, Old Souls"

After the Owl House went into hiding for a week, Luz can't bear not seeing her friends anymore. Disregarding any risk of getting arrested, she decides to visit Amity to tell her what happened.

It's basically just tooth-rotting Lumity fluff xD

Ao3 / FF.net

---

Amity rolled her eyes at the loud voice of her mother echoing through the wide halls. The twins had gotten into trouble again, and mother had had enough.

The third time this week. It seemed the closer the twins got to their 17th birthday the less they cared what their parents had to say.

She turned another page in the book she was not reading, sighing. She couldn’t concentrate anyway.

Ever since Luz went into hiding, she hadn’t lasted an hour without catching her thoughts sneaking away to the human.

The book was tossed aside when Amity ran a hand through her hair. It was down. The strands fell into her face and she leaned back on her bed, against the headboard.

Something terrible had happened the day when Luz had saved Eda. Nobody knew what had happened, only what Willow and Gus had done on live TV, and then Lilith had been thrown into the cage with the Owl beast Eda. And suddenly Luz had appeared. Amity had held her breath in fear when Luz had stopped the Petrification process, wearing a cape and frankly, looking amazing. But then the guards had attacked and Titan, Amity had wished she could jump out of the bed and fly there and help.

She sat up again and slumped forward this time, rubbing her ankle. It was still in a cast, healing quickly, but not quick enough for Amity’s taste. She still couldn’t put weight on it. Nothing went quickly enough after Luz had vanished. And with her the Owl House, Willow had texted her.

As soon as Willow had come back from the Petrification ceremony, she had hoped to catch Luz and had made her way to where the Owl House had stood before, only to find an empty hole.

She had hoped Luz would show any sign that she was okay, that she was gonna come back. Though, maybe Eda had sent her away to the human realm again.

Amity’s heart ached at that possibility. She wouldn’t go without saying goodbye, right?

The young witchling sat up and grabbed the book she had read, Azura Book 2, to put it back on the shelf about her nightstand where it belonged. Her room was spotless as always.

Sometimes she wished it looked more like the Owl House around here. Messy, dirty, homely.

Her heart stung again. Luz wouldn’t just leave like that, right?

Titan, just stop thinking about her, Amity chastised herself. She had to be logical. Luz was a human, she was fragile (but not weak!) and a criminal. Just a few hours after their escape the emperor had announced Eda, Lilith, and Luz should be treated as public enemies and be arrested at sight.

A lump formed in Amity’s throat. Luz would be better off in the human realm. Maybe Eda, Lilith, and King even went with her.

She shouldn’t still be thinking about Luz. She should be thinking about all the homework she had already completed, and the spells she had already trained and perfected, and about putting on a mask for the guests her parents would be welcome on the weekend. She shouldn’t be thinking and crying after a human.

Her heart ached again, now at the thought, she had just had. She didn’t see Luz as a human, on which most witches of her class looked down upon. Instead, she saw the cutest, most skilled witch in her that she had ever seen. Her magic was unique, unlike any others.

Why didn’t Luz contact Willow at least?

They were close, she should’ve contacted her. But she just had to go and leave them in uncertainty, for an entire week. It had been a week already, Amity realized once again.

Groaning, she leaned against the shelf and rubbed her face. This was hopeless. Trying to get her thoughts away from Luz was impossible.

---

“Please, Eda!”, Luz begged for the hundredth time already, following the older witch around through the entire house.

“Luz, for the last time, I will not let you borrow Owlbert and visit the school or your friends. You know exactly that Bonesborough is crawling with guards!”

Huffing and grumbling, Eda pulled her hair around her ears, not drone out the desperate Teenager bugging her.

“I know, but I’ll be super sneaky! I’ll be in and out, whoosh, and they never see me!”

Eda entered the kitchen in the hopes of finding some Apple Blood but thanks to her sister not stealing it, they didn’t have any here. Curse her sister and her healthy lifestyle. Not even Apple Blood was in it for Eda anymore.

“Kid, no. For the last time.”

“Pleeaaase, Eda?”, Luz tried the puppy eyes and Eda graced her with a short glace, her eyebrows cocked, but she wouldn’t give in. She knew exactly that the kid was about as sneaky as a Griffin in an Elixir stand.

She had tried ignoring her before, that had only made it worse. Playing the authority card had lasted for the past few days but it seemed Luz was more desperate than before. And reasoning wasn’t as effective anymore as well. Eda knew that the isolation had hit Luz the hardest of them all, but she knew just as well that she couldn’t give in, not at all.

The life of her apprentice was at stake, and the lives of her friends as well.

“You can’t just fly to Bonesborough and visit some friends like in old times. You’ll endanger them and their families and you’ll risk getting them thrown into the Conformatorium.”

“I’ll be super quiet!”, Luz insisted in them.

Eda’s heart wasn’t in it. She knew the young witchling needed her friends. Damnit. But they were defenseless. Luz was the most powerful member of the Owl House right now, without counting Hooty. Even if Eda would never admit that out loud.

Finally, her mentor sat down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Luz came to a stop in front of her, then she flopped on the floor. Ah, to be young again and just, fall all over the place.

Eda risked a glance. Luz immediately pulled her puppy eyes again.

“No.”

The teenager whined and fell backward, sprawling on the floor.

“Edaaa!”, she cried, putting her arm over her eyes and pouted.

After some much-needed silence, the older witch finally leaned back and looked up to the ceiling. She definitely couldn’t let the kid visit that Park kid or the small one. They lived in Bonesborough and guards were patrolling there all the time, it was hard enough to steal some food.

“You can’t go to Bonesborough, kid. I know it’s hard but contrary to before, things got serious.”, Eda hated serious talks, but Luz had to understand that she was not only endangering herself, “I can’t let you run in headfirst and be captured.”

Luz sat up then, still pouting.

“So, if Willow and Gus are out, can I at least visit Amity?”

Eda thought about that. It’s been a week now. Maybe their time to lay low was enough. And honestly, the Blight kid lived a little off the radar. Her parents had a manor up in the woods, maybe they didn’t hire as many guards. And besides, she had noticed the Blight kid and her kid getting along well. Maybe it wasn’t as off-limits as she thought.

“I won’t bother you anymore after this.”, Luz grinned, sensing that Eda was considering the option.

“Alright kid, it’s a deal!”

The teenager squealed and got up to jump around, then she ran back to Eda to hug her, crushing her against the sofa cushions.

“Why, why are you constantly doing the parallel arm thing?!”

---

Amity was just hopping her way to her dresser, to get changed into her pajamas when a small knock startled her. A knock? Her family never knocked when they wished to speak with her.

Her mother usually just barged in, as did the twins. And her father never came to her room.

Furrowing her eyebrows, she grabbed her crutch tighter and hopped to her door, slowly opening it. Nobody was there.

Her imagination must’ve fooled her. Shrugging, Amity closed the door again and turned back to get her pajamas, but then it knocked again. Okay, she heard that one. Furrowing her eyebrows, she listened intently, then she heard another knock again. What…?

Looking to her window, she almost had a heart attack. Someone was out there, flying on a staff it seemed, and-… Was that Luz?!

“Luz!”, she exclaimed in a whisper, then she rushed to the window as fast as she could with her foot in the cast and pulled it open, to allow Luz to climb in.

“Hello!”, the human said in her usual dorky way, a wide grin on her face. Amity couldn’t believe it. Why was Luz here?!

The human slightly stumbled on the windowsill and bumped against the window which Amity had held onto not to fall, which caused her to flail and fall forward, yelping slightly just before Luz turned and caught her in time. Looking up, Amity realized the compromising position they were in.

“Ah, just caught you in time! You okay?”, Luz asked cheerfully and she already felt a heated blush creeping up her cheeks so she did the first thing she could think of when Luz straightened her up again. Out of reflex, she punched her friend’s shoulder, earning a small ouch, then she glared at the human.

“Why do you decide to show up now, after a week of nothing?!”

Luz grimaced as she rubbed her shoulder, shrugging helplessly.

“Better late than never!”, she tried, but Amity merely huffed and rubbed her face before leaning against the wall. Her head was spinning. This was happening. Luz was in her room, in her room, and she had just touched her and heard her and-…

“Do you need help getting back to your bed?”, the other girl softly asked and Amity shook her head, grabbing her crutch and making her way over on her own, to sit down on the edge.

The mattress next to her sunk in and she felt Luz’s weight, then she allowed herself to glance over to see Luz kneading her hands in her lap. Titan, why was she so adorable?

“… I’m sorry, Amity… Everything went so fast when we fled. I couldn’t say goodbye to you all, we had to go immediately not to endanger you guys and risk our freedom.”

Amity sighed at that, feeling so much turmoil inside her. On one hand, she was really mad that Luz thought just showing up after a week would just be okay. On the other, she could understand why Eda didn’t let Luz get in contact with them. She didn’t have a scroll and she most certainly would’ve endangered them all.

Amity sighed.

Eda had been right to isolate them from each other.

Luz reached out for her hand and Amity almost let her take it, but instead, she jumped up, almost dropping to the floor again before searching her balance and propped her hands up on her hip, furrowing her eyebrows. She supposed she looked like an idiot, standing on one leg, but holding Luz’s hand was definitely too scary.

“I-I know that! But how can you just be here?! Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

Luz got up as well as if to soften down Amity. Titan, it worked.

“I know! But I just had to see at least one of you guys and you were the safest option.”

Amity just wanted to melt on the spot. Luz had acknowledged the danger, and she had still come here. To her house, to speak to her. Sure, because Willow and Gus lived in way more dangerous waters, but still. Luz had come to her. Why couldn’t she just melt into Luz’ arms and sigh and-

No. No, she was a furious girl. She was furious. She had to chastise Luz or her stupidity, yes.

Amity was about to continue her rant again but Luz started talking before she could.

“Listen… I know I left you guys without so much as a notice, and I’m so sorry about that. But at least let me talk, okay? You need to tell Willow and Gus as well. And-… Sit down, maybe, I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Amity slowly nodded as the tension left her body and she returned to her bed, her face colored in a blazing blush, then she sat down and patted next to her. Okay.

If Luz had already come all the way here, why not let her talk to make the way worth it.

The Latina happily bounced, then she plopped down next to her and kicked her shoes off, squealing.

“Girls night!”

Amity blushed, but she honestly liked the sound of that. So, she sat back against her headboard and propped up her cast on a pillow, watching Luz cross her legs and lean against the other side of the bed.

“So…”, the young witchling awkwardly began, twirling one of her green strands of hair. She hadn’t even noticed she had kept it down, “What exactly happened at the Emperor’s Coven after Willow and Gus told Eda? Our stories kinda cut off there.”

Luz gulped. Coming on strong, Blight, she thought to herself.

“Well, right after Willow and Gus left, Lilith put me in a magic bubble prison and waited for Eda. She seemed super tense about that, and she was right to be because they had a witch’s duel against which ours looked like a kindergarten fight.”

Amity had to giggle at Luz getting into the story. She had always admired the expressive human, but she motioned Luz to keep it down a bit, fearing her mother might hear.

“And then, oh man Amity, you should’ve seen Eda! She fought so well and ferocious! I was even a little scared of her!”

The more the human reexplored her memories, the more she started to play out the story. At first, she just gestured wildly, but at some point when Eda and Lilith had upped their fight, she had jumped up on Amity’s bed and motioned the movements, letting her hands clash together whenever their mentors had done and let Amity see the memory through her body language.

She jumped down to the floor and moved in bigger motions, telling Amity how she had gotten free, motioning the bubble and how she had popped it, and then how Lilith had thrown her off the bridge just to drain her sister.

Amity gasped at that.

“Aren’t there spikes on the bottom?!”, she hissed, suddenly starting to see her former idol a bit differently, but Luz grinned at that, nodding excitedly.

“So many spikes! But Eda caught me and held me up for as long as she could, even if Lilith used her magic to push me down! A-And then-…”

Luz visibly deflated.

Immediately, Amity felt bad for asking. The human remained silent for a second, then she crawled back on the bed and pulled her legs close, suddenly looking so small and vulnerable.

“W-Were you injured…?”, she tried carefully, but Luz shook her head.

“Eda used up all her magic for me. She turned into the Owl Beast and saved me, but got herself captured… And then Lilith just shut me out. She told me to go back into the human realm.”

Amity slowly pulled her leg close as well, this time mirroring Luz, and propped up her chin on her knee.

“I’m so sorry, Luz…”

“It’s not that bad.”, Luz already smiled again and shrugged it off, but she could see the pain in her eyes, and the tears welling up. It must’ve been a painful thing to watch.

“And what happened at the Petrification ceremony?”, Amity finally asked, hoping to let go of the bad memories, and sure enough, Luz lightened up a little again.

“I kicked some Emperor butt is what happened!”, she exclaimed, and already stood on the bed again, making Amity chuckle and loosen up as well.

Luz began telling her about how she let herself be caught by stepping on grass, coaxing out another laugh from Amity, then she started retelling how she escaped the guards with her glyphs and beat them all up before making Eda recognize her again and her giving up the portal to the human realm.

Once again, the human gulped, but she continued telling her about how she faced Lilith and they both stumbled into the magical door.

“Luz, you okay?”, Amity asked once Luz went silent again, pulling out the key from her shirt. She didn’t recognize that key, but she supposed it unlocked the portal to the human realm.

“Have you thought about going back there for good since that incident?”

For some reason, Luz's face fell at that, then she continued in a small voice.

“Lilith, King, and I went through the portal and I got up in the forest behind my Mami’s house… I recognized it. And I swear I could almost see the roof.”, Amity felt there was a final note to her voice, “She then told me she had betrayed the Emperor and had come back to save Eda.”

Amity gasped at that and looked back at the poster of the Emperor’s Coven that her mother had put back up again after Amity had ripped it down after the Emperor had announced the human to be a criminal.

“Lilith really changed sides?”, she couldn’t believe it. First, her mentor tries to kill Luz cold-blooded, then she betrays the Emperor, all within 24 hours?

“Yeah. She didn’t want her sister petrified. She actually just wanted Eda to be healed because the Emperor had promised her to do that. She felt really guilty after the emperor didn’t heal her.”

Amity nodded slowly, then Luz continued, curling in on the bed again.

“We went back. I-… I looked back into the human realm and I-… I really miss my Mami, you know? But-… I had such an awful feeling about that.”, Luz pulled up her shoulders, “After that, the Emperor showed up and sent Lilith and King up to be thrown into the cage with Eda.”

Amity subconsciously held her breath.

“And what happened then?”

Luz's face split into a well-known smug grin. In an instant she jumped up again and pulled her cape around her, acting out the Emperor challenging her, and her fighting back. She told Amity how she battled him, and he had defeated her with ease of course, but she was smarter than he had thought.

“And then he had me on my knees and was all high and mighty, but I had hidden an ice glyph under my hand and chipped his mask! I even got the piece here, look!”

Amity stretched out her hand and Luz dropped a piece of what looked like bone into her hand, making her shiver. This was the piece the Emperor had lost, then.

She looked back up to Luz with respect.

“You actually injured him?”

Luz giggled.

“He was actually super pissed about that.”, then she immediately sobered up again, furrowing her eyebrows, “Now that I think about it, he could’ve very well killed me for that. But he was just amused.”

Amity shuddered again, handing back the piece Luz had broken off his skull. She suddenly felt very, very uneasy about the witch she had always looked up to.

“Well, and then he told me that he wouldn’t have cared for Eda, but because I showed up, he realized she must’ve had a portal.”, once again, Luz twisted and turned the key in her fingers, and Amity didn’t understand, but she let her friend continue, “He wanted it… He pressured me into giving it to him, saying he’d only let me go to Eda and save her if I gave him the portal. So-…So I did.”

Amity scooted closer to Luz and gave her a sympathetic gaze, almost reaching out to her but she refrained. Unless she wanted to blush all night.

“But that’s your way home, Luz…”

The girl nodded as she hugged her legs, pressing her chin against her knees and looking down at the key that now laid between the two girls. Sighing, she collected herself again and Amity saw a little tear rolling down her cheek before wiping it away.

“But I couldn’t let him win. I couldn’t let him have a way to the human realm. My Mami is there. I didn’t want him hurting her. So, I placed a few fire glyphs on it and destroyed it.”

Amity gasped at that, the horror of Luz’s situation finally settling in. She had willingly destroyed her way home to protect her mother. She had destroyed the only link to the human realm, and now she could possibly be staying here forever.

Amity’s own feelings almost betrayed her, but she didn’t let them. Luz was hurting and she had to be there for her.

“I’m so sorry, Luz…”

“Me, too…”, the girl mumbled, then she breathed through and shrugged, “I was able to save Eda. That’s something I won’t regret. We flew back to the Owl House after I freed them and Lilith shared the curse with Eda, so now they’re both in their human form and can’t do any magic, but I’m teaching them glyphs. Hooty then relocated the house, you know, he has legs.”

Both shuddered for a moment when they remembered the Moonlight Conjuring when they had seen Hooty’s awful giant legs, but Luz was able to chuckle again.

“I can’t tell you where we went, but we’re safe there. And I had quite a week, actually!”

The following half an hour was well spent with Luz telling her all about her adventures, about her teaching both her mentors' glyphs and about trying to find new spells and even encountering some monsters a few times, the downsides of living in the wild, while the two experienced witches didn’t have any magic.

Amity cringed from time to time when Luz showed her some new scars from the adventures she had, and she was once again reminded of how fragile her friend was.

Of course, witches got hurt as well, but they healed faster and they could handle a lot more than humans. Plus, witches had souls tethered to the astral planes, they could sometimes come back. Meanwhile, for humans, sometimes it was enough to receive a hit on the head and they’d die. Amity shivered at that. She didn’t want Luz dead and it was honestly a miracle already that she had survived the Boiling Isles that long, especially with her tendency to get hurt.

Titan, that felt bad. Without Eda and Lilith being able to protect her, Luz was the most capable of defending herself against stuff like monsters and injuries and other disasters. She didn’t like that at all. With Eda’s powers that was another story, but now, looking at Luz made her feel so helpless.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t impressed with how fast the human had learned and how impressive her magic skills were, but she just felt uneasy about Eda not being in commission to protect Luz whenever she needed it anymore.

The time came for Luz to go home again. She couldn’t risk staying for too long, she had a long journey ahead to the Owl House (or a short one, Luz insisted, you’ll never know!), and she had to get going now. They both got up and Luz walked to the window that Amity had closed again after she had arrived, grabbing Owlbert and turning back to her friend. Amity shivered at the cool breeze from outside, then she turned back to Luz.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come by, okay?”, she clarified and Luz nodded, “And greet Eda and Lilith from me. Tell them I won’t say a thing.”

Her friend nodded again, but Amity couldn’t take it. Titan, she looked so childish for a public enemy, with her big brown eyes and her goofy grin. The colorful band-aid Amity had watched the entire evening on Luz’s jaw reminded her again how vulnerably her crush was.

Blush be damned.

Amity stepped forward and wrapped Luz in a tight hug, pressing herself against her. Luz stuttered at that, then she returned the hug and wrapped her arms around Amity.

Weak nerd arms my butt, she thought to herself when Luz pulled her in tightly.

“Don’t be too reckless.”, Luz merely chuckled, but Amity huffed and squeezed her a little, hiding her face in Luz’s neck and letting one hand slowly slip into her hair. If she was already hugging her, she might as well explore it. Luz didn’t seem to have a problem with that, anyway, “I mean it, you can’t just run into danger headfirst.”

“If I didn’t, you’d be sewn into a book by now.”, Luz smugly replied and Amity stopped tousling her hair to smack her softly, before going back to playing with her soft locks again.

“And whose fault is that?”

“The twins?”, Luz replied, even more smug than before, but Amity let her have this. After all, she could hug her right now.

They stayed like this for another moment, and another, turning into minutes and Amity didn’t wanna let go, she didn’t want to, because she knew she probably wouldn’t see Luz for another week again, or maybe even longer, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that, so she only pulled her tighter.

“Stay safe, Luz…”, she finally mumbled around the lump in her throat but still didn’t let go, only pushing her head closer against Luz’s neck and keeping her arms wrapped around the girl, afraid of letting her go and not seeing her again for so long. Titan, what might happen to her? The stories Luz told of the week alone were already scary enough as it is, and she didn’t want to get the message one day that Luz was-

Amity felt a shiver running down her spine as she didn’t dare to finish that thought. She wouldn’t lose Luz, not again. The human was too smart for that, too skilled and too fast. She had seen her in action. She had seen what Luz could do. Not only did she help her defeat Grom, but she also fought the Emperor and lived to tell the tale! Not many witches could claim that for themselves, but Luz had succeeded. Amity sniffled again and felt Luz tightening their embrace.

“If you get hurt, I swear I’ll smack you so hard you’ll be seeing bats flying around your head for days.”, the Latina smiled at that and nodded, then they slowly broke their hug and she loosened her fist that she had subconsciously clenched into Luz’s shirt, “Take care of Eda, Lilith, King, and that bird tube thing, okay?”

“I will, Amity. And you better tell Willow and Gus that I’m okay.”

The witchling smiled at that, then she helped Luz up on the windowsill and held her hand for a little longer, “If you need any school material, I can give you copies of my notes and I can ask the twins, Gus and Willow, as well.”

Luz gave her some weird sort of gesture, maybe a human one, where she showed a thumb up, an excited grin on her face. Amity decided not to question it.

“Now that sounds like an amazing plan. I’ll be back for that as soon as Eda lets me again. That might be a few days… But even Lilith said we laid low for enough time now, and Emperor Belos hasn’t shown any bigger attempts to search for us, so maybe I’ll be back by the end of the week.”

Amity didn’t allow her hopes to be up.

“And you better figure out an abomination glyph so you can become an actual witch.”, Amity winked, her insides feeling hot. Was she flirting?!

“You can count on me, Blight!”, with that, Luz jumped off the windowsill and onto Owlbert who spread his wings and carried her in the air.

Amity almost wished Luz would hover by the window, not wanting to leave, say anything else. Flirt a little more, banter some, fly closer, and caress her cheek. Maybe they could even kiss, Titan…

But the human had already pulled up the hood of her cape and began flying higher, above the trees and into the darkness.

Amity looked out into the night for some time still, wondering where the Owl House had found a new hidden spot where it’d keep Luz safe from the emperor’s grasp, then she closed the window and took a few steps into her room. Her body felt so cold where Luz’s had pressed against her, colder than before. She sighed when she wrapped her arms around herself again, closing her eyes. She could almost feel their embrace again. Titan and she could feel her throat closing up again, hear her voice cracking. Against better judgment, she hoped Luz had understood what had happened there. But she had also gotten to know Luz as the dumbest smart person she knew.

She doubted Luz would see her any differently. After all, they were friends and Amity hadn’t even been that nice to her at the beginning. She had been downright mean.

Who would wanna be with Amity, anyway…?

She was just a spoiled rich brat, like Boscha and all the others she had hung out with.

The missing warmth in front of her stayed missing and she bit her lip. If only she could’ve kept Luz here for a little longer. Just a little longer. Maybe even long enough for her to confess to her.

Or just to keep her scent here.

Amity dropped down on her bed and shuffled over to where the pillow was that she had handed Luz at some point, for her to lean against it. It was still propped up against the board at the other end of her bed. Hesitating, she picked it up and sat back on her knees, mustering it.

Maybe…

She felt so stupid for trying this, but after a quick reassuring glance that nobody was looking, she lifted the pillow to her face and buried her nose in it. Sure enough, it smelled like Luz.

Hmmm… A little like lemons. And sweet.

Amity smiled and sniffed again, then she put the pillow down and shook her head at herself. No, this was not happening. She did not just sniff the pillow her friend had leaned against. She did not just do that and she wouldn’t do that again ever and ever and ever-

The scent filled her nose again when she squealed and hugged the pillow close, before letting herself fall back onto her mattress, her face deeply buried into the softness she was hugging. It was almost as good as hugging Luz. Honestly, Amity couldn’t even remember the last time she really hugged someone. Had she ever? Like, genuinely, held for minutes without end?

Maybe that was her first real hug and she shared it with Luz!

Still smiling, Amity changed into her pajamas and crawled into her bed, her hands quickly finding the pillow again that Luz had leaned against. The scent was fading but still there. Amity sighed as she lied down on her stomach and nuzzled her nose into the pillow. She couldn’t help but enjoy this super embarrassing moment. But she was alone, too, so she wasn’t too worried.

After all, nobody could say anything against a little fawning.

She didn’t even feel herself falling asleep to the scented pillow, but when she dreamt, she dreamt of Luz and hugging and seeing her again. For the first time in a week, Amity slept well.

---

Once again, Amity saw Luz jumping up on the windowsill, her brown eyes twinkling with amusement. Amity’s heart jumped at the wink the Latina shot her, and she couldn’t help but feel her chest swelling with warmth at that.

Following her to the windowsill, Amity felt so weak to her knees, seeing Luz starting to lounge on the board, both knees pulled up and her elbows resting on them, her hands hanging.

She looked so careless while she watched Amity, only making her heart flutter more.

“Will you come back?”, she heard herself asking, her voice shaky but luckily, Luz didn’t notice. Amity stepped closer, hugging her arms around herself when Luz looked down at her with a relaxed look on her face.

“Of course, I will. I couldn’t make it through a week without visiting you.”, she replied, her voice suddenly so husky that Amity felt herself swoon. Instead, she leaned against the side that Luz was facing, smiling back at the girl watching her every movement.

“Please stay safe, Luz. It’s dangerous for you to be here.”, she tried, but Luz just turned and let one leg hang out the window, leaning to her and softly nudging her jaw so she would look at her.

“I will risk everything for you, Amity, you know that.”

Once again, Amity felt herself melting, but she grabbed Luz’s wrist and carefully cradled her hand with both of hers, sighing, “Luz, my parents or the guards could find you at any minute. It’s not safe for you to visit me as often.”

Luz shrugged that off, giving into Amity’s hands and bringing up hers to add to their hold, reassuringly cupping her hand.

“I don’t care, I will escape in time. But seeing you is worth the danger.”, she said before bringing up Amity’s hands in hers, kissing the base of her thumb, “I don’t care what they say.”

The witchling rushed forward and tightly hugged Luz, feeling the girl safely catch her and hold her close.

“You need to be okay, please. I can’t lose you.”, she cradled Luz’s head close and braided her fingers through her dark locks, while Luz softly rubbed her back, holding her close.

“You won’t, Amity, I’ll always be right there.”

After hugging, Luz grabbed Owlbert and jumped off the windowsill, onto the staff. This time, she flew back up to Amity on her window and smirked at her.

“You better be safe, Blight.”

The girl felt her cheeks burning up and her heart skipping when she reached out to Luz, interlacing their fingers when she got the chance.

“I will be. You, too, you understood?”, Luz nodded, then she flew a little closer still, their faces now getting closer to each other, “I wish I could come with you to the Owl House…”

But Luz shook her head at that, flying even closer, their faces getting really close now.

“You can’t, it’d be too dangerous for you…”, she whispered and somehow, Amity worrying for Luz only made her swoon more.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”, Amity breathed and Luz chuckled at that, lifting another hand to softly caress her cheek.

“It’s both…”, she whispered back, and Amity felt drawn to her but not quite, always not quite, “You need to stay here, Amity, where I know you’re safe and sound. I need you to be safe for me to function.”

“You couldn’t otherwise?”, Amity’s heart fluttered at that and Luz sighed, softly shaking her head.

“I couldn’t focus if I didn’t know you were okay…”, she argued and Amity almost couldn’t hold herself up on the windowsill, her elbow threatening to give in.

“… You’re such a sap…”, she breathed again, before Luz gave Owlbert a nudge upwards, catching her lips. Amity leaned into the kiss and sighed dreamily, feeling Luz’s warm face pressing against hers and her soft, sweet lips moving on hers.

Without thinking, she grabbed Luz’s collar and pulled her in, pressing against her while nuzzling her nose. Titan, this was nice.

Amity heard footsteps outside of her door, then the voices of her parents echoed through the hallway and she broke off the kiss, but Luz chased after her and caught her again, making Amity melt momentarily, before leaning back.

“Luz, you have to go, you have to go now.”, she panted, still holding her hand. The girl kept holding on and shook her head, but Amity pushed her away, parting their hands and looking back to her door where she could see her parents’ shadows.

“Amity, I need you to know-”

“No, Luz! You need to leave, now!”

Some guards that had been stationed in front of her parents’ estate came running over the grass, but Luz didn’t care. She flew closer again, cupped Amity’s cheek, and kissed her.

“… I love you.”, she whispered, pressing her lips to Amity’s again-

---

With a start, Amity shot up in her bed and stared at the window. No Luz.

Then she looked back to her door, standing in the darkness, unmoving. No parents.

Sighing, breathing through, she calmed herself down and again and pressed a hand to her rapidly beating heart. It had just been a dream.

Softly, her hand wandered up to her lips and she smiled, still feeling her heart beating rapidly. No kiss.

But it had been a nice feeling, at least, kissing Luz in her dreams. She let herself fall back into her sheets and rolled to the side, cuddling herself in while voicelessly squealing.

That’d be so nice, having Luz pull a knight in shining armor and kiss her like this. Her dream had overdone it on the dramatic parts, but she had loved every second, even if the memory slipped from her mind more and more the longer she thought about it.

How she wished that had actually happened earlier, but the actual memory of Luz visiting her was a lot sweeter than her dream. The girl sighed before lying back down on her back and looking up to the ceiling, smiling to herself.

She had actually come here and talked to her and told her everything she had seen. And she had allowed Amity to hug her.

Well, she knew Luz liked hugging people in general, but she had felt so warm and safe in Luz’s arms. She wanted that again so badly, she could barely wait for the end of the week.

---

Let me know if you liked it!

#toh #the owl house #amity blight #luz noceda #lumity #kinda sorta #fluff #fanfic

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acraftedmistake · 3 years

Text

Nether Time!

Cassie and Petra need to get stuff from the Nether! It’s been a while since they’ve done this.

“Nether time!” Petra sang as she leapt out the portal.

“Nether time!” Cassie Rose chimed as well, landing right beside her friend.

The two exchanged big grins with one another. Cassie was holding onto her outfit so tightly she thought it’d tear.

It’s been ages since they’ve been in their house together. Everything still looked and felt the same. The red and teal carpet was still covering the netherrack floor, still stained and torn, the walls were that weird combination of wood and netherrack that she remembers so fondly, shelves and counters surrounded them, holding both their’s and the previous owner’s items. Those four cushioned chairs they placed in the upper left corner of the house--the ‘kitchen’--have yet to move. The kitchen itself was just a few chests filled with food, a battered stove that stopped working years ago, and a cauldron with strange splatters in it. There were also the remains of their kitchen table. Used to be fine, sturdy wood, but when they first arrived at this house, monsters were trying to break in, so they had to use the base of the table and the legs to fend themselves. The decorations were still hung up too! Bells, chimes, other sorts of art pieces attached to strings that hung from the ceiling, just as Cassie remembers it.

Well, it technically isn’t ‘their’ house. Their portal just happened to appear inside this strange old place one day, and they claimed it. Finders keepers, you know? Besides, the previous owners were probably long dead.

“Come on, we need to get your pumpkin.” Petra made her way to the counters beside the portal. The countertops were covered with broken weapons, ores, and strange nik naks they found over the years, and sitting in the middle of it all: Cassie’s white pumpkin.

Petra grabbed the hollowed fruit and spun it around in her hands, “You’ll be happy to hear I’ve been taking good care of your other pumpkins back at the cave.”

“That’s impressive, considering you somehow managed to kill a cactus that one time.”

“Hey, I already told you that stupid cactus killed itself. I was gone for one day, and when I came back, it was dead. I did nothing wrong.” Petra denied as she tossed Cassie her pumpkin.

Cassie quickly dropped her extra set of clothes to catch her it, “Did you water it when the soil got dry?”

“It’s a cactus. Water’s irrelevant.” Petra avoided Cassie’s little glare by facing the counter again and sorting through the random items.

Cassie held the pumpkin in her hands and stared at it for a moment. It’s been a few years since she’s worn it last. Memories were flooding through her. She still remembered how she first got her hands on her first pumpkin; she stole it from a crazy old guy’s backyard. She just happened to spot it while walking through a random town one day, Petra told her ‘If ya like it, get it.’ And she did exactly that. It was a real strange pumpkin. When the two cut it open, it hardly had any guts, and the inside smelled like… Nothing. Well, it smelled ‘wet’ if that was possible. The sorta wetness you’d smell in a forest after it’d rain. They were surprised at how durable it was too, which soon sparked the amazing idea of shoving her head inside the pumpkin and using it for protective gear. It sounds ridiculous--heck, it probably looks ridiculous--but it works, and Cassie likes it, so that’s all that matters.

Cassie ended up planting the few pumpkin seeds years ago, and before she knew it, she had a bunch of = pumpkins to last.

Cassie can trust Petra with the pumpkin care, but she always makes sure to check in on them. That white pumpkin got her into plants, she even has a few houseplants back at home, but she’s still too embarrassed to tell anyone yet.

“Oh!” Petra snapped her fingers. She dashed back to the portal, shoved the upper-half of her body into the vortex, then came back out with her Wither Skull in hands. “Nearly forgot this bad boy.”

“I’m surprised that thing’s still in one piece.” Cassie said while she watched Petra grab a cloth from a chest in the kitchen.

“Right? This thing’s insane!” Petra exclaimed as she cleaned the inside of her painted skull. “One time I forgot it outside, a quake happened, and when I ran out to get it back, a tree landed on it and it was still in one piece.”

“You ever thinking of repainting it?” Cassie asked. She began putting on her long, oversized, dark blue pants over her leggings.

“Nah, the stripes are iconic. “ Petra tossed the cloth aside then shoved her head into the skull.

Cassie let out a grunt as she struggled to put her large long-sleeved shirt over her hoodie. She knew she was going to be drowning in sweat with three layers on, but that’s three extra layers of fire protection. When she finally got it on, she began tying the belt around her waist and slipped on her thick, brown gloves.

As she was adjusting her gloves, Petra handed her a crooked pickaxe and a worn-down sword.

“If I knew you were comin’ over today, I would’ve made some better tools for you.” Petra said. She was holding a blue backpack in her other hand that’s seen better days. One black strap had been completely torn off while the other was just barely holding on. There were holes where the buttons used to be. Hopefully it’ll be able to hold their stuff.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Cassie said, holding the tools by the sides of her arms. “We’re just gonna pick up a few things anyways.”

Cassie stuck her head into the pumpkin.

“You ready?” Cassie asked, her voice muffled. She took the weapons out and held them firmly.

“Super ready.” Petra smiled as she watched Cassie twirl the tools around before shoving them into her pockets.

Petra swung open the front door, and a horrible heatwave rushed in and hit their faces. Cassie’s eyes watered. You’d think after all those years of exploring the Nether, she’d get used to it, but it always seems to get worse each time.

Petra held the door open with her foot and the girls made some quick, last-minute readjustments with their outfits.

Cassie glanced to the side and spotted a familiar sign hanging under the doorknob. It was a piece of oak wood with the words “No Boys Allowed” that she made as a joke. That was way back when they first spawned into this house.

“Why do you still have that old sign up?” Cassie asked, surprised it hadn’t burnt to a crisp.

“To keep the boys out.” Petra said casually as she closed the door.

“But we’re the only two here though.”

“All thanks to the sign.” A little smirk formed on Petra’s face.

Cassie rolled her eyes and gave Petra a playful shove as they went out into The Neighborhood.

The Neighborhood… A sweltering ghost town. Awakening members used to live here years ago. Their ‘homes’ were just hollowed out holes in netherrack hills, making the place look more like a Hellish wasp nest than a cozy neighborhood. The openings were usually covered in old wood, and their front doors were rather busted or missing. And the way these houses were placed in such unorganized clutters just felt… Wrong. People weren’t meant to live in the Nether.

Any leftover space was taken up by Nether portals. It didn’t matter if the space between the houses were huge or cramped, people found ways of making the portals fit. Maybe the Neighborhood looked real pretty when the portals were all activated, but they’ve been deactivated for years, and Cassie and Petra weren’t planning on lighting them up anytime soon. It was bad luck to reactivate dead portals.

“So what things you lookin’ for again?” Petra asked.

“Gold’s high on the list,” Cassie replied, “we also need extra iron, extra flint, and some netherrack just in case.”

“Awh shoot, what?!” Petra froze. Her tone turned serious.

“What? What’s up?!”

“Do you know how hard it is to find netherrack!? We’ll be looking around for hours!” Petra exclaimed, standing on the netherrack floor. Surrounded by netherrack hills. With a netherrack covered sky.

Cassie couldn’t see Petra’s face, but she KNEW she had that big, dumb smile.

Cassie gave her a quick bonk on the skull and bent down to gather an arms-full of netherrack chunks, all while Petra was laughing.

“Damn, talk about lucky.” Petra teased, “You always had a good eye for rare items.” She slipped the bag off her shoulders and opened the flap for Cassie.

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna be messing with me the entire time we’re here?” Cassie rolled her eyes as she shoved the netherrack into the sack.

“Awh, come on, it’s been almost two years since we’ve done this. I’ve missed ya.” Petra said. The two began walking again. “It’s really boring without ya, you know?”

“Man, has it really been two years?” Cassie stared at her feet, a feeling of guilt starting to gnaw at her.

“But I mean--mentally, it’s only been two days.” Cassie said, looking back at Petra.

“Ex-ACT-ly. Time doesn’t move unless we’re together. Common knowledge.” Petra gave her a grin. Cassie couldn’t see most of it, but she could feel it. It was reassuring.

The two stepped over a wooden bridge that was splayed out over the ground. It’s been there since day once, wood planks, rope, and all. They kept telling themselves they’re gonna move it, but they never do. It’s not like it’s a huge obstacle or anything.

There was a lotta stuff like that around the Neighborhood. If you looked up, you could see more bridges hanging between the hills, many of them missing their planks or dangling by their threads, and a bunch of the houses built into the top of the hills had staircases, ladders, or ramps that stretched all across the area. Cassie and Petra had the “fun” experience of finding out which ones were stable or not.

“So, shouldn’t we start looking through the houses or somethin’?” Cassie asked, her eyes scanning the dozens of houses they’d have to scour through.

There were still items in these houses. Even though this place was abandoned years ago, a looming presence remains. Dirty dishes sitting in cauldrons, rotting meals on kitchen tables, unfinished letters on desks, wrinkled blankets on unmade beds, all signs that this ghost town was once full of life. Petra and Cassie have spotted many weird trinkets The Awakening members have made; chunky jewelry, small dolls carved from nearby materials, chimes, and masks that lacked eyeholes. Many, many art pieces included the Awakening symbols: A red flower with hundreds of petals, their empty eye, and the Hero. Another thing many homes seemed to have were mirrors, but they were never in one piece. Instead, they were often broken into several large parts and tied to strings that’d hang from the ceiling, or arranged in odd shapes on the walls. Sometimes the shape would resemble their eye, but most of the time it looked like nonsense.

“Nah, I have a different place in mind.” Petra replied.

“Have we been there before?” Cassie tilted her head.

“Perhaps.” Petra said, “Just gotta wait and see.”

The two stayed on the path, which was a mix of netherrack, gravel, and soul soil, passing under the hanging decor above.

Wooden poles were on each side of the path with rope tied to the tops, connecting them together while chimes, flags, and glass hung from the threads. When a hot breeze came by, the Neighborhood would create its own music. The clinking of the glass, the flapping of banners, the clattering of metal chimes, and the creaking of wooden doors created this strange but soothing sympathy to fill the silence.

“How’re things with the other Jesse and Olivia goin’?” Petra asked, swinging her sword around.

“Frustrating.” Cassie huffed.

“Oh?”

“Things were kinda going okay until Aiden decided to basically blurt out what was happening to our Jesse. Now Stella’s all stressed out, and we gotta keep an eye out for that cult creep, and Aiden’s probably gonna be super bummed that he made poor little Jesse upset--” Cassie ranted.

“I remember bout Aiden spillin’ the beans.” Petra commented. “Sorry everything’s been stressful.”

“It’s been so freaky with those two around! I dunno if I should be happy, upset, but Hero, everytime I look at them for more than a minute I start to feel sick.” Cassie felt that familiar queasy feeling rising in her stomach, “I’m not saying they’re bad people or something, just that… Everything sucks. And having our Jesse running around isn’t helping.”

“I mean, it’s a weird situation. Don’t blame you at all for feeling that way. Heck, even when I first saw them I was thrown off. Felt like two freaks wearing Olivia and Jesse’s skins.” Petra noticed her friend falling behind and waited for her to catch up.

“That’s a fun way to put it.” Cassie said, trudging along.

“Jess and Liv,” Cassie mumbled, “they’re nice, but I can’t wait for them to go home. I wanna forget this ever happened. They make me miss those two all over again.”

“I can imagine.” Petra went quiet when Cassie joined her side. The sounds of the Neighborhood filled the air.

Petra extended her arm out, “I’m here for ya, though, ya know? If you ever wanna complain, cry, or get angry about that Radar guy, I’m always here.” It was hard to see it, but through the gaps of the skull’s teeth, Petra was giving her a smile.

“Thanks.” Cassie took one hand out of her pocket and went to lock arms with Petra, something they used to do years ago, “I mean it.”

“Course.” Petra said.

And with that, the two picked up the pace.

Petra glanced at her friend then glanced at the various portals surrounding them, “I’m gonna guess Jesse and Olivia didn’t walk through an obsidian portal, right?”

“No, some weird blue portal. Probably lapis. I wish it was somethin’ as easy as obsidian.” Cassie sighed. “I’m guessing you haven’t seen Jesse recently?” She asked.

“Nope.” Petra lied, “Not yet. I’ll let you know though.”

Cassie gave her a nod and looked ahead. They were nearing the Nether Fortress. Their Nether Fortress.

Seeing this place after so long… It was like seeing it for the first time again. The broken, tall towers, the bridge stretching across the sea of lava, the ruined railway system, it was so otherworldly. The only thing missing were those hundreds of monsters crawling around the place that Cassie and Petra used to beat up.

That wide open bridge over boiling magma--with the Fortress being so close--was just begging Cassie to run across it.

Petra noted Cassie’s excitement and unlocked arms with her.

“Go ‘head, I’ll be right behind ya.” Petra said with a grin, and on cue, Cassie bolted off to the entrance.

Memories of the two of them raced through Cassie’s mind. The hot air hitting her face, the colors blurring together, her feet stinging each time they hit the ground, it was just like old times. This was liberating.

“Hey, I’m winning!”

Cassie whipped her head at just the right time to see Petra taking the lead.

“Not for long!” Cassie hollered as she picked up the pace.

They were both set on the entrance. Cassie could see Petra out of the corner of her eye. She could feel the confidence radiating from her, like she knew she was gonna win. But not this time.

When Cassie was just feet from the entrance, she dived. She crashed into the ground, her pumpkin making a loud THUD when it hit the floor.

Before she could push herself up, Petra fell on top of her. She must’ve had the same idea.

Both of them were laying on the ground, panting and laughing.

“Pretty sure I won.” Petra finally said.

“Nu-uh, my hand made it past the entrance first!” Cassie shot back, still breathing heavily.

“Yeah, but your hand didn’t touch the ground first, so technically--”

“Since when were you about technicalities?!” Cassie exclaimed. Petra could hear the laughs between her words.

“Alright, if it’ll make you happy, then I’ll admit it…” Petra got up and helped Cassie to her feet. “We tied.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Welp, guess we’ll never know who won.” Petra shrugged. Cassie gave her a playful shove.

“Yeah, yeah.” Cassie adjusted her belt. The two stopped and faced an intersection of three hallways.

“Which way do we need to go?” asked Cassie.

Petra glanced at the wooden arrow signs above then pointed ahead, “Straight, then a left, then straight again.”

“Got it.” Cassie started walking and couldn’t help but snicker at the words on the signs. There were a bunch of those signs hanging around here, their original words have long since faded, so she and Petra took some creative liberties.

Cassie recalled those directions, they were heading towards the ‘Spicy Abyss’, which was the second bridge on the other side of the Fortress. It's in ruins, so the two of them just like to sit on the edge and enjoy the view.

The middle sign was ‘Lotsa Boxes’, which is the hallway they’re currently walking through. It’s a rather wide hall--nearly as wide as the bridge they just crossed--that’s filled with abandoned stalls, carts, and chests. The stalls had boxes in, on, and around them, the old carts had boxes in them, and the chests--the chests were already boxes. This place must’ve been a Trading Hall, a storage, or even a marketplace for the Neighborhood back then. The way everything was arranged reminded Cassie of the night-market in Obsidian Town; lots of trading, buying, and selling, except not in the middle of the blazing-hot Nether.

Banners hung from short poles in the walls, all shades of red, turquoise, and gold while covered with symbols and faded words advertising goods. When Cassie and Petra first found this place, they were surprised at how many tools, ores, and old books were left behind, so of course they gathered them all up and sold ‘em. Made them a great deal of money!

The two took a left and continued down another hallway. They were pretty close to ‘Petra Fell’; those were the words on the last sign. It was one of the three tall towers you could see through the windows. It was the shortest of the bunch, it’s upper half is completely missing, but it was the best place to climb and get a fantastic view.

Cassie and Petra haven’t been on top of that tower in years. The last time they were, Petra was playing around near the edge, stumbled, and nearly fell to her death had it not been for Cassie catching her. Petra’s been terrified of heights since then. Cassie can’t blame her.

It’d be nice to rush through that tower again with Petra, even if she didn’t want to go to the very top, it’d be a great… The tower…

It looked different.

Cassie couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was off. She could feel it.

“Hey, did that tower get shorter? Or have I just been gone for too long?” Cassie asked.

Petra didn’t even glance at the tower, “Already noticing my hard work, I see.”

“Hard work?” Cassie tilted her head. Petra didn’t elaborate. Cassie kept pestering her, but she wouldn’t budge until they reached the end of the hall.

Where there used to be a big, gaping hole was now covered up by tons of banners. They were sloppily sewn together, trying to hide every piece of the other side.

“So,” Petra began, “Remember how I said I had a different place in mind to find those items?”

“Yeah?” Cassie answered slowly.

“And remember how we always wanted to build that bridge to the other side of the Nether?” A grin grew on Petra’s face as she watched Cassie’s eyes light up.

Cassie gasped, “No, nu-uh, you did not!”

“I did.” Petra raised her brows. When Cassie took another step forward, Petra yanked the banners off to reveal a magnificent bridge that stretched across the sea of lava and connected to the other side of the Nether. It was a mish mash of netherrack, nether brick, gravel, and even some obsidian. There weren’t any rails on it, and Cassie was certain it hardly had any support underneath it.

It looked dangerous.

It looked fantastic.

Petra watched Cassie take all this in. She was bouncing in place, hands over her mouth, all excited like a li’l kid. Man, Petra could only imagine what Cassie’s face was like under that pumpkin. Her eyes were probably sparkling and she had that big, dorky smile that’s bright enough to light up this entire fortress.

“Oh Hero, oh--Oh I canNOT believe you!” Cassie exclaimed, grabbing Petra and shaking her excitedly before giving her a big hug.

“Hey, we always wanted to see more of the Nether together.” Petra chuckled, “Thought this would be a nice little surprise for when you came back.”

Cassie let go to look at the bridge again; Petra took a lungful of air.

“And don’t worry, it’s stable.” Petra said, “I’ve tested this bad boy out hundreds of times and only had several near death experiences.”

“Perfect, great! All I need to hear.” Cassie was revved up. She dug her feet into the ground, ready to blast off, but she stopped herself. “Agh, wait. I promised Aiden I’d come back home soon.”

“How soon?” Petra leaned against the wall.

“Like, by the end of tomorrow, I think?”

“Well, you got here at a pretty good time, so we got, what? Several hours to work with?” Petra tapped the skull’s chin, “If we’re fast enough, we could see some good sights and get your stuff. So whaddya say?”

Petra got closer to Cassie, “Wanna see how fast we can blast through this sucker?”

Despite the skull hiding her face, Cassie knew Petra was smiling, and Cassie smiled right back at her.

#mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm petra #mcsm cassie #fic #another part of apwhnpmcsmwasamcsm #it is like a half chapter!!#enjoy!!

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cant-think-of-anything · 3 years

Text

Pirate AU (Part Eight)

They stayed at Carstairs’ ship that night. The storm was still raging, a vicious reminder of what they had lost. Eugenia wasn’t close with Cordelia but she could recognize the change in her. Anger seemed to run just under her skin as she paced the length of what served as the living room.

“We must get him back. Immediately.”

Lucie stood and took her hand gently. She whispered something Eugenia couldn’t hear but some of the tension went out of Cordelia’s shoulders.

“How are we going to find him?” Thomas asked from his corner of the room.

Eugenia saw the shift in Thomas too. He could act quite recklessly when people he cared about were in danger and if the way he looked at Alastair was any indication, he did care quite a lot.

“I’m not sure. They have to be expecting us by now. I’m not sure what they’re going to do with-”

Cordelia’s voice broke off, tears sparkling in her eyes. In the brief silence Eugenia heard a soft thud outside. It could’ve been the storm, but something pushed her to stand. Murmuring that she would be back, Eugenia stepped into the rain, ducking under into the passageway.

“Kamala,” She muttered.

And indeed their enemy ships navigator stood before her, looking at her uncertainty.

“We’re doing this once more?” Eugenia asked, waving her hand to gesture to their situation. “Shouldn’t you be with the friend of mine you took?

“I told you that I would only spare you,” Kamala whispered, and Eugenia’s heart took a traitorous lurch. There was a long pause before she added; “Your friend is on the last floor of the ship. But Tatiana doesn’t plan to keep him there. Do not try to come and rescue him.”

“Where is she taking him? Why shouldn’t we go?”

Kamala shook her head making a frustrated sound. “I am sorry. I don’t know what she’s planning beyond that but if you go she will kill you. I…”

She stopped again, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “I will try to help you as much as I can but not if you plan something that ends in your harm.”

Eugenia took a hesitant step closer. “Why are you helping us?”

“I’m helping you.”

Their faces were closer now and Eugenia could feel the small amount of warmth coming off of her in the rainy winds. Kamala slowly brought her hand up to Eugenia’s hair, pushing a stray curl away. She didn’t take her hand away.

“Why do you want to help me then?” Eugenia breathed, afraid that if she spoke too loud Kamala would pull away.

Kamala smiled a little then, her lovely dark eyes shimmering with something Eugenia couldn’t place. Then she moved closer still. “Eugenia may I-”

Eugenia answered the question before she finished, pressing her lips gently against Kamala’s. She was fairly certain her brain melted, warm sparks lighting up her cold rain soaked skin. They broke apart and Kamala’s perfect lips twisted into a smile.

“I certainly have my reasons for helping.” She said softly.

She turned to the ladder and stopped again. Reaching into her coat she pulled out Eugenia’s longsword. Eugenia let out a soft noise of disbelief, trying to calm her heart.

“Be safe for me Eugenia.”

~~~

All Alastair could feel was panic. It seemed like the only thing that his mind could process. He was sitting in one of the cramped cells stacked near the wall as if there was any way he’d be able to escape even outside the cell. Mercifully they’d left his jacket on, the dreary weather cut through the wood as if it wasn't there. But he couldn’t focus on that. The room was dark and his hands were bound, if he closed his eyes his mind would take him to a different ship.

The Carstairs ship never housed traditional pirate swords and there was a reason for it. His father left a world of problems for him before his death, one of them being money. Alastair had to pay that price, he refused to let his mother or sister do it, and pirates had no legal or moral constraints when it came to revenge. If you couldn’t pay in money you’d pay in blood.

Memories rushed up before he could stop them, the deep cuts on his back and chest that he couldn’t feel because his body tried to protect him, the burn of the ropes binding him across his wrists, the dank smell of the prison he was held in. He remembered the way he had escaped that ship too. He’d lied to Cordelia, saying they were docked at a small village because of a job when in reality he was suffering for the actions of his father. So he snuck back into their own ship at night when she was asleep.

The next morning he faked sick, twisting in agony as the pain of his cuts finally sank in with nothing to block the unbearable burn. Cordelia still didn’t know the full extent, but Alastair knew she had her suspicions. It had happened a few years ago, a crew whose name Alastair’s mind had blocked out but he remembered their faces.

He forced his eyes open with a shudder, there was a slashed piece of fabric on the floor, a piece of a dress. His brain anchored to it, reminding him of where he was. There was a sudden groan of wood, and when Alastair looked up he saw the hole in the ceiling again, watched in faint interest a rope dropped down.

It was the silver haired girl. Grace Blackthorn.

He pushed himself up onto his feet, if he died so be it but he’d be damned if he died on the floor like a coward. She approached his cage and regarded him, a closed-off expression that he recognized. It was the same one he wore on his own face so often.

“My mother isn’t going to keep you. She wishes to put you at the mercy of the London government instead.”

Alastair arched an eyebrow. “Why? She wanted leverage, she has me now. Did she not want us dead?”

“She wants the Herondales dead. You interfered but she thinks killing you will cause a bigger outrage.”

In some ways it was smart. If Tatiana had killed him, Cordelia would have moved mountains to make sure her throat was slit. Leaving him to be imprisoned… it created a distraction and a shift in blame.

He said none of this. Instead he gestured to the locked bars. “Are you going to let me out then?”

Grace shook her head. “Not yet.” She handed him a glass of water.

Reaching out warily he took it, smelled the faint aroma of cinnamon. “This is drugged.”

A scowl. “Drink it. Either that or rot here while your sister tries to rescue you and gets killed while doing it.”

Alastair fought the urge to flinch and downed the cup.

~~~

Lucie gently stroked through Cordelia’s dark red hair, the taller girl had her head in her hands, rocking with her eyes closed.

Eugenia and Thomas were in the room, sitting near the fire as they talked. Lucie wondered about the slightly dazed expression on Eugenia’s face before her mind was snapped back to Cordelia.

“Lucie,” She whispered. Lucie looked at her dark eyes, smoky quartz surrounding the color of the night. If she wasn't rubbish at poetry she would've written for ages about that color. She already had inserted quite a few lines about it into one of her novels.

“Yes?” Lucie managed to respond.

“Thank you for staying. You didn’t-”

“I did. Do not thank me. Whoever hurts you Cordelia, I will hurt them back.”

Cordelia looked surprised by the outburst of violence, Lucie felt rather startled herself. Cordelia opened her mouth to say something but she was cut off by Eugenia hurrying towards them, a worried look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Lucie said, quickly standing up.

“Alastair…” Eugenia started, glancing down at a letter in her hands and back up at them. “He’s in jail.”

“He’s where?” Cordelia asked her face furrowed in confusion.

“Jail. Like prison.”

“How did you know?”

Eugenia flushed though it could have been from the warmth of the room. “A letter. Probably from the Fairchilds. What do we do?”

“Cordelia,” Lucie said softly, tugging on her sleeve. “I know you want to save Alastair, we all do, but it will be better if one of us goes. The Fairchilds know us and we have a better excuse for being caught there.”

Cordelia’s expression shuttered a bit but she nodded, recovering quickly. “We can’t break him out now. If we do we risk making our entire family a target and if they start digging deeper into our history the fake identities will fall apart.” As if she was talking to only herself she added “He wouldn’t want me to put our mother in danger.”

Lucie felt distance surprise, she rarely heard about the elder Ms. Carstairs. From what she gathered, she was away, sick or something of that sort.

Cordelia gestured to Thomas, who had looked tense as a bowstring ever since Alastair’s abduction.

“You’re friends with Mr. Fairchild aren’t you?”

Thomas looked a bit startled. “Yes?”

“Could you go? Talk to Alastair and make sure he's okay?”

He nodded slowly and approached the girls. “Do you want me to tell him anything else?” His voice was low, meant for Cordelia’s ears only. Lucie tried to focus on the rain pounding outside or the crackling fire but she still heard when Cordelia responded “Just tell him I love him.”

~~~

Thomas didn’t know what he was doing. It felt strange, sneaking around the place that Matthew’s parents worked as if he was a criminal. He supposed he was given recent events. In complete honesty he felt relieved. He wanted so badly to help Alastair, even before he’d been taken. But the possibility of him dying was unbearable. Logically Thomas knew that he didn’t know much about Alastair, but he wanted to.

The room was dark, everyone but the prisoners were gone. Thomas managed to find his way into the cell room. It was nearly empty, there were only three cells and they served as a temporary housing. He approached the only one that was inhabited, pulling the keys from a hook near the door.

“Alastair,” Thomas hissed, barely able to see the smaller man.

The figure shifted and rose, making Thomas belatedly realize that he had been asleep.

“Thomas?” Alastair muttered, his face finally coming into the moonlight

He felt a knot of tension release when he saw that Alastair was mostly unharmed. Sliding the key into the lock he started to pull the door open but Alastair stopped him.

“You cannot.”

“I know,” He responded, still swinging the door open. Alastair regarded him with surprised eyes as he stepped into the cell propping the door open with one foot. Thomas’s gaze fell on Alastair’s arm.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around the other boy’s slim forearm, pulling him a little closer.

“It’ll be fine. It’ll scar over.” Alastair’s voice hitched on the word “scar”. When Thomas looked up he could see that his black pupils were dilated in the light of the moon. “You should leave before you get caught.”

Thomas nodded faintly before stepping back, his hands still tingling from where their skin made contact. He winced slightly as the door fell back into place and locked.

“We won’t leave you, Alastair.” He managed before turning back to leave the way he came in. And if Alastair whispered a response long after he left, Thomas wouldn’t know.

~~~

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno and @barbra-lightwood (lmk if you want to be added)

#i just realized i never said my name #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #eugenia lightwood #kamala joshi #joshwood #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #lucelia #tlh #the last hours #tsc #my writing

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dollfaceeeeee · 3 years

Text

There’s something eery about it.

I can’t quite put my finger on it, even as the horse stops with a sudden halt outside the looming gates of Crimson Peak.

It’s dilapidated, spiraling and stretching toward the sky, damaged and crumbling at the seams, but the darkness that sweeps over it seems to call to me, even from the distance separated between us.

I’m not so sure I can move fast enough to meet it.

Stepping out into the cool, English air, it tickles the nape of my neck, dragging loops of my raven colored hair from the knot of tresses on top of my head, and I hum in approval as John attempts to drag the crates containing my things from the back of the carriage.

The driver, William, is already down and trying to help too, but they both huff under the weight of it all, making a dusting of heat crawl over my spine in embarrassment.

Gathering the ends of my skirts, I attempt to wade through the frosted, muddy ground below us, but I realize with dread that it sticks heavily to my shoes.

“Did something happen here, William? It seems..”

William shoots me a quizzical smile, dragging the last of my things out before the crate slams onto the ground, and I flinch slightly at the noise as John dusts himself off.

“It seems old, and kind of spooky, doesn’t it? Well, it used to belong to the Sharpes. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? About Thomas and Lucille and all those women? Luckily his last wife, Edith, escaped, or she would have died too. It’s sad, honestly, and the place needs a lot of work, but I’m sure you have it plenty figured out. Johnny, here, will get it warm and comfortable in no time at all.”

John peers at me quietly, trying to read my expression on the whole thing, but I’m sure I don’t reveal anything; trying to stay cool and collected at the idea of what might have happened in this house to other women.

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.

“So, how did you come across acquiring this place, then, John, darling?”

He shrugs, his tall stature hunching as he attempts to gather my belongings in his arms; his golden hair tucked neatly behind his ears, exposing the honey hues in his hazel eyes.

“At an auction. Remember, I told you about that last Autumn? Although, this is the first time I’ve ever seen it, and I might be regretting it.”

Giving it another look, I can see the majesty in it, but also the haunted curves of its’ design, looming over the land like a predator ready to consume prey, and my throat tightens before John’s heavy hand clasps my shoulder.

“Don’t worry so much, Emily. Come, we must go inside. I can’t have my new bride catching a chill.”

It is dreadfully cold, I think bitterly, so I don’t hesitate at the idea of finding warmth, and I take his elbow as we make our way toward the house.

As we edge closer, I have a certain feeling of dread settling over my system, the looming pull of the house tucking me carefully inside of its’ walls.

The chill of the house hits me as soon as John and I cross the threshold, the clatter of my belongings hitting the floor making me flinch away from him, my heart hammering in my ears.

There’s something off about this place, I can feel it, even when William drags the rest of our things in behind us; dropping them much more gently on the old rotting floorboards.

“It is a bit damp in here, madam, I’m sorry. I’ll go get a fire started for you and John and then be on my way. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us tomorrow, don’t we?”

John nods, gazing up at the sweeping high ceilings of the house, creaking with the gentle gusts of wind drifting through the cracks, especially the large gaping hole dead center, leaving a pile of slush in the middle of the front room floor.

The idea of anyone willingly buying this house makes me raise an eyebrow questioningly, but I ignore the thought as I try to ponder how many possible rooms this place has.

Dozens, most likely.

“Why don’t you have a look around? I’ll let you pick our room, so you’re more comfortable, and I’ll get started on something for dinner.”

I give him a nod as he draws me in close to his side, pressing his lips against my temple gently, and I can smell the faint hint of orange blossoms on his collar, making me smile.

If I had to find him with my eyes closed, that is exactly what I would search for, the scent of orange blossoms.

“Don’t you think it’s a little, um..?”

John chuckles, shrugging slightly before strolling through the front parlor, taking a look at the ceiling more pensively.

“Since when were you against a little bit of a challenge, Mrs. Peterson?”

I roll my eyes at the statement before gathering my skirts once again and ascending the staircase to the upper floor, my feet shifting painfully over the old wood; wincing as I hear some of the wood snap under me.

I can’t see that being much of a good thing for our future children, and I put the thought steadily in my mind, leaving John behind in the parlor to explore.

The house is very old, and if it isn’t evident from the outside, the upper hallways tell the tale; large, dusted paintings of elegant women sit peering at me from behind the veils of glass, and the ugly crimson walls chip painfully with every step I take past them.

It’s almost never ending, but I duck my head into every room I pass, some of them still containing furniture, to my surprise; ornate bathtubs and copper molding and porcelain sculptures that have long become dusty with age, along with the pale blue bedding that covers each bed I see.

In its’ prime, this house would have been gorgeous, a stunning thing to behold, but now it was barely holding itself together, gripping onto each other by the tips of fingers.

I pass a room without looking, almost not noticing the large oak door, but I stop rigidly once I hear it creak open loudly from behind me, the old doorknob wiggling wildly in greeting.

Spinning around, my heart almost stops as I take in the pale shape standing before me, not even four feet away, his eyebrows drawn sharply together as he eyes me intently; his body like a statue, cold and tall and very not lifelike in the slightest.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, but I know that I’ve never seen this man before, not in my entire life, but I know the likelihood of John hearing me all the way up here is low, intensely low, and the thought alone makes me terrified.

He looks familiar in the strangest way, in the most peculiar sense, and I can almost put my finger on it where I know him from, but I can’t seem to figure it out.

“Who...who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

The side of his mouth dips down into a lopsided frown, his dark hair curling around his ears before he gazes over his shoulder, almost taking a protective stance in front of me.

“You can’t be here. Please, you must leave. You must leave now, before she finds you.”

Scoffing, I shake my head, trying to convince myself he’s either a part of my crazy imagination, or maybe, just maybe, he’s helping William with the house.

But I don’t think either of those, deep down in my soul, are true at all.

“This is my house. I think it’s best if you leave, actually. I don’t even know who-“

“Thomas,” he says swiftly, creeping toward me, “Thomas Sharpe.”

That’s where I know him from.

“No, that’s impossible. Is this some sick joke? Thomas Sharpe is dead.”

He nods, swallowing loudly before creeping even closer to me, almost too close for my comfort.

“I am Thomas Sharpe. And if my sister, Lucille, finds you, you’re going to be dead, too.”

#crimson peak #thomas sharpe #thomas hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine

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meetthetank · 3 years

Text

Cruciamen Chapter 12: Pest Control

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (Nier) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214/chapters/83494138

A2 lies in their bed, blankets askew, and ponders the Elders of their home village while they stare at the wooden ceiling.

The Elders were stubborn, staunch traditionalists to the end, and severe, but they were also wise and kind. They took care of the village and led their people through good times and bad. A2 remembers how the cubs would gather around the Storyteller when she visited their classes, their eyes wide with wonder at the old legends and the old language. They remember the times where cocksure warriors would challenge a passing master and gawp at how quickly the hobbling woman would disarm them. They remember how the village men would study the intricate weaving and architecture of the old builders and seamsters for hours on end and how many failed replications would be offered to lovers as gifts.

A2 remembers how the oldest would hide how their scales and feathers fell out, or how the men’s brilliant plumage would fade. They remember how when an Elder would draw close to death they would hide themselves away from the rest of the village, but everyone would know. A2 would know too, when an Elder was about to die, even at that young age. There is an instinct to let the suffering member of their family sequester themself away, despite their pain.

A2 wonders idly, as they hold a fistful of brittle feathers, if that’s what they’re feeling.

The downy feathers beneath their hair had started to fall out a couple of days ago, right around the time the salves and bandages had stopped working. It wasn’t unusual that their down would shed every so often, typically around the summer months. At first A2 had thought it was because of the humidity of the area that threw off their body’s natural rhythms. Then the feathers had started falling out by the fistful, and they knew something was very wrong. They noticed the swelling of their wounds not long after, followed by the yellowish pus that seeped from them. They’d get exhausted from climbing a single set of stairs and couldn’t eat or drink too much too quickly, otherwise they’d vomit everything back up.

They’re falling apart again.

They should be used to this. Their first month outside their treetop village, they had almost starved before they could find a meal. Then there had been their time spent in the rotting mud of The Bog. Now they’re wasting away once more, but in a much more comfortable way. Sometimes, when the poppyseed milk A4 brings them first hits and their swollen wounds stop aching, they feel as if they could simply drift away into the abyss. It would be a gentle death, a quiet one. Yet every time they awake to the morning sun filtering into their room.

Their chest rattles and aches with each breath; even this is exhausting. Lying in bed, helpless as their wounds seep with infection and pus, their bandages become sticky and tough along with their sheets. When they shift in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position, loose scales fall from their body, leaving the raw skin exposed.

If they hadn’t been taken in by A4 and her convent, they would have died. Wild dogs would have taken them down or vultures would have picked apart their body while they lay helplessly on the ground. But now they’re condemned to waste away...

A fat rat scrambles on top of their chest after sniffing around their pus caked leg. It looks at them with beady little eyes, its whiskers twitching as it sniffs around their shirt. It waits for them to respond, and when nothing happens it begins scratching at their skin, looking for soft flesh.

A2’s hand lashes out, snagging the rodent by the head. It struggles for a moment before they plunge their claws into its neck, severing its spine instantly. The rodent goes limp in their hand as they sit up.

The convent doesn’t eat meat except on feast days, they’ve learned, and when they do they boil it. This raw rat has to be one of the most delicious things they’ve eaten in their life. Their teeth tear tiny strips of flesh and bone from the fattened rodent, its blood running down their lips and chin.

“By the Saints-”

A4 stands in their doorway, her hand over her mouth hiding a look of disgust and awe as A2 slurps down the rest of the rat.

“What?” they ask, as if they don’t have rat viscera stuck in their teeth.

She shakes her head and sets her bundle of fresh bandages and clothes. “You look like s-...” She stops herself from swearing, A2 can tell. “You look worse than yesterday.” The nun’s brows furrow as she looks the coatyl up and down, bright emerald eyes scrutinizing every stain on their sheets and clothes. “There’s more discharge than before, you’ll need to start taking medicinal baths soon if-”

“No way.” A2 grunts and takes another bite. “M’ fine. Just sore.”

A4 glares at them, but keeps her thoughts to herself. She eyes the remains of the rodent in A2’s claws. “Did you… catch that?”

“Yeah.” A2 gulps the last of the rat down their throat.

When A4 gives them a dismissive look at the same time another rat scurries past her feet, A2 leaps into action. They dive for the rodent, scooping it up in their hand and skidding across the wooden floor. A4 stumbles back with a gasp, startled by the sudden movement, but the shock is quickly surpassed by an awkward smile.

A2 struggles to their feet, grits their teeth to hide their pain, and holds out the struggling animal to her. “See?”

“That’s-” A4 stammers. “You’re very good at that.”

A2 grins, strangely proud of themself. “I am an apex predator after all.”

The nun snickers, “About as threatening as a fat house cat.”

They feel their blood run cold at the mention of those animals. The rat in their hand squirms out of their grip and scampers away, escaping into a hole in the wall. “Wh-... cats? Are there cats here?!”

She puts her hands up, quick to quell their fears, as confusing as those fears may be. “Don’t worry! We don’t have any cats here. Which… is also why there’s so many rats…”

A2 begins to remark that rats are better than cats, but a coughing fit forces them to double over. Their chest and throat tighten and they can only clutch at their neck as their body trembles with each spasm. A4 is by their side in an instant with a clean rag in hand. She forces their hand away and wipes the spit and rat blood from their face.

“That cough sounds bad…” A4 mutters while examining A2. “If the Bog Rot has spread to your internal organs-”

“I’m fine!” A2 snaps, then sighs. “It’s fine. Just ate that one rat too fast.”

“Are you sure?”

They can’t stay mad at the genuine worry in A4’s voice.

“I’m sure.”

A4 stares at A2 with those deep green eyes. She stares right through them, leaving A2 to sift through all of the repressed memories that those eyes bring back. They keep their composure aside from biting the inside of their cheek, and it seems that A4 doesn’t pick up on the small gesture. She goes back to her basket of supplies and motions for A2 to sit on the edge of their bed.

After she helps A2 change their bandages, clean their sores, and change them into clean clothes, A4 all but drags them by the arm (gently of course) out of their room. She insists that the fresh air will help every time she walks them around the Convent, and at first it did. The outside air and gentle breeze filled their lungs with renewed energy. Now, each breath of cool air makes their chest hurt and their joints ache.

A harsh gust of wind rattles the leaves of the surrounding woods and cuts through their clothes, straight down to their bones. They can smell rain in the air and the humidity clings to the inside of their throat. With each breath more heat escapes their body. They wrap their arms around themself and fail to suppress a shiver. A4 casts them a worried look but they straighten up and attempt to hide their pain. They keep their head held high, proudly looking at the path ahead. A2 is prepared to face the biting cold moisture with a steely gaze.

They’re not prepared for the soft shawl that gets wrapped around their shoulders.

A4 tugs their arm, pulling them back to face her. She pulls the grey shawl tighter and ties it snug against them. Already, shielded from the wind and mist, A2 feels warmth return to their body.

“Don’t be stubborn,” A4 says, locking eyes with the coatyl. “If you catch a cold on top of everything else, I’m going to throw you in the medicinal baths myself.”

A2 can’t help but smirk. “That’s a little violent for a nun.” They lean down, putting their face right in hers. “And what makes you think you could even pick me up, let alone throw me?”

Undeterred, A4 rolls up the sleeve of her dress and flexes her arm. The tanned skin of her arm ripples with well-toned muscle well-hidden by her clothes and a thin layer of fat. A2’s can only stare wide-eyed at the nun, mouth agape.

“I think I have a chance,” she says with a smug grin.

A2’s mind trips over itself trying to piece together a witty response from the shattered remnants of their consciousness. When that fails they opt for an intelligent response, and when that fails as well, they try a coherent one.

They cross their arms over their chest and huff. “Whatever, I’m still bigger than you.”

“You might be taller,” A4 retorts, jabbing her finger at an unmarred spot near their elbow, “but you weigh a lot less now. Probably about as much as a sack of flour, or a toddler.”

She giggles as A2 shoves her playfully, but their bright smile fades quickly the more those forest colored eyes study them. A2 almost feels how her eyes roam over their ravaged body and the weight of what she said in jest makes itself apparent.

They open their mouth to quell her anxieties, but A4 beats them to it.

“I have to ask,” she begins, wringing a fistful of her white apron, “and forgive me if this is to prying, but…”

She seems to shrink under A2’s impassive gaze.

“Why do you refuse more thorough care?” She asks, “If this illness gets to the point where-... I mean what's the purpose of letting it get this bad? I know I can’t force you to accept-”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” A2 snaps. “Why are you going out of your way to help a total stranger you picked up off the ground?”

A4 flinches but regains her stalwart expression quickly. “I’m a nun of The Order of Devoted. It’s my job to help those in need of aid, regardless of who they might be.”

Her intense gaze never leaves A2 as she waits for an answer. A proper answer. A4 will not allow them to dodge this any longer, not when they’re teetering on the point of no return.

“I hate being indebted to people.” A2 sighs and keeps their eyes forward, locked on something far, far away.

“Wh-” A4 composes herself, eager to pry into her mysterious patient’s inner workings. “How come?”

“Or people being indebted to me, for that matter,” they add. “It doesn’t sit right, you know? Getting a free meal or whatever. I gotta work it off somehow.”

A4 stares at them as if their expression might reveal their hidden self. The coatyl keeps their cool blue-grey eyes locked on the horizon.

“My sister went into a job like that. It was basically volunteering, never got paid or nothing, but it was something that had to be done, and something she’s resented for…”

A2 blinks and shakes their head. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

A4 makes the face she goes to when she’s about to launch into a lecture. Stern, furrowed brows, pursed lips, hands balled into fists. It’s cute.

She opens her mouth and the voice of an old, energetic woman comes out. Both her and A2 spin around to see Sister Margaret leaning out of the dormitory’s kitchen window, waving her arm at the pair.

“Four! I need a hand in here!” Margaret shouts.

“Coming!” A4 responds, then turns to A2 with a giggle. “Guess I’m on KP duty now.”

Even though they’ve only been here for at least half a month, A2 knows that arguing with the senior nun is pointless. They dutifully follow behind A4, wrapping the shawl tighter around their shoulders.

A4 looks over her shoulder, “You know you don’t have to come with me? You can head back to your room if you’d like.”

“What, and stare at the walls all day?” they snort. “It’s fine. I’ll sit down if I start feeling off.”

The two head into the dormitory and over to the kitchen. The scent of raw fish hits A2 the moment they walk in the doorway, their mouth watering within seconds. Ever since they entered the desert all those months ago they’ve had to eat everything but their favorite childhood food. Gazelle, antelope, field mice, and other game filled their stomach but it never tasted as good as a fresh-caught fish.

“Put a little pep in your step there, Four!” Sister Margaret shouts from the other side of a counter laden with all manner of ingredients. “There’s plenty to do and little time to do it.”

A2 can only stare as A4 puts her curly black hair in a tight bun and ties a spare kitchen apron around her waist. She dunks her hands into a basin of water and motions for A2 to do the same, which they do. The warm water soothes their aching joints for a moment. A4 hurries over to her mentor’s side, eagerly listening to the long list of tasks. A2 can’t help but be mesmerized by the way her hair bounces when she nods her head. The two women chat with each other, every so often glancing over to A2 and giggling. Whatever they’re saying, A2 can’t hear it. They're not sure if they want to.

“...Now hop to it, kiddo!” Margaret suddenly shouts, clapping her hands and sending a cloud of white powder into the air. “The Holy Day is in three days and if Mother Superior doesn’t get her Gateau de San Yonah then she’s going to make it everyone’s problem!”

“Holy day?” A2 asks, lifting an eyebrow and edging slightly closer to the basket of fish.

“Yep!” A4 perks up and smiles blindingly at them. “There’s a lot of special days that we observe throughout the year, and coming up is the Feast Day of Saint Yonah. It’s one of our more important Holy Days. Sister Abigail went to the nearest town to get enough supplies that we could make everything we need, and Sister Bernadette spent all day fishing!”

A2 takes that as an opportunity to go over and…inspect the haul. They pick up one of the fish, a sizable river trout, by its tail. Not a bad catch but it isn’t the king of the river at all. They squeeze it to gauge its muscle and fat. Again, not the worst but far from the best. Most of the trout in the basket look much the same if not smaller. There are some other species in there too; small catfish, a little bass, and a few other surface feeders. Nothing remarkable, yet…

While A4 is busy with something, they gulp down one of the smallest fish. Their throat hurts afterwards, but gods it is delicious. They want more, but if they take any more they’re going to feel terrible. It is for something special to A4 and the other nuns after all.

As A2 looks over the kitchen once more, something A4 does catches their attention. She pours a fine white powder into a bowl, followed by water and a pinch of salt. They wander over to her, craning their neck around to get a better peek at what in the world she’s doing.

“Would you like to help?” A4 asks, smiling at them.

“I would but…” A2 shrugs, “I have no idea what you’re doing.”

“You’ve never made-” A4 stops herself and looks back at A2. “...Do you cook food?”

A2 shakes their head, “Coatyls have raw diets. We don’t cook.”

“Ah. That explains the rats.”

Sister Margaret cackles, “If you’re so hellbent on paying us back, you should be our rat catcher!”

They scrunch up their face at that, not knowing if they should be offended or not. But at the same time… It’s almost the perfect job for them, at least for now.

“... Maybe,” they respond with a smirk. “Lemme think about that.”

“Anyway!” A4 shouts, bringing their attention back to their bowl of powders. “Making bread is easy. Here-”

She steps out of the way, taking A2’s hands into hers, and shoves them into the bowl before they have the chance to protest. The water and white powder on their hands makes for a… strange texture to say the least. They want to recoil away, but A4’s strong tanned hands keep theirs in place.

“Just mash your hands in there until all of the flour comes together into one ball.” She explains.

“Flour?”

“The white stuff.”

“Ah.”

They do as she says and clumsily try to bring together the flour and water, and to their surprise the strange slime does actually form this malleable… paste. The more they work with the paste the more pleasant it is to touch.

“Oh- before I forget.”

A4 suddenly rushes away, leaving a bewildered A2 wrist deep in a bowl of not-yet bread. They keep playing with their paste until she comes back carrying something covered by a thin cloth.

“Here,” she says as she unwraps her gift, revealing a loaf of honey-scented bread. “I saw you snatch a loaf the other day and try to play it off. If you like them so much you can just ask, silly.”

They blink, dumbfounded. “You… made this for me? Why?”

The nun sighs, glaring up at them. A2 can’t help but notice the way her cheeks flush red for a moment. “Because I’m being nice to you, idiot. Is that so hard to understand?”

A2 can only stare in awe as A4 sets the loaf of sweet bread down beside them with a huff, and as a strange, familiar warmth fills their chest.

“Oi!” Sister Margaret shouts, snapping A2 and A4 out of their thoughts. “If you two are going to flirt instead of work, go outside!”

The old woman waves her large wooden spoon at the two. A4 promises her mentor over and over that she’ll get back to the mountain of work ahead of her. Not once does she deny Margaret’s jab about the two of them. Somehow, that makes A2 smile.

#nier automata #nier automata fanfiction #fantasy au #A2 #A4 #a2 becomes gay gay homosexual gay #this chapter is soft by my standards

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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in support of Texas relief, @mystifiedgal donated $10, and requested Sam developing mind-reading and learning what Dean wants. Thank you for donating!

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(read on AO3)

It starts as dreams, the night after they lose Ava. They drove straight from Lafayette to Peoria and after Peoria they move one town over so as not to be newcomers in a town that just had a homicide, and they work all through that day, in Bloomington, calling contacts and putting out feelers, trying to see what might've happened to a short sweet dark-haired girl, a secretary, who'd never done a thing to deserve this. Sam couldn't stop thinking that, no matter how stupid it was. How Ava, how all the rest, hadn't done a single thing to merit this kind of punishment.

He falls asleep though he didn't think he would. Dean's reading at the table with the lamp turning the backs of his ears, his neck, pure white, and Sam's looking at him and thinking about Ava's face shocked-white in the neon from the motel, and then he's asleep, and he's dreaming but it doesn't feel like dreaming. It doesn't feel like a vision, either, how that vicious sharp reality climbs down his throat. In the dream he knows he's dreaming, and he isn't really there, and not even the vague protagonist-body that's usually in his dreams, when he dreams he forgot to study for an exam, or is standing in a rotting house with an empty gun and ghosts slipping through the walls, or smiling at a clever girl with her blouse unbuttoned just right. Instead this dream is—feeling. A wash of dark, and water lapping at the edges of a boat he can't seem to see beyond. Dean, sitting in the stern, his head in his hands, and because Sam isn't really here he can't yell or act or splash the dark water into Dean's face, but—as soon as Sam thinks that, about splashing the water, the surge of fear is so overwhelming that the world turns black. Dean's fingers curl against the side of his head, his ring flashing, and his lips are parted and wet and something unknown flashes through Sam's gut and when he wakes up, dragging in air like he's been running a mile, the room is dark and Dean's a curled lump on the other bed and Sam carries that strange, fearful feeling with him all through the next day, like a fresh-broken bone, throbbing.

Dean frowns at him when he's snappish at lunch, but doesn't call him on it. Dean's being careful with him, which Sam—hates, is grateful for. So Sam maybe didn't have the best reaction to finding out their dad's last words, and maybe the thing with Gordon was—a lot. Gordon was a lot. Ava, poor Scott Carey, Andy and Ansem, Max. It's all been a lot. Dean maybe has been struggling with the secret he was carrying but Sam's struggling with how his mouth tastes like metal all the time, thinking of yellow eyes looming up out of the dark, and so he'll take some concessions, maybe even a little pity, if it makes Dean focus on what they really need to focus on. Dean's letting him direct, not looking for other hunts, staying right here in Illinois and keeping his nose to the ground for Ava or for any hint of another 1983 kid with unexplained powers, and Sam doesn't need anything else, beyond that, not right now. They'll work out the rest later.

Trouble is: Sam's focus is split. He spends the day casing details of Ava's life, job and fiancé and family history and any single second where her life might have brushed against the dark, and at night his dreams are a flood. Black water, rising. Dean, terrified, and his skin that kind of white that comes from a flare of too much exposure, and his eyes dark hollows, and the bones standing out in his hands, clutching at his head. On the fourth night of everything the same choking claustrophobia Dean turns his face and Sam sees that he's bleeding, from the ears and from the corner of his mouth, and the blood is so dark it looks black, too, and Dean covers his mouth with one hand and then though the surrounding water is the same endless expanse the boat becomes that cabin where Azazel rode their dad's body, the shift seamless and unexplained in the way of dreams, and Dean's got a hole in his stomach, the blood flooding out onto the dry wood of the boat/cabin floor, and he puts lax fingers against it that don't stop the bleeding at all, and Sam wakes up that time and has to scramble for the bathroom, retching, although when he clutches the sides of the sink nothing comes up and his mouth just tastes like—saltwater.

That day Dean brings him coffee in the morning and tries to be circumspect. He's bad at it. "Starting to smell like a dorm room in here, man," Dean says, mouth quirked. "Laundry stank and BO and, uh, making like the Lone Ranger?" He makes a vague gesture around his lap, but his heart's not in it. "Gotta air it out, dude. See some sunlight for twenty minutes."

"I'm working," Sam says, but to be honest he's not. He's sitting there with Ellen's half-remembered list of demon sightings in the last six months and instead of working the map he's been staring at the closed curtains for the whole time Dean's been gone. He drags his good hand over his face and lets his heavy casted arm thump down over the notebook. Dean raises his eyebrows, letting a glance over the empty map make his point for him, and Sam sighs. "Making like the Lone Ranger?" he says.

Dean's smile gets more real. "Unless you've got a pretty little Tonto around here, somewhere—" he starts, and Sam rolls his eyes and flicks a crumpled ball of wasted notes at Dean's face, and while he's sputtering Sam says, suddenly desperate for it, "Yeah, okay, we could use some air. Laundromat around here?"

"Hey," Dean says, sitting up, "I don't think I heard myself volunteer for laundry duty—" and then, twenty minutes later, they're installed at a laundromat, empty at nine on a Tuesday morning, Dean bitching still about whose turn it is to fold the whites but looking decently happy, stretched out in one of the shitty plastic chairs with coffee resting on his belly and a morning talkshow on the crackling TV mounted in one corner of the ceiling, and Sam feels it.

Sam feels it. There's a chair between him and Dean, piled with a box of donuts and the police folder Dean went out and stole yesterday, and Sam grips the armrest on the side Dean can't see and squeezes so hard the metal edges hurt his hand, and it's welling up in him. A grey clouded day with a shaft of sunlight slipping through and warming a patch of cold dirt—that's what it feels like, Dean's happiness. Sam licks his lips and breathes shallowly, controlled. When he glances over Dean's watching the show—some sponsored segment about a special vacuum for pet hair, in which he seems completed absorbed—and he's relaxed, in that way that Sam's only ever seen Dean relaxed when they're alone. Completely in his body, unselfconscious of how he's taking up space, boots kicked out on the grimy floor, his eyes clear. A fleck of pink donut frosting on his top lip. There are shadows under his eyes because he doesn't sleep enough and there's a bruise at his temple where Gordon hit him, but he's okay, for this moment. Sam can feel it, in a completely distinct way to how he feels his own body, his own aches and tiredness and worry, and he sits there in ringing panic until the washer buzzes. Dean blinks, the spell of the daytime anchors suspended, and frowns at him, and says, "Hey, earth to egghead, I am here in a strictly supervisory capacity," and Sam has to roll his eyes again and stand up and deal with the laundry, and there's Dean, again, the happiness muted and rolled under—a dragging pull at the chest, an ache long-held and familiar. Worry, concern. Annoyance, too, and then as Sam's dumping their load of jeans and jackets into one of the rolling baskets that twinge of annoyance slips away into guilt, and he has to brace his hands on the sides of the basket and breathe again, slowly, trying not to crawl out of his skin with the violation of it.

"What?" Dean says, while Sam's silent over the wet clothes. "Did I leave gum in my pocket or something?"

He knows Dean. He has known Dean, from when he was little and running around after him thinking his big brother was the coolest smartest person in the world to when he was a sad kid thinking his brother didn't actually like him that much to when he was an angry teenager wishing his brother would take his side in anything, ever, for fucking once. Dean was always a known quantity, no matter what. No surprises. Sam knew when he was cheerful and angry and hurt and he knew how to deal with every version. This is—more than that.

No signs, still, of Ava. They move outward. Day trips, stretching out into different towns, different precincts. They split up, Sam renting a car, and on the state highways with the radio silent Sam tries to think, with Dean not around with his thoughts filling up the air between them.

He catches hints, with other people. A sheriff who's not sure why some U.S. Marshal is asking questions, and he's clearly annoyed but there's an undercurrent Sam catches, a sapping weariness and sorrow that Sam blinks over before he excuses himself, wondering. A search: a wife, recently dead at forty. Sam chews the inside of his cheek raw on the drive back to Bloomington, and Dean texts and says dinner? back in thirty and Sam replies I'll pick up pizza and he waits in the lobby of the pizza place with his knee jogging and a waitress smiles at him, professional, and Sam takes a deep breath and looks at her, taking in her sneakers worn around the edges and her muscular legs and the greys pulled back into her ponytail and she says, "Can I get you a Coke or anything while you wait, hon?" and a swirl of heat curls into Sam's stomach, slants down queerly low, and he sits up straight and watches her eyes flick over him, his chest and lower, and he blurts out, "No," and then, too late, "thank you," and she frowns and the heat fizzles out into disappointment and he thinks, fuck. Fuck. What now?

With Dean the feelings bloom raw and real and present. Sam doesn't have to look. A day of frustration and no leads but Dean doesn't actually feel the frustration, not really, because he's humoring Sam's obsession over finding this girl Dean never even met—and there's a little satisfaction there, too, something that makes Sam set his beer down a little too hard on the table when he recognizes it, because they're spinning their wheels here, Dean thinks, and that means that Sam's being kept here, safe, away from demons and whatever plans there might be, so he's getting what he wanted, after all. The second Apes movie is on the motel TV and Dean's watching that, scratching his belly idly after too much pizza, and Sam goes into the bathroom and sits on the closed toilet and presses his fingers into his ears so hard he can't hear anything but the beating rush of his own heart, and even through a closed door and quiet and dark behind Sam's eyes he can feel it: his brother, content to be here with Sam, on a night where nothing's yet gone wrong. Little does he know.

Is this some new shift, in Sam's visions? Not only to see the future but to see—what? He doesn't know how to define this. He's seen in movies when people read minds, like that terrible Mel Gibson thing that Dean loved even if he pretended it was shitty—it's always narrated dialogue, someone's thoughts piped directly into the psychic's head. What Sam's getting isn't as useful as that. Emotion, shifting sensation, the ebb and flood and draining drag of how people move through the difficult world. Guilt, misery. Contentment. Fury, brief and shocking, enough to make Sam snap the pencil he's holding, and he looks up to find Dean leafing through Dad's journal, his face a calm mask, and Sam thinks, jesus, he has to tell Dean. He has to, and yet: what can he possibly say?

The dreams are still bad. Sam comes awake like out of a sucking bog and he breathes slow, eyes on the ceiling. Dean's small snores in the next bed. The fear's a pool, lapping against Sam's skin, and he turns his head and says, very quietly, "Dean." There's no answer because of course Dean's deep asleep, of course he's dreaming, and Sam rolls over, watches the slow rise of Dean's chest, concentrates. The dark rises thick, miserable, but Sam already knows that part.

He gets up, keeping quiet, and takes the step between their beds. The room isn't all that dark, the parking lot lights seeping bright behind the curtains, so it's easy to see the gilded line of Dean's cheekbone, his lips parted in sleep, his eyes closed and still. His face tipped toward Sam's bed. Sam wants to touch it so abruptly that his fingers are already reaching out but he stops himself. He leans over, instead, bracing a hand on the headboard, and tries to focus, tries to pin down the amorphous shifting haze of Dean's thrumming head. When he closes his eyes he doesn't see the black lake, the creaking boat, but the fear slips, slides, lapping against him. Against them both. Sam can't grasp it. He's not Andy, to push thoughts into someone else, and he doesn't see how he could get control of this—to ease the fear, or tell Dean somehow that it's going to be okay even if, really, Sam's not sure that's true. He stands up and turns away, goes to the window to look out at the silent parking lot and breathe, waiting it out. The dream swells and subsides, around him, and maybe that's Dean slipping down into a different REM cycle or something but it's a relief. Sam presses his forehead against the cool glass. Visions, and now this. His pointless, stupid powers, that don't let him do anything except see shit he can barely hope to change. Whatever powers the yellow-eyed demon was after them for, Sam hopes he won't be disappointed that Sam's in particular are completely impotent.

By the time two weeks have gone by Sam's—used to it is maybe not the phrase, but he can deal. Still in Bloomington, still searching. Waiting around, now, mostly, for Ellen's contacts to get back to them, for Ash to come up with anything on a scrape of, as far as Dean could relate, the entire internet. If Sam's honest with himself he thinks they're never going to find Ava, and if they do certainly not alive, but they're looking anyway. Dean doesn't suggest they move on, doesn't argue for anything else. He keeps them fed and caffeinated, finds new badly bowdlerized action movies to watch on the room's TV, follows Sam's leads when Sam suggests a new avenue of searching. His dreams are a little calmer, maybe just from the fact that they're stalled in place—a vacation, of a sort, like Dean asked for even if they're doing nothing remotely fun—and during the day Sam sits surrounded by his thoughts and it's… comforting. Sort of.

Happy isn't the word, Sam realizes, for that thin sunlight feeling. Contentment, maybe. Dean has it when they're quiet together, when they're doing stupid chores like laundry or taking a break in research to make some salt rounds, when they're arguing over Stallone versus Van Damme for the tenth time. When they're working Sam's gut tightens without his say-so in random spikes of anxiety, of worry. His heart clenches and he actually puts a hand over it, and he's just reading the police blotter in the paper, so when he looks up and Dean's got his half open to the obits, Sam frowns and says, "What?"

Dean jerks, like he was caught at something. "I didn't say anything," he says, and his face is calm but his hand's spread over some thin column, some family's sadness, and when he gets up to piss Sam pulls the paper around and sees it's an obituary for someone's father, dead a little too early, and Sam sits back and puts his knuckles into his eyes and breathes out, trying to shake the lingering ache of it.

Coming out of the shower that night, Sam wraps a towel around his waist and steps out into the bedroom. "What's for dinner?" he says, thinking he'll argue for Chinese whatever Dean says, and thinking that he might try searching up more information about Ansem's family, in particular, to see if there were any patterns there they could use, and he's in his own head enough that it takes him a minute to feel how the room has shifted around him. He pauses, leaning over his duffle bag, trying to pinpoint.

"There's that cheesesteak place over on 15th," Dean says, easy, but he's not at ease. Sam's feeling that same unexpected swoop in his gut, that low achy pull, and this time it's not from a woman but from a guy and so it's a tightness in his nuts, his blood heating. Sam grips his t-shirt in both hands, tight enough that his broken wrist aches. His cheeks have flooded hot and he stands up, shrugs his shoulders and feels the cold air on the water still on his skin, and the—the lust, because that's what it is, this thick wanting that's pulsing up through his stomach—it swoops low, shifts, and the flooding rise of guilt and fear that follows is so fast that Sam coughs, shocked.

"Yo, Marlee Matlin," Dean says. "Cheesesteak?"

"Yeah," Sam says, not turning around. He doesn't want to see what face goes with this feeling. "No onions on mine."

Dean snorts. "Heathen," he says, and there's a rattle of the keys being dragged off the table and Dean swinging into his leather coat, and he says, "Have clothes on by the time I get back, you exhibitionist," and the tangled mix of wanting and terror and shame is so thick that Sam can still feel it when the door's slammed behind him, when the car's rumbling on, fading only when the sound of the engine does, and Sam turns around then finally and looks at the empty room and thinks—nothing. His brain doesn't know what to do with this.

The cheesesteaks are decent. They watch the local news for any blood-and-guts, and then Frasier reruns. Dean's content has been blasted away by what happened earlier but he's acting fine and Sam's wondering, now, how often he's been fine when something raw and bizarre was rearing up in him. How long it's been in him. "You okay?" Dean asks, at some point, light but careful, really asking, and Sam dredges up a half-smile from somewhere and shrugs, says, "Just thinking," and Dean rolls his eyes and says, "Oh, god help us all," and Sam throws a balled napkin at him, and Dean grins and swings into the bathroom and Sam hears the sink go on but when he closes his eyes his head is full of Dean's head, and he can almost see it: Dean braced over the sink, his head hung between his shoulders, his cheeks hot and his hands clenched and him saying to himself something like stop.

Sam blinks, back in the room. He did hear that. Stop, Dean says, inside his own head, loud and deliberate, but his thoughts swirl somewhere else and he's imagining—there's Sam's back, broad and damp and golden in the light, and the low line of the towel around his waist, and the wet curl of his hair around his ear, and how Dean wanted to put his mouth there, so badly he could almost taste the water—and then the harsh wave of recrimination floods the image out and Dean looks up into the mirror and thinks to himself, in clear words that he doesn't say out loud, you pathetic fucking freak, and Sam has to get up off the bed and slam out of the room and stand in the parking lot with freezing air on his bare arms and he holds his hand over his mouth so he doesn't curse out loud and he thinks jesus, bad enough that one of them is thinking it—the self-hatred that's tightening up his chest is hardly easing, from getting some distance, and soon he'll have to go back into the room because Dean will wonder what the hell he's doing, standing outside in his socks like a weirdo, and Sam has to say—he has to—this isn't fair, to either of them—but how can he say it without Dean knowing exactly what Sam must have overheard—overfelt—and Sam knows his brother, always has, and he knows what'll follow. A freakout, to say the least. Recrimination, reflected blame, anger and then fear—always the fear—that Sam's slipping further away, or worse that Dean will have pushed him further away—and Sam can't do this, he can't live like this, without Dean. He can't handle this stupid, terrible year, not without his brother on his side.

He takes a deep breath, cold in his lungs. Jesus, is that what he's going to do? Just live with it, because—

"Dude, what the hell?" comes Dean's voice, behind him. Sam turns and finds Dean, yes, standing in the open doorway, his hair a little damp at the edges like he splashed his face, his eyebrows high because here's his little brother being a weirdo like always. Except that he's more worried than his face lets on, and there's a rising tide of is something happening, is this something about the demon, the tang of fear that fills every night.

"Thought I heard something," Sam says, trying to interrupt it before it gets too bad. "By the car. I think it was just a dog or something."

He's a better liar than Dean gives him credit for; already it's working, the fear sliding into warm exasperation. That thin, frail beam of sunlight. "Freaking out Fido, now?" Dean says, while Sam walks wincing back across the parking lot, scattered gravel poking through his socks. "New low, bro."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, brushing past where Dean's holding the door open, and there's a thrill—in his chest, in Dean's—that he clamps down on, ignores, but he can't ignore the misery around it. That's a problem.

Sam stays awake that night, waiting for Dean to sleep. The black lake, the blood. Sam turns on his side and watches Dean's face and closes his eyes slowly, thinking of that moment just before the guilt, the shame—the clear, unadulterated want—and when he dreams they're in the cabin, again, and Dean's bleeding with his unconcerned hand holding nothing inside, and the water surges hard against the sides of the boat, floods the floorboards, and Sam opens his eyes and slides off his bed onto the floor and lays his hand onto Dean's stomach where in the dream he's dying, and he presses his forehead against the mattress and shudders, aching with how much it hurts, and the dream—shifts.

He breathes in, still halfway in sleep himself. Dean's hand covered in blood and his shoulders hunched up, but his face turns up and he sees Sam, standing there in the doorway watching him. He says something but Sam, the real Sam, can't hear it; the Sam-of-the-dream comes closer, looms. He looks a foot taller than Dean, broader. Monstrous almost. Sam catches his breath and the dream-Sam puts his hand over Dean's hand, holds it tighter against the wound, and Dean tips his head back and murmurs something and the Sam of the dream presses their hands tighter, hard enough that it should hurt except in the way of dreams there's no real pain but only the knowledge of being torn open—and then the Sam of the dream leans in and presses his mouth to Dean's, a chaste strange kiss, like kissing marble—and their hands sink into Dean's stomach, tearing—and when the kiss ends Sam lifts up and Dean opens his eyes and Sam's eyes are yellow, from edge to edge, and Sam shoves away from the bed, scrambling so fast he slams his shoulder into the frame of his own, and by some fucking miracle Dean doesn't wake up so Sam's left panting, alone on the carpet in the dark, a remembered warmth against his lips and his hand feeling an echoed-ghost slickness of black, dripping blood.

He puts on his sneakers, a hoodie, sticks his phone in his pocket but turns it off. He goes for a run. Three a.m. is silent around here and he needs that, needs no people. He runs hard enough and long enough that it's hard to think beyond the burning in his thighs, his lungs. His hurting shoulder where he's going to have a bruise.

When he gets back Dean comes awake at the door opening. "Where were you?" he says, bleary, and Sam says, "Out for a run, go back to sleep," and Dean's tired enough that he blinks at Sam heavily and mumbles, "Okay, freak," and subsides, turning over and hugging the pillow close. Sam stands with his back to the door, his hands fisted around the knob, watching as Dean slips back down into sleep, and it's deep, dreamless, a relief.

Sam showers and takes his time about it. He's not getting back to bed today. He washes his hair and his face, not bothering to be careful about keeping his cast dry anymore—it's almost time for it to come off, anyway—and his brain won't empty, won't let him forget. He can't get the image of his own eyes out of his head. Glinting gold. The version of him in the dream wasn't cruel, because it wasn't human. Peeling Dean open and giving him what he wanted and killing him, all at once. It's not hard to interpret.

He washes the rest, streaking soap. Takes his limp dick in hand, running his thumb under the foreskin, and then holds himself, his cast braced against the tile wall. He hasn't jerked off in—he can't even remember, the last time. It could clear his head. He squeezes, sliding wet up to the head, but what he imagines is—Dean's mouth, in the dark, barely parted. His own shoulders, gleaming inside Dean's head. He lets go of his dick and wipes his hand over his lips, trying to get the sensation out, and shuts off the water. It can't go on like this. Not like this.

He dries off in a half-assed way and tugs on boxers and nothing else. Out in the room Dean's still asleep and dawn's not yet rising. Sam shuts off the bathroom light and in the mostly-dark goes over to Dean's bed and sits on the edge of the mattress, and puts his hand on the back of Dean's neck. A blurring shift, coming on like a slow dimmer switch, as he rises up out of whatever dreamless space he was in. "Dean," Sam says, very quietly, and Dean's eye slits open, gleaming. He turns his head, rolls back a little, and Sam's hand drags along to his shoulder, fitting there on the smooth warm round of it. Dean blinks and is still almost entirely offline, the fog of his thoughts nothing but grey sleep, and Sam leans down and kisses him, then, catches his mouth a little off-center with his lips dry, his breath sour, his body warm and loose and unable to stop him.

No reaction for a few seconds, either in his body or his head. Sam opens his mouth and presses Dean's lips wider and gets the morning-taste of him, thick and strange, soft. He touches Dean's chin, the damp edge of his cast dragging against his skin, and it's that which seems to wake Dean up—his body going stiff, his mind flooding with—god, Sam can't untangle it all. "What," Dean says, against Sam's mouth, pulling back, but Sam grips his shoulder and presses him flat against the bed, leaning over him, keeping him here. Flicker of his eyelashes in the dark and his mouth's shining now, too, from Sam's mouth. Sam's stomach turns over to see it.

Sam doesn't say anything. Dean's breathing hard, looking up at him. Fear, pooling around the bed, flooding the room like the bed's the boat and the room's the lake, and Sam maybe doesn't get it entirely—he thinks of his eyes, yellow in Dean's mind, and his hand clenches hard enough on Dean's shoulder that Dean cringes away, grips Sam's wrist. "Sam," Dean says, uncertain—wondering if he's still dreaming—and Sam leans down and kisses him again, ignores Dean's stiff scared lips and licks inside, knocking him open, his cast heavy on Dean's chest, his wet hair dripping cold. He feels it, of course, when it starts to wake in Dean—the sensation of his body, his mouth, the warmth rising south, the shock of getting this—the confusion—and he pulls away, enough that he can look into Dean's eyes, says, "Feel this," and breaks Dean's grip on his wrist and slides his hand down under the blanket and past Dean's flinching belly to his dick, heavy in his underwear, swelling. Dean takes a shuddering shocked breath and the rise of want is so thick that it chokes out the fear, the guilt, his mind going full and focused at getting his dick held by someone he wants as badly as he wants Sam. God. To know that.

The want is so intense that Sam knows it won't matter that he's never done this before. A dick is a dick, though, he figures, and he slips his fingers inside the waistband, finds the pole of it—thick, the skin unexpectedly soft—and Dean's body arches under his, his breath hot and fast already. Sam doesn't want this, not in the same way, but it hardly matters when Dean's desire roars high between them. "Touch me," Sam says, and Dean goes for Sam's chest, his shoulders, grasping in fumbled shock, while Sam gets a better grip, pumps, finding a rhythm. Awkward with his left hand but clearly doing the job, from how Dean's already shaking, his thighs spreading for it under the blanket, his fingers tight in Sam's skin. Sam leans down, finds Dean's mouth again, and Dean opens for him easy, letting Sam inside, his hands finding Sam's jaw. His fingers careful, uncertain—sliding up into Sam's damp hair, holding—and his hips jerk—and Sam licks into Dean's mouth and pumps him faster, his shoulder sore and aching, his fingers getting slick—jesus, Sam runs his thumb over the head and feels the wet leaking—and Dean jerks under him like touching a live wire and comes just like that, hips shoving up into Sam's grip, wet heat that spills over Sam's hand and against his wrist. Sam gentles his grip and Dean jerks into his palm, getting the last of it out. His chest is heaving, under Sam's cast. Sam kisses him, again, and Dean's teeth drag against his lip, and Sam slides his hand up out of Dean's shorts and presses his palm firm against his bare belly, heedless of the mess.

When he lifts up Dean's staring at him, fixed. The room's inundated with his thoughts, a whitewater crush. Sam's mouth tastes like metal. Dean's fingers reach up, white, and touch his cheek, and Sam drags in air and lets himself be touched, and Dean doesn't know what to do with this. He wants to tackle Sam back to the bed and he wants to crawl under something and he wants to be not who he is because who he is has ruined—

"Stop," Sam says, pressing his palm harder against Dean's belly. "Stop thinking."

Dean licks his lips, looks back and forth between Sam's eyes. Distracted from the misery but just as bewildered, and worse. "What are you thinking?" he says, after a few seconds. Scrape of voice, thick and unsure.

"I'm thinking I want you," Sam says, and Dean blinks and this terrible curl of hope goes through him, another kind of light like a brush of rose-fingered dawn at the edge of a dark landscape, and Sam hasn't felt that, hasn't come close to that, this whole awful time. Sam bites his lips and hopes Dean doesn't hear the next part as qualification: "I want you here. With me. Not—freaking out. Not worried about—whatever it is you're always worrying about."

Dean swallows. His face turns away a little. "Me, worry," he says, breath of a scoff, and there's that rawness again, the shame pulling at his gut. Afraid of this and afraid of Sam in equal measure.

Sam can't stand it. He won't have it. "Don't," he says, and Dean's eyes flick at him sidelong, his mouth turning to some unhappy shape, and Sam pushes in and spreads out over the top of him and kisses him again, his wet gross hand sliding up Dean's side, his mouth crushed hard against Dean's mouth. Dean kisses back this time, for real, and he's—softer, tenderer, than Sam would have ever imagined Dean would kiss, if he had ever imagined it.

It's Sam who breaks the kiss—every part of Dean, body and mind, is full of the feeling that he would never, ever stop unless the room was on fire, and maybe not even then—and when they're breathing against each other Dean's hand worms up out of the blanket and finds Sam's side, over his ribs. Squeezes there, very lightly, his heart thrilling terrified at the presumption. "Sammy," he says, one word a complicated snarl of a question, and Sam shakes his head, can't answer. He moves his right arm, bracing the cast instead by Dean's head, and Dean's chest rises under the release of the weight. A release, all over, and that dawn keeps rising, though the lake's still black and its depths are impossible to see.

Sam tucks his head down, his face in Dean's throat, like they're hugging, like something familiar at least, and Dean's arm goes around his back, holding him. "Sam," he whispers, against Sam's hair. Sam closes his eyes and feels the surge of it: tender, violent, aching. A glut that presses against the back of his teeth with all he wants to say and won't.

He doesn't know if that feeling is his, or Dean's. Behind his eyes it's black and dawn's still not here. On a lake, in the dark, there's a boat creaking, the water surging high but not yet spilling over the side.

#ffcc #wincest #pining!dean #psychic sam #mildly dubious consent #my writing

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