Boop

Crows and Ravens [Wilbur soot x reader]

Paring: Wilbur Soot x Gender Neutral!reader

Summary: Inspired by the song Ravens by Reno Shaw. How the reader deals with the grief and cope with Wilburs death.

Warnings: Angst, grief, death.

Words: 3.1k words

A/N: thank you to @libbynotfound for being my wonderful beta for this <3 also go listen to Reno Shaw, I've been listening to his music on repeat! His Spotify

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You stand on the porch cradling a hot cup of coffee, watching over the snowy Tundra. Enjoying the peace and calm the secluded place brings. While getting used to the cold took a while, it wasn’t long. After all, a warm fireplace is never far off.

You take a sip, as you watch the crows slowly start to gather in the treetop, indicating the return of Phil. Your dead fiancé’s father. Wilbur’s dad.

You moved up here with Technoblade after Wilbur’s death, needing some peace and quiet. While you never truly agreed with Technoblade’s ideologies, yet you longed to get away from the bustling town that only ever seemed to bring hurt to its citizens. So, you left.

Your cottage connected to the other two, now that Phil had moved up here too.

You follow him with your eyes as he breaks free of the surrounding forest. You watch as he puffs out his black wings to shake off the white snow that has fallen on them.

You give Phil a small wave as he notices you watching over the sunset.

“Good morning! You’re out of your bed today. That’s good to see!”

You nod in acknowledgement, never meeting his eyes, as you are back to being fixated on the rising sun.

You listen to the crows as they have now gathered, a constant murder that never seems to leave Phil alone. You don’t question it. You don’t mind the noise they sometimes bring, although you worry for the man who will sometimes speak to them as though they could understand him.

Phil’s door opens and closes, and you suspect he is dropping off the items from his latest adventure into the deep woods.

What surprises you is mere minutes later when it opens again, and he steps out, a cup of tea in his own hands. Clearly indicating to join you on this windless morning.

You take a step aside, and Phil stands beside you.

You can’t help, but feel as though you have to get further away from the man. It’s an itch that is always around when Phil is close to you. Despite being long ago, you still see it for yourself every time you look at the older man.

The sword sticking out of Wilbur’s stomach, as the debris is slowly settling down. Phil holding him.

You didn’t see it happen, but you saw the aftermath. The shell of the man you loved, truly being a mere shell. While he might have walked the tightrope of manic, there was always hope in your heart for the Wilbur you fell in love with coming back. But a dead Wilbur? There was no hope of bringing him back, he was truly gone.

Your gaze never wavering from the sun rising, as it bathes the white Tundra in oranges and reds.

“Phil?”

“Yeah, mate.”

“Do you think he would have liked it here?”

“No, no he wouldn’t. He always craved more, the peace would bore him.”

“I wish he could have experienced it anyway.”

The two of you settle into silence as you empty your now cold cup of coffee, the sounds of the ever-present crows filling the air. Unsaid words hanging low in the air. But thickening it enough, for neither to be able to speak more.

---

You used to love winter, one of the reasons you moved up here. But now it only seems to drag on and on. Coating everything in its white blanket of innocence. Covering the guilty people living here.

Wilbur used to enjoy the spring, he always told you it was his favourite season, as the flowers bloom and gave you a newfound beauty, in his words. You remember, the two of you spending countless hours underneath the old oak tree. Him strumming his guitar until late in the night, as you would tell him the stories you would gather from the patrons at the bar you used to work at as a teenager.

The two of you dreaming up lives you would live when you were older, a cottage on the outskirts of a town he would create. A kitchen overflowing with food and pots and pans. As you would cook for the town’s citizens, living out your own dream of selling your homemade food.

Talking about watching the sunset on a poach, children running around in the backyard. He wanted two boys and a girl, while you wanted one of each. Hoping to pass down his charm and good looks. The feeling of an ever-present happiness high in the air.

An ever-present happiness you would no longer be able to archive now.

Your dreams shattered the day that blade pierced through him. Held by his father, the man you had come to know as the most calming presence you had ever met.

It took you a while to forgive Phil for what he had done.

You watched as he and Technoblade moved on right outside of your cabin. You watched as you couldn’t get out of bed, and the two of them gained new friends and new lives. Envy and anger filling the air of your cabin, fast and suffocating you slowly whenever you’re alone.

You roll over in your bed hoping to be taken back into your dreams, hoping for them to be the good kind like the ones you used to imagine with Wilbur.

Instead, you are dragged right back into your nightmares watching him slowly descending into madness.

---

You look around your kitchen, ever bare from anything. Never really holding food anymore. Scarce of pots and pans, not wanting to be reminded of the dreams you could never achieve. Let alone reach for these days.

You walk right through, heading for your coat and boots. Suiting up before you step into the cold. But as your eyes grace over the second hook, the one that used to hold Wilburs coat. Now empty. Sends a sting through your heart.

Tommy had gotten it from you when he lived with Technoblade after his exile of L’Manberg. You had watched as he stared after it each time he had been into your house.

The house that never quite felt like a home. Not when Wilbur hadn’t been the one to hang the coat there back in the day. But yourself. Hoping that one day he would walk through the door moaning about the cold and having forgotten his coat.

But he never did.

So, you gave it to Tommy. Committing the way his face lit up at the gesture to memory. He looked truly happy for the first time since he had come out to the Tundra.

You shake the feeling of longing off yourself as you head into the cold, letting the ever-present winter clear your head. On a mission to collect wood for Technoblade. He had asked you for logs the other day, and you had promised to get him some.

Although you were suspecting it was a scheme to get you out of bed, and out of your house for a couple of hours. It wouldn’t be the first time he had done so, and you have a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

He had been there for you back when Wilbur and Tommy had created Pogtopia. Wilbur’s second nation, another promise for freedom, that had only seemed to tear the one you loved apart, more than fix him.

The nation acting as a band-aid on a cut so deep it was merely the thought that counted.

You remember watching the stars nearly every night as the cave was cold and unwelcoming whenever Wilbur started drinking. You remember hearing him yell at Tommy, but doing nothing out of fear that he would turn his attention to you. Never before had you been so happy for being neglected by the one you loved.

Technoblade had been there some nights, right beside you, telling you stories of Wilbur before the two of you met, which wasn’t many, but it was enough to fill the air with a hope. A hope that this was but a period to pass, and the one you loved would return to you.

He never did.

You track over the snow and into the forest, following the pathway Techno and Phil have created over the time living here. Right into the clearing that is slowly growing larger as the three of you are slowly cutting the forest down. And now that Ranboo is here too, it’s only growing bigger faster. Another constant change in your life.

Another thing you can’t stop or help, as you watch it deteriorate in front of your eyes.

It takes you most of the day to chop down the wood and cut it into small enough pieces, that you can carry it back to the commune. It takes the rest of your day to carry it all back and leaving it to dry in the shed, which Techno built as one of the first things.

“Dried wood is important, you can’t survive without a fire.”

Back then the commune had been even quieter. Due to yourself having gone through the days in a daze, not talking to anyone after what had happened. It had been the only thing on your mind.

Phil’s sword. Your scream. The emptiness that followed.

Phil had been to one to coax you out of your silence, in the end. With the help of Techno, despite the latter enjoying the silence the Tundra brought.

You watch as nightfall comes, and the mobs start to emerge in the dark.

You know you should be heading inside. But you can’t help but stand on the porch watching out over the night. The stars lighting up the sky and making the darkness feel less lonesome.

You miss the sound of Techno’s door opening. Instead, envying the crows as some of them take off. Wishing to be one of them, no care in the world. Only the world to explore, and never having to feel the hurt of losing someone. Twice.

“Y/n, come on, let's get you inside.”

You nod, following him inside his cabin, smelling the potato soup in the air. Thankful for the warm fireplace that has been lit. It would take hours for your own to warm up your house since you let the fireplace burn out yesterday. You let it burn out yet again.

Neither of you mentions that you found the woodshed over half full. Neither of you mentions that it takes over a month to burn through the shed. Neither of you mentions that you are just working to make your life pass, but living.

---

When you returned home that night, your fireplace was lit. He had done it for you. Not letting you return to a cold and lonely house.

That was the night you pulled out a pan for the first time in a long while.

You stocked your kitchen cabinets with food from a nearby village, and then you rolled up your sleeves.

You work in your own kitchen tirelessly for two days and nights. Feeling your grasp on yourself slipping. But refusing to stop.

Stuck in a living daydream of the domestic life you never got. As uneaten food starts to pile up, and your eyes start to drop. You can feel yourself slipping into a slumber sitting on your kitchen floor. Tears streak down your chin, as you cry out for Wilbur once again.

Phil finds you there, the next morning, concerned for not having seen you out of your house for days. And now even more concerned as he takes in the mess you are living amidst. Half-finished dishes still on the stove, that has burned out. The dinner table filled with dirty kitchenware, and dishes he has never seen before in his life.

Phil makes a decision that morning, that refuses to watch another person he cares for wither away in front of him.

You find yourself from that day off, getting woken up by Phil, asking you to share a cup of tea with him on the porch.

Sometimes Techno joins the two of you. But never often, the man as nocturnal as Wilbur used to be.

You look over the snow once again, as you wish winter is soon to be over. But it never seems to be.

---

You take up painting after this, you aren’t perfect at it, never having done it before. But it helps you keep yourself out of your head, and you enjoy the time you spend on creating artwork.

You remember Wilbur owning a small portrait of his mom made in grey tones, back then you had been worried over the sombre feeling the grey tones gave you. A feeling of fear following the sombreness. A feeling of fear you vowed to never induce in others.

Yet, you find yourself drawn to the grey tones whenever you pick up a paintbrush, and so the sunrise gets recreated in sombre colours, the cabins, Phil and Techno. The pictures aren’t great, but they resemble what they are enough to be recognisable.

But one motive seems to come again and again, although as time moves on, Wilbur seems to fade out from your pictures. In the beginning, he seemed to be in every other one. But now he seems to slowly stop showing his face in them, just as in your dreams.

You start not seeing him everywhere you look.

Your kitchen isn’t as scary to move around in anymore, more days than not, you are having guests in the form of Phil, Techno or Ranboo eating over. You even get to meet Ranboos platonic husband Tubbo and their child.

Tommy comes over from time to another telling you of the stories back from the town that has now taken over L’Manberg.

And Phil lets you meet Ghostbur.

Oh, Ghostbur, another shell of the man you used to love. Neither an empty shell nor a dead one. But a cold smiling one.

You let him into your home. And even if you get teary-eyed every time you look at him and his cheerful attitude. Nobody mentions it.

This is the period where your cold house in the Tundra, started turning into a warm and lived-in home. Although the winter is still raging on outside your window, you are never truly cold on the inside anymore.

You still struggle with getting out of bed on the worst days, still grieving the man you had to first watch wither away in front of you, only to be killed. But you refuse to let it be the thing defining you.

You start accompanying Phil and Techno on some of the adventures, exploring places that aren’t the town you grew up in, or the SMP. You walk through your first jungle, painting a greyscale version as soon as you return home, proudly presenting it on your wall when it’s finished.

You listen to Ghostbur as he tells you about the happy memories the two of you have together. Reminiscing sitting under the old oak tree together.

You still sometimes forget he isn’t Wilbur when he knocks on your door, and you are instead presented with a handful of blue and the translucent guy. Instead of your ex-fiancé. But it gets easier, then more times he shows up.

Whenever he talks, you barely ever escape into your own head anymore. The domestic dream starts to fade, as you replace it with happy memories and people around yourself.

The fireplace never left to burn out in the night anymore.

You start getting up before Phil, greeting him on the porch with tea. You smile at the thought. You never really drink coffee anymore. Not needing the caffeine as the nightmares have stopped being the thing that greets you whenever you lie your head onto your pillow.

The sleepless nights get replaced with peaceful slumber.

While you still see Wilbur in your dreams, it’s no longer the shell of the man in Pogtopia, or the shell Phil held that fateful day.

It’s the one that proposed to you when he started a revolution. It’s the hopeful and idealistic one you remember. The one you grew up with.

While those mornings you are quieter to be around, you no longer let it take over your day. As of now, you have a life to live. Truly living and no longer just letting time pass by as you work.

---

You listen to the crows as you stand on the porch, tea in hand, and a cup waiting for Phil. Another one standing beside that one, in case Techno is to join the two of you.

You enjoy the calmness as you can see the red start to spread over the horizon painting the sky and the grey clouds. You know summer is approaching. The snow has started to melt in some places. While it still snows most days, the rain has started showing its face from time to another, and it seems today will be one of those days.

None of you say anything, as Phil comes out of his house, and Techno stalks out of his own too. You all just watch as the sky goes from red to orange and the rain starts to fall.

Winter finally seems to be over. And you let in the feeling of happiness that you thought was unreachable.

But right here, watching the sunrise between two people, who care for you, and whom you care deeply for. Happiness isn’t the domestic life you never got, but the peace you have found with never getting the life you dreamt of.

And right here, in the rain under the sunrise, is where you spot a figure on the horizon.

A figure who, the closer it walks, takes up a silhouette you could recognise any day of the week.

As the silhouette steps closer, your eyes fixate on his face. The wrinkles that now adorn it, the white streak in his hair. The charming face you once fell for.

Time seems to slow down as he makes eye contact with you, and you let go of your cup. Letting it crash onto the porch.

“Missed me, Darling?”

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A Lack of Color by SisterSpooky1013

2403 words / Rated M / Read it here on AO3

This is a Darkest Timeline fic. No fluff to be found.

Part of my Inspired By Songs series, this work is inspired by A Lack of Color by Deathcab for Cutie.

2010

The phone rang and she checked the time. She’d stopped answering his calls after 8, too heartbroken by the slur in his words and the pain in his voice, knowing that she was the one who caused them. If she could access the purely logical part of her mind she knew that it was his depression that was responsible for the fact that they could no longer be together, and his own actions after she left were the responsibility of no one but him, but when she heard the choked back sobs around his pleas for her to come home, she felt guilt so profound it twisted in her gut like a knife. Even her mother had gently questioned her as to whether leaving him alone was the right thing to do, whether that would really help him get better. She’d tried to explain that the point of leaving wasn’t to make him better, it was to save herself from going down with him, but she often wondered if this life she’d built for herself alone was much better than the one she’d left behind. Was coming home to an empty house devoid of the clatter of his keyboard and tiny piles of sunflower seed shells preferable to living with his ghost? At least when they shared a home she knew he was okay.

Home. Where was her home? Was it this impeccable, modern house just outside the city? Was it her mother’s house, where she’d spent her teenage years? Was it her apartment in Georgetown, long since occupied by someone new who would never know the depth of loss and joy that lived in its walls? Was it apartment 42, where she had loved, lost, and had Mulder returned to her? Was it the unremarkable home in the country she’d shared with him? These places all held meaning and memories, significance and importance in the story of her life, but in the end they were just buildings. Sticks and boards and concrete that housed each tear and yawn and laugh, that made space for her to fall apart and rebuild again, countless times. If home is where your heart is, then Mulder is her home, and he always will be. There is no distance great enough to separate her heart from his, even that of death or divorce, grief, pain, depression. Depression so profound that it snuffed out the spark in his eyes and drained the life from his smile. Depression that robbed him of his passion for everything, including her. Depression that made her feel invisible and unimportant. Depression that destroyed her home.

It was just past 7, so she picked up the phone, hoping that a sober voice would come through from the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey. How are you?” He sounded good, like he had some energy. She was hopeful.

“I’m okay, just reading. How are you, Mulder?”

“I’m okay. Hanging in there.”

Silence hung between them. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t want to ask him why he’d called or he may think she didn’t want to talk to him, so she said nothing. She heard him swallow on the other end of the line.

“I miss you” he breathed, and she could feel the ache forming in her rib cage. She closed her eyes.

“I know. I miss you too.” She fought to keep her voice neutral. She didn’t want to go to the dark place, not tonight.

“Will you come over?” He asked, and she noticed that he didn’t say ‘come home’ just ‘come over,’ which was different than all the other times. He sounded more alert, and she felt something akin to hope tug at her heart.

“Uh, I can, sure, if you need me to.”

“I do need you.” His voice was low and she felt a twinge between her legs. This wasn’t the voice of the Mulder she knew and loved, but she could hear him in there, underneath all the hopelessness. She flashed on the desire in his hooded eyes when he used to hover over her, devouring her body with animal-like urgency. What she wouldn’t give for him to touch her like that again.

“Okay, I’ll be there in about a half hour.”

He sighed, maybe from relief. “Thank you, see you soon.” The line went dead.

She had the urge to shower, to shave, to put on a pair of the sexy panties that were now relegated to the back of her underwear drawer, but she resisted. Too many nights she had paraded around in front of him only to be ignored. Too many times she had reached for him to find him unresponsive, not returning her embrace. Too many times she had slipped her hand into his boxers only to have him push it away, rejecting her advances. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, recalling the ache in her bones as she longed for physical contact. She had gone 7 years without having him in that way, but found that it wasn’t as easy to revert back to a platonic partnership. It was more than just desire, though that was there too. Their physical connection, once established, rooted her to the Earth in a way she never knew was possible. When he was inside her she was more present, more aware of her place in space and time than she had ever been or ever would be again. She hadn’t known that she wasn’t really alive until he breathed his hot, salty breath into her lungs and ignited her. He was her oxygen and without him, she suffocated and slowly faded away. She only barely escaped before she died out for good.

Settling on brushing her teeth as the sole means of preparation, she got in her car and drove to his house, their house, feeling nervous and afraid. Stopping to get out and open the gate at the end of their long driveway, she was reminded of so many nights coming home from work, wondering if today were a good day. If she’d get some shred of the man she loved, or spend the evening staring at his closed office door, eating dinner alone. Going to bed alone. Waking up alone.

“Quelquefois, on est seul chez les hommes;” The quote from Le Petit Prince had never meant so much to her as it did then.

Pulling up in front of the house, she took in the neglected lawn, the porch swing he’d built for her dilapidated, the steps rotting. The house itself seemed to embody their relationship; initially bare and full of potential, blooming into a safe haven with the care of their love, only to collapse under the weight of his demons. She killed the engine but stayed in the car, debating turning around and leaving. Why was she here? What did she stand to gain from answering his call? It was pure hope that drove her. Unrelenting need. As much as she tried she couldn’t give up on him, on them. Would she ever be able to truly walk away from him? Only time would tell. Today, it would seem, was not that day.

As she sat in her turmoil, she saw light escape the front door and his tall shadowy frame appeared, his silhouette gaunt, his hair wild and unkempt. Despite everything, her heart leapt and she felt drawn to him, her true North pulling her magnetically towards home. She exited the car and walked towards him slowly, trying to read his body language and set her expectations realistically. As she maneuvered the steps he came forward, holding out his hand to her.

“Those are getting a little perilous, I keep meaning to fix them” he joked good naturedly, the soft pads of his fingers brushing her palm. Not the hands of someone who was going to hold a hammer anytime soon, she noted. Not the calloused hands of the man who built this porch himself 7 years ago. They stood awash in the light that poured from the open door, hands still clasped. She searched his eyes and all she found was sadness, which was actually an improvement. The last time she’d had occasion to meet his hazel irises, they were empty, devoid of any feeling good or bad. He was gone entirely. Moving from his eyes, she noticed that his cheeks were ruddy and dry without her reminding him to moisturize. It looked like he’d probably shaved recently, though now it was grown into an almost-beard. His lips, though, they were still him. She bit her cheek to keep from crying, wanting more than anything to kiss that mouth, to tug that lip between her teeth. She closed her eyes.

“Thanks for coming over” he said, his voice flat.

“Of course. What did you need?” They’d done this dance before. Where’s my birth certificate? What’s the password for the online banking account? Where is the key to turn off the gas fireplace for the summer? When are you coming home? He always found a way to lure her back in. she could never resist him.

“I just wanted to see you” he replied, and she was surprised to see him roving his eyes over her body, sighing as they came to rest on her cleavage. When was the last time he’d looked at her that way? There was that throb again between her legs. She was afraid to move.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a hug, squeezing her to him. She stiffened at first in surprise, but then melted into him, her arms threading around his waist and her head falling against his chest. Home. He smelled metallic, the signature scent of his sweat. No one else smelled the way he did. It was what she imagined the core of the Earth might smell like. He sighed against her and she felt the rush of air from his nose blast against the crown of her head. What a specific feeling to miss. What a strange loss to understand.

His arms loosened and slid down her sides, grazing the dip of her waist, then her hip, and finally passing over the curve of her ass where he gripped her, lifting her up. She inhaled sharply and moved her hands to his shoulders, allowing him to carry her inside and to their abandoned bedroom like a bride, only this was the end of the romance instead of the beginning. He laid her down on the bed and started to suck at her neck while fumbling with the button of her pants. Her eyes were wide on the ceiling, wanting to stop him and ask what he was doing, what it meant, but she didn’t. Even as her mind raced, her body was opening like a flower, straining towards the sunlight of his touch, desperate for nourishment that had so long been withheld. She could feel that she was dripping wet, and she allowed him to strip her pants from her legs in one fast motion, pushing her shirt up to reveal her breasts as he unbuckled his belt. The animalistic way Mulder wanted her had always been a huge turn on, the lust in his eyes as he tore at her clothes and feasted on her body sending her over the edge.

But that was not what was happening now.

He wasn’t looking at her. He hadn’t kissed her, not once. He didn’t want her, he wanted her body. Freeing his erection from his jeans without even bothering to pull them down, he moved to line himself up with her entrance. He still had his T shirt on, her shirt askew as he grasped one breast in his palm, pushing inside her. She let out a single cry as her long-neglected body accommodated him once more, and he didn’t even look up. Didn’t ask if she was okay, hadn’t checked to see if she was ready. She could admit that it felt good, but not that good. This wasn’t how they made love, or had sex, or even fucked. Never once had he skipped right to pleasing himself. His strict “ladies first” policy was a non-negotiable, a given. So as he barreled into her, his eyes on her breasts, she brought her hand to cover her eyes as hot tears rushed down the sides of her face, collecting in her ears.

He finished within a minute, grunting as he came inside her before collapsing on her chest. Eventually he rolled off of her and pulled up his jeans, then grabbed her by the waist so that she was spooned against him, naked from the waist down.

“I’m sorry, I know that probably wasn’t the greatest for you. I’ll make it up to you next time” he whispered hotly into her ear. He held her until he fell asleep while she lie there, shell shocked, realizing that as bad as this all had been, it could get worse. She thought that being completely ignored was the worst way he could hurt her, but she was wrong. This, being treated like a vessel, was so much worse.

She slipped out of the bed and found her clothes on the floor, leaving him snoring. As she walked out the front door and carefully navigated the porch steps, she vowed to herself that she would not set foot in this house ever again.

It was not a promise she would keep.

*Authors note: “Quelquefois, on est seul chez les hommes” translates to “sometimes, one is alone among men”

Tagging @today-in-fic

Never Alone Again (Boba Fett x GenderNeutral!Reader)

Request: tumblr ate the request when I edited this but, someone requested Male!Reader x Boba and I wanted this to be available to all so I made it gender neutral!

A/N: Some swearing

-

You were tired. Tired of hunting and tired of the thrill-seeking lifestyle. It was hard on you and your body and it was hard on your personal relationships. The reason it is hard is because you have none. Being a bounty hunter meant no relationships, no connections that could get you or them killed. It didn’t stop you from trying, though.

Being a bounty hunter for the Hutts is no big deal, they have several because they are such an elite family that has control of many planets and have an expendable amount of money. Were you complaining? Again, no, but you were lonely and wanted companionship. Then, sauntered in Boba Fett. Everyone knew of him, he is a legend. Son of the famed bounty hunter Jango Fett, Boba was born into bounty hunting and did it well. The two of you never truly interact unless you count longing glances in the lounge area of the Hutt’s Palace, but the itch to leave finally took over when Boba was pushed into the Sarlacc pit. 

You were just returning from a bounty and arrive to find out that Jabba had been killed and that Boba had been pushed into the Sarlacc pit. Instantly, your instinct was to save him. He had to be salvageable if he had only been pushed in a couple of days ago. Hopping onto your speeder, you rush to the pit and slide to the edge of the opening in order to take a glance inside. 

“Hey, Fett! You still in there?” you yell and squint your eyes against the glare of the bright suns. The silence worries you and for a moment it appears as if Boba might have perished, but a weak voice cries out from inside the beast.

“Hello? Can you help me out of here?” his voice is scratchy and your heart rate quickens when you begin to think about how grueling it must be to go through the beginning stages of getting digested alive.  

“I’m gonna drop down a rope, hold on!” rushing back to your speeder, you grab a long piece of rope and tie one end to the back of your vehicle, throwing the other end down into the pit. “Can you grab it?”

“Yeah, you’ll have to pull me up!” he states and you hop onto the back of your bike, starting it up.

“Alright, I’m starting!” you slowly inch your bike forward, taking a look backward every couple inches or so to watch for his escape. When you finally see the green helmet peak over the edge, you jump off your bike and run over to the armored man, wrapping your arm around his torso. He smells like rotten flesh and is heavy in your arms, but you do your best to get him onto the back of your bike.

“Hang in there, I’ll bring you to my house,” you mutter and start up your bike once again, rushing through the desert to your small hovel at the edge of Mos Eisley. Behind you, the weight of Boba’s body pushes against your back and you can tell that he had passed out due to a mixture of different factors that he had to endure in the pit. 

When you finally reach your home, it takes all your strength to get Boba inside of your house and onto the cushioned mat that serves as your bed. You were never home long enough to complain about the stiffness of the bed so you never replaced it with a real mattress. Once Boba is situated in your bed, you grab a glass and fill it water. Nudging the man in your bed, he rouses long enough for you to get him to drink some of the water and eat a small portion of your rations. It eases you enough that you let him go to sleep, not even blinking an eye at the acrid smell that lingers within your household. Nervously, you begin to prepare a meal for him so that he can gain some nutrients when he comes out of his slumber. The pots and pans move swiftly across your warmed stove to prepare a meal from the resources you can find inside of your home. As the suns begin to set on the horizon, Boba wakes from his nap to see you setting the table with a meal and a glass of Bantha milk.

“Where am I?” he asks as he sits up from the mat, you look over with a small smile.

“Good evening to you too. You’re in my house,” you tilt your head toward the food. “I made you something. You should eat it up, it seems that the Sarlacc pit took it out of you.”

Slowly, Boba stands and he begins to take a step forward before you are forced to help him stand when his knees buckle.

“All that armor must be heavy, you should take it off,” you mutter and help him into the chair where he begins to unlatch the green armor from his body.

“Take me to dinner first” he mumbles and you crack a smile, watching him from across the room.

“Considering the fact that I made you dinner after rescuing you from the pit, I think that we’re already well acquainted,” you let out a small laugh and watch as he peels off the last of his armor along with his helmet. For a moment, you stare at his tanned skin and curly hair, albeit a little dirty from the pit, but still handsome enough for you to enjoy the view. Once the helmet comes off, Boba instantly eats up the food and chugs the Bantha milk, wiping away the food around his mouth with his sleeve. He instantly cringes when he smells the residue of the Sarlacc pit on his clothes.

“Do you have extra clothes? I smell like shit,” he gags slightly at the smell and you laugh at his expression, turning to a small chest to pull out spare clothes.

“You can change in the ‘fresher,” you point to the only door off into another room and Boba quickly walks into it to change out of his ruined clothing, energy restored after the delicious meal. You quickly move to clean his dishes and turn your head to see him when he steps out of your refresher.

“Fits alright,” he mutters and holds out his old clothing to throw onto the pile of armor. For a moment, the two of you stare at each other in uncomfortable silence. You knew that this was coming, the two of you were bounty hunters and in this life, kindness was a weakness.

“What do you want?” Boba is the first to speak and his words make you frown as you stare at him.

“What? What do you mean--”

“Money? What do you want?” he steps forward and cages you in between the wall and himself. “You rescued me from the pit, so obviously you’re expecting something in return.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” you mutter and push him away, feeling claustrophobic in the small space between him and the wall. “Not all bounty hunters are assholes, but apparently you are.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs and sits back down in your small wooden chair that seems to dwarf in comparison to him. 

“It’s okay, I understand,” you nod and sit across from him on your mat, a more comfortable silence filling the air once again. You stare down at the dirt floor and glance up at him every so often, unsure of where to go at this moment.

“What are you going to do?” you initiate conversation this time, making eye contact with his warm brown eyes. “Now that Jabba’s dead.”

Boba stares back at you, the warmth in his eyes filling your soul as you ponder the relationship between the two of you. Perhaps you have been touch-starved for far too long but for a moment you wonder what it would be like to hug him, to not be alone.

“I don’t know,” there is a sort of finality to his words and you understand them deep in your soul. This was a turning point, an event where you could change your own life for the better. You didn’t have to turn back and become a bounty hunter once more, you had no ties.

“Runaway with me, then,” you had no plan, the words just tumble out of your mouth. “We can go to a planet on the Outer Rim and open a small cantina where the folk of the town gather to enjoy themselves.” 

Again, the silence. This time it is deafening you, allowing your thoughts to run rampant in your head as you question yourself. Did you overstep your bounds?

“Okay,” his response shocks you. Your eyes widen and your heart beats so loud in your chest that you are convinced that he can hear it all the way across the room. You nod your head and smile, standing and reaching your hand out to him.

“Let’s go then,” as he takes your hand, you realize that your life as a bounty hunter was over with and that with him, you would never be alone again.  

Summertime Fun in Halloween Town

As promised, here's a fun little summer action for our favorite autumn characters! [Read on FF HERE]

June 12

Sindelfingen, Stuttgart

10pm

Ivy had never been more grateful for her impromptu Halloween haircut. Sure, the blade of Bloody Mary and the scissors of a nervous Jack wouldn't have been her first choice of barbers, but without them she'd still have a mane of dark hair that would no doubt be heating up her skull even more.

As it was, her short locks were still plastered to her face and the top of her neck, damp with sweat. She'd long since kicked off the covers and peeled off her shirt, trying desperately to ignore the heavy heat in the air as the June heatwave took over the city, slowing down the usual summertime bustle. Every window in the house was flung open, leaving bees to drift in and out as they pleased, but Ivy and her family were beyond caring. With a groan, she flopped out of bed and landed on the hardwood floor, stifling a whine at the lack of cool wood she expected to press against her cheek.

She tried to distract herself - remembering the most boring of lectures she'd had to sit through, the droning of the Creature when he got on a tangent, the comfort of being able to sleep without being worried one's skin would melt off. Not for the first time, she thought wistfully of the air conditioned buildings she remembered from the States. Although it had felt strange at the time to go from sticky, damp heat to getting a blast of frozen air in her face, Ivy thought she wouldn't mind the environmental impact if she could just have a little breeze, please.

"You're welcome to make this more bearable anytime," she mumbled aloud to the utterly still air. No whisper of the Wind answered her and Ivy reluctantly pushed herself to her feet, wincing as her skin peeled away from the wood. She grabbed her shirt and sighed as she slipped it on, already hating the feeling of fabric against her too-warm skin.

Sticking her head out the window wasn't much better. The stifling heat continued outside, just with the soothing sounds of distant cards and - ugh, an Igelkarussell. Wincing at the sounds of fierce mating, she clambered out the window and hefted herself onto the roof before flopping backwards, letting her feet dangle as she stared up at the stars. There were hardly any, this close to the city center, and Ivy found herself missing the paradoxical expanses of the Halloween sky, where unrecognizable constellations soared overhead and the moon winked back, if you didn't blink first. A fierce longing filled her soul, along with the first sparks of an idea.

She sat up and gauged the position of the moon in the sky, sending its white beams down to the old houses below. She had enough time, if she was quick - and months of practice had honed her instincts in the matter.

In a burst of energy, she sat up and closed her eyes, breathing in the warm summer air that smelled of cut grass and cigarettes. The hum of the fans in the house below added to her hypnotic state, and Ivy focused on the tattoo on her arm, waking up the part of Halloween that grew within her.

The Wind finally made an appearance, swirling around and cooling her damp skin, nearly knocking the girl from her focused state. Rolling her eyes behind her eyelids, she breathed out until the sense of unease was heightened, a Gateway to Halloween forming in the timeless instant. With a grin on her face despite the heat, Ivy leaned forward and let the Universe whirl her away.

Halloween Town

2pm

Town Center

Most days, Jack loved the weather in Halloween Town. It was a catalogue of every possible weather that had occurred on October 31st, ranging from deep colds to a warm night filled with new scents. Most often, of course, it hung in the middle - the embodiment of a perfect fall day, where one could wear a jacket or feel the slight bite of the Wind against their outer layer, where the sky was open and the nights were long. It was familiar, it was relaxing, it was perfect.

It was not usually like this.

Jack and the other Citizens were dead, true, and thus weren't as bothered by things such as temperature, but it was the principal of the matter. The sun had risen early and refused to be thwarted by clouds, and the beams - so often gentle and welcoming - were instead harsh and demanding, melting the tar off a few houses and causing steam to erupt from the Well. Jack picked at his outwear, his usual black jacket abandoned in favor of a rather bizarre shirt Ivy had gifted him a few weeks prior. He didn't quite understand the mischief he'd seen in her eyes, but the fabric was loose, so he let it be.

He sat with his feet up in the shade of the café, content to watch the usually bustling Town wind down in the heat of the day. The liquid-based monsters were being particularly cautious, hating the sizzle of evaporation that would occur when they poked their heads out from the protection of the falling ceilings of the café. Jack noted with amusement that Vlad was nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the vampires were grouped together, each one with an umbrella larger than the last. Their waiter desperately tried to squeeze between the gaps to serve them their hot toddies, contorting their body to faithfully deliver the steaming saucers.

There was the whisper of fabric behind him, the scent of blood, and Jack felt energy miraculously dart through him as Sally came into his field of vision. His grip on his own drink (a mixture of chilled rattlesnake venom and limes) faltered as she sat down across from him, new dress flowing freely from her shoulders and her long red hair swept up in a delicate knot that Jack knew his fingers would get trapped in.

Not that his fingers would have cause to be in her hair, of course, but -

"It's the first day like this I can remember," Sally said in soft wonder, almond eyes sweeping over to the Fountain, where the children were taking turns dunking each other in. "Isn't it funny, how those little waves come up from the cobblestone? It almost makes the air shimmer like a spider-web!"

It was easy, sometimes, to forget that Sally wasn't even a year old, with her quiet maturity and the strange wisdom that sometimes glinted in her dark eyes. Ever since the day she'd gained Citizenship she'd seemed to slowly change, and no longer looked at him with quite the hesitancy he'd seen before. It was welcome, naturally, but it also….

Well. He appreciated her ability to make him see the long-familiar world through different eyes, and for a moment they both watched the heat waves rise from the hot stones.

There was a strange sound accompanied by a shifting of pressure in the air, some monster's ears popping as a Gateway opened in the shadowed corner across the street, and a human form slowly materialized. For half a moment Jack's ribs clenched with fear (not again!) but it eased just as quickly when Ivy stood up, momentarily peaceful expression instantly morphing into one of sheer rage.

"Oh, come on!" She screeched at the sky, startling the vampires into their bat forms. Jack stifled a laugh into his tea, watching in amusement as Ivy marched over, her eyes landing on Jack and lighting up in a way that caused a good warmth to flood through him.

"Welcome, Ambassador Ivy," he greeted, never tiring of the look of exasperation she'd give him at his formality. "What can we do for you?"

"How about what she can do for us?" griped a nearby monster. "Don't you have your own world? Why've you got come down here all the time?"

"It's way too hot to hang out up there," she shot back, gratefully stepping into the shade.

"It's hot here, too," Vinnie piped up, her bandages nearly half undone in an attempt to cool off.

Jack watched as Ivy bit down a sarcastic retort to the monster child, instead giving her a tight smile. "You're right, it is."

"You look weird!" Vinnie continued brightly.

"Thanks, Vin."

It was somewhat true. Ivy was a very colorful human, in terms of her mannerism, language, and, today, her skin. It was flushed a deep pink, a strange sheen to her eyes, and sweat rolled off her forehead and beaded at her hairline. An open button down swung at her sides, and for the first time Jack could remember she was wearing shorts. The human ran a head up the back of her neck, then seemed to notice Jack fully for the first time, her jaw going slack. "Uh, Jack? What are you wearing?"

"You're not having memory problems again, are you?" Jack asked in concern, pinching the strange material. "You gave this to me, remember?"

"Yeah, but as a - you're actually wearing it?" Her voice went up an octave.

Jack frowned. "Is there a problem? Have I violated some taboo?"

"Jack, you're wearing a Hawaiian shirt."

"Is that what it's called? Fascinating! It's been many years since we've encountered the spirits on those islands - "

Ivy's voice was strained in that strange way it got sometimes, whenever Jack found she was being particularly obtuse. "It's - it's bright red!"

"Not my color?" Jack glanced down in concern. Sally had stared a bit too, but he trusted her eye for style wholeheartedly, and she hadn't said anything, so -

"Give me strength," Ivy muttered, rolling her eyes to the sky.

"How about a drink instead?" the waiter cut in, glaring at Ivy pointedly until the human huffed and pulled a chair over to Sally and Jack's table, curling up with her legs dangling over the side.

"Love your dress, Sal," Ivy said after a moment, giving the ragdoll an approving thumbs up. "And your hair looks great up like that - right, Jack?"

The skeleton was too busy attempting to formulate an appropriate response to see the warning look Sally threw the girl, nor the gleeful expression she gave in return.

"Sally manages to maintain a horrendous appearance with everything she does," Jack said, deciding to go for neutrality in lieu of any other answer. Sally's stern face dropped along with her eyes, a dark blue flush covering her cheeks. It appeared rag dolls felt the heat the same way humans did, after all.

"That's - that's very kind of you, Jack," she managed, picking delicately at the edge of the ragged tablecloth. "I think you look rather - dreadful yourself."

The two stared at one another, the strange tension that always seemed to creep up on them thick in the air, only to be broken by the slow slurp of liquid through a straw as Ivy looked at them, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"What?" She asked.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Absolutely not," Jack said firmly, halting Ivy's trajectory with one firm grasp on her collar.

"Why not?" she whined, straining the edge of the fabric and gazing longingly at the other kids, who were lining up at the edge of the bridge. "I'm in no mood to get dunked in the Well, so what's wrong with the river?"

"And have to send you back to your world smelling like a swamp? I hardly think that's a good idea."

"Snake slither!" Angus yelled, stretching his small bat wings wide and soaring into the air, then wrapping them around himself and plummeting down, causing a delightful splash of green water.

Ivy turned to Jack in pleading desperation.

"Oh, don't do that face," Jack said immediately, turning his gaze skyward, though there was a twinge of franticness in his tone. Ivy, who wasn't aware she had such a face, tried to simultaneously enhance and maintain her expression. After a few tense moments, one of Jack's sockets twitched downward and he flinched, then gave a dramatic sigh that let Ivy know she'd won.

"Just for a bit, alright?" He warned sternly, even as Ivy began to eagerly scan the edge of the bridge. "You'll come out when I tell you so you can dry and wash up before going back to the human world."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, distracted, and Jack gave another sigh - familiar in its world weariness.

"Go have fun," he said with all the seriousness of assigning a position on Halloween night, and Ivy wasted no time in sprinting towards her friends.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack found a spot on the riverbank to watch, not trusting the human in the slightest to behave. Her general maturity level (at least, in comparison to the rest of the children) seemed to fly out the window at the opportunity to show off, and Jack had too much experience with her human fragility to let his guard down. He tried, briefly, to remember how long humans could safely hold their breath, then abandoned the thought. It would only increase his paranoia, he decided.

A familiar sweet scent distracted him as Sally knelt in the grass beside him, watching as Vinnie hurtled herself into the water, her bandages soaking instantly.

"Did you ever do this?" She asked suddenly, one finger tracing the edge of her black lace parasol. "In a river or …. Some other type of water?" Her brow furrowed, and Jack leapt, as always, at the opportunity to provide the rag doll with a new word.

"I hid at the edge of the ocean once," he confessed with a grin. "I was tracking one particular human, and thought that arising from the depths of the sea at my height may give him quite the fright. And it's easy to disappear into!"

"Ocean," Sally said, testing the new word on her tongue. "What's that like?"

A familiar face flashed behind Jack's sockets and he shook his skull, banishing the memories as he tried to focus on the sensations and scale of the waves. "It's alive, in a way this river isn't. The Wind creates white peaks on the waves, which forever crash against the shore." He pointed to the bank of the river, where the water lapped gently at the plants, sometimes disturbed by the next child's entry into the water. "Imagine, perhaps, that you are an ant there on the riverbank. All you can see before you is water, and the sun shining upon it turns the dark blue into gold. You know if you step too far, you'll either be swept away or drowned. It has a mind of its own, the ocean."

Sally stared at the river bank, her mind no doubt conjuring up fantastic images. Jack basked in the memory of a sunset on the beach one last time, then tucked it away once more, and the pair fell into silence.

A stone his his head and he turned, one hand shielding his vision from the sun as he looked up at the top of the bridge. Ivy stood there, toeing off her shoes, and staring down into the murky water with her usual focused expression. She crouched down, whispering something to the fascinated children gathered around her, then quickly glanced over to the bank to see if Jack was watching with a forced and awkward attempt at subtlety.

Jack gave her a thumbs up and watched the involuntary grin take over her face, even as she pretended not to see him.

With a determined nod, Ivy pushed herself up and into the air, arms wheeling out for a brief instant before she wrapped them around her legs, hurtling towards the river with a screech that could have only been learned in scaring class. She hit the water with a solid boom!, water rushing into the sky like a fountain and spraying the occupants of the bank and bridge. The children cheered, climbing over each other to go next, but Jack didn't celebrate until he saw a dark head peek out from the water, shaking like Zero after a storm. She treaded water as she called the next child down, who kept the ball formation until they hit the water, landing flat on their back that no doubt would have stung had they been human. Reassured, Jack turned back to Sally, who watched the proceedings with amusement.

"That looks like fun," she said wistfully, angling her parasol to better protect her from the spray. "I'm not sure it would be good for me, though."

There was such a sorrow to her tone that Jack turned his attention fully to her, watching the way her red hair glinted in the sun. The shouts of Ivy and the children provided a cover for their conversation, prompting him to lean in closer. Sally's eyes widened, two strands dangling before them.

"Have you ever tried?"

"No," she whispered, as though it were a secret. Knowing Sally's guardian, perhaps it was. "Only my hands, and then I had to let them dry in the sun."

Another old memory flashed in Jack's mind, though whether it was from Halloween or before he couldn't quite distinguish. Putting the puzzle aside he stood up, shaking his bones loose and sending Sally a dazzling smile. "Come, let's try something."

Sally blinked owlishly but soon joined him by the bank of the river. The children were oblivious, now attempting to get as many of them on Ivy's shoulders as possible before she was forced beneath the murky water. The practice made Jack pause, but when the human bobbed back to the surface and hurtled one monster away, he decided she could handle it.

He knelt in the loose pebbles, feeling Sally wordlessly join him with a trust that made his ribs tighten. She gazed at the water with a mixture of trepidation and excitement, one hand hovering just above it. Jack steeled himself for the eventual headache and dunked his head under the water, blinking into the dark depths.

The Siren, who had been rising from the bottom of the river with one webbed hand extending towards Ivy's ankle, gazed innocently at Jack before receding back down.

He pulled his head up and shook it, spraying an astonished Sally. "You want me to do that?" She stammered, eyes torn between gazing at him and the water in horror.

"Why not?" He asked with a craggly grin.

"I'm - I don't know if the Doctor would want me to," she stammered, but Jack could see the spark of rebellion in her eyes, something that had been steadily growing over the past few months, and was seized with a sudden desire to fan the flames, if only to see what creature would emerge. At the back of his skull, his respect for the Good Doctor protested, but the front of his mind was focused solely on the rag doll before him.

"You'd have time to dry," he said, sockets flickering to the beating sun above them. "And what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

Sally tilted her head at him, then tipped her head back and laughed. It was clear and far gentler than anything he'd ever heard in Halloween Town, and he felt a strange sadness within him as it died away, only to be replaced by the graceful upturn of her lips.

"I should have known," she said, amused.

"Know what?"

"That the King creates his own rules." She stared at the water once more, then squared her shoulder that eerily reminded him of Ivy - thought it made sense, he supposed, given Sally's origins.

"Shall we?" He asked, extending a hand. Sally's eyes grew large but after only a moment's hesitation she took it. With her soft hand in his, they plunged their heads under in unison.

Without the need to breathe, they both took in the sight of the dark water, with a few stray sunbeams piercing through to the muddy bottom, where dark green algae clung to the sharp rocks. The strands of Sally's bun grew loose, fanning around her head in a manner that reminded Jack of the sea sirens of legend. Then, with an instinct he didn't quite understand, Jack unhinged his jaw to scream into the water.

It was muffled, and no breath meant no stream of bubbles, but Sally heard him all the same. She stared at him in befuddlement, then hesitantly opened her own stitched lips and gave a scream of her own - small, at first, as if unfamiliar with the concept, then growing until it was louder than Jack's, what sounded like months of pent-up something spilling into the water.

A burst of bubbles and flesh cut both their screams off as Ivy sank beneath the water, her arms wrapped around her legs once more, eyes screwed shut. A look of curiosity stole over her face after a few moments of floating downwards, and she unraveled herself before blinking open her eyes to meet the gazes of Sally and Jack, peeking beneath the water like strange serpents. She huffed, bubbles escaped from her nose and mouth, and promptly ignored them, kicking off the closest rock and kicking towards the surface.

Laughing, Jack pulled out of the water, and after a moment Sally did the same. The fabric of her face was a much darker blue, though for once due to something other than a blush. She let go of his hand (Jack had almost forgotten about it) and began to wring out her hair, a look of familiar wistfulness on her face.

"I've never screamed," she confessed. "Isn't that silly, for a creature in a Town like this?"

"Not at all," Jack rushed to reassure. "If anything, one's first scream is best saved for a special time, don't you think? The first of many more to come, no doubt!" Then, with a touch of embarrassment. "I'm sorry for forcing your first upon you -"

"You didn't," Sally said, an equal reassurance in her voice. "Without you, who knows how long I would've gone without doing it!"

"Surely the Doctor -"

Sally snorted. "He doesn't care for me to raise my voice, Jack." Then, as though realizing what she'd said, she hastily added, "which makes sense, of course, he needs the peace and quiet to work, and I do talk quite a bit, I suppose -"

The thought of Sally talking too much was one that Jack didn't fully grasp, but he supposed he'd never understood much of the Doctor's thought patterns. He was a genius, after all, fully mad and everything. He knew when to pick his battles.

"Well, I always enjoy what you have to say," Jack decided to answer, leading Sally back to their spots. He could already feel the water being leached from his skull, and didn't mind collapsing onto the thin grass to watch the children once more. Sally had no response other than to hum quietly, sitting beside him and tipping her face towards the sun to aid the drying process, plucking the spider silk tie from her hair, causing a cascade of red hair to topple down her back and Jack to wish for the refreshment of the freezing water once more.

A shadow fell across them as Ivy stumbled over and sat down, flipping her head over and wringing river water from her hair. She grinned over at Sally, a look of proud expectation on her face. "What'd you think, Sally?"

"I liked it," the rag doll admitted in her usual mix of shyness and honesty, keeping her eyes closed. "Perhaps next time I'll swim fully."

"I'll teach ya how to do a cannonball if you want!"

"That's very kind of you," Sally answered, though not quite accepting the human's offer. "You're very good at them."

The distraction worked - Ivy puffed up, smoothing one hand through her wet hair, causing the back to stick up in a way that had Jack's hands twitching for a brush. No wonder her hair was forever tangled. "Yeah, it's way easier to do them here than back in the Schwimmbad. There's always too many kids and not enough depth."

Sally nodded seriously, despite clearly not understanding a word. Jack, who never could resist the urge to learn, prodded Ivy's back until she looked at him. "Sally and I were discussing beaches. Have you ever been to one?"

Ivy shrugged. "Yeah, we went down to Italy a few years ago, and it was pretty nice." She tilted her head, a new laughter in her eyes and voice. "Papa always said it wasn't a real beach, though. Too rocky, just like this." She gestured towards the river bank, where stones and dirt lined the edge. "He thinks a beach should be all white sand." With that, she flopped backwards, tucking her arms behind her head and closing her eyes.

There was something strange happening to the skin of Ivy's face, something that tugged at old alarm bells in Jack's mind, but time had eroded the memories too much. He frowned but let it be, leaning back on his hands and enjoying the rare stillness in the heat of the day. Sally copied Ivy, folding her hands neatly across her stomach and letting her eyes flutter shut.

"We should get you a - oh, what are they called? A floatie," Ivy mumbled, her eyes still shut.

"What's that?" Sally asked in turn, confusion winning out over her politeness.

"It's a -" Ivy dug one hand behind her back, pulled out a stick, and tossed it blindly towards the river, where cheers from the children rose up. "It's a bit of plastic that helps you float on the water without getting wet."

"Really?" Sally sounded incredulous. She opened her eyes and peered at the river. "So I could go out without getting wet?"

"Yup. Get all the sun and current you want, without having to be all wet afterwards."

"I would like a … a floatie."

"We'll make it happen, Sal."

"Would they work for skeletons, as well?" Jack asked, feeling oddly left out.

Ivy snorted. "Tell you what, Jack, if I can find one that'll fit your gangly ass, it's yours."

The owner of the gangly ass sniffed indignantly, but fell silent, choosing instead to enjoy the sight of his friends.

Finally, hours later, Ivy woke from an impromptu cat nap, stretching and blinking into awareness. Jack stifled a smile at the sight from where he stood in the river, allowing the tiring children to climb up his limbs and dive off his shoulders. Sally sat on the edge of the bridge, her legs swinging freely over the side.

"Ugh." The human grumbled, pushing herself upright, then freezing, one finger poking her face and causing an immediate groan. "Oh, damn it."

"What is it?" Jack allowed the last child to stand on his hands and launched them into the air, then stepped out, rolling his pant legs down. It wouldn't do to ruin Sally's handiwork, after all. "Are you alright?"

Ivy stared up at him, a grumpy expression on her red face. "Sunburn," she mumbled, getting to shaky legs. "And, ow, headache. Serves me right for sleeping in the sun."

"Sunburn?" The word clicked into his mind and Jack nearly hit himself as he saw Ivy's red and peeling skin with new sockets. "Wait, don't you have a - a potion you use to prevent this?"

Ivy paused from brushing the dirt off her shirt to shoot him a look of pure disgust. "What, sunscreen? I'm not a nerd, Jack, I don't need it."

"Well, clearly, you - don't pick at it!" He shouted, as Ivy peeled a strip from her forearm. "Why do you have to -"

"Guess that one monster was right," Ivy said, blowing bits of loose skin off her arm. "We really do shed sometimes."

"Please stop," Jack all but begged, shedding his Hawaiian shirt and tossing it over her head, as though to prevent any more sun rays.

"Hey, Jack, watch." She held up her red arm, then poked it, laughing at the white imprint of her fingers that were left behind. "Ah, that's going to hurt like a bitch in the morning."

"I don't know how to fix this," Jack confessed quietly. Ivy finally looked away from her skin, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. The disapproving look was somewhat lessened by the hem of the red shirt hanging low across her forehead

"Jack, it's fine. It's my own fault, and I'll throw some Aloe Vera on it when I get back - "

"Sally!"

"Oh, god, no -"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and two plants later

Jack disposed of the last few plant stems, humming contentedly to himself. There was a silent stewing happening behind him, and that only made him smile harder.

"Quit smirking," the human's voice grouched. "I feel ridiculous."

"It's for your own good," he chided, turning and leaning against the sink, crossing his arms. The curtains were drawn at Ivy's insistence (and Jack found that it did make the Manor a bit cooler), so only a candle and Jack's night vision allowed him to see the scowl etched on his charge's now-shiny face, the strong smell of aloe vera juice permeating the air. "How were you going to explain getting that way overnight?"

"I'd've figured it out the same way I do everything else," Ivy muttered, and there was a weariness to the tone that gave him pause. He tilted his head and moved to - well, to try and say something, but Ivy seemed to sense the heaviness in her tone and brightened, touching one hand gingerly to her cheek, where a clump of aloe Vera juice lay. "You almost looked like you were having fun today."

That gave Jack a different kind of pause. "Do I not appear to have fun normally?"

"No, 'cause you don't," came the definitive reply.

"I'm consistently in good spirits!"

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, dude."

"I do wish you'd speak less coarsely."

"And I wish you'd realize I know when you're faking being happy by now, so it looks like we're both disappointed." Ivy's arms crossed, and she gazed at Jack with a familiar piercing gaze. "What's going on with you? You had Sally today, you did your weird little bonding moment, why isn't that a good thing?"

"It is," Jack rushed. "I - it was… enjoyable, today, I suppose."

"Oh, high praise."

"Let me finish, please."

Ivy rolled her eyes but fell silent.

"Surely you remember the amount of things I'm responsible for in regards to running Halloween," Jack began, hoping that Ivy's memory wasn't failing her again. At her nod, he continued. "I can't afford to be lax in my days!"

"Yeah, but you also set the mood for the rest of the Town," Ivy argued, forgetting her promise to be silent (as usual). "If you're always high-strung and on the move, who's gonna be the voice of reason? We already have the Mayor for all the anxious nonsense, we don't need two of you."

"Hey now -"

"Jack, I think your bones are actually capable of falling apart when you're stressed." Ivy tried to glare at him further, only to immediately wince when it pained her face. "Just -" she took a breath, actually seeming to regain control. "Just - I'm here for you, ok? Like, I don't know how much help I can be, but, uh, I'll do what I can." She hesitated, then reached out to kick his leg.

"I feel the support," Jack responded dryly. Then, before she could make it worse, he hastily added: "and I thank you all the same." He sat beside her, and the two tried to exist with the heavy pressures of deceit and leadership on their shoulders. "And I am here for you as well," he said, as though uncertain.

Ivy laughed quietly, knocking her shoulder against his. "There's never any doubt of that, Bone Boy."

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At Sunrise

Ivy's closet was the perfect place for a Gateway - cramped, timeless, and seldom used. Still, that never made it easy for her to materialize inside of it, holding in a swear as she tripped over her shoes and pinwheeling frantically as she was muffled by the clothing. She opened the door and crept out, still feeling the sunburn tighten her skin painfully. The sun was creeping upwards over the village, and Ivy hurried to change from her river-stiff getup into a new shorts and tank top combo, hiding the evidence in the closet. She'd have to find some way to clean them, but it shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

A glance at her watch had her hurrying - she scrambled beneath the covers, now somehow cool, and closed her eyes against the gentle transition from dawn to day. She began to count, slowing her breaths, until the tell-tale signs of her father getting ready for work began. At 250 seconds, her dialed up hearing altered her to the handle of her bedroom door opening as he performed his customary check to see if his daughter was still there. Ivy remained still, her breathing slow once more. The checks were getting more random, less easier to predict, but Ivy hadn't missed it once.

The door shut and Ivy refused to breathe a sigh of relief. Eventually, her papa's footfalls faded down the hall, and Ivy begrudgingly decided to try and get some sleep before facing another tremulous - and no doubt, hot - summer day.

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 1

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 2     Part 3

Your high heels click on the marble floor, numerous conversations stopping in the hotel’s lobby since you haven’t been seen around in the past 3 years. The concierge can’t hide a smile and you take your sunglasses off, finally making it to the front desk after driving for hours.

“Welcome to the Continental, Miss Y/N. Such a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you Charon,” you remove 7 gold coins out of your purse and slide them on the counter towards him. “It’s good to see you too.”

“For how long will we have the pleasure of your company?” the man inquires, taking a peek at the computer’s screen to make sure he can shuffle things if needed.

“One night.”

“That will only be 4 coins,” Charon informs and you point out at the tiny pile:

“The rest is for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/N,” he smiles again, typing on the keyboard. “Your old room is available; it will be a couple of minutes for us to add a few finishing touches.”

“Sure. Is the manager here?” you ask because you texted him this morning to announce your arrival.

“He’s waiting at the bar,” Charon gestures towards the elevator and you take a deep breath, excited and a bit nervous about the upcoming encounter. “Also, if I may… Allow me to express my deepest condolences.”

You bite on your lip and can’t utter a sound besides nodding your head instead of a reply: although it’s a genuine declaration, it caught you off-guard.

You slowly walk towards the elevator and once inside you press the B button when a hand halts the doors from closing; you know whom those tattooed knuckles belong to. Ares squeezes inside looking like she wants to kill everyone. What else is new?

“I thought that was you,” the woman uses the sign language and you silently gaze at her.

“Which floor?” you sign back.

“10th,” her thumb indicates the number.

The elevator’s doors shut and she analyzes Y/N, deciding to continue the conversation:

“Remember I told you next time we bump into each other I’m going to kill you?” the mute assassin’s threat brings a faint smirk on your lips.

“Shut up,” you elbow her and the smartass response doesn’t fail:

“I’m always as quiet as a mouse.”

You chuckle and Ares grins at her own cleverness, having a nice suggestion for the evening.

“I have the night off; wanna meet later for dinner?”

You are tired as hell but a distraction doesn’t hurt.

“Will 7pm work?” you accept the invitation.

“Awesome!” she signs, delighted you two can catch up. “They have new items on the menu you would enjoy,” Ares winks then her enthusiasm gradually dies out. “I’m sorry about…,” the discussion takes a serious tone and you sniffle, trying hard not to cry.

“Thank you,” you touch your chin and the ding sound reveals its first destination. “I have to bail; I’ll see you soon,” you step out of the elevator and she remains inside.

“It’s a date!” she signs, concerned you’ll burst out in tears as soon as she’s gone.

Yet after the elevator’s door close, Y/N manages to pull herself together; God knows it’s not easy to pretend she’s fine following the tragedy of losing someone she loved with all her heart.

The individual waiting for her at one of the tables at the bar can definitely notice the struggle behind the tired eyes; Winston sipps from his martini and gets up, opening his arms in anticipation.

“There you are,” he gives you a hug, then invites you to sit down.

“Hello Winston,” you place your purse on the floor and Continental’s owner is attempting to small talk:

“Please make an old man happy and confirm your return.”

“You’re anything but old,” you emphasize while he snorts, amused. “I’m not sure; I have to figure out some personal stuff…”

“Of course,” Winston agrees right away given the situation. “Mmmm… I’m terribly sorry for your loss,“ he addresses the heartbroken Y/N.

“Thank you…” you mumble, avoiding eye contact since the painful subject hurts more than any physical wound you ever sustained.

“I wanted to come attend the funeral yet I was out of the country,” the man underlines.

“No worries. I appreciate the flowers you sent… …”

Moments of complete stillness before Winston changes the topic; he knows better than to prolong your agony. A manager with his flair can at least guess the extenuating circumstances that led to your presence on the premises.

“Any plans for the near future?”

“I’m going to stay with Jonathan until I decide.”

Winston wishes to suggest a couple of options but he’s interrupted by your warning:

“Someone might come searching for me.”

He taps his fingernails against the martini glass, the weak echo dissipating in the background noise.

“Is that someone…somebody’s husband?” his furrowed eyebrows prompt an answer not difficult to estimate:

“More like… ex-husband…”

The manager inhales, debating on your confession.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he reassures without any hesitation; heaven knows a domestic dispute is the last kind of mess Continental needs but it will probably pass undetected. “Would you care for a drink?”

Suddenly, Winston’s cell goes off and he retrieves it out of his suit’s pocket, apologizing for the delay.

“I’m sorry, I really have to get this,” he slides the screen, attentively listening to the person speaking. “Are you kidding me?!” the man raises his voice with contempt. “Damn…,” he rubs his forehead, annoyed. "Well, he brought it upon himself! Transfer me,” the manager passes the sentence without hesitation after his call reaches the correct department. ”Accounts payable: 11111. Effective immediately: Magnus Stonnenberg, excommunicado. Open contract: 2 million dollars. Distribution: international,” and he hangs up. “Work never ends,” Winston adds even if it’s not necessary; you are perfectly aware how the company works and what it means to run it.

“What happened?” you curiously investigate.

“Trouble on the 15th floor: Magnus murdered Anuscka Volovdya on the hotel grounds, thus I have to implement punitive measures. This is neutral environment and the rules are clear: no killing. Cocktail?” he lifts his glass up and you politely decline.

“No, thank you.  If it’s all the same, I will retreat to my quarters. It was a very long drive and I can’t wait to freshen up. I will come see you in the morning before I leave; would that be ok?”

“Of course,” Winston stands up in the same time with you, a faint smile lingering on his face as he watches you distancing yourself from the bar. He didn’t see you in a long time and he can tell that although you look pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

Everyone’s cells start chiming and ringing, including yours: the text messages keep on popping up with the manager’s most recent order regarding Stonnenberg.

You wander along the small corridor leading the stairs when at the corner Magnus almost crashes into you; he seems distressed and no big surprise due to his present predicament.

“Are you back?” he hisses while quickening the pace in the opposite direction because he wants to get the hell out of there.

“No,” the short acknowledgement triggers his cockiness mixed with relief.

“Great! One less to worry about!”

You frown at the unnecessary statement: pursuing a bounty is not financial gain you are momentarily interested in; you have more important problems on your plate and chasing a persona non grata isn’t on your list.

************

Next evening, 7:13pm

“There you are!” John exclaims as soon as he sees you. “Come on in,” he grabs the two suitcases out of your hands, leading the way around the house. “Did you get stuck in traffic?”

“Yes,” you close the door and follow him into one of the bedrooms downstairs already prepared for your visit. “Traffic was terrible, took me one hour to pass Lincoln Avenue.”

“Well…” he places the luggage by the bed, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too… Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Jonathan.”

Despite having his hair in a ponytail, the shorter strands slide out and John blows them off his cheeks, irritated.

“Yeah, absolutely. Plenty of space.”

“What’s that smell?” you sniff the air, intrigued.

“I cooked chicken Alfredo.”

“Oh no,” you crinkle your nose and he laughs at your despair. “Are your skills as bad as I remember?”

“Worse,” he admits. “Helen is not here to guide… me…”, John swallows the last word and you feel compelled to soothe his grief.

“I’m sorry she’s gone… You had a terrific partner…”, you sadly smile and continue . “We pay such a heavy price for leaving the organization… I must say you got a better deal than I did.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and you could swear there’s no trace of Baba Yaga inside him; I suppose this is John Wick’s greatness: his ability to switch from an apparent normal guy to the deadliest assassin in a blink of an eye.

“Umm… do you want me to help you unpack?” he breaks the silence and you lift the first suitcase on the bed, opening the metal clasps.

“I don’t have a lot; just some basic necessities,” you explain and gulp when you take out the device you use on a regular basis. “I… I still pump the milk and… and throw it away since I don’t have my baby to feed anymore…”

Jonathan exhales, sensitive to the mother’s sorrow: he knows a thing or two about losing a loved one and Y/N uncontrollably sobbing triggers emotions he kept bottled up for weeks. He pulls you in his arms and you hug him back, hopelessly crying on his shoulder after displaying such restraint in the past days.  

“Why didn’t he drive the car? Why?” you keep on repeating the question and John understands what you’re referring to:

Two months ago The Joker was supposed to bring his three weeks old son from the beach house to The Penthouse and didn’t; he had a meeting and instead he sent one of his henchmen to drive Kase back to you and they never made it. There was a horrible accident on Glissan Street: the car was smashed to pieces by a huge truck, both driver and the baby dying on impact. You couldn’t stop blaming your husband for his indifference regarding the safety of his own child. I supposed the meeting and making money was infinitely more critical than driving his son home.

Maybe if J navigated the vehicle, he would have taken another route and you would still have your tiny treasure right now. 

You’re calming down a bit and John wipes your tears, upset to see you broken beyond anything he could ever fix.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No,” you whimper and fight to regain your composure. “I’m a little bit hungry…”

“Well,” your friend puckers his lips, “depending on how bad it is we might have to order something. Shall I…call anybody for you?” he hints and surely didn’t predict the reply:

“My anybody is probably too busy with his mistress or planning a heist, can’t be bothered with any type of insignificant matters.”

Your friend seems shocked and you enlighten the mystery for him:

“I followed J so I know… That’s why I decided enough is enough. I packed minimum necessary in a hurry and left… … …I should have killed him… …” your voice dies out and your attitude proves Jonathan that you most than likely tried to. “Can we eat now please?”

“Should I actually order Italian?” he plays along for your sake.

“I’ll try the chicken Alfredo first.”

“Shit! You’re brave,” his brutal honesty makes you giggle and whimper in the same time. “C’mon then, food’s on the stove.  Hopefully we’ll survive,” he smirks and you nod in agreement, grateful to have a soul to talk to since your husband’s lack of empathy made it so much harder to cope with your son’s demise.

***************

Same evening, 7:30pm – Continental Hotel

“Mister Joker,” Winston greets The King of Gotham. “Welcome to New York!”

The gush of wind sweeping the terrace on top of the building messes J’s locks and for once he couldn’t care less.

“Hello Winston,” your spouse growls, barely able to concentrate after he slept a couple of hours the previous night.

“Grape juice on ice?” the manager’s hospitality emerges out of necessity because The Clown isn’t exactly the easiest character to accommodate.

“Is my wife here?” J quizzes, ignoring Winston’s cordiality.

“Walk with me,” the hotel owner persuades your husband; they move alongside the concrete path bordered by decorative shrubs as information is shared. “Y/N was here.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Where did she go?” The Joker sneers.

Winston fails to spill the beans and J is aware he can’t push for a disclosure, not with a high ranking member of the organization. So he attempts a different strategy.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned home after a meeting just to find out my wife abandoned the nest,” he shows management a post-it with your handwritten note:

Do what you want with the rest.

“She just took a few things, thus I have to personally discuss with her a very crucial dilemma: what am I supposed to do with the baby’s items? I have a room full of them. So I’m asking: WHERE.IS.MY.WIFE?”

“Mister Joker, you forget that in my line of business I am good at reading people and I can tell when they lie,” Winston elegantly throws it out there for the heck of it.

The King of Gotham halts and cracks his neck, displeased with the comment.

“Then tell me, am I lying?!”

The manager sighs, carefully analyzing J’s features: although he looks pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

“Maybe she’s staying with a friend,” he insinuates and your husband articulates a sentence rarely spoken aloud:

“Thank you,” J stomps away, already having a few ideas about your whereabouts.

Winston huffs, intrigued to have discerned a crazy detail while reading The Clown’s reactions: besides the fact he wasn’t lying, something else stood out. 

“He loves her…” management mumbles to himself. “I bet he doesn’t even know it.”

*************

10:34 pm

John softly knocks at the cracked bedroom’s door, unsure if you’re awake or not.

“Y/N, do you need anything before I go to sleep?”

There’s no answer and he creeps inside only to see you passed out with your hand hanging over the side of the bed. Jonathan tucks you in, feeling awkward about your unresponsiveness.

“Hey, are you ok?” he gently shakes you and freezes when he realizes there’s an empty pill bottle on the nightstand.

“Oh God!” he panics and reads the label. “Trazodone 300 mg: Take 1 tablet by mouth nightly for depression/insomnia.” That’s the highest dose for the medication and he taps on your cheeks, concerned you took a bunch of them at once. “Y/N, Y/N! Can you hear me?!”

You moan and open your eyes, unhappy to be woken up in such a hasty fashion.

“Jesus, lemme sleep... would you?!...” you grumble and turn on the other side, groggy from the drug.

“How many sleeping pills did you take?” John doesn’t give up and you yawn:

“One…my last one…” you adjust your body on the comfortable mattress, not comprehending why your host is agitated. “I’m exhausted…” you close your eyes and he lingers next to your bed, relieved the situation was a misinterpretation from his part.

**************

11:32am, New York

“Oh my…”The Bowery King deciphers a missive a dove flew in 10 minutes ago; he got a whiff of some valuable data yesterday and the new documentation is by far the best conspiracy and revenge scheme he stumbled upon this year. “Would you look at that,” the man grins, caressing the bird’s feathers. “What do you think?” he addresses the winged companion. “Should we be nice and tell Y/N and Mister Joker their son is not dead?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

How about #98 with werewolf ignis? 👀 he's turned his s/o into a werewolf out of mutual agreement and he's soothing them through the transformation process. Neutral pronouns is fine andialsoreallyloveyourworkokaybye❤

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!! WE LOVE YOU WEREWOLF!GLADIO FIC!

Well I do, I don’t know about Heather, but Monica and I love it and oh my gosh HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!

We were inspired by this and we decided to carry this out further!

We recommend listening to In The Woods Somewhere by Hozier while reading this.

Also a note: Anything italicized is a memory!!

~ Becca

“It hurts.”

"You can back out at any time, my dear..."

"I don't want to. I want this, I want to do this..."

"Alright then, just lie still. It'll be over soon, I promise."

"Will it hurt?"

"Sadly, and it will linger. But I'll be here to soothe it as much as I can."

"Ignis?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"I love you."

I love you.”

That word rang like sirens in his head, bouncing off the sides of his skull and it only made the white noise in his ear crinkle louder. He couldn't catch his breath, he couldn't focus, not with the full moon hanging so clearly in the starry sky. He could only focus on that itchy feeling under his skin, a feeling that makes him want to rip apart his skin just to free the tawny light brown fur lying underneath his skin.

But, there were more important matters in his mind.

He stood from his office chair and stumbled within the space of his office. The static in his ears had turned to a ring pressuring in his left ear, crawling up slowly to his temple. His vision had started to sway, colors had begun to fade into each other and any light gave him a terrible headache. The ringing in his ear grew louder, more pressure was sinking into his skull, he couldn't take it anymore.

Ignis snatched his glasses off of his face and tossed them carelessly on his desk before he carded his lanky fingers through his tawny hair.

"What happens to me during it?"

"It's gruesome, it's violent. You'll feel unbearable heat, immense pain as if every bone in your body had snapped - which is what is happening to you - and everything is heightened from your hearing to your sense of smell. It's agonizing, but you'll feel powerful and heavy and strong. You'll feel invincible."

"What's gonna happen to me when I do transform?"

"You'll most likely pass out from the pain. If the transformation keeps you awake, however, you'll become this... I don't want to say it because I know you'll never become such a thing but..."

"A monster," you finished. Ignis stayed silent instead of agreeing with you. It tipped something off to you. "Ignis?"

"I was one my first time."

Ignis stumbled around his office, he leaned against the cold walls and guided himself along the floorboards. His hands slapped against the door, they slowly sank down to the cold brass knob when it happened.

Ignis lurched forward, his head cracked against the door as immense heat suddenly washed over his body. A strangled shout had become choked in his throat, his vocal chords were shredding apart now.

The handle jiggled under Ignis' grip until it slipped from his grip. The door swung open and Ignis fell forward, his head hit something firm and warm.

"Iggy," a deep voice rumbled, "let's get you downstairs with 'em."

"You feel it, don't you, my dear?"

"I feel weird."

"It's the full moon, it'll make you feel like this until you're able to control yourself one-hundred percent of the time."

"How long will that take?"

"Awhile. I have yet to gain control over that side of me and I've been a lycan for a year now."

"Does it get better though?"

"Eventually. It'll start to hurt less, your body will grow used to it."

A choked scream managed to push its way out of your mouth, saliva and stomach acid and leftover chunks of vomit that still clung to your mouth flew up into the air. Ignis' hands raked over your body, he was shushing you softly while he himself starting growling and groaning under his breath. A violent snap forced your body to jerk up, your back snapped above his legs. You had yet to pass out from the pain, you had started to foam at the mouth while screaming out curses and nonsense screeches.

Ignis remembered when he was like this... Well, not in the sense that he was awake. He was recorded upon his request and he made sure you saw what he was like when you found out about his lycanthropy. He watched as your face drained with color and your eyes widen a bit at Ignis' transformation.

He made sure you watched this again when you told him to change you. He made sure it got to you that this would happen to you, that this would change you and change your life and relationships. Everything would change because of this.

He made you watch it all. He made you watch the transformation. He made you watch his bones break, skin stretch and his skin being torn from his body. He made you watch the tawny light brown fur scatter across his larger frame. He made you watch his face stretch into a long muzzle and watch his teeth fall out so fangs could slip through. He made you watch him scream, he made you watch him nearly break through the glass that held the camera as well as the people observing him, the screams of panic from them as well the awful scrapes of claws against glass and metal.

Ignis never watched the video to the end, but that time he did. He watched on in horror beside you as he tore the metal floor up before hurling it into the glass, shattering it and sending it all to ground. The camera had been knocked over as Ignis stood at the shattered window snarling while trying to snatch up anyone he could.

But that was when the camera went to static.

Ignis never watched that part before, he only and always shut it off just when he slashed at the window the first time. Hearing those people scream in fear stuck to him, they clung to him and never let go, it haunts him. But seeing that rattled him to his core.

"I'm here," Ignis wheezed as he gripped onto your shaking hands.

"Ig-"

You coughed loudly before a whine ripped through you.

"Hush, my dear. Don't try to fight it, you'll only make it worse. You need to breathe."

Ignis was now taking deep breaths, he was fighting it himself so he could push it down. He wanted to comfort you, he needed to comfort you. A strange part of him said that he needed to stay with you at all times. 

A pained scream rang through you, echoing throughout the room as if it were a howl.

"I can't... I can't, this-" you choked on your own saliva. "Knoc- Knock me..."

"My dear, do you want me to?"

"Please," you whined as tears were pouring down your veiny face.

Ignis raised you in his arms before tilting you into his body. His fingers creeped to the back of your neck as he searched for something, like a pressure point or something of the sorts, until your hands shot out to him. One hand gripped his jaw and pushed his head back while the other latched onto his throat and pulled.

"(Y/n)!" Ignis choked out as he pushed you away.

Your body had fallen back against the metal floor, but you brought Ignis with you.

"I'm sorry," you cried out blood started to slip from the corner of your mouth. "I'm sorry. It hurts."

"My love, it's fine," Ignis struggled to get out from his ripping vocal chords. 

A scream ripped through you as you started to rip apart your skin with the long claws that had started to grow in when Nyx and Crowe had escorted you in from the Kingsglaive lockerroom. Ignis moved to hold you only to retract as his transformation had finally forced its way out of him.

Haunting green eyes shot through you as you watched him stalk around in the room. Saliva was dripping from his fanged mouth as his shoulders were moving with his constant panting.

You stood there, keeping all of your focus and thoughts on him, just him, just Ignis and not the werewolf.

'That's what I'll be soon,' you thought as you looked down at the wrapped bitemark on your forearm.

This Girl

Jughead x Reader

Requested:  “ Can you please write me a smut with jughead?? I don’t care what it’s about. Anything as long as it’s super smuttyyyyyy. Thank you!! (I love your writing😍😍😍😍)” by havensmommy12417 combined with “A jughead fic with another serpent girl would be nice. Like she would give him shit and stuff but would really care for him and would reluctant about him being of it. Idk just a idea” by annony.

Warnings: Smut and fluff.

Based off the episode where FP is released from prison and Betty and Jughead throw that party for him in the bar. 

A/N: requested months and months ago lol sorry.

—————————————————————————–

Jughead POV “Hey there Jug, how are things?” yn threw herself down next to me on one of the benches at the empty quarry. “Nothing much ynn” I had lot of on my mind and while I loved talking with my Serpent partner in crime, I didn’t feel a lot like talking. “Really? You weren’t in school, so where’d you hide the body” i smiled at her humor. “Nah its nothing, its just Penney” yn rolled her eyes at me. When i told her what I did, to say she was furious would be putting it lightly. “I told you so, such a witch” “There’s good news though…” “Really? Not a lot of that floating around this side of town” “My dad is getting out” “Oh my god Jug that’s amazing!” her voice reverberated off the walls of the empty quarry. She hugged me tightly, the smell of her perfume coursing through me. I’m happy she was the first person I told, it was nice to get a definite positive reaction. “So why are you hanging out here by yourself loner?” she separated from me again. “I was just thinking about what my dad is going to say when he finds out about Penny.” “Not going to lie to you jug, he’s probably going to be super annoyed-” i looked away from her. It was the truth but i didn’t want to hear it. She took my hand in hers and rubbed the back of it. “-but it’s going to be alright Jug, you’ve gotten through worse” i gave her a small genuine smile. This girl. This girl is as tough as the old boots she wears and just as reliable. My phone buzzed. “Oh bettys home from school…I should go tell her” “You should” yn gave me a smile that didn’t seem to be all there. - “That’s great news Juggy!” betty grabbed me into a hug after I told her the news outside of Pops. Shes awesome. “Why-why do you smell like perfume?” “Oh, must have happened when i told yn earlier, anyway-” “You told yn before me?” she interrupted me, pulling back from me slightly but still holding my arms. “Yeah…she came to check on me when I wasn’t in school, nothing major” “Mmmkay” she didn’t seem to convinced. Veronica and Archie seemed to be in an argument as they both came up behind us. I can’t wait to tell them, Archie will be happy for me while Betty seemed to sulk. “Umm I just remembered I have to do something, I’ll catch you guys later.” before i could object she took off. Ill just have to talk to her later. ~ 3rd Person. You and Toni were busy working your bar shift. Mopping up spilled drinks while the Whyte Wyrm hummed around you both. Betty walked in, with all eyes on the girl next door. You didn’t mind Betty, you had a neutral relationship, nothing crazy. Still you didn’t want to spend any time extra around a northsider than you had to, in the nicest way possible. You left the bar as Betty stepped to talk to Toni. As much as you tried to not listen you couldn’t help but overhear Bettys plan. You shook your head, neither Toni or you and many  of the girl juniors took part in that part of the initiation. You were all trying to phase it out of style and this northsider planning to do it wasnt going to help the cause. ~ Jughead POV My dads party was in full swing, it was so great of Betty to organise it and wow she looked great. Seeing her look so amazing made Pennys words harder to block out. “Hey Jug great party” the sight of yn caught my breath. She looked utterly stunning. “Listen Jug i have to warn you abou-” “-Jug! Come on Karaoke is starting” Kevin cut off yn and dragged me away. Wait what was she going to say?! Warn me about what?! ~ I broke my dad’s heart, I just broke my dad’s heart and now I just broke Betty’s heart. I can’t believe she thought that was a good idea. She broke my heart. I let her walk away, I made her walk away, it’s for the best and that hurts the most. I slid down the side of a car once she had gone and let the cold travel through me. What an absolute mess I have made. I wanted to scream and shout and physically tear my world down around me just so it could match what I felt was happening. “Jughead? Is there a reason that your sitting by my car-” she laughed but then saw my face fully and changed her tone “-Jug what’s wrong?!” I hadn’t even realised I was crying, I could feel the cold from the ground quickly being replaced by YNs warmth as she sat next to me. She slung an arm around me and pulled herself closer. “Tell me what’s happened” and I did simply that. I just rambled and rambled until my hand she held stopped shaking. I could tell this girl anything. “Sweetie its okay, it’ll be okay, you can fix things with Betty and I’ll help you with Penny” “No no I can’t drag anyone else down with me, especially you” “You’re not dragging me down if I go choose to go with you Juggy” she continued to rub the back of my hands while she spoke softly. I pulled a hand from hers and replaced it on her cheek, pulling her in slightly to kiss her tenderly. In that moment I forgot I was on the freezing cold floor of a car park outside of a bar, I was just completely melted into her aura. Then it stopped. “Juggy what are you doing?” she suddenly pulled from me and the cold air returned. “I-I-I-” “You just broke up with your girlfriend and as much as I want this to happen, I can’t have you waking up tomorrow and thinking oh god what a mistake” “I don’t think this is a mistake” i pulled her back in and it really felt like it killed her to tear back away from me. Tears started to form in her intoxicating eyes as she stood from the ground and backed away. Another broken hearted casualty. “Umm I have to- I have to go back to work and- Umm you should go home and text me when you get there and- and I’ll talk to you soon- im so sorry” her voice broke more and more with every word before she put her hands to her mouth and took off back to the bar. Back to the cold i had chosen to surround myself with. ~ 1 week later- Night - Third Person “Who is it?” you replied to the knocking on your trailer door but got no answer. You pulled the door open, a hand hovering over the bat by the door. Jughead let himself in, closing the door behind him without taking his wild eyes off you. He came chest to chest with you walking you back until you found your back against the back wall. “This isn’t a mistake” his warm breath sent shivers down your spine with his wicked smirk helping it along. A gaspy breath left you the moment his hands grabbed your hips and then it was taken away when Jugheads pressed his lips hungrily against yours. Your arms went around his neck and he reached to his hair, ripping off his beanie and then sent his hands to your ass to lift you. A whimper left you as you wrapped your legs around his waist and were pushed harder against the wall. His lips ran down to mark your neck hungrily as your fingers coursed through his raven locks. “Wait wait Juggy, what about betty?” you tried to gain as much awareness of the whirlwind situation as possible. “She’s not you, she was never you and I’ve always wanted you, I’m just sorry I took so long to realise it” his sincere eyes made your heart crumple and you both kissed again more gently.   “I’d follow you anywhere Juggy, I’ll help you with this Penny situation but just- just not tonight” your ran a hand through his hair again, tugging the back of his hair teasingly, his grin grew and he met your neck hungrily once again. The whirlwind countiuned as you found yourself thrown onto the bed and quickly stripping off any betraying fabric that would separate the two of you. His hands ran rampant all over every inch of our body which you simply craved. His teeth tenderly sinking into your chest encouraged by your soft moans. Your own hands helped Jughead to be guided into you. You both release groans and moans at the feeling of Jughead entering you. After adjusting he began moving slowly, picking up the speed as he went. He buried his face in your necks as your nails dug into his shoulder blades. Jughead sent one hand tracing around your thighs, the other bent and holding him up above your head. Your back arched further with every movement and groan that left Jughead. The feeling of your walls tightening around his member sent him into overdrive as he hit his peek, shouting your name and collapsing slightly on top of you. Only not pulling out and continuing to move sloppily until finally you hit earth shattering status shortly after with the band snapping, sending you swearing and screaming Jugheads names as your high is ridden out. Jughead rolled over next you in a huffing mess. He pulled your trembling body into his and covered you both before taking a moment to catch his breath. “Wow i regret that” you hit him into the chest at his breathless “No I really don’t, maybe we should do it again ynn-ie” you giggled at him while he rolled into you, kissing your neck. You pushed him back playfully before burying yourself in his chest, allowing him to wrap an arm around you. “Well that was fun but we really should try and sort this thing out with Penny” you sat up only to be pulled back down by Jughead. “Mmm tomorrow” he hummed against your skin with closed eyes as he traced little circles on the small of your back. This Girl is all Jughead could think of.

————————————————-

Xx

An Old Alpha

(The leadup to the meeting between Zolzhin and @themagicalmercantile This is my attempt at getting back into the writing game. Here is hoping.)

Deep in the forests of Ashenvale, in the hidden places, dwelled the elves. They slipped between the trees and sat beside ancient pools. Yet long before their presence, long before their existence, it was the home of the wild. There were ancient places, perhaps not of power, but of splendor. Untouched by the hands of humans and their industry, nor even the magical properties of the elven tree tenders. No, these untamed places had only been trodden by paws and claws, those wild animals that came even before the elven druids. And also, perhaps troll feet.

Zolzhin crept through the forest with all the stealth of a wraith, ears twitching and nose sniffing the air for any telltale sounds or scents. Like a prowling cat he moved, sometimes on all fours like the animals he tended and mimicked. Not a single branch was stirred by his passing, not a single leaf misplaced by his tread. There was no confidence in what he did, the arrogance of a skilled hunter, no this was the caution of a wild animal that knew it might be prey. His scent neutralized by tonics, his form’s outline dappled by the furs and armor her wore, he might have been tracked by the most skilled, but those few so skilled even knew he existed. And that was how he liked it.

He did this across the planet, in places unknown to even his brethren. In places inhospitable and unknown, shunned and ignored he made the homes he loved. No other creature besides his wild beast kin had he ever brought here, this place of hidden wonder. The only one who he ever offered, Tamatala, his one friend from the Tauren Tribes, had never made the journey with him. There was a bitter sadness that he could not share these things with others, could not trust in the intentions of his acquaintances, but truly these places were the last sanctuary he could offer. To lose them, would end him.

Parting fern fronds and thick hanging ivy, one would not have seen nor understood that this area was any different from the surrounding terrain. It was close and cramped, overhung and dark. Yet there was a quality about it. A sort of symmetry not found in wild nature. Perhaps how the vines fell in a wall around the area, perhaps how the grass and leaves were even underfoot, or simply the unusual privacy of it. For here, in this forgotten corner of the forest, was one of Zolzhin’s beloved creches. His first and most beloved.

Wolf pups started from their fitful dreams of hunts and play at the sensing of a new presence. No sound betrayed him, but his very aura seemed to disturb and change the air around him. With joyful barks and warbles of pups still learning their voice they tumbled over one another to get at the old beast master. The smile on his lips was genuine, one he did not often share with humanoids. Other animals stirred amongst the beds of moss and strewn leaves. The soft hiss of raptors, barely stirring in the early morning cold, chittering from above as spiders small and large descended on gossamer strands, the plaintive croak of nesting birds further above, and even the cackling laugh of a hyena pup as it rose up to follow the wolves.

They smelled his gifts, each one eager to receive its offerings. The creche housed the small and the weak, those needing aid and time to recover. Some would stay in the creche, guarding and defending newer charges. Others would go out into the world to further their species in the wild. Each was beloved of the old troll, though treated with dignity and respect, in his own traditional way. Packs were slung off his back, and the gifts given forth. Meats for the hyena and its brethren wolves, who set about the food with ravenous delight. Wriggling offerings of lesser insects to the spiders which retreated quickly to their silken homes. For the raptors and birds above he set their food to the side so they could take once they roused better, secure in his gentle training of the beasts that their food would not be disturbed unduly.

As the animals either woke slowly or ate quickly he sat back on his haunches and watched. His ragged bony frame curled into itself, until he wrapped his arms around his legs, and became almost a tiny box of flesh and bones. He rested his narrow jaw upon his knees, tusks jutting out in front of him and over his arms. He sighed deeply, watching the simple joys the animals showed.

It was always the hardest thing, living with the silence he surrounded himself with. Too many hours to think and reflect, too little to keep his mind focused. When one grows old, one thinks about their mortality, their legacy. Who would carry on his legacy? Who would maintain the creche’s and their natural wonder when he finally met his end? And as the years kept turning for him, it was getting closer and closer. He could not avoid the reaper forever. Less and less he thought about his past, pained and fraught with dishonor. With the passing of Vol’jin his chances for ever being accepted back into his tribe were long gone. Who would even remember his misdeeds to forgive them? Could he ever even forgive himself, with no one left to forgive him first?

These black thoughts traveled with him, followed his footsteps like a hunter. They always found him, caught up with him. Yet what to do about them? The pups had finished their meals and most went back to romping and playing, now fully roused for the day. The littlest pup, whom Zolzhin saw instantly was Chaloo, padded up to the distraught troll. Still licking its chops of stray blood it head butted the old beast master’s foot. It was a quick thing, a silent thing. A young pup telling its old alpha to get up and get going. Zolzhin let out a chuckled breath, nodding. Chaloo was right of course. Alphas didn’t mope, alphas worked.

So then what was the work? Provide for the creches of course, but there was more. Legacy. Perhaps the target should be in finding another. A younger creature who could take up his work. An apprentice. It was an ill formed thought, a swift minded plan, but it suited the old beast master. As he uncurled himself from his little box of self-pity he was resolved. This is what he would do.

But FIRST, there were a group of gnomes which had displeased him. Alphas also punished those who came against the pack. Tracking down the little “voles” as he knew them, would be a good exercise in his hunting ability. They might even lead him to further gains for his creches. Voles always had fancy things to sell off to people.

Shifting his treasured gun into his hands, caressing his fingers over the totems and fetishes which adorned it, he cast one last look over the denizens of this creche and silently promised to be back soon. But there was work to be done. Alpha work.

West of Nowhere

Friday

I can't sleep. It seems to be a trend these days; I wish it was as chic as my mind is making it out to be. This isn't some fight club insomnia story. I'm not going crazy, at least I think I'm not. As far as I've noticed I'm stepping out of crazy and back into normal life. But the lack of sleep at night has become my only bridge to crazy and back into normal life. I've grown too used to being abnormal. I have suffered the difficulties of being different and I've grown used to the pain of standing out like a yellow buck tooth. Staying up late and forgetting how to sleep is all I have left of my mental missteps.

It started when I became ill briefly. It only lasted about a week but my schedule never quite got back on track. Then the depression came. Oh! The solitude of the lonely nights, I could hardly stand it. I logged myself into silly dating apps and found myself looking for the perfect stranger. It felt like begging to be noticed in some way; no, it feels like begging to be noticed in every way.

"Please, sir, will you tell me I'm beautiful and witty and amazing?" My pictures and bio beg like an orphan begs to have parents.

Maybe the perfect strange will be my knight in shining armor. Maybe they will send me dick pictures and ask me to send my private body back to them.

"Let me see your titties." They demand like there aren't millions of beautiful breasts online for them to ogle. I suppose it means more to them that they've had text exchanges via tinder with the breasts in question...

I know the perfect stranger doesn't exist for me right now and the knight in shining armor is a figure of speech; mostly because knights don't wear armor any more. See, being west of nowhere I've learned that I am that knight, if you will. I am simply unwilling to acknowledge that I am the only person who can rescue me from this pain. It's difficult to be the knight and the damsel, I tell ya.

I'm trying, I really am.

He's dead, ok? He's dead. He's dead. He's dead. He's as dead as someone can be, unless your name is Jesus or Lazarus. He will not be back. I'm safe from him here... West of Nowhere. Don't worry I didn't kill him, I told you this isn't like every other suburban insomniac story.

West of nowhere is the name of my mind palace. Sherlock Holmes had one and I decided I might as well have one too. I guess Happy Gilmore kind of had one but that was more of a "happy place", I don't have a happy place. I guess this isn't so much a palace as it is a prison. In my mind prison, West of Nowhere, he is dead; it's the only way to cope- well, that and my little white antidepressants. Oh, and the insomnia.

Why is he dead in West of Nowhere? Because he ought not to have ever lived... at least not to my knowledge. It was the only way to escape the pain and havoc he created in my life. He was dead in West of Nowhere before he was even out of my real life. My mind palace always knew he was not the rightful heir to the kingdom. He was an imposter and he needed to be banished with no hope of returning; punishment by death was the only way.

Again, I didn't even kill him there. He was one day and the next he simply wasn't. There was no graphic imagining of him being tortured in an ironmaiden or hanging in front of the village. There was no head on a steak. It was just common knowledge that he was no longer alive; the knowledge of the palace; the resident, only one; me. Except for the knight I keep seeing out of the corner of my eye.

I see the knight dressed in armor, head to toe, walking through the palace exactly parallel to me. If I turn my head he vanishes. I walk the long halls and he is there. Sometimes I see him in the reflection of glass and mirrors, only out of the corner of my eye. He is in my peripheral, with me every moment, though I dare never speak. I want to keep his company here.

Wow, how overwhelmingly immersed in patriarchal society am I that even in my mind palace I fear speaking to a man I made up? What? My imaginary friend in my imaginary palace is going to leave me if I say the wrong thing? Shaking my damn head, I'm gonna talk to him.

"Hey," I say to the long corridor in front of me. I hear my footsteps echo back toward me and my words linger like snow in a shaded place. Maybe he needs an invitation. "Do you want to talk to me or are we not that serious yet?"

The knight chuckles. (Because I never bomb in my palace) I turn to face him and he stays. I can see him, literally, in shining glory. My eyes widen as I view him. I can feel the tension leading up to him speaking and my heart begins to race.

Ding.

I open my eyes, to a dark room. Was I dreaming? No, I was in my mind palace. I look around a bit confused and reach for my phone. I unlock it with my fingerprint and roll over to read the message. The ding was the infamous "u up?" text from a new lover of mine. Ah, Jimmy, he is rather uninteresting aside from his apparent lack of confidence, which I find endearing. His face is as neutral as they come, not quite handsome but not awkward enough to be ugly. He is white and has dark blonde or is it light brown hair? I've never seen him in the light of day, so I am not sure. He has a basic haircut. He is a tall man, which might be the only interesting thing in his appearance, that and his nose is Roman shaped but rather short and his upper lip is quite long in comparison to beauty standards today. Someone might find him to be beautiful, but that someone is definitely not me.

I tell Jimmy- that's what his friends call him, he asked me to call him by his given name and I do- to come over and kiss me good night. He asks when and where. We go over the details redundantly. I have a feeling he deleted my messages because he has a full-time lover or significant other but I don't care. It wouldn't be my mess to clean. Jimmy might just be a normal single guy who doesn't want to scroll up and read an address on their phone. I can't tell you how many times I had to give... well, never mind, I don't want to think of him right now.

Jimmy calls me when he arrives. I walk out the front door, he already knows he will not be invited in this evening. He doesn't know that I have another man sleeping in my bed. I don't care much for that man and can guarantee I will not respond to any messages, if he ever sends one again. I'm hoping he will leave as soon as he wakes up, not like the last time where he woke me up and had me make him breakfast. The lazy bastard. I hate being woken up when I am finally sleeping. I mean, in today's hookup culture who sticks around in the morning? Everyone knows, you just leave.

I am happy to see Jimmy. He is becoming a familiar face and I now link that face with pleasure in my mind. I can feel my pussy warm as he steps out of his Audi. I lean in to hug him as I say hello and he raises his arms high in the air. I am clutching the back of his ribs as he stretches and yawns, I become increasingly uncomfortable as he doesn't greet me. I drop my arms, look at my feet, and giggle with discomfort. I feel my cheeks flush; am I seriously blushing from embarrassment in front of Jimmy? I am. Damnit.

"Well, um, hey." I say to gain some kind of a grip on myself.

"Hi." He leans in to hug me, I am tempted to not hug him back but I do, and I kiss him. His mount tastes like mouthwash and his cheeks smell like aftershave, I don't know which kind but it is intoxicating. "Sorry, I've been cramped in here all night. I needed the stretch."

The way Jimmy talks, it seems like his body isn't quite sure if what he's doing is ok. Like, an alien trying to fit in in a human suit because being human in the mirror works but being human in public is harder. I assume he had a rough home life and wasn't exactly adored by his parents. I could be wrong but he definitely wasn't a cool kid or a high achieving nerd. I've never met a man who was as old as Jimmy that still didn't know how to comfortably move in their body. Maybe, I haven't met enough men. I wish I could just look at Jimmy and not try to read into everything but that's just how I am. What I like about Jimmy is I know he wants me for sexual connection, for physical closeness and nothing else.

I sit in his car and we begin kissing. Who hurt you? Kissing him is an absolute delight. He is soft and brushed his tongue across my lips when we start. His hands caressing my head and shoulders inviting my body closer to his. He wisps his lips and breath up and down the left side of my neck when the kissing becomes slightly monotonous. While he does that he holds my right shoulder down and away from his head, simultaneously pulling my hair with enough pressure to immobilize me. I sigh into this pleasure, I trust him. When he is done kissing my neck he moves back to my mouth, this time with more aggression. I find it sexy as we repeat this pattern a few times; my pussy is also flattered.

Jimmy and I hardly talk. We just kiss; slowly, then passionately, then lightly, then roughly. We kiss. He touches me everywhere. I want him to touch me everywhere, I want to beg him. I want to lay in the snow bank next to his car and beg him to take me under the street light. I don't, I just let him touch me. I unbutton the front of my jean shirt as his head dives for my right areola. He kisses, nibbles, licks and sucks on my nipples. I am beyond aroused. I can feel my clitoris pulsing as he continues pleasuring me, it is like my breasts and clitoris have a direct link to each other. Am I going to come? The thought stops the feeling and my energy seems to stop Jimmy as he works his way back up my chest and neck and kisses me on my lips.

Jimmy has to go back to work. I dont want him to leave. I want him to stay with me. I want him to be all mine. I want to keep him as a little pet. I kiss him again as a plead. No, I kiss him out of defiance, I need to regain control of this situation. I place my hands on his cock. It is rock hard beneath his pants, I tell him he needs to start acting in his big dick energy because he owes it to his big cock. I meant it, he's HUGE! This gives more aggressive passionate kissing. If we weren't in this car, I would have wrapped my legs around him like an anaconda (or is that a python, both maybe?) but I can't. The only way to gain control is to stop kissing him.

I stop. He moves down my body and kisses and caresses my other breast. This side feels even better. I hear a song come on, my God it sounds amazing.

"My dopamine levels must be high in my brain right now." He doesn't stop he is continuing his pursuit of my pleasure. "All of these songs sound so amazing. I've never even heard this one but it's a good song. Black Kennedy."

He kisses me again. I hear my phone go off, I am afraid it's what-his-name asking me where I am. I make an excuse that it might be family and I have to check my phone. It wasn't what-his-name, it was a different man from tinder. I ignore it. We kiss with heat and fire. He has my pussy in his hands and it feels like I might melt into a spinning ball of rapture. I stop him. I remind him he has work tonight.

"I don't want to go to work, I just want to fuck you now." He says this in a whinny almost childish way I was not expecting. I mock his words and actions by overly dramatizing it by sounding exactly like a 4 year old and I stomp my feet on his car. Then I laugh so he knows I am only being playful.

"Here, let's have a cigarette. It's cold outside that should help you. Do you want one? I bought a pack today and I need to get rid of these." I hand him my pack of stupid smelly cigarettes. He accepts and we step out of his car. I walk around to the driver's side and see he is fiddling with his pants, his cock is probably in an uncomfortable position. Ah, and that position is erect. I stand close to him and gesture like I am gaurding anyone from seeing it, although I am the only one around. I can't resist the temptation to rub against him. My God, he is hard. I kiss him after I take a drag of a cigarette. It reminds me too much of... never mind. I take a step back.

I gaze at him. I must be high on endorphins because Jimmy is looking so handsome right now. My eyes must be a little too dilated to see all of the imperfections. I lay my right hand on his chest, he flinches. I am surprised by this, our hands have been everywhere on each other tonight. I crinkle my nose and furrow my brow.

"I don't know why I did that." He says as confused as I am.

"Don't worry," I chuckle, "Your heart is safe from me." I touch his shoulder and lean into his cock again like before. I kiss him without emotion hoping to convince him that he doesn't have to love me. I am the ice queen.

I kiss him on the cheek and tell him to text me tomorrow. I walk away from his car and hear my footsteps on the asphalt. A tree shades the streetlight and I enter the shadows, I feel a sensation come over me to turn around. No, I won't turn around. Turning back to see if they are still there is how you catch feelings and I don't ever want to catch feelings for the wrong guy again.

I go inside, lock the door behind me, the dogs bark and I quiet them. I lay on the couch and I masturbate until I climax. The next thing I know, I'm asleep.

A rumble, heavy enough to rouse the lifeless curtains, awakened him in the most alarming fashion. Heaves of heavy breath threw his body into a panic before he could recollect his current state. The pitter patter of rain rapidly puddling through the screen and onto the wooden window sill told him it was storming heavily on the other side of this wall. The warmth of the fluffy navy comforter kept him dry and out of radius of the rain. Regardless, he was soaked, temple to jaw with sweat. It was difficult to decide exactly where he was and what current state the world was in. So much has happened, in so little time, it seems. The fall of everything, the losses...the ever so slight gains...

Ciel wiped his brow with the back of his forearm once he finally caught his breath and took careful note of his surroundings. Such a familiar setting. Familiar because it was his own bedroom. It smelled the same, all furniture in its usual place. His questioning blue eyes peered over at the opened window where the drapes fluttered in the gusts of wind that slipped in and out when it had the chance. He climbed from the mattress and his tousled blankets to quickly close the glass before anything else could get any damper. Then, a flash of lightning lit up what seemed to be the entire block before a rupture of thunder thudded against the atmosphere. Houses were...complete, with tidied lawns with the exception of torn leaves and broken branches due to the current storm. Cars drove freely along the road in front of his window, rushing to get home and out of the rain. Lights illuminated little windows, as well as his own. People lived in these homes. People drove these vehicles. People...were alive and present.

As he had begun to fail to adapt to the current setting of a typical evening in stormy London, he turned around and searched the perimeters some more. He never leaves his holster belt anywhere but on his bedpost. Protection had to be no further than within arms reach. Nothing. His machete, nowhere to be found. That was foolish of him to have misplaced his weapons. Unless...they’d been taken away. Were they no longer needed? It seemed there were too many of the living outside, all in one place. It was a sanctuary, right? A lot had happened the night he was bitten a second time. So much doubt and regret had spiraled into the haze of a coma that left him less than himself for the longest time. 

Of course. He was still dealing with the aftermath of it all. Things must have been solved, and society had begun to rebuild and multiply once more. Was the war over, then? Who did he manage to bring with him into this community? Ciel curiously stepped before his dresser drawers and pulled one open, finding a few pairs of jeans and pants. He grabbed a distressed, dark pair and took note of its attributes. ...Mass produced distress. One could always tell the difference. Tears and holes were scars and bullet wounds where he comes from. It displays to others where you’ve been, what you’ve been through. Even more curious, he lifted the denim up to his nose and inhaled the embedded scent. Clean, almost...floral. No earthy undertones, no high notes of dried blood and flesh. He furrowed his brows and slipped them on over his shorts anyway, feeling an odd sensation of wearing a pair of pants that hadn’t been lived in for months on end. It felt...uncomfortably familiar. 

As he collected more pieces of this cognitive puzzle, he almost feared what...or who...waited for him downstairs. With a hesitant turn of the handle, he pulled his bedroom door open and made quiet footsteps down the hall and the staircase. Photos were set in place, nothing looked to be in need of repair or refinishing. Everything was...just as normal as it could’ve been. The further he walked down the stairs, the more he took note of more familiar scents traveling through the air. Oh, that therapeutic aroma of freshly brewed coffee sent his heart swaying unsteadily. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smelled something so wonderful. A hint of darkly toasted bread followed after, the way he accidentally discovered was his favorite way to eat toast. The exact same way. How unusual all of this was. But he wasn’t at the grand finale just yet.

As though he had potentially died with his luck and found a psychological sanctuary, he was frightened to lose track of his current thoughts when he spotted the most familiar nostalgia in the kitchen, a woman with golden blonde hair that never fell out of place, that never looked unkempt. A melodious hum filled her aura as she stirred a concoction at the stove in what he remembered to be her favorite morning robe when it was gloomy and she needed to eliminate such feelings from the ball of light she was made of. His mother. She lived after all.

Ciel stood in awe, disbelief in the doorway of the kitchen, as though he couldn’t make sense of such an ordinary situation. But like clockwork, as if she expected it, the woman smiled and set her spoon down on the counter, before guiding his stone-line body to the table. “Oh, dear, you always look at me like that everyday. Today’s another day, I still haven’t gone anywhere. Now, come sit and get your fix, hm?” His heart fluttered with so many feelings that didn’t seem to fit the setting at all. Was he not supposed to be surprised by any of this? His face felt feverish again; he simply couldn’t just settle here with a cup of coffee. He’d burn up and his heart would explode. He eyed his plate of nearly burnt toast, slathered with butter and jam, perfectly made just for him, and then he eyed the empty chairs at the table. “Your father left for work already,” she peeped in, as though she were able to read his mind. The clock hanging over the doorway ticked at 8:49 AM. ...She’s right. This was around the time his father would have already been getting situated at his office. He then observed the fourth chair, as if someone else were meant to be remembered. His heart ached for someone. ...But who? Someone who he promised would never leave behind. But had he done just that?

“...Elizabeth!” He was struck with a name that was put at the top of a mental priority list. Why did he forget momentarily? A neutral enemy who turned out to be the most important living creature of his entire life, suddenly not within his proximity like he promised? He swore to protect her against all of the horrible things that had happened in his world and swore that a new world would come of what he can offer. He was the cure, remember? If the world outside is now safe, he is the true savior of this entire society. So where was she? Was she still on the defense line? Was there still an outbreak? “Oh god, she’s not still out there, is she? She shouldn’t be--I told her not t-” Arms slipped around his shoulders from behind where he sat at the kitchen table and a gentle press of lips to the top of his head raised a flag for personal alarm. “Darling...my sweet boy...we have a long way to go...” A slight waver in her voice left him unsettled. Her pampering was compassionate, but with unnecessary hospitality. 

“...Mom, I just need to know where she--” A quiet shush followed by a rub of the top of his head left him bewildered by her actions. Is she hiding something from him? What happened to Elizabeth? What happened to everything? How is everyone so quickly back on track with life after nearly all of mankind had been wiped out by the virus? Why was everything build as if nothing had ever happened? Was that the whole point? To forget? He couldn’t forget, not when he lived it, not when everyone lived it! He was frustrated, pushing his plate of toast aside that had eventually lost good temperature, and held his head in his hands. If she passed and he’s in a state of shock, she damn well better--

A scar. ...Stitches? Several of them across his left temple. It was swollen, as if it were recent, but not fresh, not ready to be fully healed. Had he been in an accident? He had terrible situations with that induced coma, and didn’t really come back from it one hundred percent, he felt. Perhaps the government was still trying to hide everything from him. Perhaps they had shipped him off somewhere more official, provided a cure to the world, but wanted to cover it all up and performed some sort of...under-the-table lobotomy on him. Of course that would all make sense. He wasn’t supposed to believe any of this happened. But that doesn’t explain what happened to Elizabeth! Was she...compromised for being involved with him? Oh god, what if they...?

His breath wavered unsteadily as his heart began to pound, a panic attack slowly coming to the surface. What was a life where everything was a lie? A dream...? “Ciel, honey, take a deep breath...then take your medicine.” His mother called upon his slight emergency as she grabbed a prescription bottle from the overhead cabinet and fished out two pills. She pried open his shaking hand and placed them gently in his palm. “I’m so sorry I didn’t wake you earlier. You’re behind now. We have to do a better job of staying on top of your doses, yeah?”

...’Get your fix’.

......’We have a long way to go.’

What happens to your perception of reality when you’re capable of living two different, two very real worlds and can’t wake up from either?