#feedback welcomed

[hawkinsoutcasts]

I had this fucked up idea of Will having a vision in the mirror, and decided to turn it into a pulp horror comic cover. I like how this came out actually!

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Got you - D.W

I will never recover from what they did to Bobby. That man is my light, okay? I need a supportive angry uncle that will save my ass whenever I need it like Bobby would for everyone.

Content warning: death of loved one, mention of past abuse and death of a parent, spoilers for season 7 of Supernatural (pls don’t read if you haven’t watched), angst, sadness, crying, deans beautiful eyes filled with tears, love, fluff that makes me sick (it’s so cringe but I couldn’t think of how else to end it and this has been in my drafts since JUNE)

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17. I do not give permission bc or my work to be reposted or translated by anybody. I do not own the characters mentioned in this story; apart from the Y/N character. This individual storyline is canon-divergent, meaning that I only own some of it. The rest is from the mind of the Kripke. Don’t steal my work, my dudes (gender neutral). That’s a douche thing to do.

Of all the people Y/N had met, all of the hunters, the sociopaths, the monsters; Y/N had never met somebody so reluctant to discuss their feelings as Dean was. At present, his reluctance was understandable.

Bobby Singer had passed a few weeks ago.

He had raised Y/N from the age of 15 onwards. Back when she was rampant and would take off for weeks on end to hunt without getting permission from Bobby. As such, she hadn’t met Dean and Sam Winchester until a few months before the younger brother had taken off for college. Her and Dean became fast friends through Sam’s absence, the former not knowing the younger boy enough to miss his presence and the latter going out of his mind in worry and grief for the missing relationship.

Not many could get Dean to open up, including Y/N, but she stuck by him through his fathers disappearance and the fight with Yellow Eyes. She fell out of his life for a while again, but he had Sam, but she reappeared when Dean called her crying because his brother was back from hell sans soul.

She had stuck by through Castiel - Dean’s pet angel - taking the mantel of god and the rise of the Leviathans.

She hadn’t once felt like she wasn’t wanted, not until she held her Father’s hand while he took his final breath and simultaneously watched the elder winchester brother retreat in on himself in favour of an unrelenting vengeance issued towards Dick Roman.

Since Bobby had passed, Dean had become cold. Lifeless. Angry.

Sam had spoken to Y/N, had discussed the passing of their foster-father and the hole it tore from their lives. They had cried together, mourned together and while neither of them were close to dealing with the grief, they managed.

Dean on the other hand, was a nightmare.

Sam had taken off on a hunt of his own, leaving Y/N and Dean in Rufus’ cabin.

Dean was calling Frank for the hundredth time that day and Y/N was searching the papers and online news sites for hunts. Sitting around and waiting for Dick to do something to lead them to killing him wasn’t good enough for her. Her grief was overwhelming and she needed to clear her mind - she needed to put a monster down.

She had lifted her head up from the computer, watching as Dean sat, staring, unmoving at the wall. His forest green eyes were locked onto a picture of Dick Roman, and she could see the hard clench in his jaw.

“Hey, Dean?” She called, voice hopeful. She had stood from her chair and started walking towards him with the computer in hand.

He simply grunted in acknowledgement, not looking away. He just kept drinking from the bottle of beer he had just opened.

She cocked a brow, setting her own jaw. He had hardly spoken to her since Bobby died. She had been wracking her brain to figure out why, especially since he had been speaking to Sam normally but avoiding her.

“Uh, there’s a vamp nest out near Wyoming. Going through people like they’re going out of style. Wanna go check it out?” She held the computer out to him. He gazed at it for barely a second, rolled his eyes and downed more of his beer.

“I don’t know if you can tell but, I’m kinda busy.” He held his arms out and gestured to the detective style wall. The now empty beer bottle was slammed into the coffee table.

“Doing what? Drinking the entire supply of alcohol in America?” She quipped but her face remained deadpan. The look in his eyes was often enough to make any normal person cower, but not Y/N. Her rebellious streak didn’t end when she hit adulthood.

He snarled, green eyes scrunched, “Funny. It may be news to you but I’m trying to find a way to put down the guy who killed Bobby.” He stomped over to the fridge in search of another beverage. Y/N withheld the toll of her eyes but did little to contain her heavy sigh. He snatched his phone from the small table in the dining area, punching in a number in the same aggressive manner he had done at least 10 times a day for the past few weeks. “Frank, it’s Dean Winchester. Give me a call if you’ve found anything.”

“You know, he might have a better chance of finding something if you stop hounding him every few seconds!” She smiled, a sickly sweet gesture that they both knew was laced with malice. “I’m going on this hunt. Are you going to keep living in stick around here like you’re Paul Sheldon, or are you going to come with me?” She growled through the smile. “Sitting here, staring at a wall isn’t going to help you figure out how to kill that bastard any faster.”

He mumbled expletives under his breath, twisting the top off of another beer and left the room. He returned moments later with a new flannel, his bag and the flask she had given Bobby for the first Father’s Day she spent with him. The mere sight of the object brought tears to her eyes but luckily Dean spared little attention to her shift in demeanor. He refused to give the flask to her, shutting her down every time she tried to explain the significance.

She was left to instead bury her pain while Dean reminded her that she wouldn’t feel as much as he did. In reality, he knew very little of her relationship with Bobby.

“You getting your ass in the car or what?” He called, already outside. She had barely noticed his movements but trailed after him quickly. A hunt was what she needed. She needed to get her mind off of her deceased father and cutting the heads off of vampires is the best distraction she could find at the present time.

~~~~~

Her hand stilled above his wound just before she left the liquor flow onto the gash. “You want something for the pain before I get started?”

The hunt had started well. Dean had instructed her to stay behind him, allowing him to take the lead with his beat up machete and prepubescent-esque mood swings.

She thought differently, having specialized in vamp slayings for the better part of her hunter career; after all, her real father was murdered by one of the blood suckers, so her vendetta was rarely satiated.

She took the lead, heading in a different direction to what Dean instructed, knowing it was a more sure route to take out the leader of the nest. There were always hidden pathways in the nests; and those pathways lead straight to where the baddest vamp of the squad was generally sucking down a double serving of human.

Somewhere along the lines, Dean had his own machete turned on him and took a deep gash to his right shoulder. Y/N made quick work of the vamps she encountered, using her specified skills to kill them as she had been taught. It was generally easy for her, but Dean had taken a few blows and required rescuing.

She had to leave a few vamps to wallow in their own injuries while she dragged Dean out of the nest and to the nearest hotel, leading to the situation they found themself in now - Y/N patching Dean up and Dean acting like the entitled prat he had been for a while.

Her previous question was answered with a grunt, dean turning his head away from her. Her patience had worn thin.

Placing a hand on his bare chest, she lifted herself up slightly and poured the contents of the bottle onto the top of Dean’s head. It trickled down his face and chest, leaving a sticky feeling in its wake and bringing a hissed curse from his lips when it flooded the wound on his right shoulder.

“What the hell, Y/N?” He grunted. He was on his feet, using his shirt to wipe away the alcohol from the deep wound to quell the burning.

She threw the bottle onto the couch beside him, raising to her feet and grabbing a cloth to wipe at her hands. “If you want to act like a tough guy then you can drive your ass back to the cabin and get Sam to patch you up.” Her voice was horribly calm, her eyes falling anywhere but on him. “I’ve had about enough of you, Dean.”

“What are you talking about?” He growled. His temper was explosive from the get-go, but hers would build. When she snapped, she snapped good and proper. “I don’t need something for the damn pain! I’ve been doing this my whole life. What is your problem lately?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know damn well,” she growled back at him, turning away from him with a shake of the head. “You have been an absolute dick since Bobby passed. I get it - we are all hurting, but the way you are acting? I’m sick of-“

He was on his feet, amber liquid still trailing down his face and chest. “You have no damn idea how I feel Y/N!” His voice was louder than she expected but she wouldn’t let it force her down. “Bobby was like a father to me! He was always there for me when my dad was on a hunt and he treated me like I was his own! You have no right to talk to me like that-“

He was cut off by a sharp jab to the cheek. Y/N had about enough of his bitching. It was damn time that he shut his trap and listened.

“What the-“

“For the past few weeks I have been listening to you go on and on, constantly telling me that I meant nothing to Bobby and I wouldn’t have the damn connection you had with him.” She spoke through gritted teeth, her knuckles beginning to throb as Dean held his jaw. “You’re a selfish dick. You don’t care about anybody but your damn self and that’s plain and simple.” She began to pace. Her anger had hit its boiling point, red no longer lining her vision but the grief fueling her anger and disgust in Dean. “I had lived with Bobby since I was a kid - 15. He took me in because I had nobody, Dean. My father died when I was young; throat ripped out by a vamp. My mother wasn’t a mother. She used me as bait every chance she got to get revenge on every and all vampires on this god forsaken planet. Bobby was all I fricking had!”

Dean watched as Y/N stopped pacing. She had turned to him now, her voice loud as she screamed the words at him.

She released a humorless laugh, “I get that Bobby was a big part of your life, but for god sakes, he didn’t belong to just you and Sam!”

Her hands had tangled in her hair as she spoke, the remnants of alcohol and blood making the strands stick together. She was fighting back tears. For the first time since it happened, reality set in.

Bobby was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Once again, she had nobody.

Dean was at a loss for words. He didn’t remember seeing Y/N around Bobby’s house when they were younger, but Y/N was closer to Sam’s age than she is to his. It was as if a wave of guilt crashed down upon him. He had no idea that she had been so close to Bobby.

“He meant so much to everybody - to me,” she sniffed, hard. “He’s all I have.”

Dean felt his digits twitch with a need to hold her. He had always felt an invisible pull towards the woman, their personalities fitting together like jagged jigsaw pieces, but he had never allowed her the deepest thought to consider her life and her history - her connection to his father figure. Unlike Y/N, his father had been in his life, despite his faults. Y/N had nobody until she had Bobby.

Her heart was heavy, and she could feel the metaphorical weight pushing her chest cavity in. For the first time since he passed, the dam broke. Tears began to fall one at a time, but the rapids took over, forcing the salty liquid to flood her cheeks and stutter her breathing. She had never experienced such intense grief.

The sensations overwhelmed her. But Dean felt his self-control leave his body. His arms moved on their own accord, making the decision to forgo permission to hug the woman and instead he connected his body with hers. He held her as she fell to her knees, cradling her body in his and tucking her head underneath his chin.

“He’s gone… he’s gone,” her voice was thick with grief, her muttering striking his heart once again.

“It’s okay, princess.” He felt the tears prick back at his own eyes, pulling her back slightly so he could look at her face. She cradled her face in her hands, putting up little resistance when he took her hands in his own and pulled them away. “It’s okay, you’re not alone.”

Her brows furrowed, the typical fire hidden behind her stare, just lacking the normal intensity. “Who else do I have, Dean? Bobby was my only family, everybody else was just a an extension of their love for him. He was all I had.”

His fingers dropped her own, green eyes staring into her own with such an intense emotion that she seemed to recoil under his gaze, but the fire still burned in her own eyes. His hands rested on the sides of her face, thumbs rubbing the tears from her skin.

“Don’t, for one second, think that you are alone. You- you’ve got me, okay?” More tears fell from her eyes, and his own followed suit. “I am never leaving you, princess.”

“You have no reason to stick around with me, dean.”

“Why wouldn’t-“

“You have your own life!” She asserted, nose crinkled in his grip. “You have Sam and leviathans to kill, and things that are more important-“

“I’m not leaving you, because I love you, Y/N!” His voice was powerful, his brows pinched and his eyes heavy. A normal person would experience some level of fear in this situation, but Y/N wasn’t normal people. Dean had never felt more at home than when he was staring into her eyes, and he took a moment to register his confession and the way her features seemed to melt at his words.

Despite his malice in recent days, Dean had never raised his voice at her in such a way. His eyes had never glazed over with sheer defiance, halting the protests on her tongue instantly. Nevertheless, in any other circumstance, she would have raised her voice louder. She was not one to be meek: Bobby raised her better than that. But the hurt that saturated his tone seemed to settle on her heart a little heavier than before.

This was different to the argument that they had moments before. This was assertive. The anger seemed to dissipate with his words. The chill running down her spine one of satisfaction, fear, and something else.

She didn’t trust her voice to respond, her face still clasped in his larger palms. When she tried to speak, a noise of confusion tumbled from her lips, and Dean’s seemed to shy away from her gaze. His hands slowly slipped away and he sat back on his haunches.

“I don’t think you know just how much you mean to us, Y/N - to me.” He cleared his throat, eyes focused anywhere but on her. She caught sight of his teeth nibbling on his lower lip, something she rarely saw from him. He was always able to maintain a calm demeanor. “There’s always been this… this feeling. For a long time, I thought I just admired you - you were the annoying sister that I never had. But over time… I’ve never properly been in love before. Lisa, Cassie, they were never like this.”

“Dean-“ she tried, the words on the tip of her tongue, but he continued.

“When Sam went to college, Dad’s disappearance, Sam without a soul, hell, even when I had that douchebag angel fighting me for my meatsuit, you were always there for me. With your beautiful smile, and the crap you gave me… you became more than that friend that I could lean on.” Her hand reached across the gap between them, resting on his clammy palm. He took the gesture as a sign to look up at her, dragging his heavy eyes from the stained floor to meet her own. There was no anger, or rejection hidden there. “You became the one that I wanted to see every night. The one that I could see standing behind the white picket fence.”

He watched as another tear fell from her glassy eyes, and his heart wrenched at the sight. He feared that his words had brought more pain to her, but then she moved towards him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, careful to avoid the gash on his shoulder. Her forehead buried itself in the crook of his neck, and her legs moved to rest on either side of his own.

The sudden touch caused a little shock, but he quickly recovered and secured his arms around her body. He let his fingers grasp on to her shirt, almost as if he were afraid that she would pull away from him and leave his life.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N,” he whispered, tightening his hold slightly, only to emphasize his words.

Her head lifted from his shoulder, and she allowed her hands to dance along his arms, up until they held his face in the same way he held her before.

Before he could raise an eyebrow, her lips were pressed against his. Their tears seemed to meet together at the union of their flesh as their eyes fluttered shut.

When they parted his forehead fell forward to rest against her own. His eyes remained closed, his eyelashes sticking together from his tears.

“You’re my best friend,” she whispered to him. Her voice wet with emotion. “I love you so much, Dean, and I’ve loved you for years.”

A soft chuckle left him, shaking his shoulder slightly and bounding Y/N. It was one of disbelief, but a sense of relief was hidden beneath the thick sound.

She smacked at his uninjured shoulder softly, tutting at him. “Don’t laugh! It’s true! Bobby was pushing me to make a move from the minute you walked through the door with a blueberry pie on my birthday.” The incident was a fond memory. Dean had rushed to get back from a hunt so he could see her on her birthday. He walked in the door with mere minutes to spare before midnight and forced her to blow out a candle before her birthday officially ended.

She decided that day, that if she was going down, she wanted to do it by Dean’s side.

He pressed a soft peck to her lips once again, almost afraid that if he pressed too hard then the image of her would fade from his sight. But she wouldn’t.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’ve got you.” He opened his eyes once again, pulling back to get a look at her whole face. He decided then that the image would be burned into his brain for the rest of his days. “I love you, Y/N.”

Her smile sent a shudder to his heart, the organ pounding faster than he thought possible.

“Ive got you too, Dean. Always.” The chill returned to her back, almost as if someone were watching them, but she paid it no mind. She had something more important in front of her than a nosy ghost, but somehow, she knew that it was more than a simple ghost. “I love you, Winchester.”

Her suspicions were confirmed when they found words scrawled into the morning dew that found a home on the windscreen of Baby.

‘Take care of each other, B.’

[roastybeans]

Let’s Be Alone Together - Chapter One

Ao3 link 

"This tiny girl, alone in the rain, just like he had been so long ago. 

And he understands. 

He knows the pain behind each sob, knows the fear that makes her grip him tighter. The feeling of abandonment, the betrayal, the hurt and the terror. He knows, like that woman did for him. Knows what another broken soul being shattered into a million pieces looks like. 

And now it’s his turn.” 

Eventual Silco/Orginal Female Character 

Wordcount - 2,009

Heavy Angst, Graphic Descripton of Injury, Cannon Divergent. 

The shop was tiny, not much more than a door with a window squished between two larger establishments. But inside could be the answer Silco hoped for, a cure. 

It was late even for the undercity, few walked the streets or lingered in the shadows. Fair above, the sky wept with rain and left a wet sheen on every surface. He tried not to catch his reflection in any of the puddles as he walked by.

Checking the sign above the door to make sure this was indeed The Cauldron, Silco hesitated. It could all be hearsay, that the woman inside could cure anything, but after being turned away by what little doctors and healers the sunken city had to offer, this was his last hope. 

He just prayed that at least some of the rumors were true.

When he stepped inside, little bells hung above the door announced his entrance, and the stormy night outside melted away into the soft glow of candles. Shelves with jars upon jars lined the walls, dried herbs and planets hung from the ceiling and filled the little room with the scent of dried flowers. It was cramped. It was cluttered. It was every bit the place one would expect the so-called Lane Witch to work. 

The woman herself was seated at a desk pushed into the far corner of the shop, back turned to him. A network of glass tubes and flasks carried bubbling liquids around, steaming and shimmering in varying shades of red. At first, Silco thought she didn’t hear him enter, too focused on the strange apparatus in front of her. But she cleared her throat and snapped on two spandex gloves before turning to face him. 

Whatever words either of them meant to say died in both their throats. She was so much younger than he expected, probably his age. When Silco heard of a witch that made healing potions, he didn’t picture a pretty young woman. She must not have expected him either, or rather the state he was in, as he watched her brown eyes flicker from his face to every other injury he’d tried to bandage. 

Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “Well, you look like shit.” 

His eye narrowed at her. Though her tone didn’t sound insulting, just surprised. 

“How much?” Silco asked. 

She stood up, eyes still analyzing him from head to toe. “I don’t put a price on what I can’t see.” She gestured to the left side of his face. “I’m guessing it’s that?”

He nodded, watching and she grabbed a bag from under the table. SHe pointed at a cot tucked away next to a bookshelf. 

“Why don’t you take a seat and I can-”

“Is it true what they say?” He interrupted. “That you can heal…unusual things?”

Now her eyes narrowed at him. “How unusual are we talking?”

“The kind that might be reported.”

Silco could tell by the way she tensed that she understood what he was asking. Every other doctor and healer had said the same thing. Looks like something arcane. It could be a million other things, but in a city where Enforcers locked up and killed magic borns on the streets, it was enough to be worried about. 

She swallowed, took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah well, they don’t call me the Lane Witch for nothing.” 

As she locked the door and closed the blinds, Silco sat himself down on the old cot, waiting as she pulled up a chair and sat across from him. He didn’t miss the way she nervously settled herself before speaking. 

“Alright, let’s take a look.” 

Taking the bandages off layer by layer, Silco watched the woman’s face turn from worried to shocked. Cool air touched the rest of his face as she pulled the last of it away and once again, they stared at each other in tense silence. 

She looked absolutely appalled and he couldn’t blame her. It was a horrified sight to look at. Whatever had infected his eye had spread like an inky bleed across his face, rotting away and blacking the skin. A physical mark of the betrayal he’d suffered nearly a week ago. 

“...How?” She finally asked in a whisper. “How did this happen to you?”

He told her, but only the barest of details. The last thing he needed was for her to be some old friend of Vander’s, for her to tell him Silco was still alive. Yet he found that even telling the story with so few words it brought that night back into burning clarity. The hands around his throat, the water chasing all the air out of his lungs, the look on his once brother’s face as he pushed him under- 

“Hey,” A hand on his knee startled him, but the soft expression on the woman’s face brought him back to the present. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Silco,” he said. 

“I’m Sage,” she smiled at him. “I don’t know if I can fix all of this Silco, but I can fix some of it, okay?”

He nodded, and realized this was the first time someone had smiled at him since that night. 

The next hour was spent with him on his back with Sage leaning over him as she worked. His vision in the infected eye was still there, just cloudy and dark around the edges. Silco could see her cut away the dead flesh, stitch up the cuts, but the pain brought kept taking him back. Back to the night he lost everything. 

No, the night Vander took everything. 

It had been easy not to think about all of it. To simply claw at surviving like he always had, to spend every waking moment only focused on not bleeding out, not starving and not being an easy target for muggers and finding a cure but now, now he could only lie there and remember. 

And it hurt, gods did it hurt. More than the burn of alcohol as Sage cleaned the wound, more than feeling blood pool into his eye as she cut off what was left of his eyelid. His entire life had been turned upside down, every safe place he knew was dangerous, anyone he once trusted he couldn’t go to for help. He was alone and afraid and the one person he thought he could always rely on in this world had tried to drown him. 

Silco hoped Sage didn’t notice the tears leaking out of his good eye. And if she did that she'd assume it was from physical pain and nothing else. 

Yet when they did make eye contact, he found no judgment from her. Not even pity. Something else shined from behind those hazel eyes and he couldn’t place it. Couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing. 

When she finally sat back, Sage looked as tired as he felt. 

“Alright, sit up for me.” She said, and he obeyed. 

Face to face with her, Silco watched as she removed her gloves that were slick with his blood. She asked him to follow her finger with his eyes and asked questions about how well he could see out of the damaged one. Asked him to describe exactly what it felt like when the river waters ate away at his skin, what the pain he was in now felt like. He answered them all and she seemed content with his answers. 

“I’m going to have you see another doctor I know, he’s more skilled at dealing with genetic mutations than I am.” She said, “Have you heard of a man called Singed?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I’ve heard he’s, well-”

“Crazy?” Sage huffed a tired laugh and shrugged. “Kinda, but he’ll know how to help.”

“So this isn’t something arcanic?” 

The woman shook her head, making her dark hair sway. “No, thankfully not.” 

Silco breathed a sigh of relief. At least this wasn’t as bad as it could be. But the thought of continuing his journey in finding a cure was disappointing. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” He stared in disbelief as she got up and put away her tools and supplies. “You can’t expect me to believe that.”

“Actually, I do.” Sage put her hands on her hips and gave him a deadpan stare. “I don’t charge people who are clearly at rock bottom.” 

Silco would’ve argued with her, though she was right. But that didn’t stop him from feeling annoyed and embarrassed. 

“Tell you what, how about you owe me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

She shrugged, “I don’t know, you can decide that. But for now, you can stay here until morning and then I’ll take you to Singed. He doesn’t like unannounced visits, it’ll be better if I go with you.” 

“I-” he was about to say he had a place to stay, but in truth he didn’t. And from the look on her face, Sage knew it too. “...Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

She flashed him another soft smile, offered him water and bid him goodnight, leaving for the backroom. Alone in the shop, Silco laid back down on the cot, watching the candles slowly burn down to the wick as the adrenaline in his blood slowly drained away. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, just waking up. 

Terror sezied every muscle, panic burning in his chest as he gasped for breath. Visions of deep water and Vander’s snarling face followed him into the waking world, memories mixing with the dream. Silco realized he hadn’t dreamt since that night. Barely had slept at all. And now he felt hands on his shoulders and could hear Vander shouting his name. 

Silco sat bolt upright, grabbing at the arms holding him, but it wasn’t Vander looking back at him in the dark. It was that woman, it was Sage. 

“Easy, you’re okay.” Her voice is calm and soothing, hands gentler than he realized. “It’s okay.” 

He realizes he’s trembling as he slowly loosens his fingers one at a time from her arms, bringing his hands down to rest on his legs. It’s too much. Suddenly, all the pain and the heartbreak is too much.  

“He took everything.” Silco hears himself saying in a whisper, “He took everything from me, all of it.” 

He can’t bring himself to look at her, but he sees her hands hesitate before reaching out. Sees the small shudder that runs through her when her hands wrap around his. They’re warm, gentle, like her voice when she says, “I’m so sorry.”

When he looks up, her eyes are watering like his own. He feels her hands shaking in his. And he knows, knows the look in her eyes he couldn’t place before. It draws out the sob he’d been holding in, making him grip her hands back. 

Silco doesn’t know how, but she understands. 

“It’ll be okay.” She says, voice breaking as her tears fall with his. “You’ll show them. You’ll show them all how wrong they were.” 

And it’s those words from so long ago, those words that had driven him to keep surviving, to keep fighting for what was his, that Silco utters to this child now. 

This tiny girl, alone in the rain, just like he had been so long ago. 

And he understands. 

He knows the pain behind each sob, knows the fear that makes her grip him tighter. The feeling of abandonment, the betrayal, the hurt and the terror. He knows, like that woman did for him. Knows what another broken soul being shattered into a million pieces looks like. 

And now it’s his turn. 

He picks her up, letting her tuck her head into his neck despite the bruising he knows will be there. When he turns, he sees one of his men carrying the other girl. She’s unconscious, but that’s probably for the better. 

“Come.” He says to the girl in his arms, managing a smile when she looks up at him with tearful blue eyes. “Let’s get you out of this rain.” 

[monstersandmaw]

What’s next, Ghosti?

The last of my commissions is now officially posted, but I’m thinking I might open up a few short ko-fi story slots, a match with my characters (or a new one), or a ‘sponsor a story continuation’ option to help me keep afloat financially now that I’m not taking commissions... If that’s something you might be interested in, please please let me know!

I’ve also got some longer-term plans which include:

Finishing my ongoing stories off (Winter Solstice, Ashridge Pack (formerly on Patreon), Chiaroscuro, and a few other fics for fun)

The Novel (Weaver of Threads which you can follow on this blog - @weaverofthreads)

Etsy. I want to have an Etsy shop up and running by October (yes, for all the spoopy halloween goodies I’ve got planned!), but it’s going to be expensive for me intitially, and I can’t do that without help from you in supporting my existing shop and perhaps through those small ko-fi prompts. For sneak peeks at ongoing projects, make sure you’re following me on Instagram.

Plant blog posts were well-received when I floated that idea around - more folklore info etc. Look out for those on @ghostis-plonts

YouTube - I’ve got the Link’s House replica to finish editing and post, and I’m going to do a Dragon Age themed, light-up booknook next. If you like chill crafting videos, narrated by an alto English accent, subscribe to me on YouTube :)

Twitch/gaming - I’d like to do a bit more gaming and streaming. I might do some writing streams too, if there’s interest in that (let me know!). Stardew Valley was the winner in the ‘what should Ghosti stream’, though I personally think it would be hilarious of me to try and play a Souls game (I’m honestly pretty terrible at anything that isn’t Skyrim or Minecraft, so this would not be any kind of attempt at professionalism. It’d be raccoon-handed button-mashing, swearing with a plummy British accent, and swooning over all the gross and gorgeous monster foes and a heck of a lot of YOU DIED...) I won’t inflict this on you, don’t worry.

General ongoing monster fuckery. Maybe something podcasty, chill chat about monsters I enjoy?? Not sure.

If something there grabs your attention, please let me know with an ask or a comment, otherwise I won’t know, and I’ll probably just disappear or something!

This feels like the beginning of a new era for me, and I’m really excited to see where it goes. Thanks for being part of it so far - for your reblogs and sweet enthusiasm. You’re all wonderful.

Take care, thank you, and may all the right monsters bite x

[darkhorse-javert]

Six Sentance (or rather Paragraph) Sunday.

Extract from the NWIP that is three stories down the line. The very extract that broke me as I wrote it.

And if I suffer, so you are going to as well. Set March 1943

“Dad" His father looked up from the sink, clearly catching the sombre tone of his voice. That just made it harder, but Andrew looked at him, nonetheless as he spoke. "If things go Bad - out there... Promise you'll be there for Sam, look after her..."

Dad nodded even as his eyes were hollowed, but he held his gaze in return "Of course." He reached out and Andrew felt the hand brush his arm, rest there. "You don't even have to ask.” Then Dad looked away to the floor, tongue running over his lip, before coming back, hollowed with memory and understanding, “But I understand why you have”

Andrew nodded though it felt like even that movement would choke him.

He couldn't speak. Dad's hand squeezed once, then let go. After a moment the grey eyes gained an attempt at their sparkle, but they were still sombre. He nodded over Andrews shoulders towards the door out of the kitchen to the house.

"I'll finish up here, you go, be with her. “

He glanced towards the rooms then back at his father, the washing up piled "You’re sure?

Dad gave a quick nodd, go on. Carefully he set down the plate and the dishcloth on the side. He felt his father's eyes on him as he left the room, an unsettled depth of attention.

[remi-writes-sometimes]

Disconnected

The smile leaves your face as soon as you exit the school. You tell your mom school was good. Could you recall what happened in first period? Or seventh? You just tell your mom nothing eventful happened. The school days all blur together anyway. You lay in your bed, staring up at your ceiling, music is playing but you couldn't say what was on for the life of you. The yelling gets louder than yesterday's, but it doesn't bother you. It hasn't bothered you for years now. You stare at the therapist blankly, their words not even entering your brain. This behavior is normal for you, so you don't get why you have to sit there. An alarm goes off somewhere in the house, waking you up. After it's obvious you won't be falling back asleep, you check your phone. New snapchat notifications, if a person saw them, they'd believe you were popular. You shut your phone off, what was the point of checking them? You already know they were just streaks. When was the last you had an actual conversation with any of those people? Sometimes you think of ending your streaks, but that would be a change. During quarantine, everything is just one big day. Nothing really mattered anymore. The world was practically ending and they wanted homework done. You just slept all day. You start your assignments the hour before they're due. No time put into them. No effort. No knowledge gained. You went on a Netflix binge. Some new show that was everywhere and everyone recommends. The end credits are rolling, and you can't recall a single detail. You bump into someone you once knew. They asked where you've been and what you enjoyed doing now. You're mind slowly travels back in time. Where have you been? You rarely leave home anymore. And what did you do to fill you time anymore? Enjoyment was a world that fell from your vocabulary. They snap their fingers and laugh, "A little detached from the world?" You slowly blink at them, "right." More than they could ever know.

[dumbinvaderzimaus]

Ok, the Fan Art contest won the poll!

Do y’all want a free for all contest with no theme, or would y’all rather I pick one at random?

If y’all have a suggestion on prizes as well I’d like to hear them. I’ve never actually done something like this before and I’m not sure what I’m doing, but it sounds fun.