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chronicallycrow · 3 years

Text

Cards.

Fandom: Cookie Run

Character(s): Cinnamon Cookie

Ship(s): Cinnamon/Reader

Word Count: 2,166

TW: Uhh,,, tarot reading? If that sets anyone off?

Notes: Hey, Cinnamon, thanks for being the character that got me out of my "I'm writing 1k words or less" fic phase./j Anyway, this started as an idea I mentioned on my main - Black-market tarot reading Cinnamon. It ended up a lot cuter than I thought it would, and made me write a HELL of a lot more than I have in a LONG time. Oh, and, I use he/they pronouns for Cinnamon! They alternate every paragraph. And, once again, I'm sorry for the weird formatting, mobile tumblr and all. Again, I don't currently have access to a computer.

The City of Wizards was an interesting place. It always had a specific feel to it, and it was always somehow shrouded in darkness yet bright. Saying you loved this place might have been an understatement. There weren't many people who lived in the town anymore - Some people thought no one did - But you knew there were people, and you knew exactly where to go to find them. And that's what you were currently doing.

You strolled through the city, looking for one place in particular. It was near one of the further corners of the town - A small little magic shop that sat inbetween two buildings that were vacant. You could miss it if you didn't know what you were looking for - The sign, with that ever-so-slightly too fancy font, fit into the rest of the town, and the windows being full of little trinkets did as well.

You turned on your heel and turned the door knob, immediately being hit by the scent of incense and cinnamon. You walked into the shop and closed the door, calling out, "Cinna?" A hum came from behind one of the shelves, and out appeared the devil themself, Cinnamon. "Hey!" You stated simply. They smiled at you and returned your greeting before asking, "Do you need anything, or are you just here to look around?" Either was fine by them - And you knew that. There was many a day where you'd sit in the shop or just look through what Cinnamon had in stock.

"Well, I-' He seemed surprised you actually wanted something, but not in a bad way. "I was actually wondering if you could-- Give me a reading? With your tarot cards?" He was a bit taken back, but seemed pleased with your request. "Of course! Right this way." He did that over-dramatic cape swish thing. It always reminded you he loved to entertain people when he did that. You followed him to a small room in the back where he did readings - Few people knew about it, but of course few people came in the near vicinity of his shop.

A table sat in the middle with some boxes and a mat laid on it. Cinnamon sat down on one side and gestured you to sit in the chair on the other side. You'd never actually gotten a reading from them, but apparently they were actually pretty good at it. They opened a box and pulled out a deck of golden-edged cards, the backs were purple. They tapped at the sides, before looking at you. "What do you want to know?" "My love life-" You blurted out before anything else. You covered your mouth, wide eyed. Why had you said that?! Cinnamon seemed to be amused by this and let out a soft laugh before beginning to shuffle the cards.

He did the card-fan thing. "Pick a card, any card!" You let out a soft laugh before grabbing one. He placed it face down on the table before shuffling the cards some more. He pulled and shuffled a handful of times, ending up with a spread of six cards. He flipped over the card you'd pulled. The card read, 'The Fool.' "This card," Cinnamon began, picking it up and turning it towards you, "represents you. It's a card that means new beginnings and new possibilities. It can also mean impulsiveness. The Fool is..." Cinnamon glanced up for a moment, before looking you in the eyes. "The Fool is a free spirit who doesn't know exactly what they want, but is willing to try anything to find the right path." And with that, he placed the card back down onto the table.

They flipped over the next card; it read 'The Magician.' "This card represents the person who... You're going to be with? Who you like? This is the other person." They turned it towards you. "You're a magician." You joked, giving a soft breath of a laugh. Cinnamon's face turned a soft shade of red from your comment, but continued on. (Little did either of you know that little joke was closer to the truth than either of you could think right now.) "It symbolizes being original, and confidence and skills. They might be extremely confident in their actions, and they're probably skilled in something." You placed your chin in your palm, staring at the card, then at Cinnamon.

He went to the next card. It read 'The Lovers.' "This card represents you and that person's bond." He stated. "That's good, isn't it?" He nodded in response before starting, "This card represents, well, love. It can also mean trust and harmany." "But I'm not in a relationship with anyone?" You mused. He shrugged. "You probably already know them and just trust them a lot. You two are probably already really close." You nodded, but something pulled at your conciousness. What if your joke was actually true? If he was the one representing the magician? "Hey," He waved a hand infront of your face, "Are you alright?" "Yeah, sorry- Go on." You sat back, and he turned over the next card.

The card read 'six of cups.' "This is your past with them, it represents nostalgia and, in this case, an old friend." You nodded, humming. "It seems like you two have known each other for a long time and trust eachother a lot." They stated simply. You traced a circle on the table with your hand. It was suddenly very hard to look at Cinnamon.

He turned over the next card. There was one more after this and you'd be done. It read 'two of cups.' Cinnamon let out a soft laugh. You tilted your head, actually meeting his eyes for a second. "This is your future with this person. The two of cups represents happy relationships and love. When you two get into a relationship it'll be a good one. I'm jealous." He said jokingly. You let out a small laugh. Your face was hot.

They finally turned over the last card. It read 'King of Wands.' "This card is advice for you." You tilted your head again, murmuring a soft, but non-demanding, "Well?" "I think in this context it's telling you you should be honest with them and tell them. It represents honesty and charm." You blinked. Cinnamon looked at the spread, then bagan to put the cards up. You looked down at your hands for a minute. Be honest? You hadn't excepted that. You didn't even realize you were-- Of course you were. Cinnamon was your closest friend. They stood up, snapping you out of your own thoughts. You stood as well. "Do you need anything else?" They asked, walking towards the door. "I don't think so- Here, let me-" You dug around your bag for a minute for your wallet. "No, it's fine-" "Are you sure?" They nodded.

You two got out into the main part of the shop, and you realized the time. It was dark outside by now - Actually dark. "Hey, Cinna?" He looked at you. "Can I spend the night - It's- It's gonna be dark out and I have to walk home. I don't think that's safe." Without thought he spoke, "Of course- Let me close up shop and we'll go upstairs and make dinner." You nodded and decided to look around while he did so. You found the two shop cats, one a black cat and one an orange cat. "You have cats?" You called. He walked over to you, kneeling down to pet one of them. "Yeah! I thought you knew?" You shook your head. "This is Pumpkin," He pointed towards the orange one. "She's new, so she doesn't have a name yet," He sighed. "Maybe you can name her later?" You nodded, "I'll see what I can come up with." With that the two of you headed up the stairs to Cinnamon's apartment.

It was a nice little space. You'd been up here before, but you'd never actually spent the night. They went into the kitchen while you looked around, eventually landing near Cinnamon Bunny's cage and giving them some pets. Cinnamon's apartment always smelt nice. They always smelt nice - It was that soft smell of a pastry shop that used a lot of cinnamon. They seemed to have the stuff everywhere, but you weren't going to complain too much - Unless it was another one of their shows where someone got too close and sneezed. Sometimes, in practice, when you'd watch them, they'd sneeze and mess up their tricks. You found it endearing.

"[Y/N]?" Cinnamon called. "Yeah?" "Food's ready." You walked into the kitchen. He'd made a full meal for you two, and honest to Millennial Tree it looked amazing. It tasted even better. You'd had Cinnamon's cooking on occasion, but never an actual meal made by him. As soon as you two had finished the oven beeped. He looked pleased. "I preheated it, if you want to make something for tomorrow morning?" You nodded, and followed him into the kitchen, placing your plate and silverware into the sink. He pulled out a series of things from multiple cupboards and cabinets, then grabbed out aprons and handed you one.

You two ended up making a mess while baking. There was flour everywhere, but you two were both laughing. They ended up getting two brooms, and you swept up the mess you made. Once that was done they looked over the both of you. "We should get cleaned up," they laughed. You nodded, before realizing something. "Cinna, I don't have-" "You can borrow some of my clothes." They hummed. You nodded, and they went off to get some, shouting back at you, "You can go take a shower if you want, I'll bring them to you." You did exactly that.

You felt much cleaner once done with the shower. He had left you a shirt that looked like it would be too big for him (or you) and a pair of sweatpants. You put them on, and were immediately ingulfed by that soft scent of cinnamon. You tried your hardest not to bury your nose in the clothing, instead leaving the bathroom. You were met with Cinnamon sitting on the couch, playing around with a deck of cards. You sat beside him, watching his hands as he played with the deck. "Are those alright?" He asked, flicking one card around. You nodded, letting out an "mh-hm." He got up then, and glanced at you. "I'm gonna go take a shower, too. I'll be back."

You ended up trying to do the tricks you saw Cinnamon do with the previously mentioned deck of cards. You failed at every one of them, but it gave you time to waste. Your mind did end up drifting back to the reading earlier. Cinnamon had to feel the same way, right? If the cards were anything to go by, they had to. You sighed and put the playing cards down, staring up. You then realized that you'd have to be sleeping on the couch - Not that you really minded. You knew they didn't have a guest room or an extra bed. Before you could get too lost in your thoughts Cinnamon appeared again. They were wearing about the same thing as you. The oven dinged. Convenient.

"I'll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed, by the way." He'd stated, as if he'd read your mind earlier, while pulling out the pan of cinnamon rolls. What else did you think he'd make? "No, I can- It's fine." You replied. He shook his head. "You're the guest, you should get the bed." He was pouring a light sugar icing on the rolls. "I-" Be more confident, the cards. "We could just-- Share the bed? Its big enough for that, right?" Cinnamon glanced at you, before letting out a small sigh. It was hard to tell if it was of content or annoyance that you didn't just take the bed alone. "Yeah, it is- That's fine."

Once the rolls had been fully iced and put in the fridge you two headed to Cinnamon's bedroom and got in their bed. You faced away from eachother, at least at first, but you decided to, again, take what the cards said, and turned towards them. Their back was facing towards you. "Cinna?" You murmured, shifting closer to them. They let out a hum, glancing back at you. You suddenly felt extremely hot. No going back now. "I-" You took a breath in. Dammit. Say it. "I think the cards were talking about you??" Why was that a question. They let out a small laugh and turned towards you. "I know." They responded simply before pulling you close to them. "Goodnight." And with that, they closed their eyes and drifted into sleep. You stayed there, dumbfounded for a couple of minutes, before just accepting it and murmuring a, "goodnight" back and getting to sleep. You two could properly talk this out in the morning.

#cookie run #cookie run ovenbreak #cinnamon cookie #crob #ovenbreak #cr ovenbreak #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader fanfic #x reader #cookie run x reader #AM writes

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fightxxmexxshiggy · 3 years

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This is one of my fics from my ao3. I'm really new to posting on tumblr so for now nothing is gonna be to fancy looking especially since I'm mostly posting from mobile. One of my favorite writers @reinawritesbnha inspired me to share my work with you all on this platform so enjoy and thank you for reading.

TW: REVERSE SOMNO

SLEEP TALKER (SERO HANTA)

Blinking awake slowly you looked around the room confused as to what had woken you up. Glancing at the clock you noticed that it was only 2:43 in the morning. Seeing nothing amiss in the room you decide to roll over. Curling into your boyfriend's warm side you sigh content that the tall man was with you. As safe as you felt at his side you still were easily spooked, so when a voice spoke out into the room you jumped and clutched at hanta's bare chest. The voice came again but this time you knew where it was from.

Hanta was starting to talk in his sleep again. You were worried this would be a night of rambling about the violence he planned for the local deli owner who hit on you every time you went in for cold cuts. Leaning up you lifted an arm to shake him awake. "Mi princesa........love."

hearing him call one of the many endearments he used for you in his sleepy voice made your heart do a little flip. He was always so sweet even during the times that he became dominant and rough with you. Smiling you rested your face in your palm, a bit excited to hear the other things he might say about you in his sleep.

Slowly his words came out a little more consistently as if he were talking to you in a dream. Oh what words they were! At first they stayed sweet, talking about his love for you and how amazing he thought it was that he was able to be together after having a crush on you silently for so many years. The cuteness did nothing but throw you deeper in love with him and make you think of wedding bells. Some time around 3:30 his words went from sweet to so hot you were sure the house was on fire.

"Mi puta loves sucking papi's cock doesn't she? No no no I didn't tell you you could cum yet. Ugh take papi's cum Mi Chica sucia."

You had never been so wet in your life without having hanta touching you. Scooting backwards you kicked the blankets down your legs so you could toss away the panties you had worn to be. The ruined material floated to the ground as you reached between your thighs to your soaked folds. Running your fingers through the wetness you brought it back to your clit. The circles you rubbed over your clit became tighter and fast. You were fighting to cum before hanta woke up and questioned you. Almost there.... just as the orgasm was about to rock your body you felt the bed shift.

Stopping your hand flew behind your back as you looked over to your boyfriend. His face was illuminated with the moonlight peeking through the curtains. With eyes that were still firmly shut he sat up and crawled to you. You whispered his name intent on explaining why you were getting off without him, only to realize he was still asleep. Slowly he ran his hands up from your knees to the backs of your thighs, stopping once he reached your ass. Fingers digging into the soft flesh he yanked you forward to him until his knees caged your thighs keeping them close together, just barely touching.

Satisfied with your position underneath him he raised one hand to stroke his hard cock. A little whine left your throat as you watched him, was he going to just jerk off and cum all over you in his sleep? Shifting his hips he pushed his cock against your thighs until he bumped against the lips of your pussy. The feeling of his tip pressing into your clit made your hole clench releasing a little flow of pussy juice. Slowly he pushed forward until his cock dipped down and caught against your entrance. With mindless movements hanta pushed his cock inside of you with a long slow stroke. Bottoming out against your back wall he grunted. "Mi sucia princesa" and started a hard rythm that made you bite your lip to hold in your moans.

After a few hard thrusts he started to grind his cock into your pussy with every stroke. The pressure was to much against your clit, and abused cervix. You came screaming in your throat, his hips never let up during this. While he growled and called you filthy things in both English and Spanish you continued to cum wetting you both with so much pussy juice that the slap of his hips against yours echoed wetly in the otherwise silent room. Finally his thrust speed up as he came closer to his own orgasm. Leaning over you he buried his head into your neck, leaving kisses and little bites along with hot breathy words on your skin.

With one last hard thrust he locks himself against you cum flooding into your pussy and immediately leaking back out. Too much to be held inside you a small puddle of cum forms under your ass. Panting under him you hear as hanta begins to snore contentedly into your neck. With a huff you let your head fall back and sleep pull you under, still full of your boyfriends softening cock. Hours later your shaken awake by hanta, the first thing you see is hanta's hilariously confused face you giggle and close your eyes again as you refuse to be awake when your pussy was so sore.

#mha headcanons #mha imagines #mha fanfiction #mha sero #mha sero x reader #bnha sero #bnha sero hanta

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summonerscenarios · 4 years

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Hey I submitted a request earlier that I don't think went through (sorry, new to tumblr). In case it didn't, I asked if you could do an angst scenario of the MC being wounded in a real fight and getting hospitalized, hanging onto life. How would Shiro, Kengo, Ryota, Toji, Moritaka, and Agyo take it? (Ignore this the post went through) Thanks!

Me? Going overboard on a request and writing way too much filler at the beginning for the sake of a plot? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK. 8000 words later and this is made~! Thank you sm to @husbandomail for proofreading this! -------------

None of the Summoners are there when you get ambushed, it’s a twisted kind of irony really - the one person who’s almost always hanging around with someone being attacked the moment they get caught on their own. You’re used to the fights by this point, you’ve been involved in conflict from the moment you first arrived in Tokyo from fighting enemies to fighting future allies, so when you first get jumped by another group who think they’ve got what it takes to take you down, you don’t even bat an eye at the confrontation, thinking it should be over soon. You were right, but not in the way you’d thought.

You don’t know when it happens, you were just preparing to call forth your sacred artifact when a wave of searing heat blossoms from your side. At first you don’t even recognize it as pain, it feels just like burning, as though you’ve gotten too close to a fire, and you look down just in time to see the knife buried in your side as the stranger rips the blade back out. The the pain hits you, and you stumble over yourself trying to make as much distance as possible from the one who stabbed you, cursing as you bring a hand to clutch at the wound - it must have been serrated, as there’s far more damage than a regular knife could cause, and the blood is already seeping through your shirt and onto your fingers as you try to keep pressure on it. It’s a moment of weakness, one your attackers are eager to take advantage of, but you aren’t going down without a fight; weapon or no, you’ll fight tooth and nail if you have to to get out of this.

And that’s exactly what happens - your attackers swarm in, some armed with knives and pipes, others bare handed like yourself, and the ensuing fight is awash with blood, tearing and screaming. Every hit you get in you’re taking three, knocking you back and slicing at your clothes and body as you have one too many close calls with weapons getting too close. Your fists are torn up and bleeding, and your arms are shredded from blocking blow after blow as you focus on a repetitive rhythm - swerve, jab, dodge, kick, swerve, jab, dodge, hit - you’re getting exhausted, movements growing sloppy with each moment spent constantly evading. You put up a good fight, at least three of them are limping from where you’ve struck them in the legs, and another is clutching his arm nursing the spot where you’d sunk your teeth in when it had wrapped around your neck. They’re wounded, but the more you hurt them the more you piss them off, and you’re struggling to keep up.

It’s brutal, and in the split second it takes you to kick away the stranger going for your throat there’s a crack and your vision goes white as your body gives out and you crumple to the floor - you’ve been struck in the back of the head, that much you know, but you can’t will your body to get back up. You’ve reached your limit, you can’t move anymore and your vision is swimming in and out of darkness, with blackspots clouding your already messy thoughts as you fight to focus on the group who are closing back in. They’re approaching you slowly, whether it’s because they’re so sure they’ve won, or if they assume you’re just faking (which would have been a smart move, in hindsight) you don’t know, all you know is that their weapons are still raised, wet and dripping from what you can only assume is your blood. They’re not done with you yet, you think to yourself, head laying slack against the floor as you glare up at your attackers with bared teeth.

Shit, you might actually die here.

But then the walkway is flooded by lights, a passing car driving close to the pavement as it goes past. It must be too close for comfort, as at the sight of the headlights momentarily blinding your vision the group scampers off, as though terrified at the thought of being caught - it’s enough to make you laugh, if breathing didn’t feel like you were rubbing sandpaper against your throat. Instead you try to call out to the passing car, ignoring the metallic taste that floods your mouth as you try to make your voice as loud as possible. For a moment you think you catch the driver’s attention, as the car slows down just a fraction, lights trailing over the path so close to spotting you, but then you watch as it continues moving, the lights sliding out of view and basking you in darkness once again as you drop your head back to the ground. You don’t know how long you lay there - a few minutes at least - but eventually you slowly pull yourself up into a sitting position, no longer trusting your legs to support your weight as you drag yourself over to the closest wall, slumping against it with a wheeze as your body protests moving so soon. If you’re gonna pass out, it’s not gonna be face down on the floor you’re making sure of that, but you know you can’t stay here and just hope someone will come find you, not when there’s a chance of your attackers coming back.

Yet you can’t walk, and you doubt dragging your bloody body out into the street is going to do anything other than get you hit by a car. Instead, you shove your hand into your pocket, cursing the fabric as it catches and pulls on the slices etched into your skin as you fish around for your phone, hoping that it wasn’t too damaged in the scuffle. Fortunately, it looks untouched when you pull it out, and when you turn it on the flash lights up the area around you, where you can see dark red streaks spattering the pavement like something out of a horror movie. Biting back a wince, you clumsily open your phone, fingers sliding over the screen and leaving smears as you slide through your contacts, looking for someone who can pick up your call. You don’t know who you end up calling, but the moment you hear the dial you bring the mobile up to your ear and wait, trying to keep yourself focused enough to stay awake long enough to tell someone what’s happened. You hear a voice as someone picks up on the other end - you can’t make out who but they sound happy as they say your name, recognizing the caller ID; you feel almost bad that you’re about to ruin their night with an impromptu near-death call.

You wheeze something out - maybe cracking a joke in the face of death, maybe a serious rundown on what’s happened, or hell maybe even a garble of gibberish with how your tongue feels like solid lead in your mouth as you talk. As soon as you speak the call goes silent, and you wonder for a moment if they’ve hung up, but then they’re back on the line again, saying something about holding on and asking where you are, what you can see, and questions along those lines. You do your best to answer them all, but sometimes their voice is drowned out by white noise, as though a static is clouding your head and trying to force its way out of your ears getting increasingly more persistent the longer the call lasts; eventually you can barely make out anything other than a few words, and your entire weight is pressed against the wall now hands struggling to keep a hold on the phone as your fingers go lax and lose any strength they had. Eventually the phone slips from your hands altogether and you can’t even reach down to pick it up, so you try to keep speaking as loud as you can as you stare up at the sky, looking for something to keep you awake. But you don’t find it - instead you find the stars looking back at you, sparsely dotted across the sky as the only other witnesses to the sight of you in this moment. They look so small and you have to squint to see them, noticing that their initial shine is fading, growing duller; it takes too long for your brain to register that it’s because you’re passing out, eyes fluttering open and closed. The last thing you can hear is the voice on the other end of the call, telling you to stay awake, not to close your eyes - you’ve never been too good at listening to people though…

Shiro is the one who you’d called. When he’d seen your name flash on his screen, he fully expected to hear that you were on your way back to the dorms since you were cutting close to missing curfew. His tone is chipper when he answers the call, bringing it up to his ear, but then he hears the wheeze on the other end, a hollow sounding rattle of words that makes his world freeze in the spot. Shiro would recognize your voice from anywhere, but it sounds so hoarse and pained that he goes silent at the sound, listening to the sound of you breathing as you wait for him to respond. All thoughts screech to a halt - there’s so many questions that hit him at once, all fighting for the forefront of his mind, but the red flags force their way forward. Something’s wrong, something’s happened. A wince on the other line snaps him out of his thoughts, and all at once he’s trying to get as much information as he possibly can - where are you? How far from the dorms? Can you get back? What can you see? They rattle off faster than they should be, but the panic is beginning to well up in his chest as he begins to realize the gravity of the situation and that you aren’t okay. The moment he’s able to get an address, he’s out of the room and looking for someone, anyone who can help him get to where you are and get you the help you desperately need as soon as possible - it’s a stroke of luck that there’s teachers still doing their rounds when Shiro makes it outside, as he would scoured the whole place looking for help as he didn’t want to hang up on you.

He’s part way through trying his best to explain the situation when your phone hits the floor and he stills, eyes wide as he listens to your voice, loud but groggy and disoriented as your words filter in and out of coherency. The only thing he can think to say is begging you to stay awake, to listen to his voice in the vain hope that it will give you something to focus on, and by the time your answers begin filtering off into long silences Shiro’s clutching his phone hard enough that it hurts and yelling even though it doesn’t make a difference. He’s got a sinking feeling in his stomach that if you pass out this might very well be the last time he hears your voice, but he shakes the thought away violently as his attention whips back to the teacher, watching anxiously as they make a call to someone - he’s hoping its emergency services - and try to fill in the gaps on what’s happened. In the time that Shiro’s attention has turned from the teacher back to the phone the call’s gone quiet, he’s hoping it’s just that the calls dropped but when he checks the screen his heart drops into his stomach upon seeing the call time display.

You’re gone - and he prays it’s not for good.

Shiro’s not allowed to go with them to the scene, but when he’s not calling the other Summoners to get them to convene he’s glued to Mr. Triton’s side, the teacher being updated on the situation as things progress. He can tell something’s wrong when Triton receives news that they’ve found you, as the momentary sigh of relief is replaced by an expression of dread which is poorly masked as he looks over at the Summoners who have all arrived. You’re alive, the teacher assures them that much, but as soon as he hears the word ‘hospital’, Shiro is struck with the reality that this is really happening. There is no worry over wounds that disappear, no grins as he’s waved off for being so concerned over temporary injuries - you won’t be coming back tonight. Going to the hospital isn’t an option, even though for once Shiro is tempted to side with Kengo about going anyway just to see if you’re gonna be okay, but it’s clear the teachers are on alert as all students are directed right back to their dorms to stay put for the rest of the night, with promises that you’re going to be okay even though he knows they don’t know that for sure.

Shiro can’t sleep, and spends most of the night looking through his phone. Videos, pictures taken together - he keeps rereading the last message you’d sent him over and over again, getting more choked up every time he goes back to it. ‘Be back soon’, if only you knew how wrong you were, but how could you have known? How could he? He didn’t get around to responding, figuring that he could speak to you when you got back at the time, and now he regrets it, he regrets it so much that it hurts and he can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up Shiro’s head is throbbing and his eyes sting, and he feels sick when he looks at his phone and last night's events catch up to him.

It takes a while before anybody is allowed to actually see you. Your condition was worse than they had thought when you were first brought in, so you weren’t allowed visitation until the doctors knew you weren’t at immediate risk anymore, but those days of waiting are agony. Shrio can’t stand still - if he stands still then he thinks about it, and immediately jumps to the worst case scenario - so he’s always up and trying to keep his mind occupied with tasks, hand constantly hovering over his pocket to make sure he’s got his phone on him. He’s so scared that he’s going to get a call of the worst, that you’ve taken a turn and aren’t going to make it, to the point that he keeps checking it throughout the days, keeping it close even though realistically he knows that he wouldn’t be the one getting that call if something happened.

Once the visits start you’re not allowed more than a few people in your room so the Summoners have to visit in pairs. Shiro is the first to visit with Kengo, and it takes a lot of running between floors and Kengo being too stubborn to ask the reception for directions before they’re finally directed to your room, and though they’re warned beforehand that you won’t be awake Kengo storms inside with Shiro hot on his heels. At the sight of you Shiro’s chest tightens. There’s bruises, cuts and tears everywhere he can see, the majority of them bandaged up and sterilized yet still painful to look at; he can’t imagine how much they must have hurt, how much they still hurt, and he has to tear himself away and focus on your face so his mind doesn’t immediately dip back into those worst case scenarios. Despite your injuries your face looks relatively peaceful, though the neutral expression on your face marred by scrapes and gauze makes it hard to just pretend that you’re sleeping and going to wake at any moment. He leaves flowers and a card signed by your classmates and guild members at your bedside before taking a seat right beside you, hesitant to even touch your hand whilst Kengo leans against the wall directly facing your bed. They’re only allowed to stay for a few hours, and when it’s time to leave Shiro reaches out and gives your hand a comforting squeeze, muttering words of confidence under his breath hoping that they’ll at least reach you before he leaves. It hurts to see you in the hospital, but being able to see you still living and breathing, no matter how battered and beaten, gives him hope, a hope that he desperately clings to like it’s a lifeline as he comes to terms with the fact that this isn’t over yet. You’ve got a long way to go - and Shiro hopes above all else that you’ll wake up...right?

Kengo, upon getting the call from Shiro, doesn’t really register the seriousness of the situation - Shiro wanted to explain it to everybody in person rather than over the phone, and most of the time his ‘emergencies’ are usually just some easy to fix problems with some elbow grease and a couple bruised knuckles. It’s because of this that he doesn’t rush over right away, arriving at the meetup point by the time everyone else has convened in a small cluster of concerned faces, and it’s upon seeing their expressions on top of spotting a teacher with them sets of alarm bells in his head. Those are only confirmed once Kengo hears about what happened to you, about the attack and the events that followed. It can’t be real, right? Most people who want to get revenge or get violent need only to open the app so they don't have to worry about real world damage, so unless someone was actually trying to kill you this doesn’t make sense. And if someone was trying to kill you? There’s gonna be hell to pay, and he’s not gonna sit by and let someone else take care of it for him.

He knows that obviously they’re not going to be allowed to see you, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least argue it - what if something happens to you again?! He wasn’t there the first time he’s sure as hell going to be there the next time! He can’t just go back to his dorm knowing that you’re out there, even if you’re somewhere safe like the hospital, so it’s no surprise that he tries to sneak out anyway. Of course he doesn’t get far, as the teachers are already on alert in light of what’s just happened and so he gets confronted by Mr. Jinn before he even makes it out of the dorms. He can’t convince Kengo to go back to his dorm room, so Mr Jinn instead offers for him to come walk with him as he does his rounds through the dorm building checking in on the other students - Kengo still feels antsy about not being able to leave, but knowing that he won’t be able to think clearly if he’s stuck in his room by himself, he takes him up on the offer, even if the whole time his mind can’t stop thinking about where you are and how you’re doing.

Once people are able to visit you in the hospital Kengo’s adamant of seeing you as soon as possible, not being able to see that you’re going to be okay for himself has been driving him nuts. It takes some convincing before they settle on visiting you in pairs, and Kengo ends up tagging along with Shiro when he makes the trip to come and visit you for the first time. He’s gotta admit, he gets ahead of himself and doesn’t think to ask for directions, going off of the room number alone to try and find your room; however, after more than a few minutes wasted going between floors with Shiro right behind him trying to get him to slow down, they finally get directed to the right place. He doesn’t hesitate to swing the door open without a second thought, only half listening to the warning that you won’t be awake when he enters the room and spots you. Now, Kengo has seen you hurt - the two of you have gotten into too many scuffles together to count, both inside and outside of battle zones - he’s seen you so hurt that you’ve had to use your sword to stand, so hurt that when you smiled he could see the blood in your teeth and smearing your lips as you wiped it away. This isn’t the same. You look beat down, weak and frail, surrounded by wires, tubes and machines and it just looks wrong. You’re his partner, guildmaster of the Summoners, one hell of a fighter and friend to just about anyone you meet, you shouldn’t be here, with the doctors still not knowing if you’re going to fully recover or not, let alone wake up at all.

It makes his blood boil, thinking about how someone went out of their way to actively hurt you, maybe even try to kill you. He doesn’t care if they sought you out deliberately or if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the moment he sees you in that hospital bed it already solidifies the resolve that he had to track down the people responsible and give them a dose of their own medicine - maybe if they’re lucky they’ll still be able to walk by the time he drags them to whoever handles this whole investigation mess. That can be handled later, for now Kengo takes a spot leaning against the wall right next to the window, arms crossed whilst Shiro sits down directly by your bedside. At least you’ll have a nice view to wake up to when you’re finally conscious - he’s not even humoring the alternative, you will wake up. The time passes by too quickly for his liking, and all too soon there’s a knock on the door as one of the floor staff informs them that visiting hours will be concluding soon. A part of him wants to argue staying for a little longer, reluctant to leave your side now that he can finally see you again, but he doesn’t wanna cause even more stress to the people responsible for keeping you alive so the two of them take their leave, with Kengo taking a moment to run his hand along the end board of your bed as he gives you one last glance. Kengo hangs around outside of the hospital for a little longer after that, giving the area a couple rounds. He’s pretty sure those thugs aren’t stupid enough to take another go at you here, they probably don’t even know who you are, but the idea of just leaving you there doesn’t settle right with him. So he stays a while, finding a wall to sit on that gives him a good enough view of your room, just one light amongst many that light the hospital, and he waits - he doesn’t know for what, but the whole time he’s there he’s wordlessly cheering you on, cause he knows that you’re gonna come out of this in one piece. You’ve beat the odds before, and you’ll do it again, he just hopes he’s around long enough to see it happen.

Ryota doesn’t immediately clock on to something being wrong, as Shiro never specified over the phone what the meeting was about, but he’d still rushed to get there nonetheless because most of the time Shiro’s meetings were about something important, or, at the very least, meant that everyone was going to show up. However, he arrives just in time to catch part of the conversation between Moritaka and Shiro, where upon hearing the word ‘hospital’ immediately asks why they’d brought it up. Ryota can’t imagine anyone being able to take you down, especially because you’ve joked about it so many times, so he’s shaken to his very core to learn that you’d been found collapsed, so badly injured that you’ve been immediately transported to the closest hospital for treatment. There’s a few minutes where he hopes that they’ll spin around and say it’s a joke while you sidle up to the group and laugh at how he fell for it, but you’d never been one to play that cruel of a prank and it’s more wishful thinking on his part, one that slowly dies as Toji, Kengo and Agyo show up to receive similar confirmations. He wants to cry, and he does once the situation fully registers. You were out there, badly hurt all alone for who knows how long - how many people had walked past and not noticed? How many hadn’t even heard what was going on until they saw lights flashing as you were carted off? The thought of you alone and in pain brings Ryota to tears, only made worse when the Summoners try to comfort him even though none of them know what could happen to you.

He’s a little bummed that he isn’t able to go along with Shiro when visitations first open up, as he wanted to be the first one to see you; however, with how wound up Kengo’s been, Ryota reasons that it’s probably for the best to let the two of them go, making sure that Shiro takes the ‘get well soon’ card that everyone had signed with him so that you can see how many people are here to support you. When Shiro returns to the guild everyone can see that it was a difficult experience, his expression one of serious distress as he takes a moment to himself before talking to the others about how you’re holding up. The fact that you still aren’t awake worries him the most, as you’ve been kicked down plenty of times and still get back to your feet, never one to stay down for long - it’s been a while since the day you were attacked however, and very little word on your progress is something that sticks him with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. When Ryota is able to come visit he’s practically dragging Toji along with him to get there as quickly as possible, something the swordsman takes notice of as he too picks up the pace on the journey there.

Having received directions from Shiro from their last visit, it doesn’t take long for Ryota and Toji to find the room you’re staying in, and even though the window is small he can make out your shape lying down on the bed when he peeks in through the door and he feels hope welling up in his chest at the sight of you. You look truly beaten down but you’re still here, and Ryota knows that it’s something to be lucky for as he looks over the injuries that he can see. From the minute that he sits down his hand never leaves yours, holding it close and squeezing it as though expecting you to return the gesture; he tries to keep his spirits up, and talks to you even though he doesn’t know if you can hear him. From filling you in on things that have been happening since you were gone to telling you about all the things you all will be able to do together once you wake up Ryota tells you about them, rattling off how excited everyone will be to see you come home and how many gifts people are making for you to enjoy when you’re in a good enough condition to see them all - if you weren’t the life of the party before you’ll definitely be now! The atmosphere shifts a little every time he mentions you getting out of the hospital, and Ryota can see Toji’s gaze flickering over to your monitor with a carefully neutral expression as though checking to see that it’s still going, that you’re still going, but Ryota’s not gonna give up on you, no matter how long it takes for you to come home.

Ryota ends up staying a little longer than he should have, as visiting hours are over by the time he finally realizes what time it is - the nurses on the floor had allowed him to stay since he didn’t cause any trouble during his visit, or maybe they just felt sympathetic and were moved upon seeing him crying over his beloved friend. He panics a little and apologizes for staying past visiting hours, but even so he still feels reluctant to leave you, being slow to collect his things and taking the time neaten up the gifts decorating your bedside just so he can have a few more moments at your side.

Toji takes any guild meetings seriously, so it comes as a surprise to no one that he starts heading to the meeting location as soon as he gets word from Shiro. However he knows something is wrong before he even gets there - Shiro’s voice was notably shaken even as he’d attempted to keep himself calm over the phone, pausing at points to recompose himself and continue the call. That was all he needed to begin suspecting that things were amiss, and yet he had no way of gauging just how serious the situation was until he’d arrived to find the Summoners already there, talking amongst themselves with high-strung emotions. The sight of the teacher with them only solidifies his suspicions, and when he approaches he can see that Ryota’s on the verge of tears when the two make eye contact, and the other two Summoners are faring just as poorly. Toji is reduced to silence when he figures out what’s happened in his absence, and he can suddenly understand why everyone looks so pained - their very own guild master, closest friend and ally to many, was viciously brought to their knees, reduced to a bloody mess that left everyone wondering if they were going to even survive the night. Just hearing it paints a violent picture that would make just about anyone sick to their stomach that another being would be capable of inflicting such brutal harm, and that very image keeps Toji awake even as they’re ushered back to their rooms and ordered to stay put until more light is shed on the situation..

He keeps himself busy during your first few days in hospital, but that's namely because he’s throwing himself into scouring the streets for any traces of your attackers he can find, following leads and piecing the puzzles of your attack together to get a better picture of what exactly went down. He wasn’t allowed at the scene, given that it at least had to be cleaned before people could use it again, but he’d gotten close enough to see the remains of your blood stubbornly clinging to the gaps in the concrete as it was hosed down, a particularly large pool of it collected close to the wall where you must have been sitting that night. Toji’s seen crime scenes before, quite a few of them stumbled upon by chance, but there’s something different when you’re looking at the exact spot where one of your closest allies was struck down and left for dead, and Toji has to force himself to stop coming back to the scene before the sight’s ingrained into his mind for the rest of his days. It’s no surprise that Toji’s out for blood, Kengo is much the same as the boy wants to see some form of justice against the ones responsible; however as the days pass he’s run into just about every dead end he’s been able to pry to the surface. He’s angry at himself for not having found the culprits by the time he’s able to finally visit - he wanted to be able to inform you that you could rest easy knowing those responsible were brought to justice, whether that was by his own hands or by other means, so the fact that he can’t frustrates him to no end.

Ryota’s all too eager to get there and see you, practically dragging him along by the arm and telling him to hurry up with a smile on his face as though he’s trying to reassure the swordsman that everything’s going to be okay. Yet Toji knows that Ryota’s taking this situation as seriously as the rest of them, regardless of how well he hides it behind a smile and words of comfort. He has to admit that he’s eager to check in on your condition as well, but doesn’t fool himself with hopes that you’ll be up and awake when they arrive; it’s still far too soon to tell, and he’d rather see it for himself before he comes to any conclusions about your current state. Upon arriving at the hospital Ryota takes the lead to guide the two of them up to the floor you’re staying on, and upon checking that it’s your room by looking through the door window, Ryota opens the door and the two of them step inside. It pains him to see you in such a state, and upon seeing your face he is only reminded of the past, when you’d rush headfirst into fights without another thought for the consequences, taking every hit and wound in stride like not even the world itself could touch you. He’d told you back then that one day your recklessness would prove to be your downfall, but he could have never predicted that his words would have been such a painful foreshadowing of where you are now.

Taking a seat by your side, he can’t find the right words to say - what do you say to someone who could be lying on their deathbed days from now? To someone who might not even hear the words in the first place? Toji starts when Ryota begins to speak to you, clutching your hand in his as he talks as though you’re awake and well, like nothing’s wrong. He has to admit, seeing Ryota talking to you in such a way, entertaining ideas of all the people waiting for you to return back to school, makes him feel a little more at ease as he imagines those scenarios that he talks about coming true. Every once in a while his attention wanes from you as he glances at the vitals monitor beside him, watching the lines on the screen as they dip and rise in what for the moment is a steady rhythm. How bizarre that such a thin line is the lifeline proving you’re still alive, Toji finds himself looking at the monitor for longer than he should, as when he looks away Ryota gives him a comforting smile, worry clear on his face before turning his attention back to talking to you. For the first visit Toji doesn’t stay for too long, and leaves you in the care of Ryota after a few hours. However, before he leaves, Toji brings a hand to rest against your arm, careful to avoid your bandages and wounds as much as possible as he brushes your hair from your face, pausing for a moment before whispering something under his breath and pulling away. He’ll come back, once things have cleared up and he can calm the thoughts already pushing at the corners of his mind, but for now his search for the culprits begins anew the moment he steps out of the hospital doors, hands gripping the hilts of his swords tight as his expression twists into one of grim determination. He’s going to get you justice - hopefully you’ll live to see it come to fruition.

Moritaka was the first one to arrive when he’d gotten the call from Shiro, being closer to the area in question than all of the rest as he was already on his way there. When he first receives the call there is no reason to suggest that something’s amiss, after all word spreads fast when things go wrong, especially when it involves a certain guild master. And yet when he answers the call Shiro’s tone immediately gives him pause, and he stops walking to listen; all Shiro does is tell him that something has happened and that he needs to get there as soon as possible, but that’s more than enough for Moritaka to pick up the pace, rushing to arrive at the destination in question. When he arrives he greets Shiro and the teacher, resting a hand upon his friend’s shoulder when he sees how openly frazzled and shaken up he is by the situation - rarely does he see Shiro reduced to such a state, and as that same level of concern is evident in Mr. Triton’s face Moritaka realizes that this is far more serious than he had initially thought. When Moritaka gets filled in on what happened while you were out he recognizes the gravity of the situation - app wounds are easy to heal, but wounds procured in actual combat? Especially those that are severe enough to warrant being taken directly to the hospital? Just the thought of your current condition has concern bubbling up to the surface, even more so as the other Summoners begin to show up.

Once you’re allowed people to come and visit the Summoners end up visiting you in pairs, with Shiro and Kengo going first, then Ryota and Toji, and then Agyo and himself. They were fortunate to be able to come and see you so soon after they started up visitation, as the moment words got around there were many people who wanted to come and check up on you for themselves, each one a testament to how many friends you’d brought together during your brief stay in Tokyo. The mood is somber the entire trip there, and upon seeing the entrance to the hospital Moritaka can feel the unease seeping from his small companion, an unease that he’s sure he’s radiating himself. He’s been to the hospital before - nothing major, but the therian has had his fair share of visits for various reasons, both visiting allies as well as checkups - but now? This is different, and he can feel it hanging in the air as he takes the initiative and steps inside, moving over to the reception for directions to your room. One of the nurses is kind enough to escort the two of them there, expression one of understanding when she realizes exactly which room she’s taking them to, and for a moment he could swear there’s also a look of pity that crosses her face before she turns away and starts walking.

Before they enter the room, Moritaka turns to Agyo and warns him about what he expects to see in there - whilst Shiro assured you were making slow but sure progress, you were still in a far worse state than the last time either transient had seen you, so Moritaka feels responsible for letting the lion dog know that should he need to step out at any time to process it he can. Agyo assures that he understands, and makes the first move to reach for the handle and step into the room, where Moritaka notices he immediately freezes at the sight of you. He can see you too, laid up in bed covered in enough gauze, stitches and bruises to cover the majority of your arms and torso, and even Moritaka has to take a moment to steel himself before softly calling out to Agyo, asking if he’s still okay to step inside. The two of them enter the room, both taking their place at either side of your bed and Moritaka steals a glance at your injuries - Shiro was right about how you were on the way to recovery, as up close like this Mori can see some of your superficial wounds are well on their way to healing. But the deeper wounds are another story, and even covered up it’s clear to see that when you wake up you’re going to be bed bound for a long while so that they can properly heal.

Throughout their visit, nurses and doctors alike filter in and out of the room, most of them stopping by to check on your condition whilst a few take the time to come in and ask how they’re holding up. Moritaka keeps up a light conversation with them, assuring them that they’re fine whilst Agyo mostly keeps to himself - from his reaction Moritaka can understand why the staff might worry, he’s worried too. As the time finally arrives for them to take their leave Moritaka stands up and pats the bed beside your arm, unsure if it’s a good idea to touch you lest he end up hurting you in some way. However, when Agyo hops from his seat he turns to the warrior dog and asks for a few more minutes alone - Moritaka is surprised but offers an understanding nod, resting a hand on the young boy’s shoulder as he leaves. He doesn’t stray far, resting by the wall just outside the room waiting for Agyo to join him; he can’t hear much of what’s being said inside, not wanting to intrude on what is understandably a rough time for Agyo, however his ears pick up on the sound of crying, starting off quiet but growing loud enough for Moritaka to hear outside. His heart breaks at the noise, understanding too well the rush of emotions and uncertainty that hang in the air like a vice, and Moritaka finds himself tearing up as well as the weight of the situation settles within his mind, so much so that he ends up grabbing a fistful of his uniform and staring hard at the floor willing himself not to cry as the sound of crying continues to seep from the other side of the door.

Agyo sensed something was wrong the moment he was called to meet with the Summoners - he doesn’t know why but at the sound of Shiro’s voice the lion dog feels something weird in the pit of his stomach, leaving him uneasy as he goes to meet up with the other members. Normally, if something happened there would be a meeting at the guild, where Shiro would explain the details while the others joked about and tried to lighten the mood, but this time is different. And then, when Agyo arrives, he notices something else is different. Everyone is there, even a teacher he’s never seen before - everyone but you. Agyo asks where you are without thinking, expecting one of the Summoners to say that you’re on your way, but when he’s told that you’re not coming he’s confused. It’s a guild meeting, right? So why won’t you be there? Maybe you’re slacking off and hanging out with Tsathoggua to avoid coming to the meeting - you’d done it before - and he fully prepares to spin on his heel and march right on over there when Kengo stops him, expression grim enough that Agyo pauses on the spot. When Agyo hears your hurt he’s worried that it was some kind of accident, however he’s at a loss for words when they inform him that you were hurt enough to be put in the hospital, where you’ll be for a while. They try to tell him that you’re going to be okay, but he sees it on their faces when they cast each other nervous glances that they have no idea if that’s true; they know just as much as he does, and he suddenly feels sick at the thought of you stuck in a hospital, all alone. The first day passes and there’s no word on your improvement, then the second, then the third, and by that point Agyo’s beside himself, cleaning and re-cleaning and re-cleaning trying to stop himself from thinking about it. Every day he thinks the same thing, ‘you’re going to come back’ and every day that doesn’t happen, leaving a sinking feeling that hangs around the air right up until the day you’re finally allowed visitors.

Originally, the Summoners suggested to Agyo that it would be best for him to hold back on visiting until you’re in a better state - they’d be lying if they said that you were okay, especially once they’d seen how badly you were hurt for themselves. But the lion dog persists; Agyo wants to see you for himself, he wants to see that you’re okay and he’s relentless in assuring that he’s fully prepared for whatever ends up happening when he gets there, even if he’s not entirely sure what to expect. Even before they go in Moritaka has a heart to heart with the younger transient, placing a hand on his shoulder as he informs Agyo that he can leave at any time if he’s not prepared for what he’s going to see - it’s never easy seeing the ones you care about hurt, much less hurt enough to be placed in the hospital, so he wants to give Agyo a serious talk before he decides on whether or not he wants to go in. Honestly, he is kind of irked at first, not wanting to be babied, but he knows the situation is serious from the expressions of everyone since the news first reached him - the Summoners, his friends, even the nurses have been casting the two of them sympathetic looks the whole time they were being led to your room. So he listens to what Moritaka has to say, and, once he’s finished, Agyo’s the first one to reach for the door, trying to steel himself for what’s behind the door.

He’s not as prepared as he’d proclaimed he was, as the moment he opens the door it hits him all at once. It doesn’t feel real, not really, as though it’s a dream he’s about to wake up from at any moment, but the dull beep of your monitor is the only thing that feels real, and he fixates on it. He watches it as it moves, a stable rhythm for now, and he stands in the doorway until he hears Moritaka’s voice behind him, asking if he’s okay. Putting on a brave face, Agyo moves out of the way and sits down at your side while Moritaka takes a seat at the other side, and Agyo finally looks at you. You look in better condition than what he’d first thought, with the way he’d listened to Shiro describe your appearance he was expecting something scary, but now? You just look like you’re hurting, even though your expression is neutral. He tries to imagine what would happen when you woke up - the lion dog hopes that he’s here when it happens - he’s got a few choice words about how much you worried everyone, though he’s sure that scolding would just get waved off with a laugh as you lean over in your bed and give him head pats.

When he closes his eyes he can almost feel your hand on his head, and he tries his best to hold onto that when he opens them and faces you again. The two don’t stay for long, as they’ve got to return back to the guild soon, but as Agyo hops off of his chair to leave he pauses, blurting out a request for a few more minutes alone before he leaves. Moritaka gives him a look, one of understanding, and takes his leave, and as soon as the door closes the room feels quieter, only the sound of that monitor beeping as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say, but after a moment of looking at your face he reaches out a paw and holds your hand, clutching it tight even though he knows you probably won’t feel it. Agyo whispers something, more to himself than to you, but it’s a plea for you to come back; it’s so quiet, but those words are like a catalyst as his vision blurs with tears as they roll down his cheeks and soak into his fur, and he cries, choking out those same words again and again as he wipes desperately at his eyes. He just wants you to come back, please, come back.

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justauthoring · 4 years

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No Reason To (44/50)

Prompt: “And I guess… when it comes down to it, I trust you.”

A/N: So, a couple days early! I couldn’t wait until Monday to post this chapter cause i’m so incredibly proud of it and I’m gonna be spending the weekend playing TLOU2, so there won’t be too many requests adn I hope this makes up for it :)

Also, because Tumblr is stupid, I added memories from past chapters as Y/N remembering Stiles in italic, but for so reason on mobile it switches between italics and not. I’ve broken it up though, so hopefully it’s not too confusing!

Nonetheless, I am incredibly proud of this chapter and I really hope you all love it as much as I do!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work!

Pairing: Stiles x McCall!Reader

Based off of: Teen Wolf 06x09 & 06x10

“So, how cold does this thing get?”

“Cold enough for a Hellhound,” Lydia explains with a puff of air, slightly breathless from both of you running around to make sure everything’s locked and prepped. “It’s not the same as the ice bath you gave Isaac but, it can lower your core temperature past anything a human can survive.”

“So, what does freezing our asses off have to do with our memories?”

“It’ll slow your heart rate,” Lydia explains to Malia with a breath, “and put you in a trance-like state.”

“Like hypnosis,” Scott adds, to which you nod.

“Hypnotic regression,” you agree. Then, slowly, you turn to large machine, swallowing thickly. “If we can figure out how to work it.”

Malia turns, glancing around before something catches her eye. “This says ‘start’,” she calls, pointing at the side of the machine. “So, maybe it not’s that complicated.”

Upon further glance, however, there’s a... lot of dials.

Meeting Scott’s gaze, you sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“So, optimistically,” Malia prefaces, “how much time do you think we need to do this?”

“As much time as Liam and Stilinski can buy us,” Scott answers, nodding at the three of you. Then, he turns, unlocking the latch before pulling open the door. It almost looks like a coffin, in a more technical, supernatural way.

Scott elected to go first.

And for that, you’re very thankful.

You blink in surprise as the machine starts to hum, clearly doing... something. It’s definitely on, that you know for a fact. Which means...

“Okay, it’s doing something,” Malia calls, meeting Scott’s gaze. “You ready?”

He meets your eyes briefly, as if for reassurance, which you offer the best you can, before nodding. He grabs hold of the door, stepping forward and into the machine, shutting the door behind him. You’re close behind him, waiting until you’re sure he’s completely in and ready, before locking the latch. He watches you carefully from within the machine as you do, and even though he tries to put on a brave face, you can tell he’s scared.

A little apprehensive, at the very least.

“Remember,” Lydia calls as you continue to lock and prepare a few more things. “This’ll get cold enough to kill you. So, if something feels wrong or like, it’s not working...--”

“It’s going to work,” Scott cuts in gently, voice muffled from behind the door. You frown at him, swallowing thickly.

“I hope you’re not saying that because you think I know what I’m doing,” you call, glancing over at your brother, before turning round to Malia and Lydia. “Or that any of us do.”

“I’m saying that because I know you can figure it out.”

His words are sure and, somehow, there’s no doubt in his gaze as he looks back at you. You only hesitate a moment longer, making sure that he doesn’t change his mind or get freaked out in the last second (which, you wouldn’t blame him for either) before moving to turning all the dials all the way round. There’s three, and you turn them quick before you change your mind yourself.

Almost instantly, Scott reacts.

“Oh, okay,’ he gasps, “all right, yeah, that’s cold. Really cold.”

Your eyes widen as the inside fogs up, blurring your image of Scott.

“So,” Malia speaks up, voice hushed. “What are we supposed to do? Talk to him? Help him remember? Wait till he turns into a werewolf freezy pop?”

Turning to Lydia with wide eyes, you wait for an answer.

“We need to guide him,” Lydia mumbles, nodding over at the both of you. “Keep him focused.”

They both look at you expectantly. And, even though you really have no idea what you’re doing, you step forward without fault. You inhale sharply before speaking, trying to get a good look at your brother. “Scott?” You call gently, but firmly, loud enough for him to hear you. “You have to think about him. Concentrate on Stiles.”

Through the fog, you watch as he nods.

“Try to picture him in your head.” Lydia adds, “think about what he looks like, things he said.”

The machine then hums, whirring.

“I don’t like this,” Malia calls instantly, shaking her head. “Something’s wrong.”

You move forward to stop it, but Lydia catches your arm, halting you. You turn to her in disbelief, but she simply keeps her gaze forward, head-on at Scott. “Wait,” she explains, “give it a few more seconds.”

“Lydia--”

You’re interrupted by a loud thump. Your attention is pulled in front of you at the sight of Scott slamming his hand up against the glass of the door, a gasp of pain, discomfort, something leaving his lips. You waste no time in stepping forward once more, worried and panicked for your brother, your hand reaching for the latch, “i’m getting him out of there,” but Lydia holds tight.

“Wait.”

You glance back at Scott, and you watch as his tense shoulders ease. His hand slowly pulls away from the door, and his face relaxes.

“Scott,” Lydia calls, “can you hear me?”

Slowly, his eyes flicker open and they’re glowing red.

But then his eyes start to weigh and you watch as his head lulls, as if he’s about to fall asleep.

“Scott,” you exclaim, pressing your hand on the door. “You can’t fall asleep. You have to stay awake.”

“I’m trying,” he mumbles, half-coherent.

“Wait,” you call after a moment, mind clicking with realization. “You’re not sleeping. I think you’re losing consciousness. And if you do that, I think we’re gonna lose you.”

“Scott!” Malia orders from next to you, her voice louder then your own. “Stay awake. Scott!”

His eyes flicker, his head rocks, but he doesn’t say anything. You watch with panic, concern, worry and all the above, heart racing, pounding madly against your chest.

But then he snaps awake, suddenly. His body stands straight, and he glances around, as if in search of something.

Someone.

“Scott. Try to find him.”

“Try...” You hesitate, thinking. “Try to find him in your memories.”

His eyes flicker every which way. His head shakes as if his mind runs a million miles per hour. He’s searching. Desperately searching. But Scott hasn’t found Stiles yet.

“Find him in any memory. Good or bad.”

And he starts to look panicked. Worried. Frightened.

“What’s happening to him?” Malia asks, panicked herself.

Lydia shakes her head; “I don’t know.”

“Well, he doesn’t look good,” you explain, “he looks... lost.”

“I think he is,” Lydia exclaims, frustrated. “I think maybe it’s too much information. Like, he’s getting buried under all the memories. Being overloaded by them.”

“So, what do we do to help him?”

“Did you hear that?”

You glance back, watching as Malia leaves your side and rushes over to door. She halts by it, hand hovering over the lock, her ear pressed against the door as she listens carefully.

“Thunder?”

Turning back to the both of you, Malia frowns; “maybe.”

Sighing, you turn back to Scott, your frown deepening at the distressed look on his face. He presses the palms of his hands against his ears, as if trying to block the noise from his head. You can’t even begin to imagine the amount of noise, memories more specifically, running through his head rapidly. Can’t even begin to imagine how that must feel.

“This isn’t working.”

“Then,” Malia says without hesitation, making her way back over to you and Lydia. “We have to figure something else out.”

“I know,” Lydia snaps, before easing. “I-I know.”

But Malia doesn’t relent, worried for Scott. “Is he gonna freeze to death in there?”

Frowning, you swallow thickly. “If his memories don’t kill him.”

“There has to be another way to do this,” Malia exclaims bluntly, turning to Lydia specifically. “Isn’t there?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia sighs, “this is my first attempt at trying to open a dimensional rift in space-time. So, i’m kind of fumbling around in the dark, okay?”

“Okay,” you call, trying to ease the tension. “It’s okay. Let’s just... think. We just have to think, okay?” You glance back and forth at the two of them, as if to make sure they’re at least trying to keep calm. It’s a lot harder then it looks. But then, something occurs to you.

Fumbling around in the dark.

That’s it.

“You’re not the only one.”

“What?”

“You’re not the only one fumbling around in the dark,” you explain, nodding over at Lydia, hoping she’ll understand what you mean..

“What does that mean?” Malia shakes her head at you.

But Lydia turns to you bright-eyed in understanding. “That’s exactly it, Y/N,” she nods at you.

“What?” Malia calls again, voice firmer in bafflement.

You turn to her with a nod. “I think we have to treat this more like actual hypnosis,” you explain, “they use images to guide you through memories. Like... a stairwell. Each step represents a new year. That’s how they regress you back.”

Malia’s eyes ease in realization. “I get it. So he needs to imagine something.”

“What do we tell him?” Lydia asks.

Pausing, you think for a moment, before stepping forward. “Scott?” You call gently, trying to grab his attention. “Can you hear me? Scott, listen. Imagine this.” You fumble for something. “Imagine you’re in the... high school. Visualize yourself in the high school, in the corridor where all the lockers are. Just try to imagine standing there. That’s where your memories are. They’re all in the lockers. They’re locked away behind each one.

“Every memory of Stiles is in a separate locker. Scott, you’re there. In the high school. You’re standing there now.”

And then, just as you finish speaking, his eyes snap open.

“It’s getting too cold.”

Your head snaps to Lydia at her words, before flickering your eyes up to the dial, lips parting.

Turning round to Malia, Lydia calls out; “he’s getting too cold.”

“What if it’s not enough to remember him?” She asks, baffling you at her words. “What if it’s some kind of a connection he’s supposed to make because of a memory?” Malia adds, your face easing with realization and understanding of what she means.

Lydia nods, “like an emotional connection?”

“That could be why it worked for Stilinski, right?”

Glancing back briefly at Scott, you nod; “he wasn’t just remembering something. He was remembering his son.”

Rushing forward, Malia calls out for Scott instantly. “Scott?” She calls gently, “Scott, can you hear me?” He doesn’t reply, but she continues anyway. “Listen, I remembered something. At the start of the year, Stiles said he was looking for a place for you guys to live after graduation.”

At the lack of response from Scott, she turns to the both of you panicked, asking for reassurance. You nod, quickly, eyes soft.

“He said you were getting an apartment together?” She recalls, voice doubtful. “And I remember saying something to Stiles. Something like... it’s not always a good idea to live with your friends. Even your best friend. But Stiles said it wouldn’t matter because you weren’t just friends.

“You guys were more like brothers.”

There’s a pause. Scott’s face eases, and you think it might’ve worked.

But then;

“His heart’s dropping.”

“What?”

“His heart rate is dropping, fast.”

“We have to get him out.”

“Quick, quick!”

“Get him out!”

Your fingers pull hastily at the latch, practically yanking the metal door open and just managing to catch Scott before he falls to the ground. You pull him round, meeting his eyes as he glances up at you in confusion, shaking his head. “What--What happened? Why’d you pull me out?”

“Your heart rate dropped,” you exclaim, shaking your head. “You were gonna die.”

Leaning forward, Malia nods; “we had to.”

Glancing back at the machine, Scott’s lips part. “But then,” he breathes, breathless. “But then, nothing happened, did it? It didn’t work.”

Malia tried. And it nearly worked.

Just... not enough.

You turn off the machine with a frown, turning all the dials back down to zero and locking the latch with a heavy click and a heavy heart. You really thought this would work. You thought Scott would be able to open the rift, and if not him, maybe Malia since Stiles was her anchor. But... it hadn’t. And you were two steps behind again.

“What are you doing?”

Turning to Scott with a frown, you shake your head; “it’s too dangerous,” you say simply. “We’re not going to save anyone by freezing you guys to death.”

“But it was working,” Malia reminds, voice firm, desperate. “Wasn’t it?”

“There was a light and a strange noise,” you explain with a shrug. “No Stiles.”

“But I can remember him now,” Scott argues, stepping towards you, letting his hands fall from Malia. “I can see him in my head.”

“So can I,” Malia nods.

“He’s more real now than he’s ever been.”

Brows furrowing at Scott, your lips part, trying to say something but not sure what.

“If we can bring Stiles back, we can bring everyone back.”

“There’s a huge difference in being a vivid memory and an actual corporeal human being,” Lydia explains for you, standing up beside you, to which you nod.

“I know,” Scott nods at Lydia, before turning to you, eyes never leaving your own. “Which is why I think it should be you.”

“I won’t last two minutes in there,” you say simply, shaking your head. You may be a witch, but you couldn’t heal and withstand the same things Scott and Malia could as werewolves and werecoyotes. That thing would kill you in seconds. It had nearly killed them.

“We’ll think of something else,” Scott says quickly, gesturing to Malia. “Malia’s right.” Then, his voice softens and so does his gaze as he meets your eyes firmly. “It’s all about the connection. When I was remembering him, I was also remembering the two of you together. I don’t think anyone had a connection like you guys.”

Lips parting, your shoulders fall. You’re... not sure what to say.

“I saw it, too,” Malia nods, looking solemn as she nods at you. “You have to try, Y/N.”

“But it nearly killed you two,” you whisper, “and it’ll kill me.”

“Well then,” Lydia speaks up, you turning to her in bafflement as she quirks a brow. “We have to do it the old-fashioned way. We’re going to have to actually hypnotize you.”

“My mother had a hypnotist who helped her quite smoking.”

You inhale sharply at Lydia’s story, glancing down at your hands, swallowing thickly.

“She had me see the same on when I was ten,” Lydia adds.

Scott turns to her, baffled. “You had to quit smoking when you were ten?”

“No,” she calls, appalled. “I bit my fingernails. Just find a lighter or a candle, please.”

Just then, Malia turns, a blowtorch in her hands. “Too much--?”

“--Found it!”

You glance over, eyeing the candle in Scott’s hands.

Lydia nods, and the three of them make their way over to you, at the table. Scott sets the candle down in front of you, Malia lighting it instantly, as you eye it nervously. Scott and Malia stay stood in front of you, watching you carefully, but Lydia takes a seat in front of you.

Meeting her eyes, you inhale sharply. “Is it scary?”

She instantly shakes her head, “you’ll be fine.” Then, she smiles softly, nodding. “I promise. Now, just... breathe. Take a deep breath.”

You listen without fault, inhaling deeply and slowly, trying to steal your nerves. Your shoulders fall as you do, and your face relaxes as you focus on calming yourself.

“Look at the candle.” Your eyes lower, falling on the lighted candle, licking your lips as you listen closely to the rest of Lydia’s words. “Feel the muscles in your body begin to relax. Your hands relaxing. Your eyelids relaxing.” At that, your eyelids fall shut, instinctively. Out of your control. Oddly, you don’t feel panicked.

You truly do feel relaxed.

“As you relax, imagine you’re sitting in your room.”

When you open your eyes, you blink at the sight of your bedroom. You’re sat on your bed, on the edge of it.

“In your lap is a photo album.”

Glancing down, you frown at the closed photo album held in your hands.

“Each photo holds a memory of your life. You can choose whatever photo you want to look at it. It gives you total control. All you have to do is turn the pages.”

Inhaling sharply, you slowly turn the page, and almost instantly, voices echo.

“Y/N... Are... Are you okay?”

And it’s almost like the picture comes alive before you.

You step forward, falling into Stiles’s arms. He doesn’t respond right away, almost as if surprised, then, his arms are curling around your waist, pulling you close.

The hug seems to last forever, but it can’t be more than a few seconds, before you’re interrupted by Jackson.

Turning the page slowly, you focus on the voices and the memory. Trying to stay calm. At ease.

A choked sob leaves your lips as your hands go to cover them. Shaking your head, you cry out; “i’m sorry,” taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-I-”

“Hey,” Stiles calls, keys falling on your counter, rushing over to you. He envelops you in his arms, holding you close as you move your arms around him, clutching onto the back of his sweater. You feel like a fool, acting so weak and letting your emotions get the best of you, but after spending a night in an empty house, without the comfort of your brother and mother and terrified that your father would come waltzing through the front door any second, you can’t help yourself. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” you whisper, “I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

Stiles pulls back, grabbing your face by the cheeks and pulling your eyes on his own. He looks just as rough as you, just as fragile, and it’s clear as day he’s putting on a brave face for the sake of you. “We’re gonna get them back, okay?” He whispers, “my father, your mother… it’s gonna be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” You question, shaking your head. “What if this time we fail? I mean, Scott’s with Deucalion. Deucalion…”

“We’re gonna find them,” Stiles says again, and you’re not sure if it’s to reassure you, or himself. Either way, the words to help calm your nerves just a bit.

“Stiles,” you call, “my father…-”

“We’re not worrying about your father right now, okay?” Stiles interrupts, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I won’t let him near you. Not again.”

“Try to find a memory of Stiles.

“A memory where you felt a connection with him.”

“I’m sorry,” you say instantly, shaking your head. You force your body to ease, trying to ignore the slightly race in your heart. It hadn’t been Stiles’ fault, you repeat in your mind. He hadn’t had any control of his body and Void had done what he did best, cause chaos. He used your fears and Stiles’ against the both of you. “I’m sorry,” shaking your head, you sigh. “I shouldn’t have, I… I know that it wasn’t…”

“I hurt you.”

Your words halt, lips left parted as your eyes fall on Stiles’ own. He’s not staring at you, instead, staring down at his lap; at his hands.

“I… hurt Scott, I hurt Coach and so many others. But… I hurt you.”

“No,” you argue, shaking your head. “No, it was Void. Void did all of that stuff, not you, Stiles.”

“But it was my body,” he whispers, forcing the words out of his mouth. Slowly, he raises his gaze to meet your own, shaking his head. “It was my hands that stabbed Scott. My hands that set up the trap that hurt Coach and the bomb that blew up the police station. It was my hands that wrapped around your throat.”

It’s obvious Stiles is staring at your neck, tears in his eyes as he shakes his head.

“God, he… after everything with your father and then I–”

Taking Stiles’ hand in your own, you squeeze it tightly, keeping your gaze trained on his. “It wasn’t you.”

“It was Void,” you mumble, the words leaving your lips unconsciously. “It... It wasn’t you. Wasn’t... Wasn’t... you--”

“Find another memory,” Lydia cuts in, words echoing. “Keep looking for Stiles. Find another memory”

“Don’t ever do that again... I thought... I thought I’d lost you.”

You turn the page.

“I’m gonna go talk to my dad. I just gotta go talk to my dad.”

And another.

“I know that, uh, holding your breath could stop a panic attack. When I kissed you... you held your breath...

And another.

“I’ll always come back. I promise.”

And then...

You blink, and you’re in Stiles’ jeep.

“Y/N...”

“That’s when I remembered...”

Lydia, Malia and Scott blink, hoping flickering in their eyes.

“When... When I realized...”

“I’m going to be erased, okay?” You can’t say anything, your head shakes and your lips part, but you’re stunned silent. “Just like Alex. You’re gonna forget me.”

“No,” you cry, the word just spilling from your lips. “No, I… I won’t. I couldn’t forget you, Stiles.”

“Y/N… you will.”

“Y/N? What? What did you realize?”

“I tried to convince myself,” you mumble, eyes sliding open, slowly, lips parting. “I tried to pretend that I wasn’t...”

And you blink at that, heart breaking at the fact that he’s right.

“Just… try to find some way to remember me, okay?” His hand slips into your own again, threading his fingers through your own, gripping onto you tightly, firmly. “Remember… that it’s always been you… Remember that it’s never been anyone but you, from the first minute I saw you…”

Swallowing thickly, you let the words sink in, never tearing your gaze away from Stiles. These are the words you’ve been wanting to hear for months, wanting to know if you’re feelings for Stiles were one sided. If you were still the one he loved…. and now that you are hearing them, he’s about to be taken away from you.

“Remember that you saved my life.”

Lips parting, you whisper; “you saved me life too…” And then you shake your head, small, stiffly, and you feel your eyes water. “Countless times…”

He’s silent for a moment, gazing back at you, as if taking it all in for the last time. And then,

“Wasn’t what, Y/N?”

“Just remember… Remember that I never stopped loving you and…” He blinks, eyes never wavering from your own. “I never will.”

“Still in love with him.”

There’s an echo of silence, and then, he’s being ripped from you.

Meeting Scott’s gaze, you swallow thickly; “That I wasn’t still in love with Stiles.”

“Y/N...”

“I was there,” you cry, words choking. “I was there. I was the last person to see him.”

Lydia leans forward; “where? Y/N, where?”

“The Ghost Riders,” you explain with haste, eyes blurring as tears stream down your cheeks. “They... When they took him...”

Remember...

The candle burns out. And it’s silent.

Then, “I never said it back...” Swallowing thickly, you shake your head at Scott, biting your lip. “I never told him that...”

There’s an echo of silence, then, a rumble echoes. It intensifies by the moment, rumbling the entire ground beneath you.

Slowly, you stand up, making your way over to the door. You slowly unlock it, pulling up the latch, and then the door. Your lips part, eyes widening when you notice the bright light.

It’s the rift.

Rushing forward, you slow to a stop and you swear... you swear you see Stiles.

On the other side.

But... But right in front of you.

“Stiles?”

That night...

That was the night I realized...

I tried to convince myself, lie to myself...

that I wasn’t in love with you.

But I was.

I am.

I’m in love with you, Stiles.

“I can see you, Stiles! Don’t stop!”

Your hand reaches out before you, your feet inch forwards, because you can see him. See his outline. His figure. And you know it’s Stiles; without a doubt that it is. And he’s so close you can almost touch him, Almost reach out for him.

“Keep going! Stiles, keep going!”

But then, the light fades, and so does Stiles.

Your hand falls back down to your side, and it feels as if your heart is breaking.

“Stiles?”

But there’s no response..

“Y/N...”

You shake your head at your brothers voice, swallowing thickly. “Where is he?” And then you turn, spinning round to face your brother and your friends, nodding quickly and hastily. “It was working,” you explain. But you falter when you see the looks on their faces. “You... You saw him, right?”

With a sympathetic look in her eyes, Malia shuffles forward; “we didn’t see anyone.”

“No,” you argue, biting your lip as you turn back towards the tunnel. “He was here. I know it...”

A hand falls on your arm, and slowly turning your head back, you frown at Lydia through blurred eyes. You swallow thickly, trying to hold back your tears; your desperation whilst she simply just squeezes your arm, trying to offer any comfort she can.

All you can manage is the bleak mumble of; “Stiles was here.”

They help guide you back inside the room, making sure to keep a close eye on you.

And while you appreciate the support, you don’t notice it, your mind occupied with other thoughts. You found yourself doubting yourself again, because no one else had seen what you had. Not Malia, not Lydia and not even Scott. You were the only one. And it made you wonder if you were going crazy, if you had just imagined it all because you were so desperate to have Stiles back.

But you know you saw him. You know you did. And you swear you heard his voice, so...

“Liam!”

Spinning round at your brothers voice, your brows furrow at the sight of the younger boy. You would’ve thought he’d be taken. Like everyone else.

“There’s something you need to see.”

“You’re still here...”

“Yeah, but everyone else is gone,” Liam pants, shaking his head. “All of them. They’re all gone. Look, you have to come with me.”

Shaking his head, Scott’s brows furrow in confusion. “What is it?”

“I can’t explain it,” Liam stammers, “I have to show you.”

“Uh, all right,” Scott stammers, turning back to look at the three of you. “You guys stay here. Just in case.”

You just nod, numb. But Malia speaks up; “in case Stiles comes back?” And her words catch you by surprise, glancing over at her before meeting your brothers eyes who nods firmly at you.

“If there’s any hope,” he explains, “you need to keep trying.”

Your brows furrow when Malia rushes forward, not even a few minutes after Scott’s left, and opens the door.

Lydia seems just as confused; “what are you doing?”

She turns back to the two of you with a smile. “We’re gonna go find Stiles.”

“Scott told us to stay in case he shows up here.”

“Stiles isn’t coming here,” Malia argues gently. “If he was, he would’ve, and he hasn’t, so he’s not.”

Stepping forward, you bite your lip. “You believe me?”

Never wavering her gaze from your own, Malia quirks a brow in question. “You still think it worked, right?”

You nod without hesitation, “I know I saw him.”

“And I trust you,” Malia encourages, “you’re always right.”

Pursing your lips, you hesitate; “I wouldn’t say always.”

Shaking her head, Lydia steps forward; “but, right now?”

Meeting her eyes, then Malia’s, you nod, slowly. “Right now,” you begin, “I’m not wrong. Stiles is out there, I can feel it.”

“Then,” Malia grins, “what are we doing standing here?”

“These look fresh.”

“It’s from Stiles jeep,” Malia explains, “it must’ve just left here.”

Lydia pauses, brows furrowing. “Without his keys?”

You shake your head; “half the time he got it started with a screwdriver, so...”

“Then, he’s here,” Lydia nods, “we have to tell Scott.”

You glance over at Malia, but her gaze is caught on something else. Slowly lowering to help you up to your feet, Malia keeps her gaze ahead, frowning. “We should probably tell Scott about that, too.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, but a simple glance in the direction she’s looking and you understand.

There’s... train tracks in front of the school yard, leading into the school itself. Which just makes absolutely no sense. And definitely doesn’t mean anything good either.

Eyeing the many people sat in the library, now apparently a train station, your heart falls with the realization that the Wild Hunt was a lot further into turning Beacon Hills into a Ghost Town then you thought.

“Why is there a train station in the middle of the library?”

Turning to Malia, you sigh; “there’s also a train station in the Wild Hunt.”

“Any chance they’re connected?”

Stepping forward, you shake your head. “I would say high,” you begin, before glancing back at her and Lydia. “Like a hundred percent.”

The two follow after you quickly, though you’re not really sure where you’re headed or what you aim to do. It’s mainly the blind leading the blind.

“If there’s a train station,” Malia continues, “then there’s probably a train.”

Spinning around to the two of them, you meet Lydia with a similar look as her face falls with realization. “And if there’s a train,” she begins, “it’s going to the Wild Hunt.”

Turning around to the crowd of people, you swallow thickly; “they’re all going to be taken.”

“We can’t let them be taken.”

Malia’s face falls with panic and stepping forward, her mind races for a plan. “Um,” she mumbles, before raising her voice so everyone can hear her. “Okay. Listen up, everybody. We’ve all got to get out of here. We gotta go right now.”

Glancing round, no one moves. Or even really acknowledges Malia.

“It’s bad! We have to go!”

Stepping in front of someone, you crouch to meet their eyes; “hello!” She doesn’t move. Like, at all.

“Uh, hello? Sir!” Malia calls to another man, Lydia trying the same thing to another person. No one responds to either of you. At all. “How do we get them to leave if they can’t hear us?”

“Uh...” Lydia mumbles, before something -- or rather someone -- catches her eyes. “Maybe there’s someone who can.”

Following her line of direction, your eyes widen at the sight of Peter.

“Peter!”

Pressing a hand against your forehead, you watch Malia uselessly snap her fingers in front of her father’s face. It clearly does nothing. As everything else she’s tried does nothing.

“Malia.”

“What?”

“The only way we were able to break through the Hunt,” Lydia begins to explain, “is with an emotional connection.”

Malia sighs, shoulders falling with defeat. “Dang,” she whispers, “wish I could help.”

Meeting Lydia’s eyes, you sigh, before stepping forward. “Malia,” you call, voice firm, clear on what you mean.

She seems to understand quickly. And instantly, she shakes her head. “I’m not saying it,” she argues, determined. “I’m not saying it.”

“Okay, well,” Lydia shrugs, spinning round to walk the other way. “I guess everyone dies.”

Letting out a growl, Malia halts Lydia.

Turning to the former, you meet her eyes with a reassuring glance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, smiling gently. “You’ve got this.”

She only hesitates a moment longer, inhaling deeply, letting her eyes fall shut as she tries to prepare herself. Then, slowly glancing down at Peter, the word leaves her lips; “dad.” But not at all in the way you or Lydia meant it to. “Dad. Dad.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

Slowly crouching in front of Peter, Malia takes deep breaths. You don’t say anything, giving her the moment she needs to muster the courage to say it. It might just be a short and small word, but you understood probably better then most how hard it is to accept the man that’s supposed to be your father as your actual father. After everything he’s done.

And that’s why you understand how hard it is for Malia.

“Dad.” She whispers, voice soft, desperate. “Please wake up.”

He drops the newspaper, his eyes shifting. They become less distant.

Malia turns to you and Lydia with hope in her eyes, slowly standing up just as Peter does himself. Then, still silence echoes, uncertainty, and then, you watch as the edges of Peter’s lips curve upwards.

“Attention, all passengers, the train will be arriving in twelve minutes.”

You watch as all the passengers get up, circling around the four of you. Their feet seem to just lead them, having no real control over their bodies.

“Me?” Peter speaks up, pulling your gaze on him as he gestures to himself in disbelief. “You want me to stop them? You know how many there are?”

“Yeah,” Malia nods, “a lot of them. So get going.” Stepping forward, she grabs his arm, pulling him off his seat on the bench.

“There are hundreds of waiting rooms in this train station,” Peter explains, whilst letting Malia pull him. You and Lydia follow closely behind. “Which apparently now also serves as a high school library. It’s impossible.”

“We can try.”

“Where do you get this implausible optimism?”

“Definitely not from my father.”

Shaking your head, you rush forward, breaking the two apart. “We don’t have time for this,” you remind, grabbing onto Malia’s arm to pull her attention on you. “We need someone to just hear us.”

“I think we already did.”

It takes you a moment to process Peter’s words, and when you do, your eyes widen at the sight of a Ghost Rider right in front of you.

“We have to go!”

“But--”

Pulling Malia with you, you meet her eyes with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry about Peter, but we have to go!”

She chances a single glance back at her father, who currently is being held up off his feet by his neck by a Ghost Rider. He nods at her, encouraging her to follow you and Lydia and with that, she finally follows your lead, though reluctant, allowing you to help pull her along before simply just following you.

However, just as you rush out the door, she stops. And you don’t notice til you’re out, and when you turn back, the library isn’t there.

Meeting Lydia’s eyes, she nods at you, with the intent to follow after Malia and find her. But, just as you take a step forward, a feeling courses through you. And it’s a feeling you’ve felt before, many times. It’s Stiles.

It has to be.

“Y/N?”

Turning back to Lydia with a dazed expression, you shake your head. “Find Malia, get somewhere safe.”

She shakes her head, brows furrowing in bafflement. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to find Stiles.”

You rush off without another word, ignoring her bleak call for you as you pick up the speed in your step, all but running down the hallway. Your feet keep leading you, the feeling growing stronger and stronger by each step, until you find yourself in front of the girls locker room. Without hesitation, you push the door open, the first thing your eyes fall on is one of the Ghost Riders.

And then, you see Stiles.

Your lips part, and a yell leaves your lips as a burst of power flows through your body. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, unlike anything you’ve ever done before. Your powers feel stronger, unbelievably powerful as you push the Ghost Rider away from Stiles, knocking it back against a set of lockers. The glow of purple surrounds you, surging from your hands, and directed at the Ghost Rider only and completely.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever done before and it’s more control you’ve ever had over your powers.

And, to your surprise and great shock, the Ghost Rider burst into a cloud of green smoke itself. Just like all the innocent civilians it’s taken over the years. You’re not sure how you do it, how you had that much strength and power to destroy a Ghost Rider. But maybe that’s why they’d been afraid of you, like they were Lydia. Only unlike Lydia, or really anyone apparently, you could... destroy them.

Then, you ease, and you feel your legs grow weak beneath you as a result. Your body feels exhausted, your mind as well, and your eyes dull for a moment as you feel yourself falling, but arms catch you before you body thuds against the ground.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?”

You move your hands to hold onto the arms holding you, finding enough strength in your body to finally look up and meet Stiles’ eyes. The eyes of the man you’ve been searching for for the past few months.

“Stiles,” you breathe, hands falling to his cheeks. “Stiles, you’re here. I... I found you.”

His lips curve upwards gently, eyes never leaving your own as he nods.

“I love you,” you whisper, that being the first thought to leave your mind. You needed to tell him. You just had to. “And I never stopped.”

And, Stiles shifts, holding you closer up against himself as he lets out a gentle laugh. “I know.” He uses his right hand to brush back strands of hair that had fallen into your eyes, gently tucking them behind your ear with a soft and adoring looking in his eyes. “I love you too.” Then, he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own. Something you’ve been craving this entire time, his touch. And he’s here, holding you, kissing you...

You instantly return the kiss, without hesitation, your back curving into him as you pour every bit of feeling you’ve felt for him since he disappeared.

Since you broke up.

His hands run through your hair and you hold tight to him, afraid that’ll he’ll disappear from your fingers once again.

But, he never does.

He’s here. He really is.

“How sweet.”

You pull back in surprise at the voice, eyes blinking over only to find Isaac. Or rather, the phantom Isaac that the Ghost Riders had created. That you knew now. Alarmed, Stiles helps you up to your feet, the both of you shuffling back in response as Isaac approaches, his eyes clearly set on you.

And only you.

“Is that Isaac?”

“I sort of brought him back...” You glance back at him, wincing lightly, “it’s a long story.”

“I hate to ruin the moment,” Isaac continues, his voice contorting, turning darker and muffled. You blink and suddenly, his face isn’t his own, messed up, and it’s then your thoughts and fears of the past couple months are confirmed. That wasn’t Isaac.

And you didn’t love what every he it was.

“But I thought you loved me.”

“Stay back,” you whisper to Stiles, pushing him back behind you.

Stiles glances down at you in concern, shaking his head. “Y/N, your powers--”

“I know,” you nod, continuing to shuffle back. “But I have to try.” Then, meeting his eyes steadily, you nod. “Be ready to run.”

He takes a moment, hesitating, before slowly nodding, stepping back to give you the room you need. However, he doesn’t run off yet, he sticks close, obviously worried for you as you slowly raise your hands up before yourself, inhaling sharply and deeply in preparation.

Isaac steps forward, a twisted smile on his lips; “don’t you love me?”

Letting your eyes fall shut, you harden your eyes, shaking your head. “I love the real Isaac,” you mumble, “but not whoever you are.”

And then your lips part and your hands jut out before you as a glow of purple surrounds you. Another cry of pain and exhaustion leaves your lips, forcing out everything you have within you. Everything you have left. Your muscles strain and contort painfully, and you feel your legs start to give out beneath you, but what keeps you going is the fact that it’s working.

If the panicked look on the phantom Isaac’s face is anything to go by.

With one last push, using all that you have left, you knock the phantom back. It slams against a set of lockers, and with just one final push from you, it burst into a cloud of green smoke.

Instantly, you’re falling once more. And like before, Stiles catches you, keeping you steady.

Your head lulls and your body is screaming at you in exhaustion. But you don’t much care now because you’re back in Stiles’ arms.

“How in the world did you do that?” Stiles breathes, glancing in the direction Isaac had all but disappeared. “And what the hell even was that?”

“It’s a long story,” you whisper, repeating your words from earlier, voice tired as you lean on Stiles, letting him guide you back up to your feet. “But, at least I know why the Ghost Riders are afraid of me.”

Staring back at you, astonished, Stiles blinks. “Afraid of you?” Then, a small smile curls onto his lips, and he almost looks proud. No, he definitely looks proud. “I love you.”

Laughing, you nod; “I love you too.”

He glances in the direction of the exit, wrapping his arm around your waist. “We should go,” he suggests gently to which you nod, trying your best to not let all of your weight fall on him. He helps guide you out of the locker room and down the hallway, however, you don’t make it far. Because just as you both reach the doors and Stiles moves to open them, a voice echoes.

“Stiles?”

Turning in the direction of the voice, you stare at the empty hallway.

“Stiles, is that you?”

“Mom?”

You shake your head when Stiles takes a step forward, gently pulling you with him.

“Stiles,” you call, voice weak. “That’s not your mom. Just like that wasn’t Isaac.”

“I know who it is,” Stiles mumbles, “I know her voice.”

“No,” you argue, desperate for him to understand. “That’s the Wild Hunt. They’re tricking you.” He only continues to walk forward, towards where the voice had originated, looking both astonished and lost at the same time. “The Wild Hunt brought her back, but she’s not real.”

He turns to you, confused; “what do you mean, ‘brought her back’?”

Before you can speak, Claudia’s voice echoes once more; “Stiles.”

And turning, you frown when she steps through the doors.

“I know what you’ve been through.”

Your grip tightens on Stiles, trying to pull him back. But he holds fast, relenting you.

“I know how much you love your father.” Claudia continues and then, like Isaac, there’s a shift and her face becomes contorted. Darkened. Not her own. And her voice does the same. “But I love him more.”

Swallowing thickly, you let out a shaky breath.

You don’t have the strength to fight her off. Not for the third time. And if you tried, you’re sure it could kill you.

“Even through the hunt,” she continues, voice distorted and echoed, “you somehow worked your way back into his memory.”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, trying to stay strong. “Worming is one of my skills.”

Standing up a bit straighter, you pull Stiles’ gaze on your own. “That thing,” and you spit the word venomously, “is conjured from your dad’s pain. If he remembers you, he can’t believe in her.”

“That’s why you have to go.”

It happens in a second. Claudia steps forward and you move to stop her, even if you know you can’t, but her hand wraps around your throat, squeezing painfully. It blocks all air and you scramble, scratching at her hand but she’s too strong for your weakened state. And then Stiles steps forward, quick to help you, trying to pull her hands away from you.

“You shouldn’t treat your mother that way.”

You slump against the ground, a groan of pain leaving your lips in response. However, your focus soon turns on Stiles as it’s now his neck being squeezed by the phantom.

“You’re not my mother,” he whispers, voice straining.

She steps forward, quick, slamming him up against a wall. You try to climb up to your feet, hating how weakened you were by your own powers and desperate to try and help Stiles. But you can’t move fast enough. You entire body screamed at you in pain, your head banging in agony, your throat screaming out in discomfort.

“He believes in me. Dreams. So hard to kill.”

But then a figure steps past you, and your eyes widen in hope in realization of who.

“But not impossible.”

Stilinski attempts to shoot Claudia, but regrettably, it does nothing to her.

“Noah,” she calls, shaking her head. “Your bullets can’t hurt me.”

Finding your strength, you force yourself up. You ignore your own pain and suffering for the sake of Stiles, and the fact that you refuse to lose him again. Not again. You won’t let it happen.

Falling next to Stilinski, you swallow thickly, “fire again.”

He listens without fault, and with the help of his bullet, you push your hands forward, forcing your powers to surge towards her and guiding the bullet there as well. The bullet hits her, right in the chest, and like Isaac, she disappears in a cloud of green smoke, letting go of Stiles.

You slump forward, trying to keep yourself upright. The ground begins to rumble beneath you and you nearly fall, but Stilinski wraps an arm around you to keep you upright, helping steady you.

You glance around as everything continues to rumble, shaking violently, trying to find the source.

“Looking for this?”

Stiles jumps, surprised by your voice as he spins round fast to face you. You bite your lip to fight your smile at his reaction, pressing a hand against your lips to muffle your giggle. “Sorry,” you mumble at his half-hearted glare he attempts to send your way. “Your dad let me in.”

Setting down the book in his hands back on his dresser, Stiles turns to you completely, hand set against his chest. “You could’ve at least knocked.”

You only shake your head, electing not to say anything as you walk into Stiles’ room. You cross the distance between the two of you, slowing to a stop in front of the boy with a soft smile, before leaning down to gently grab his hand. You pull it up, turning it so his palm is pointed towards the ceiling, before slowly lowering the necklace his father had found for you into his hand.

Stiles glances down at the necklace, his eyes widening when he realizes just what necklace it is. “What...”

“Your father found it when you were...” You trail off, a light frown curling onto your lips at the memory of it all. “Well, you know. And he said you left it for me.”

Swallowing thickly, Stiles eyes the lily necklace in his palm for a moment before glancing up to meet your eyes. His gaze is soft as he glances up at you, reflective as well. There’s seems to be hundred of thoughts running through his mind as he stares back at you, emotions that you seem to understand well enough but can’t exactly place.

While things were better, much, much better... You and Stiles haven’t really discussed any of it. Any of it being what had happened before he’d disappeared. There seemed to be this wall that existed between the two of you, this wall that stopped you from talking about it; about the break up, about the secrecy and the lying... But you didn’t want to go on never talking about it. You didn’t want it to be a forbidden thing in your relationship.

If the two of you were going to do this, you had to be better about being honest.

About it all.

“Stiles--”

“Y/N--”

Letting out a laugh, you shake your head. “You go first.”

Stiles hesitates for a moment and he even looks a little shy as his lips part to speak, but he stammers for the right words. You let him take his time, listening carefully as he swallows thickly, mustering up the courage. “I was going to give this necklace to you at graduation,” he explains, “it was going to be my way of apologizing to you for how I treated you. About the way I treated you about Donovan and the Dread Doctors and Theo...”

You frown at the mention of his name.

But Stiles is quick to pull your gaze back on his own, hand falling under your chin and gently pulling it up. “I wasn’t there for you when you needed me and for that, i’m sorry. I should’ve told you, but I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t even tell my own dad... And I didn’t stop to think that you were going through things of your own...” His hand moves, cupping your cheeks as his thumb softly brushes away the lone tear that had manage to fall past your defenses. “You deserved better then that. Better then me.”

You adamantly shake your head, without hesitation, taking his hands in your own firmly. “I don’t want anyone else but you, Stiles.”

His lips part, and he hesitates, then; “even after everything?”

“Our life is crazy, Stiles. Our lives have been crazy since Scott got bit... And yeah, we’re graduating, and I don’t know what the future holds.” You lean into his touch, your hand falling over his own with a soft smile. “But the one thing I do know is that you’re what got me through it all. And I don’t ever want to not have you by my side again.”

An echo of silence passes, and then, you lean forward, letting your forehead fall on Stiles’ own.

“You’re it for me, Stiles,” you whisper, “you’re all I want.”

Placing his hands on your waist, Stiles tugs you closer. “Good,” he mumbles, “cause you’re all I want too.”

You pull back with a smile, a bright one. There’s this race of happiness flooding through you that you haven’t felt for months. To have Stiles so close again, without all that tension that had once existed between you... it felt like a dream come true.

“Here.”

You blink at Stiles’ words, before understanding his meaning. Pulling back from his touch, you turn, pulling your hair out of his way as he slips the necklace around your neck before locking the clasp for you. Once it’s on properly, you turn to him with a bright smile, letting out a soft laugh as you eye the pendant. “I love it.”

“And,” Stiles begins, pulling you close. “I love you.”

“Hey.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

Smiling softly at the sound of Isaac’s voice, you glance down at your lap, biting your lip.

“How are you, Isaac?”

“I’m good,” he responds back cheerfully. “Things are really good.”

“Yeah?” You question softly in response, “i’m glad.”

There’s a pause, then, “how are you, Y/N?”

“I’m good,” you whisper. “I am. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod, even though you know he can’t see it. “I just really wanted to hear your voice.”

His actual voice.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Isaac hesitates, seeming unsure. “You seem off.”

“I’m good, i’m good,” you laugh lightly. “I promise. I’m just tired. Today was the last day of school and I still have no idea what I want to do for college.”

“You don’t?”

Shrugging, you fiddle with the sleeve of your shirt. “No, but i’ll figure it out.” Then, you brighten up. “What about you? You should be done school in France as well, right? What are your big plans?”

Isaac lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t have too many big plans.”

“No?”

“Well, actually... I sort of... maybe met this girl...”

“You met a girl?” You exclaim, excited. “Who? Who is it?”

“Slow down, Y/N/N,” Isaac chuckles, and you can imagine him rolling his eyes at you. “It’s just some girl from school. But I've taken her on a few dates and things are looking good... Really good.”

“Oh, that’s amazing, Isaac. I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah, well...” Then he pauses, “what about you? Did Stiles realize the big mistake he made?”

Rolling your eyes, you glance back at the past out image of Stiles next to you, curled up in his blankets. “You could say that,” you snort, “we’re better.”

“You guys together, then?”

Smiling down at Stiles, you nod. “Yeah,” you whisper, “we are.”

Part 45?

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#Teen Wolf #Teen Wolf imagine #Teen Wolf x reader #Teen Wolf series #NRT #No Reason To #Stiles #Stiles Stilinski #Stiles Stilinski imagine #Stiles Stilinski x reader #Stiles imagine #Stiles x reader #Dylan O'Brien #Dylan O'Brien imagine #Dylan O'Brien x reader #Scott McCall #Scott McCall imagine #Isaac Lahey #Isaac Lahey imagine

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boogiewrites · 3 years

Text

Never Break the Chain Pt. 2

Part 2 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary: Javier and Esme's first time seeing each other in almost twenty years. A photograph leads to an obsessive hunt for the woman he thought was dead. They both find they got where they wanted. But is it what they want now?

Warnings/Tags: Tension. Big reunited kiss.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Time passes, as it always has and always will. It stopped for no man, not even Javier. Seeing his first love fade into nothing had left him a different man. Walls came up, barriers were built that his enemies would even be impressed by. She’d done him a favor, snapping him out of the young man’s dream, but he felt he had nothing left but trying to help once she was gone. So he threw himself into his work.

Sure there were other women. He thought he loved some, but would always leave them. He always hurt them and that wasn’t his intention precisely but they would thank him years later. He was what they would refer to in close company as “a dodged bullet”. He’d been called far worse.

He despised his cliche reactions to his trauma sometimes. Drinking, smoking, being a general pain in the ass, renowned and proud asshole was easier. Burying yourself in prostitutes and let them take away the thoughts for a little while was the easiest. He would fantasize he could help them, even save some of them. He surely wasn’t getting his hero complex stroked when it came to his work. He had a soft spot for women, he had learned the hard way the shit deal they’d landed when they were born. He couldn’t do much...but he could try to help. So he did. Loss after loss he kept trying. This was that bit of good Esme had always believed in. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would have it so he made the best of it while he could.

The night before was nothing knew, an old habit at this point for him. He went out and got a woman, he’d pour every bit of good in him into her, convincing himself he still had it. He’d make them feel good, listen to them, things that were in short supply in their lives from men. He could be that good guy exception, if only for a short while. It felt nice to not be looked at with disgust or fear. The slivers of affection kept him going after dark. He’d leave them breathless, moans turning to laughs as they dressed, joking they might not make him pay. But they always took the money. And he offered it with no judgment, pulling his jeans on and halfway through a highball glass as his lean outstretched arm offer up their compensation for making him feel something good and push out the bad thoughts for a short while. He could be making worse decisions.

He rubs his temple, suppressing a groan as he slid his way into the uncomfortable chair at the beaten-up metal table. The chatter of his coworkers all making their way into the room was grating but nothing he couldn’t ignore. Morning debriefing, something he gave a shit about. Well, work was the one thing he gave a shit about right now, hyper-focused on the clock and trying to drown out the obsession off the clock. It was a dynamic that he was still trying to perfect. He downs the hot black coffee in his hand and nods at the secretary just outside the doorway, “Get me another, sugar. No sugar.” he winks and sends her off. She side-eyed him and went on her way, that was just Pena to her, horny but harmless. He cracks his back, a grunt before landing his elbows on the table to focus, the overblown commander coming in with a handful of photos, spreading them on the table as they talked about what they always did, the cartel.

Pena tries to approach everything individually, but there was only so much range these guys had, and not seeing them all as one giant collection of piss ants with assault rifles was something getting harder and harder to do. So as new and old names were said, he watched the board fill out, the line attaching known connections and new ones. There had been a new wave of intel, something Pena and his partner Murphy were used to being the ones doing, but he wouldn’t complain if someone else finally wanted to sack up and their fucking job like they were supposed to.

“So we have our old friends,” a slap of photos to the board. “Then there’s a new round of boys coming in.” he taps the newest addition to the board. “Seems we’re getting inbred with the other families, the jewel smugglers, the miners...seems we’re trying to venture out and expand our already impressive portfolio.” he snorts.

“They can never just be fucking satisfied with their millions.” someone groans and complains.

“It’s a good chance try to take them down too.” Murphy shrugs.

“Eyes on the prize, kiss ass,” Pena says quietly, accepting his coffee without a second glance. “Do we know these women?” he asks with a nod in the direction.

“Typical.” Murphy rolls his eyes.

“No. Our assumption is prostitutes. Nothing new there.” the commander goes on, but he quickly becomes background noise as Pena stands and moves toward the board. He stood, hips jutted forward, eyes scanning, hand over his mouth in thought. Once he saw the new pictures he hadn’t heard another word the men had said. “PENA!” barked his way grabs his attention as he casually shifts his attention.

“Mmmph. Yeah.” he mutters, eyes moving back to the board.

“I was informing you, you’d be doing street intel on these newcomers.”

“Yeah,” he says disinterested, thumbing his lip before placing his hands on his hips. “Do we have these photos in color?”

The question catches the room off guard. “Why?” he’s met with annoyed opposition.

“This woman…” he taps the photo of a woman with a sly smile on the arm of a very powerful man. Dark waves teased and a heart-shaped face buried in a fur coat collar worth more than he made in a year. He clears his throat. “I’ve seen her before…”

“They’re whores Javi, of course, you have.” Murphy leads the room in a wave of amused hums and chuckles.

“No I’m serious,” he says with no inflection, catching his partner’s attention. “Do we have a location on them if there’s no color?”

“Why’s color important?”

He’s quiet for a moment, jaw tense and eyes blinking, baffled at what he was allowing himself to think. “Her eyes… were green.” MUrphy readjusts himself in his seat, watching Pena’s eyes carefully. He could swear they looked sad.

“What information we’ve got is here.” the commander points at the table with its thick manilla envelopes.

Javier nods with no spoken response, staying in place until the room is empty except for a hesitant Murphy who approaches him. “Who is she?” he asks quietly.

He shakes his head in response. “It can’t be her,” there’s a heavy pause, “But it...fuck it looks like her…” his voice trails off and Murphy is left with more questions.

“Well, are you gonna answer me or just write poetry about her Javi?”

“She’s…” he sighs and sucks his teeth. “She’s supposed to be dead.”

“Did you-?”

“No… no… nothing like that.” his voice still quiet. “I knew her… fuck...over a decade ago now.”

“So we can add hunting ghosts to our agenda now too. Great.” Murphy takes it lightly and presses his lips together. He stares at Javi, his eyes dark and focused. He was left with more questions than answers. His money was still on it being a hooker. It’s not as if Pena had even talked about Esme since the investigation when he was young. His partner may have his back in life or death situations, and they may have been close, but no one knew about her. Pena had hoped to keep it that way. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped it wasn’t her. Because if it was… well he didn’t know what he’d do.

---------------------------------------------------

Esme didn’t know it but with every minute that passed, she was being proven right about her belief in her first love, that if he knew she was alive, that he would find her.

Esme had ran, a bug out bag down the river and no trace left behind. She made her way south over the years, learning her craft and making friends in the right places. She’d started with rich men, especially rich white men trying to make a living off exploiting her fellow man in Mexico. It had been almost too easy. They thought nothing of her and wore her as if she were a watch; on their arm and shiny and proof of their wealth. She would gain access, gather intel and then sweep in and take the goods and ghost out.

Esme had been legally declared dead and was now living as Estelle. She had so many names over the years but her current incarnation was Estelle. And she was a star. She’d become what she wanted, she was rich and self-reliant. She needed no one and had her fun as she craved it. There were men and women and drugs and jewels and for so long it had been a pleasant hazy dream. But the novelty of it wore off, she grew bored, a witness to her hypocrisy, growing soft and lazy with her indulgence. When she emerged from her haze and saw the state of the world around her she knew things had changed. Narcos now ruled the world. The government bowed to them, the poor worshipped them. She saw they were the future, the new leaders. And for her, that meant that’s where she had to be.

She found herself once again sharp and full of adrenaline. Her new role took real savvy and cunning. Otherwise, she’d end up dead for real. She cozied up, working for Narcos to steal for them. It wasn’t hard in skill, but it was in the amount of sexist shit she had to deal with. She’d killed men for laying hands on her, and worse. She’d pulled knives and guns and made frown men piss themselves as she threatened them with words they’d never heard women utter up to that point. Most of the leaders would laugh until they cried after the fact, seeing a woman act in such away. She entertained them. They underestimated her, saw her as some novelty pet that fetched things and entertained them. She could handle that. As long as she got paid.

Following the groups, making her way around it made sense she found herself in Columbia. She knew it was dangerous, but she was addicted to it. It filled the void of sex and drugs for her for the most part, although she did partake among her peers from time to time. She thought it made her admirable, independent, and a shining example of what a woman could be if she had the nerve to do it. She was, to a degree, but she was also wrong. She lacked the softness in her life anyone, not just a woman needed. A void where no love or trust or intimacy was in her life she filled with material things and lists of her accomplishments. if she kept busy and looking ahead she wouldn’t be still king enough to face her demons.

Except she was about to come face to face with her biggest one.

—

As was his way, Javier had become a bit obsessed. He had to know if this woman was Esme. He’d been tracking her and was able to have DEA level observation to do it. It was a personal mission he’d been able to spin to look like a cartel one. There was a connection, she was seen with them, but little was known outside of that. After he’d put the word out for the beautiful woman with green eyes it hadn't taken long before someone scorned by her leaked information on her next job. The informant knew what his boss wanted to be stolen and when she’d be there. Normally no agent or cop would care to pay attention to her, or some jewels being stolen, she was just some woman to them. But serendipitous timing made sure she became THE woman for one of them.

She practically waltzed into the store. She scaled a fence, a wall and came through a window but for her, that was practically begging her to steal from them. The rooms were dark, silent except for the sounds of her feet as she made her way into the back, unseen and unbothered. It wasn’t until she’d stopped to admire her score before snatching it they the clicking of a gun behind her caught her attention.

He’d waited in the shadows, and none too patiently. With the aim set to intimidate, not kill, he Easter no more time. “Who are you?” It came out as an order.

Her head snapped up, back still to the faceless voice she felt was all too familiar. She blinks, the former goal now removed and replaced with a flood of emotion. She remains silent, her turn to be shocked like he was when he saw her face in the photos.

“Turn around.” Another order. The voice was deeper, darker now but still made her feel the same way.

She turns, and painfully slow. She doesn’t meet his intense gaze immediately, reading his body language first and calming her racing mind. There’s no way it was him.

There’s no way it’s her, his mind reassures him. But as soon as her eyes raise to meet his his stomach drops. He was right.

“Javi?” It was almost a whisper, for the first time in she couldn’t remember when she didn’t hide her emotions in her face.

The gun falls first, his sense falling to the wayside as it slipped into its place in the back waist of his jeans. His frame was broader, still lean moves towards her with an earned confidence now. He doesn’t speak, staring at her as if she might not be real. She gives him his time. He’d earned it. “It really is you.” It was his turn to let the veil fall, dark eyes shining in the low, cool light.

She nods. “Javi I can explain.” She begins, prepared to apologize and ask forgiveness before asking him why the hell he was there at all. They were a long way from home.

“You’re alive.” A rather obvious statement that made her smile. It was all he could handle.

“I can explai-“ a quick burst of words before they’re cut off by his mouth landing against hers. She hadn’t expected this. She was prepared for many things last but not this, at least not for him to be kissing her. “Javi my-“ she tries to get out but his hands are already on her cheeks, hot and damp and certain. She lets her concern fade for a moment, it would all be fine. She gives in to it, lets him take the lead, and pull her against him roughly. The anger and hurt coming through in his grip on her back and face as they kissed breathlessly. He stole her focus without trying, there was the signature huff from his nose, the nuzzle into her between separating to catch his breath but he felt different. But so did she.

Where they once held differences in certainty they now held the opposite. He kissed her like he just found out his first love was alive after decades of vices to cover the loss. Because he had. Every woman and experience he’d had between her and now, every skill and thus gained confidence was clear and apparent. This was not a boy handling a girl. He was a man handling his woman.

And there she was, blindsided and touch starved, passion and intimacy starved being devoured by the only man she’d ever truly loved. The only man she’d ever let in and see her for what she was. The only man that knew Esmeralda. It was a raw and painful ache that emanated from her chest as she clutched her hand around his wrist and the other gripped his shirt in her hand. She gave in because she knew it wouldn’t last long, and after it was over she’d miss it.

With eyes squeezed shut, his forehead pressed to hers, his statuesque nose gently rubbing against hers he exhales hot against her face. “Esme…” he pulls back and holds her face, demanding her focus.

“It’s been so very long since someone’s called me that.” she sighs and puts her hands on his forearms.

“Since I called you that?”

She nods and smiles, face pressed into his hand.

“Maybe it’s about time people called you that again.” he pauses and looks her over with a hard brow, he couldn't hide his simmering anger underneath the confusion, relief, and affection. “Where the fuck have you been?” She sighs in response. “Why the hell are you HERE?”

“Same as you. Work.”

“Why are you with those men? Don’t you know who they are? What they do?”

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”

“Why Esme?” his eyes water and his hands squeeze her face a bit too tightly before a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Same reason now as then,” she whispers, his grip loosening and not hearing her response, she slicks his dark hair back as his eyes start to roll around in their sockets. “You're fine, Javi. Seems you fell for my defense mechanism.” she smiles and he looks at her, starting to slump. “To be fair I didn’t know to expect you. You’ll wake up soon enough. It’s only temporary.” she wipes the culprit of the sudden wave of forced unconsciousness he was going through, her lipstick off his mouth. He was out quickly, and she spent some long moments exploring the now aged face of her once wide-eyed companion. “You are even more handsome than I thought you’d be.” she coos and kisses him after dragging him into a chair and pushing it into a corner so he wouldn’t fall. “It now inevitable we’ll meet again. My old hound dog.” She chuckles, a kiss to take in the scent of his hair before she parted ways. “See you later, mi amor.”

-----------

Peña awoke to a boot knocking against his knee and an odd headache. It was pitch black outside by now, people on the streets outside none the wiser to the life-altering experience he’d just had.

“Are we blacking out in stores now?” Murphy snarks and shakes his head, leaning against a door frame.

“That’s not...I’m not…” Javier shakes his head, rubbing and tapping at the pulse in his skull.

“Then what the hell is it?” He can hear the judgment in his partner's voice.

“If I told you you would think I was crazy.” he groans and sits up with his back straight in the chair, one cocked brow looking over to the man staring him down.

“And I don’t now?”

Peña huffs out a laugh. That was a fair assessment. He’d think the same thing. He looked across the room, the glass case he’d found her standing in front of now empty. “She took the jewels.” he switches the subject, an arm raised lazily and collapsing against his lap after.

“Were they made of cocaine? Why do we give a shit?”

“It’s not the jewels that are important. It’s the woman that did it.”

“A woman? Huh. That’s something you don’t see every day. That is… a little bit crazy I guess.”

“That’s not what’s crazy.”

“Am I gonna have to fuckin’ waterboard you man, just tell me.” he groans.

“That woman I told you about... that stole those... she's been declared legally dead for almost twenty years.” he finally says with a defensive tone and a face that said don’t fucking try me to the man still assessing his sanity with no attempt at hiding his negative prognosis.

“Oh.” Murphy contemplates looking away to the empty case. “That... yeah okay that is crazy.”

@jaegeeeeer @likedovesinthewnd @inkededucatednnerdy @biharryjames @ladamari68 @past-romantic @weliketomoveit

#javier pena #Javier Pena Fanfic #javier pena fic #javier pena fan fic #javier pena x reader

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nat-20s · 4 years

Text

MEDIA THAT I RECOMMEND YOU CONSUME INSTEAD OF SUPERNATURAL FOR BOTH HEART AND HEALTH BROKEN DOWN BY TYPE OF MEDIA AND WHY YOU MIGHT LIKE IT IF AT ANY POINT YOU, LIKE MY POOR POOR SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD SELF, WERE INVESTED IN THIS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE FIRE OF A SHOW

with apologies to anyone on mobile who’s readmore function APPARENTLY doesn’t work

(I haven’t watched supernatural for at least five years and, given any sort of luck, I will never do so again, do not @ me)

hello babes. I am talking to you know bc I keep seeing supernatural, unironically, on my dash, and I think we can all do better. I see what’s happening and I think: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hU3i_o5Xd4g

Supernatural is fudge stripes. You are Megan. We can fix this.

So a list of alternate things that I think are overall better written/characterized/just generally more enjoyable that might scratch some of those itches:

TV SHOWS

Good Omens

okay look if u were on tumblr last year u probably already watched this show but like. If u haven’t, it’s only six episodes babe and there’s a large enough fandom that u can go down a fanart hole for days on end

Basic summary: the antichrist has reached that lovely young age where he’s supposed to bring about the apocalypse. An angel and a demon who have decided that actually they like the world as is, thank you very much, try to stop the end times. They’re not very good at it though, which makes for a comedy of errors.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: theologic (mostly christian) exploration/parody/imagery without inherently being a religious show. Fighting off the apocalypse narrative, which I think pretty much always goes hard as hell, but that’s just me. There’s a gay angel who’s socially awkward. There’s a fun very British demon. Touches on the hierarchies of heaven and hell, with framing Heaven as a bureaucracy and blurs the differences between angels and demons. Pining. Tenderness. A deep nostalgia for 80s music, though in this case it’s specifically queen, and who doesn��t love queen. Main character has a weirdly strong bond with his black vintage car. Satan is (sort of) fought.

Gravity Falls

sometimes...things that are kids shows...with a set story and a predetermined ending...are better

(also this isn’t relevant to any of what I’m talking about but I really appreciate that Gravity Falls specifically went against the thing that most begged me about ATLA aka that a 15 year old girl would be like yeah I’m into a 12 year old boy because the 12 year old boy has a crush on me and I apparently don’t get to really have a say in this. How does that make sense.)

Basic Summary: Twelve year old twins Dipper and Mabel go to stay with their Grunkle Stan for the summer in a small Oregon town called Gravity Falls. Turns out this town is filled with all sorts of strange phenomena that they often have to confront, work around, learn about, or befriend!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: The core focus of the show is a close sibling duo, but like It’s obvious that the siblings actually like and love each other and while they have their spats it’s still incredibly clear that they deeply care about each other even with their differences LIKE SORRY SUPERNATURAL YOU CAN’T JUST TELL ME THAT SIBLINGS CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER AND THEN THEY SPEND ALL THEIR TIME FIGHTING AND LYING TO EACH OTHER AND GENERALLY ACTING LIKE THEY CAN’T STAND EACH OTHER’S COMPANY BUT THEN OOOHHH YOU CRY ON TOP OF THE HOOD OF A CAR EVERY THREE EPISODE AND SUDDENLY THEY’RE SOULMATES OR WHATEVER

Anyway. Yeah. GF has a solid sibling dynamic. Monster of the week that builds up to greater over-arching plot. A little bit of body horror, you know, for humor. Fair amount of meta humor playing with the tropes of the genre. A Good Ol Big Bad that tries to pit the siblings against each other. Have to fight the apocalypse (you’ll see this point on like a good half of these recs, I really like ‘what are we gonna do about Armageddon’ media). Interesting creature design. Planned, satisfying ending (which supernatural absolutely does not have, but I still think if it had ended with the season 5 finale like it uhh pretty obviously was supposed to, that would sort of counted. Don’t revive shows that have clearly already told their stories kids.) Tie in media that gives you some fun extra stories when you miss the characters. (yes I read some of the supernatural novels when I was a c h i l d, yes I’m pretty sure there’s one or two of them still buried somewhere on my laptop, no I don’t wanna talk about it.) Older father figure (?) who owns a tbh kind of shitty shop. Both already in place and found family.

It’s a good show, and it’s two seasons. John Mulaney Voice: I dunno it’s 40 episodes

MINI REC ALERT! (mini recs are basically things that I’m not gonna go into detail about for whatever reason [probably either due to i’m not familiar enough with it OR I just don’t like. Have a bunch to say about it in regards to how it will scratch the itches presented to u by spn] but still seem like a Good Watch)

Mini Rec: Over The Garden Wall. Spooky Kids Media! Episodic! Miniseries so you can watch it in like 2 hours! Cool ass Animation! About two brothers encountering said spooky stuff! Big Bad tries to pit brothers against each other! Might haunt you for the rest of your life! Check it out!

The Haunting of Bly Manor

I think about this show every goddamn day of my life. (Also not relevant but Greg Sestero makes a brief cameo in it and I was like hi greg my friend greg!)

Basic Summary: An girl named Dani, while staying in London, decides to take on an Au Pair job for two young children, an older brother named Miles (age 10) and the younger sister Flora (age 8) at the spoooooky and mysteeerious Bly Manor, and she gets far more than she bargained for.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Okay so supernatural doesn’t actually do this but I know I KNOW why we let ourselves be queerbaited in 2012. Four words for you: CENTRAL! GAY! TRAGIC! ROMANCE! You want some pining? Some tenderness? Some LOVE? Some dealing with internalized homophobia but no, like, actual violent onscreen homophobia? HAVE I GOT THE SHOW FOR YOU. If ur favorite episodes where the ones that make you sob (for me it was kevin’s death on god), I recommend this show. If you wished that supernatural literally ever had consequences or perma deaths or didn’t retcon major plot events like every five goddamn episodes so that there could be some exploration of like grief and trauma through the lens of/ higher stakes of horror, I recommend this show. If you really do stay up at night picturing a supernatural that wasn’t made by dumbass cishettie white men hack writers but was actually allowed to have Dean and Cas be in love over the course of the show so they could have like actual development and not the most homophobic gay reveal of all time, I recommend this show. Hell, if you just want a banger ghost story in general, I recommend this show.

As for what they actually have in common: horror setting/aesthetic without actually being all that scary most of the time. A strong sibling duo, though they’re not nearly as much of the focus of Bly Manor. Found family. Strong themes of grief. Questions of what turns someone into a monster (and done much better) An actual, much better noble sacrifice done out of love. Escalation of stakes until there’s a big final confrontation. Semi-big bad trying to tear this family apart. Found and pre-installed family. Sad orphans.

Watch this show. Vibe with me. Cry with me. Yell at me about Owen Sharma

MINI REC ALERT!

Haunting of Hill House- spiritual predecessor to Haunting of Bly Manor, though they’re not actually the same universe/story. However, it’s made by the same dude and has a shared aesthetic/sensibilities/some of the cast. This is only a mini rec bc I haven’t actually seen it, but I’ve heard good things and that it, while much more heavily leaning into family dynamics, has similar themes of exploring Grief and Trauma through ghooossstttsss.

Community

Okay I know that this may seem like a Wild rec considering community is a school sitcom with basically Zero paranormal elements but just like. Hear me out. And no this isn’t just because I think it’s a realy good show and I want more people to watch it, though that is a factor. If I was just recommending comedies that I think are good and more people should watch regardless of them serving as a replacement for supernatural I would demand you all go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. I’m gonna demand it anyway. Everyone go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Now back to your original program:

Basic Summary: A group of students at Greendale Community College form a Spanish study group, and things quickly go Off The Fucking Rails in the best way possible.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: All right I’m gonna be real honest this rec is for all of my (correct) bitches who’s favorite episodes of Supernatural were French Mistake, Changing Channels, and/or Mystery Spot. You think if Supernatural would’ve been fucking fantastic if it had been a committed comedy instead of a CW melodrama that occasionally landed some admittedly really fucking funny episodes/concepts, Community (and the movies on this list) will gently take you into its loving arms and give you everything you desire. It’s about the Meta comedy. It’s about the discussion, exploration, and subversion of common tropes within the format. It’s about the grand use of group/ found family dynamics in order to max both the goofs and the heart. It’s about fantastic callbacks. It’s about having one of the few “asshole with a heart of gold” leads I can actually stand because. You know. Growth. It’s about the INCREDIBLE genre and pop culture parody. Which genre do they parody, you ask. All of them. They parody all the genres. The glee parody episode is a fucking masterpiece of television. If you don’t want to watch a show that features a Halloween party where everyone turns into zombies and the ABBA discography blasts in the background, you can stop reading right now, because I can guarantee you won’t be interested in a damn thing I have to say.

MINI REC ALERT: The X-Files. I’ve also never seen this but a: everything I’ve seen out of context has been fantastically weird and delightful b: it appears that there’s a general consensus that Scully and Mulder are one of the only valid straight couples so it’s probably pretty fun and c: let’s all be honest. Supernatural was already basically an x-files rip off, it had like half of their original writers swiped from the x-files crew, I’m pretty sure if you liked especially the first couple of seasons of supernatural, you’re gonna like the X-files.

Subcategory: TV SHOWS ( A WHOLE TWO OF ‘EM, OR MORE LIKE ONE AND HALF IF YOU WANNA GET TECHNICAL) I’M SPECIFICALLY RECOMMENDING FOR THAT COCAINE HIT OF PURE UNADULTERATED UNCUT 2012 TUMBLR NOSTALGIA

BBC Merlin

Yes, I know the show ended in 2010. Yes, it still provides that 2012 Tumblr nostalgia. 2012 Tumblr is a feeling, not an actual time period.

I love this stupid show. I plan on rewatching it all over the month of January. I harbor a deep amount of fondness for it. It’s why every time I see literally any depiction of Merlin I get just so fucking excited, and why I’ve consumed as many ridiculous Arthurian adaptations as I have (side note: my two favorite other ridiculous Arthurian legend adaptation are Avalon High, a DEEPLY silly DCOM that is required viewing to level up friendship with me, and The Kid Who Would Be King, which is the only movie that I think truly understands the comedic potential of playing a King Arthur Adaptation mostly straight but everyone in it is 12. I’m not sure it intended to be as fucking funny as it was, but again, they’re all middle schoolers. I have never been more jealous of an actor than I was of the 22 year old that got to play a 16 year old dumbass Merlin who was sometimes also Patrick Stewart and did all of his magic with ridiculous hand gestures That should’ve been me that should’ve been me that should’ve been me. Also Sword in the Stone by TH White is pretty good, because Merlin knows germ theory in the fantasy 400’s and he just uses it to be petty mostly. Also listen to High Noon Over Camelot by The Mechanisms. Also Also I tend to prefer family friendly adaptations because they don’t have the uhhh. You know. Incest and sexual violence of the original legend. Love to Not have that shit!) Whether you watched it initially and are due for a rewatch, or you’re intrigued enough by the concept of the show to watch it for the first time, you should join me on this wild wild ride.

Basic Summary: You know who Guinevere, Arthur, and Merlin are, come on. BBC said let’s make em all YOUNG let’s make em SEXY let’s make em FAMILY FRIENDLY and let’s make magic REALLY SEEM LIKE A THINLY VEILED ALLEGORY FOR BEING GAY BUT TO THIS DAY IM NOT SURE IF THAT WAS INTENTIONAL OR NOT BUT IT SURE SEEMS LIKE IT WAS. @ THE BBC MERLIN CREATORS WHAT IS THE TRUTH BECAUSE THERE WAS SOME INTERVI-

Basic Summary but like a bit more helpful: A BABY version of Merlin (and by baby I mean like 20 year old.) is sent from his small town to the big city the Kingdom of Camelot to find his destiny. Staying with the town physician and friend of his mom’s, Gaius, he ends up as both his assistant and personal manservant to Prince Arthur. But in a kingdom where magic is punished with death and the prince seems hell bent on getting himself into situations that are going to kill him, the young sorcerer has his more than his share of work cut out for him.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Primo supremo queerbaiting. Like, yeah, okay, it’s queerbaiting, you know it’s queerbaiting, but you watch some of the scenes and ur like okay. I know why I let this bait me. Obviously with a modern show, I would expect more, I would expect better, I would raise my standards, but I gotta admit. Some of these scenes are fuckin compelling as hell, and the subtext is like barely sub. Monster of the week shenanigans. Some awful CGI creatures but like a charming awful. Like the kind of awful that tells you their very limited budget was more focused on cool swords than realistic creatures. Episodic stories build into a more overarching plot, with things getting darker in season 4/5. Shitty father that end up eating shit and while the son of said father is rightfully conflicted and upset over the death it’s cathartic and victorious as all hell for the audience. Multiple hot evil women, and I love hot evil women. There’s also nice hot women, which is a bonus. These women don’t all immediately stupidly die, so that’s a nice change. Also like a LOT of sarcastic humor and shenanigans if u like Sass Merlin is there for u personally name a more iconic line than “Oh I’m sorry, how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?” AND THAT’S IN THE FIRST FUCKIN EPISODE brilliant amazing fantastic show stopping. Also you know those like dumb hijink episodes where like Dean was possessed by the spirit of a dog or some shit? You bet your bottom fuckin dollar BBC Merlin has those kinds of storylines. Also I know some people go to spn bc it had that HUGE fanbase and like BBC Merlin’s fanbase is still SURPRISINGLY poppin even though it’s been a decade since there was new content so like. Have fun!

Doctor Who but Specifically the RTD Era

Look I’m not here to say that the first four seasons of reboot doctor who are the only good doctor who or inherently better than all the rest (though the RTD era is my favorite personally) BUT when ur seekin that sweet sweet superwholock frenzy nostalgia, this is the ‘who’ that is being referred to. Also like. Stan 9. We should all collectively stan the ninth doctor. Chris Eccleston, the Objectively Best Famous Chris, deserved better.

Basic Summary: An immortal alien that goes by “The Doctor” travels across time and space with a variety of different companions, often to try and save the day or fix a (sometimes self created) mess. It’s distilled campy sci-fi with a family friendly tone that has made me cry on several occasions.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Monster of the week that, you guessed it, builds into bigger overarching plot style narrative. Fighting off the apocalypse, but like every couple of weeks because worlds are in danger a LOT. A semi-tragic romance that made people go absolutely buck fuckin wild bc pining n shit. Wamen, but they aren’t fridged. (actually for real though none of the main women die and I just think that’s really fun and flirty even though I could go on a COMPLETELY SEPARATE rant about the injustice of one of the character’s ending YES season 4 is my favorite season and one of my favorite pieces of media ever and I am currently actively recommending it to you YES im still fucking pissed over how it ended YES we exist) Specifically, a Wonderful and Very Excellent woman named Donna who goes on a spa trip that doesn’t end up going very well. That seems like a highly specific example, and it is, but it did happen in both shows. (Also, to anyone that continued watching SPN after like idk season 9 what happened to Donna? I always liked her and I know she became a recurring character so like DM whatever probably injustice was the end of her story line pls and thank you) I’m also extra specifically recommending for Supernatural Fans and also The World At Large: Season Four of Reboot Who. I rewatched it last year and it still goes so fucking hard. Donna Noble is the best character in existence. In regards to the appeal for SPN, personally I think the best part of SPN was when people who are soulmates went on adventures and tried to save the day and it was a good mix of banter and sincerity AND GUESS WHAT’S BASICALLY THE ENTIRETY OF SEASON 4 OF DOCTOR WHO. It’s so good y’all I wish Everything was about soulmates going on adventures and trying to save the day.

OKAY TV SHOWS DONE TIME FOR M O V I E S which I don’t have nearly as many recs for but uhh here goes

What We Do In The Shadows/ Shaun of the Dead

I’m lumping these two together bc my reasons for recommending them are largely the same, and I would call them tonally similar enough that if you like one you’ll probably like the other

Basic Summary (Shaun of The Dead): Uh-oh! London’s had a break out of some of that good ol’ zombieism. Shaun and friends decide to hunker down in a local bar, but they have to get there first. Will they survive? Will they fuck up some zom zoms? Who’s to say?

Basic Summary (What We Do In The Shadows): Some vampire roommates dick around. I think there’s technically, like, a plot, but it’s really just about some vampires Doin Their Thing. Vibin.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: This is kind of similar to the Community recommendation, in that supernatural had the opportunity to be one of those things that was both a parody of a genre but also just a really good example of the genre. WWDITS and SotD are both those things for vampire and zombly movies, respectively. Have the aesthetic and some of the themes of a horror but is not actually all that scary. Horror Comedy is a god tier genre and I don’t know why it’s not more widespread. Fun monsters/cast of characters in general, so at least one person in it is probably going to make you go “oh gender” ya know? With SotD you have the fantasy power trip that comes with like any piece of media that involves hunting monsters. With WWDITS I go “yep that’s how bisexuals dress” and I Will Not Clarify which character I’m talking about.

MINI REC ALERT: All of Taika Watiti’s filmography. Thor:Ragnarok is one of like 3 marvel movies that I consider genuinely fucking fantastic completely independent of the MCU and my own tendency to be like “hurr bdurr I love. Superheros”. For the one that is most tonally like Supernatural But Significantly Better and Written By Someone Competent I think I would say try out Hunt For The Wilderpeople. It’s got a reluctant curmudgeonly father figure and I KNOW some of you motherfuckers were so invested in spn when you were like 16 bc you had daddy issues. This is a callout post for my friend [REDACTED], who I should text to watch Hunt for the Wilderpeople, actually.

MINI REC ALERT X2!!!: Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I’ve never seen it but it has both Winona Ryder AND Keanu Reaves so like. Goth bi rights.

Happy Death Day (and Happy Death Day 2 U)

happy death day was one of those movies that I saw the trailer, went “eh”, heard other people say it was great, watched, and went holy fuck this slaps. Not nearly as much of a slasher film as the trailers implied if im remembering the trailer correctly

Basic Summary: Our main character Tree keeps waking up on the day she was murdered. The day resets every time that she dies. That’s right, it’s a time loop storey babey!!!!!!!!!!!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: If you were anything like me you were foolishly lulled into supernatural for way longer than you should’ve been on the promise that the characters would idk like grow and change and become better and learn lessons and some of that would be through the power of receiving love and kindness. You know. Like how good writers would do it especially if their main characters are kind of dicks that really should make some changes. Well, Happy Death Day fucking delivers on that promise in SPADES. It’s about growth! It’s about change! It’s about making the active decision to become a better person and putting effort into doing so! There’s heavy themes of like grief and trauma and acknowledging them and facing them head on in order to move on and the negative consequences of refusing to do so and just trying avoid it until it goes away. There’s a romance that makes my dumb little self do the pleading face emoji. Tree is also one of the only good asshole with a heart of gold characters. I also think media is improved by having at least one character that is a Good Good Boy (note: Good Good Boy character does not have to be a man.) and Happy Death Day has Carter. Oh on that note: Tree Voice: I’ve only had character for (the same repeating over and over) a day but if anything happens to him I’ll kill everyone here and then myself. Also the movie is funny so like hell yeah.

that’s all I got for relevant movies right now

BOOK RECS

jk i’m illiterate. Everyone should feel free to go ahead and add their own suggestions for this section The best I can do is uhhhh I think y’all would probably like Mira Grant’s novels, particularly the Newsflesh stories, bc sibling dynamics. Also the book The Haunting of Hill House is really good. Ballad of Black Tom slaps? There’s of course the Good Omens novel that the show was based on. I’m about to recommend some podcasts after this section which will include to Welcome to Nightvale because of course it will and the tie in novels for that slap, especially It Devours!, and I’m pretty sure they work as stories even if you know nothing about the podcast. Also also I think you should read “The Long Way to A Small, Angry Planet” by Becky Chambers It’s not thematically similar to supernatural at all but it’s one of my all time favorite sci fi novels and only like four people have read it which is a goddamn TRAVESTY.

Anyway yeah that’s it that’s all there is. Onto the medium that is like books but I can fold laundry or cook while consuming their narratives.

PODCAST RECS

Okay so this is getting uhhh wicked long so I’m gonna limit myself to only three full blown recs and a

mini rec

Alice Isn’t Dead

Fuck me running this show is so good. Literally hands down my all time favorite (and scariest!) horror podcast. Mamma mia, that’s a good fuckin story. The Book version is also good and has fewer Weird events but some further character development so I recommend them both.

Basic Summary: After her wife Alice disappears mysteriously, Keisha takes up a job as a long haul trucker, traveling all across America in order to find her, but ends up finding so much. Pursued by a deadly creature she calls The Thistle Man, the stakes of her journey are raised.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: okay so I have a lost of bullet points of things that appealed to me specifically about supernatural and how no other shows covers all of them which sucks bc it means I basically Yearn for a show that’s supernatural but good. Alice isn’t Dead, however, hits the most of these bullet points AND is so fucking good. It has monster hunting. It has stopping a cataclysmic event BUT also discussion of the cyclical nature of events such as these and how the fight never truly ends but you can make some fucking progress nonetheless. It has a central gay romance that’s actually a central gay romance. It’s the ONLY show on this list that really hits that the weird and dark underside of americana vibe but specifically the americana of not like suburbs and shit but that eerie haunted feeling you get when you’re hours into a late night drive on open roads with no civilization around and an expansive sky and it just Seems like something should be watching you. Have you ever been out for a walk at midnight and encountered a deer and you looked into each other’s eyes and it felt like it was telling you a message that you couldn’t possibly hope to parse? Have you ever felt an incredible sense of deja vu eating in a restaurant you couldn’t have possibly been in before, because you’ve been to a thousand diners a thousand times just like one, and there’s an incredibly sense of homogeneity even though you’re 2000 miles away from anyone and anything that could possibly know you? Have you ever traveled to an area that seems to be stuck in a bubble of time, the only thing that shows any evidence of having aged past 2006 being yourself, and you wonder how your cell phone even works around here? THAT’S the spooky americana I’m fuckin talking about! Messed up road trips! Too much goddamn space! America is scary because it’s big and Filled With Things but also Not Enough Things! Fuck yeah!!!!! That time bubble fuckin EXISTS in Wyoming the most recent song on the radio I heard was fuckin Hey Soul Sister!

Also has a thing where like are there even good guys and bad guys in a conflict or is it all just one umbrella nightmare that you’re trying to stand against in anyway possible (u kno..like how the overarching structures of both heaven and hell were kinda fucked in spn? No spoilers but similar shit be happenin in Alice Isn’t Dead). Exploration of what makes someone into a monster, like how do you go down that path? Also this is the only show on this whole damn list that southern gothic music really suits it so points for that.

The Magnus Archives

You know I had to do it to ‘em.

Basic Summary: Jonathan Sims has just become the Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, a “research” “facility” that looks into paranormal/esoteric/unexplained phenomena.

John Mulaney Voice, Again: Nobody knows what the archivist is going to do next, least of all the archivist. He’s never been in an archives before, he’s just as confused as you are.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Oh fuck this document is over 5k long I said I wasn’t gonna do this hhhhh so lipton lightning round: Slowburn Gay Romance but Actually Canon, Monster Hunting but Hey What Even Is A Monster Anyway, Acts Somewhat like a Loosely Connected Horror Anthology until it DOESNT, Little Things Build to Bigger Narrative, Characters Be Goin Through It (On God These People Need Therapy), Trying to Prevent/Fix The Apocalypse (X2!!!), Smug Asshole Big Bad, Horror as a Metaphor For Various Shit, Basically if you thought that the Men of Letter concept slapped and you think it should’ve been the whole damn show including being Deeply British you would probably really fuckin like TMA. Also if ur like the ideal piece of media is a horror tragedy but also like it’s a wacky sitcom but also also fuck cops. U will like tma.

Welcome to Nightvale

IF ANY 2012 TUMBLR FANDOM DESERVES TO MAKE A MASSIVE COMEBACK AND BE EVERYWHERE AGAIN AND ABSOLUTELY FLOOD MY DASH IT’S WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE WHY DID WE ABANDON THE SHOW THAT TREATED US THE MOST KINDLY DID YOU KNOW THAT EPISODES 108-110 ARE THE BEST FUCKING BUILT UP NARRATIVE REVEAL THAT I HAVE WITNESSED IN MY LIFE DID YOU KNOW THAT IT CONTINUED TO BE REALLY FUCKING GOOD AFTER MOST PEOPLE STOPPED LISTENING DID YOU KNOW CECIL AND CARLOS ARE MARRIED AND THEY HAVE A DOG AND A TODDLER NOW BECAUSE OF ALL THE GAY PODCAST PROTAGONISTS CECIL GERSHWIN PALMER LOVE OF MY LIFE ELDRITCHIAN CHEERLEADER AND CERTIFIED BIMBO KEEPS FUCKIN WINNIN BABY. DID YOU KNOW THAT CECIL THINKS PEANUT BUTTER IS A ROCK.

Basic Summary: Welcome to the sleepy desert town of Ņ̶̏ight V̶͚̰̮͗̔̊̊ale! Community radio how host Cé̵̟͚͕̗̞̙͂͑̽̄́c̵̤̼̞͈̪͓̍̽̋̚̕͜il Pǎ̵̧̨̢͚̻̈̂̄̇͐̇̊̀̆ͅl̶͚͎͕͉͖̬͓͑́̐̒̍̿̈́͢͜͝ͅm̸̧͙̟̖̠̳̬͋́͋́͌̚̚ͅȩ̙̖͎̖͂́̒͐͜͞r̢̢̛̰̻̮̺̩͙̼̈́͋̀͘ is here to k̠̠̰̦͙̯̥̎̄̆͌̎̀̿̔̌̚ê̷̢̬̥̞̩̯̘͒̽̈̓͐̂̔̍e̶̡̝̗̺̫̪̜͆̓̿̈͌͌̆͒͞ͅp̵̹̗̬̼̠̬͙̏͐͐̉̅͊͊́͟͞ͅͅ ỷ̛͙̞̦̦͖̑̉̌̎͞͡͡͝ͅo̧̧̥͎̻̥̲͇͋́́̔̈͌͞ǔ̸̬̯̫͇̦̮͕̤̲̯̽̔̀̔͆͋̈́͘̚ up to date all the local happenings, including w̸̢̢̢̧̡̡͍͖̻̳̹̼̼̰̬̭̱͔̲͙͍̰̠̥̺̝͖̺̖̼̮̼̞̳̞̜͉̤̯͇̖̳͖̠̙̺̲̤͇͈͚͓̮̭̱̭̩͚̟̥̬̟̻̝̼̖͚̘͐̆̅̂̃̈́͆͊̉̏͒́̈́̋͗͑̄̉́̐̌́̿̌͛̾̎̊̾̃̈́̉̔̍̐͛̕͘̚͜͜͠͠é̵̢̡̧̨̨̡̧̨̡̛̹̥̥̞̮̯͙͈̻̝͓͖͙̦̰͍̖̜̲̰̞͎͈̭̯̳͕̗͓͈̭̫̼̯̪̞̯̰̲̘̭͎̪̱̗̝̝̞̤̱͉͙̯͎̬͎̙̜̗͉̩̦͕̪̳͇͙̺̙̰̠͚͎̜̠͔̬͎̺̣͕̜̊̓̃̐̂́͂̎̐̾̔̽̀̉́̍̊̂̿̎͂͐̎̐̄̍̔̋̐̃͗̈́͂̀̒̊̎͘͘̕̚̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅa̸̡̧̡̡̨̡̨̛̛͙̣̘̳͎͖̥̝̟̱̩̥͙͉̝̲̙̮̩̩̹̱͔͎̥̹̻̜͚̭̬̳͚̤̙̖̯͎̱̫̞̪̻͖̱̞͔̭̻̺͚͚̯̬͓͓̳͇̳̦͓̞͈̮̤̭̣͉̲̞͚̘͗̆̃͌̅̍͊̓̈̇̌̒͊͑̊̏̊͌̈̓̿͗̒̏̒͊͒̏̃̎̒̀̅̾̍̀͘͘͜͝͠ͅt̵̢̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̯̤͓̘̻̤͓̪̰͔̪̝̫͎̻͔͈͎͔͙͕͈̰͓͍̀̏͒̆͋̈́̈́͂̔͋͆͂̅͗̍̆̍̆̔̑͊̏̈͒́̽͊́̿͂́̓͛̽͐͌̌̐̈̇̃̓̆̍̅̃̔̚̕͜͝͝͝ͅͅh̸̨̨̡̢̢̡̢̧̡̧̢̡̨̡̭̜̬̬̙͕̗̙̻̯̠̘͙̻̥͉͚̼̗͚͇͉̰͍̥͉̗͎̬̫͖͉͔̼̮̯̞̫̬̟̻͉̖̙̥̫͖̬͚̟̜̭͇͎̭̘̝̲̤͕͎̰̭̗̯̮̤̙̙̯͍̞̭͚͔͎̞̹̲̟͉̩̭̖̱̠͍̺͈̟̩̋̆̈́͆̍̆̄̏͜ͅͅȇ̸̢̢̨̨̧̛̜͍̺͎̬̪͙̻̝̣͓͈̺̩̳̟̲̠̣͈͎͎͈͉̙̪͖̳̺͇̹̊̍͊͑̿͊̌͛̿̓͊̾̀͂͛̉͆̾̽͆̈̏͛̊͛̍̈́̇͋̔͂̑͐̂̿͊̽͑͘̚͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅŕ̵̨̡̨̨̢̧̡̧̨̘̟͙̦̲̲̪̦̙̼̠̳͚̞̦̞͖͚͇̳͖̲̭͕̜̫̳̖̙͖͉͎̘̘̤̠͈̬͕̝̻͚̥͍͕̠̥͙̙̪̖̯͍̘̘̲̣̹̜̪̲̭̟̮̫̖̤̰͔̩̩͉̲͚̟̝̦̬̪̘̬̮̱͔̻̦̼̃̐̂͋̐̅̋͒̉͛́̅̈́̒̒͆̑̆͊̒͒̀̍̈́̍͌̍̏̔͋͌̒̍̌͛̓̈̂̐̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅ ̶̢̡̨̛̠͇̹̯͕͍̻̟̼̼̗̩̱̗̙̱̥̜̬̫̜͎͉̺̣͓̟̯̱͖̣̞̠̝̥͍̲̳̙̠͔̹̘̲̲̻̖̈́̊͋͜͜ą̵̡̧̟͕̬̳̜͈͈̳̝̜̣̬͔͈͈͎͉͍̯̟̞̺͎̝͇̰̥͖̬̯͙̤̬̼̲̦̯̭͓̠̺̳̱̰̮̎͋͆̈́͌͆̎̉̓̇̐͋͋́̃̉̈̄̏̓̉̿̅̒̉̒̉͂͛̄̀̇̒͊͛́͊̎́͆̌̆́̌͂̈́̽̋͛͗̑̊̀́̍͊̌͆͊͐͆̅̒̊̉̾̄͛̑̕͘͘͘͘͝͝͝͝͠͠͝n̸̡̛̛̛̛̛̙͎̬̦̠̼͓͈̝̾̍͑͛̅̒̾́̌̍͛̇̋̇̓̏͛̔͛̈́͆̿̌͐̿͊̿́͒̍̃̀̈͐̐̆͐̉̒̂̉̀̅̇̾͋̍͒̋̈̌̿͒͐̍́͗̀̌̌̚̕̕̕͘̚͘͘̚͜͠͝͝͝d̴̡̢̢̛̛̛̺̠̳̬͎̞̲̣̲̱̳̪̹͉̝̠̱̗̙̫̠̹̼̙̝͉̲̟̮̙̙̮̻̹͈̦̙̞͚̜̙̖̞͓̙̭͉̃̽̌̅̔̾̈́̒̽͑́̒͋̓̈́͆͋̽̒̃̽̋̐͌͂̍͑́̽̋̍͗̋͗͂̅̽̈̈̾͐̄̃̕̕͜͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅ ̵̡̡̢̛̛̗͚͍̺͇̲̳̯͓̰͍̙̮̙̜̟̞̣̼͕̝͔͙̺̫͈͈̠̻̘̱͍̦̭͔͈̤̺̗̮͕̦̞̘͍̯̻̝͓̤̳̫͔̩͉̬̈́͋̈́̐͒́̔́́̿̓̆͐̎͆̇͒̄̈̿̓̑̾̏̔̿͊̌͆͒̒͊̓̅̓́̔̅̀̀̀̃̿̂̑͂͆̅̎̾̏̓̂̈́͛͌̇̾͌͐̈̂̆͐̅̓̍̓̃̆͗̃͛̏̒̌̀̅͊́̽̐̆̿́̌͘͘̚̕͘̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͠t̷̢̥͓̄͗̾̄̅̚͜r̵̨̡̨̧̧̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͙͚̥̱̞̜̦̜̼̺͉̠̬͎̰̻̜̼̫̤͓͖͖̤͇̞̥̖̈́͊̆̓͊̑̑̋̒̈́̔̆͆́̐͛͑͊͋̇̈́̓̑̍̏͐͛̽̋̎͑̃̈́͒̇̂̇̌͂̀̍̊̇̓̋̈́̌̏̕͘̚̕̚͝͝͠ǎ̴̡͓͓̯̘̥̱̱͖̦̺͓̘͉͖̞̟̦͈̜̥̰̘̞͈̦̠̼̯̙̭̼͚̟̖̲̠̝̜̐̅͆̏̈́̍́͂̃̾͑̓͋̽̄̾́̾̆̾͒͋̎͂̈́͘̕̕̚͜ͅͅf̷̢̡̡̧̢̨̡̧̢̢̧̡̧̫͖̖͇̲̫̮͕͉͓̩̪̳̹̩͎̖̟̤̤̲̟̪̫̻̻̖̟̦͉̼͎͖̭͍͖͎̖̳̳͙̜͉̝̘̺̖͚̙͉͕͙̯͖̞͚̮̲̻͉͙̺̭͓͎̤͙̦̦̺̯͕̜̰͍̳̙̦͉̪̥́͋̓̅̀͋͐̀̄̊̆̉̒̐͒̀̏̈̇̊̉̆̐̏̾̀̀̓͛͆̍̾͗͌̀̄̔͒̀̍̈́͆̔̒̑̏̍̏͆́̾̐̂͋̂̔̂́̓̓̌͌̉͛́̒̐̽̏́̑͊́̌̆̂̑͋̇̈́͌̑̿̅͗̚̕͘̕̚͜͠͝͝͠͠f̴̨̨̛̹͌̂̓͌͛̀͑̾̓̍͗̽͆̉̊͗̇́̍͌̊͐̔̈́̊̇͆̄̃̑̕̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͠i̴̧̡̢̢̧̢̨̨̧̧̧̛̛͎̗̳̦̘̙͓̦̙͔̜̼̘͇͇̺̭͉̠̩̟̤̥̘͙̤̩͔̪̱̻͈̪̼̼̞̠͎̟̹͕̻̭̤̪̲͕̟̺̻̻͖͕͚̣͇̖̰̝̩͈̤͕͇͕̝͙̙̪͔̗̫͇͎̙̲̲͖̗̘͉̲̣̤͎̔̐̆͒̄̈́̀̎̃̃̅͆̌̈́̽̈́̅̈́̑̄̇͒͐̀̐̀̒̍̀̓͌͗̓̽́͗̓̎͂͛̅̑̔̀͛̈́̽̾̃̊͊͆̄̍͑̍̆̌̾͗̄̊̽̉̅̆̀̎̀͑̿̎̋̄̆̃͐̾̏͛͒̍̋̅͘̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅc̷̛̛͚̝̻̣̞̓́̃́̀̃̓͗͌̂͛́̒̊͑̓͆̇̈́͑̏̆̀͌̑͂͂̄͌̉̔̋́̎͒̿͗͒͛̇͛̿̎̍̕̕̕͝͝͝͝͝ ̴̢̧̢̡̨̢̡̨̡̢̢̛̺̘̹̯̤̩̘̯͔̞̟̬̠̣̟̻̥̜̤͔̥͕̠̥̞͎̗̩̱̮͉͔͎̲̯̱̙̜̥̳̮͔̦̣͖͔̜͉̗̪̳̹̦̤͇̣̙͕̯̫̖̝̼̹͍̠͎͓̗͎̦͓̲̯̱̠̰͇̮̹͔̝͉͙̹̜̹͈̹̥͖̣̳̲͖̓́͌̈́̈́̀͌̄͂̌̾́̍̔̊̓̿͋͂͋̈́̋́́̒̓̀̒̃͂̀͑̐͛̆̆͒̈́̅̿͊͌̍͗̌̌͆̂͌́̉̏̒̓͊̾̒̓̋̽͐̏̾͘̕͜͝͠͝ͅͅr̸̨̢̛̪̞̬͓͔̥̤̣͔̭̥̙͉̦̗̠̳̩͙̂̈́͑͑̿̋̓̀͋͆̋̕͝͝ë̴̢̡̨̬͈͉̖̞͔͎͓͖̼̘̬͕̰͈̥͈̝̩͎͉͉̫̜͚͕̤͔̟̯͓͎̟͙̜̭̩̗̮͎̗̤͇̝̩͎̜̺̯͕͇̝͎̯͙̖͙̮̗̮̘́̑͑͛̂̅̄̌̽̓̒̾̿͆̏̏͐͛̾̂̃͑͆̅̄̿͋̅͂̈́̽͋͒̎͐̒̓͆̌̉͑͊́̀̈̾͛̋͑̋̎̈̀̽̀͊̏͘͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅp̴̧̧̡̢̢̢̛̛̛͚̟͓̖̭̪̻̪̲̬̥̙̥̰̼̹͎͕̪̞̮̺̰̬̘̫̤͉̦͙̮̖̙̹̻͔̖̮̲̞̣̻̜̠͇̬͚̱̦̼̲̮̀̂͌̍̈̒̍̋̌̏͐̓͛̉̂̈̀͑̈́͊͗͋͗́̂̎̎̃͆͒̅̑̇́̈͐̾̀̔̒̉͑͒̅̓̈́̋͋̀̍̄̿̌̀̉͆̇̔̈́͗̋̄̓̇͗̎̉̆͊̒͗̚̕͘͘̕̕̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͠ͅͅͅơ̶̢̡̧̨̡̛̛͔̦̼̰̠̯̰̟̲̣̜͙̲͙̪̱̱͕̺̪͈͉̺̻̙̥̲̩̲̩͔̠͚̩͓̞̠̯̟̫̣̗̦̰͉͚͙̺͎̼͖̥̙͈̯̲̝̞͎̻͕̮͔̰̖͔̭͙̩̼͔̫̹̘͓͔̜̘͍̍̅̄͋͑̋̍̊̉̄̈̽̈͐̀͌͐̆͊͂̐̋̃̎͆͛̐̀̂̿̈́͂́̈̌͐̇̀̒͋͑͐́͌̐̇̊͆̀͂͋̏́͋͆̏͗͂͑̂̓̽͘͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅr̴̨̨̨̧̨̛̘͕͈͔͙̠̬̯̩̗̰̗̬̦͈̗̝̣͓͓̟͕͙͈̠̘̻͓̭̝̘̦̦͓̭̘͙̻̙̼̩̰̝͈̱̝̱̬͉͙̣̖̮̲͈̙̱̩̣͕̦̰̮͔͈͓̙̮͍̳̟̠̞͎̱̣̰͕̩̝̲̝͐́́̍̈͐͋̐̑̌͋̓̈́̈͗̿̈̈́͗̑̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅţ̴̢̨̧͇͉͎̣̬̣̝̗̬̹͇̮̞̈́̐̌̇̈́̌͊̐̅̂̌̂͒͌́̈͌̂̊͗̍̿͑͋̎̓͂̀̎̎͒̾̏̒͌̃̄͋̌̾̍̈́̐̏͑̊̍͑͆̉̓́̆̌̾̓͊̊̈̑͘̚̕͘͘̕͝͝͝͝͝s̴̢̢̡̛̬̹͚̻͉̦̦̣̦̠̜͕̤̳͓͙̟̬͕̘̦̿͗̉̏̒͆̓̄͊͌͛͂͑̒̃͛͘͜͝͝!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Honestly, probably bc Nightvale and Alice are by the Same Dudes, a lot of these points are the same as Alice Isn’t Dead, but it’s less scawy and more funney. Also hits the “horror, but make it kind of a sitcom” vibes. Doesn’t have the same road trip vibes, but DOES capture the exact weirdness of South Western USA, so I’m still giving it “fucked up americana” credit. If you’ve never been to New Mexico ur like this is an exaggeration clearly no desert town is subject to like ACTUAL cosmic horror and unexplainable sights but I’m telling you New Mexico is just Like That. (I highly recommend visiting the land of enchantment if you ever get the oppurtunity it is a deeply odd and wonderfully unsettling experience.) Look man it’s gay it’s a horror comedy cecil has a wonderfully soothing voice and it hates capitalism so fucking much like oh my god so much what more could you want.

MINI REC ALERT: Wolf 359! I have nothing deep to say about this I just like it and my gut tells me that y’all would enjoy it too I know there isnt much for physical descriptions in the show but I know in my heart that the main character is so so pretty and so so stupid. I KNOW yall like some himbos that experience character growth.

Okay since It’s my party and I’ll speak if I want to rapid fire list of podcasts I just like and want more people to listen to even though I’m behind on like all of them shhhhh: The Penumbra Podcast, BomBARDed, Dungeons and Daddies, Stellar Firma, Wonderful!

SONG RECS

okay these aren’t like replacement recs or anything they’re just really good and I almost certainly would have put them on some sort of supernatural playlist in 2013 but I don’t, like, have a good playlist for them now so I’m subjecting y’all to them also they all have the youtube link for ease of access

Woah There Kimmy- Felix Hagan & the Family

Devil’s Backbone- The Civil Wars

Blood On My Name- The Brothers Bright

Awake O Sleeper- The Brothers Bright

The Bottom of the River- Delta Rae

Old Number 7- The Devil Makes Three

The Bullet- The Devil Makes Three

In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company- The Dead South

Bartholomew- The Silent Comedy

Pomegranate Seeds- Julian Moon

Curses- The Crane Wives

Tongues & Teeth -The Crane Wives

OKAY THAT’S IT! THAT’S ALL FOLKS! FUCK!

#long post #if you didn't want this blame of-mice-and-mentality for enabling me posting #supernatural

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tyk-tyk-tyk · 3 years

Note

(its iwontknock, i wish tumblr would let us send asks from second blogs) on my post you said your first d&d character was the lodger and i am SO curious about that!! can i ask more about that, like what his class was? id love to hear about your portrayal!

Well, I hope my fellow players don’t pay attention to this blog lol. If you are GO AWAY YOU NERDS Tw for child death and unethical experimentation juuuust in case, I know Knock-Knock has a lot of that regardless but if D&D folks see this too I want there to be a heads up

Looong post under the cut, adding tags in a sec

I’m actually kinda thrilled that you asked, we haven’t started the reboot yet, but hopefully we will soon! When I first started playing him, I was hella inexperienced and a little shy, so I didn’t quite get to fully do what I wanted with him & had a HORRIBLE backstory, but I’ll give a few details anyways. Then I’ll explain what I’m gonna do with his reboot haha

To also save some confusion, I named The Lodger “Bormot” as that’s what some of his voice files are called, it’s just a Russian name that means “Mumble” :)

I made him a half elf druid! It was a lot to tackle at first, but I really felt like it fit his character. Whereas druids are usually blessed by the Earth and such yadda yadda, I made it so that the Earth borderline cursed him by being in the wrong spot at the wrong time. He comes from this long line of elf intellectuals, and still does his worldology stuff out in the middle of nowhere. After he gets cursed though, his home starts dying and he pulls a “Well, this isn’t good!” and runs away and ends up meeting the party. Did I mention that he’s a half elf that doesn’t believe in magic bc of his sheltered life? More on that later. Some fun stuff that ended up happening is he literally met half plant people (my DM had no idea LOL) and Bormot proceeded to have a panic attack and casted Call Lightning by accident. We were like level 15 btw I came in LATE He also managed to talk down a dragon despite his low charisma score (I think I actually rolled well and my DM took pity on me, a new player)

The ‘rebooted’ version of him is still largely the same, a half elf druid, just with more of a fleshed out story. His Grandfather is kind of this disgraced elf who hates magic since he thinks his peers rely on it too much, they don’t use their braiiiiins. So he then raises Bormot’s (half elf) dad to reject magic, and continue their worldology science that’s Definitely A Real Science I Swear. Bormot’s dad gets married ofc and decides to live in the middle of nowhere where he can conduct his science in peace with his family. The wife gives birth to a beautiful baby girl shortly after! While on a hunting trip, Bormot’s dad shoots at something he thinks is a deer, but ends up being an old & weak God. Oops. So he does what any responsible scientist does and vivisects the thing before it dies, taking lots of samples of its blood. This kinda makes him lose his mind as now there’s real, physical evidence in front of him that higher powers and magic might be a pretty valid thing. So of course he does what any highly responsible father does and puts some zesty ichor (God Blood) into his child just to see what happens! She dies, unfortunately, as the powers that be of a god isn’t something a really tiny elf girl’s body can handle. The mother enters grief and becomes more overprotective. having no idea that her husband accidentally killed their child. She gives birth to Bormot a long while later. Daddy-o doesn’t want the wife to know about his experimentation since she’ll whine about MoRaLs and refuse to let him inject more blood into their son, so he keeps it a secret for as long as he can. When Bormot is older, he tries again, and it works! ... Sort of. Now the poor kid is having constant nightmares and hallucinations, and is having trouble both sleeping and meditating. He’s freaked out about the potential magic that he has, since his dad said that magic isn’t real, and his dad is definitely always right and doesn’t lie! He grows up like this his whole life. Bormot’s mom does actually end up finding out about it and gets into an argument with the dad, so the dad does what any responsible husband would do and kills her after it escalates. At least he feels guilty for this one. Her body is buried next to the sister’s near some pine trees so the roots will hopefully grow over them and conceal the bodies more. Bormot has no idea he even had a sister, and his dad lies and says that his mom left. When Bormot’s old enough to live on his own, his dad peaces out to conduct more research and tries to prolong his own death, even if he has a lot of years left. Bormot starts the game around when he leaves his house, wondering where his dad ran off to & wants to learn what the hell is up with his hallucinations and Not Real Magic.

I left out details since this was already getting so LONG, sorry mobile users Anyway the TLDR is Bormot’s dad makes a lot of bad decisions that leads to Bormot being a druid hermit that doesn’t believe in magic, and his journey with his friends is all about realizing that he’s more than his worldology ‘legacy’ and that magic is indeed real and it isn’t bad to embrace it. But we’ll see if he makes it to the end or dies to a goblin or something

Thanks for reading my self indulgent D&D rambles, I can give updates if anyone is ever curious about it later

#mini speaks #D&D #dnd #I'm not tagging this as knock-knock because this is SOOOOOOO not canon #also yes his family has names but I wasn't going to word vomit a ton of new names at you guys and expect you to understand it #if you think this is cringey just turn your head away and pretend that you do not see it #our dnd group is VERY non traditional so we break a lot of rules and make a lot of stupid characters #I also played Wilson 1 or 2 times but we don't talk about him

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trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

first blood

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: angst, general asshole-ness.

word count: 4.6k

description: part 3 of 5. how did you become ransom’s glorified babysitter? and why the fuck are you keeping this job? who knows. you hate it, you hate him, but... the money.

note: tumblr is being super shitty rn so I can only post on mobile, but I really wanted to get this off my desk! will add a read more and properly link later 💕

prequel to the assistant && four christmases, spoiler free loves.

You have to do this.

You don’t think your eyes will ever feel normal again. They were dry and scratchy. There were no more tears to shed. You’d buried your Mom two months ago, but you didn’t know how it would ever feel okay. She did everything for you and Julia. Everything. She worked hard, made pretty good money, allowed you to have a part time job and just focus on school. Julia was in this really nice private school, she played the cello now for fucks sake. She had friends and was talking about maybe starting soccer soon, but after funeral costs and your sister’s tuition the life insurance money was running out.

You had to sell the house.

You’d moved the two of you into a small apartment right outside of Chinatown. Not the safest area, but not the most unsafe either. You’d be fine. You had each other, and she needed you to do this. You had to do this.

For her.

You sat uncomfortably in the cheap office chair, sitting across from a woman with too many papers on her desk, everything sloppily arranged around a couple of potted succulents and a framed picture of her and her three kids, no spouse.

“So your last job was in tutoring?” She asked you. You shifted nervously in your seat, nodding your head,

“Yeah, I tutored a high school student in English and Math.” You needed some water. The cheap pencil skirt and blouse you were wearing made your skin itch. She types into her computer some more.

“So why are you here?” She asked, “Why not continue tutoring?” A few more clicks and then more typing.

“The family I worked for paid me pretty well,” You admitted, “But she’s graduating this year and they didn’t need me anymore, I don’t really,” You cleared your throat, “I don’t really have much job experience outside of that and I need to start making money now… I’ve put out job applications but haven’t really gotten any luck.” Not with the income you needed anyway. The woman nodded. The plaque on her desk said her name is Stacy Chandler.

“Alright, here you are.” A printed page, address, date, and time. A job. Clerical work. Data entry. You have to do this...

“How was your last day of school?” Julia sat heavily at the kitchen table, backpack slumped on the floor next to her. She buried her face in her arms.

“I’m never going again.” Came muffled from her mouth. She lifted her head to look at you. The beginnings of puberty. You’d recently gone bra shopping for the first time. Real ones, no more training bras. You’d recently taken her to the dermatologist for her acne, but she’s not good at remembering to put on the expensive creams you bought. What a hard time. You don’t envy her.

“Luckily for you,” You smiled, placing a fudgy brownie in front of her, “You don’t have to go back for three whole months!” She rolled her eyes heavily, taking the brownie and disappearing into her room presumably to sit on her computer until dinner.

She was feeling the absence of your Mother just as you were. You weren’t sure what to do here. You loved your sister and you know she loves you too, but in the last few months it’s just been closed doors and a few parting sentences. Only because you had to work so much. Only because she spent a lot of time at friend’s houses where you’d think she would feel normal for a while. It would help ease the burden of being in your mid-twenties and suddenly feeling like a single mother. Of course you can sleep over at Mila’s house, her family is going to their cabin for the weekend of course you can go!

You didn’t know what to do other than keeping her in school and alive. You weren’t ready for this. But the only other option was your estranged aunt who reeked of mothballs and was constantly asking you if you were married, or dating, or ‘You’re Mother wouldn’t have wanted this’. No. It was very clear that your Mom wanted the two of you to stay together, and that’s how it’s going to be.

This summer she was going to spend with her friend Mila at their family’s lake house. Mila’s mother was a stay at home mom with six kids under the age of 12 and would be planning to spend the summer pintresting activities and projects with them while simultaneously getting out of her stuffy-old 10 bedroom, 8 bathroom mansion. Lucky her. Lucky Julia.

The apartment would be empty without the 12-year-old pre-teen for three months, but Julia has really been looking forward to it. Her bags were packed and ready by the door.

You hugged her tightly in front of Mila’s house, burying your face in her hair, partially not wanting her to go, but otherwise knowing that she’s going to have a better time than you could ever provide her. “Okay, you can let me go now.” She shifted in your arms, trying to pull away.

“Just another minute.” You mumbled, pulling her in tighter. “I’m gonna miss you.” She laughed,

“I’m gonna miss you too.” The two of you pulled apart and you tucked her hair behind her ears, cupping her sweet face.

“I love you,” You said very seriously, “If you ever want to come home just-”

“I’ll let you know.” She was getting impatient, the car Mila’s mom was taking to the lake house, a beautifully large black Range Rover sat packed next to you, they were waiting. “I love you too.” She slowly backed away towards the car.

“If she gets homesick, my husband still comes back every week for work so he can bring her home if need be,” Andrea was her name, Mila’s Mom. “She’ll be fine.” Andy was really nice. She made a lot of the food the two of you had eaten in the early days after your Mom’s death. Her gentle reassurance soothed you slightly. It made driving away a little easier, but it didn’t stop the tears that fell as you entered your apartment, alone. For the first time in a while. You didn’t have to hold it in anymore.

You sunk down against your front door, staring out into your living room, tears rolling down your cheeks in the silence of the home. Dirty shoes lined up against the wall, throw blanket hanging halfway off the couch, dirty dishes from breakfast still in the sink, and somewhere you’re sure under all of it was the will to pick yourself back up.

You just didn’t know if you were ready for that quite yet.

But you did it anyway.

More clerical work. More data entry. More bills going half paid and others being ignored all together. Student loans you didn’t even want to think about from a school where you hadn’t even graduated. Medical bills you didn’t even know where to begin paying back, itchy stockings, and uncomfortable shoes. With every day that passed you reexamined your life. How did you get here?

A new job, a new office. Temp assigned, but you knew who worked here. The building that housed it stood tall against the Boston skyline. Contemporary. You sat comfortably in a cushy office chair. The plaque on the desk read Linda Drysdale, CEO. And you waited.

You hadn’t seen the Thrombey’s, let alone the Drysdale branch of the family, for five months. Zero contact. Joni had talked to you last, thanking you for helping Meg, but also trying to sell you eye cream. “You really should invest in taking better care of yourself.” Which was her kind way of trying to tell you that you look old. Thanks.

You couldn’t imagine what Linda would want you for. You’d been doing some filing, they were transferring all of their documents to digital and hired extra help to do so, you were one of three hired from your particular temp agency, but yesterday she had called you personally and asked you to come in for an appointment today at 3 pm. And here you are.

Waiting.

There was a portrait of her family on the wall. Linda herself sitting in a high backed intricate chair, her husband Richard standing to her right, and to her left was her son, Hugh. He went by his middle name Ransom. They were stone faced, serious looking. This painting seemed ridiculous. If you didn’t know the Thrombey’s you’d think it was there to be ironic, as a joke, a play on what rich families were like.

But they were a rich family, and this is what they were like.

Linda was self-serving. She only ever talked to you when it suited her own interests and as soon as she was satisfied she would quickly direct her attention somewhere else, to someone more important. She used you to get what she wanted and when you served her purpose you were gone. She had no time for anyone, only her father. Anything for Harlan.

Richard was a predator. He was always making an uncomfortable comment about either your body or your face. He stood uncomfortably close at times and liked to settle a hand on the small of your back. He was a well kept man, throwing his wife’s money around like it was his own. He kept a money clip of hundreds in his pocket.

Ransom was a piece of shit. He was a self-centered egotistical asshole who was sure to make your life a living hell every time he saw you. There was always a comment, a jab at your clothes, your hair, the fact that you are poor. He once ‘accidentally’ threw your cardigan away because, “I thought it was one of those fucking rags you dust with, I didn’t want it touching my burberry.” He, like his father, felt predatory. Something about being a rich white man just really got them going, and the money clip with the hundreds… a learned habit.

“Alright,” Linda’s voice came from the doorway, you turned slightly in your seat. She was on the phone, “Well we will send Michael out to show them the properties instead, I’m sure we’ll find something they like.” She gave you a finger, hold on, even though you’d been sitting here patiently waiting for her for close to twenty minutes now. “Okay,” She continued, “Sounds good.” Sitting down in her chair, tapping a few keys to illuminate her computer screen. “Alright now, bye-bye.” She took her phone from her ear, looking down at the screen before placing it face down on the desk and smiling at you.

You knew that smile. She wanted something.

“So, Y/N right?” You nodded, “I see you’re looking for work.”

“Well, I’m with a temp agency right now but-”

“Would you like something a little more permanent?” A permanent job? The Thrombey’s had paid you very well to tutor Meg, better than you were making now. Granted you had only worked 15 hours a week when you were tutoring her, so $20 an hour didn’t seem like that big of a deal, but if they were looking for something, anything full time…

“Absolutely,” You smiled, shifting in your seat, “I’ve had trouble being hired because my-”

“Okay so you’re going to need Ransom’s number, and you’ll start tomorrow.” Your smile dropped.

“Ransom needs a tutor?” You asked skeptically. She laughed.

“No, he needs an assistant.” She gestured towards herself, “I can’t keep telling him when or where to be for family events and he has a fairly active social life so I’m gifting him an assistant for his birthday.” Oh.

“I uhm,” You really didn’t want to work for Ransom. You REALLY didn’t want to work for Ransom. “How much would it…?” You trailed off nervously.

“My father paid you $20 an hour to tutor Meg, yes?” She asked, typing something into her computer, no longer looking at you.

“Yes, he did.” You moved trying to see what she was typing without bringing too much attention to it. She was drafting an email.

“So I’ll pay you the same. Ransom will set hours for you and decide what days of the week he’ll need you and what else he wants you to do,” She waved her hand dismissively, “Cleaning, cooking, whatever.” She scribbled on a post-it before peeling and handing it to you. “Here’s his number and address, you can go over the particulars of your job tomorrow morning.” You opened your mouth to speak again, ask her the million and one questions you have but before you could say anything she dismissed you, “That is all.” She said. And she was done with you.

She got what she wanted. And now she wanted you to leave.

So you did.

“Well,” He grinned, “Linda really scooped you up from the bottom of the barrel, huh?” You stood on Ransom’s front porch. The only texts you sent and received last night were ‘What time do you need me to be there?’ and an hour later the reply of ‘11’. The scumbag was standing in the doorway, leant against the frame, looking down on you. In more than one way.

“Can I come in?” You asked. You really didn’t want to do this. But a $12 an hour temp job versus $20 hour stability… hard to beat. He smirked, pushing off the frame before looking you up and down, turning to disappear into the house.

“Take off your shoes.” What a fucking joke. His house was a mess. Clothes thrown haphazardly around, a pile of dishes not in the sink, but on the counter. Abandoned cups, tv was rolling on in the background, some political documentary. The house, while contemporary and clean, well kept on the outside. The inside looked like a frat house during rush week. You didn’t want to take off your shoes in fear that you’d step in vomit or something worse.

He grinned off to the side, “Had some people over last night.” He explained, drinking what looked like orange juice from a coffee mug. The vodka bottle that was capless on the counter led you to believe that orange juice wasn’t the only thing in the cup. “You can start by cleaning up.” He gestured around, sinking back down into the sofa. “I’m sure I’ll think of something else you can do when you’re done.” The fucking prick.

You shut the door a little heavier than intended, slipping your sneakers off and placing them by the door. “You’ve got a laundry room?” You asked, he didn’t look away from the television,

“Basement.” And he was done with you too. The tone was very, don’t talk to me. Which honestly you were grateful for.

You cleaned up his messes, the red solo cups that littered almost every surface in every room, laundry was running in the basement, dishwasher working hard to sanitize the first round of plates and cups that could fit, the others waiting patiently in the sink as you wipe counters and dusted picture frames, the thick film of unappreciation. He didn’t care about his house, his furniture, the art that cost more than your apartment that lined his walls. His clothes, while having an extensive closet, some were threadbare and with holes.

He didn’t care.

And it made you angry.

You thought of the furniture you were able to keep from your Mother’s house, well oiled and kept. No scratches. The fabrics of the couches and chairs carefully cleaned and maintained.

His sheets were stained and you were unsure when the last time he had washed them actually was. The dampness made you gag. It wasn’t long before you were cleaning under his feet. His ankles crossed and feet resting on the coffee table as you straightened the area around him. You felt his eyes on you, briefly, but ignored it.

“Do you have any real clothes?” He asked suddenly. He stood from the sofa, rounding it to pull the vodka bottle back out from the cabinet you’d placed it in, pouring heavily into the coffee mug before leaving the bottle and the orange juice carton he followed with next to it.

“These are real clothes.” You stated, coming behind him to put the items away. He scoffed,

“I’m important,” He claimed, “I go to parties, events.” He took a large mouthful of the screwdriver he’d just made, “You can’t wear clothes like that if you’re gonna be babysitting me the whole time.” You rolled your eyes,

“I don’t have to go. You set my hours, I don’t-”

“As much as I love the whole, ‘I’m poor and don’t care what I look like’, thing you have going on,” Ransom laughed, “You’re gonna be around me, and as a reflection of me, you need to look presentable.” He gestured to the demin shorts a t-shirt you were currently wearing, mismatched socks on your feet. You felt your face flush. “And slap a little makeup on.” You rolled your eyes at that. Fucking dick. He smirked when you didn’t reply, turning back around to leave you and disappeared upstairs.

He didn’t come down for a while. In that time you’d finished cleaning the living area, the house looking a complete 180 from where it had been when you’d originally entered, it was nearing dinner time. Your stomach was growling and you’d realized you had been cleaning for five hours without stopping.

You didn’t get to enjoy the sense of accomplishment because Ransom came down the stairs not a moment later, dressed for his evening. If you didn’t hate him so much you’d drool. He looked good. Patterned slacks, chelsea boots, a lightweight white button down, blazer over one arm. “Let’s go.” He said, not stopping on his way towards the front door.

“Where are we going?” You felt gross, covered in grime from cleaning, sweat dried on your skin you knew you probably didn’t smell amazing, hair frizzed up in a bun. He didn’t answer you, continuing outside. You sighed heavily, throwing the pair of socks you’d just matched back into the laundry basket before slipping your shoes on and following him outside.

“C’mon!” He yelled from the front seat of his beamer, sunglasses on his nose, he was annoyed with you. Whatever. You sat heavily in his passenger seat, the dickwad not even giving you time to close the door before he was speeding down the driveway.

“Where are we going?” You asked again. One hand on the wheel, the other’s fingertips brushing against his lower lip he looked at you from behind his sunglasses.

“To dinner.” He smirked, looking back towards the road as you merged onto the interstate.

He was a fucking asshole. If you hadn’t thought he was before you definitely knew now. You were surprised the hostess even let you into this place. It was expensive, and you were very, very underdressed. Point taken Ransom. Thank you. Fucking prick.

He took glances at you ever so often, seated a few feet away from him at the long banquet style table that housed all of his ‘friends.’ Gorgeous women and equally as gorgeous men who had money to burn. You weren’t sure any of these people have ever worked a day in their life, much like Ransom himself. You’d met a few of them before, briefly, when Ransom would show up and ask Harlan for money before disappearing for a week, one or two of them would be in tow bragging about going on some guy’s yacht or flying out to some private island.

Regardless, they weren’t talking to you. You were a strange interloper, easily ignored, but only after a few poked fun at the stray dog at Ransom’s heels. It only stung a little bit when he laughed with them. You were wildly uncomfortable. You poked at your deconstructed salad, the little bits lined neatly up on the plate, a smear of salad dressing beside it. This menu was ridiculous. Why were you here again? You were so hungry and this was not your speed at all. Ransom’s booming laugh met your ears and you could feel the anger rising in your chest.

Fucking asshole. You hoped he would choke on one of the olives in his martini. His eyes met yours momentarily and he smirked. He fucking smirked, cheersing you with his martini before it met his lips again. You could kill him right now.

The money.

Technically you were still working. As the sun set behind the horizon. You’d been at work, technically, for about 10 hours. That’s $200. Okay, you can do this. You can do this.

You know he did this to embarass you. He made it clear when you’d pull up to the restaurant to give you a taunting look. Whether the dinner was already planned or he had planned it after the conversation about clothes and makeup earlier was anyone’s guess. You had the feeling it was the latter.

He’d paid the bill after all.

The entirety of it.

You’d wished you’d ordered more.

Afterward a giggling girl took your place in the front seat, you glared at the back of her head from the back seat,

“Ransom.” She whined, leaning over in her seat to press her lips to his neck, “I want you to fuck me.” Lips around his ear, sucking the lobe into her mouth. You shifted your gaze to the window, the city landscape passing your eyes as you’d pulled into another valet parking, a bar this time. A nice one.

Ransom and the bubbly girl from the car ride over slipped hastily into the bathroom, he’d sent you a dark look before leaving you to your own devices. Looking over the cocktail list while sitting uncomfortably on a bar stool while your boss was fucking a girl who’d laughed at you for being a ‘dog’ earlier in the bathroom of a bar that had a $20 old fashioned and their most expensive wine came with a thousand dollar price tag.

“You lost?” Another smirking asshole, sidled up next to you at the bar as you took a sip from the beautifully balanced old fashioned you’d tacked onto Ransom’s tab. He was handsome, the guy bothering you, almost everyone in this room was handsome. The lights low and romantic, candles on every table and across the bar, soft music played from the piano across the room where a man sat gently stroking the melodies to create the ambiance of the room. Close, cozy, romantic, and dark enough to forget yourself in.

“Oh c’mon honey.” The man slipped onto the barstool, thighs spread wide around you as you face away from him, his hand meeting your back. “I can help you find what you’re looking for.” His breath reeked of alcohol. You glanced over at him,

“I’m fine thank you.” Another sip, damn this drink was good. He chuckled, moving in closer, drifting a hand down to your thigh.

“Don’t be like that.” He laughed, “You obviously don’t belong here honey.” His hand traced your bare thigh, “You’ve gotta be wanting some company.”

Ransom had returned face flushed and you could almost see a tiny bit of white on his nose, but it was quickly rubbed away. He sat on the opposite end of the bar, the girl from earlier taking his lap. He looked down at you briefly, he had to have seen how uncomfortable you were, how this guy was breathing down your neck. He ignored it, ordering a drink from the bartender.

“I don’t want any company,” You shoved the man’s hand away, “Have a great night.” He leaned back in his seat, downing his drink before leaning back over to put his face in yours.

“Fucking ugly bitch.” He spat, standing from the stool, “Tryna give you a little charity here, you could've at least been grateful.” You wanted to leave. He shoved your shoulder slightly as he walked away from you, no doubt going to bother some other unsuspecting woman in his radius.

You needed some air, taking the last sip of your drink you’d scooted back from the bar, walking by Ransom to take your exit, walking out into the summer night. It was early summer. It was still only 60 at night. A chill went through you. You hadn’t expected to be out so late, the comfortable denim shorts and old ratty t shirt you’d chosen to wear had obviously been a mistake for this day. Ransom made sure to make you see that.

The bar was on the harbor, and it brought in a breeze that caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You checked your phone, the battery almost dead. Julia had been texting you periodically, but not as much as you would have liked. You scrolled through the most recent messages, you asking how her trip was going and what she was up to and her stilted replies. She was busy you supposed. She didn’t need you, but right now you really needed her.

This night has been a massive blow to your self-esteem. You’d never felt more ugly and unwanted in your life. You just wanted to go home, but Ransom wasn’t done yet. You looked at him from the window, his fingers were gone between that girl’s thighs, they were both drinking expensive cocktails, completely oblivious to you.

He’d watched you exit, not giving it much thought it seemed, because he hadn’t made any motion to bring the night to a close, but you weren’t really expecting him to. It was Ransom’s world and you were just living in it. You worked for him. And you wondered if this is how every day is going to be from here on out. You really don’t know if you could do this forever, but you knew you didn’t want to go back inside.

So you didn’t.

Thankfully Ransom stumbled out about thirty minutes later, girl from earlier on his arm. “Let’s go.” He said. Valet pulling the beamer around he threw you the keys, “Take me home.”

He sunk down in the back seat, high and drunk. His words almost incoherent. Her’s were no better. They sloppily attacked each other in the back seat, indecently. And you were pointedly looking anywhere but in the rearview. Soft grunts and moans made you uncomfortable for the fourth time that night. Your skin crawling in unease as the girl’s giggles turned into breathy moans. Your foot sunk against the gas pedal in hopes you’d get back to his home faster, tears welling up in your eyes. The cry on the way home was going to be so good. So cathartic.

The gravel crunching against the wheels of the car was a sweet relief, so was the haste in which you left the keys in the car, running and skipped to your own car. His eyes met yours through the darkness as he was leant up against his car door, slacks loose around his hips, the girl’s lips attached to his neck as her hand worked quickly between his thighs. He smirked, waving a sarcastic ‘good-bye’. You turned your eyes to the road, cranking up the radio as you began to cry.

You didn’t want to do this anymore.

A text came through right as you finally laid down in your own bed, snuggling into the covers, ready to forget the night.

See you at 9.

taglist // @littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @Diedrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah @sleepycvpid @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @starlywars @gifsbysimplysonia @rocknbasil @imnotelasticheart @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa @steviemae @bemysugarbean @truefangirlheart @babiiface95 @mydarlingharry @elzzin @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #knives out #chris evans

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lucarioisinthevoid · 3 years

Note

hi! luci, i know you're probably really busy, but i have a smaaall question! it's serious, yet not serious?

i was wondering--i know how there are canon characters who date, but is it okay to write fics about character x character? like, say, simon x ethan? or something close to that! or even reader x juliette? i know there are a TON of anons who are thirsty for just about every single living and breathing thing on this blog, i see a lot of them whenever i'm rereading your blog-

i felt like asking, because i honestly wanted to semi-check in on you, to make sure you're doing okay!

plus, the whole asking thing is also because i just wanna make sure! you never know!

hope you're doing okay! also, please get to this ask at your own pace! i know work has to be crushing, and i really don't wanna stress you out by having to write down any answers!

(also also, p.s, sorry for writing paragraphs long, i just found out tumblr lets you write longer asks now, and for some reason it didn't stop me, so i kept on going?-)

THIS ASK AND A FEW OTHER THINGS THAT I’M ABOUT TO SHOW OFF SUMMONED ME FROM THE FUCKING DEAD. THANK YOU. I THOUGHT I WAS A GONER. I THOUGHT THIS WAS IT. I WAS GETTING BURIED ALREADY, BUT THEN STUFF LIKE THIS SHOWS UP- That is all in the reaction of the concept of someone writing FICS of MY VERSIONS!???? I’m not kidding when I say that concept ALONE is making me LOSE it. HOLY FUCK. WHY WOULD YOU EVEN? THIS IS ALL NONSENSE? Ship whatever you like in terms of my characters! No exceptions! I’m excited to see what you will come up with! ALSO EXCUSE ME, CAN YOU POINT ME TO THE THIRSTY PEOPLE?! BECAUSE I HAVE NOT SEEN A SINGLE ONE. I HAVE SEEN PEOPLE BEING JOKE-THIRSTY FOR HENRY AND SIMON (ily Pink), BUT NEVER ANYTHING REMOTELY- ANYTHING THAT WOULD MAKE ME THINK THAT SOMEONE ACTUALLY WOULD WANT A /READER OR MORE KINDS OF SHIPS THAT ARE NOT CANON. Simon/Ethan would be pretty cute not gonna lie- Thank you for checking in, I’m on the last stretch of working through this semester, but I’ll be real with you chief, that wasn’t the only thing dragging me down. Maybe it’s been the thing triggering it, but I’ve gotten into a big frozen funk. Stuff like this is the reason I thaw from it though! Thank you! I LOVE LONG ASKS. IF YOU’RE ON MOBILE, FEEL FREE TO GO NUTS IN MY INBOX (note: please don’t ACTUALLY go nuts, if I see the entire bee movie script in my inbox I’ll fucking cry, I MEAN IT-). Long asks are love, long asks are life. Please ramble to me like I’d 100% would ramble to you. And if you create anything for me, I’ll just die.

#kiddo

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maulie-dyke · 4 years

Text

A Small Lumberjanes Fic

So, I was thinking about the headcanon I sent to @luminouslu about Jo’s past, and I made myself sad. Thus, I wrote a fic. I’m not new with The Lumberjanes, but I am not the most confident with my writing of the girls, so this is the first time I’m posting a fic for this fandom. (I have 3 others in the works now!) I swear the flashbacks are supposed to be in italics on mobile why does Tumblr hate me.

Fic under the cut:

It had been six years. Six years that included some interesting revelations, from Jo coming out to her dads as trans three moths before camp, to said camp, which she was currently being allowed to leave for two days with the rest of her cabin. Sitting in a seat in Ripley’s family’s van, she stared out the window and remembered.

Mothers’ Day, 2014.

Climbing out of Uncle Alan’s car, she she watched as April, surprisingly carefully for a seven-year-old, pulled a box out of the passenger seat. Reaching behind her best friend, she grabbed the vase of flowers and envelope still on the seat, and nested them into her arms, along with her lunchbox from school.

“Come on, Alex! You’re so sloooooow!” April shouted from the steps.

“I’m coming!” she replied, climbing the few stairs leading to the front doors of Group Health Central Hospital.

Following April inside, she reached the receptionist desk and grinned.

“Hi, Ms Betty, how are you?” The greying receptionist smiled at her words, an odd expression on her face (She would later find out Betty thought she was adorable).

“Hello, Alex, April. Here to visit your mother, Alex?”

At Jo’s nod, Betty reached for a clipboard and a pen.

“Since it’s regulation, you still have to give me your names, first and last, please,”

Looking at April, a silent understanding passed between them.

April spoke up, “April Burnett, ma’am.”

Following April, she added, “Alexander Sakiyaki. Do you need it spelled?”

“You’re here every week Alex, I think I know how to spell your name.” Betty made that weird expression again as she filled out the paper in her clipboard, “You can go on back, you know the way.”

Laughing, she raced April through the halls to her mother’s room. Reaching the door, they stopped to catch their breaths and compose themselves before knocking on the thick white door.

“Come in!” a voice, a bit rough, but still musical, called.

While April walked in calmly, with a bit of bounce in her step, Jo ran in full speed and jumped to hug the woman sitting in the armchair by the window.

“Mama!” she shouted, laughing as she was peppered in kisses.

“Alex, April, hello darlings!”

April waved, a grin splitting across her face. “Hi Aunt Kyoko! Happy mother’s day!”

Scoffing, Kyoko opened her arms more, bringing April into her hug as well.

From her place tucked into her mother’s side, Jo spoke up, “We brought you some things!” Sitting up, she grabbed the flower vase and card from April, and presented them to Kyoko with a flourish, at the same time as April with the box.

“Thank you, darlings!” Opening the card, a pile of glitter fell on the Asian woman’s lap to reveal the classic slogan of the holiday. After reading the card and admiring the flowers, she opened the box.

“Look! They’re cookies! We decorated them ourselves!” April pointed at the cookies, half covered in glitter and mermaid scale like designs, one with a shaky Japanese character written on it, and one, pristine, almost perfect flower. “Uncles James and Leo did that one.”

“They’re wonderful!” Kyoko said. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, “To be honest, I like yours the best.”

April and Jo beamed.

“How did you and Papa get married?” Jo asked, out of the blue.

“Let me tell you a story.”

April and Jo sat expectantly at Kyoko’s feet, star struck as she began her story.

“Many years ago, at a museum in Paris, was my first ever art show as a professional. I was bored out of my skull, having to talk to so many stuffy business people. Then, I met a man who was charming, funny, nice, and incredibly good looking. I asked him out to lunch, and he complied. At said lunch, I confessed to him that my parents (who were pretty famous business people in Japan, at the time) were expecting me to marry a nice, rich MAN so I could continue the Sakiyaki familial line. I continued with the fact that, as a lesbian woman, I had no plan to do so. The man laughed, and added in he was gay, with a partner back in America. We quickly became friends, so when my parents pressured me into getting married, I married him, with consent from his boyfriend. A year later, I had a baby, a small boy with a head full of hair and very long fingers, that we named Alexander Hiroki Sakiyaki. Then, we got divorced so your Papa could marry Dad, but we still lived together because we were best friends, like you two. The end.”

After a few moments of silence, April blurted out, “You went to Paris? Did you meet Emilie Agreste, the famous actress?”

About an hour later, Kyoko was teaching April how to draw while Jo worked on a project.

Hearing a small bang, then an ouch, Kyoko looked at her child.

“Alex, love, what are you doing?”

“No! You can’t see yet, It‘s a surprise!” Jo leaned over her project, glaring at her mother. “You’ll get to see when you come home! When is that gonna be?”

“Saturday, love. The doctors say I’ll be well enough to go home then!”

Cheering, April and Jo jumped up, bouncing around the room in a hug.

“Mama’s coming home on Saturday!” was all anyone passing by heard.

Two days Later, 2014

It had been a nice day, sunny and not too warm, to get prepared for Kyoko’s move back to the house. Leo and James cleaned and redecorated her bedroom while Jo ran around finishing her project for her mother.

Nice until the phone rang, at least.

Jo watched silently as Leo answered the phone.

“Hello? Yes, this is him. Oh...oh my god.” her heart froze as the normally so composed man’s hand went to his mouth and tears filled his eyes. “Yes, I’ll tell him. And Alan and April, they deserve to know too. Email me the papers and I can send them to you.” hanging up the phone, her father just stood there, hand over his mouth. Sighing, he bent down to Jo’s level and took her hand.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but mama won’t be coming home this Saturday, or any Saturday.”

“Friday?” Jo asked, her heart still frozen.

“No. She’ll be coming home never, love.”

Her eyes widening, Jo dropped her Papa’s hand and walked to the door in a sort of daze. “Nope, nope, nope, nope...”

Now halfway down the long driveway, she startled when her dad picked her straight up off the ground.

“I’m so sorry, buddy.”

She buried her face in her dad’s suit jacket and cried.

Present Day

“Jo! Jo! Jo! Jo!”

A voice broke her out of her thoughts. Ripley’s voice, presumably, as the small girl bounced in the seat behind her.

“Where are we going? Is it somewhere fun? Is it-” The blue haired ball of energy was cut off by Jen, who had placed a hand over Ripley’s mouth.

“Why don’t you leave Jo alone, Ripley? The place we’re going is not fun, it means a lot to Jo.” Jo looked at Jen, then, silently thanking her. “Also, we’re here.”

Once the Roanokes, Jen, and Ripley’s parents were out of the van, Jo started down the familiar path that she had walked on this day for the past six years. Her dads falling into step with her, with April holding her hand tightly, Jo spoke up.

“It’s my mom’s birthday. I want you to meet her.”

“If we’re meeting here, why are we in a graveyard?” Ripley had broken free from her mother’s grasp, and was now bounding along behind Jo.

She heard Mal and Molly go to shush the 12-year-old, but waved them off.

“We’re in a graveyard because she died a few years ago. When I was seven.” she looked down after her statement, kicking at rocks on the path as a silence fell over the group.

“We’re here.”

Her mum’s grave wasn’t anything fancy, just her name, years she lived, and an engraving of her favourite flower on a basic stone tombstone.

After a few moments of silence as the rest of the Roanokes digested this information, Molly spoke up.

“I bet she was amazing.”

“She was. She would have liked you guys.”

“She taught me how to draw, how to be a good investigator, and how to use a sword. She was the greatest.” Jo sniffed, fighting back tears as April grabbed her hand and guided her to sit down in front of the tombstone.

“I bet, wherever she is now, she’s smiling at you, glad her beautiful daughter has such good friends.” her dad said, placing a hand on her shoulder (the most he could do, with all the Roanokes hugging Jo at the same time).

Tears freely dripping down her face now, Jo nodded slightly.

Maybe it wasn’t okay. But it would be.

//END//

A few things explained for clarity:

The idea behind Jo’s mom being said to go home on one day but not doing so was shamelessly taken from My Neighbor Totoro.

This is in the same universe as Miraculous Ladybug, but only because I don’t know of any famous french people besides musicians.

This was completely un-beta’d, so if there are any mistakes they are all mine.

I based the years off of this present year, hence Jo’s mom dying when she was seven, in 2014. Jo in this fic is 13, as one of the writers for Lumberjanes has stated the only one with a concrete age is Ripley (12), but all the other girls are somewhere in between 12-14.

Jo’s deadname is entirely headcanon.

Thanks for reading my long, rambling thoughts!

XO,

Nath

#lumberjanes #lumberjanes fic #lumberjanes jo

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pitheinfinite · 4 years

Note

You and Msppodle are seriously the nicest simmers, I swear! You guys are always super friendly and very kind in your posts and replies to cc requests! I wish all simmers were more like you 2 💓💓

WOW I can’t think of a better way to start my day than receiving a message like that! Thank you dear nonie! Msppodle is surely one of the nicest and most experienced souls in the community. She’s been the patient, generous and allmighty guru to me since I was a newbie here. As for me, I think it’s fair to say, I’d like to follow her lead and try my best.

I won’t deny some simmers could be difficult at first met. However I’d like to say around 80% percent simmers I met are really kind and friendly, though some of them may be shy and only give you very short replies. After all, introvert simmers are more common in this community while some of them find it difficult to express themselves freely in English. I’d like to encourage people to reach out to each other. Most people are nice here. And yes, you could still get some not-so-warm responses. Well, at least you’ll learn maybe they are too straight forward to you. But don’t stop trying or give up, okay? You’ll miss the opportunity to meet those wonderful people if you do.

As for the cc requests, for the record, I don’t take requests but suggestions. Most simmers have their own plans and it’s natural that they want to focus on their own plans first! If your requests or suggestions are turned down by other simmers, please understand they are only here to do things “they” love, not what others’ want. I’ve also turned down some requests before, like an constant ask to make custom food, which is a bit funny since I don’t remember creating any food cc… I’ve taken several suggestions for sims lately ‘cuz I think they are all interesting challenges BUT I could also say no If I don’t think I have the ability or interest to the designated cc/sim. (So when I do say no, please don’t send another ask for the same cc again, it’s really stressful.) I could be a bit overreacting about this. I just want to point out that taking requests should not be considered as a condition for being a friendly simmer.

And~~I’m turning this reply into a long long essay again.lol I’m gonna stop here. Thank you dear nonnie and wish you a good day too!😘😘😘

PS I posted this and then realized I forgot to mention one thing really important: Sometimes tumblr will decide whose message you should read for you. It’s 100% true. You know I’ve been sending invitations to hundreds of simmers, some of them told me they only found the msg I sent months ago by accident. So if you don’t get response, chances are tumblr hides your msg (or they’re buried by other msgs) I’ll also admit sometimes I read msgs on mobile and plan to reply with PC (typing with smartphone kills me) and then get distracted by other msg when I launch the desktop version. Guilty as charged. Forgive me if I sometimes forgot to reply msg, plz!🥺🙏

#Anonymous #ask

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dont-doubt-dopple · 4 years

Text

Hunter of his Own - Chapter 1

A/N: This is REALLY old but I’m an idiot and didn’t realize I only posted it on AO3. So here it is on Tumblr since I’m thinking of writing holy shit actually writing since college what is this a second part while not dying because finals week. May god have mercy on my soul. I’ll add the read more line later cause FUCKING MOBILE!!

Chapter 1 - Blurred Lines

Toby forgot how it felt to run. About how the breath fell out of her lungs just as quickly as it came in. Falling into longer strides and quick turnover as her feet pounded into the ground, not caring about the sounds she made. They could probably smell the blood and sweat that drizzled down her skin as she exerted every ounce of energy she had to gain distance between her and it.

She knows it’s a losing battle.

She knows she’s gonna die here.

Toby figures it’s better that whatever they would do to her in there.

She doesn’t know what caused it. Probably a tree root if she had to guess. All she knew was that she was on the ground, the cold dirt slowly burying itself into the crevices of her face. It felt nice, the cold, compared to the sweat and heat her body naturally generated from the running. She could stay like this for a while.

No. She couldn’t. She had to keep moving.

Toby was just getting off her knees when it finally caught up to her. She felt it’s lifeless hand snag her wrist and twist her to the ground to face it. It didn’t feel like the chill of the earth; it felt like the monster’s touch siphoned heat out of her with every second of contact. It bared it’s fangs as it held down Toby’s other hand, affectively pinning her down. Not that it mattered. The strength from the first hand and fear pumping through every inch of her body was enough to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Any last words, human?” It growled, it’s large red eyes glowing from the blood lust.

“If I’m being honest, I’m used to being a top. But I can kinda get used to this.” It took a moment for Toby’s words to register to the monster. But when there meaning sunk in, it growled. A low, deep, feral growl. Toby had to admit she’d be turned on if she wasn’t about to die. She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch her own ending.

It never came.

Something whizzed by their heads and buried itself into the ground inches from their hands. Toby’s head turned to see a skinny wooden steak halfway into the ground. The surface was rugged and uneven, almost as if just looking at it would give Toby a splinter. She heard another one sail through the air, but didn’t need to look where it had landed. She could feel it in the loosened grip on her wrists and hear in the staggered breaths as the realization slowly sunk in. After a moment, when she finally had the courage to, she pushed the creature off of her. It remained stunned on its back, hands reaching to the stake, yet never touching it.

A third person joins. He jumps down from a tree somewhere, at least six feet towering over Toby on the ground. It was hard to see his features shrouded in the secrecy of the night. But his eyes glowed a cascade of pinks, blues, and yellows. Changing so quickly to the next like it melted into each other. He raised a sword, shining briefly in the moonlight, before swinging it down and decapitating the vampire. It came off in a clean swipe and rolled back, almost as if it was looking at something behind it. At first glance, you could hardly tell it was dead.

“Got a light?” His voice was smooth but had almost playful edge to it. A voice of someone he could trust. Toby nodded: when most of his friends smoked weed, he almost always made sure he had one on him. She stood up, her back muscles relieving the tension caused by laying on the uneven ground, and tossed the stranger the lighter on her person. It took a few tries, but a flame quickly began to burn. He knelt down and placed it against the skin of the dead monster’s body. It wasn’t long before the whole creature was engulfed in fire.

“Thank you.” Toby whispered, watching the orange flames lick the sky as they danced. “You … saved my life.”

“I wouldn’t say that just yet. Mind if I check to see if I did.” The stranger held out his hand to Toby.

She could say her life changed when she entered the house. Or when it was when they were captured. She could say it was when she escaped or chased down or nearly died. No, that’s not what she testifies. Toby will say it was this moment, the moment she took his hand, that changed her life to the point of no return.

Because that’s the point that she knew what she was getting into. And decided not to look back.

Ice once more began to sink it’s way into her veins, the same that chilled her when she was attacked. Her breath hitched as the stranger touched her cheek, moving it as he tried to view all sides of her neck. Toby wasn’t sure why, but this same draining cold felt … more calming. Like it was the cold of Mother Earth; a cold she could trust.

“Are you …?” She asked as the stranger moved his hands away, satisfied that she was human. She wanted to say the words but they remained, choked in her throat. Some part of her still refused to believe that the man that saved her was exactly like the one that attacked her.

“Yes.” He nodded grimly. “But I’m not like them. I promise.”

How can I be sure? The thought lingered in her mind. But one look at the body burning behind her and she knew it. She knew he was different somehow; just how exactly had yet to be determined. There was still an uneasiness that she refused to voice. Instead, she simply said, “I … believe you.”

“Good.” He walked over to the body, and pulled the stake from the monster’s ashes and the dying flames that surrounded it. Toby could see the heat that surrounded the wood being to leave its mark against its skin, but the man didn’t seem to care. “Cause I’m gonna need your help.”

“Who are you?” Toby asked, the shock of the entire thing finally beginning to wear off. “And why do you need MY help? You seemed to handle it perfectly fine on your own. I’d like to think that I would end up being more of a hinderance.”

“I need someone who’s been inside there.” He pointed to the old manor up on the hill, the one Toby had just escaped from. “I’ve tried to end that … feeding trap like three times. Every time it’s come back somehow. There’s something I’m missing.”

The man’s words seemed to linger in Toby’s mind as she stared up at the manor. Or rather, she relived the manor: events coming into detail so clearly it’s as if they were happening for a second time. Her feet now stood under the creaking floor, her hand now slid through a dusty banister, and her hair stood on edge as if “We’re being watched.”

“I think you’re just fucking paranoid, cunt.” Mason quipped back, but Toby could see how tight his grip was on his flashlight though the whiteness of his knuckles. “Usually Jay is more scared then you.”

“Oh no I’m on the verge of shitting myself.” Jay admitted, causing the three of them to release some laughs. But the tension was still there, laced in every action. “This is some next level creepiness. I think we should go.”

“For once, I agree with Jay.” Toby admitted, reaching for Mason. “We need to go. This place feels … wrong.”

“C’moooooooooooon!” Mason whined. “We just got here!”

“Yeah, why don’t you stay awhile?”

“Hey, you okay?” The stranger asked, bringing her back to reality by putting a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “I understand if you don’t want to do somethi…”

“I’ll help you.” Toby cut him off, turning to face the man. “I’ll get my friends out; you kill every vampire in that place.”

“Glad … you’re on board. Honestly took a lot less convincing then I thought.” The stranger admitted. “But were gonna need more than just the two of us to tackle this thing. Mind following me back to my place? I’ve got someone else who can help and maybe there we can come up with a plan of action.”

“Okay.” Toby nodded. “But only if you tell me who you are. I don’t think I even introduced who I am yet. I’m Toby.”

“Just … call me Fitz.”

#the misfits #misfits podcast #misftz #tobyonthetele #goodguyfitz #good guy fitz #mccreamy #zuckles #vampire au #hunter of his own au #dopple work #gay baby gang #gbg

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spacegaywritings · 4 years

Text

CoS - Chap 14 “A sky full of stars (but you are the only light I see)“

Summary: <<he asked whether it is a date and Logan is pulling the "i am hereby asking for your consent to call this meeting a date - in the romantic sense" card>>

TW: crying, drama (bit), panic, gay gay gay shit, stargazing, soft stuff, sappy logan, past abuse, trauma mention, talks of past abandonment, mentions of past cheating, mentions of trust issues, mentions of violence, empty threats, weapon mention, stabby threat mention, dry humour, mentions of arson, demiboy virgil, thoughts of being broken, questioning (logan and Virgil).

The drama is short and necessary for HURT AND COMFORT

ao3 : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16+ // all

Tumblr: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 (u are here) / 15 / 16 +

My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Story under the cut: (Wordcount: ~4,7k)

“Ri, please. I will be home in time, I promise.”

Virgil pushed the cup of coffee closer to Remy in an attempt to appeal to him and somewhat sweeten the deal. The elder sibling eyed the offer with suspicion. Maybe the coffee was not poisoned but Remy might as well treat it as if.

“Alright, alright. Just .. please be here around midnight? I want to be with you when the next day starts. Just this one thing?”

Virgil jumped up and emitted a loud squeal.

“Thanks!!”

Their dark eyes sparkled with warmth. In no time, Remy was met with a bundle of Virgil in his arms and he giggled.

“Now now, what is going on with you?”

He chuckled. His hands brushed through Virgil’s dyed hair.

“Logan asked me out! We will do things tonight!”

They giggled more and snuggled up to their sibling with an energetic smile on their lips.

“Logan? Library kid Logan? I think you told me about him.”

Remy hummed in thought, still carding his fingers through Virgil’s messy hair.

“V, do you feel ready to date already? I don’t mind if you do. I will support you, no matter what.”

Virgil pursed their lips and shrugged.

They wanted to nod but their head did not want to comply.

“I.. I want to try it. I can, um.. I can tell him I don’t want to go further. At least now. I - I don’t know. I really like him. I like him like I like Dee, you know?”

Remy nodded sagely and patted their head in support.

“It’s okay. I don’t wanna roast you about this, anyway. You learned enough in life and if you want advice, I am here for you. I am your wise sibling after all!”

He smirked.

Virgil groaned and leaned away.

“Ewww, don’t do that! You’re just old, Ri!”

Virgil jumped up again and skipped away.

“I need to, like, fucking dress up and shit!”

Remy’s laughter echoed through the rooms.

“Stop laughing you jerk!”, Virgil yelled back from afar, their hurried steps echoing in Remy’s head. He smiled at the rapidly shifting figure.

Once they were in the bathroom to take a shower,, or whatever Virgil did in there, then in their room, in Remy’s room to probably steal clothes, then in the bathroom again.

Virgil seemed to be seconds away from prom.

Speaking of which, Remy thought they never really had a real prom.

He got up to make a small meal for his dramatic kid sibling. They might be about to become a legal adult - one who could drink alcohol, too, not just sign contracts - but they were still such a young baby to him.

Probably, Remy would always see the neonate in Virgil he had been marked with when they “met” for the first time.

He pressed his lips together. He frowned at the toast he prepared.

The professor actually sounded like a suburban supermom who could not cope with the idea of their kid growing up or whatever.

Not that he could cope with it but still.

“Riiii, I am stealing your jeans!”

The addressed adult snorted as soon as he heard it. It took him a moment to compose himself and gain enough breath as he dissolved into the tickling giggles and the light-hearted sensation of situational comedy.

His mouth gasped for breath and sucked in the sweet sweet oxygen so he could laugh even more.

Once he had calmed down, he sighed and put the sandwich together with cheese and put it into a pan to grill it because Virgil liked this kinda stuff. Remy at least gave the kid some fresh fruits too. He glanced at the little bowl of fruit salad he had made earlier.

Yeah, he was not feeding the kid purely bullshit food or anything. He was not a dummy neglectful idiot.

He was supportive. So he would not laugh and go be a supportive sibling.

“Sure, just turn up the legs, so you don’t fall over or walk on them. I want my pants back as they were - please don’t cut them, I will eat your hair dye.”

Virgil passed him in the kitchen.

They were so fast, Remy did not even have the time to turn around to properly look at them.

He flipped the sandwich in the pan, letting the heat sizzle and seize the cooler piece of white bread.

“Yeah, sure, like you would know”

They stuck out their tongue and Remy half-heartedly glanced at them with no fire in his amused eyes.

He did not have it in his heart to poke fun at Virgil when he knew they could boil over at any moment, considering they were probably anxious about this date thing. Well, Remy assumed this but with Virgil tugging at their sleeves and looking at their hands as they sat there in the most oversized clothes that looked punk yet comfortable enough to hide them away.

Honestly, they were a walking fabric storage.

The ripped black jeans were too big and gave them an odd artisan air. Virgil also wore a black dress shirt that looked big enough to accommodate the siblings together. It was kept together by their tie with was loosely tied around their neck and had black and red stripes with little metal chains closer to the tip.

They were shiny and silverish.

As always, Virgil had their black and purple, stitched-up mess of a jacket on that served as a mobile cave for them to retreat to.

They had their piercings on as well. Black rings around their lips, purple gauges in their lobes, one gauge each ear. These were hollow inside but one could barely see through them. One of them had a thin, golden hoop through it and the rest were regular piercings: simple golden studs in line with their naturally warm skin tone.

They were everyone’s emo nightmare and Remy appreciated it.

“You look great, kid,”

Virgil rose their eyes to look at Remy for just a moment before tearing their gaze away and back onto their fidgeting fingers.

An audible sigh could be heard. It was short, void of breath, if that made any sense. Almost as if they were physically exhausted from running a long distance without break. Sprinting, perhaps.

“Oh, Virgil. What is wrong? Who do I need to beat up because I am strong and taller than you and I will take a bitch!”

Remy flicked his wrist majestically, slowly and ever so dramatically to reveal one single finger sticking out among all other peasant fingers bowing to the Queen of Middle Fingers.

“I can and will fuck up a bitch because there is no bitch meaner than me.”

The punk looked at him, eyes weirdly distant. It slowly faded into something like a glare rather than an empty stare into nothingness.

“If you get arrested for some shit, you would just, like, get your teaching license revoked or something. Sounds like bullshit to me, to be honest.”

A grin appeared on their lips, it flinched onto them but disappeared as fast as it came up.

“No, it is okay. It.. just... Anxious and all”, Virgil admitted in a tired voice. They sounded as if energy was lacking but jumped into a rash and pumped up statement after just one moment of pause, “and before you ask, yes, I went to therapy - remember? I texted you and brought you coffee from there.”

Remy nodded carefully and shut the stove before moving over to approach Virgil. The air smelled of salty cheese and it was as alluring as it was sickening but Virgil was not sure which feeling was overpowering at this moment.

They nodded and patted the table. Remy nodded back and gave a small smile in appreciation as he sat down with Virgil, keeping his respectful distance.

“I am scared, um.. just.. anxiety bullshit - not that I am, you know. It is just irrational. Logan is not like this, is not like,, like him, like Nate. Fuck Nate. Logan is not even into chicks, I think. I don’t.. I don’t know, you know? I don’t even know this about him and I am trying to date him and I slept in his bed. Ri, we fucking shared a bed and I don’t even know whether he would cheat on me!”

Something in Remy’s face changed when Virgil spat out the last part, voice getting red and hot in all-consuming anger and.. betrayal.

They hugged themself and buried their head between their knees.

“Breathe, please. Are you with me?”

Virgil shrugged but silently breathed instead of getting further into the conversation. Numbers were counted slowly, it felt like a dragging of time and it was a never-ending burn in their lungs. Their sibling patiently moved closer to hug them and Virgil cuddled up to his chest.

“I am.. I am being irrational. I know I .. I don’t know all about him but neither does he about me and that is okay because it is just dating and I am not obliged to do anything. I-it feels nice to think about being with him and to be with him and if he gives me red flags, I will shoot him down. I just don’t think he would.”

Virgil sighed, looking at their hands again.

“I.. I am doing the right thing. He agreed and we will just have some fun doing dumb things and such. No obligations, no relationship, no stupid cheating.”

They got up and sighed again.

“I, um, smell food..? Please tell me you are gonna feed me, I am a beast when hungry.”

Remy chuckled.

“Get a snickers, you hoe”

Their shoulders trembled as they silently snickered.

“You should eat one. I can bring you disgusting fast food when I come back. Hot cakes?”

Virgil got their hands onto the plate and plopped the toast onto it in silence. They squipped in happiness and got some cutlery.

“I will eat everything you have, Ri, just you wait”, they promised with a sense of playful threat. They settled on their chair, silverware clattering as they dropped it onto the wooden table.

In seconds, the toast stuffed their mouth completely and effectively prevented them from communicating any more comprehensive speech.

“Jwuft fwuh wayt!”

Not that they did not try it anyway. No mortal piece of bread would be able to withstand their sheer will to fucking do it because they could and were not supposed to.

Remy rolled his eyes at the performance.

“Yeah yeah, keep going with your threats. But thanks, I don’t need hotcakes.”

The smaller sibling nodded.

Remy licked his lips seriously. The air changed from a light-hearted playfullness to another shade of depth once more.

“You can text me”, he took a small break to smack his lips. Virgil looked up at him in an unidentifiable mixture of feelings. “if you feel anxious, that is. I will get to you in an instant if you even have a remotely bad feeling. If your friend, date dude or whatever hot bitch you are excited about, is as kind as you perceive him to be, he will understand anything that will come up even if he does not expect it.”

Virgil cronched the toast loudly and hummed.

“Being close to you is about being able to be spontaneous and patient. You know what you need and you know not every person is ready to be this patient and kind. That is okay.”

Their shoulders slouched but they nodded dejectedly. This was like reading the same story over and over but it still affected them every time they got to its synopsis.

“ “m nutt yur problm”, they mumbled in reply and curled up on their chair, still chewing. Remy smiled and nodded sympathetically, his heart on his tongue.

“You are not a problem at all, my heart. You are a stubborn little fuck and you just refuse to die and we will drink on that - as people who refuse to fucking die at all.”

“Evwer!”

Virgil swallowed and grinned at Remy, hands suddenly full of energy as they dynamically scooped up the trophy that was a bit of fruit salad.

“Do I at least look hot? Because I gotta have to blow a nerd off his socks tonight and I wanna do a great job at it. Skirt too much?”

Remy chuckled but shrugged.

“I like you dressed this way or in anything else you feel comfortable in. You definitely are staying true to your aesthetics. You and your date will steal for the homeless, I see?”

The smaller sibling got up to put the dishes into the dishwasher. Their fingers trailed over the machine for a moment as they got lost in thoughts for a bit. Just a moment.

Their phone rang again.

Oh, yes. The alarm.

“Imma get going. I will steal your keys and a hot fucker’s heart.”

The keys fell against one another, creating the sweet melody of arrival and departure, endings and beginnings.

Remy looked after them, a little bitterness weighing their smile down.

Well, it was time to make a cake and wait for Virgil to come back. It would just be a few hours.

***

Virgil slowly walked the last few meters to the door Logan had told them to go to. It was a weird feeling to be visiting the university so late at night. They had not even noticed this had been Logan’s intended meet-up point but once they had closed in, they started growing suspicious.

The science building was not exactly the place they would usually hang around but alas, it was time to test the waters and get into new things and just dare stuff again, right? Life was about daring new stuff all the time and just going a bit further again and again.

Their right hand formed a fist around their phone. The display kept shining into the night, showing them the room number they had sent Remy. The chat was open and they would be able to call or text him within moments, if need be.

The fingers were ready for everything.

They stopped at the door, eyes glancing over the screen to check the number.

Yeah, seemed about right.

Their left hand rose to form a fist and knock the tall door.

Within less than a second, the door swung open and Logan stood in front of Virgil, towering over them.

He.. he looked special this day. No tie, no pretty shoes. He was in a comfortable set of pants, a loose band shirt of Bunny Smashskull with the eye strain of their neon logo version. Even the shoes were just regular old shoes, sports shoes - they looked and worn yet rather comfortable.

Virgil was nearly leaning against his chest. They were so close..

“L-Logan-”

DAMN IT. They had not been ready for this, apparently!

Well - STOP THE STUTTER! WE ARE ALL GAY HERE, TIME TO STAND UP AND BE A REAL GAY HOE!

….go get him, tiger.

Ew, no, Virgil. You are not a tiger, you are a tiny human and you will go get a Logan-date. Uh, like.. wow, Virgil. Just be a normal dude and be .. you… who is not normal.

Hey wait, is that dude talking? Fuck, fuck, talk to him!

By the time Virgil caught themself again, Logan’s lips were moving and they did not listen at all. They shifted from leg to leg and coughed into their elbow awkwardly.

“Uh- Log, I .. I did gay-out for a sec. Wha’did ya say?”

Logan smiled and nodded. One of his hands moved away from the door handle after a last squeeze and instead closed in on Virgil.

They flinched, staring at the intruder.

He only offered to take their hand. Just a hand. Nothing else.

Virgil’s heart was beating fast.

“I was just saying you are stunning as always, Virgil, if not more so.”

Logan cleared his throat. The smaller of the two gave themself a last mental pep talk before brushing over the insider of Logan’s warm, big hands. The upside of their fingernails scratched against his palm, starting from the naturally caved-in middle and slowly tracing over the Logan’s fingers until they reached his nails.

They swallowed and looked up at Logan, fingers stretched out, still. Then, they slowly crooked them to wrap them around Logan’s patient hand.

His face lit up like turned-on fairy lights at the gesture. Instinctively, he squeezed.

If anyone else had been there, Logan could never pretend to not care about feelings-y things and interpersonal relationships. The smile on his bright, vivid face was significant and it changed everything Virgil had ever seen about him.

Their right hand was still clutching their phone, ready to call Remy.

They let go and followed Logan inside, a smile mirroring the taller man.

Now, their heart was beating for a whole other reason.

Panic was only a nightmare in this room.

“Let us watch the stars again”

Logan tugged the smaller emo along, fingers entangled. Hearts beat together like in a drum circle, forming one rhythm and one string of melody.

When they came to a stop, Virgil took in the room properly.

The older of the two looked at Virgil, blocking their view.

“Huh? Whaddup, Log?”

“Can you trust me enough to close your eyes right now?”

Their right flinched a bit.

Logan was too observant of a person to miss even a single bit of detail about his date, especially. They shrugged.

“If you scare me, I might break your nose or stab you. You have been warned.”

Logan shrugged as well.

Apparently, he cared about the lights more than his ribs but who was there to blame him? For him it was a matter of hurt or Virgil and he was more than willing to take a risk for them.

Virgil was not drunk, was not stupid. They were broken and confused and always scared, vigilant and ready to fight. They were feral.

But they were also just a simple person, wanting love, wanting to be surprised and be courted.

Eye lids shut down, heavy and trusting.

His arm rose, one knuckle extended just enough to brush over the light switch and nudge it barely yes just so much, it moved and the light was gone.

“Thanks. You can open them again.”

His voice was low, low like the light in the room. They dimmed down together. When Virgil opened their eyes, the world of little like lights and soft atmosphere was opened up to them. The room, the machines and walls, everything, even they and Logan were immersed in the lights of a thousand stars. They were a part of the universe, they were right in it and surrounded by nothing but the darkness of the night and the light of life.

“...w-wow.”

They muttered, barely audible.

To be honest, they literally had no more breath. It was away, taken and forever with the stars only. They would not get it back but it was okay. It was an exchange.

Virgil got to stand amidst the myriad of lights in the vast darkness of the universe and they paid the tribute with their own breath.

Just like it would be if they were in outer space for real.

“Let us watch the stars we are standing in, Virgil. I want to watch the stars with you.”

The two laid down and stayed quiet and just relished in the view, in the feeling, in being together.

They were lost but did not need to be found.

After a while, Virgil spoke up.

Their voice was timid before the stars and planets of the universe.

“I am sorry about being a little shit last morning. I just.. this was not about you at all and I did not mean to and I know you said it is okay but it is never okay to be shit to someone, even if you have a reason. It is just not an excuse and I was being shitty to you for nothing you did. I just .. I can’t talk to you without feeling guilty and bad, so I got upset.”

Logan was silent as Virgil squeezed their eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“I know you only want to assure I am fine because you are worried and that is cool, it is.. it is nice to be cared for, cared about.. it is just still a bit new to me and such a weird concept. The fact you guys took me in within a moment of just.. seeing me? That is so nice and I cannot understand how complete strangers, new people in my life just become friends this loyal and -and kind.”

Their voice broke. This time, they broke out into sobbing. Instinctively, Logan wrapped his arms around them and hugged them close.

Virgil hid their sloppy self in Logan’s chest. They hugged back with a passion while the taller one had expected a slower and more anxious reaction. The young adults melted into the universe, the the stars and the light of each other.

“It is okay”, Logan murmured into their hair, “it is okay. It is over now. We care about you. We will continue to care about you, even much later in life. Even if things go wrong. You still deserve a nice life and kind people and every bit of love you can handle or have to learn how to handle.”

A torn cluster of giggles worked through their sobs.

The waterfall of tears started flowing harder, wetting the band logo of their beloved band Bunny Smashskull.

“I-I’m sorry”, they cried, “ I.. I mean..”

They curled up against Logan, suddenly being nothing but a small and fragile being in the middle of the universe.

Lost.

No need to be found.

But still found and still appreciating it.

“Don’t be sorry for bad things and people happening to you. In life, people experience a lot of aversive events they would rather not witness yet sometimes we cannot do anything about it, especially in younger years of life. Aversive childhood experiences are actually not rare. Usually, everyone experiences at least a few of them. Your way and effectiveness in coping with it depends on your safety net and other positive or healthy experiences to build your self-esteem and other things among this.”

Virgil snuggled up to Logan and hummed over their sniffles and sobs.

“I .. I know.. I am coping now and h-ave, like, all this therapy stuff and crisis talks and all this shit with friends and all. It.. It is better but you know, like, a little more than one year ago I would get piss-drunk and set buildings on fire and break people’s noses and fuck shit up and be a whole fucking asshole and hack and fight and break any law I could find. Now I am.. so nice and stable..”

Virgil sighed and slowly wiped the tears away.

“I um.. I set something on fire while I was drunk and dumb, I did not mean to do it - anyway, I actually did a good job doing it. I have no regrets. Nobody was hurt but a fraud was uncovered in this whole mess.”

They shrugged.

“If you wanna ditch me, ditch me now, I mean.. I am giving you the official permission to throw me out of space-nirvana. Go, on.”

Virgil lightly pushed against his chest.

“I am not even sure what kinda sexuality I have. I am just saying gay because I don’t know what else to say and because I know I like dudes and I am not even a dude, like, not fully. I- I am a demiguy and I don’t even use he/him all the time, not even right now. I am a mess.”

The emo brushed through their hair and snorted.

“Forget it, you are... you are too good and prefect and great and nice for a messy arsonist and poly-amorous mess of imperfections and societal rejections.”

“Virgil”

They shook their head.

“No. No, it is okay. It is alright. I... I am sorry for just putting this on you all of a sudden and expect you to make a decision. Like, wow, way to be a dick. You are a nice dude, Log. Thank you for the date and the stars. This is the nicest date I ever had in my entire life.”

Their voice was warm with the wonders of the world.

Logan melted at the idea.

He carefully brushed over their jaw, still holding them loosely.

“I will love you, whether you are a man or not. I will love you now and later and when you dropped a book when I made an unfunny joke about chemistry and you laughed. You looked so happy. When you called me for help, you were shattered but you were still full of life and will to live. You met Patton and you two hugged. You never fail to surprise me with your talents. I never knew you were so clever and skilled you could hack, I never knew you fought the government. I never knew but I wish I will never stop to learn more about you.”

He licked his dry lips and glanced at their lips, at their eyes and pursed their own mouth, letting out a whispered “may I?”

His voice was soft. It was soft and Virgil blinked, smiled and stormed forward to experience soft lips. Lips softer than anything Virgil had ever felt before.

It touched them deep inside, brushed their heart, let their chest bloom and glow in feelings, in comfort.

They carefully leaned against Logan and closed the gap their stupid outburst had put between them. Within a fast heartbeat, they rolled over and straddled him.

Chests brushed against one another, pounding themselves into oblivion.

But together.

When Virgil pulled back, their lips were flushed and tingly from smooching so much. Even Logan’s usually pale face was tinted with rosy colours and warm tinges of affection and contentment. The two lazily smiled at one another.

“Consent is sexy, Log.”

Logan snorted, chuckled, laughed out loud and lost himself in the surge of dopamine. He threw his arms around Virgil and tugged them down so they could press their foreheads together and nudge each other’s nose as if it was the only way to communicate his intense feelings for them, the butterflies and glistening tears of happiness in his mortal body.

He was happy.

Really, Virgil seemed happy, too.

For the first time in forever, everything just seemed .. okay. The two knew they had found each other to be the thing they did not need but wanted so bad and deserved as much as any other great good in life.

They had.. arrived.

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