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roycevelvet · 1 month

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Tangled hearts

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x reader Warnings: none Notes: I have nothing interesting to say, I was listening to 'Heather' lol + i was thinking about Sons Of Anarchy Jax while writing this, pls keep that in mind x

You were walking next to Noah to your local pub, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you like a whirlpool. You'd been best friends with Noah for as long as you can remember, sharing laughs, tears, heartbreak, happiness and everything in between. But there was this secret, this feeling you kept hidden deep down—a kind of love that felt too risky to admit, scared it might ruin your friendship.

As you arrived at your local pub, the familiar sights and sounds washed over you as you settled in your usual spot. Noah plopped down beside you, his smile lighting up the room. It was a routine, almost, Noah snagging the seat next to you without fail. If he didn't, well, he'd sulk like a kid missing their favorite toy.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Noah asked, his eyes sparkling as he leaned in closer.

"I was thinking we could start with a game of pool," you suggested.

"Sounds like a plan," he replied, his tone light and playful. "But you know I'm going to beat you at pool, right?"

You laughed. “We'll see about that," you teased, your heart swelling with love for your best friend. "Besides, if you beat me, I might have to find a handsome stranger to console me."

There was a pause, a flicker in Noah's eyes that caught your attention. His smile wavered, his gaze shifting.

"Really?" Noah's asked, arching his brow.

You shrugged. "Who knows?" you said with a playful wink. "I might just sweep some unsuspecting guy off his feet with my killer pool skills."

Noah's expression darkened. “Mh, okay.” he muttered.

You furrowed your brow, caught off guard by the sudden change in Noah's demeanor. "Are you okay?" you asked, concern coloring your tone.

Noah forced a smile, avoiding your gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine," he insisted, his tone not quite convincing.

Lost in your thoughts, you attempted to immerse yourself in conversation with your other friends, hoping to distract yourself. But then, like a sudden gust of wind disrupting the peace, the door swung open almost with a theatrical flair, like those damn Hollywood movies, and just the most beautiful girl stepped inside.

Your heart skipped a beat as she made her way across the room, her presence along drawing the attention of everyone around her. Your gaze followed her, unable to tear away as she approached Noah, her smile as bright as the stars.

And then, like a dagger to your heart, Noah turned towards you and the rest of your group, his eyes lit up with genuine joy. "I want you to meet someone special," he said, his voice filled with excitement.

"This is Heather," he introduced, his gaze never leaving your face. "My girlfriend."

The words hung in the air like a heavy shroud, suffocating you with their weight. You forced a smile, your heart breaking with each syllable that escaped Noah's lips. Who the fuck is she and where did she came from? Since when has Noah a girlfriend?

"It's lovely to meet you, Heather," you said with the sweetest smile.

Heather smiled warmly. "Likewise! Noah's told me so much about you," she said, her voice a gentle melody in the chaos of your thoughts.

As Noah and Heather chatted with the others, you felt yourself drifting further away.

Nicholas squeezed your hand, his silent support a lifeline. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” you whispered back as casually as you could sound.

You watched as Noah and Heather sat down hand in hand, unable to suppress the ache in your heart.

—

Feeling overwhelmed, you excused yourself to go to the restroom, Juno, your best friend, offering to come with you. As soon as the door closed behind you, the tears just came streaming down, and you collapsed against the wall, also like a fucking Hollywood movie.

Juno wrapped her arms around you, holding you tight as you sobbed. Juno knew about your feelings towards Noah.

"I don't know what to do, Juno," you whispered between sobs. "Noah, he... he's always so flirty with me, always acting strange when I mention other guys, always so touchy and needy and then he pulls this stunt? Since when is he dating a girl named Heather?”

Juno's grip tightened around you, her own confusion evident in her silence for a moment. "I wish I had the answers for you, Y/N," she finally said. "But I don’t, I’m sorry, men are trash."

Her unexpected comment caught you off guard, and despite feeling heavy, a little laugh came out. It was a moment of relief in the middle of all the chaos.

You nodded, tears still running down your face. Despite feeling sad and insecure because Heather was the most stunning girl you’ve had ever seen, you knew you had to act tough.

Standing up straight, you wiped away your tears. "No man is going to make me cry today," you declared. "I'm not going to let Noah ruin my night. I'm here to have fun, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

—

As the night rolled on and the drinks kept coming, you did your best to ignore Noah and Heather. But for some reason, Heather seemed dead set on getting to know you, constantly interrupting your conversations with her silly questions. You just wished she'd leave you alone with her pretty eyes, perfect nose, and flawless skin.

Despite your efforts to be friendly, you kept your interactions with her short. Not really in the mood to mingle with her, even though nothing was her fault actually. It’s not like she had any say in how God chose her to be his favourite. You asked Noah to play a game of pool, but suddenly he wasn't interested anymore, only eyes for Heather. So, you did what you knew best: flee the situation and find that handsome stranger to console you.

If Noah could bring along his girlfriend, you figured you could find some fun for the night too, right?

Juno was by your side, the ultimate wing woman. It being a Friday night, the pub was crowded with people. It didn't take long for Juno and you to approach a couple of guys for a game of pool. You played the part of a clueless girl, pretending you didn't know how to play, so the tall, blonde haired stranger would offer his help, just like in the movies, again.

As you engaged in the game, bantering back and forth, the tension between you and the stranger grew stronger. With a playful smirk, he leaned in closer, his eyes locking with yours. "You know, for someone who claims not to know how to play, you're doing pretty well," he smiled.

You chuckled softly, feeling a flutter in your chest. "Beginner's luck, I suppose," you replied. "But who knows, maybe you could teach me a thing or two?"

A spark of interest igniting in his eyes. "I'd be happy to give you a few pointers," he said flirty. "But only if you promise to give me a chance to win you over with more than just pool skills."

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Well, in that case, consider me intrigued," you said, a smile playing at your lips. "Lead the way, pool master."

“I am Jax by the way” he said as he flashed a smile. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

—

Noah watched as you interacted with that douche, sharing laughs and exchanging glances, and couldn't shake the unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. His discontent grew more apparent by the minute.

Finally, unable to contain his annoyance any longer, Noah started bitching to Nicholas. "Can you believe Y/N right now?" he asked sharply. "She's completely ignoring me for that guy. It's like she doesn't even care that I'm here. I mean us, I thought it was a friends night out.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, looking at Noah with a hint of amusement. "Maybe she's just having fun," he suggested.

But Noah shook his head, his frustration evident. "It's not just that," he continued, growing more agitated. "That guy she's with, he's not good enough for her. And he clearly doesn't have a clue what she wants.”

“And you know what Y/N wants? Are you’re the Y/N expert?” he laughs.

Without hesitation, Noah replied firmly, "Yes, of course I do. And it's not that guy." His tone left no room for doubt.

Nicholas listened carefully as Noah complained further. "Are you jealous?" Nicholas asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Noah's expression darkened, his jaw tensing as he struggled to contain his emotions. "Why would I be jealous?" he replied defensively. "I've got Heather, remember?"

But Nicholas could tell that Noah wasn't being completely honest. It was clear that Noah's true feelings for you were far more complicated than he was willing to admit.

—

As you chatted with Jax during the game, seeing Noah and Heather being all lovey-dovey in the corner made you feel a bit jealous, well this was maybe an understatement. They looked so cozy together, like they belonged with each other. It made you want to puke, want to pull your hair out but it also made you wish you were Heather as well. You just wanted to smash her pretty, little face into a wall. So, yeah, you were only a bit jealous.

"So, how did you end up here tonight?" Jax asked, flashing you a friendly smile as he lined up his shot.

“Nothing special, just hanging out with some friends.” You replied nonchalantly.

Jax chuckled, leaning against the pool table. "Same here. Thought I'd come out and see what the night had in store. And I must say, meeting someone as intriguing as you was definitely unexpected."

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at his compliment. "Flattery will get you everywhere," you teased, taking your turn at the pool table.

As the game continued, the conversation flowed effortlessly between you and Jax. But you couldn't stop thinking about Noah and Heather. Feeling jealous like that was weird for you, and it made you feel like like you weren’t good enough.

But before you knew it, the game had ended, but the tension between you and Jax grew strong. With a shy smile, you found yourself blurting out, "Do you maybe want to go for some fresh air?”

You knew you were acting out of spite and jealousy, but Jax was a cute guy, so no harm, right?

Jax's eyes lit up with excitement, mirroring your own. "I'd love to," he replied eagerly. "Lead the way." mimicking your words from earlier.

You motioned for Juno, to let her know you were okay as you and Jax made your way out of the bustling pub.

—

Meanwhile, Noah's mood was shifting from bad to worse as he watched you leaving with Jax. His face turned red with anger, and he clenched his fists, fuming silently. Nicholas noticed Noah's frustration and tried to calm him down.

“Are you okay, man?” Nicholas asked.

Noah waved him off, trying to play it cool. "It's nothing, just being protective, you know? Y/N's my best friend, and I just want to make sure she's okay," he said, but his words rang hollow, even to himself.

And to make matters worse, Heather was up his ass as well now. Heather, who had been observing the situation all night, couldn't hold back her frustration any longer. She wasn't a fool. Noah was always talking about you. About how funny you were, how kind you were, even how beautiful you were. That's why Heather wanted to get to know you tonight, to scout the competition.

"Noah, ever since Y/N went to talk with that guy, you've been acting weird," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Noah's facade cracked, his frustration boiling over. "Why are you acting jealous all of a sudden? Y/N’s just my best friend," he snapped.

Heather's eyes widened in shock, hurt flashing across her face. "Excuse me?" her voice rising in anger. “I’m the one acting jealous? You're the one with a girlfriend, yet you're acting like a possessive boyfriend over another girl. Maybe you should figure out what you really want before pointing fingers at me!”

"No, no, it's not like that," Noah tried to backtrack, but his words only seemed to further fuel Heather's anger.

"What do you mean it's not like that? It’s exactly like that!” Heather yelled, her voice sharp with frustration.

Heather stood up in a hurry, grabbing her jacket from the chair. "Call me when you made up your mind about what you want, I don't have time for this." she said firmly before storming out of the pub.

Noah watched her go, his jaw clenched in stubborn silence. He made no move to follow her, his gaze followin her to the door where he spotted you standing outside. The sight of you and the stranger chatting outside only seemed to add fuel to the fire of Noah's already simmering emotions. A mixture of jealousy and frustration swirling within him.

He didn't know what to do, so he just stayed where he was. He didn't chase after Heather, and he didn't approach you either. He just stood there, watching, feeling lost.

To be continued.

#noah sebastian #nick folio #nicholas ruffilo #jolly karlsson #bad omens #angst #light angst #bad omens fan fic #bad omens fic #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfic #fandom

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corrodedcoffins-blog · 6 months

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The First Meeting

main masterlist

spencer reid x famous!reader Universe

word count: 4.1 k

warnings: stalking, murder, character asking to die (if I missed something please let me know)

Today was supposed to be an easy day for the BAU. It was a paperwork day, no case, no one dying on their watch.

These were some of Spencer's favourite days, don’t get him wrong he loves being in the field and profiling killers, and when they arrest an unsub, that’s the best feeling.

But having days every now and again where they don’t have to travel and Spencer can read and reflect on their previous case, he greatly enjoys it. And he can’t say he’s the only one, but he can say he’s the only one that uses paperwork days to do paperwork.

Penelope walks in the glass doors humming a tune, foreign to Spencer.

“You got that James Dean day dream, hmm hm mhmmm, I got that red lip classic”

“What’s got you so happy, babygirl?” Derek says, from across Spencer.

“Um, because The Met Gala is tonight! Biggest night in Fashion! And no case means I can watch it.”

“Oh, I must have forgot to put it on my calendar.” Derek, sarcastically remarks while getting up and out of his chair on his way to refill his coffee cup. All the while JJ comes rushing the bullpen, giving the rest of her co-workers a sympathetic face.

“Just when I thought, we would have an easy day.” Emily mumbles getting out her desk chair and walking away with JJ.

“Wally Melman, a music producer in New York, was killed two weeks ago, and Natali Ryan , a singer and songwriter, was killed 4 days ago also in New York.” JJ says while the screen behind her shows pictures of the crime scene.

“The police said they found pictures with the victim's face with ‘You’re Next’ written in red marker across their face. Suspected to have gotten in the mail.”

“And why have they called us now?” Derek says, clearing knowing there was more JJ was going to say but wanting her to get to it quicker.

“Yesturday, another singer/songwriter, by the name of Y/n L/n-”

“Oh. My God!” Penny interrupts JJ, having come in to tell the team an update she had gotten from the NYPD. “uh- sorry, I’m sorry.. Um, the NYPD wants a couple of us to go straight to the crime scene once we land, and that the next vic- uh Y/n L/n I suppose- is at the station waiting.” Penny says, turning and leaving after finishing her sentence.

“Okay everyone, wheels up in 30. JJ can fill us in on the jet.”

When the team arrived in New York, Hotch sent Rossi and Emily to the recent crime scene, and JJ to talk to the media, while himself, Spencer, and Derek went to the station.

When the three got to the station they were shown the note Y/n had gotten from the unsub, different to the others, hers having ‘You Owe Me’ written across her face instead. The team walked into the room they were told Y/n would be in.

Spencer knew she would be pretty, everyone in Hollywood was gorgeous that’s how it worked, but this girl was easily the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes upon, even with her bleached hair that he could assume was a split second decision.

She sat on a chair next to one of the officers' desks, as if she was like everyone else and not a world-wide popstar. Y/n and her manager Joe look up, hearing footsteps walk into the room. She stood up to shake Hotch’s hand.

“Hi, I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you and thank you so much.” “Of course”

She goes to shake Derek hand, saying a greeting similar to the one she gave Hotch, then she comes face to face with Spencer, or possibly- not definitely the most beautiful man she has ever seen, sticking out her hand she says, “Hi, nice to meet you..”

“Dr. Spencer Reid- or just Spencer, you don’t have to call me doctor.” “Nice to meet you Spencer.” Y/n stays looking at Spencer maybe a second longer than she should have. It’s just so hard to look away from a man that beautiful. When Y/n does finally look away, she takes a seat and they begin their questioning.

“How well do you know Natalie Ryan?”

“Uh, we talked when we were at the same events and were always friendly, but we weren’t friends.”

“How about Wally Melman?”

“What?”

“Wally Melman, he was a producer who was killed a couple months ago.” Spencer jumps in, making Y/n turn to address him, while she asks her next statement .

“The paper said that it was a robbery.” “The paper was wrong.” Derek responded quickly.

“Did you know him?” Hotch asks, wanting to get back to the questions he has for Y/n.

“I wanted to work with him on my last album, but he started working with..” Y/n cut herself off.

“Who?” Spencer asks concernedly, seeing the scared look on Y/n's face.

“Natalie Ryan, and they beat Y/n for song of the year” Joe says while Y/n is setting her face to rest in her hands, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Do you ever have the feeling that someone is following you, or watching you?” Derek asks.

“Only every second I spend outside my house. I have fans, and paparazzi following me everywhere. It’s part of the job.”

“Do you ever get repetitive phone calls, hang ups, or gifts sent anonymously?” Spencer asks.

“I receive flowers, Lilies, my favourite. The seventh of each month they get sent to each of my homes, they just show up on the doorstep. Never a note, nothing.”

After a few more of their questions it just becomes too much, knowing that these people are being killed because of her or ‘for’ her and Y/n gets up and leaves the room. Not being able to actually leave given the cameras outside, she doesn’t get too far. And Spencer is right behind her.

“Y/n wait!”

“Can you explain what the hell is going on?”

“Well, it’s still rather speculative, but it appears there’s a delusional assassin who’s killing people to help further your career. It probably started as a stalker. An erotomaniac stalker. There’s a psychopathology of the evolution of these types of stalkers and the fact that he’s contacting you indicates that he believes you owe him something. This model frequently concludes itself with one of two possibilities, either the stalker will kill himself or he’ll kill the object of his affection.”

If Spencer wasn’t talking about the possibility of Y/n’s untimely death, she would have had more time to find Spencer’s rambling and seemingly never ending knowledge hot.

Y/n had gotten home from her time at the station, hoping to be able to relax as she has the Met tomorrow night. But when she had gotten to her front door the yellow notepad paper taped onto it caught her eye.

After reading the note she called the station immediately. The BAU had arrived looking over the note, Y/n was in the room but not listening, she onlys snaps back into listening to the conversations when she hears Spencer.

“In English?” one of the officers asks.

“That is English actually.” Y/n smiles at that, while Spencer continues, getting cut off by Derek not too far into his explanation. Y/n finally speaks up, after the team starts talking about how she should continue, as if she isn’t there.

“I’m standing right here guys..”

“If we did remove you from the street, you couldn’t stay here, we would have to take you to an undisclosed location.”

“I have a fitting here in 30 mins, and the Met tonight, then I’m all yours. Look, I don't want to be afraid of this lunatic.”

"We can clear all but essential personnel, and up your security.”

“Derek and Spencer will stay here with you.”

“Okay.”

The team getting Y/n ready for the Met have set up, Y/n just finished getting hair and makeup done in just her underwear and a robe. Spencer walks up to Y/n while she’s opening a greenhouse ginger shot to drink.

“I’m sorry if I was insensitive earlier.” Spencer says, referring to when he followed her outside of the questioning room and told her there was a possibility this stalker/assassin guy will kill her, just a tad insensitive.

But nonetheless Y/n responds with, “It’s fine, you were just doing your job, right?” “Yeah.” Y/n takes her ginger shot with a look of remorse on her face. She reaches for the soda in Spencer’s hand, to wash it down.

“You don’t mind sharing with me do you?” Spencer quickly shakes his head mumbling a quick ‘no’ while Y/n’s team calls her to get into the dress, Y/n takes off the robe she was wearing, causing Spencer’s eyes to widen, then throwing the robe over a nearby chair. Now standing in just her underwear she smiles at Spencer before walking over to the team helping her get into the dress.

Leaving Spencer to watch her as she subtly sways her hips slightly more than usual when she walks. Spencer takes a sip of the soda Y/n had handed back after taking a sip, Derek coming over to tease Spencer about the scene he just watched.

“You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?” “Shut up.” Spencer says as he walks away. “Go get ‘em, lover.”

Y/n didn’t get to stay at the Met nearly as long as she wished. With double the security and Spencer there with her, she knew she wouldn’t have the night she was hoping for, but maybe something close.

But as she danced with Tom Hiddleston, Spencer got the call to take her to the safe house. Spencer didn’t really want to interrupt Y/n dancing on who he assumes is another famous person, but he had to, for her safety.

“Um- Y- Y/n we have to go.” Spencer says while struggling to gain her attention.

“Really?” “Yeah..” “Okay” she sighs, turning to Tom, mumbling an apology and some fake excuse.

They got to Y/n's home. Spencer rambling about safety measures Y/n should take. “You should also probably change all your phone numbers.” “I’m unlisted.” “Anytime you call an 800 number or an 888 number your phone number’s put into a data bank that’s then sold to telemarketers. If someone gets your cell phone number they can go online and research all your records.”

Y/n looks at Spencer expecting him to continue, but when he doesn’t she assumes he’s done, and gets up to walk into her kitchen, saying as she gets up, “You’re very cute when you ramble.” Causing Spencer to freeze but when she turns the corner out of his sight he rushes to keep up with her.

“You should also probably carry a piece of paper and a pen with you wherever you go in case you see any suspicious licence plates that often reappear.” Spence trails of looking closely at a collage hung up on Y/n’s wall

“It’s a photographic collage. I like how obscure it is.”

“You should also get a dog. Like a guard dog of some sort.” Spencer says, staring intently at the collage but not acknowledging what Y/n said about it.

“I don’t think so, I'm a cat person. Dogs are not for me… Earl grey good?”

“Wha- what?”

“Tea, do you want some tea?”

“Uh yes, yes sure.”

“Okay” Y/n says smiling at his nervousness.

Y/n walks into the living room, in her swimsuit with a robe overtop, coming to stand next to Spencer while he stares intently at the picture collage on Y/n’s wall.

“Are you feeling anything?” “There is something definitely appealing about it.” “That’s a start” Y/n says while chuckling.

Turning on her heels towards the back door to the pool. This catches Spencer’s actions wondering what she's doing, he asks, “What are you doing?” “Going for a swim.” Y/n responds nonchalantly. “What? No, Y/N!” Spencer yells following her, but before he can reach her she dives into the pool.

Swimming up to the surface and wiping her face with her hands. She looks so gorgeous, she looks like a movie star, which is not far off. But Spencer really shouldn’t be thinking about how beautiful she is when he’s job is to keep her safe, and her being out here is not safe.

“Y/n, you cannot do this.” “Just a few minutes?” She ‘asks’ while giving Spencer puppy dog eyes. “Go get a suite in the house.” “What? No, I’m not going to grab a suit. Are you kidding me? No.” Spencer says in that high pitched tone he does, she’s only heard it once before, but she can’t help but find it so cute.

“Join me.” “No, I’m going to join you.” “Why not?” “You’re being pursued by a psychotic killer who shoots people in the head!” “I’m not going to stop living my life because of him.” Y/n turns to float in the water. “Y/n, I’m begging you. Will you please get out of the pool?”

“Come on, Spence, you should live a little.” “Live a little? I’ve not known you for 24 hours, I feel like I’ve already aged 10 years.” “Ugh, I can’t be that bad.” “Yes, you are that bad.” Y/n turns off of her back and starts to swim to the edge of the pool Spencer is standing at.

“Fine, but can you help me out at least?” She says putting on an innocent face as if she really did want help out of the pool. When Spencer leans down to grab her hand to help her up, Y/n pulls him into the pool causing a big splash following after Spencer falls in.

Which then causes a laugh to come from Y/n as Spencer rises to the water's surface.

“Yes, very funny. Laugh it up, Y/n. Hilarious. My gun’s wet. That’s just great” Spencer swims to the edge to get his gun out of the water, Y/n swimming behind him, still chuckling.

“My clothes.” “I told you to grab a suit.”

While Spencer looks down at his wet chest, Y/n’s hand comes to rest on his peck, causing Spencer to look up at Y/n. When he looks at her, she is already looking in his eyes, her eyes asking the question ‘do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?’ the answer being ‘yes’ as Spencer starts to lean in. Not knowing what he’s doing, leaning in to kiss Y/n L/n global superstar? Who does he think he is, thinking she would want to kiss him? But contrary to Spencer's beliefs, Y/N leans in too, pulling his body closer to hers faster by his tie. As their lips collide, it feels as if the world slows down. For the first time in a long time Y/n feels normal, regular, ordinary, in the best possible way. She feels in the way Spencer's lips are moving against hers that he doesn’t want her for her fame, or looks, but for her. Just her. But then Spencer pulls away. It had only been a couple seconds, how could a kiss that short hold that much emotion? Spencer’s words stop her from thinking too much.

“This is completely inappropriate.” “Spence..” Y/n looks into Spencer's eyes only looking away when she closes them and pulls him into another kiss, by his tie. This kiss, still sweet and emotion filled, yet rougher, as if they had gotten that much more comfortable now versus 15 seconds ago. Their lips move together roughly, Y/n tongue brushing Spencer’s lips looking for access, which causes Spencer to move his lips back from Y/n’s again. “No, there’s this thing called transference.” Spencer says, all the while Y/n is trying to recover from the best kiss of her life, and Spencer has no idea. “Do you not like me?” “What?” Spencer says quickly like him not liking her, and is just the most insane idea in the world, and truthfully that’s not far off. “Was that kiss not good?” “No- no it was very good.” “Because I like you.” “I like you too. It’s just I’m a federal agent. You know. And I’m supposed to protect you.” “Then you should keep me close.” Y/n mumbles moving her lips to Spencers again. Spencer pulls back to start talking again, as Y/N’s kisses move to his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin every so often, the first nibble causing Spencer to let out a surprised noise that quickly turns into a moan. “I’m just, hmm.. I’m a little worried, you know? We’re in a pool.” “Are we?” “And it’s uh.. We’re pretty much exposed.” Y/n moves to give Spencer's lips a quick peck, before responding to his concerns. “We have cops. We have cops posted out front.” Y/n cuts herself off to kiss Spencer again, “There are coyotes out back.” Y/n pauses looking at Spencer’s lips, while licking her own, then shooting her eyes up to Spencer’s “And then it’s just you and me.” Y/n moves her lips to be hovering over Spencer’s their noses rubbing against each other, it feels much more intimate than just kissing him, breathing in the after shave and cologne mixed with chlorine soaked into his skin is a smell Y/n would never get sick of, no matter how much she hated the smell of chlorine. She moves her lips back to the spot she found on his neck that makes him the most reactive. “Stop- I have to tell you something.” “What?” “I didn’t want to tell you this before, because I was a little bit worried… I didn’t know how to say it, but I can’t not tell you.” “Spence, just tell me. What is it?” “Your manager, Joe… Hotch went to check on him, but he got there too late.” Y/n looks into Spencer’s eyes any ounce of a look that would tell her he wasn’t serious. Because Joe couldn’t be dead. Not because of her, Joe was like family, no matter how weird he was. Joe was always there. Y/n turns away not being able to look at Spencer, “How could you-” She turns back to him, looking Spencer in the eyes as she aks, “How could you not tell me?” “I was afraid you’d be upset.” “You knew? How could you know and not tell me?” “Y/n, I’m so sorry” Y/n moves towards the edge of the pool to pull herself out, Spencer trying to help her. “Don’t- Don’ touch me! Please, don’t touch me!” Y/n gets out walking back into the house with a towel around herself, leaving Spencer in the pool.

Spencer walks into Y/n’s living room, seeing her sitting on her couch crying, he wants to comfort her. Just don't know how. “Y/n?...Are you still… Are you okay?” “Joe was like family.” Hearing Y/n cry hurts Spencer more than he thought possible from a girl he met not even 24 hours ago. “It’s just so hard to trust people in this industry, you don’t know who to believe.Everybody wants something from you. And I felt- I thought you were different.” “I know I should have told you.” “I told him not to.” Rossi cuts in having heard most of the conversation from behind Spencer. “He was only following my orders.” Rossi pats Spencer's shoulder while leaving the room. “The last time I could really trust people was when I moved to Nashville.” Y/n says, all the while Spencer is decoding the picture collage on Y/n’s wall. “Nashville, you said you lived you Houston street? And you were on KZ fm in high school?..” “Yeah..?” When Y/n sees the way Spencer is intensely staring at the collage she also gets up, to stand next to him. “I need to take this thing about.” Spencer says while not looking away. “What?” “I’ll put it back. I think I see images of you. Guys!”

Y/n stands to the side with Derek while Spencer and Emily are putting the pieces together. “Y/n, it looks like someone has been stalking you for years.”

“Yeah, this tells your whole life story. Awards, Billboard charts, Albums.”

“Everything since moving to Nashville.”

“Who gave you this collage?” Derek asked, leaning over the island counter. “Um- he did” Y/N says pointing at a picture on the collage. “Who is he?” “Uh- Parker Dunley, I don’t really know him, he just owns a gallery I go to sometimes.”

Spencer gets off the phone quickly turning to Y/N. “Y/N, do you someone by the name of Veronica Hartley?” “Roni? Yeah, of course I know her. I’ve known her for years. She’s one of my assistants.” Their conversation gets cut off by Y/n’s phone ringing. “What is it?” Spencer asks, seeing the way her eyes widened when she read the caller ID.

“That’s her calling now.”

“Is she calling from her cell phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Y/n, we think Roni’s the stalker.”

“No- No way.”

“Answer the phone. Act completely natural, the longer you keep her on the line the more likely we’ll be able to trace the call.. Trust me.” Spencer walks away to call the team, while Y/n answers Roni’s call.

“Hello?…Roni?...” Spencer turns to Y/N and gives her a signal to keep talking.

“Rons?... You’re tired?......I saw you today?.... I don’t know what you’re talking about.. I remember.. Roni, that was just one weekend…”

“Y/n” Spencer whisper yells, after getting off the phone with Penny, finding out Roni’s calling inside the house.

“How did she get inside?”

“She has keys.”

Spencer starts searching the house Y/n walking behind him. When they get up to a guest bedroom, Y/n feels the barrel of a gun being pressed to her skull, Spencer quickly turns around.

“Put down the gun.” Roni demands. “Roni..” Spencer says while lowering his gun. “Don’t call me ‘Roni” you don’t know me! Come on, Y/n, let’s go. We have to go, baby. Come on.” Y/n looks in Spencer’s eyes begging him to do something. “Roni, don’t hurt her. You don’t need to hurt her.” “You don’t know anything. I would never hurt her. I created her" "No you didn’t.” “Yes, I did you stupid, ungrateful, little bitch.. I can’t believe I ever loved you.” “Roni, she.. She loves me now.” Roni moves her gun from pointing it at Y/n’s head to pointing it at Spencer. “She told me so. When we were in the pool. She kissed me. Now she loves me okay?” “No.” “Tell her we kissed in the pool.” “No!’ Roni yells this time switching from pointing her gun from Spencer to Y/n. Y/n looks at Spencer hopefully to tell her the next move, when he nods his head at her she says, “Yes, we kissed.” Roni then pushes Y/n, and Spencer tackles Roni to the ground, grabbing her gun, and pointing it at her. “Kill me! Please. Kill me! I’ll be so much happier!” But Spencer shakes his head, lowering the gun as he says, “No, we’re going to get you some help.”

Y/n is standing in the station talking to her publicist, while news vans are lined up outside.

“I don’t want any media.” “Come on, Y/n” “No. No media.” “Okay, no media. Let me deal with these guys then.”

After Y/n’s publicist leaves, Spencer walks up to Y/n. “I wish we didn’t meet under these circumstances. More normal maybe.” “Y/n, believe me, no matter how we met, I’m glad we did.” Y/n feels her whole body, warm at that, she turns her head, knowing Spencer can see the blush on her face. They’re interrupted when Derek yells for Spencer. “Hey, Reid. Come on, we got to move.” “Well, um- here, take this.” Y/n passes Spencer a receipt she had written her new number on. “Would you- if it’s okay with you, give me a call.” “Yeah, I would love to.” Rossi comes walking over. “I hate to intrude, kid, but we’re waiting.” “Yeah- yeah a second.” “So- call me, I’ll be waiting.” Y/n turns to walk away, but Spencer puts a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Y/n turns towards Spencer, he puts his hand on her check, Y/n leaning into his palm, turning her head slightly to press a small kiss into his palm, before walking away.

#spencer reid x singer!reader #spencer reid x famous!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer #reid

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voxmortuus · 10 months

Note

I have a very specific DARKFIC request for you with a pretty serious trigger warning.

Tangerine and non-con with a virgin fem reader. Eventually the reader starts to enjoy it as the scene caries out. Bonus points for pet name use and a splash of breeding kink.

✧*̥˚ PAIRING: *̥˚✧ Dark!Tangerine x F!Reader ✧*̥˚ UNIVERSE: *̥˚✧ Bullet Train ✧*̥˚ WORD COUNT: *̥˚✧ 2.6k ✧*̥˚ TRIGGER WARNINGS: *̥˚✧Dead Dove Do Not Eat | Virgin Reader | Rough Intercourse | Hitting | Spitting | Choking | Hair Pulling | Bleeding | Degradation | slamming readers into bathroom wall | Pressing readers head against the wall | Taking it from behind | NON-CONSENSUAL UNPROTECTED INTERCOURSE | Eventual consent with reader enjoying the scene | Mention of Cock warming | Eager to please Reader | Pet name | Breeding Kink | Cream Pie | PLEASE TELL ME IF I FORGOT ANYTHING!!! I want to make sure readers are fully aware of what they are getting themselves into when they read this… ✧*̥˚ DISCLAIMER: *̥˚✧ DO NOT ROMANTICISE OR GLAMORIZE SERIAL KILLERS OR RAPE! I do not condone these actions, nor do I support them! This was written upon request. Do NOT send me hate mail, you will be blocked, do not post on this with any sort of negativity you will be blocked. If you don’t like it don’t read it it’s that simple!!! If you ever encounter this in real life please contact the Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline. Please understand this is a fanfiction, think of it like Hollywood. Also, I’m sorry if this is horrible….. ✧*̥˚ NOTES: *̥˚✧ I hope this finds you well, I hope this hits all the right notes with you. ✧*̥˚ IMAGE & DIVIDER CREDIT: *̥˚✧ @nyxvuxoa ✧*̥˚ My Master Masterlist | Aaron Taylor-Johnson Masterlist *̥˚✧

It's like his nose was a hound dog for that virgin blood. Watching you sit there on the train in an empty car you were reading your most current favorite book The Terminal List by Jack Carr, with your earbuds in listening to the latest song you were hooked on by Ice Nine Kills. You were minding your own business when this man dressed sharply sits across from you. Looking up you give him a polite smile and went back to your book.

After a brief observation of the man sitting across from you, you noticed he had blood on his shirt, but you didn't think much of it. Sure alarming, but it was what it was, especially these days. Licking your lips, you turn the page. You feel these eyes on you. You glance up and sure enough, he's looking at you like you were some delicious snack. You give a slightly tense smile and look back down at your book.

You start to feel uncomfortable; your heart is racing; your mind is focused less on the book and music and more on this strange man sitting across from you staring you down. You lick your lips once more before you gather your small backpack and excuse yourself. You feel him watching you, but you don't look back, you just keep going.

Upon excusing yourself, you head toward the bathroom. Closing yourself in there you try and calm your nerves. You look over yourself in the mirror and shake yourself a bit and let out a slow breath. You plan to go back out after a few more moments and move to a different car.

After fixing your makeup, you finally get your nerves calm enough to return to the car. Opening the bathroom door, you walk right into his chest, and you stumble a moment.

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry." You say softly.

He didn't say anything. He gripped your throat and moved you back into the bathroom closing the door and locking it.

"Excuse me... no. Let me out." You state firmly.

"Babydoll, you need to be relax and be polite." He smirks.

"You need to fuck off... no." You state trying to push past him.

He pushed you back against the wall and shook his head and licked at his lips. "I don't think so Babydoll."

"I'm not you're Babydoll, and you need to back off." You state firmly, but it appears he's not listening.

You try and push him off you but his strength wasn't letting that happen. His hand starts to roam your body.

"What the fuck! Stop it!" you snap.

"You need to shut up." He states as he slams you against the wall.

Turning you around he reaches around and slips his hand under your shirt groping you. He lets out a soft groan against your neck. You begin to panic and pushing back but he keeps you in place with his forearm.

"Stop... please stop." You plead.

He hears you, but he doesn't listen, and he moves from your chest to slipping his hand into your leggings and realizes you're not wearing any panties and he smirks.

"Such an easy little slut you are huh?" He muses.

"Please don't do this." you beg. Your eyes well with tears. Closing your eyes tears drop.

"Oh come on now Babydoll, I love when they cry..." He purrs into your ear as he starts to massage your bud.

You begin to panic, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind running miles a minute. You try and choke back tears, but you feel like you can't breathe, and you try and fight him off but he's just keeping you there.

Closing your eyes you let out a soft breath and you attempt to push yourself away again, trying to escape from it all, your mind races, your heart pounds, your eyes crying.

"Please, please don't do this. I'm begging you. I'll give you whatever you want, but please stop." You plead.

"Oh Babydoll, you're going to give me exactly what I want." He smirked as he pressed himself against you.

Was he hard? Oh geez... oh no, yes, yes he was and then you knew your fate. He slips your leggings down as he presses your head against the wall. Your breathing quickens. You had no idea what to expect, you were saving yourself for the right person, the right moment, and here he was getting ready to rob you of that, to take it all away from you.

Thoughts ran through your head. Why you? Why now? Why this? What did you do to deserve this? Why won't he listen? All these on repeat, and it wouldn't stop. Why won't he stop? Why is he doing this?!

Trying to find your words to plead you turn around to try and push him but he is quick to slap you across the face and it causes your lip to bleed. You whimper a moment, and you try and fight back but he again, slams you against the bathroom wall. With a hand around your throat he spins you back around and slams you against the wall again.

"God damn it Babydoll, be a good girl." He snarls into your ear.

Moving from your neck to your hair he grips a hand full of your hair and moves you so he can position himself, but you fight. He snarls again before he says fuck it, and shoves his hard cock between your virgin lips and rips your innocence from you in one swift thrust.

You scream, in pain, the snapping, the hot pinch of pain, the searing hot rush hits you and you take in a jagged breath.

"No... no no no! Stop! PLEASE!" you plead but there is no stopping.

You try and fight him, but with him pinning you against the wall you can't escape him. His thrusts become quick, they become hard, and they hurt. His growling his snarling, his grunts and groans fill the bathroom and all you want is to be let go, return to your seat, read your book, listen to your music, that of which was now on the floor from the fighting. Your ear buds letting the music escape from them freely while you're being held hostage against this bathroom wall.

You begin to cry, hard, but this only seems to fuel him even more. Why was this happening right now. You begin to breathe heavily in panic. Your chest moving rapidly with each thrust, it wasn't out of enjoyment, it was out of panic, and anger, and aggression. He tilts your head back and your mouth opens only for him to spit in your mouth. You growl and spit back but he slams your head against the bathroom wall as his thrusts become harder.

You try and find your happy spot, but it wasn't working, everything was becoming too much. You couldn't get your mind to focus. So you focus on what's around you. The buttons for the toilet, the scent of the bathroom, the scent of him, the scent of blood... wait, blood? Oh, yeah... blood... that happens in moments like this. And then you feel angry again. This hot rush of anger hits you and you start to fight again.

"LET ME GO!" You start to fight again. Trying to push him away. But with the angle he's got you at makes it difficult.

"Babydoll, shut up." He growls. "You can fight all you want, you're giving me nothing but a harder cock." He smirks.

You growl and try and fight but that wasn't happening. His thrusts were hard, rigid, painful, your hips felt like they couldn't withstand the thrusts. You take in a jagged breath, you clench your jaw and you try and jerk your head with his hand in your hair and he only slams your head against the wall again.

You feel this daze hit you, one too many slams against the wall, you feel this tingling in your nose as he starts to thrust a little slower. Was he taking his time? You close your eyes trying to find that happy place, but all you can feel and see and focus on was his face, and how he felt stretching your virgin cunt. You clench your jaw breathing out of your nose.

You didn't want to think about it. You didn't want to feel this, you wanted this bubbling feeling to go away. You clenched your jaw and attempted to think of something else. The harder he thrust, the slower he took, the more your mind focused on the way it felt, how his cock felt slipping in and out just enough to tease the length. You actually felt yourself getting wet and you clench your walls around him. Not out of pleasure, but out of hopes of stopping yourself of getting wet, you didn't like it, you didn't want it.

You wanted to save it... but there was no saving anything. You hated him, you were angry with him, you hated him, you wanted to kill him... to rip his heart out and eat it with a side of french fries. You sniffle as you try and regain yourself and pushing back against him he shoves you forward again, his thrusts deep, slow, almost teasingly slow. What was he doing? Oh no, no he knew what he was doing. He wanted you to cave, but you weren't going to. You didn't want to.

This wasn't a game, this was a fight, and you wanted him to stop, taking all the stops but you weren't able to move, you felt this sense of defeat, accepting what it was. You just stood there, as he used you.

"That's it Babydoll... acceptance. You're tight little cunt feels so good... that tight little cunt belongs to me now. It's now molded for my cock. I'll be keeping you close Babydoll, use you whenever I want." He purred against your ear with a slight snarl.

You had no words, but why were they doing something to you, why were they making you feel conflicted. Why were you liking this? Your breathing picked up. You bite your lip a little harder.

"I'm going to breed you, fill you every day. Use you like the little slut fleshlight you are." He mused.

Okay now that did something. You whimper softly. Biting your lip, your hips spread a bit as you arch back a bit taking in more of him. He doesn't say anything in this moment, you just take his cock, focusing back on the feel of it, focusing on the way it fit inside you just right. Focusing on how it made you feel, you feel yourself loosen up around him, feeling yourself getting wetter.

"You...you... want to breed me?" You ask with an almost timid voice.

"I'm going to breed the fuck out of you Babydoll. You like that?" He asked.

You think a moment and nod. "Are you going to fill me up?" You ask.

He laughs with a slight groan. "Whenever I want." He purrs against your ear again.

You focus on the things around you, and you realize the title of the next song. Dirty Thoughts by Chloe Adams. You bite your lip and you let out a soft whimper, feeling how long he was, how wide he was, how he stretched you, you think about his words, how he wanted to use you, how he breathed, how he wanted to breed you. Your breathing picks up a little more.

It went from you hating this moment, to you starting to enjoy this moment.

"I want you to use me... to breed me... to fill me up..." You admit.

The thought of it, dripping his seed from your cunt was something that actually really turned you on. Biting your bloodied bruised lip you let out a soft moan as you spread your legs a little more letting him slip deeper and you press your ass toward him letting him take even more.

"That's it Babydoll, take more of my cock." He growled as he started to thrust upward into you.

You gaps feeling him slip fulling into you, feeling him hit right to the base of his shaft.

"You're so big... you feel.... you feel..." you don't want to say it.

"I feel what Babydoll?" He asked.

"You feel good... I like how you fill up my virgin pussy." You state. Where was this smut coming from? Where was this seeping from? Must have been all the fanfiction you were reading before coming on this train. "Please... fuck me a little slower... I want to feel all of you." You plead.

He blinked a few times and smirked. "My pleasure Babydoll." He mused.

Slowing his thrusts, you think a moment and you reach down to slip your pants off your leg.

"I want to face you.... please... I want you to face me and fuck me." You plead.

He smirks and pulls from you. This moment you could run, but you slip the pantleg off and place your hands on his shoulders and he lifts you and presses you against the wall, noticing the bruising on the side of your face, the blood from your lip, he leans forward and licks at your chin and sucks on your lip as he slips his cock back inside your slightly bleeding wet drippy cunt.

You let out a soft moan against his lips as you wrap your legs around his waist and feel him thrust deeper within your walls. They begin to message him.

You rest your head against the wall behind you. Your hands move from his shoulders to play at the hairline at his neck. As he bounces you against his cock your bud is rubbing against him and the sensation is overwhelming. You let out a loud moan. Feeling yourself getting wetter you close your eyes as they roll back. You whimper and moan rather loudly.

"That's it Babydoll, enjoy yourself." He smirks.

"Oh fuck... oh fuck... breed me... fuckin hell breed me. Pump me full." You moan loudly.

He looks over you and tilts his head and smirks as he picks up his pace, thrusting faster, harder, deeper. You feel yourself getting close. You clench your jaw as you drop your head against his shoulder. Your breathing quickens, he begins to pick up his pace a little more, his breathing, his moans quicken as he pumps into you.

"FUCK!" you scream as your body begins to shake.

Never experiencing pleasure like this, you were going to quickly get addicted. He slams you down on his cock.

"Fill me! FILL MY CUNT! BREED ME!" you scream.

He chuckles. "An eager Babydoll you are... I'm going to enjoy filling you up everyday." he smirked as he gave a few more slams and lets out a heavy groan.

Your body shook as you just let everything go. Your whole body just releases and takes his hot ribbons of breeding seed. You scream with a finish as he continues to pump his load into you.

You grip at his hair a moment, your breathing erratic, your mind calm and quiet, your body tingling, sore, and euphoric. Everything felt good and sore at the same time.

"Fuck..." You pant. You look over him. "Do you have a name?" You ask him.

"Sir works just fine, Babydoll." He smirks.

You tilt your head and smirk. "Does this mean I'm all yours now?" You ask.

He looks at you and smirks. "With a mouth like that, damn fuckin straight it does Babydoll." He states with confidence.

"Can we do this again soon?" You ask.

"Are you going to fight me next time?" he asked.

"No... but maybe I can make you hard and I can sit on it while we wait for the next stop?" You ask.

"Cock warming may be a little too advanced for you." he smirked.

"And this wasn't? I'll warm your cock, and you can fill me up again." You smirk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging: @earth-elemental18 @nyxvuxoa-writes

405 notes · View notes

tightjeansjavi · 2 months

Text

tea party

A/N: after writing chamomile last night and talking with @morallyinept, I realized that I needed to then write Dieter inviting you over to his place for a tea party date! 🥺 p.s. as a fellow midwesterner, we talk about the weather a lot and therefore I decided to poke some fun at us 🤣 and thank you to @itsokbbygrl for betaing 💗

~word count: 2.8k~

Summary: after meeting Dieter Bravo on the Raya app, he invites you over to his house for a tea party date

Pairing | dieter bravo x f!reader

Warnings: general, fluff, language, mentions of ouid, first date jitters and anxiety, overall soft vibes, reader has no physical descriptions, given the nature of my account, everything I write is +18 minors dni!

“Hey, have you ever heard of Dieter Bravo?” You asked your friend over coffee one morning at the BeachWood cafe in the Hollywood Hills.

“Oh! He’s that actor from Cliff Beasts! The last one was a total train wreck. I heard he’s trying to reinvent himself these days.” She took a sip of her latte, leaning back against the chair.

“Oh? Well, he swiped right on Raya. Do you think I should swipe back? He seems kinda…” you paused, tapping your finger against your chin, “prissy?”

She laughed and shook her head with a small smile. “I heard he’s a total diva, but I think he’s rather handsome in an unconventional, scruffy, almost endearing way?”

You pulled your phone out of your purse and opened up the Raya app, tapping a couple times till you pulled up Dieters profile.

Dieter is awaiting your response.

“I like the heart patches in his beard.” You said with a soft giggle and swiped right on his profile.

You and Dieter have matched!

You have one new message from Dieter Bravo

Hey! 😚 How do you feel about tea, and tea parties?

Well, at least he’s not starting off with an unsolicited dick pic!

Hey! Nice to meet you, Dieter. I love tea! I’ve actually never been to a proper tea party however :/

Dieter Bravo is typing…

Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, how rude of me to not introduce myself! Sorry, I’m not very experienced with this whole online dating bullshit. Anyway, you’ve never been to a proper tea party?! My dear, you’re missing out! 😝

It’s okay! Honestly, who cares for the formalities anyway? They remind me of small talk, and if there’s one thing that I loathe most in this world, it’s insignificant small talk. 🙄 anyway, I am sorry to say that I have yet to attend a tea party!

Dieter Bravo is typing…

Fucking thank you! Do you know how many times I’ve had to talk about the fucking weather?? It’s California! It’s always hot, and yes, we have smog. Do you want to attend a tea party with me?

Apparently the weather is the only thing that midwesterns talk about! Can you believe that? Although it might just be a rumor, I’ve heard it enough times to believe it. Anyway, I’d love to attend a tea party with you ☺️

He grins down at his phone, pinching his plush lower lip between his left thumb and forefinger. He feels giddy, like a kid in a candy shop. The last time he went on Raya he had the driest conversation with a new and upcoming influencer. What the dick do, Bravo? ;)

What happened to saying hello first?? 🙄

So…that didn’t turn you on? I thought you fucked everything and anything with two legs, lol.

Not today I don’t.

He deleted the app shortly after that and vowed to never download it again. Well, like most of his ‘promises’, that didn’t last very long. And then he stumbled upon your profile, and he thought you were precious; like dewdrops on blades of grass, or the inside of a geode. He knows he’s a bit weird, but your smile is pretty, and he would love to see it in person.

Great! I’ll send you my address and then we can pick a day that works for you! How’s that sound? :)

His house?

Oh, the tea party is at your house? What if you’re a serial killer? Aren’t there like NDA’s that I would have to sign?

He chuffs a laughs at this.

Well, what if you’re a serial killer? Can never be too careful these days! NDA’s? For a tea party? honey, you’re adorable, and should probably lay off on watching reality TV 😉

Shit! You got me there LOL. Already going and foiling my plans?! How dare you! Who said anything about me watching reality TV? ;) I just genuinely assumed that everything needs an NDA.

Jinkies! We got ‘em, scoob! 😆 good question on the whole NDA thing, sweetheart. I guess technically you should sign one, but fuck it! Let’s be rule breakers. Whad’ya think about that?

Oh, he’s charming. A little dorky, but sweet.

I say yes to us being rulebreakers! So, what is the attire for this said tea party? I want to make sure I show up fully prepared and dressed for the event! :)

Dieter Bravo is typing…

Oh, attire? Hmm. I say that you should wear whatever you feel prettiest in, and I’ll do the same! Also, I meant to tell you this earlier in our initial conversation, but you’re gorgeous. xx.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you read over his message a few times till it’s positively ingrained in your brain like a tattoo.

Perfect! And you aren’t too bad yourself, Dieter ;)

He hearts your message before disappearing for a total of 30 minutes due to his agent calling him back regarding a role that he had recently auditioned for.

Hey! Sorry for my radio silence, gumdrop (I can’t just pick one nickname for you, I apologize!) I had to take a call. Anyway, here’s my address and number because this stupid fucking app won’t let me send you this gif that I think you’ll like!

Yes, Dieter Bravo is certainly very charming.

Dieter is an erratic texter and he tends to jump around from conversation to conversation. You don’t seem to mind however, because thus far, there hasn’t been a single dull moment in your conversation. You find yourself stupidly smiling at your phone two days before you’re set to finally meet for this tea party. He sent you a selfie while he was out to lunch wearing his signature black rimmed sunglasses. You could tell from the picture alone that he was trying to take a candid shot of himself without making it too obvious.

What a fucking goober.

Hey! Are we still on for Friday? :)

Absolutely! I can’t wait!

When Friday rolls around finally, that’s when the first date jitters come knocking at your door. Dieter told you to wear something that you feel the prettiest in, so you went with a mid length floral dress that had a sweetheart neckline for just the appropriate dip of cleavage. The dress was flirty and fun, and it was that exact energy that you wanted to embody.

Before driving over to Dieter’s you stopped at Trader Joe’s to purchase a bouquet of fresh tulips and a box of lemon frosted cookies.

All morning Dieter had been scrambling in his house to set up for the tea party date. He was a bit of a perfectionist when it came to first dates, and this was no exception. Maybe, however, he should have held off on smoking a bowl. Oh well, too late now.

The weather broadcast did not call for an overcast sky till late in the afternoon, and yet, it was fucking cloudy!

Of course it was.

He moved the tea party set up to his sunroom instead, and by the time he had finally finished setting everything to his standards, you had sent him a text saying you were on the way.

Time to smoke another bowl before I literally shit a fucking brick on the goddamn floor!

Dieter’s home is tucked away in the Hollywood Hills, and when you pulled up to his front gate, you were expecting him to live inside some massive mansion like his neighbors, but Dieter’s home was the opposite. It was actually quite charming from what you could see.

He buzzed you in moments later while he frantically checked his appearance in the hall mirror.

Maybe I should have shaved? God, no. I look awful with no beard. He thinks.

He leans in close to the mirror, his nose nearly bumping into it as he nitpicked his features with a huff.

Maybe I should have gotten a haircut. He cards his fingers through his soft curls before finally deciding that he looks decent.

The first thing you notice about Dieter Bravo is his attire. Well, lack thereof. Compared to your pretty floral dress, Dieter was wearing nothing but a pair of gray boxer briefs, a tawny, sherpa robe, black crocs with socks and the same sunglasses he was wearing the other day.

“Well, don’t you look lovely!” He chirps enthusiastically and remembers to take his hands out of his pockets and wipes his sweaty palms along the outside of his robe. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, gumdrop!”

If it were any other man…you probably would have hightailed it back to your car and blocked his number. But Dieter wasn’t like most men that you had talked to. He was a bit of a misfit, but so were you. And that’s the main reason why you weren’t turned away by his attire.

“Hey! You should have told me that the dress code was casual, Dieter!” You jokingly said with a light laugh. “Had I known, I would have shown up in my lounge wear too! Oh, and these are for you. I hope you like tulips!” You nearly thrust the bouquet of tulips and box of lemon cookies into his awaiting hands.

“Flowers? For me? D'aww. You shouldn’t have! Honey, I told ya to wear what you feel prettiest in!” He stifled a chuckle, “and I feel my prettiest in my favorite robe and crocs.”

“Of course they’re for you! I couldn’t just show up here empty handed, Dieter.” You couldn’t help but giggle along with him. “Well, I like your crocs. I think they suit you nicely.”

He blushes under your compliment before taking a whiff from the bouquet, closing his eyes momentarily as he inhales the tulips sweet scent. “Thank you, gumdrop. I love your dress. Looks like it was made just for ya!” He sets the flowers and box of cookies on the nearest surface. “Shall we get this tea party started, my dear?” He rubs his palms along his robe once more.

It’s comforting knowing that he’s just as nervous as you are just based on his gestures.

He offers you his elbow then like the true trash panda gentleman than he is. You wrap your hand around his bicep, holding it gently as he leads you further into his home.

“Originally I had a plan to set everything up outside, but of course the weatherman was fucking wrong, again! So, I hope you’re alright with it being in the sunroom?” He looks over at you expectantly.

“Oh, yeah. The overcast wasn’t expected, but I’m alright with it being set up in the sunroom.” You reassure him with a gentle smile.

“Great!” He clears his throat, “So, I have just about any flavor of tea that your pretty head could imagine. Is there a favorite that you have?” He was this close to engaging in small talk with you, but then he remembered just how much you loathed it.

“You’re an avid tea collector then? Is this a recent hobby or something that you’ve been doing for awhile? And if I had to pick just one flavor, I’d go with vanilla rooibos.”

“A recent hobby. I uh—well,” he stammers, “I’m trying to reinvent myself and develop some healthier habits. I read that drinking certain herbal teas has a lot of health benefits, and then I recently got into thrifting and found the most adorable porcelain tea set!”

You catch the little twinkle in his eyes when he tells you about his porcelain tea set, and it’s adorable. You’re not used to men being so open about their personal hobbies and the things that make them happy. Dieter is truly like a breath of fresh air.

“Hey, I’m all for self-improvement no matter how big or small. Drinking tea does have a lot of health benefits, but I also find it’s just really relaxing, y’know? I love thrifting! You never know what treasures you’re going to find.”

He grins, shaking his head to the side as he bites down on the inside of his cheek. He forgets how nice it is to just have a real conversation with someone.

Maybe I shouldn’t have smoked a bowl before this. Does she know how high I am right now? I hope not.

“Oh, yes, it’s very relaxing.” He nods in agreement and you find yourself standing outside of two French style doors leading into the sunroom. “If my schedule allowed for it, I would go thrifting more.”

With your hand still clasped around his bicep, he pushes open the doors with his freehand and you’re met with the quantiest little setup in the middle of the room. A table in the middle, covered in a light pink tablecloth with two chairs on either side.

In the center of the table is the porcelain teapot Dieter was gushing over moments ago, and two matching porcelain cups. He even set up a little vase of flowers and a candle as well to really set the mood.

“I have a confession to make.” He suddenly says as he pulls out the chair for you.

“Oh? What might that be?”

“This is my first time hosting a tea party.” He lets out a sigh. “So I apologize in advance if it’s not what you’re expecting. I mean, I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to agree to this in the first place. I’m a bit—well, eccentric? I’ve just grown tired of the usual crowd I’ve hung out with, and I wanna—I wanna make some real connections.” He confesses.

“Well, that makes you and I both newbies then, huh? Dieter, I think we’re all a bit eccentric in our own ways. Honestly, I was just shocked that you didn’t send me an unsolicited dick pic right off the bat because for some fucking reason guys seem to think that’s what women, well, anyone for that matter want to see?”

“Wait, is that what people really do on those apps is send unsolicited dick pics? Fuck. Look, I’m a bit of a whore myself, but I always ask first before sending a dick pic.”

Ah, yes. Dieter Bravo is making sure that chivalry is alive and well, folks!

“Unfortunately that is what people do and then I am forced to go about my day knowing what some random man’s cock looks like! No one wants that visual in their head when they’re at work or out grocery shopping.”

Maybe one day she’ll wanna see my—

He pushes your chair into the table gently and takes the seat across from you, and while pulling his chair in, he bumps the table with his knees, cursing under his breath when the vase of flowers nearly topples over. You’re quick to re-steady it and he whispers a quiet, “thank you.”

Dieter is an enthusiastic storyteller and you're fascinated by his ability to talk so animatedly and with so much passion. Your assumptions lead you to believe that it’s only because he’s an actor, but there’s more to the story. You see a little boy who had big dreams growing up. A boy who was dorky, awkward, and reserved till he got up on stage and his true personality came out. He was a one of a kind enigma. The type of character that you would have to read over a dozen times in order to truly understand who he was.

And when you detected his stuttering and that familiar nervous twitch in his eye, you reached your hand across the expanse of the table and found his hand, entwining your fingers together in a soothing gesture.

Your eyes met and he finally released the breath that he had been holding.

Hope I’m not blowing this entire thing down the shitter already.

“Shall we—umm, have some tea now? Before it gets too cold?” He suggests.

“That would be lovely, Dieter.”

He squeezes your hand gently before reluctantly releasing it from his grasp so that he can hold the teapot steady in his palms.

“You remind me of a frog.” You said out of the blue as he began to carefully pour the tea into the porcelain cup.

“..A what?” He sounds confused and a little surprised.

“Like a tree frog. They’re cute, and well, a little weird, like you.” You tease.

“You think I'm weird?" He chuckles.

"Yeah, but in a really good way."

Neither of you noticed that the tea was dangerously close to spilling over the side of the cup.

"Oh. Well uh…that’s good! I like being weird, and freaky. And creepy. Well, not creepy like a stalker, but creepy like—"

"Dieter?"

"Hmm?"

"The tea!" You exclaim and he finally looks down to see that the cup has completely overflowed with tea dripping down the sides and all over the porcelain saucer.

“Oh, good fucking golly!” He huffs while you sit there in a fit of soft giggles. This may be the quirkiest first date you’ve ever been on, but you wouldn’t change a thing. And for the first time in a long time, you’re excited at the prospect of spending more time with this eccentric man.

banners made by the lovely @saradika 💗

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications

#fic: tea party #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #the bubble fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo imagine

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festering-obsession · 2 years

Text

CREEPYPASTA DRABBLES

CW: Serial Killers, Yandere Content, (Forced) Established Relationships, Self-Esteem Issues, Hollywood-ized Disorders, Descriptions of Blood and General Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Some Implied Bits But It Doesn't Go Far, May Be Ooc?, All characters and reader is 18 and above

A/N: I wrote some HC's of these fellas in like the prime of quarantine era. Nostalgia hit so these are losely connected to those HC's.

Jeff The Killer:

The bed is cold and hard surrounded by four dark walls. From your spot on the bed, you can see the glimmer of the pale moonlight that reflects off the steel bars in the windowsill.

The mansion is relatively quiet at night, as it's the time most it's inhabitants are out for their nightly sprees, Jeff included. This is the only time you get some amount of free time to yourself, but you rather sleep the entire time so you can properly deal with Jeff when he gets back. Tossing and turning doesn't help the ounce of anxiety that lays in the bottom of your stomach. What were you scared of? The door is locked to keep you safe from the others, even though they know not to even try, and you dont have to worry about Jeff breathing over your neck as you try to rest.

Wait, were you scared for him?

No, no, no. You are not going to get yourself flustered over how your captor may get a fucking bruise while he's out slaughtering. He'll be fine, and you shouldn't give a shit about him.

One sheep, two sheep, three sheep...Anything to get your mind to stop from racing. And your eyes finally feel heavy as previous nights with little hours of sleep finally push you to slumber. The bed dips, and you're unaware of what time it is. Then a cool, splatter of something hits your check.

You crack open an eye and see Jeff hovered over you, his beloved knife is nowhere to be seen and his hands are gripping his jeans tightly. His sullen blue eyes stare into your figure, and there's blood covering his hoodie, with some splashed on his face.

"Jeff, why are you..." You begin and you see him snap out of it.

"I can stare at you if I fucking want to. Your ass was kidnapped for a reason." He snaps out.

"I never said you couldn't, did I?" You say leaning up and seeing the newly soaked blood-red sheets. Shit, you'll have to wash that out later.

"Stay being a smartass and your blood will get on me next." Jeff threatens. You flinch slightly, but you grab the edge of the bedsheet and raise it up to Jeff. He looks at you puzzingly before you wipe the blood off of him on one cheek before leaning in for a quick peck on the cheek. If it wasn't for what happened next, you could have sworn you saw his cheek grow pink.

Jeff grabs you by the hips towards him and presses his lips onto yours so fast you yelped. His hands moved over your body feverishly, and you could barely keep up with his movements due to the grogginess from just waking up.

Almost too quick, he pulls away as he askes in a hushed voiced. "Why, why did you never even contact me when I left that hospital?" He grits his teeth. "I thought we had something, but you, you changed. Do you even like me? Or is this all some bullshit act and-" You gripped his face and pushed yourself onto him. Your hands felt wet with blood, but you rather deal with that then his outburst.

Your lips connected to his.

The first time you initiated a kiss with him. If he was still a schoolboy, he would have been giggling and kicking his feet in happiness. But that was years ago, and he wants more.

Apart of you wants to think you're doing this to surivive, but another part of you is enjoying this.

You lean back for just a moment, parting from his permanent-smile. "You know how much I care about you, I was just scared of change."

Jeff moves you closer onto his lap, his arms around yours pulled as close as possible. "You know I'll follow you anywhere. If you even leave the room, I'll be there. You try to leave the mansion, I'll be there. Even in death, you will still find me, so don't even fucking try."

And Jeffery consumes you entirely again.

Slenderman:

The clock ticks in the background softly as you sit stiffly on the sofa. The normal red velvet plush would feel soothing, but as your heartbeat hammers faster, it feels like it's pricking into your skin. You don't even dare to move an inch as you could feel the proxies staring at you.

You can see Hoodie, his red eyes downcast as you look up to him, nervously fumbling his yellow strings of his jacket. His legs stay crossed on the floor of the room. Toby passes the room, from bookshelf to the window, nervously scratching down on his arms through the sleeves. You can fairly hear him repeated whisper "Oh, n-no, no, no, no..."

But Jeff, he sits on the couch right across from yours, his glare is intimidating and piercing. Despite him being far from you, you could feel his knife being edged closer to your neck. Move even an inch, and your neck is slit bleeding on the ground.

Masky comes back in his face, or mask, devoid of any emotion. "I was able to reach him. Boss should be back any moment now." Masky goes to look out the window.

"F-Fuck, we fucked up! No, n-no, what do you think he'll do to us? We just had to watch them and we me-messed that up!" Toby stutters, his scratching more feverous and you can see the seams of his jacket rip open.

"For someone SO paranoid, you forgot to check the locks to Slender's room!" Jeff gets up with a quickness, his knife pointed at Toby.

"Y-You shouldn't have dumped all responsibility onto me, ha-have you thought of that?!"

"Do you even think, you fucking cunt?" Jeff laughs. "I mean, can you even get a sentence out right?"

Toby goes to launch at him, axes drawn but Hoodie pulls him back.

You screech and jump back, knocking the couch over in the process. Your head gets hit on the wooden floor as you hear hushed voices. What once was chaotic, went eerily still.

You feel inky black tendrils climb over your body, and the distance from you and the floor grows.

Despite being slightly dizzy, you can feel yourself pressed against a silky smooth tuxedo. You can hear a cluster of voices, all speaking and tumbling over eachother as they rush to speak. A deep voice, almost static booms from the rest, finally bringing you back to your senses.

A pure white hand grabs the side of your face, lifting up slightly to gase at a blank slate. "As long as they remain unharmed, make sure this does not happen again. Do your best to make sure there's no more escape attempts." Slenderman speaks again. "

"What if some other creature got to them before you or I could?" He grows tense, and the air fills with static. "You all would be dead where you stand."

That fucking static, the one that warningly rung through your ears before being kidnapped. The proxies react by gripping their hands tight and gritting their teeth, trying to endure. Not you. Fuck that. Your head that was once soothingly placed against his silk tux ripped away from him as you pushed yourself away from his body. You collapsed to the floor before clambering away from Slenderman, one hand pushing yourself up while the other was grasping the side of your head.

You ran for the door unsteadily shifting side to side as your hand reached out for the knob. Inky tendrils wrapped around your legs up to your thighs before being pulled up, but not hitting the ground. The static came to a halt.

"Leave us be." Slenderman had you gripped into his arms once more as he started at the still shaken killers. "I said, NOW." His mouth unlatched, ropes of white were the last bits holding it together.

One by one, they left in a hurry, Hoodie running down a hall, Masky hurrying to the basement, and Jeff jumping through a window.

Slenderman sat down on the couch with you tucked into his arms, grazing your cheek with a pure white hand. "I wish to not harm you, little one, but you can not attempt these stunts." His head leans against yours and even though he has no eyes, you can still feel them gaze into your eyes.

"I just, believe, that I was getting cabin fever. Could you please take me out? It could just be us both."

"Well, that may be sooner than we both think. You see, I was able to contact a man who is an excellent artist. I wish to have a portrait of us together to hang in the hallway." He lifts and hand and brings it to his "mouth" for a mock kiss.

A doll for him, that's what you feel like. "Sounds lovely." And you force a smile at him.

Ticci Toby:

He was shaking hard in your grasp. The ripped magazine is torn to shreds with an axe dead center in it, that poor model in the front didn't know what was coming. All you can do is hug him tight as he sobs into your shoulder.

"Why w-were you looking at him..Does he have some-something I don't..?!" Toby stutters out as he grips hard into your ribs.

"Toby, no, I was looking at the recipe catalogue." You combed your fingers through his brown hair.

"Sure, I be-bet you think I'm ugly, and you wo-would rather be with someone normal." He pushes you off of him and grabs his other hatch, slamming it down on the already ruined magazine. You see the splinters rise with each hit of his axe, and you're almost at a lost for words.

There's a bigger hole beginning to form, but you're too scared that if you try to stop him, that axe will be going in you. You're able to usually help ground him, but now, you're scared. You scoot back from him, and you can't help but let frustrated droplets go down your face.

What could you even do to make him stop? The hacking stops and Toby turns to you. Despite his goggles, you can see a cascade of tears beneath them.

You shake but open your arms to beckon him to you. He wastes not a second, almost tripping on his feet as his weapons drop and he clings himself back on you.

You nudge the backstrap of his goggles off as he arms remain firmly planted on the sides of your body. You slowly and gently place quick kisses on his eyelids. Your fingers gently hook on his mask and tug them down. Both items fall to the ground with a tiny thud.

But Toby doesn't seem to mind in the moment. You press more kisses on his face now with the extra room.

"Toby, it's okay. I'm here. I'll always be here for you, okay?" You hug him so tightly but he melts.

"Do you re-really want me?" Toby numbly says. You slowly press him back to clearly look at him. His brown eyes scan over you, quickly growing anxious at the delayed answer.

You smile and kiss him. "Yes, more than anything." You use your sleeve to wipe off the tear stains and kiss them clean.

"I get it, magazines make me insecure too, but they got nothing on you." You cup his cheek and smooth over his scar.

"Why would they ma-make YOU insecure? You're p-perfect." Toby firmly states while leaning into your touch.

"I'll fucking kill those models for you if you ask." Toby stares at you, genuine and sure in his tone.

"No, no, lets just clean ourselves up, yeah?" You stand up, but his arms still try to hold on before dropping down. His brown eyes still gazing up at your figure.

You walk to the connected bathroom and turn on the shower. Thank whatever entity Slenderman was to know that even if they're his serial Killers, some of them were human (mostly) and needed basic hygiene.

You let it run as you help Toby up and his face grows warm. "Together..?"

"We won't do anything you don't want to do." You smile and take off your clothes.

"I'll be in the shower when you're ready." The water was warm enough and it wasn't long before you felt Toby behind you, slightly shaking.

"Can you ju-just hold me please?" He asks, the water droplets hitting his pale body and flattening his brown curls.

The steam in the bathroom filters out the cracks and fogging the mirrors. Your body sits on the floor of the shower with him, your body pressed to his back, holding him as close as possible so he doesn't break into another outburst.

For once it feels like, Toby's mind feels clear as he snuggles back into your body.

...

~Cole.

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x darling #monster boyfriend #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta imagines #yandere scenarios #slenderman x reader #ticci toby x reader #jeff the killer x reader #yanderecore #monster x reader

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at-tensionseeker · 1 year

Text

No Is A Full Sentence

Elizabeth Olsen x Y/N

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, social anxiety, panic attacks

Genre: Fluff, Funny (i think, based on my humor lol)

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44250676

This fanfic is inspired by Lizzie's Sam Jones' interview. I hope you enjoy!

It’s your first time going to this sushi place that one of your friends recommended. It isn’t far from your apartment, but you did have to walk for about ten minutes to get there. You wouldn’t have been if you weren’t craving those salmon nigiri take outs that your friend Jan brought to your apartment last week during your regularly scheduled movie nights. Instead, here you are standing in the back of the restaurant’s long ass line that reached their storefront because of so many people trying to buy their own food.

You put your hands in your coat’s pockets, just a failed attempt of trying to warm them. The memory of your gloves flashes in your eyes and the regret of not bringing them with you makes you want to kick yourself.

The December breeze in New York is definitely a killer. When you first moved in two years ago, you couldn’t even go outside for a full month without getting sick. The climate was new to you, especially having lived in sunny, warm weather all your life. It became a habit to buy long coats, jackets, winter gloves, and even earmuffs just so you don’t get hypothermia in the long run. Soon enough, you adjusted to the temperatures and learned how to adjust both your apartment’s and car’s heating system to help you during the winter season. It was fun.

The line moves slowly. Whatever the reason for that is, you really don’t know. Besides, you tell yourself, that you’re already in line and people behind you have come up so if you leave now you’ll just wake up in the middle of the night with those damn nigiris flooding your mind. So, you decided to stay.

You tip your toes to see if the people in front of you have moved since the last ten minutes you were there, but the sight of a short blonde hair and green eyes that met yours as she turns around for a split second stops you from breathing.

You’ve seen that face before. Multiple times.

In movies, in that Disney+ show, interviews, edits. You know it’s her.

You’ve been following her journey since her first appearance in Avengers Age of Ultron and has been on the ride up until her most recent successful film, Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. You weren’t a die-hard Marvel fan before and even now you wouldn’t dare to call yourself one, but you quickly found yourself latched on to the franchise ever since you saw her. There aren’t any posters in your room, and you certainly haven’t gone to any Comic-cons, but you loved how she portrayed such a powerful character and has been fascinated by her ever since.

Elizabeth Olsen is standing in line in front of you in the middle of the cold New York weather, her frame clad in black faux fur coat and beanie on top of her head that really barely covers her blonde hair.

You suddenly couldn’t breathe. The air is getting colder and thinner for your liking, and you fear you’ll pass out before you could even say hi to her. There’s sweat forming on your palms and you know you can feel it, but you’re also a little confused since you’re pretty sure normal people don’t sweat in the cold. You brush it profusely against the material of your coat just to get it off or to calm your nerves. That one you’re still debating on.

The line moves briefly and then stops, and you think to yourself that if you could just muster any amount of courage, you’d say hi to her. Maybe get a photo with her even.

Should you say hi to her? What will you tell her? Do you tap her first on the shoulder so she can look back at you? Or is that rude?

The line moves again and you curse inwardly. It was barely moving five minutes ago, and now that you see a Hollywood Star in front of you it suddenly budges?

How infuriatingly unlucky of you.

From what you’ve seen, Elizabeth seems nice to her fans during fan meets and interviews so you know she’s not rude. That’s one of the reasons why you fell in love with her personality.

But this isn’t a Comic-con, is it? This isn’t some staged interview wherein you get a free backstage pass to meet your idol, no. This is literally outside of the restaurant in the middle of a busy New York street and she’s just trying to grab some food just like everyone else.

You’re still conflicted, even when the both of you finally reach inside. There’s probably about 4 to 5 people in front of you now, and you’re not even thinking about the sushi at this point anymore. Your hands still shake and sweat no matter how many times you wipe it off, and your heart beats faster than normal when you realize you’re both going to part ways sooner than you like it. It gets even harder to convince yourself to just go for it because when will another opportunity like this be presented to you in the future? Chances are lower than zero itself. A negative number if you think of it.

So when the customer in front of her finally reaches the counter, your shaky hands poke her slightly on her left shoulder.

Nothing.

Okay, maybe a little harder?

You poke her again, and she whips her head back to you. Her brows furrowed at the sight of you and they raise up in question. It’s hard not to look like a fool in front of a famous person, isn’t it? You probably look like a deer in headlights, but you quickly found your voice after a few blinks.

“Uh- h-hi,” you stammer. “Are you- is it okay if- I’m a huge fan of your work. Is it okay if I ask for a photo?”

You’re pretty sure she didn’t hear that. You barely let out a whisper, or is that blood that’s rushing through your ears?

Realization dawns on her face on what you mean. She shakes her head.

“No.”

There is a breaking sound somewhere. You’re not entirely sure if it’s one of the waiters who accidentally breaks some glass or if it is the sound of your heart breaking. You freeze in your place, embarrassed and hurt, but mostly embarrassed because of the dumb decision you made. Instead of letting that get to you, you give her a smile and nod to let her know that you get it.

“Forgive me,” you blurt out, still smiling at her to hide the tears burning in the back of your eyes. “I understand, of course. You’re not obliged to. I’m really-“ you pause to swallow the lump in your throat. It’s just really embarrassing. “I’m really glad to have seen you in person.”

Elizabeth only looks at you and gives you a warm smile and that eases out a little bit of your anxiety of probably offending her at some point. The customer in front of her left, you notice, so you usher her forward. She gives you one last smile and orders her food.

Few of the things you didn’t notice though. Her eyes are red and a little bit swollen, probably from crying and when she ordered her food, her hands are clasped together with fingers rubbing each other to ease her anxiety. Of course you would have, had you not been too busy cursing yourself at your stupidity.

Elizabeth grabs her takeout, gives you one last look and exits the restaurant.

You take the sushi you’re not craving anymore and replays the encounter as you go your way home. You can’t believe that the first celebrity you’ll meet in New York is the one person you adore. It was surreal, to say the least, and despite the rocky meeting with Elizabeth Olsen you are still happy to have seen her smile and look at you directly in person.

You swear to God you’ll attend the next Comic-con.

Sending the news to Jan, who doesn’t believe you therefore requested that you call him as soon as you arrive, you quickly pocket your phone and sprint your way outside of the busier streets of New York. You reach the more calm and quiet area where your apartment is and begin to walk slowly.

The unfortunate encounter with Elizabeth Olsen has been the only thing that’s replaying in your mind so when you spot a crouched figure with faux fur coat and beanie once again, you couldn’t help but squeak.

You almost tripped on her actually. She’s just by the sidewalk, both of her hands are covering her ears and her eyes are tightly closed. There’s a frown and a thin line of sweat on her face and you didn’t think twice before fully sitting down in front of her to check.

“Hey,” you prod slowly. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone?”

Flashes of hands clasped together back at the restaurant flood your brain and it didn’t take you another minute to realize that she’s currently having a panic attack.

“Uhm… Elizabeth- Lizzie? Can I call you that? I’ll call you that, okay?” You stammer. “I’m here to help you. Can you breathe slowly please?”

Elizabeth does as you tell her. You continue to tell her to breathe and that everything is fine around you. “It’s scary, I know. But it will pass, okay? You need to be in the present, Lizzie. Just listen to my voice. I’ll be right here and you’re not alone.”

Albeit her eyes are still shut, her breathing sounds less worse than before. And when she finally looks up to you, you see the green eyes you have admired for a long time swimming in pain and anxiety. It makes you want to pull her for a hug since she may need one, but you obviously don’t want to overstep your boundaries even if that means comforting her to help.

“Concentrate on my breathing,” you nod at her to encourage her to copy the rhythm you set for her. “That’s it. You’re doing really good, Lizzie.”

Eventually after what seems like hours of doing breathing exercises with her capped with a lot of reassuring words, the hands cupping her ears drop down to her lap and are slowly rubbing her palms in another attempt to calm herself. You slowly stand up from the ground and hold out a hand for her to take.

“Are you okay now? Can you stand?” You offer. She takes it and stands up rather wobbly.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I feel better.”

“Right,” you smile at her. Noticing that you’re still holding her also glove-less hand, your cheeks flush as you pull it back while taking two steps backwards. You don’t want to overcrowd her after having an anxiety attack.

“Um so, are you from around here? I could walk you to your place if you want,” you tell her, not really wanting to risk letting her go alone after an episode. You know how it feels to be trapped by anxiety like that, and to break down in public places without backup is definitely one of the worst experiences ever.

“I’m not trying to stalk you or something,” you clarify after not getting an answer from her. “I’m Y/N. I live there in that building,” you point towards your apartment. “If you want, I can jog really quickly and get my car and I can drive you home. Or not, of course I don’t want to overstep. I understand completely.

“It’s just, I don’t want you to go on your own after experiencing that,” you add. “I know how it feels and I honestly just want to help you.”

Elizabeth contemplates for a moment and answers. “That’s very kind of you, Y/N. But, I think I need to decline the offer. Being in this business, I’m not a very trusting person-“

“Of course,” you cut her off quickly. “I understand, Ms. Olsen.”

“However,” she smiles a little bit at your rambling once again. “Can I please borrow your phone? Mine died down and I need to call my sister so she can pick me up from here. And I guess don’t mind the company while waiting?”

You quickly fish out your phone and hand it over to her. You also ignore the amused chuckle from her as soon as she sees your lock screen is that of Wanda Maximoff.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“The phone’s locked. Do you want to type in your password?” She smiles, the look of amusement still twinkling in her eyes. You don’t mind though. You’d prefer her teasing eyes over the sad ones you witnessed a while ago.

“Oh, okay. Here let me just,” you move forward to type in 0216 in your phone and the blush creeps back in your face once again when you feel her eyes watching you.

Elizabeth calls one of her twin sisters. Apparently, they’re here in New York for a fashion event and Elizabeth thought it’d be nice to come with them. While waiting for one of the Olsen twins, you both sat on one of the stairs and talked for a bit.

“I want to say that I’m sorry for refusing to take a photo a while ago,” she looks at you a little apologetically. Her posture seems calmer now and you’re really glad that she’s doing better every passing minute. “I was out on my own, and a few people have recognized me on the streets and I was just trying to have a nice time for myself.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” you reply. “I wasn’t lying when I said I completely understand and that you’re not obliged to. I'm just glad to meet you.

“I should be the one to apologize,” you bite your lip nervously. It didn’t cross your mind that you could’ve been the trigger to her already bubbling up anxiety but hearing her say that crowds have already recognized her, you asking for a photo was the last straw. “I was contemplating whether or not to ask you and I did, but I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

The actress waves it off. “No, honestly you were the most polite one. You were just the first and only person I said ‘no’ to who didn’t insist on getting a photo, and that set me off. Others just didn’t care and they still took their flashing phones out and pointed it at me.”

“One thing I learned from you is that ‘no is a full sentence’ so,” you acknowledge with a smile, distinctly remembering that one interview of hers with Sam Jones.

“Yes, exactly,” she laughs.

“We can take a photo now if you want to?” The actress offers after a moment of silence. “You helped me through a tough time. It’s one of the ways I can repay you.”

“It’s okay, really. You don’t have to repay me or anything. Kindness is free,” you reply, to which her small smile widens a lot more. “You’ve had a long day. I’m just the stranger who wants to help a fellow anxiety sufferer,” you joke to which she laughs lightly.

“At this point you’re not a stranger anymore,” Elizabeth says, her fingers still fiddling with each other. “I know your name is Y/N, and where you live,” she points to your building to prove it. “Those two plus the fact that your wallpaper is Wanda and your passcode is my birthday.”

She smirks at you, clearly enjoying the way your cheeks flush for the nth time that day. “Okay, you win. Yes, I’m your fan and all that. You can make fun of me now.”

“Don’t be like that,” Elizabeth laughs at your silly eye roll but waves it off. “I’m always honored to meet my fans.”

A black car pulls up from out of nowhere and Elizabeth stands up to leave. “This was really great. Minus the anxiety part,” she turns back to you and flashes that award winning smile yet again. “I’m grateful that it was you who found me cowering in the streets, Y/N. I’m hoping to see you again some other time when neither of us is either breaking down or a complete and total stranger,” you note the hopeful tone in her voice, and that makes you wonder if there’s another universe out there wherein she’ll still remember you after tonight because you’re pretty sure she wouldn’t.

If you’re lucky, this might be that universe but who knows?

“I’m glad you’re safe,” you smile at her. “See you around, Ms. Olsen.”

“That is such a formal way to address me,” She calls out, opening the door to the front seat.

“Elizabeth, then?” You suggest to which she grimaces.

“Just Lizzie is fine. I distinctly remember you calling me that a while ago during… you know,” she trails off. “And only my mom calls me by my full name and that only happens when I’m in trouble.”

“Okay, Lizzie,” you chuckle. Waving a hand up to a goodbye, the car finally speeds off to the opposite direction of your apartment. You let out a sigh and smile at the events as you walk back home.

Even when you are in bed, the memory of her voice and her smile makes you giddy. This definitely goes on the top of your list of most memorable things that have happened to you while staying in New York. You still couldn’t believe your chances. Granted your first meeting was terrible in all ways, Elizabeth was nothing short of amazing to you. You really aren’t wrong to follow her throughout her career because of her personality. The personal encounter made you want to support her more in the future.

The morning after that, the wild array of flowers on your doorstep have kind of taken you by surprise. To add to that, you see the simple note on one of the bouquets that says

“To my biggest fan,

Thank you.

Love,

Wanda Maximoff”

and your heart melts at the sentiment.

You aren’t expecting yourself to be at the receiving end of this, but it’s definitely not unwanted. It most definitely isn’t, especially when you check your phone and see a text from an unknown number asking whether or not you got the package.

You replied to Elizabeth, saving her number under “Lizzie” with a huge grin on your face. She must’ve gotten the number from her sister when she borrowed your phone to call her. Who would’ve thought that asking for a photo with Elizabeth Olsen and getting rejected will lead you to this?

Y/N: Are you my stalker now? Did our roles change?

Lizzie: Ha-ha. Very funny. I just want to say thank you again for yesterday.

Y/N: And you already have. The flowers are unnecessary.

Lizzie: Did you not like them?

Y/N: I love them. They’re beautiful, Lizzie. Thank you.

Lizzie: Would you say, they’re beautiful enough for us to talk about them over coffee?

You almost choke on the bread you made for breakfast this morning. That is definitely upfront and honest. You convince yourself that it’s probably just another way to thank you for the good deed yesterday, but there’s also a teeny tiny voice in your head saying she’s asking you out.

But why would she, right?

Deciding to not listen to any of your demons, you turn your attention back to her text. Upon rereading the text she sent for the third time now, it’s dawning on you that you’ve yet to reply. Elizabeth follows that up with another text and it makes you feel really silly because of how much your cheeks ache from smiling.

Lizzie: Maybe about Wanda also? If you want?

Lizzie: Or… anxiety issues?

Y/N: You already have me on board with coffee. Wanda talk, too. The anxiety issues, I think we should both stick to our therapists.

Lizzie: I can’t say I don’t agree on the last one.

Lizzie: So, I’ll pick you up tomorrow then? 3PM?

Y/N: Works for me, Lizzie.

Y/N: Or I can pick you up instead. I wouldn’t mind.

Lizzie: It’s okay, Y/N. Besides, I know where you live. *winky face*

You laugh at that one. She should definitely be a star of another comedy film. Elizabeth is funny by nature even though there are countless interviews of her saying that she’s not.

Y/N: Of course you’ll throw that.

Y/N: I feel unsafe now. This is unfair. I feel like I should also know where you live.

Lizzie: You will.

Lizzie: On the second date.

Lizzie: When you take me home.

Elizabeth leaves no room for questions. Your demons shut their mouths when you read that it most definitely will be a date. You want to play it cool, like coyly and shy, but what’s more to hide? She already knows you’re a fan, so you stick to that and pray that maybe… someday maybe, who knows, right? You’ll like each other.

Y/N: You’re smooth, Olsen. Got two dates in one day.

Lizzie: I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.

Y/N: Can’t wait.

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

You’re late. And you forgot your gloves again.

It’s another cold, almost snowy day in New York city. You love living here despite the busy times and countless people just trying to go through with their respective lives. It’s loud and lively and you used to hate that but there’s nowhere else you’d rather be but here.

You check your bag for the passes, but the memory of the glossy paper beside your gloves on your messy bed makes you internally groan. The first time you attend a Comic-con, and you leave your backstage passes. How else are you going to meet her?

Cursing inwardly, you send her a text to let her know of your situation even though you know that the event started an hour ago and she won’t see it because she’s definitely not holding her phone in the middle of answering questions. You blame your boss for sending that last minute spreadsheet, but this is your idea right? You have to suffer the consequences.

Being in line isn’t something foreign to you. In fact, it’s so familiar that you chuckle as kids, teens, and grown ups join you from the entrance. The line is moving rapidly as most people with passes (which could have been you if you weren’t so careless) have already gone inside. When you enter the place, it’s no surprise to see it packed as the recent MCU film has made tabloids and charts because of its success. You easily spot her even though you’re rows away from the front line. She’s sitting in the middle with her face scrunched up in annoyance and teeth biting her lower lip so hard you swear she wants to draw blood.

You grimace as you helplessly stand in the back with no way to even come forward to be close to her. The situation is laughable, but the frown on Elizabeth’s forehead is enough to make you worry and act fast. You find a spot with a lot of light so you move towards that, passing a lot of people in the process, with the hopes of her green eyes spotting you even for a distance.

It’s effective apparently, because she spots you at the same time a question is asked towards her. The frown eases, she scrunches up her nose adorably towards you and you nod back both in confirmation and reassurance that you made it there, and she lets out a full on grin you know is solely reserved for you. The interviewer interrupts and you laugh at her confused state.

“Elizabeth? The question?” The interviewer supplies.

“Right! I’m so sorry,” she laughs gleefully, head thrown back and hand covering her mouth and you’ve seen that look a thousand times before but it still gives you the same butterfly effect in your stomach. “I- uh. I saw my wife in the crowd and I got distracted. I’m sorry. What was the question again?”

“How romantic!” the interviewer swoons. “Everyone, that’s Elizabeth’s wife Y/N. Can we say hello to her?”

Your face turns red as people look at your direction and send cheers and hoots. You wave back to the fans shyly, stealing another glance at your wife on the stage as you do so. Standing in front of the light definitely has some good and bad results. You can’t believe she did that in front of everybody, but you’re not one to complain. Her PA also runs from the front to you upon hearing this and she ushers you through security. You chuckle as they bring you in, blowing Elizabeth a kiss before you disappear backstage.

“Hey,” your wife greets you after the event is finished. She skips towards your direction and plants a chaste kiss on your lips to which you happily sigh into. “I was worried you weren’t here.”

“Forgive me, my love,” you apologize while engulfing her in a hug. “You know commuting in New York is insane.”

“I repeatedly told you to get your license so we can buy you a new car.”

You smile at the worry in her voice. “I like it when you drive us to places you’re familiar with, Ms. Stuyvesant Street. And the boss left me with some last minute work.”

She pulls back to look at you. “And what were you doing in the back? Didn’t I leave the passes in our apartment?”

“I left them,” you sheepishly reply. Elizabeth narrows her eyes at you and shakes her head.

“And your gloves too. Am I right, my love?”

The cheeky smile you gave her is enough to confirm her suspicions. “I was really late and I wanted to see you as soon as I could. I miss you this morning.”

“Charming,” she laughs and rummages through her bag for something. Curious as you are, you lean forward to look at it. “Here.”

She hands you a pair of gloves.

“I keep one in case you forget yours during winter,” she grins, proud of what she did. “And I was right.”

You want to wipe off that cocky smirk off of her lips. There are a lot of people around you but she did announce you to everyone, so really what else is stopping you? After she said goodbye to everyone, you pull her hand so she moves closer to your side.

Elizabeth lets out a squeal when you grab both of her waist. You smell her perfume that invades your nostrils and your head swims at the fact that there’s nothing better than having her close again. She’s everywhere and the background fades away like a cliche movie scene, but you don’t care about any of those. She’s here in front of you and you’re incredibly happy to know that she loves you as much as you love her.

“I love you,” you whisper against her mouth.

“I love you, too.”

It’s insane how one kiss from her makes you feel giddy. And that’s saying something after being married to her for a year now.

“You need to wear the gloves, my love,” she chuckles when both of you pull away. Elizabeth leads you to the back exit that leads to the parking lot. The breeze picks up a little bit and snowflakes fall on your heads, but your face is still hot from kissing her.

“Why do I need the gloves when I could just hold your hand and let you warm me up?” You bob your eyebrows at her and kiss her temple as the both of you walk towards her car.

You’re lucky. There’s no doubt about that now. Being with such an incredible woman who supports you in everything that you do and loves you through it all is a bliss. You couldn’t have asked for more.

“And they say I’m the romantic one.”

#elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen x reader #y/n #elizabeth olsen x y/n #fluff #lizzie x y/n #lizzie x you #elizabeth olsen x you #funny #new york city setting #fanfiction #fanfic #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wandanat #scarletwidow #marvel cinematic universe

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 15: Drive] [Series Finale]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, violence, character deaths.

Word count: 7.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi @bornbetter @flowerpotmage @thewitch-lives @tempt-ress @padfooteyes @teenagecriminalmastermind @chelsey01 @anditsmywholeheart @heliosscribbles @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @tillyt04 @cicaspair418 @fan-goddess

A/N: This is the fic I almost never wrote because I didn’t think anyone would be interested in some random, angsty, 1990s, Alaskan, crime-thriller AU. Thank you for proving me wrong. I hope you enjoy the ending. 💜

Almost everything about your existence is pure chance; it’s the most freeing and horrifying truth imaginable. There’s the genetic lottery and corporate downsizing, revolutions and hurricanes, plagues, asteroids, famines, faulty airplanes and malignant blooms of cells and drunk drivers. There are 100 billion planets in this galaxy and your atoms ended up on the one called Earth. After all that, do you really think what you want matters? So make all the choices you like, all the nail-biting deliberations and promises and vows, weigh costs and benefits, do research, roll dice, ask astrologers and palm readers, start over every New Year because that’s something we tell ourselves is possible. The fact that you exist at all is one big cosmic coin flip. If you think you’re the one driving, you’re dead fucking wrong. You’re the speck of dust on a windshield, the spin of a roulette wheel. You’re a flash of silver in the universe’s pinball machine.

I spend a lot of my time thinking about chance, okay? My family is one of the wealthiest in the Western Hemisphere, and I didn’t do anything to earn that. I was born first, and I definitely didn’t do anything to earn that, Jesus Christ, what a chromosomal fuckup. I inherited an affliction that others get to live without. I can’t imagine what it feels like to wake up and not be horrified by myself, my shortcomings, my failures: too small, too stupid, too wild, too weak. And the first time someone says something like that to you, you want to apologize, you want to drop to your knees and cling to them and beg for absolution, maybe even the first hundred times, the first thousand. And then it just starts to piss you off. Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it all before, why would you expect anything different? Isn’t this getting old, Mom? Maybe you’re the stupid one, Dad, if you think you could cut me and anything but disappointments would fall out. I’m not horrified by the fact that I’m an addict. The horror came first. The horror is what led to all the rest of it.

One day when I was in 10th Grade—I was slumped way down in my chair and drinking vodka out of an Evian water bottle—my American History teacher, purely by chance, assigned me to make a poster about Juneau, Alaska. Some other kid got Los Angeles (Hollywood! The Whisky a Go Go!) and another got Chicago (the Mob!) and another got Nashville (Johnny Cash!) and some jock moron I hated got Baltimore (um, crabs? the War of 1812…?), but I got fucking Juneau, Alaska. I thought this was so unjust that I never forgot it, the fact that I had to get up in front of the class with my pathetic Crayolas-and-magazine-cutouts poster and pretend that Juneau was a place that mattered, that microscopic cloud-covered relic of a late-1800s gold mining settlement on the shores of the Gastineau Channel. Juneau was never on my list of cities to run to. It just wasn’t. It didn’t have anything I wanted. But when I started thinking about places where I could really disappear, where no one would ever bother looking, where days are short and dark and incurious and irrelevant…well, that sounds like Juneau, right?

Let me tell you something about the night I left. I’ve been more messed up, yeah, and I’ve hurt people worse, and I’ve been closer to death, I’ve been one more powder-white gram on the scale away from oblivion; but I’ve never felt that fucking low. I can’t decide if I wish I’d never gone to Juneau at all. I can’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse.

My flight is a red-eye with a layover in Ketchikan, American Airlines, bound for Seattle. Sunfyre has the window seat. He’s wearing the bright red Service Dog vest that I once stole for him specifically for such occasions. My dog fly with the cargo? My dog?! Bill Clinton will be elected pope first. Sunfyre is chewing contently on Milk-Bones and watching the sun rise over the Pacific Ocean. He knows the drill. We’ll touchdown and deplane, and then…and then…

And then we’ll start over again somewhere new. I’ll find a flight board and pick a destination; Seattle is a hub, with spokes leading everywhere. I could go south, to Galveston, Lafayette, Biloxi, someplace where it gets hot, someplace where I can sweat her out of me, purge every cell that still remembers what she felt like. I could go west, fading into mountains or cornfields, vapid infinitesimal towns in Montana, Iowa, Idaho, Nebraska. I could go to New England or the Great Lakes or freaking Hawaii, sleep in hammocks, swim with sea turtles, drink my rum and Cokes out of coconut shells. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that nowhere really sounds good to me. My legs are suddenly tired of running. There’s an ache that rattles down to the bone.

I don’t have to tell you that I love her, right? It’s not so easy for me to say. But it’s true, and it’s beautiful, and it’s torture, and it’s a dream. It’s pain that flays you alive and then builds you back again, layers of fresh muscle and tendons and veins growing over ribs and vertebrae like a trellis thick with ivy. It’s not a high. It’s just the best life can get down here on earth. It’s the ocean, it’s the Northern Lights.

I’m swimming in a black hoodie that is three sizes too big; I haven’t slept and I’m pale and raccoon-eyed, looking like death, feeling worse. When the stewardess rolls by with her clattering cart just slim enough to fit through the aisle, I order a cup of water for Sunfyre and a double rum and Coke for myself. It arrives with two blood-red cherries bobbing in a caramel-dark carbonated sea. The guy in the next seat over gives me a judgmental little eyebrow raise.

“That doesn’t look like breakfast,” he says.

I bite off both cherries—juice dribbling down my chin, wiped away with a sleeve—and throw the stems over my shoulder. The lady sitting behind me yelps in disgust. “Because it’s dessert.”

The man smiles and shakes his head, one of those I shouldn’t find it funny but I do sort of looks. I inspire a lot of those. He’s maybe mid-thirties, long hair and ripped jeans, very punk rock, cool as hell. There is a constellation of pins on his denim jacket. One of them has a roman numeral 10 on it, a stark X nestled inside a triangle. Unity, Service, Recovery, the gold letters say. To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s an Alcoholics Anonymous pin. What are the chances?

He catches me staring, and I ask: “Does it really make you a better man?”

“It doesn’t make you better. It just makes you real.” He smiles again, patient and kind. “It makes your emotions and experiences real, your relationships real. And so you become whatever version of yourself you were always supposed to be. But you have to want it. Not your wife, not your parents or your kids, not your pastor, not your friends, not your parole officer. You.”

I speak without knowing what I’m going to say. “I want it.”

“Yes, I think you do.”

He sees a lot, I think, as the plane descends into the grey fogbank of Seattle. 20/20.

When we land, the man squeezes into a cab with me and Sunfyre—he sniffles into a Kleenex for a while before reluctantly admitting that he’s allergic to dogs—and pays the fare. The cab’s worn brakes squeal to a stop outside a residential treatment center on the banks of the Puget Sound. When we step out onto the sidewalk, I ask the man if he’s going to take me to get one last drink first. He laughs in my face. Fucking jerk.

He pulls out a black Sharpie and rummages through his pockets, his wallet. He can’t find a scrap of paper. He writes his phone number on the underside of my arm instead. “You call me, okay?” he says. “Call me when you get out. Call me before you get out, if you need to. I don’t care if it’s in five minutes, I don’t care if it’s at 2 a.m. You just make sure you call.”

“Why would you do this? I mean, you don’t even know me. You have no idea who I am.”

“Because once, years ago, someone did the same thing for me, and someone did it for her too. Maybe one day you’ll be able to pay it forward. I don’t care who you are or where you’ve been. It doesn’t matter to me. I’d like to think that we’re all more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

And then he waits for me to go inside. He doesn’t leave until he watches me check in at reception on the other side of the rain-flecked glass. Outside, a brand new day is beginning. A misty sun rises as pieces of the sky fall.

Sunfyre trots into the lobby alongside me, panting cheerfully, shaking the perpetual Seattle drizzle from his fur. There’s a girl at the front desk, just a girl, and that’s the other thing that’s different now. She’s not a maybe-future-one-of-my-girls. She’s just like anyone else. I already have a girl. I mean, I don’t anymore, not really. But I still do.

I throw my things onto the counter: my single suitcase, my tattered wallet, my bundle of cash held together with rubber bands, my scraped-up electric guitar.

“Checking in?” the girl asks.

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes, I guess.”

She opens my wallet, reads my license, blinks in bewilderment. “Aegon…?”

I sigh dramatically. “It’s Greek.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You dream of him; and when you do, he’s always smiling. He’s reading your palm in an empty Taco Bell, he’s kissing you under the Northern Lights, he’s regaling your parents with stories—of lobster fishing in Portland, of cattle ranching in Denver—all through Thanksgiving dinner, he’s undressing you in his moonlit apartment, he’s climbing into your bed. He’s not angry, he’s not ruined, he’s not running away. He’s exactly as you remember him in his best moments. He’s all chaotic white-blond hair and weightless light, sharp laughter and bright eyes. And each morning there’s a splinter-thin moment before you remember that he’s gone. That’s the worst part, really. You always knew it would be. You can’t even begin to forget him.

Your friends want to help you, but they don’t know how. Neither do your parents. Your dad gets an atlas from the study, throws it down on the dining room table, and opens it to a map of the world. “Pick anyplace and we’ll go there,” he says. “We’ll close the vet clinic for two weeks and we’ll all go.” But you can’t give him a single name: not Athens, or Paris, or Buenos Ares, or Cairo, or New York City, or Rome, or Tokyo, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s the strangest thing. All your life you’ve been waiting to get out of Juneau, but now nowhere sounds good to you. And maybe that’s a lesson you wish you’d never learned: sometimes freedom is less about places than it is about people.

The blood on the equipment recovered from Trent’s apartment matches DNA from the first three victims. He is charged with eight counts of first-degree murder and held awaiting trial in the Lemon Creek Correctional Center. His family visits him faithfully each week. His lawyer is exasperated that he won’t plead guilty and spare his parents the humiliation and expense of a protracted court battle. But Trent’s story never changes: he’s innocent, he’s never killed anybody, he doesn’t understand how the blood could have been found on his belongings. He wants to know exactly what items the police tested; he and his lawyer are still waiting for the prosecutor to turn over all the details during discovery. In the midst of the scandal, the upheaval, you fade into the backdrop like the stars behind fog. People talk around you and through you. They offer gaps that you don’t care enough to fill in. Drinks clink, whispers fly, conspiracies are exchanged between pool shots. You watch the days grow longer and wait for the future to arrive. You don’t know what it will look like, you can’t even begin to fathom it. But surely there must be a future. Life goes on. It did for your mom after Jesse. It will for you too.

A week after Aegon leaves, there is a knock at your parents’ front door. You open it to find Aemond standing there in the muted amber-pink afternoon light. His hair is long and loose, his Armani suit immaculately tailored, his BlackBerry nestled in his right hand. He glances up from it at you and his jaw falls open. And only then do you realize how awful you must look.

You tell Aemond, your voice hushed and heavy, ankles in quick-drying cement: “I don’t know where he is.”

“No, I can see that,” Aemond replies, dull horror in his blue eye. Then he turns around and strides halfway down the driveway towards the street, where a cab idles as it waits for him, engine exhaust pouring into the air like smoke from a firepit.

“How’s your dad?” you call after him when you get your bearings.

He pauses under the dwindling light. “Alive. For now.” And then Aemond considers you for a while. “I suppose if I ever want to find you again, I know where to look.”

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

I’ll always be here.

A month crawls by like a wounded animal, dead leaves snared in the fur of its belly. The flesh on your thigh knits back together. The things that Aegon ordered show up in Juneau, packages left on the front porch and stuffed into the moose-shaped mailbox like Christmas gifts in a stocking. You pack these remnants of him—Zoobooks and cooking accessories, knives and Chia Pets—into a cardboard box and tuck it away in a dusty, cobwebbed corner of the attic, and you’re aware the entire time that this has happened before, almost exactly twenty years ago. When your dad puts a Third Eye Blind or Red Hot Chili Peppers or Oasis album on his record player, you find some excuse to leave the room. When you tack magazine cutouts of beaches and cityscapes to your bedroom walls, all you can think about is where Aegon might be now. You wonder where he works during the day, a surf shop or a construction site or a farm or a fishing boat; you wonder who he spends his nights with.

I’ll always be here. Even if I leave, I’ll always be here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty years ago to the day, almost to the hour, a man fell into the Gastineau Channel and drowned. They found water in his lungs, though the autopsy was only a formality, an afterthought; Jesse had a reputation in Juneau, and no one was particularly surprised to see how his story ended. There were abrasions on his back and shoulders, contusions on his wrists, but so what? He probably tripped half a dozen times before he tumbled over some guardrail and into the frigid black water. There was a bloody mess of an impact wound on the side of his face, but who cares? The blood alcohol concentration doesn’t lie. The man was wasted, and more than that he was a waste. If his premature demise hadn’t been then, it would have been later, in a week or a month or a year. And when someone like that goes, there’s a sigh of relief that accompanies the misery, isn’t there? There’s the sense of a weight being lifted from a scale.

You’re sitting in Ursa Minor at the usual booth, but the bar is practically empty. It’s Valentine’s Day. Joyce is with Rob, Kimmie is with Brad; Heather’s parents have spirited her away on a short vacation to Sitka to try to take their minds off Trent’s imminent lifelong incarceration. Your mom and dad’s February 14th tradition is cooking a homemade Italian dinner together—pasta, bread with herbs and olive oil, caprese salad, tiramisu—and then settling in for a romantic Blockbuster rental. This year, it’s Runaway Bride. Your mom loves Julia Roberts. They didn’t ask for privacy, but you gave it to them anyway. Kimmie offered to drop you off at Ursa Minor and then drive you home after her date with Brad so you could drink away your sorrows without having to worry about calling a ride. So now Kimmie is getting wined, dined, and plied with boxed chocolates at the Red Dog Saloon while you drain appletinis and flip through one of Jesse’s journals, not knowing what you’re looking for.

Dale is washing pint glasses in the sink behind the bar and humming cheerfully along to a Cake CD. It’s just you and him tonight; evidently, Dale doesn’t have a hot date either. It was nice of him to eschew the usual Shania Twain or Sheryl Crow soundtrack. He’s trying to spare you from any crooning love songs. He must have forgotten that Cake has its own little slice of relevance in your memories of Aegon, those memories that refuse to fade, ink in your skin as dark as night.

Your fingerprints trace Jesse’s scrawling, handwritten letters. It’s his very last journal, the last words he ever wrote. His final entry is unremarkable, a lucid recollection of his latest woodcarving project: it’s a family of tiny bears, three of them. He says he wants the cub to have the same slope of your cheeks, the shape of your eyes. And it’s just like your mom said. It really did seem like he was getting better.

You flip to the next page, blank. The heading reads: Thursday, February 14th, 1980.

You go back a few days. And your gaze catches on words that you’ve read before, months ago, back when the journals were a new discovery like striking oil. The entry is from Saturday the 9th. It ends with an unceremonious bullet point of a reminder: dinner w/ Dale on Thursday.

You leaf forward to Thursday, to the blank page that tells you nothing. Back to the 9th, forward to the 14th, again, again. Valentine’s Day 1980, before Dale had married his wife, after your mom had stopped trying to make plans with Jesse, maybe even rebelled against them; just two unromantic, discarded men with a vacant slot in their calendars and troubles to drink into submission. Except that Jesse never came home.

Dinner with Dale, you think dizzily. Dinner with Dale on the night he died.

The opening notes of The Distance shout from the stereo. Everything suddenly feels very loud.

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,

Engines pumping and thumping in time…

What had Aegon said about that song before you sang it together, stomping and staggering across the hardwood floor? It’s not about NASCAR, it’s about a journey!

Outside, it’s a rare clear night in Juneau. The Northern Lights are a kaleidoscopic ribbon against indigo night, the sky a mausoleum of stars. And you remember when Aegon sang Everlong, when he grabbed your hand, led you upstairs to the roof, kissed you for the first time under the ethereal, shimmering curtain of green and purple and blue…before Heather had interrupted to tell you that Dale was closing the bar. He was irritable, he was tired; he wanted to go home.

The arena is empty except for one man,

Still driving and striving as fast as he can…

And then they found a body, didn’t they? Yes, you can remember being in Aegon’s apartment and hearing the police cars zoom by. You remember the red-and-blue flashes on his face. You remember thinking they looked like sapphires and rubies, the ocean and blood.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up

And long ago somebody left with the cup,

But he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns…

Icy claws glide down the length of your spine. Memories play back with a focused clarity that you didn’t have before: Dale groggy and yawning just before they found the fifth victim at Christmas, and again before they found the eighth the same night Trent dragged you—shrieking, bleeding, virtually naked—out of your Jeep. You remember Dale at your parents’ New Year’s Eve party talking about how maybe the killer was an athlete with brain damage from CTE. You remember him offering to give Trent a box of his old equipment from when he was a park ranger. You remember him watching as Trent towered over you here in Ursa Minor with a cue stick clenched in his fist, demanding to know where you had been the night before, Dale’s eyes gleaming with disapproval and fascination and…and…oh god, opportunity.

He’s going the distance,

He’s going for speed,

She’s all alone (all alone)

All alone in her time of need…

And now Aegon’s long gone, but you’re still here. And so is the Ice Fisher.

You’re staring at Dale, eyes huge and glossy with terror. He glances up, gives you a brief casual smile, looks down at the pint glasses again. And then his eyes come back to you. He sees you and you see him, really see him, and it’s the first time in your life that you can recall him being a centerpiece instead of an ornament for gazes to skate over like ice, wallpaper or taxidermy deer heads or a mirror. And you watch as the thing that lives inside Dale stirs awake. It is a shadow with fangs, talons, barbs down its spine, a weblike scribble of a brain loud with the echoes of screams; and it unfurls and fills him completely, all the way to his fingerprints. It possesses him, it eclipses him.

It’s Dale, you realize like a bullet slicing through an aorta, spilling an ocean of hot blood. It was him twenty years ago and it’s him now.

You gasp and fumble for the cannister of bear mace still clipped to your purse. Dale crosses the room with staggering swiftness, like a wolf, like a storm, one pint glass still gripped in his hand. He reaches you just as your thumb presses down on the cannister’s release tab. The rust-colored mist spews not directly into his face but into the room; Dale is hacking and rasping, you both are, but he isn’t in too much pain to haul you out of the booth and onto the floor. You’re screaming, you’re clawing at him, your eyes feel like they’re on fire, tiny pinpoint infernos that drill down to the bone. You can feel the ice-cold juice and schnapps and vodka of your appletini, knocked off the table when you fell, soaking through the back of your sweater. You can feel pebbles of glass as they burrow into your flesh. You are dimly aware of a barstool tumbling over as you struggle with Dale.

“No!” you cry into the monstrous hand that he clamps over your mouth. “No—!”

Dale brings the bottom of the pint glass down on your head. The Distance lyrics—she’s hoping in time that her memories will fade—swirl around inside your fractured skull.

Silence descends like a curtain, shadows in, lights out.

~~~~~~~~~~

I knock, and he opens the door. The house smells like fresh bread and alfredo sauce, rosemary and crushed garlic. My rental—a Toyota 4Runner, I remember what she said about the Nova being a bad idea in Alaska—is parked in the driveway behind her Jeep. Sunfyre is standing beside me, eyes sparkling, smiling with that unburdened-by-intellect innocence that dogs have. There’s a bouquet of blue-dyed roses in my left hand, cool melancholy blooms of life like seawater, like bruises.

“Hi,” I say to her dad as he stands in the doorway. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too, Aegon.” He’s not just staring at me in the artificial front porch light; he’s gawking, he’s damn near speechless. “Wow. Wow. It’s really good to see you.”

Yeah, I know I look different. The dark rings around my eyes have vanished, my face is less puffy, my hair is trimmed and healthy and mostly out of my face, I stand taller. I’m wearing a white turtleneck sweater and a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, my combat boots. I have a red chip in my pocket that I can’t fucking wait to show her: 1 month sober. On the first day, you think you’re going to die, and on the second day you wish you would. But you don’t. You live, and that starts out as a grisly inconvenience, and then you get a taste for it. “You can probably guess who I’m looking for.”

“Yeah, I reckon I can,” her dad says. “But she’s not here right now. She went to Ursa Minor.”

I grin, a crooked little curl of the lips. “I think I remember how to get there.”

I hop back into the 4Runner with Sunfyre and pull out into the street, snow and ice chomping under the tires. I had missed driving, I realize now. I got so used to almost never being able to do it that I forgot how good it feels to turn the wheel yourself, to watch the speedometer ramp up when you decide you want to fly. Ten minutes later, I swerve into Ursa Minor’s deserted parking lot and screech to a stop across three separate spaces.

“Oh, what the fuck!” I choke out as I step into the bar, coughing into my sleeve. The blue roses tumble out of my hand. Ursa Minor is empty, but there’s something in the air, something invisible that drives scorching, stinging needles into my eyes and my sinuses. Tears stream down my face; my exposed skin prickles and burns. Sunfyre sneezes over and over again and lingers in the doorway, gulping in fresh night wind from outside. There’s shattered glass and green liquid on the hardwood floor. There’s an upturned barstool. The stereo is playing Cake’s cover of Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

What the hell happened here—?

And then I see it: the cannister of bear mace that had rolled under the booth, the same one she and her friends always sat in.

She used the bear mace. She finally used it. But why?

There’s blood on the floor. There’s blood on the table too. There’s a tattered, olive-green journal opened to a blank page. The pieces slide closer and closer and then link together, an explosion in my mind like fireworks.

I bolt outside and study the snow-covered parking lot. There are fresh tire tracks there under the murky luminescence of the streetlights; they lead out to the main road and then north towards the lakes.

“No,” I whisper to no one but the fierce wind, the sky threaded with the opalescent Northern Lights. “No, no, no…”

I sprint back inside Ursa Minor, get the phone Dale keeps behind the bar, and call the cops. “Stay where you are,” the 911 dispatcher instructs me sternly. “Wait for the police, do not attempt to investigate yourself, do not attempt to intervene—”

“Yeah, fuck that,” I say, and slam the receiver into the cradle. Then I swipe the black 8 ball off the pool table.

I load Sunfyre into the 4Runner and spin out of the parking lot, following the parallel lines of tire tracks like the etching of veins beneath skin.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a sound, rough and grating; and then you realize that it’s you being dragged across the ice. When your eyes flutter open, you see the uninterrupted sky: indigo night, distant stars, the Northern Lights. Your clothes are wet with snow; it’s so cold that the fabric is freezing, stiff and crackling when you try to move. Dale is lugging you over the frozen lake by the collar of your sweater. It’s choking you, but of course that doesn’t matter much. He’s about to kill you anyway.

“It’s not right,” Dale mutters, and you’re aware through the disorientation and the fog-like cloud of pain that he’s not really talking to you. “Your mom’s a nice lady. It’s not right that she had to lose two people this way, she doesn’t deserve that. Oh well. It can’t be helped now, can it?”

You whimper something, disjointed helpless words. Please, hurts, don’t, please.

“It’s not me,” Dale says, as if it’s perfectly logical. “I mean, not really. It’s this part of me that I can’t cut out. I can only feed it so it goes away for a while. It quiets down sometimes, it hibernates like a bear in the winter…but it always comes back. And my god, is it hungry.”

You smack clumsily, futilely at his hands as he hauls you over the ice. Dale doesn’t seem to notice.

“You have to make it look like an accident. That’s the ticket, if you don’t want anybody to know. You shove a hiker from a ledge, a drunk into the ocean. I did that for a long time, never raised suspicion. Never pinged on anyone’s radar. Jesse was the hardest, though. Good lord, did he fight. Had to pour a bottle of Everclear down his throat. Had to make it look like he was drinking that night. He wasn’t, which was unusual. Kept saying he wanted to turn things around. I think you had something to do with that. Now this? You were never supposed to be here, ladybug. What a shame. What a goddamn shame.”

Consciousness is a river that you dip in and out of; blackness crumbles around the edges of your vision, collapses in, recedes, swells again like a wave. You moan, you beg, you struggle as much as you can. It’s not much. It might as well be nothing.

“Things were easier after I got married,” Dale continues. He has a large hiking backpack slung over his broad shoulders, you see now. It jostles from side to side as he drags you. You know what’s in there: a chisel to break the ice, fishing line to strangle you. “Having someone else there all the time, it was a distraction. And it kept that thing inside me…not tame, no, I wouldn’t say that. But chained up down in the basement, maybe. Now I’m alone again. And when the chains start rattling, there’s nothing to stop me from hearing them.”

You get your feet under you, twist around, and slam your fists into Dale’s chest as hard as you can. He laughs in a baritone rumble and shoves you back down onto the ice; your head hits the ground, and you can feel yourself fading again, the last wisps of sunlight at dusk.

“Sometimes you want to hide,” Dale says. “And sometimes you don’t. I was ready to stop hiding. I can’t tell you what a high it was every time they found a body. The news, the ceaseless chattering around town, the name they gave me…incredible. Exhilarating. I couldn’t sleep for days after each kill. I’d toss and turn all night imagining what the headlines would be. Let me tell you, ladybug. I’ve never tried heroin, and I never need to. It can’t possibly be better than this.”

What will happen to my parents? you think, heartbreak gutting you, dull knifes rearranging your organs. What will happen to Heather and Kimmie and Joyce? What will happen when Aegon finds out he left too soon?

“I knew I needed someone to pin it on,” Dale informs you calmly. “Didn’t take anyone who went to the bar, didn’t take anyone who could be traced back to me. And still, I knew they’d figure it out eventually if I didn’t give them another suspect. At first, I was thinking I might use Aegon. He was a little small, sure, but he showed up around the right time and he was an outsider. Then I saw the way Trent was with you…aggressive, menacing…and I knew it had to be him. It was almost too easy. I planted the seeds, and good lord did they grow.”

“They’ll know,” you croak. “If you kill me, the police will find my body and they’ll know Trent’s not the Ice Fisher.”

Hideously, horribly, Dale smiles down at you. “Oh, ladybug, I don’t think they’ll ever find you. They found the others because I wanted them to. And no one is looking for victims anymore. Once you sink, I’ll cover up the hole with ice and snow. No blood, no signs. People will assume you’re a runaway. It was just too much, wasn’t it? Trent getting arrested, Aegon leaving town. Maybe you ran off after him. Maybe you threw yourself in the channel. Who could say? No, your bones will become silt, your name will slowly disappear from Juneau. And in ten or twenty years, your parents will have you declared dead in absentia. That’s my best guess. That’s how it will go.”

“No,” you sob, battling against the hands knotted into the collar of your sweater. “No—!”

His knuckles bash the side of your head, and a black silence rolls in like high tide, engulfs you, drowns you. When you swim back up into consciousness again, Dale is a few yards from you and drilling a hole in the ice with his chisel. You try to crawl away and promptly collapse, frail and boneless. He glances over at you, chuckles pleasantly, and then begins using a hatchet to widen the opening.

No, you think, hooking your fingers into the snow and dragging yourself towards the forest. No, no, no…

Dale’s ready for you. He walks over, grabs both of your ankles, tugs you with terrifying ease to the hole in the ice. Then he has a length of fishing line in his hands, and he’s looping it around your throat again and again, and he’s tightening it until the needle-thin nylon wire bites into your flesh, spilling tendrils of blood. You know you don’t have a chance, but you try; you owe it to your parents to try. You claw at the fishing line and you struggle and you cry out in hoarse, useless screams—

And then you hear something that doesn’t make any sense. Through the darkness, through the wind, there are the barks of a dog. Sunfyre rockets into your dimming field of vision and jumps on Dale, snarling and growling and snapping at his hands, his face. Dale flings the dog away, and as he’s distracted, Aegon arrives. He’s holding—ludicrously—a black 8 ball from a pool table, and he smashes it into Dale’s head. A sick, wet, crushing sound ricochets, cracked bone cushioned by flesh, and Dale howls as he rolls onto his side and covers his head with his hands.

He peers up at Aegon, furious and pained and stunned. “You?!”

“Me.” Aegon’s voice is dark and low like thunder, like the iron gale of storms over the ocean. “And I’m a killer.”

He lunges at Dale, still wielding the 8 ball. Dale’s massive hand juts out and closes around Aegon’s wrist, and then he yanks him to the ground. They’re grappling on the snow and ice, they’re striking out with knuckles and elbows, they’re ripping at each other with their bare hands. You’re trying to unravel the fishing line still coiled around your throat, panting in deep, frantic breaths so you can see and think clearly, so you can scramble to your feet, so you can help Aegon. And then Dale gets away from him just long enough to grab you again, to wrap the ends of the fishing line around his fingers. He delivers one last macerating blow to your skull, pulls you by your throat to the gaping hole in the ice, and shoves you through.

The water is so cold it’s paralyzing. There is a thought that seizes you—so overwhelming, so strangely rational—that says all you have to do is stay where you are, to wait a little longer, and then you’ll never hurt again, you’ll never be disappointed or caged, you’ll never be anything. And you think of all the lives you could have lived, all the places you could have gone: cities and beaches and deserts and valleys, gardens and rivers, ruins and glass. You were always so afraid of really going after them. What the hell were you so afraid of? Everything worth fearing is right here in Juneau.

I can still do those things. I can still live. And I can still help Aegon.

You jolt out of your inertia and clamber madly for the surface. But you don’t hit frigid open air; you hit ice, ice too thick to break through, ice too thick for more than a murmur of light to penetrate. Your palms press against the semitransparent wall; bubbles of carbon dioxide spurt from your nose and mouth. You feel for the opening that Dale made, but you don’t know where it is. You are lost beneath the ice, running out of air, fading rapidly. Then you hear Jesse—and you aren’t sure how you know what his voice sounds like, but you do—speaking softly and kindly to you, comforting you, telling you which way to go.

I’m sorry that no one knows the truth, you say without speaking. I’m sorry we thought you destroyed yourself. I’m sorry you never got the chance to truly live.

You were all better off without me anyway, he answers, without any bitterness at all. And that’s true, isn’t it?

There is a great disruption that rocks through the water. New currents stir into existence, fresh waves spring out of the darkness. And then someone takes your hand and draws you towards a noise, muffled through the ice and water: a dog barking, you realize. Then your palms find the opening and you inhale brutally cold air into your aching lungs, the best you’ve ever tasted. Aegon helps pull you through the hole and out of the lake, out of the jaws of oblivion.

You lie together on the ice, breathing in gasps that turn to mist in the night wind. Dale’s body is sprawled several yards away. The hatchet he’d used to break up the ice is buried in his neck, spine severed, eyes slick and vacant. You can see reflections of the Northern Lights flickering in them.

“You came back,” you whisper to Aegon as whirling police sirens approach, the lights dancing on his face: blue like the ocean, red like fire and blood.

“Of course I came back, Appletini,” he says, laughing with frenzied relief, kissing your cheeks and forehead over and over again, lake water dripping from his hair. Sunfyre jumps around you both, yapping ecstatically, his tail wagging. “I couldn’t leave without my Juneau girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s wind, but it isn’t sharp like a blade. There’s a sky, but it isn’t cloaked in cloud cover or fog. The boats that bob in the surf are sailboats and cruisers, not fishing vessels. Dolphins crest out of the sun-speckled waves like someone coming up from a dream.

It’s June 9th, and you’re soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in the red Ford Mustang convertible you rented after the plane touched down in Seattle. Aegon is in the driver’s seat, black sunglasses and white T-shirt, his hair whipping in the breeze. He has one hand on the wheel and the other behind your headrest. Sunfyre is in the backseat, grinning like only dogs can. You turn up the song on the radio: Drive by Incubus.

You and Aegon had stayed in Juneau long enough for your skull to heal, and for your parents to find someone else to take over the vet clinic. They settled on a 32-year-old from Detroit: Justin McNair, a former Marine like your dad, and he either has no family or a bad one because he never wants to talk about them. Perhaps it doesn’t really matter which it is; perhaps sometimes they’re just about the same thing. Your parents have already basically adopted him. He eats dinner with them three times a week and calls your dad when he needs help with house maintenance or scaring a moose away from his truck. And just before you went south, Aegon showed him how to make the world’s best hot chocolate.

You send postcards back to Juneau from each town you stop in. Heather’s bon voyage gift to you had been an indecently revealing swimsuit. Joyce appeared with—what else?—a stack of books fit for leisurely beach reading. And Kimmie gave you, however bizarrely, a compass. So you don’t get lost, she had said with an innocuous little smile. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was joking.

During his one month in jail, Trent learned how to meditate and do yoga. He’s still kind of a dumbass, but he’s also a supposedly devout vegan Buddhist, and he had the decency to leave you alone aside from an apology letter that he slid into the moose-shaped mailbox: handwritten, six pages, lots of spelling and grammatical errors. Oh, and he finally got that job with the Forest Service, probably mostly due to his high-profile wrongful detainment. Now hikers get to swoon over his muscles and hair flips.

You’ll go back to Juneau, of course. Maybe just for visits, maybe for more than that someday. But it will never feel like a cage again.

Aegon calls Aemond every two or three days, a habit he started when he was in rehab. At first it was by necessity—he needed someone to pay the $30,000 bill—but now you think he secretly looks forward to it. He updates Aemond about how the road trip is going and reassures him that the plan hasn’t changed: south to San Diego, and then cutting east across the country to Miami. You don’t know what exactly life will look like there, and neither does Aegon. That’s not the important thing about going. Part of AA is making amends, and Aegon has a lot of work to do in that respect. He wants to go back to Miami, he says. He’s ready to go back.

San Diego is exactly like Aegon once told you it would be. You weave through the rust-colored peaks of the Laguna Mountains and there’s the Pacific Ocean, glittering and sapphire-blue, peppered with surfers and sea lions. It’s hot and it’s beautiful beyond words and everything grows there: ivy, cactuses, palm trees, calla lilies, roses. And for the first time that you can remember, the world feels breathtakingly, impossibly big. You get carryout from an unassuming restaurant called The Taco Stand, and then Aegon parks the convertible in La Jolla. You walk down the steps carved into the cliffside, paper bags in your hands full of tacos and churros, Aegon carrying Sunfyre so the dog won’t slip.

You sit together on the golden sand and watch the 8:00 p.m. sun sink into the waves, Aegon’s arm around your waist, your fingers tucking his lock of silvery hair behind his ear. And then he takes your hand, kneads it until it’s sinuous and relaxed, and reads the lines of your palm in the amber dusk like firelight.

“It says you’re happy,” he tells you. “And that you’re free.”

“I am,” you reply, smiling as the ocean stretches out like the arm of a galaxy: the ancient past, the infinite future.

#aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #nttf #north to the future

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robsheridan · 1 year

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Poster for the unproduced 1984 live-action horror adaptation GARFIELD: FIRST BLOOD.

Following the success of CUJO in 1983, studios were scrambling to find the next hit “killer pet” flick. Notorious grindhouse auteur Ron Sharleton, seeking a big-budget movie deal to fund his struggling production of CANNIBAL QUARTERBACK 2, set his sights on the most unlikely of properties: Jim Davis’ beloved comic strip Garfield. Sharleton, a self-proclaimed fan of Garfield who called the strip “a subversive celebration of misanthropy,” believed an “alternative, adult” spin on the character could thrive in tandem with its kid-friendly cartoons. Describing his rationale in an interview later, Sharleton said: “You have all of these R-rated films that come out and become big hits and the studios want to suck every penny out of one idea, so they sanitize it and repackage it as a cartoon for kids. So I said, why can’t we do the reverse?”

GARFIELD: FIRST BLOOD was pitched as a dark, gritty reimagining in which the titular cat, pushed to the brink on a particularly bad Monday, finally snaps and kills Jon’s dimwitted dog Odie. As he tastes Odie’s blood, Garfield is overcome by how good it felt to put a permanent end to something that annoyed him. He then realizes that everything and everyone annoy him, and his murderous rampage begins.

Describing his take on the character, Sharleton said: “Garfield never really sat right with me as a children’s character. He’s so much darker, more complex. You have this cat who is filled with contempt; he looks at the world around him with radical skepticism and scowls at the prison of tedium mankind calls ‘society,’ and he responds with this very self-indulgent nihilism: Be lazy, be a glutton, don’t participate in anything because it’s all bullshit. Garfield looks at Jon waking up early on a Monday and putting on his tie to go to a job he hates, and he sees a pathetic fool. It’s all such a powerful rejection of the Reagan Wall Street capitalist disease that has poisoned the 80s. ‘Work hard, climb the ladder, buy a boat!’ Garfield says fuck that, stay home, eat lasagna, accept no master. But living as an iconoclast in a conformist world has filled him with all this tension. There’s anger in there, you know? So I wanted to examine what would happen if Garfield was finally pushed over the edge. Where’s the line between a passive nihilist and a violent anarchist?”

Warner Bros execs were intrigued by Sharleton’s pitch (and the lucrative cash cow of the Garfield brand) and funded a short “proof-of-concept” trailer, directed by Sharleton, to convince Garfield creator Jim Davis of the idea. The trailer reportedly went “all-in” on Sharleton’s signature “splattercore” horror, including a scene where Garfield grinds up Liz Wilson alive in a meat grinder and bakes her flesh into a lasagna he then serves to Jon. The presentation to Davis was described as “one of the most disastrously miscalculated meetings in modern Hollywood,” with Davis stopping the trailer midway to ask the room “are you people completely fucking insane?” before storming out.

Reflecting on the meeting years later, an anonymous former Warner exec said “we knew it was a long shot, but we really felt like the only way to sell the concept was to push it as far as possible. In retrospect I think yeah, we did let it go too far. We were so absorbed in it that we didn’t realize how jarring it would be for a guy like Jim Davis to just be thrown into this cold. I think it was a mistake to open with the Nermal blender scene, but we wanted shock, and we thought… I don’t know, everyone was doing a LOT of cocaine back then. Well, everyone except Jim Davis."

-----------

UPDATE: T-shirts and poster prints now available!

NOTE: This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series. NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

#rob sheridan #nightmaires #garfield #alternate history #ai art #ai horror #synthography #synthography horror #writing #horror #80s horror #80s

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spearxwind · 3 months

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hi alex! do you have any recs for songs that sound cheerful and upbeat but are about murder/violence/thrill of the hunt type stuff? kinda like the vibe of choke by idkhow?

OOhh I think I got some! It's not usually the type of song I add to my playlists so i probably have more saved than i know

I want you gone - cyan kicks (idk why I feel like this might fit. the jam is upbeat but the lyrics are sad/violent) insane - black gryph0n (listen i know its a hazbin fansong but trust me it slaps so fucking hardddd) Lights out (remix) - taska black/alioth/OSKI (I lost a dear friend and it was no mistake ?? sounds like murder to me. also this is a genuine earworm. The og version of this is more ominous this one is more upbeat) Praying mantis - FKA Rayne ( i fucking love this song <3333333333) Crazy fuckin robot body - snowblood (I mean. this one's niche cause. robot body. but hey if it works it works!) Another way out - Hollywood undead (we're hunting you down for sport sorry) Get jinxed - Djerv (Sorry for the league of legends but this one also slaps so hard and has for years) Killer - The ready set (A CLASSIC A CLASSIC THE MOST CLASSIC EVER) Kill[h]er - Stand atlantic (I think this one fits perhaps) Bruises - Fox stevenson (ANOTHER CLASSIC!!! FISTFIGHT!!) Fingernails - Don Broco (Idk if this fits but it feels like it does its a cool song and also the video is fun as fuck more bands need to do weird shit again) The blade chose me - rainbowdragoneyes (8BIT OMINOUS SONG ABT CONQUERING ITS GOOD!!)

EDIT: I FORGOT TO ADD THE BLADE CHOSE ME

And yeah as always if anyone has suggestions feel free to reblog/reply with them -w-

#ask #song rec #musicposting #i hope at least one or two of these help!!

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hotvintagepoll · 8 days

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This is a three-way poll. Only one of these women will continue to the next round of the bracket.

Propaganda

Deborah Kerr (Bonjour Tristesse, An Affair to Remember, The King and I)— For several decades she held the record for most Oscar nominations without a win (6 in total), and she was a prolific leading lady throughout the 40s and 50s. She's best known today for the romance An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant, and as the governess in The King and I. Many people have this erroneous perception of her as extremely prim, proper, and virginal, but this could not be further from the truth. When she first came to Hollywood under MGM she was typecast into boring decorative roles, but broke sexual boundaries for herself and Hollywood generally in From Here to Eternity, when she made out (horizontally!) with Burt Lancaster (on top of him!) in the famous Beach Scene. She went on to play many sexually conflicted women, a character type that would define most of her post- Eternity work. She continued to break Hays Code boundaries with Tea and Sympathy, which addresses homosexuality/homophobia head-on, and even did a topless scene in The Gypsy Moths 1969!! One of the only classic stars to do so. She deserves a more nuanced and frankly a hotter legacy than she currently has!!!

Keiko Awaji (Stray Dog, A Japanese Tragedy, When a Woman Ascends the Stairs)— Her role as Harumi— a dancer who lives with her mom and will go to incredible lengths for one nice dress— is so fucking killer. she more than holds her own against Toshiro Mifune, the incredible sense of dread and foreboding in their scenes has really stuck with me

Hazel Scott (Broadway Rhythm, Rhapsody in Blue)—ok ok let me tell you about Hazel Scott. She was a Trinidadian piano genius. By the age of 3 she could play the piano by ear. She would play jazzed-up versions of classics in nightclubs and could sing too! She appeared in five movies, and used her influence as a piano prodigy to improve Black representation in film—she turned down offensive parts, demanded equal pay, and always wore her own costumes to ensure she was portrayed as glamorous and beautiful. She was the first African-American woman to host her own television show, The Hazel Scott Show. She stood up for civil rights and was an overall icon! If you want to watch her being a genius, here she is playing two pianos at once. And here's this one that shows off her consummate glamor! [videos beneath the cut]

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Deborah Kerr:

I think she was one of my first crushes before I realised I was bi in The King and I when I watched it as a kid honestly. The kissing scene in From Here to Eternity is iconic for a reason. Actually tried to learn the accents for the characters she was playing if they weren't English which is more than pretty much anyone else was doing then. Played very restrained characters who frequently seemed to be desperate not to be so restrained. Did horror movies without venturing into hagsploitation tropes. Gave Marni Nixon the credit she deserved for her share of the singing in The King and I.

Anne Larsen is a peak late 1950s bisexual with big MILF energy. Have you seen the behind the scenes pics of her wearing a suit?? Have you????? Vote Deb as Anne Larsen.

Nominated for an Oscar six (6) times and never won, but besides her having actual talent (hot), and besides her looking Like That (very hot, also beautiful), she was always playing women who are, like, crazy repressed. Which makes it fun and easy for me to read these characters as queer. Icon!!!! You know what's hot? Playing ambiguously gay in vintage Hollywood.

Her face and talent and body, yes, ofc, duh. But also!!! Her HANDS!!!! I may be but a simple lesbian, but she is the best hactor (hand actor) that ever lived and that's HOT! For propriety's sake I feel I must redact a large portion of my commentary on this subject. Anyway. She's hot in her most famous roles (mentioned above), and also some of her sexiest hacting is on display in An Affair to Remember (her hand on the bannister when Cary Grant kisses her off-screen??? HELLO???), Tea and Sympathy (when she's trying to persuade Tom not to go out and she keeps flexing her hands like she wants to reach out to him but can't??? ALLY BEHAVIOR! WE STAN!), and The Innocents (which opens and closes with extended shots of her hands bc director Jack Clayton was also an ally and he did that for ME). Much of her appeal also lies in the fact that she often played deeply repressed characters and you know what's hot? When those uptight characters finally unravel. It's sexy. It's cathartic. It's erotic. Plus, she's beautiful to look at in both black & white and technicolor, and the more of her films you see, the more you can't help but fall in love!

Literally is in thee most famously sexy scene of all time (or maybe just during the hays code era which is what we're talking about HELLO), which is the beach scene with Burt Lancaster in from here to eternity. To quote a tumblr post of a screen capture of a tweet of a video of joy behar on the view: "y'know, there used to be movies where they were kissing on the beach... From Here to Eternity. They're kissing-- Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr are Kissing on the Beach and then the WAVES crash!! You know exactly what they did!"

She might have a reputation of being chaste and virginal or whatever, but we all know it's the quiet ones who are certifiable FREAKS

Keiko Awaji:

Hazel Scott:

youtube

#hazel scott #keiko awaji #deborah kerr #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

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olivereliocorcordium1983 · 4 months

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Now that I have gotten out of the fanfic bubble for a minute, let me just say, that one: I am not very happy with this woman who decided to come into Armie's life and pull this shit with him after everything that has happened to him. Why? yes, I know Armie is a big boy his life is his and he can do what he wants I'm all for that just like Timmy.

However, it kills me to see that he is trying to better himself (like most of us in this world who were abused by someone) and trying to become a better person just for someone to come along and have written on their story this long nice thing about Armie.

Just to turn around and be dumb as hell and write, "super interested in psychopaths" Armie is not a psychopath. Like most of us who end up abused, he is a human being trying to better himself, and become a better version of himself after the fact. And try his best to see the better in people but end up with people who either

want there 15 minutes of fame, because they heard about all the crap that was going on with him and saw and thought to themselves "oh my god! drama let me see for myself what this is about." Hello serial killer lovers of Jeffery Dahmer, Ted Bundy ect.

They only want to be with you because either you are rich as hell and want that big green and will sweet talk your way into it. Having no actual care in the world for the other person at all. Or you have something else that the person wants.

We find someone and think, "okay this is it. Maybe I will try just one more time. Maybe this time will be different." just for them to cheat, lie, and make excuses for their actions because they don't want to take accountability.

Which just instills for those of us who have to or are trying to rewire our thinking from the abuse, that this is just another person who proved to us that we can't open up to anyone. And that there probably isn't a real genuine human being out there who will love us (other than our mommas, grandmas and sisters if you have them in your life or at all) for just us and actually want to see us happy, and actually want to be with us. Instead of adding to the already warped way we end up seeing the world thanks to the abusers.

Now let me clairify this: I am not talking about the "I'm gonna die alone." #foreveralone bs. that people do when they can't stand to be by themselves. NO. I am talking about actually have been alone, can stand and be okay with being alone but, want to experience a real loving relationship that actually lasts with someone who isn't toxic.

It breaks my heart that both Timmy and Armie have to result to having people like this around them in their lives. Or that these people end up finding them. Both of them deserve to be happy, healthy and more importantly they deserve to be with people who will treat them like they deserve. For whom they actually are and not the way Hollywood perceives them to be.

And I have to say after all this shit.... Armie you need to get with Timmy, you two need to go snag Luca and hop your asses on a plane get far away from Hollywood. Go back to Crema, turn off your damn phones and just breath for awhile and this is not me hinting at the sequel as much as I would love that.

These two men need to be around each other again and a hell of a lot more often to keep both of them from doing stupid shit. Like this. Seriously, guys I love you both but you need to focus on yourselves, Armie (your kids) rather than getting into PR bs and having toxic people invade your spaces. Stop jumping pussy and get back to talking about the things that matter. 🙄🙄

Luca, I know you are a busy man, but could you please at some point when you are not so busy to kidnap your boys and take them back to Italy with you.

And Two: WHO IS READY FOR THE CRAZINESS TO GET BACK TO SOME RESEMBLENCE OF NORMALCY? SHOW OF HANDS ANYBODY? 🙌🏻

#cmbyn #callmebyyourname #armiehammer #timotheechalamet #elio and oliver #charmie #tiredofthetoxicmonkeycircus

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sinclairstarz · 2 months

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for the cinephile byler truthers. i made the party’s modern au letterboxd accounts

in my head mike wheeler is the film bro cinephile of the party. hes a big brad pitt fan and fincher is his favorite director if you even care.. dirty dancing would be in his top 4 if he was honest. he went to see dune cause hes a scifi nerd, ended up hating it so much and complained about it to will but still gave it 2 stars cause it was pretty. did leave a very mean review. very critical rater but mostly leaves high ratings because he just doesn’t watch things he doesnt wanna see.

alternative movies i considered putting: pulp fiction (5 stars), the killer (1 star), se7en (5 stars), across the spiderverse (5 stars), nope (5 stars) , the batman 2022 (4 stars), once upon a time in hollywood (5 stars), inglorious basterds (5 stars), the matrix (half a star)

the thing is so good and he has a poster of it on his wall in canon so it felt right. it just feels wrong not to do ghostbusters (plus its one of my favorite movies…) and yall need to hear me out on brokeback 😭😭😭 ur telling me he wouldnt bawl his eyes out??? ur wrong. will byers is a jake gyllenhaal lover. he watches dirty dancing a lot for mike, and loves ghibli movies a lot. he cried during rain man. honest rater but doesnt take it too seriously, mostly 4/5 star ratings

alternatives: saltburn (half a star), asteroid city (5 stars), blackkklansman (5 stars), the force awakens (3.5 stars), the perks of being a wallflower (4.5 stars), back to the future (5 stars)

rogue one because lucas has taste. its the best star wars movie, if u care. he would love how fun and goofy ghostbusters 2 is. in my head Wes Anderson is like the party’s claimed director and they all watch his movies together and do marathons because the weirdness, comedy, and emotional commentary is a perfect mix for them. so. bottle rocket. lucas’ favorite wes anderson is the grand budapest hotel if u wanted to know. he rates things pretty highly and isn’t super critical.

alternatives: dodgeball (5 stars), scream 5 (4 stars), the matrix (3 stars), good will hunting (5 stars), jurassic park (5 stars), die hard (5 stars),

likes making lucas watch gone girl on valentines day and telling him shes gonna do that to him next time he annoys her. v for vendetta is her favorite romance movie and shes a big marvel fan (in a cool way. kind of .) but thor ragnarok is probably one of her fav marvels, along with spiderman far from home and iron man. i just know she watches Casino Royale and decided she hated James Bond and then ended up watching all the Daniel Craig Bonds with Mike and loved Skyfall so much. the song is on her playlist and she did cry after No Time To Die.

Alternatives: Superbad (5 stars), baby driver (5 stars), bottoms (5 stars), 10 things i hate about you (3.5 stars), scream (5 stars), kill bill (5 stars), lord of the rings: the return of the king (1.5 stars)

also a bit of a film nerd. i considered giving him a star wars and i know in my heart he’d probably have empire somewhere in his top 4. but star wars is lame and i wanted to give him se7en so he fucking gets se7en. he knows john wick is objectively dumb but he doesnt care hes just here for a good time. the party probably watched saltburn together and all fucking hated it. I just know hes a kurosawa nerd and always goes when the local theatres do very rare special showings of his movies.

alternatives: baby driver (4 stars), the ewok adventure (5 stars) hot fuzz (5 stars) harry potter and the sorcerers stone (4 stars) legally blonde (5 stars) spirited away (5 stars) dazed and confused (5 stars)

she likes movies that make her feel all warm and fuzzy and hopeful. i wanted to give her breakfast club, but i think she’d honestly like sixteen candles more (even though breakfast club’s better). she cried at almost every movie in her top 4 and makes max rewatch juno with her like once a month. she gives most movies 5 stars unless she really hates them, and loves any movie thats fun to watch, even if its bad. she likes movies with pretty girls and fun colors.

alternatives: barbie (5 stars), legally blonde (5 stars), inception (2 stars), heathers (5 stars) pretty in pink (4.5 stars (she was mad andi didn’t end up with ducky)) my neighbor totoro (5 stars)

in conclusion if you haven’t seen They Cloned Tyron (2023) go watch it it deserved the oscar

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lol-jackles · 1 month

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What do you think of Jensen's acting dry spell? Do you think he actually has a hard time getting a job right now, or is something else going on? There's no news of any projects with Amazon either, more than a year after signing the acting and producing deal now.

Besides Hollywood contraction that will see half the number of scripted shows and therefore less jobs, unemployment has always been the lifestyle of actors, which is why celebrities have side hustles like cookbooks, wine labels, clothing labels, and hosting podcasts (remind you of certain SPN extras?)

During this downsizing era, big-name actors are a bit desperate and are willing to take lower paying supporting roles just to keep their face out there, further crowding out aspiring and lesser-name actors from getting jobs.

I'm sure most of you are old enough to remember when television used to help talents break into film. But when streaming came along, it became the reverse. I've talked about that a few times here about film stars taking jobs away from working tv actors. I finally got around to watching Marvel’s Echo and Killers of the Flower Moon in the same week. Both were about Native American communities (Osage and Choctaw) and almost all the actors were recycled hired in both projects. This brings my next point; a very small group of working actors dominates the tv medium and this has been the case for decades because studios want a certain “known quantity” that is a combination of work ethic with recognition and upward-spiraling visibility. Jared appears to be well on his way to being part of that small group of working actors that can work both as a lead actor and as a supporting actor in between projects (like Nathan Fillion's supporting gig in Modern Family between his lead role in Castle and The Rookie). Jensen doesn't appear to have broken into that small group.

#jensen ackles

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redpool · 9 months

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Because we are moving, I've been rewatching Supernatural while packing and I've decided i want to make a list of the episodes that i actually like (meaning that I actually like what I'm watching).

Season 1:

Episode 1 'Pilot' - Minus the intro, i usually skip that

Episode 2 'Wendigo' - That last bit, where Dean has the bandage on his throat... *insert debby ryan meme here*

Episode 3 'Dead in the Water' - Enough said, i mean come on..

Episode 5 'Bloody Mary' - I used to be terrified of this ep. But the way the boys are so soft and comforting towards the girls. (and Mary is pretty)

Episode 7 'Hook Man' - Love me some hook man. and the black shirt and brown jacket combo on Dean *chefs kiss*

Episode 12 'Faith' - Dean is just really attractive to me i this ep, he's so sick and pathetic looking and i love it... THE HOODIE

Episode 17 'Hell House' - AHDHGDGDHGDHBGDGDCVGDCB PRANK WARS!!!!!!

Episode 19 'Provenance' - Idk why "HOLY, BLONDE, CHEERLEADER, BATMAN" < I quote that so so much

Season 2:

Episode 2 'Everybody Loves A Clown' -

I want to say Bloodlust because of Benny but I hate that other shitbird

Episode 4 'Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things' - Its just a fun ep

Episode 5 'Simon Said' - ASH MY LOVE!!!!!

Episode 6 'No Exit' - America's first known serial killer

Episode 11 'Playthings' - "Of course, the most troubling question is: Why do these people assume we're gay?" "Well, you are kinda butch, but I just think you're overcompensating."

Episode 15 'Tall Tales' - GABE MY LOVE!!!!!!

Episode 17 'Heart' - uhhh werewolves, need I say more?

Episode 18 'Hollywood Babylon' - another idk why

Episode 19 'Folsom Prison Blues' - two words, Blue. Steel.

Season 3:

Episode 3 'Bad Day At Black Rock' - Bela *Insert debby ryan meme*

Episode 5 'Bedtime Stories' - another fun one

Episode 6 'Red Sky at Morning' - Bela, my love!'

Episode 8 'A Very Supernatural Christmas' - Protective Dean, "You fudging touch me again, I'll fudging kill ya!"

Episode 11 'Mystery Spot' - GABE MY LOVE!!!!!!

Episode 13 'Ghostfacers' - GHOST- GHOSTFACERS, I also love that we see a whole different version of the Winchesters. (sweary)

Season 4:

Episode 1 'Lazarus Rising' - The beginning of the longest queerbaiting relationship ever

Episode 4 'Monster Movie' - do I really need to explain?

Episode 6 'Yellow Fever' - "I'll man the flashlight!"

Episode 7 ' It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester' - ngl the title makes no sense, and there is a reason, i just can't think of it.

Episode 8 'Wishful Thinking' - another fun episode, this is the episode that, that kid that killed his mum and set out to take the Canadian prime minster out is in.

Episode 12 'Criss Angel Is a Douche Bag' - *shrugs*

Episode 13 'After School Special' - BABY SAM, younger Dean 😏

Episode 14 'Sex and Violence' - BI DEAD BI DEAN BI DEAN BI DEAN

Episode 18 'The Monster at the End of This Book' - also *shrug*

Episode 19 'Jump the Shark' - ADAM!!!! Adam ☹️😢

Season 5:

Episode 5 'Fallen Idols' - another fun episode

Episode 6 'I Believe the Children Are Out Future' - JESSE!!!!! There was so much potential in this kid, we could have the greatest duo with Jesse and Jack.

Episode 7 'The Curious Case of Dean Winchester' - BI DEAD BI DEAN BI DEAN BI DEAN

Episode 8 'Changing Channels' - GABE MY LOVE!!!!!!!!

Episode 9 'The Real Ghostbusters' - fair enough

Episode 11 'Sam, Interrupted' - ✨therapy✨

Episode 12 'Swap Meat' - fun episode

Episode 14 'My Bloody Valentine' - "I don't like it!" "No one likes it."

Episode 17 '99 Problems' - "Not you. Or me. Sam of course is an abomination. We'll have to find someone else." & "Well, what is she, exactly?" "The whore." "Wow, Cas, tell us what you really think."

Episode 18 'Point of No Return' - ADAM!!!! Adam... ☹️😢

Episode 19 'Hammer of the Gods' - GABE!!!!! Gabe.... ☹️😢

Episode 21 'Two Minutes to Midnight' - OH, DEATH, OH, DEATH, OH, DEATH,

Episode 22 'Swan Song' - THE BEGINNIG OF MIADAM!!!! funny story, when i had an iPhone i had "Hey, Assbutt" as my text tone and it was almost as scary as when I had Obi-Wan's "Hello there"

Season 6:

Episode 3 'The Third Man' - BALTHAZAR MY LOVE!!!!!!!!

Episode 9 'Clap Your Hands If You Believe' - Souless!Sam is a dick but I kinda love him.

Episode 17 'My Heart Will Go On' - BALTHAZAR!!!!!!!! "Sorry, you have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench coat who's in love with you."

Episode 18 'Frontierland' - Why is Elias kinda hot...?

Episode 19 'Mommy Dearest' - I just like the bar scene

Season 7:

Episode 1 'Meet the New Boss' - "And who says you speak for God? You're wrong. I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. On the other hand, I cannot abide hypocrites like you, Reverend." "Okay, fun's over, friend" "Tell your flock where your genitals have been before you speak for Me." "And who the heck are you?" "I'm God.", basically the whole church scene

Episode 5 'Shut Up, Dr. Phil' - It's just a funny episode

Episode 9 'How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters' - "I think you pissed off my sandwich."

Episode 14 'Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie' - "Ha! I'm sorry, you look like you got attacked by some PCP-crazed strippers."

Episode 20 'The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo' -CHARLIE BABY!!!!!!

Episode 21 'Reading is Fundamental' - KEVIN MY LOVE!!!!!!

Season 8:

Episode 1 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' - That whole first scene, BENNY MY LOVE!!!!!!

Episode 2 'What's Up, Tiger Mommy?' - ALFIE!!!!!!!!! BENNY!!!!!!!

Episode 4 'Bitten' - outside perspectives are always funny

Episode 5 'Blood Brother' - BENNNY!!!! Vampirates.

Episode 6 'Southern Comfort' - GARTH!!!!!

Episode 7 'A Little Slice of Kevin' - KEVIN!!!! Dean isn't even trying to hide his gay.

Episode 8 'Hunteri Heroici' - I'll introgate the cat."

Episode 9 'Citizen Fang' - I hate this episode but yeah

Episode 11 'LARP and the Real Girl' - CHARLIE, MY LOVE!!!!!!

Episode 12 'As Time Goes By' - HENRY, MY LOVE!!!!!!

Episode 13 'Everybody Hates Hitler' - Adam Rose is in it, do i need to continue?

Episode 15 'Man's Best Friend with Benefits' - I hate witches but this ep is good.

Episode 20 'Pac-Man Fever' -

Episode 23 'Sacrifice' - The last scene and speech that Dean says to Sam.

Season 9:

Episode 1 'I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here' - GADDY!!!!!! MY BABY!!!!!!

Episode 4 'Slumber Party' - CHARLIE!!!!! TIIO!!!!!!

Episode 5 'Dog Dean Afternoon' - just a fun one, the pigeon is the best character in this episode.

Episode 7 'Bad Boys' - BABY DEAN BABY DEAN BABY DEAN

Episode 8 'Rock and a Hard Place' - "But when you get down to it, what's the big deal? Sure, there's the touching and the feeling all of each other, my hands everywhere, tracing every inch of her body. The two of us moving together, pressing, pulling, grinding, and then you hit that sweet spot and everything just builds, builds and builds until it all just... [Makes explosion noise] ...But the whole thing was just a little too sticky."

Episode 13 'The Purge' - Out of all of the creatures in this show the Pishtacos are my favourite.

Episode 15 '#thinman' - the return of the Ghostfacers, they're so gay for eachother.

Episode 16 'Blade Runners' - sexy

Episode 19 'Alex Annie Alexis Ann' - ALEX!!!!!!!

Season 10:

Episode 1 'Black' - DEMON!DEAN FOR THE WIN!!!!

Episode 2 'Reichenbach' - Demon Dean...

Episode 3 'Soul Survivor' - Demon Dean.

Episode 4 'Paper Moon' - KATE!!!!

Episode 5 'Fan Fiction' - Do I really need to explain why I like this one? 🎶"JOHN AND MARY, HUSBAND AND WIFE, BRINGING HOME A BRAND NEW LIFE, HIS NAME IS SAMMY, I'M BIG BROTHER DEAN"🎶

Episode 6 'Ask Jeeves' - the interactions are just really funny.

Episode 7 'Girls, Girls, Girls' - ROWENA!!!!!! the only witch I can stand.

Episode 8 'Hibbing 911' - JODIY AND DONNA SUPREMACY!!!!

Episode 12 'About a Boy' - Just a fun episode

Episode 13 'Halt & Catch Fire' - ghosts are always fun episodes

Episode 14 'The Executioner's Song' - the end of Cain

Episode 15 'The Things They Carried' - probably my favourite Cole episode.

Episode 16 'Paint It Black' - I just like this ep

Episode 19 'The Werther Project' - BENNY!!!!!!

Season 11:

Episode 4 'Baby' - self explained, i'd say.

Episode 5 'Thin Lizzie' - idk why

Episode 7 'Plush' - its just funny

Episode 8 'Just My Imagination' - 'She's got sparkle on her face!'

Episode 11 'Into the Mystic' -

Episode 12 'Don't You Forget About Me' - DAD DEAN DAD DEAN DAD DEAN DAD DEAN

Season 12:

Episode 6 'Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox' - It's just funny watching people react the way they do towards the boys.

Episode 8 'LOTUS' - ARTHUR!!!!!!

Episode 11 'Regarding Dean' - Considering that he was going to die this and the Zanna episode are my all time favourites.

Season 13:

Episode 1 'Lost and Found' - JACK!!!!!!! MY BABY!!!!!!!

Episode 2 'The Rising Son' - Jack means a lot to me.

Episode 4 'The Big Empty' - ✨therapy✨

Episode 6 'Tombstone' - GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY

Episode 10 'Wayward Sisters' - GIRLFRIENDS GIRLFRIENDS GIRLFRIENDS GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY

Episode 16 'Scoobynatural' - I like it when they give us a break from the on-going trauma filled story lines.

Season 14:

Episode 4 'Mint Condition' - fun episode

Episode 6 'Optimism' - fun episode

have you guys seen this yet? this is such a cool picture.

Season 15:

Episode 1 'Back and to the Future' - BELPHEGOR!!!!! (i only like Alex's version)

Episode 2 'Raising Hell' - a trip down memory lane

Episode 3 'The Rapture' - *shrugs*

Episode 7 'Last Call' - I just think its funny how Dean faked being able to sing for all those years, I assume to make Sam laugh.

Episode 8 'Our Father, Who Aren't In Heaven' - ADAM!!!!!!! MIDAM!!!!!!! THATS A RELATIONSHIP I WANNA JOIN!!! Oh and its a win for Destial too i guess.

Episode 15 'Gimme Shelter' - Jack & Dean bonding experience.

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