#the other half is isaac who is not introduced here but is introduced very shortly after this and is like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

altschmerzes · 10 months

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hey for something new and different im gonna do something i havent done in a very long time and share a bit of my original sports fiction project. this is from the very beginning of it, not the actual opening-opening but very shortly after it. it helps introduce and get to know our audience surrogate character, hockey player jesse marvel who’s just been drafted and is about to start training camp for the team that drafted him, the minneapolis-saint paul phoenixes.

buries my face in my hands anyways here’s this

Since he started high school, Jesse has been experiencing a recurring dream. It happens every couple of weeks or so, to the point that it’s an inside joke around his family’s home that Jesse got another video call from his alternate life whenever he has it.

In the dream, he’s at a concert, standing off to the side of a massive stage, grandly lit with an inferno of blinding bright lights. The crowd is enormous, the kind you’d see at Madison Square Garden or Red Rocks Amphitheatre. Thousands of blurred out faces gather in an undulating mass of expectant fans, ready and waiting for the show to begin. The anticipation is so thick in the air that he can taste it, a metallic aluminum-copper, the adrenaline emitting from every person there enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. He never knows what band is supposed to take the stage, and every time he tries to read the banner hanging at the back of the platform it’s like he can’t get his eyes to focus on it. Then the crowd starts cheering, a wall of sound sweeps in a tidal wave across the stage, and someone plants a hand square in the middle of Jesse’s back. There’s the quick jerk of a nylon strap around his neck, the whack of an electric guitar into his chest, and a shove that sends him stumbling out, unable to stop until he stands, centre stage, staring out at the crowd that he now realizes has come to see him.

At this point of the dream, a few things occur to Jesse at once. He cannot play the guitar and in fact has never touched one in his life before this moment. He cannot carry a tune in a bucket. One time, he’d been singing in the car and his little sister Brigit, who’d then been ten years old, had very solemnly pulled a five dollar bill out of her backpack and handed it to him, informing him she was bribing him ‘cash money’ to stop. And finally, in just a moment, he’s going to play a chord, or open his mouth to sing a note, and irreversibly, inescapably, profoundly let every one of these thousands upon thousands of people down.

Jesse hasn’t had the dream since before the draft. He’d walked up on the stage when his name had been called, selected third overall out of hundreds of talented young players hoping this would be their big shot to make it into the League, and accepted the jersey and hat handed to him by the Phoenixes general manager without a single slip-up. It was the exact opposite of the experience in the dream. So much so that he’d thought maybe the dream had just been him psyching himself out since he really got serious about making the League, some kind of subconscious hazing he’d been inflicting on himself.

It’s not until after the draft, when he’s milling awkwardly around the hall in a surreal haze surrounded by families in fancy clothing and reporters with flashing cameras and little recorder microphones, that Jesse realizes he'd been premature on deciding that one. If the dream was meant to prepare him for anything, it wasn’t the draft. It was everything that followed. Every day he steps out of the hotel room he’s been calling home for the last couple weeks, Jesse feels like he does in the dream when the shove propels him forward onto the stage. It’s like even the walls in the twin cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul have grown eyes, and every pair of them is trained on him.

During the rookie showcase, there had been a reassuring degree of anonymity that had helped Jesse feel a little less like he was living a waking version of that dream. Every person there is in the same uniform, the Phoenixes standard gear complete with a blank practice jersey and helmet, none of which had a name or number attached. There, he’d just been another kid with skates on his feet and big dreams in his head, surrounded by fifteen or so others exactly like him. It isn’t until he’s at the first day of training camp, a freshly signed contract placing him in the slim ranks of players who were signed to teams their first year before ever playing a single minute of a game on League ice and a jersey screaming his last name in all-caps across his shoulders, that the feeling comes back. Everyone’s eyes are on him again, and this time it’s worse, because those eyes are the eyes of the Phoenixes.

#gav gab #original: the miracle run #i love jesse is the thing. he's my little guy.#i had a fucking epiphany about this project the other day and the trajectory of it and what the like #central sort of. narrative arc is?#the character driven narrative arc #and this kid is half of it #the other half is isaac who is not introduced here but is introduced very shortly after this and is like #antagonist coded in his first couple of scenes which deeply amuses me

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

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Ash/Athena AU: The Branding

Continuing my Daniel Michaelson / Honor Bound AU collab with @whump-tr0pes - Corrine brings Isaac, newly claimed by Danny, back to the Michaelson family’s compound to be prepared for Danny’s birthday party. Can be read on AO3 here.

CW: Threats of torture and a frank discussion of noncon and torture. Branding. Nonconsensual touching (not sexual). Dehumanization.

By the time they arrived at the vast, palatial mansion set on a hill that comprised the Michaelson family's main estate, Corrine was relieved to see that Isaac had stopped being a bawling little limp noodle and walked on his own between a pair of armed escorts.

Those pretty eyes were still terrified, but she could sense as his heart finally began to slow and understood it for what it was - he was slipping into numbness.

For now.

It wouldn't last.

"Welcome to my home," Corrine said, somewhat carelessly, gesturing ahead as Isaac was led towards the huge wooden front door.

Corrine and Patrick had built the house piece by piece long before they were Syndicate, back before the takeover. They had different names, then. It wasn’t overly designed like so many of the younger Syndicate homes, and was instead a sprawling series of new floors or wings added as Corrine decided she needed or wanted them.

“Wh-where-... uh, will I…" Daniel’s gorgeous new plaything licked his lips, clearing his throat. The tears were still in his voice, but the car ride from the summer home to here seemed to have given him time to cry them all out while he was locked in the trunk.

Now, he looked beautifully resigned, more than anything. Which suited Corrine Michaelson’s purposes just fine.

“Yes? You may speak.”

Isaac flushed and his eyes jerked back to the ground, wincing.

Ah, so that hit on a sore spot, did it?

Corrine wondered if this little broken toy had been forced to ask permission to speak before. She'd had one like that, once. Learned to press the side of his face against her with big, pretty doe eyes…

Corrine paused. She rather missed that man, now that she remembered him.

"Where w-will I… is this…." His voice seemed to fail him and Isaac was silent again as they stepped into the grand foyer. A spiral double staircase wound up to the second floor, and the first floor was obviously designed for entertaining. Large rooms full of ample seating, fireplaces for winter, and hooks littered throughout the house in ceilings and walls - unobtrusive. Daniel's little toy probably wouldn't notice.

He would learn about those later.

"Will you be living here?" Corrine suggested, and the toy nodded, crossing his arms in front of himself uncertainly. "No. As much as my husband and myself could make lovely use of your body-"

The man shuddered, unable to stop a sound like a whine as he exhaled all at once.

"-you do not belong to me. My son chooses to live elsewhere. You will stay with him."

There might have been a hint of relief, in the man’s face - replaced just as quickly with a whole new flush of shame as he realized he was relieved by such small mercies. She crooked her fingers and the escorts on either side of Isaac pushed him forward. He stumbled at first, nearly falling onto his hands and knees, and Corrine fought back a laugh.

Lovely.

They dragged him back to his feet, towards the staircase, Corrine walking ahead of them with a slight click of her heels.

His breathing began to change again as they headed up the stairs and he was further and further from the door. "You need to understand," Corrine said flatly. "I have no use for tears. I have no use for you. You live because you have precisely one use for Daniel and none for those who left you behind."

A broken sob, behind her. Corrine did not look back - but she smiled, nonetheless.

"You will live with my son. You will attend his needs, however he chooses to use you. You will keep yourself in good physical condition for him - physically fit, hair cut to his liking. You will dress in what you are provided and if you are provided nothing, that is what you will wear."

"Oh, fuck," Isaac whispered. "I… I won't."

Corrine, generous to a fault, decided to ignore that. It hardly counted as defiance.

“My son has… quirks, after what he has survived. You will no doubt find him the best option available to you. You should strive to please him in every way, if you want to stay out of my basement."

"Y-your-"

One of the guards shoved Isaac again, and Corrine listened to him fall and catch himself hard on his elbows halfway up the stairs. She paused - minutely - and then continued walking as the guards picked him up by his arms to keep him moving.

"My basement. I trust Nate's assessment but - as they say - trust and verify. I believe him, that you have no useful Intel. I will verify that, if my son finds you inadequate. You have been in basements before, I imagine. Or rooms that served the same purpose my basement serves for me."

A long silence. The sound of another thump. Then, shaking, the man's voice again, the sounds of his attempts to move faster, to stay ahead of the guards shoving him. "Y-yes," Isaac said hoarsely.

"Good. If you please my son-" She honestly only said it that way just to hear the little despairing noise he made, that time. "-then you have nothing to fear. So I suggest you put your only value to good use."

She walked back across the landing, knowing he would follow - he had no choice and there was nowhere to run. He walked like a man on his way to a gallows - a heavy step, only as fast as he was forced to go.

"My son's twenty-eighth birthday is tomorrow. We are throwing a rather… massive party, in which members of my Syndicate will be introduced to you. You will be polite. You will be courteous."

He was silent, now, as they walked down a hallway. Dark wood floors and deep, warmly painted red walls. Frames hung at regular intervals, a mix of artwork and photos.

"This is my family home," Corrine said, her voice softening slightly. "My boys both grew up here. Well, Daniel was five when we brought him home - his mother was…" Her voice trailed away. "Well. Not, perhaps, as protected from harm as she should have been. I should have noticed sooner. Here." She stopped before a spot on the wall that held a gallery of smaller photographs, carefully arranged. "Guards. My son's property will look."

Isaac was shoved up next to her, his face red, but he made no argument. His eyes ran, anguished and half-empty, over the photos as Corrine gestured and narrated each one.

"This is Danny's first day-" She pointed to a photo of a redheaded little boy with a backpack nearly as large as he was. Wide blue eyes were immediately recognizable, as were the freckles that seemed to cover every inch of skin.

"Here, you have them when they were tutored - we brought in the best private teachers." Danny and Ryan, arms around each other, sitting at a table with books and papers strewn in front. They both had the awkward, gangly, elbows-and-knees look of very young men.

"Here, Daniel on his first assignment with Patrick-" Daniel, clearly an adult but a younger one, rolling his eyes in the picture. He wore the gun at his hip naturally, and held another in his left hand. "This was shortly before he was taken."

Then, she paused. "And here is a few months ago."

The final photo was of Danny sitting at a table, talking to someone out of frame. The scars seem redder, deeper than they look now. There was a yawning emptiness, a darkness in his eyes, all too plainly visible. Nate sat beside him, a hand on his back. Nate's face was cold.

Isaac made a soft sound, next to her, and Corrine turned to look at him. He was staring at the final photo - Daniel recounting some details from one of the parties he had been forced to attend, so that Nate and the others could locate the hosts and deal with them directly.

Isaac's eyes were locked on the vulnerability - the hint of old fear and the deep wounds - so freely written across her eldest son's face. She felt Isaac's heart rate change, a shift through the blood that rushed under the surface.

A man being shown a funhouse mirror and seeing his own face covered in blood.

"My boy has made great strides in recovery. You are one of those strides. He should have wanted someone like you for himself long ago."

Isaac's head dropped and his shoulders shook, hands curling into fists. Rush of adrenaline, no doubt a small one as he'd been cycling through fight or freeze responses since he walked in through the door with Daniel.

She watched with curiosity, wondering if he really would do something that stupid.

He didn't.

He only nodded, tense as a bowstring about to snap, and kept his eyes on the floor. Corrine had expected more fight, but it was more clear than ever that this pretty toy had already been played with before, and broken by careless hands. That he was so… docile… suggested he not only knew the odds were against him, but had once been held long enough to be grateful simply to walk unrestrained.

Escorted, but unrestrained.

"You will sleep here, tonight," Corrine said, opening a door to show a spacious bedroom with a lovely queen-sized bed, side tables, tasteful decor… and barred windows.

Isaac swallowed, staring inside. "Why do you-"

"You are not the first plaything to belong to a Michaelson. You won't be the last. Go."

He was shoved and stumbled forwards into the room, and she watched him take in details he had missed, at first.

The four-poster bed had hooks installed at the top and rings around each wooden corner. There were other hooks in different places, at varying heights, along the wall. The chaise lounge that nestled against the footboard of the bed was set slightly low and was built to be wide enough to lay comfortably on one's back.

Corrine watched the blood rush to his face, as he took it all in, and felt her mouth begin to water. She rather wanted a steak, suddenly. Rare, bloody enough that it was one step from mooing.

"My husband normally makes use of this room," She said, letting that sink in, as well. "But it's only for one night, hm? You'll be fine."

"I-I… is, will D-Danny-" The plaything's voice was shaking, and she saw fresh tears welling up in his pretty eyes. "B-be here-"

"No, you'll be alone tonight. You’re not quite ready, I don’t think, to show appropriate gratitude." Corrine smiled.

She snapped her fingers and one of the guards stepped forward, taking Isaac by the arm to lead him over to the chaise lounge. He stumbled over there, flinching away from the guard's touch. When the guard pointed down, Isaac sat - less like sitting and more like simply collapsing backwards until he hit the soft fabric, clenching his fingers into it, digging fingernails into the soft red cushion.

"Wait. If, if I'm-" He swallowed down revulsion - written plain as day across his face, as the tears began once more to fall. "If, I'm D-Danny's p-... his, if I'm…" He gasped in breath, curling over himself.

“Take your time,” Corrine said, impatient voice giving the lie to her words. She slipped the heavy ring off her finger and handed it to one of the guards, who nodded and stepped aside, pulling his cigarette lighter out. Isaac was still staring at the rug under his feet.

“W-Will I be… will he… will he put-”

“A collar on you?”

Isaac nodded, closing his eyes, miserably. Corrine sighed, flicking her eyes over at the guard, currently holding the heavy relief of her family’s crest over his lit lighter, heating it up. Unwilling to wait the amount of time it would actually take, Corrine concentrated, pulling the threads of the world around her a bit closer. Bouncing molecules off of each other, creating friction and increasing the heat around the flame. The guard hissed, softly, as the gentle warmth he had been able to feel on his fingers was suddenly uncomfortably hot.

“No, plaything. He won’t. Daniel wore a collar for a very long time - and before they gave him the collar, they cut his neck again and again with barbed wire until he might as well. Understand that people like you are who hurt my son.”

Isaac gasped, raising his eyes to look at her again. “What? I, I would never-”

“Anti-Syndicate fools,” Corrine said evenly. “Who piss off the people who hold rightful power and then turn on our children. People like you abducted my son. People like your merry band tied him down and cut him apart. They beat him. They kept him starving and scared. They held him in dark rooms and they sold him to the highest bidder. Because he was Syndicate.”

“We would never do that,” Isaac insisted, some flicker of defiance again. “We would never-”

“Did you ever hear rumors, Isaac Moore?” Corrine asked softly, too softly. A snake’s hiss before a strike, slithering through the grass. “Did you ever hear about the parties, where you could take it out on some Syndicate son who met a bad end? Couple hundred dollars for an hour alone, and the only rule is that he has to survive it?”

“No!” Isaac all but yelled, and then went quiet. “I, I mean… no, I don’t think…” His voice trailed, uncertain. He slowly looked back down at the floor. “If I had, had heard about something like that, I wouldn’t have-”

“You wouldn’t have attended, maybe. You’re soft. Sweet. Inherently good, and it’s goddamn sickening. But you’d have ignored it, set yourself to forget you ever heard, and left my son to suffer. Nothing you can do, after all. No way out for the poor little bastard, huh? Might as well resign himself to being the party favor, passed around like a whore, like-... well. Like you.”

She felt her eyes burn, and closed them, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

“You would have done nothing, just like everyone else.”

“I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t leave anyone to suffer like that,” Isaac said, but she could see him wracking his brain, trying desperately to remember if maybe he had heard rumors about parties, and had simply dismissed them out of hand. She had met enough anti-Syndicate groups, since, who had. Who hadn’t believed anyone would hold someone like that, for that purpose, on their side.

As though there weren’t enough viciousness, in mortal men, to wrap around the world a hundred times.

“No,” Isaac said softly. “I never… I never heard anything like that. I know I didn’t… I wouldn’t have just, just…”

“Hm. Maybe not. My son was a pinata, he was burned and cut and whipped and raped in effigy. Again and again and again. Until he burst open, until he broke, until nothing was left. Until we brought him home a man who answered to a dog’s name. Until we brought home a man with their initials carved on the back of his neck, who can’t hold a gun or even touch one.”

“H-He touched the gun you h-had, in the house-”

“To stop me from killing you.” The plaything had a point, though. Corrine hadn’t considered that. Daniel had not hesitated when he put his hand on the barrel of the gun and pushed it away from Isaac’s head. “I suppose he must truly like you.”

Isaac let out a sound somewhere between a cynical laugh and a broken sob.

“Oh, don’t be so put out. You won’t do any better in life than this. Did you enjoy it, Isaac, fucking my son and his partner?”

Isaac turned bright red, closing his eyes so tightly she could see every muscle in his face tense. He swallowed, hard, and slowly nodded.

At least he didn’t bother trying to ignore the questions, and didn’t seem inclined to lie. That at least was something.

“Good. Daniel will no doubt be careful and kind to you. More than you deserve. Although… you are not responsible for what happened to my son. I understand that, I do.” The guard was ready, and nodded at her as the color of her ring began to change, the metal shifting to a deep reddish color that Corrine had always loved to see. She signaled to the other guard, who stepped forwards with half a smile already on his face. He grabbed Isaac off the chaise and shoved him to his knees on the floor, crouching behind him to wrap an arm across his shoulders, forcing his arms down by his sides.

“W-wait, wait! Wait, wh-what’s-...” Isaac struggled, but weakly - Corrine could still see that he was fighting some deep internal conditioning that told him to simply give up and let it, whatever it was, happen to him. “Wait! I never hurt him! I w-wouldn’t, I wouldn’t-”

“No, you won’t. Ever.” The guard wrenched Isaac’s head to the side, exposing his lovely neck, the veins standing out as he began to pant in fear, his hands going up to grip at the man’s arm and try to pull himself free. “Because you will live the rest of your life as docile domestic property. Don’t fight, Isaac.”

“Pl-please,” Isaac said, his voice cracking, thrashing with panic in the arms of a man who held him almost entirely still, fingers twisted hard into his hair to keep his head forced to the side, the whites showing around his eyes. “Please no, please, wh-whatever, whatever you’re going to d-d-do, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be-... I’ll be good for Danny, I’ll be-”

“I know you will.” Corrine didn’t bother to pitch her voice soothing. She simply took the ring from the guard with the lighter, leaned down, and forced the red-hot metal with her family crest on it against Isaac’s neck, just below his ear.

The sound he made, and the picture he painted with every muscle taut, back arched, eyes wide and bulging, was one of excruciating beauty.

A wild shriek of pain and panic, fear and agony, that came not so much from his lungs as from the core of him, and Corrine pressed harder and harder while the guard held him so perfectly still she didn’t worry about the lines being blurred at all.

His screaming was wordless, and it rang on and on and on through the room, seemingly endless, stretched out in time.

Finally Corrine pulled back and away, and Isaac went limp, hands dropping to his sides, only still on his knees because of the guard holding him up. She tilted her head, looking - M, surrounded by vines, perfectly legible. Essentially permanent.

“There we go,” She said softly. “Can you hear me, Isaac?”

Tears rolled down his face and he managed a nod, then winced and groaned as even that much hurt the brand she had seared into him.

“Good. If you try to leave, that brand will mark you. Anyone in our territory who sees you will bring you home to Daniel, to me. Please trust that you do not want to run and be brought back to me.” She reached up to run a hand back through his sweaty hair, and Isaac shuddered and whined in his throat, like an animal. Like a dog.

People like Isaac - or not like him, but who acted against the interests of the Syndicate and were therefore close enough - had once forced her son to sound like that, with a muzzle whose markings still remained on him.

“You are Michaelson property now. You live as long as my son wishes for you to live. You will fuck him until he is done with you, and you had best be very good at it. That is your life, it has narrowed to this. The sooner you accept that, the more content you will be in your new existence.” She stood back up. “There is a toothbrush in the attached bath for you, and toothpaste. There is a cup to drink water from.” She flicked her eyes up at the guards. “Strip him.”

“N-no-... please, let me keep, at least, let me-” But he was too weak from pain, and she watched as the guards manhandled him like a sick child, yanking his shirt off over his head and his pants off of him, shoes and socks, until he was curled up on the floor with his back to the chaise, shuddering, trying to guard his vulnerability, his nakedness.

“Your clothing will be destroyed, you don’t need it any longer. I will come for you when it’s time to prepare for the party. You will be fed, before then. You will not leave this room until it’s time to dress.” The guards stepped away, but her son’s new toy did not uncurl from his spot, didn’t even try. He just cried, and Corrine sighed at the beauty of the tears.

Daniel would not appreciate them, but that was fine. This wasn’t about teaching him appreciation, only to take the first few steps into who he had been meant to be.

“I love my son, Isaac,” Corrine said, almost gently. “I love him very much. He suffered immensely because we adopted him. He suffered for his name, the name we gave him when he was so young… he couldn’t have known this would happen. None of us knew. And I… I will never let it happen again, not to my child, to my-... I love Daniel, he is as much my baby as Ryan, even if he didn’t begin that way… and he wants you. So spend the night considering how you can best show your gratitude when he unwraps you tomorrow.”

Corrine turned and walked away, the guards falling into step behind her. She stepped outside, and swallowed against the core of warmth that suffused her, her deep love for both her children. The door closed and locked, the crying man still on the floor, curled up and naked, one hand up as though he would cover the brand but not daring to so much as brush the angry red skin.

“I failed my son once,” Corrine said softly, to herself. The guards pretended they could not hear her. “I will not fail him again.” She stood there, stilled for a moment, lost in her memories of the shy, nervous five year old she’d brought into her home as a way to distract the anti-Syndicate fools from sweet Ryan… and the grown man who had fulfilled that role all too well.

Broken and beaten, raped and destroyed, brainwashed and bashed in and held in dark room after dark room. Only dragged out into the light so they could call him by other Syndicate names as they hurt him.

She closed one hand slowly into a fist, and just as slowly - consciously - relaxed it.

Daniel, used by the kind of people who fought the Syndicates, their pretty effigy to burn. She had failed to value him until it was too late, failed to keep him safe. She would not make that mistake ever again. Isaac had of course not been one of those who hurt him. But Daniel taking him as a plaything, using him the way Daniel had been used, might be a way to turn that effigy around, and make someone else stand in for those who had hurt him.

She couldn’t imagine any other reason, really, that Daniel would want the pretty thing so badly.

“What Daniel wants, he will have. Have a tux altered to the exact specifications I will give you. My baby is going to receive a perfectly obedient gift at his party tomorrow night, and I know exactly what to do to ensure Isaac is sufficiently appreciative of my son’s attention.”

The guards nodded.

God, she needed that steak. The smell of burning skin had lit a fire in her veins that could not be put out without blood.

Corrine headed for the kitchen.

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sparkwhorunswithwolves · 4 years

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Concept: remortal Stiles Stilinski, who's lived at least a dozen lives and remembers all of them.

He was born human but a witch cursed him because he's Stiles and he can be irritating

The witch is actually immortal because of Reasons and Stiles has made it his Mission™ to find her at least once in every life

The first time because he got killed in his original life and woke up shortly after being born

And he wants revenge

She's the one who kills him that second time because he's still as irritating as before

It takes him 4 more lives for him to admit that she's the only real consistent thing and it's comforting

It's also pissing her off so that's always a plus

She's totally fond of him

And tries to keep as many of his personal things as she can when he dies

She also always calls him by his original given name

She went by Isabella when she first cursed him, but she changes it every other decade, so he tends to switch names at random or just call her the witch as a nickname

At first it was jarring to get used to a new identity, a new body, every few decades, but he eventually embraces it and makes it his other Mission™ to always do something extra enough to be remembered

The witch has an aneurysm the first time he does it, because she keeps herself hidden for a giddamn reason, idiot

She definitely causes a Big Scandal a few years later that tops everything Stiles did to date

Stiles is still making fun of her for it

A few centuries later, and Stiles is actually Mieczyslaw "Stiles" Stilinski

And he lived a lot of lives, some good, some bad, some horrifying

But he thinks that this might be one of the better ones

And then his mom dies, and his dad doesn't cope with work and alcohol

And he supposes he's lucky that he isn't actually a 10 year old child

That he had lifetimes to get used to the people he loves dying before him

He loves Scott like the brother he had once, and after his dad leaves, too, he refuses to let anyone else hurt him

He breaks that promise 6 years later

He's 16 and he can't leave Beacon Hills just yet

He's also lived for over a millennium and going to high school lost its appeal a... While ago

And he knows he should have known better, should have remembered that normal humans are fragile

Not that he isn't. He's still human. But normal people are breakable in a way he isn't, limited, temporary.

But he is still stuck here for at least 3 more years with school before he can leave and someone just found half a dead body in the preserve

And suddenly Scott is a werewolf and he doesn't know what to do with that

Of course he's met werewolves before, and kitsunes, and banshees, but in all his time he never had to deal with someone like him

Who got changed against his will, without his knowledge, and only believes it after the bad things started happening

But it's been too long, and Stiles simply can't relate anymore, doesn't know how to make it better

Because he's both permanent and ever changing

And Scott is still Scott, same life, same face, same family, he's just changed

It doesn't really change much of season 1

Scott and Allison are still Scott and Allison, and Stiles wants to call Scott out for not telling her, but he remembers the few people he let himself be close to before and how he never told them a word

Derek is still Derek, but Stiles goes from being Stiles™ to Derek losing everyone while surviving and going Relatable™

After the Big Reveal at the hospital Stiles is furious at Peter for hurting his family

And scared, because he's still only human, and sure, this life sucked, but he still loves these people, and he doesn't want to lose them just yet

But he also knows that he's done worse, that morals and consequences doesn't really matter when you have nothing to lose

Peter still asks him if he wants the bite

Be Scott's equal, he had said. And if it doesn't kill you

But, despite everything, Stiles likes this life. And even though the possibility of him dying is really small

He chose the bite at one point after all

He doesn't want to risk it

He tell him no, and doesn't elaborate further

Peter still kills Kate and bites Lydia

They still kill Peter

Peter still brings himself back from the dead

And then season 2 happens

He doesn't know how they made it all out of that alive

And then he does die and it's the first time in a long while that he's truly afraid of it

He doesn't know if coming back as Stiles Stilinski again is better or worse

Because with every new life he's just a little different, new body, new name, new mannerisms

And coming out of that ice bath feels a lot like that, so he doesn't question it

He's had dyslexia before, hes had trouble sleeping in some form or another in most lives, it's not the first time that he can't tell dream from reality

It's not what he expected, but he can deal with it. It's not that big of a deal

Except it is, it really, really is

Because now the fox demon is possessing someone who has centuries of knowledge, who doesn't even suspect a thing and so doesn't even try to fight it

Stiles (it? They?) kill 12 people, including one of the twins before they figure out its him

It's too late, and it (Stiles? They?) already has Lydia somewhere

They don't have the time to separate them before Scott bites him

In the end it's very anticlimactic

Stiles collapses and they put the fly in the mountain ash box

They get Lydia back

He doesn't change, though. He goes back to pre death Stiles, and no one knows why

The wolves and Argents really aren't subtle, he knows they're watching him

But he's fine, he's normal. He died, and changed, and then didn't.

Things go slowly back to normal

Scott somehow got a new beta, Kate is and stays well and truly dead because fuck her, Chris accidentally adopts Isaac and coparents him with Melissa

They're fine. They're safe. Nothing has tried to kill them for at least a month

So that's when they get a new English teacher

And Stiles is already running through a mental list of how to get rid of them because so far the only teacher he's convinced won't try to kill them all is Finstock of all people

Before he falls off the chair laughing because in all the years, out of all the possible places, it's the first time the witch actually found him first

It was actually a complete coincidence, not that Stiles will ever believe her

Stiles introduces her as his long lost grandmother, much to the confusion of the sheriff

She somehow ends up joining the pack, and they don't know what to make of their relationship

Because Stiles should not know this woman he never even mentioned, should not be as open, as content in a way they've never seen him

He's still Stiles, but he acts around her in a way that he doesn't with any of them

But she's obviously family

The pack already knows about werewolves, and Stiles doesn't just want her to leave again a few years later, so it's easy to make up a lie about magic and slower, because neither of them is quite comfortable with anyone knowing about their immortality, aging

And werewolves are the same with aging

They go to college, they get jobs. Thay have lives outside the supernatural. It's good

Some of them have children, others don't.

Allison is the first to really leave Beacon Hills after her dad dies

Lydia didn't really so much stop aging as just stop living. She's a banshee, is connected to death in a way none of them are. She's still Lydia, brilliant, beautiful, terrifying. With an aura of death around her, even if he doesn't know if death is even a concept that applies to her anymore

Peter looks at him like he knows sometimes. Like he knows he's dying, he's human of course he is, but like he knows that he'll be back

When he dies, surrounded by most of his family, most of the people he loves, it's the first time he thinks that maybe, he won't just have to leave them behind.

That he can come back in his new life and be part of this family again

It's been 2 decades since Stiles died, and she's been going by Isabella again for most of it when she realizes that something is wrong

She never tried to hide from him

She knows that the pack is still in Beacon Hills

And even though they're not waiting for him like she is, she knows they would have called her

She also knows that Stiles would have been here by now, new life be damned

But she gets nothing. No text, no call, no email, no nothing

She still keeps his belongings

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #this was meant as a fun thing of stiles trolling the pack with old pictures #then i realised that stiles does shit like age and have parents so immortal stiles went out the window #and remortal was the closest i could get with that still working #but then stiles befriends the witch dies a lot loses people #and it was 6am when i wrote this so of course it got angsty #also i imagine stiles killed himself at least once to get out of a shitty situation before #and the bite turned him back to mortal because it had to be permanent and bc i said so #also peter totally knows #because stiles was always just a bit off and then the bite didn't change him #and it was more like when peter got resurrected #and then he introduces them to isabella and makes jokes and references from a few hundred years ago #and then stiles dies and peter doesn't know if he will come back to them but he still stays in contact with her #and then 10 years pass and 15 and by now he should have at least send an email a text something #idk ow to make it sad but none of the others even suspect

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azuzulira · 7 years

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Kyana visits home (Part 1)

So, the following is a story about my D&D characters, if they were a party of their own. This is a pretty rough version, so it’s not perfect, but I find it satisfactory. It’s just over 1600 words, and I figured this was a good place to stop. Click the read more below to take a look! See if you can catch the reference or two I threw in.

Bollis sat, watching the edges of clearing. He, like always, had taken the last of the night’s watch. He appreciated the quiet of the early morning, before any of the others awoke. He knew from experience that Belghull would be the first up, and he’d likely wake up in a cold sweat. He had learned not to question the dragonborn about it though. It put him on edge. After Belghull would be Joy, who’d make breakfast and prepare lunch for them so they wouldn’t have to stop mid-travel. Nash would wake up near dawn to eat his breakfast, then lay down again until Kyana got up, which is when they’d leave. He was right. Belghull woke up, and shook his head to rid himself of the remnants of some dream. He lit the fire in the middle of camp, and watched it for a bit. Joy got up next, using the fire to first make porridge, and then coffee. The three of them ate in silence, and were joined by Nash a few moments later. “Thank you, breakfast was excellent, as always,” Bollis complemented Joy as he finished his porridge.

“Thank you,” she answered quietly, still working on her own bowl. Silence reigned, even as Nash stood up and made his way back to where he had slept to rest a few moments more. It was peaceful in the morning, until Kyana woke up.

“So,” she began, in between spoonfuls of porridge, “What’s the plan for today?” “We should be at Whiteridge shortly after lunch, if we don’t stop for it,” Belghull answered, looking at the map in his hands, “From there, we should be able to restock, grab a night’s rest, and see to other business before setting off for Orilon like Bollis wanted to do.” The dragonborn put the map away, and then spoke, “Now get your gear packed. We should leave soon.” “Right,” Kyana answered, getting up and packing her gear in an unusual silence. As soon as Nash got up and packed his gear, the five of them set off through the forest. After a few hours of travel, with surprisingly little interruption, the forest began to thin, and they could see a town, Whiteridge, just a bit away. An hour and a half later, having stopped by a river bend for lunch and a quick break at Kyana’s request, the group arrived at the city’s gates. The guard on duty was, seemingly, rather lax about his duties, as he let the group through without a word, whereas they had frequently been questioned at the entrance to most other large towns. “People are staring,” Joy observed, a tinge of nervousness in her voice as she pulled her hood down over her hair further. “We’re an odd group,” Bollis stated, trying to calm her, “I doubt it’s everyday these people see a dragonborn leading around a half-orc, a wood elf, and two humans.” “That’s not why they’re staring. I’m,” Kyana paused for a moment, before continuing her explanation, “I’m well known around here.” “How so?” Belghull questioned, “Is there anything we should worry about?” Before Kyana could respond, one of the onlookers, an elven woman, came up to her and spoke, “Lady Harburn! You are looking positively lovely! If you’d like I could bring you and your friends some of my baked goods before you head to your family home.”

Kyana answered, “No, but thank you Mrs. Dakian,” and backed away into the gap between Belghull and Nash. Unsurprisingly, not many people wanted to come speak with Kyana while she stood between the two rather intimidating figures. “Lady Harburn?” Joy questioned quietly, “Why are they calling you that?” Kyana answered in the same hushed tone, “Like I said, I’m well known here.”

“From a good family?” Bollis guessed, and Kyana nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Joy asked, sounding genuinely hurt, “Do you not trust us?”

“I didn’t mean to hide it, it’s just, I didn’t,” Kyana floundered for an answer. “Joy! We all have things we don’t want to share. You, of all people, should know that,” Belghull stepped in for Kyana and reprimanded Joy.

“Sorry,” Joy responded quietly.

“It’s,” Kyana paused, “I understand why you’re upset. It just, didn’t come up,” Kyana answered the apology, leading to an awkward silence. Eventually, Kyana broke it by saying, “My parents probably already know I’m here, so, we should visit.”

“Lead the way,” Belghull stated, to which Kyana complied, stepping ahead to lead the group towards a large house at the edge of town. She approached the door and knocked. After a moment of no answer, she knocked again. “Do you really need to knock on the door to your own home?” Nash questioned curiously. Kyana grabbed the door handle, just as it was opened by an older looking gentleman. “Kyana?” The man questioned, “Is it really you? It’s been such a long time! Who are your friends?” “Dad!” Kyana answered joyously, giving the man a hug, “This is the group I told you about, my friends!” She grabbed Belghull by the arm, “This is Belghull, our leader,” she announced, causing the dragonborn’s bronze scales to darken a tinge. “He’s a cleric, right?” Kyana’s father asked, looking the Dragonborn over, “He was a soldier too. Turned to healing because you wanted to help people?” Belghull turned away, seemingly uncomfortable with how this man could tell part of his story with a look. “I’ve seen it before. Nothing to be ashamed of, going from the battlefield to the temple. You’re doing good work.” As Belghull let a rare smile onto his lips. “Bollis Quickspark,” Bollis introduced himself with an outstretched hand, which the old man took in a hearty shake. “Gimgo’s boy? Your father’s a good man, for a merchant,” the old man laughed, “Met him a few years ago when he was trading in town. We play cards when he travels here from Orilon. He talks about his ‘brave adventurer of a son’ a lot. Didn’t know you were travelling with my daughter though. I expected you to be… shorter.” “Not many gnomes adopt wood elves,” Bollis agreed, chuckling awkwardly. The old man turned to Joy, who blurted out, “I’m a tiefling!” before he could say anything, and then covered her mouth, looking at him fearfully.

“Really?” He peered closer, “I couldn’t tell. Your skin’s a bit red, but I figured it was a tan of some sort. I guess that explains the hood then.” When he noticed her fearful look, he said, “You don’t need to worry here. I know you didn’t do anything to earn judgement of any kind.” Giving her a short hug, he said, “My daughter tells me you’re an excellent cook. While you stay here, you’re more than welcome to use the kitchen to your heart’s content. Isaac can even teach you Kyana’s favorite meal.” As Joy smiled, Nash curiously queried, “How do you know so much? Are you some kind of fortuneteller?” “No, no, no magic in these veins. Never was talented with spellcasting, don’t know where Kyana gets it,” the old man answered, “No, I use to be an adventurer too, until a dreadful archery accident. In fact, I was a lot like you. Big and strong. But I learned on the battlefield, if you want to protect everyone, you’re going to have to do a lot of watching and learning so you can think ahead. So that is what I did, and it’s what I still do.” The old man seemed to get lost for a moment, remembering when he was at his strongest, before continuing, “Enough about me though. My daughter writes that you’re the ‘strong and silent character.’ From looking at you, I can tell, it isn’t because you’re dumb. You’re certainly brighter than a lot of others from where you come from.” “My ancestry is not where I come from,” Nash spoke angrily. “I wasn’t talking about your orc blood. I was talking about your scars. You were a fighter long before you were an adventurer,” he answered calmly. He gave the, much taller, half-orc a gentle hug, and spoke, “It does my old heart good to see someone so young make the right choices when dealt a bad hand.” “Can we,” Nash asked slowly, “stop the whole hugging and mind reading?” To which the old man nodded and let go. “Right, sorry,” he said, “and now, to properly introduce myself. I am Lord Ansout Harburn, please, come in, make yourself at home in my abode.” He stepped aside and bowed, letting the group into his home. Kyana led the other four to her room, which, other than the desk and number of bookshelves, was surprisingly bare for it’s size. “Sorry, about my dad,” Kyana apologized, “He doesn’t mean to make things awkward. He just, he likes watching people and trying to understand them.”

“You’re sure he’s not some kind of seer?” Nash asked from near one of the bookshelves, “Yeah,” Bollis agreed from his position on her desk, “It was rather odd how he spied in on Belghull and Nash, and got Joy to spill her secret without saying a thing to her. He’s got to have some magic.” “No, he’s just very good at knowing people,” Kyana answered, sitting down on her bed, “I’m going to have to talk to mom soon. You all should look around while I’m busy.” The others took the hint, and left the room one by one.

So, as Kyana prepared to speak with her mother, the other members set about various tasks. Joy found the kitchen, to take up Lord Harburn’s offer of free reign. Both Belghull and Bollis decided to explore the manor, though they had different methods of going about it. Finally, Nash decided to speak with Lord Harburn, one on one, and perhaps learn from the man. So, whose would you like to see? They’ll all come about similar information, through different means. Or would you prefer to just skip their adventures in the manor and have the group together again? The same information will come out anyway.

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marwritesgood · 7 years

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Months of Lies | I. Lahey

Pairing ; Isaac x Hale!Reader Timeframe ; Post-Insatiable

Summary ; In which he cheats on her. But it isn’t quite that simple.

A/n ; FIVE-WORD WARNING:

There. Is. So. Much. Angst.

For every time you read the word ‘however’, take a shot.

It was the morning after the death of Allison Argent. Y/n Hale woke up feeling cold. She was under a two layers blankets and a comforter, but she still felt so incredibly cold.

Allison and Y/n were not always the best of friends. They didn’t meet until, a little while after, Allison was introduced to the world of supernatural creatures, and, after finding out what Kate had done to her family, and to her brother, Y/n was anything but fond of the Argent family.

However, much of this changed when the alpha pack, her uncle, Peter, and her sister, Cora, were back in town. Not only were Derek and Scott working together a lot more, but Lydia had befriended Y/n when she helped her navigate her way through the banshee world, and what she was capable of.

However, even though they were good friends, Y/n knew, just as well as anyone else with half a brain, that there was no comparing to the friendship Allison and Lydia had, and just because Lydia befriended her, didn’t mean Allison was very fond of the arrangement.

So, in the end, Y/n and Allison were not best friends with one another, but if one were to create a list of the names of all the people each of them despised more and than one another, the lists would be sizable.

However, it was on that day, the morning after the death of Allison Argent, where Y/n Hale woke up feeling rather cold, despite being under layers of blankets and a comforter. Well, that was the day her feelings towards Allison changed extremely.

It started with a soft knock on her bedroom door, courtesy of Scott McCall, who came over due to, quote unquote, 'urgent news’, and, from there, it snowballed into one giant tragedy for dear, Y/n.

After the soft knock on her bedroom door, Scott slowly pushed it open, and proceeded to take slow steps towards her, far too cautious and aware of everything that was happening, and everything he was doing.

Let the record show, that, after Derek gained alpha powers, in the middle of Y/n’s Sophomore year in High School, she and Scott became good friends. No, they never hung out much, and, yes, their friendship didn’t establish in an instance, mainly because Y/n was not on good terms with his girlfriend.

However, when it finally grew into something resembling friendship, they had each other’s backs and were welcome in one another’s homes- mostly because, if a 'supernatural situation’ were to occur at anyone’s house, chances were, it was either at Derek’s loft, or the McCall household.

“Hey, Y/n,” he murmured, taking a seat at the edge of her bed. Y/n sat up and crossed her legs, smiling softly at one of her closest friends. “How’re you holding up?”

“Shocked,” Y/n replied honestly. She was always honest when it came to the people she cared about. If only Scott could say the same. “I can’t believe she’s really, truly gone. The world feels a little more empty now, but that must be nothing compared to you. How are you doing?”

“I’m shocked too,” Scott answers, truthfully. If only his recent decisions reflected the way he responded. “But, other than that, I’m… coping. I think we all just want to kill this thing now, more than ever.”

To this, she smiled sadly and remained quiet. As stated before, she and Allison were not best friends. So, even though Y/n has lost someone, she knew that her grief could not compare to that of her beloved friends.

Y/n is distracted by her thoughts for a small moment, until she notices Scott’s expression- that it showcased much more sadness than normal, but it was different from grief. Could it be sadness with a hint of… guilt?

“Are you alright, Scott?” Y/n asks her fellow pack member, who not only showed an expression that raised concerns, but he seemed to have been staring at her bedside lamp for quite some time, lost in his own world.

When she speaks to him, his attention returns to her, and his original expression intensifies with sadness. He opens his mouth to speak, but holds back for a moment, as though he needed just an extra second to collect his words.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Y/n,” he begins, licking his lips, which Y/n recognised as something he only ever did when he was overwhelmingly nervous. “But, before I do, know that I’m sorry, and know that I’m here for you… I’m always here for you.”

“Scott, what is it?”

“He- uh,” Scott stuttered, trying to avoid eye contact, because even imagining the way she might look at him, after he tells her, broke his heart. “He cheated on you, Y/n.”

He spoke quickly, out of nervousness and fear, so it came as no surprise to him that Y/n was having a hard time processing. That, and the fact that the last thing suspected his 'urgent news’ to be, was that she was the victim of a cheating boyfriend.

“I- uh… Scott, I don’t understand.”

“I caught him,” he explained, realising that for her to truly process what he was telling her, he needed to start from the beginning. “He was on the phone, in his room at my place. The walls are thin, so I could hear him laughing as if he were in the same room- well, that, and the werewolf-hearing ability.”

It was like drowning. There she was, standing on dry sand, and within a matter of seconds, a wave came rushing towards her. She tries to move, but she is paralysed. The small tide, turns into a wave the size of Mount Everest. So she quickly closes her eyes. She thinks she is dreaming, and that if she closes her eyes tight enough, she will be able to move again.

But that does not happen.

Instead she opens her eyes, and realises that she already drowning- already sinking to the ocean floor. And she is still paralysed.

That is how Y/n felt as Scott continued to explain.

“I thought he was talking to you, until…” Scott pauses for a moment, as if his breath had been caught for that small second. “Until I heard him say her name. I eavesdropped a little more, and from there I knew what he was doing, and who he doing it with… It was Allison.”

“There’s gotta be some kind of mistake,” Y/n whispers, shaking her head, as she swiped away a few loose tears with frustration. “He- he wouldn’t do this to me, Scott. Please tell me you’re lying.”

“When she… When she died… in my arms, she told me… She told me that I needed to tell you, since… Since she wouldn’t be here to do it… or to make sure Isaac tells you.”

“Well,” Y/n scoffs, her tears lessening, but sadness almost instantly being replaced for anger. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of her? Actually considering my feelings.”

“Y/n c'mon-”

“No,” she yells, cutting him off.

Scott sees what she is doing- what she always seems to do. Mask her sadness with anger and hostility, because what is a Hale without an abundance of hostility? So he obeys, and lets her yell and scream, as she rightfully deserves to.

“Scott, please don’t try to defend them. Either one of them. Don’t try to justify what they did, because it’s… horrible. Just… Just tell me this… How long have you known?”

Let the record show, just how fast Scott’s heart was beating due to that question. Of all the things Y/n could have asked, that was the one question Scott was most terrified to answer.

“Y/n-”

“How. Long. Scott?”

“Six months.”

There is a small crash. It would’ve been easily missed to the human ear, but no on in the Hale loft was human. It sounded just like a plate falling and breaking into pieces, which was shortly followed by a growl. Scott was alarmed at the sounds, but Y/n knew exactly what the cause of it was.

Without even glancing at Scott, or thinking twice, she quickly stood up from her bed, opened her bedroom door.

“Derek,” she yelled weakly, trying to speak clearly, even though her throat was closing up on her. “Let me handle this, okay,” she said, in a much quieter voice, giving in, to the sadness that had become much too unbearable to continue masking.

It was something Peter used to do, before the fire, and Derek had obviously been influenced, because ever since she and Isaac began dating, he started listening in on conversations that occurred throughout the loft.

“Fine,” he growled back, not giving much of a damn as to whether or not Scott heard him too.

She returned to her room, where Scott remained, exactly as he was when she first stood up. She closes the door behind her and places her hands on her hips, before looking up to the ceiling to blink away her tears.

“Y/n, please let me-”

“How could you keep this from me?” She asks, finally looking down, which only resulted in her tears streaming down her cheeks. “A day, I understand. A week, that’s acceptable. But, six months?”

“He told me he was going to tell you,” Scott begins, his guilt growing the more he realised how hurt Y/n was. “I kept waiting for him to finally do it, but he never did. And I… I didn’t how to tell you, I mean I’m his alpha.”

“But I thought we were friends,” Y/n cried, sniffling softly as she wiped away her tears.

There is silence between them for a long moment. Y/n is looking at Scott, waiting for a response, but he is staring at floor, too ashamed to look up, because he knew, even before he walked through her bedroom doorway, that he was well and truly in the wrong.

“Y/n, I am so sorry,” he whispered, looking up a bit, but still avoiding direct eye contact.

Y/n takes slow steps towards Scott, and plants herself beside him. In one swift motion, she wipes her remaining tears away and places her hands on her lap.

“I know you are.”

And she does, not just from the chemo-signals that practically screamed regret, but she knew who Scott was. Even though this made her feel like even more of an outsider to the McCall pack than before, she knew Scott well enough to know that he didn’t mean to hurt her, even if that’s what he ended up doing.

“Look, I don’t think I can forgive you right now… I don’t know how much time it’s going to take for me to trust you again, but I can think of a good place to start.”

She takes his silence as a cue to continue.

“Tell me where he is, right now.”

There she was, standing outside his bedroom door. Scott was in the kitchen, respecting Y/n’s wish to confront Isaac on her own.

She knocks twice on his door, and waits for him to answer. Yet another Hale trait she inherited- acting on impulse. It doesn’t take long before the door is open, and Y/n is anything but in the mood to listening to anyone, let alone her cheating boyfriend.

“Scott, I told you-”

Isaac stops, mid-sentence, when he realises that it was not Scott knocking at his door, but, instead, his girlfriend, who looked like she had been crying just as much as he was. The only difference between the two of them, was she looked far from sad, whereas he was sad, distressed, lost and everything in between.

“You disgusting, sorry excuse of a man. Isaac, tell me the truth,” Y/n began, not meeting Isaac’s eyes, because she knew that would be the end of her stability, both emotionally and physically. “Because, I’ve never cried this much… I’ve never felt this weak and worthless… You are a work of something, Isaac Lahey. I-”

“Love, I don’t understa-”

“No,” Y/n interrupted, taking a step back as Isaac stretches his arms out to her. “Don’t call me that- not after what you’ve done. Count yourself lucky I was nice enough to keep Derek from coming here with me.”

He knows, now, what she is talking about, but he remains quiet, because he also know that there is nothing much he can say.

“How long?” She asks. It was a strange thing she doing quite a lot of- asking questions she, deep down, did not want the answer to. However, she was not at his doorstep to yell at him, she wanted some closure, some answers, and to be able to look him, dead in the eyes, and walk away.

He doesn’t answer, which only fuels Y/n’s already ignited fury towards him.

“How long have you been keep this from me, Isaac? How. Fucking. Long?”

“Eight months,” he answered in a whisper tone.

Then there is a bang. Isaac is holding his face, even though he knows that whatever mark Y/n’s fist had left was healing rapidly. She is glaring at him, mouth slightly open as she breaths heavily, before choking up as her tears fell from her already tear-swollen eyes.

But, then she is reminded of what she went there for, so she makes herself stops. With all the grace, dignity, and pride she can muster, Y/n stands up straight, inhales sharply, and looks him dead in the eye.

“I hope she was worth it.”

“C'mon… baby-”

“STOP!” Y/n shouts, holding her hand up, and taking another step back. “I’m not your baby, Isaac.”

Once he is looking at her. Once she sees his face, the tears on his cheeks, as well as the pink, from her punch, slowly fading. One she is sure she has all pf his attention, she makes her eyes glow bright gold, before slipping her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

“I’m not your anything, anymore.”

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