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makeste · 3 years

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BnHA Chapter 295: So How Are You Holding Up (Because I’m a Potato)

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi randomly and graciously decided to answer all of our long-standing questions about Mr. Compress, including “is he secretly hot,” “is he secretly related to that Robin Hood thief guy,” and “is he ever going to use his quirk to chain chomp a hole right through his ass??” with the answer to all three being “yes, of course.” As for our follow-up questions, “sir, is Mr. Compress going to die,” and “holy shit,” his answers were, respectively, “wait and see,” and, “I understand, really I do, but that isn’t actually a question.” Well, he’s got us there.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi finally ends the War arc with the speed and grace of an overworked college student scrambling to BS their entire midterm essay with five minutes left before the deadline. Deku’s Spidey Sense is all “what up, I exist, p.s. you’re in danger kid” like oh shit, no, you think?? Compress is all “I’m not gonna die but I am going to pass out and be captured” and honestly, at this point I’ll take it. Spinner is all “Tomura you can have this one last Souvenir Hand I found that was in the oven for too long” and slaps it on his face because HE’S JUST TRYING TO BE HELPFUL, SHUT UP. Dabi is all, “[currently in a marble].”Tomura is all “actually, I’m AFO.” AFO is all “hahahahaha” and summons all of the remaining Noumus to cart him and Spinner and Dabi off to safety. Deku is all “DAMMIT TOMURA I’M REALLY MAD AT YOU FOR KILLING, AND I QUOTE, ‘AN UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF PEOPLE’, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, GET THIS, I TOTALLY WANT TO SAVE YOU TOO! LMAO ISN’T THAT WILD.” Fandom is all “OH MY GOD, NO WAY, is what we would say if we had literally never met Deku before, I guess.” And then the arc just ends, lol. See you in the new year, kids.

WAKE UP, LINK... I MEAN, DEKU

jesus christ Vestiges, not a one of you guys has got any chill at ALL. LISTEN TO ME. THIS CHILD IS DEAD. HE IS DECEASED. LOOK AT HIM. HE’S LYING THERE ALL DAZED WITH HIS ARMS AND LEGS TURNED INTO GREEN PUDDING AND YOU’RE ALL “GET UP LAZYBONES” LIKE I SWEAR TO GOD. CAN HE JUST REST?? CAN YOU ALL JUST CALL IT A DRAW WITH THE VILLAINS ALREADY SO WE CAN FINALLY END THIS TRAUMATIC ARC AND MOVE ON TO THE NEW “TRIAGE AND ROBOT LIMBS FOR EVERYBODY” ARC INSTEAD

LIE BACK DOWN YOU IDIOT!!

no you didn’t pass out because of a ~heatwave~, you passed out because he set you on fire while you were out here shooting Blackwhip out of your mouth with your SPINDLY ACCORDION LIMBS dangling uselessly from you like WINDCHIMES you RIDICULOUS BOY

“where’s Todoroki-kun” oh shiiiiiiit. right. god I hope someone caught him. BAKUGOU OWES HIM A FAVOR, HOW ‘BOUT IT

OH NEVER MIND HE APPARENTLY CAUGHT HIMSELF??

Todoroki Shouto has really highkey been the MVP of the entire fourth quarter of this arc. he deserves the world, and odds are all Horikoshi’s going to give him are lasting trauma, and a souvenir shirt that says “I survived this stupid arc and all I got was this t-shirt”

anyway now Deku’s being hit by a Lightning Bolt of Realization or some such? idk what’s going on, but I bet you it’s related to Tomura waking up again

OH SHIT??

LOL WHAT. THAT’S IT?? SPIDEY-SENSE?? I mean we all predicted Spidey-Sense being one of his quirks like ages ago, so Well Done, Us, I guess

but also, seriously?? all of that drama and intrigue about the fourth user’s quirk and this is what we end up with? what was All Might being so cagey about then? how did this dude die? I need answers goddammit. new, better answers lol

maybe it’s something to do with the fact that Deku keeps talking about how his head hurts?

I mean, for Deku of all people to be all “ouch that hurts”, it must really fucking hurt, you know? like oh my god Deku are you dying

lmao and SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO APPARENTLY DON’T FEEL PAIN

this man is out here FROLICKING, half-naked and half-torsoed, AND STILL FEVERISHLY RATTLING OFF HIS MONOLGOUE. YOU HAVEN’T EVEN ESCAPED YET YOU DINGUS. did watching Dabi pour bleach over his head inspire you to think of interesting new ways you could abuse your own body for the sake of Theatrics?? why are villains Like This

anyway so now Mirio’s punching him, because what else are you even supposed to do in this situation

I read this speech bubble three times in a row very carefully this time around just to make sure I was reading the words right. and then looked for a T/L note below. and there was none. whatever RHA, at least you all are out here enjoying yourselves

wait what?

I guess he hasn’t woken up yet after all?? so then wtf is Deku’s Spidey Sense getting all worked up about. I mean to be fair there’s danger all around them still so having a Spidey Sense in this kind of situation is kind of like bringing a smoke alarm to a BBQ

now what

wait did he put them back in the marble?? or is that panel just meant to show us how they were in the marble earlier?? Horikoshi please make this less confusing, I’m already having trouble staying focused as it is. and on top of everything else Compress is cascading blood like Niagara Falls right now and I’m starting to wonder if you really are going to kill him off

anyway so Mirio is still in mid-punch, and now he’s reaching out to punch Spinner with his other hand. heh. Mirio please be careful Tomura is right there, and I swear to god Horikoshi IF HE LAYS A HAND ON HIS SWIRLY BLOND HEAD SO HELP ME I WILL MAIL YOU A VIAL OF MY TEARS

okay seriously what the hell is happening

when you attach?? everyone?? to your body?? whose body?? who is this??

oh wait okay it’s a flashback to Tomura talking about his Hands

lmao this is so disjointed, I can’t tell what’s a flashback and what isn’t and whose thoughts these are lmao I give up. I’m just going to fire up a bunch of question marks until this starts making some goddamn sense. ???????

??????

????????

-- !!!!!!!!!!!

okay hold up. so did Spinner just slap Tomura’s last remaining Signature Fashion Hand onto his face just now for absolutely no reason?? is that what’s going on?? and fuck me but it actually worked too, lmao. is your buddy unconscious and unresponsive to stimuli?? no problem, just slap ‘em in the face with a burnt and shriveled severed hand. works every time

p.s. I SWEAR TO GOD HORIKOSHI. IF YOU TOUCH MIRIO!!! HE’S A GOOD BOY LEAVE HIM ALONE

??????????

OKAY WELL. I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WTF IS HAPPENING, BUT AT LEAST MIRIO’S NOT DEAD. KACCHAN GOT BLOWN AWAY THOUGH SOB. HOW IRONIC THAT THE GOD OF EXPLOSION MURDERS WOULD BE MURDERED BY AN EXPLOSION WHILE I WAS BUSY SAYING “OH MY GOD”

ohhhhhh, okay. so this is AFO’s narration

and that’s a partial answer to the question of “why did AFO bother raising Tomura up as his heir if he was planning on taking over his body the whole time.” apparently it makes it easier to control him. joy :’)

also this image of a potato wearing a Tomura wig is sending me fjkllkhl

oh my god he summoned all the Noumu to him like Aquaman and his sea creatures. this whole situation just keeps on getting better

-- oh hell no. oh fuck me, fucking shit

SHIT SHIT SHIT. I’M SORRY SPINNER, TOMURA CAN’T COME TO THE PHONE RIGHT NOW

oh my god. I fucking hate everything right now oh my god

I GUESS WE FIGURED OUT WHAT DEKU’S SPIDEY SENSE WAS WARNING HIM ABOUT, THEN ಠ_ಠ

fucking great!! so I guess nobody is getting a happy ending today, then. the heroes got their asses handed to them (sorry Compress, it’s a figure of speech, didn’t mean to be disrespectful); Deku and Kacchan died; Shouto’s evil brother came back from the dead to ruin his life; everyone and their dog lost various limbs; and the villains have now lost Twice (dead), Compress and Machia (presumably going to be captured), and now their fearless leader’s body has been completely taken over by AFO, which is such an unsexy development that it managed to completely undo all of the Mr. Compress Sexiness from last week. goddamn it

DAMN IT HORIKOSHI ARE YOU REALLY GOING TO END IT LIKE THIS

up close Hadou’s face is looking pretty rough. :/ that’s going to scar over isn’t it. at least she’ll look like a badass

meanwhile I appreciate that Horikoshi drew what looks to be a little puff of air next to Kacchan’s mouth, just to reassure us all that he’s not actually dead. that’s fine. you just lie there then. also his wound really is in the exact same place as All Might’s and it’s giving me all kinds of feels you guys but whatever I’m not gonna sit here dwelling on it all day

AND POOR SHOUTO. IS HE STILL CRYING OMG. AND ENDEAVOR, WAY TO DO NOTHING STILL. THE ALL TIME CHAMP OF SITTING AROUND AND STARING, GOOD FOR YOU

ARE YOU FOR REAL, ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW

(－‸ლ)

lol

“peace out, loser.” “SHUT YOUR TRAP, HO.” quality encounter right here

anyway so he’s blasting Deku with something and Deku’s just flying back all unconscious-like. so then, what even was the point of all that, huh

oh I see, it was to lead us into one last Deku monologue to close this arc out

oh my god Deku if you say you’re going to save him I will turn around and do a cannonball into a ballpit of feels right now, don’t do this to me

OH SNAP I THINK HE’S GONNA THOUGH

DID HE LOOK LIKE HE NEEDED SAVING?? I MUST CONFESS YOU AND I ARE OF A MIND HERE, YOUNG BROCCOLI. YES IN SPITE OF ALL THE MURDERS. WHAT CAN I SAY IT’S COMPLICATED

by the way I just have to point out here, that after all of those impossibly pretty close-ups of Hawks’s unconscious face, Horikoshi really did my child dirty here lmao

he looks like a squished cockroach. THAT’S MY BABY BOY

and it looks like the cavalry is finally on its way too! took them long enough. so I guess they can take care of any of the remaining Noumu stragglers, but first let Deku finish his speech. listen up Deku I really need you to say something cool and iconic to cap off this thus-far admittedly underwhelming Last Chapter Of The Year, here

AHHHHHHH YES HE REALLY DID IT HE SAID THE THING

well he thought the thing, anyway. close enough. I’ll take it!

so this is really the end of the arc then! or at least I hope, good lord. anyways, all right then so let’s do a quick status check:

it looks like the Noumu are hauling Tomura and Spinner away to safety, but it doesn’t look like they managed to save Machia or Compress. this honestly might be in Compress’s best interests though. the heroes can get him some medical help along with Kacchan and Endeavor and everyone else

Dabi is apparently hidden inside Spinner’s scarf, but do they have any way of releasing him without Compress there to undo the quirk? will he be all right in there. like how is he going to get food and water and air and stuff lol. does it wear off after a bit? can Compress undo it when he wakes up, even if he’s in custody? is there a distance limit on it?

and Skeptic was presumably turned into a marble as well, but Compress didn’t bother mentioning him at all. nobody cares about poor Skeptic lol

and bonus AFO theories status check:

Dad for One - AFO called Deku worthless and hasn’t seemed to take the least bit of interest in him despite getting to see his fancy SIXQUIRKS up close and personal. so if he is his dad he sure as heck is a terrible one, that’s all I can say

All for One for All/Deku is a horcrux - well the Spidey Sense seems to offer an alternative explanation to why Deku could sense AFO’s presence, but on the other hand it doesn’t explain why AFO was able to sense Deku’s as well (seeing his dreams and such). still thinking there’s a connection there, guys, idk

AFO is the final villain - five words for you: “EVERYTHING IS FOR MY SAKE.” is that concrete enough yet lol. pretty sure this arc marked both the beginning and end of Tomura’s brief stint as the Big Bad. Deku’s got it in his mind to save him now somehow, and we all know what happens when Deku starts getting determined to save people. look out AFO

as for the heroes, they’re all varying degrees of Fucked and I think it’s honestly too much to even take stock of at this point. maybe if I get a rush of hyperfixation in the next couple days or so I’ll do a separate post analyzing the impact of this arc and where things currently stand and where they might be headed from here

but in the meantime, ngl, this chapter was kind of a hot mess lmao. but whatever, I don’t even care because at least he managed to get all of it done within the allotted 17 pages, meaning that next week (or rather two weeks from now, sob) we really can get moving onto the aforementioned Triage arc! BRING ON THAT ANGST. I am so fucking hyped goddammit

#bnha 295 #all for one #midoriya izuku #shigaraki tomura #mr. compress #spinner (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #idk why but this chapter was so exhausting to get through lol #I've enjoyed this arc so much but I guess at the end the fatigue just hit me all at once #almost 40 chapters we've been doing this #that's one chapter for every year iida has been alive #still it sure was epic though #now bring on that angsty aftermath

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spencersawkward · 3 years

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switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 3

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 4k

content warnings: mention of rape and victim-blaming (talking about Clea's previous job in sex crimes— not her personal experience).

masterlist

this chapter is drawn from the season 1 episode 17 episode "A Real Rain," which is supposed to be in New York, but I didn't wanna write about New York so I changed it to Boston.

I drop a second sugar packet into my coffee before taking a tentative sip. my face twists in discomfort. previous to working here, I would bring my own thermos from home and it would last me all day, but I've had to up my caffeine intake to two or three cups.

"you get used to it." JJ walks over to me, steeping her tea. despite the fact that it's early, she's perfectly put together. her hair is tied up and her eyes are sparkling.

"how?" I laugh. she points to the coffee pot, which is fresh and yet somehow tastes slightly stale.

"when you've been up for twenty four hours, you won't care how it tastes."

I avert my widened eyes at this.

"you could do what Spence does and just add a bunch of sugars." she tilts her head towards Reid, who is rocking back in forth in his spinny chair with a huge volume open in front of him. he doesn't even notice us staring at him.

"ew, what?" I giggle. JJ nods.

"hey, Spence!" she calls across the office. his head pops up to frown at us.

"yes?"

"how many sugars do you use?"

"five. occasionally six." he says this without a hint of the shame it deserves. my eyebrows shoot up and I take another sip of the bitter drink, trying to ignore the taste. it coats my tongue.

"see?" she smirks. "just so you know, we have another case. meeting in five." she sashays away to the conference room, leaving me standing there with an overwhelming urge to sweeten my drink. I keep it at three and add a splash of creamer to drown out the bitterness, then walk briskly to my desk to grab a few of my things.

"we have a meeting, Reid." I say across the divider between our spaces. he holds up an index finger, slams the book shut, and grabs his things. I wait for him to get collected before we head up.

"what were you reading?" I ask, peeking at his workspace. books are lined up against the divider, loose papers scatter the surface, and there are three uncapped pens littered about. his disorganization surprises me.

"War and Peace." he replies, checking his watch.

it's not even nine am.

...

I'm staring out the window of the jet while Morgan and Prentiss battle out yet another card game with Reid. there's not much to see until we slice through clouds and fly over Boston, which is glittering in the early light. I sigh and turn back to my book, tucking my legs up beneath me.

"this is not how I planned to visit." Morgan notes, looks through his cards.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Boston." Spencer smiles softly. at this, all of us look up.

"you've never been?" Morgan asks doubtfully. Emily snorts.

"we've never had an unsub there." Reid doesn't seem to think this strange at all. Morgan and I share a glance before he speaks.

"Reid, it's an hour-and-a-half flight."

"I'll show you around if we have some time." Emily smiles reassuringly at the boy genius.

"it's an easy trip, man." Derek chuckles. Spencer isn't bothered by our teasing. instead, he draws another card from the deck and focuses on his game.

"I've never been either." I state. the team turns to me with surprised expressions, causing my cheeks to flush.

"you, too?" Morgan makes a face like I've disappointed him.

"I've been meaning to go." I shrug. "there's an exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts that I wanna see."

"what exhibition?" Spencer doesn't look up from his hand.

"uh, Titus Kaphar." I haven't had the opportunity to travel much, so a lot of the art I've seen has been from a computer screen or in class in college. it would be nice to actually get some experience seeing things face-to-face.

"Shifting the Gaze!" Spencer's face snaps up to beam at me, referencing the piece so vehemently that it makes me laugh.

"yeah, exactly."

"I went to his talk a couple years back."

"no way. really?" I shut my book and lean forward while he nods. Prentiss and Morgan are watching our conversation like a tennis match. while Reid rambles about all the things he heard at the lecture, I listen intently. it's good, because I don't really feel like talking right now; my head is pounding all over again, and this is distracting.

"do you ever go to the art museums in DC, then?" I ask once he's finished. Reid gets this crooked smile on his face like he wants to say a bunch of things, but is holding his tongue. his face is animated when he tells me about the other exhibits he's seen at the Smithsonian and apparently abandons his cards. Prentiss and Morgan have lost interest in our conversation; they start their own game and let us talk for the rest of the flight.

when we touch down, I immediately feel overwhelmed by the crush of people around us. our first crime scene is a taxi cab in Hyde Park, where the driver has been blindfolded, shot in the chest, and stabbed right through his ear. the blade, broken off from the handle, is lodged in his brain.

despite the fact that his kills are violent and seemingly random, the unsub definitely isn't disorganized. he carries his MO out the same way each time, which makes all of us question if we've missed a connection between victims.

"it's possible he's a sort of serial killer groupie." Spencer notes as he examines the inside of the cab, which is splattered with a mix of rainwater from the night before and blood. I shift where I'm standing to try to follow his line of sight.

"what do you mean?"

"Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris drove ice picks into their victims' heads and broke off the handle." he explains.

"well, if he's doing that, then he's presenting a mixed profile." I frown.

"exactly."

"mixed profile?" the police officer next to me asks.

"yeah. the fact that this guy is shooting his victims first suggests that he needs a quick and effective means of controlling the situation, which means that he probably doesn't think he can overpower them." I say.

"he could have a physical problem-- or maybe he's just not confident because he's small." Reid is still examining the taxi for any further evidence, but it seems sort of pointless.

"plus, he's organized and hunts at night. that tells us he most likely has a steady job."

"so," the cop stares between us with a perplexed expression. "we're looking for a small, angry white guy with a day job?"

the sarcasm in his voice makes me smile a little.

"I know it doesn't narrow down a lot right now, but we know that this guy isn't blitz attacking his victims. it's more of an execution."

the officer nods at this and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I turn to Reid.

"we gotta go."

Spencer nods curtly, straightens, and starts to immediately walk back to the car. I shake my head at his behavior, then follow after.

...

we get called to visit a new crime scene in the morning, this time in a church. Hotch holds the door open for me and I walk in to see a body laid out in front of the pews. an older woman sits towards the back, comforted by a nun.

"how'd they find him?" Prentiss asks the police chief as she leads us to the victim.

"night janitor." she nods to a man being questioned by cops in the corner.

"did he see anything?" I ask her.

"no, but he remembered a parishioner who was here earlier," we walk past the older woman. she stares at us expectantly as the chief talks. "so there could be a potential witness."

we stop at the body of a priest, his eyes covered and a blade lodged in his skull, unsurprisingly. Emily and I stare down at him, realizing the same thing.

"first public killing." she notes as she bends down to examine his wounds. "he's getting bolder."

"the presentation is just as important as the kill." I join her on the ground, snapping my gloves tighter on my hands and turning his head to the side to get a better look at the blade. semi-dried blood coats the tied fabric around his eyes.

"I'm gonna go talk to that woman." Emily leaves. the crime scene agent crouches down on the ground across from me, and I bite my lip before making a strange request.

"would you mind... sliding that thing out of his ear?"

the agent blinks at me in disbelief, probably not wanting to pry a knife out of someone's head, but nods and does so carefully. I squint down at the wound. then I realize something.

"Reid?" my voice carries across the room. Spencer is talking to an officer when he hears me and walks over.

"this doesn't look like a normal blade, but I don't know what it is." I point at the now half-buried weapon. it sits unpleasantly out, the blood catching warm light. Spencer gets down next to the crime scene agent and examines it more closely.

"this is flint." he says slowly, turning to me with a concerned expression.

"like the stone?"

"flint is the symbol for protection and retribution in Egyptian mythology. with hieroglyphics, they used to display dangerous animals like scorpions and snakes being cut with flint knives in order to render them powerless."

"oh." is all I can manage while I process what he's saying. Spencer waits for me to say something else, but instead I bend my head down to pull back the silk tie.

"there's no way that using flint is a coincidence." I reason. the blood is all on the inside of the tie as well, which gives me pause. Reid recognizes this a second later, his eyes lifting to mine. they look almost brown in the candlelight, flecks of gold sparkling in them while his mind whirs endlessly.

"I'm gonna call Garcia to see if any of the victims have been charged with a crime." he tells me.

"good idea." we both stand, the crime scene agent scurrying off to do something else. I head back over to Emily and hope that we're right about this. flint is too specific of a weapon for it not to be intentional, right?

...

we deliver the profile by the end of the work day, our unsub a serial vigilante with a personal edge to all of his killings. my body is slightly shaky from downing cups of coffee without any actual food, so the promise of eating out after we finish makes my stomach eager.

we go to a Chinese restaurant by the station and keep talking about the case, despite having promised ourselves not to do so. I sit between Prentiss and Reid while I dig into my dumplings. I like listening to them swap theories and past cases, how they weave together all their stories.

"you forgot to add something to the profile earlier today, Aaron." Rossi says as he piles more noodles onto his plate. our attention immediately focuses on the Italian.

"what did he forget?" Prentiss has a ghost of a smile on her face. I've noticed that she tends to speak like she's on the inside of a joke that other people don't understand. the intonation of her words feels like a secret.

"I didn't mention the possibility of our unsub being a cop." Hotch takes a sip of his ice water. there's a moment where we all reflect on this information before Morgan breaks the silence.

"I mean, they do know the system."

"they could easily take matters into their own hands, given what they see every day." Prentiss adds. I nod.

"when someone like our victim is killed, police refer to it as a public-service murder." Reid struggles to get the noodles onto his chopsticks, which I notice but don't say anything about. he tries again, the food slipping back onto his plate. Morgan notices this shortcoming of Spencer's and I see that he's about to start teasing him, so I change the subject.

"I saw a lot of rapists walk when I was in sex crimes," I put down my dumpling while I talk. Hotch watches me intently. I haven't spoken much about my previous job with anyone on the team, especially not him. in fact, he barely knows anything about me. "a lot of the victims didn't feel safe pressing charges, or the juries said they were asking for it. it's enough to make you wanna explode."

"it's a long way from feeling like that and actually committing a murder, though, don't you think?" Emily asks.

"not really." I turn my gaze back to my plate and start to feel nauseous. there's a clinking of plates and silverware as we continue in silence. Emily nudges my arm gently with hers and offers me a supportive smile.

I hear Spencer next to me, getting the attention of a passing waiter.

"excuse me," he says in a low tone. "can I get a fork, perhaps?"

Morgan snickers as the waiter takes off to get the utensil. at this point, there's a palpable tension as we wait to see who makes fun of Reid first. he drops his chopsticks into his bowl with a defeated clatter and Derek gently pushes his knuckles against Spencer's cheekbone.

"having some trouble, kid?" he asks. Spencer smacks his hand away.

"don't be mean." I giggle, reaching onto my wrist to grab a hair tie. "here, try this." I wrap the thing around the end of Spencer's chopsticks so that they're easier to use, handing them back to him.

Spencer tries again and it works-- if not somewhat clumsily. he gives me a little appreciative smile and I smile back before returning to my food, listening to the stories that Rossi doles out. he even pays for dinner despite our half-hearted protests.

the entertainment for the evening is pretty nice, but when I've stuffed myself with Chinese food, Emily leans over to me.

"do you wanna go to that museum you were talking about earlier?" she whispers. I peek at my phone to check the time.

"I doubt we'd have much time before they close, but yeah, definitely." excitement bubbles up in my stomach as I realize I might actually get to poke around for a while. Prentiss throws her napkin on the table abruptly.

"Clea and I are going to the Museum of Fine Arts. anyone wanna join?"

I look around to gauge some reactions.

"I'm interested." Morgan nods.

"I've already been several times." Rossi takes a sip of his drink as he politely declines. Hotch shakes his head.

"I have some paperwork I need to finish."

"again?" Prentiss complains.

"I'll go." Spencer sits up straighter as he looks at his brunette friend, folding his napkin neatly on his plate. my eyebrows raise a little, although I'm not surprised that he'd be interested in visiting any museum. we stand and get ready to go; Hotch warns us to be ready to go at seven in the morning tomorrow. a little weight is lifted off my chest as I realize that there will be some reprieve during this case, and then we're wandering out into the evening air.

we ate dinner sort of early, so the sky is still slightly aglow with a bruised shade, preparing to sink into its favorite darkness. after finding the route to the museum, we hop on the train.

Boston is lovely in the kind of way that aches of neat corners and airy lights. stores crammed with antiques and novelty products line the sidewalks, people wander about as they take in a pleasant night. somehow disjointed and cohesive all at once.

whatever bit of conversation we had on the way dissipates into breathlessness once we get inside the enormous entryway. it's cavernous, extravagant, gorgeous. we flip through brochures advertising different exhibits. Emily raves about Impressionism and decides that that must be our first stop, so we head off with the rest of the museum stragglers who have decided to feed themselves with art until they're forced to leave.

my head is constantly spinning to admire something else in the enormous white rooms. it's a bit overwhelming at some points, what with the gargantuan canvases that greet me at every turn. but it's impressive, too, and I find myself hungrily reading all the small plaques. I venture out of the Impressionism vein and into Korean art, my feet carrying me away from Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer broke off a while ago; to where, I have no idea.

I check out vases and pottery, sculptures, renderings of historical events. images from the crime scenes fill my head intrusively. there's no use in trying to shut them out; they've been in my dreams for a while now, the kind that wake me up in a cold sweat. I haven't told anyone about them— I'm sure others get them, too— and I don't want to seem like I can't handle it. every time I close my eyes, I begin to feel the pressure of a knife against my temple.

"a lot of these are from private collections."

the voice causes me to jump, my skin erupting in goosebumps as Spencer stands beside me. he holds his bag against his side and follows my line of sight to the 18th-century bookshelf screen.

"that's interesting." I reply. what else is there to say to that?

"really makes you think about what other art pieces won't ever be seen by the public." he turns and starts walking onto the next work, seemingly done with this conversation. my brow furrows while I watch him go, his posture miserable as a result of his skinny build. he's quite tall.

"what do you mean?" my voice comes out quiet, but it carries in the otherwise empty exhibit. Reid turns around and stops in his place, allows me to catch up briefly. we start to read another plaque by a silver basin.

"you could have a Cézanne just rotting in your attic and it would never be examined by the right scholars." he shrugs.

"I really doubt there's anything nearing that value in my attic." I laugh.

"you ever seen 'Antiques Roadshow'?" he asks non-sarcastically. I balk.

"sure."

"you never know." he's not a man of many words, apparently. I get his message regardless and we continue to walk, him setting out facts for me in neat rows, simple and easily taken in. he's definitely a know-it-all, but not in the way that makes me want to escape his presence. it's sort of comforting, having someone around who just understands everything. his absolute lack of social graces makes him easy to be around, too; I don't need to force conversation because he doesn't care.

we wind up in the mummy section, where the walls tingle with an energy that could only be described as magical.

"spooky." I nod to the domineering sarcophagus lid of Kheperra. a spotlight illuminates all of its intricacies and I make a beeline for it. Spencer trails behind me and we fall into silence as we peer at the exquisite details. it's intimidating, for sure, hulking and made of carved black stone. "you feel that?" I whisper to Spencer, who is enthralled in the image.

the way the spotlight spills over onto him is interesting; it emphasizes the shadow below his jaw and the delicate quality of his bone structure, his cheekbone prominent at the place where his ear meets his face. his lashes are long and lovely, his Adam's apple poking out of a slender throat. he turns to me with a curious expression.

"feel what?"

"the energy change," I smile. "from the ancient dead bodies."

"it's probably just the dark lighting and the media associations you have with mummies." but his eyes begin flitting about the room in a slightly panicked manner. I feel a smirk tug at my lips as I step closer to him.

"are you scared?"

"no," he scoffs and makes a face like I've made the world's most absurd accusation. "why would I be scared?"

"because we're all alone in here..." I use a lower tone to freak him out a little. "who's to stop them from coming out and... snatching us?" when my hand snakes around behind him to pinch his arm, he jumps.

"what the--" he catches sight of the devilish grin on my face. "don't do that!"

"sorry, Einstein." I laugh and turn in the other direction, him following me to the next piece. Spencer doesn't seem to have more thoughts to give on the exhibition, probably still a little creeped out. part of me begins to feel guilty for startling him, even though he constantly does that to me. his footfalls are weirdly soft.

I wonder what Spencer is like outside of work. what he does when he gets back to his apartment. how could someone like him entertain themselves? maybe he just reads books until his eyes glaze over. he definitely doesn't go out often, but maybe he has other nerdy friends. I hope he does. there's something in his eyes that's too viscous for me to grasp, something swimming and pocketed. I'd like to understand it, although that doesn't seem like a great idea to pursue. he barely gives his closest friends information about his life.

we end up at opposite ends of the room, him still examining an entombed husband and wife couple while I check out a canonic jar. the silence in this room is tangible. I wasn't lying when I felt an energy shift— it's like gold and clay and it smells like cracked cinnamon.

I'm trying to get a better look at the detailing when I feel a cold hand wrap around my forearm, easily encircling it. I jolt.

Spencer stands behind me with a playful smile, like he's quite pleased with himself.

"Reid!" I yank my arm away from his long fingers and see him let out that rare laugh. it's pleasant and fills the room with a warmer light as I rub my arm where his fingers held me. I'm surprised he was willing to touch me at all; it's pretty obvious that he's got a problem with germs, which is understandable.

"who's scared now?" he tries to defend himself with his palms when I reach out to gently smack his shoulder.

"you know, I was starting to feel bad for you." I laugh. he smiles brightly and keeps walking into the next room. I realize that the way we move is like two weighted ends of a string. he drifts out on his own, I follow, and vice versa.

I appreciate that he's beginning to loosen up around me, so much so that he smiles at a joke I make in the English Regency section. we walk quickly to absorb as much as we can before the museum closes, but we still don't get through all of it. Spencer isn't much of a conversationalist, and he doesn't really need to be. he listens to me talk, I listen to his erudite observations, smiling when he uses certain terms that sound like they're from someone much older.

by the time a curator tells us we have to go, we've completely lost Prentiss and Morgan and end up meeting back at the entrance. it's pitch black outside; Boston is still bustling, except my legs are tired and I'm ready to crash in bed. we have another packed day tomorrow.

#spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #dr. reid #criminal minds #mgg #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #friends to lovers #BAU #slow burn

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ladyhallen · 3 years

Text

The Sentient House and Alice

Three weeks before the elections, Alice woke up with the nagging need to move to her grandmother’s house.

It was a nice house, but simply too large for one family to have. Just simply, impossible large. Alice had once tried to catalogue all the rooms in the house but just lost count. It was as if the house itself didn’t like to be measured.

Alice got used to inanimate objects having opinions of their own. It wasn’t so bad and at least if you treated them right, they wouldn’t object to being used. It was a side effect of having taken too strongly from her grandmother.

She had a feeling that nagging need to move into the house was another quirk of her blood. Her mother never could explain it properly, other than knowing more than people.

So, with just that urge, Alice packed up her bags for a weeks clothing, all her documentation that labelled her as having something extra and moved out of her tiny apartment.

Her landlord, a man with cat-yellow eyes, sighed.

“Must be something important, if you have to do it without any prior notice,” he murmured. He was one of the few people who knew about her. Being part of the Other community, people often knew everyone else. Mainly for self-defense.

“I don’t know if it’s a calling,” Alice said. “But…there’s a need? I don’t know. A need to hide.”

The landlords eyes were wide. “Alright. I’ll spread the word.”

Alice wished he wouldn’t. While there would be some people who would appreciate the warning, there would also be others who didn’t like false alarms.

“Alice, you’ve never actually given me false alarms before,” he reminded her. “Now, stop being modest and get moving.”

Alice nodded, feeling a little bit better. “Just remember, I’m not a Seer,” she repeated, feeling the need to reiterate things.

“Yeah, you just know.”

Alice gave up.

The house was situated in the middle of the city. It was a large, sprawling land bracketed by fruit trees and large, rustling grass. Even if it was in the middle of the city, the trees were tall enough and thick enough to block sound and make it seem isolated.

In the middle of it all was the house.

Wreathed in spells, the windows blurred as though it was moving. It made measuring things difficult. If Alice didn’t already know that the house was sentient, she would have believed it after spending a night inside. The bathroom tended to rearrange itself according to how she liked it.

“I’m here, I’m home,” she called, opening the door that didn’t even pretend to be locked. It swung invitingly open, like it had just been closed and not closed for a good twenty years. “Stop calling, I’m here.”

The chandelier flickered and turned on.

“What’s the problem?”

The lights turned on, one by one until Alice could clearly see what was lit and what wasn’t. The house was leading her to the library and she followed, leaving her bag on the sofa by the fireplace.

It was clearly agitated and it showed. By the time Alice reached the library on the second floor, the lights blazed.

On the bookstand by the door, a book was open and being flicked to and fro by the wind. She took the hint and bent close.

“Of all the creatures that witches spent battling,” she read aloud. “Demons are the worst. Banished to the Otherworld by the Coven of Witches in the year 1905 after the disaster that was the Spanish Influenza. They are characterized by their yellow eyes and the scent of sulfur that follows them. They also have an aversion to cats.”

Alice breathed deep, trying not to panic.

“But,” she whispered. “The UCO just declared demons to be a myth. If the Coven of Witches did this and then scattered afterwards, that leaves a mark on the World. Why would the UCO declare demons to be a myth?”

Alice had no answer and the house rattled around her in agitation.

Since the house was clearly averse to letting her leave the house – as evidenced by the doorknob that wouldn’t twist open and the trees that suddenly blocked her way outside the gates – Alice made herself at home.

She picked a bedroom, almost jumped out of her skin when she found the drawers to be full of clothes her size and even felt her eyebrows climbing when she saw the pantry overflowing with food.

Evidently, it had prepared itself for her arrival.

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful,” she said.

The windows preened.

Half-forgotten lessons with her grandmother resurfaced and Alice ended up baking cookies. The scent wafted up to the third floor and the house actually felt lived in. She knew the house appreciated it by the bubble bath it drew up when she headed for bed.

On Alice’s third day, when she was arguing with the house on whether she could go outside and get some other supplies, the doorbell rang.

She paused in the act of wiping the glasses and glared at the nearest mirror. “This discussion is not yet finished,” she declared.

Opening the door, she found herself face to face with a petite woman, glossy wings protruding from her back and an energetic smile.

“Hi!” the half-fairy greeted. Alice knew she was half since her skin wasn’t green. “I saw your ad in the internet and wondered if you were still hiring? I’m a good cook and can work around substitutes in case of allergies and Other problems.” Alice blinked at her. The woman didn’t even pause. “I can also bake and clean and sew. So anything is really fine. I just need a place to stay. The cats are all saying their fur is standing up and – “

“Wait, wait, just stop,” Alice said, trying not to shout. Fairies didn’t like sudden loud noises. “Why are you here?”

The woman looked bewildered. “You posted an ad in the internet asking about housekeeping.”

Alice sighed and pulled the woman inside. Once they were seated inside the kitchen, Alice glared at the mirror. “You posted that ad, didn’t you? I thought I told you not to do things like these without asking?”

In response, all the drawers in the kitchen, which had been obligingly opened once Alice took out the polishing rag, drew shut.

The half-fairy goggled. “The drawers just moved.” She stated carefully.

Alice sighed again. “It has a mind of its own. Most things do, when they spend enough time around me. And the house was likely the one who posted the advert too. Most probably, it convinced my laptop to do it. People,” she said loudly. “We have consent issues. Didn’t we have this discussion when I was fifteen?”

The woman laughed, a gay and infectious sound. “You must have some sorcerer blood! They’re the only ones I know that can do that, even by accident. So can I work here?”

Alice nodded. “Why do you want to work for food and lodging anyway?”

“But that’s just it,” she said seriously. “Anyone who has a drop of Other in them are hiding. Apparently, someone with Seer blood said to be careful or something.”

Alice had the feeling she could blame her old landlord for that. But…

“Wait, where did you find my advert?” she asked, feeling dread.

The woman obligingly rolled out a printed sheet and Alice felt blood drain from her face. “Is that Facebook? And the UCO page? And that…”

“The official chat room for the Other community,” she supplied. “I was really lucky to get here first. I think there’s going to be a lot more people coming here.”

Alice dropped her forehead to the table and she couldn’t even hurt herself since the table softened to avoid hurting her.

“Oh my god. What are you planning, you crazy house?” she muttered.

…

The half-fairy woman’s name was Susan and Alice set her to cooking or baking.

It was amazing to have conversation that actually talked back.

“This was your grandmother’s house?” Susan asked. “Wow, it’s amazing the UCO hasn’t seized this yet.”

Alice shrugged, trying to peel the apples. It was slow going since she didn’t particularly like holding anything sharp. “I think they tried?” she said. “I remember a year when Mum was going gray about grandmum. She and dad had a spectacular row about it.”

“It’s really well taken care of,” Susan said. “Especially the garden. I really like your trees. There’s something…different about them.”

Since Alice had seen them move and walk around, they definitely weren’t ordinary trees.

…

Alice’s next applicant was an elf, pointy ears and all.

She stared at the man when he volunteered to be the gardener.

“Pick a room,” she said. “There’s a lot.”

“My name is Samuel,” he said, a melodic trill in his voice. “Thank you for sheltering me.”

Alice blinked dazedly at him and then marched determinedly up her room to continue arguing with the laptop about taking down the adverts. She didn’t need more people.

…

Even with the advert being taken down, people still arrived in staggering, slow numbers.

After Samuel came three more elves. They all took care of the gardens. A werewolf and his mate, a half-lizard. They started a vegetable garden – which struck Alice as ironic since werewolves and lizards didn’t like vegetables and were as carnivorous as possible.

Then came the pixies who roosted in the Roof Gardens and only came down to steal some desserts. They did amazing cleaning and swept the house of any dust at night when everyone slept.

Two gnomes arrive, bringing with them one earth nymph and two tree nymphs. Alice, at this point sits down with Susan and tries not to pull out her hair.

“How am I supposed to feed an earth nymph and the gnomes?” Alice hissed at the fairy. “Aren’t gnomes vegetarian?”

Susan giggled. “It’s a good thing Erik and James have just harvested their first crops then. It’s like fate. You gather such amazing people, Alice.”

It definitely wasn’t Alice’s doing. She merely stared at all the people arriving and kept worrying.

Meanwhile, the elections draw closer.

….

The first time Alice sees a cat when she’s doing laundry, she dismissed it as unimportant. Its green eyes stare at her, and then seemingly finds her suitable.

The next time she sees a cat; there are four of them sunning themselves on a patch of sunlight in the library.

“Okay, this is definitely not normal,” she said with a frown.

The cats ignore her.

Two pairs of vampire mates arrive and seek sanctuary. Alice tried not to cringe when Erik eyes them up.

“Please don’t fight,” she pleaded. “The house will definitely get angry.”

At that statement, the pixies that were watching the proceedings by the roof beams, gasp.

The vampires paused and Erik goes still.

“I’m not fighting them,” Erik announced. “But I’m not going to make any promises if they mess with my vegetables.”

The vampires nod at him regally.

“What can you do?” Alice asked before someone else exploded. Vampires tend to make people irritated. “We can sort your books. And do repairs. We also brought with us some animals. We know you like fresh milk and we can get blood from the cows as well so it balances evenly for us.”

Alice tried not to laugh out loud. Vampires volunteering for animal husbandry. Vampires volunteering to be repair men.

….

Marcia, one of the most well-known in the Other community, shows up and it nails the coffin to how weird her life is.

Because Marcia, White Mage extraordinaire, just volunteered to be her librarian.

“I can also help raise defensive spells,” Marcia adds at Alice’s flummoxed silence, mistaking it for hesitation.

“That’s fine,” Susan interjects for her. “But...”

The words, why are you here remains unsaid, but the White Mage hears it anyway.

“I did a divination spell once the warning reached me,” Marcia says, like its normal for someone to manage a divination spell and have it work. Gosh, it’s blowing Alice’s mind. “And my results said that the best place to be in right now is the house of a Witch.”

Her houseguests look at Alice in interest. The words take a while to penetrate.

“But!” Alice says with surprise. “I’m not a witch! I mean…I don’t think I am? I can’t work with plants for shit and my empathy is out of whack. I don’t have a green thumb!”

Marcia finally looks confused, which makes Alice feel better. There are finally two of them suffering here.

“I do agree that an affinity with plants is a sign of a witch, but you are so obviously magical and good with witchcraft that it’s affecting everything around you, even non-living things,” the White Mage says. “The cats agree with me,” she adds, pointing out the three cats twining by her feet.

Alice, for the first time in a while, finally knows what she is. And she doesn’t appreciate it in the slightest.

…

On the day of the election, the camera pans to the president candidate and Alice almost jumps a foot in the air when his eyes turn yellow. Not dragon-gold or cat-yellow but demon-yellow.

An instinctive revulsion rises up in her and Alice finally understands why she had known to hide.

Because demons had finally come back from their banishing and Alice was one of the few Witches left in the world.

...

wrote this a few years ago, just posted this now.

#original work #original post #did i post this because of the american elections?#you never know #witches #wizards #demons #a lot of fantasy people #fantasy au

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creepy-spooghetti · 3 years

Note

Hi! I'm new to your blog and I love your writing already! I was wondering (if you haven't already done so) can you write a scenario where your favorite creepypasta goes after a victim, but finds out the victim is immortal? I thought it'd be a fun scenario to play with, with the confusion of not being able to off the victim, the surprise of finding that they can't actually die, and the possible relatable feeling of being alive so long that the world blends together? I also say to use your favorite cp because I'd love to see who your favorite is and how you depict them in this scenario!

Oh wow, this is indeed an interesting scenario. I’m glad you like the blog, and I hope this meets your standards! Also, I decided to use Homicidal Liu for this because I haven’t written a lot about him yet and he’s pretty underrated I think. Plus he’s just a cool character ^^ Thanks for the request!

Liu peers through the window, gazing at the sleeping individual currently residing in their bed, blissfully unaware of the stitched-up teenager hovering just outside their room. Their chest rises and falls peacefully, a sight that Liu will, unfortunately, have to put an end to. It isn’t his fault he serves a faceless entity with a vengeance for mankind - if he ever tried to leave, he’d be wiped off the face of the earth.

He slides the window open, internally thanking them for leaving it unlocked the afternoon prior, as it makes it all the easier on him. Sure, he’s had to pick locks before and he generally doesn’t have a problem with it, but he’d rather just get in and get the job done without having any delays if at all possible.

Slinking through the now open window and silently stepping onto the floor below, he pulls his machete from the sheath hanging from his back and grips the handle as he draws closer to their sleeping frame. It’s fairly normal for Sully to come out during kills and take the lead, though it seems for tonight, Liu’s out of luck. He’ll have to do it by himself.

Slenderman didn’t say how to kill them, he just said, “Take them out and destroy any remaining evidence”, and he plans to do just that. Creeping to the bed, he raises his machete over his head, focusing on where their neck is sticking out from beneath the covers and readying himself for what he inevitably has to do.

After an encouraging breath, he brings the blade down onto their neck, one, two, three times, their blood splattering onto his face and across the surface of the machete. After the fourth time, their head comes clean off, and he stops, attempting to catch his breath from the exertion. His gaze travels down to the floor as he feels the warm liquid slowly trickle down his face, and he shakes his head disapprovingly. This is not the lifestyle he wanted to have, and in all reality, he’ll probably never get completely used to it.

He isn’t like his brother. He can’t just kill, and kill, and kill without a care in the world, no. He still has something that Jeff severely lacks; compassion. Empathy for other people, which is a rare thing to come across in the manor holding some of the deadliest killers in the world.

It’s one of the reasons he gets along with Jane so well. She doesn’t like what she does, either, and together they can find a common enemy; Jeff. He ruined both of their lives, and even though he is still his biological brother, he doesn’t really see him as his brother, anymore. He stopped having familial emotions for him the night that he tried to murder him in cold blood, all without batting an eye.

Liu is drawn, or more like, yanked harshly, out of his thoughts of self-reflection when the person he thought he beheaded just seconds ago suddenly sits up, rubbing at their neck and letting out a pained grown. Holy shit. Their head is still attached. But that’s impossible—how the hell are they still alive? He just murdered them, he saw it, he’s covered in the blood to prove it.

Their eyes avert up from their lap to the person looming over them, thick blood obscuring most of his features and the silver moon shining in through the windowpane making him look even more ominous. Bonus points for the menacing-looking machete still grasped tightly within his hand.

They flinch away, muscles tensing and eyes widening as they comprehend what just happened. They stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, Liu trying to figure out how exactly it’s possible to come back alive after being clearly decapitated and Y\n merely observing him before they break the unsettling silence.

“Did...did you just try to kill me?” Instead of replying, Liu continues to gaze down at them with unsure green eyes before swiftly bringing his machete back down, this time slicing through their head, with as much strength as he can muster up. They let out a squeak, pain shooting through their skull and temporarily rendering them immobile.

Liu pulls the blade out of their head only to force it back down, this time much deeper than it was previously. He’ll be sure and kill them this time. Allowing the blood-spattered weapon to dangle at his side after he once again pulls it from the fresh, and undoubtedly fatal wound, he stares at the limp body sitting hunched over in front of him, completely unmoving.

Yes, he seems to have done it this time. Due to the dim lighting, he doesn’t notice how the inflicted area quickly seals itself back up, nor how the person whom he just presumed dead begins to breathe once more. Only when they stir and meet his gaze does he stumble back from surprise, nearly dropping his machete in the process.

They rub at their head, wincing at the aching currently taking place there and sending an annoyed glance at Liu. “Dude, again? Seriously?”

“H-how are you—“ he cuts himself off, shaking his head in disbelief and sucking in a breath in order to compose himself. Liu isn’t one to get surprised often, but when he does his reactions are more than notable.

“How am I...what?” They spin around and place their feet on the floor, tilting their head up at Liu in mild vexation, a knowing expression forming across their face. “Not dying? Yeah, quite a shocker, huh?”

He blinks, comprehending the situation and trying not to be too startled. He didn’t expect this, when you kill someone they’re actually supposed to, ya know, be dead and stay dead. They aren’t supposed to rise again, not once, but twice.

“This isn’t the first time someone’s tried to kill me.” Liu narrows his eyes at them incredulously, straightening his posture and collecting his bearings enough to form a coherent sentence.

“So you just...you just can’t die?”

“Nope!” they say, popping the ‘p’ and shaking their head, eyebrows furrowing. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less when someone tries, though.”

“But...but how?” Had he known beforehand that the person he had been sent to eliminate couldn’t be eliminated then he wouldn’t have even gone, and he’s sure that if his boss would have had that information at hand then he wouldn’t have sent Liu in the first place.

But how wouldn’t he have known that? He’s the most powerful cryptid being that Liu has ever come across, it wouldn’t make sense for him to somehow not know of one of his workers’ victims to be...well, immortal.

They shrug, rubbing at their arms lightly as the chilly breeze blows in from the still-open window. “I’m not really sure, myself. Not even my family knows.” They glance up at him with questioning e\c eyes. “Why did you try to kill me?”

“I...uh...”

“Lemme guess. Someone sent you here?” Liu can’t do anything but hesitantly nod, shoulders loosening up slightly as he attempts to figure out what he’s supposed to do, now. “But you didn’t know that I couldn’t die?” Again, he nods. “And I’m guessing your boss or whatever didn’t, either.”

“You’re acting so casual about this,” he says, voice low as he tightens his grip on the deadly weapon still clutched in his palm.

“I mean, what else am I supposed to do? Run and scream for my life?” A bland chuckle exits their mouth and they shake their head thoughtfully. “You can hurt me all you want but inevitably, it does nothing.”

He blinks, wiping the blood from his machete off onto his jeans before slipping it back into its sheath. “So you’re not gonna tell anyone?”

“Well, why would I? It would do no good.” They shuffle a bit on the bed, attempting to get more comfortable as they run a hand through their hair. “So what’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m not disclosing that information,” is all he says, causing Y\n to let out a small laugh of amusement.

“Okay, I get it. But I’m sure you already know mine.”

“Maybe I do.”

“So what harm would it do in you telling me yours? You’re probably gonna kidnap me or somethin’ anyway, right?” Hmm...kidnapping isn’t too bad of an idea. Although, his boss told him to eliminate the subject, not kidnap them. To be fair though, he also didn’t tell him that the ‘subject’ in question couldn’t be killed so, he supposes that there are some exceptions to this...peculiar situation.

He releases a quiet sigh, sticking his hands deep inside the pockets of his leather jacket and ultimately deciding what the hell, why not. “...Liu. I’m Liu.”

“Nice name, ‘Liu’. I’m Y\n.” They lean backward, their arms supporting their weight as they tilt their head up at the brown-haired male. “Too bad we couldn’t be meeting under better circumstances.”

This person is so chill toward the guy who just tried to kill them—

“So are you gonna try to behead me again or what?” They brush their fingers over their neck and huff. “That didn’t feel very good, just so you know.”

“Well in my defense, you weren’t really supposed to be alive to feel it.”

“True, true. And for future reference, make the cut diagonal.” Liu raises an eyebrow. “You’ll slice the head off quicker that way. I mean, assuming you’re gonna try to kill, again.”

“Okay…why are you telling me this?” They shrug.

“Why wouldn’t I tell you this?”

He parts his lips to respond, though eventually just closes them back and shakes his head in defeat. “I...don’t know.”

“Alright, look dude, if you’re gonna do something else then just go ahead and do it. If not,” they release a yawn and begin to climb back underneath the covers of their bed, “then leave so I can go back to sleep.”

Liu isn’t sure what to do other than just stand there and watch them, thoughts swarming his mind. Should he leave them? They made it pretty clear that they weren’t intimidated by him, and he’s almost positive that they won’t blab about this encounter should he let them go. His boss might be mad, but oh well, he can always come back and kidnap them later. For now, he just needs to tell Slenderman that they legit can’t die, or even if they can, they seem to recover rather quickly and is always able to come back to life afterward.

Deciding that there isn’t a better option, he slowly starts walking backward, wiping some blood off of his face with the back of his hand and exiting through the window before softly shutting it behind him. This was a strange encounter, indeed. Maybe he can talk to Jack or Kagekao about being immortal and get some of his many questions answered since he himself can actually die so he doesn’t know what it’s like.

With a slightly confused sigh, he begins his trek back to the Manor. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder...

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aestheticseungmean · 3 years

Note

Hi can you write a one-shot with 20,64 and 97 ? Thanks and have a nice day

short skirts, emo bands, and maids, oh my!- Jeon Jungkook

Synopsis- You like Yuta, Jungkook loves you, and Yuta loves anime and nothing else. What does it take for Jungkook to make you see that?

4029 words

Warnings: Unconsentual kiss but both parties enjoy it and cussing

Fluff and a bit of angst

A/N: Sorry for taking so long. I really struggled to get motivated to write with everything else going on around me. Also, this was supposed to be Yuta’s story but it drifted into a Jungkook story instead.

⚠️PLEASE NOTICE⚠️: I wanted to leave you guys with one last thing before I went on break. I am officially announcing my hiatus from for a few months. I’ll still be on here reading and liking things but I won’t write.

——————————————————————————

“Did you know your skirt is below your fingertips?” You rolled your eyes at your best friend Jungkook. “Thank you, Captain obvious.” He gave you his signature bunny smile, scrunching up his nose in amusement. “The skirt is short on purpose.” “Who are you trying to impress? Yuta?” You stared at your outfit in the mirror which consisted of a black skirt, a pastel pink shirt, fishnet tights, and your favorite pair of converse which were also pink. To say that you thought you looked good was an understatement. You were feeling yourself in this outfit. You felt cute yet sexy. “As a matter of fact, I like this outfit for me, but it may be a tiny bit for Yuta,” you confessed. Jungkook laughed and played with the hem of the blanket on your bed, waiting for you.

Yuta was your crush. He was also your neighbour whom you saw everyday on your way to work. You often waved towards him only to receive a quick glance and nothing more. Occasionally, you’d see him in the game store you worked at, checking out the new selections of games, manga, and animes. Each time, you were too shy to do more than just wave or squeak out a meek ‘hi’. And more often than not, he just ignored you and went about his search, leaving you sighing to yourself and stocking some more Pop Funko figurines. Maybe he just thought you and Jungkook were an item like everyone else did, or maybe he just didn’t want to be friends with you. Either way, at one point you might have well given up. But, you being the simp you are, you didn’t. You kept on trying to be his friend and maybe even more.

“Are you ready? I want to go to this cafe that Jimin told me about. Said it was the best place he ever went.” You were skeptical about anything Jimin suggests, because last time you went to the movie theatre with Jungkook and ended up watching 50 Shades Darker. It probably would’ve been better if you had seen the previous movie, but nevertheless it wasn’t something to watch with your best friend. “I don’t trust Jimin,” you grumbled out, picking up your backpack and keys. “Let’s go before I change my mind. I’m letting you know now that you’re paying.” Jungkook threw up his hands and nodded, following you out to your beat up car. “You have to get this thing replaced.” The passenger door screamed as he opened it. “The store isn’t getting good business so my paycheck has been cut.” You sighed softly as the car started up finally. You really did need a new car, but this is what you can afford right now.

The brightly colored sign to the cafe put you in awe. It could draw one in from a mile away. The inside of the cafe on the other hand made you want to strangle Jimin. Other than the cute, kawaii decorations, you were not impressed with the girls dressed up as maids, serving mainly business men. “Hello!” A young, cheerful girl gracefully made her way to you two while managing to grab two menus and avoiding at least six floating trays. “I’m Sora and I’ll be your server! Just two today?” Jungkook nodded. “Right this way!” How this girl could be so cheery was beyond you, but somehow it did make the experience a little better. You sat down in a pink booth across from Jungkook and ordered drinks. “Here you go. Just wave or ring the bell if you need me. I’ll be back to collect your order in a few.” She clamoured away to get your drinks.

“A maid cafe? Seriously? He’s such a perv.” “I find this kind of fun,” Jungkook smirked, not taking his eyes off of your annoyed face. “Shut up, Jeon.” An older woman casually made her way over to your table, pulling up a chair. “I noticed that you looked annoyed. Are my ladies doing alright?” “Yes ma’am,” you squeaked out, feeling a bit under pressure. “Good. Good. Is this your boyfriend?” You shook your head. “He’s my best friend.” She nodded as she comprehended what you said. “I noticed your outfit is very fitting for you.” “Look, ma’am, may I ask what you are doing?” You weren’t trying to be rude, but it was weird to have a stranger come up to you and inquire about your life. “Come work for me. We need more people like you. The pay starts at $15 an hour and your lunch today is on the house. Here is my business card, call me with your answer.”

The lady slid her business card towards you and returned the chair to the other table before walking off. “I feel like I’m dealing drugs.” “I think it would be cute. I’d come visit you everyday if you worked here,” Jungkook teased, “and I’m sure Jimin would love to see you work here. You know he’s a bitch for people in maid outfits.” You kicked his shin under the table and pocketed the business card. Things will have to get really bad before you subject yourself to this line of work. “Over my dead body,” you huffed, grabbing at the drink the waitress brought earlier. Jungkook, however, grabbed the drink from you and took a sip out of the straw before you could. “Hey-“ you protested but he cut you off. “Ahh. Pepsi?” “Yeah but-“ He smiled and winked. “I know you so well.” “Only because I order that every time I go someplace with Pepsi products.”

The food was exceptional even though you tried to hate it. The service was a 13/10 and you appreciated the way the waitress actually waited until you were done chewing before coming over to check on you. Outside, Jungkook laughed and jumped to the car. “That was fun! We should do it again!” “No, you were checking out our waitress half the time,” you grumbled. “Did you notice she had puppy ears?” In fact, you didn’t notice anything except the short skirts. “No?” “Yeah! Every waitress and waiter in there wears a pair of animal ears. I think I’d rock the bunny ones.” You chuckled and got into the car, Jungkook following suit. “Honestly, if you worked there…so many girls would flock to eat at the cafe and it would become world famous.” “So you’re saying I’m hot, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, making you smack him. “Of course you’re hot. I’d be stupid not to see it, but you are my best friend.”

You knew you had hit a nerve when his smile faltered a bit. “Did you know scientifically, 83% of couples consider their partner their best friend?” “No, I didn’t. I do now.” Jungkook sighed and sat back into his seat and watched you start the car. Once back at the apartment complex, you and Jungkook walked in silence to the elevators. The doors were closing when you heard a quick, “Hold the doors!” You watched as a familiar black haired boy ran into the elevators breathless. “Are you okay, Yuta?” He nodded and checked his watch as if he was in a rush. “Do you have an important meeting or something?” “What’s it to you?” Your eyes widened as Jungkook began to tense up, something he does before he gets ready to fight. Instinctively, your arms pushed Jungkook back against the wall. “It’s not our business, Jungkook.” As much as you wished to know, you couldn’t because as you said, it’s not your business. You pulled Jungkook closer to you on the opposite side of the elevator from where Yuta was standing.

The shoddy elevator shook and groaned before coming to a stop somewhere between the seventh and eighth floor. Yuta growled and checked his phone. “He’s going to kill me,” he muttered to himself. “Attention! Is there anyone in the elevators, if yes please press the call button and let us know.” Jungkook pressed the call button and soon enough you found out that you were stuck for at least three hours. You scrolled through your phone to check for any news. “It seems the entire city has lost power.” “I guess you’re stuck with me!” Jungkook teased. You slid down the wall carelessly and leaned against the wood panel. “Don’t seem so sad. At least you’re stuck with me.” “Can you guys quit flirting all the damn time?” Yuta’s voice echoed a bit in the small space. “What’s your problem, dude?” Jungkook stepped forward. “My problem is that I’m stuck here, late for band practice, and you two sound so cringy. If y’all are going to fuck, wait until we get off.”

“What is your band?” “Riot of the Dark,” he sighed, sitting down. You tugged Jungkook’s hand and gave him a look that said ‘sit down’. “Riot of the Dark? The lead guitarist is Han Jisung right?” “Yeah. How did you know?” You smiled thinking back to your times with the boy. “Jisung is my favourite cousin. In fact, if I’m correct, the leader is Woosung.” Yuta nodded once again. “You seem to know my band pretty well,” he complimented, making you blush. “I like your music.” “I lIkE yOuR mUsIc,” Jungkook mocked. “WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM JUNGKOOK?” “My problem? What’s my problem?” His dark eyes glared at you taking you by surprise. He was never like this. “My problem is you!” You felt a pang in your heart as you held back the tears welling up in your eyes. “M-Me?” “Yes, you! You have your head so far up in the clouds dreaming about Yuta that you can’t see the one person in front of you who likes you. You are so damn oblivious and it hurts the ones around you.” Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt Yuta’s eyes on you. Jungkook had exposed your crush in front of your crush. You hid yourself in your sweatshirt and silently cried, hating your best friend.

“That was cold.” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Rage filled Jungkook at his stupid mistake. Now you probably hated him and there was nothing he could say or do about it. “_______, I’m sorry.” You looked up at him with wet cheeks. “Fuck you,” you spat out. Luckily, the elevator started to move hours before it was said to be running meaning you could get home faster. The doors creaked open and you pushed through the mess of people waiting for the elevator to get to the apartment you call home. You left the door unlocked because as much as you hated Jungkook at the moment, you knew he couldn’t go home just yet, so you locked yourself in your bedroom. Knock. Knock. Knock. You knew at some point, he was going to knock on the door and you’d inevitably open it because it was Jungkook, but you didn’t think it would be so soon. “Go away.” “We need to talk,” he pleaded through the door. “What’s there to talk about? You ruined my crush on Yuta, because now I can never see him face to face again or I might spontaneously combust in anxiety.”

You heard a small laugh through the door. “You won’t spontaneously combust. I’m sorry, you know.” A soft sigh fell from your lips. “I know.” “Will you let me in?” You opened the door and watched as he fell in. “A warning would’ve been nice, but I deserved that.” “Yes you did,” you huffed, biting back a few words, but he noticed it. “You want to say something. I know you do,” he coaxed. “Are you hurt?” A small smile appeared on his face as he realized that not all hope is lost. “A little bruise but it will heal.” “Where?” Jungkook pointed to his head where the bruise was. You flicked it before pulling his head down and giving it a kiss. “ There. I’m still mad though.” He cooed at your little pout and hugged you. “Am I still your friend?” You looked up at him and nodded. Even though he had embarrassed you, the bond runs way deeper than a crush did. “Can you smile for me?” “No.” He giggled cutely and sat down on the swivel chair by your desk. “I’m going to do it,” you stated out of nowhere. “Do what?” “I’m going to confess to Yuta tomorrow!” Jungkook’s face fell and he scowled at the ground.

————————————————

Maybe you were feeling confident or maybe you were led by the determination to right a wrong. Either way, you were standing outside of Yuta’s apartment door, knocking. He opened the door in his emo-like glory and surprisingly, you smiled. “Do you need something? I’m busy practicing.” “I wanted to come over here and explain what happened yesterday.” You paused for a minute, regaining your words, “I like you, Yuta. I’ve been harbouring a crush on you for months now and I wanted to get it off of my chest.” He stared at you silently, and all of a sudden a wave of anxiety hit you. To control yourself from bursting, you picked at the sides of your thumbnails, picking at the skin, most likely causing them to bleed. “I don’t like you. I’m not really interested in getting to know you and I’m not looking for a friend let alone a relationship. If that’s all you wanted to say then I need to go,” Yuta spoke bluntly. “I have one more thing,” you forced out, trying to keep a steady voice. “Have a good life.” With that, you walked away calmly to your apartment where Jungkook was waiting.

“So?” Jungkook asked, feeling somewhat curious. “He rejected me, but oddly enough I’m okay. I’m not sad. I’m not mad. I’m not happy. I’m just okay.” “Is that good?” You nodded, but you were in a hazy state of mind. Like a fog was clouding your thoughts. “I’m going to go home to do some work at my neighbour’s house.” “Okay.” He gave you a quick hug and walked out of your apartment and towards his home. You, on the hand, took a shower to clear your thoughts and then sat on your bed, staring at the wall, trying to find your thoughts. Why didn’t you care that Yuta turned you down? And why did you feel relieved when he rejected you? Your mind turned to Jungkook, and no matter how hard you tried you couldn't stop the memories of him appearing in your head. Somewhere in your confused state, the cafe materialised and then you pieced it all together. You didn’t have a crush on Yuta. He was just something to distract you from Jungkook. Something realistic and not so far fetched, but when your friend told you he loved you, you felt that Jungkook was the realistic thing. That maybe that was a part of your life that you could be happy with.

You locked the door behind you and took off towards the direction of Jungkook’s house. The steps of your running feet echoed through the semi empty streets as you drew closer and closer. The grey door offered you comfort as you knocked. It opened to a confused Jungkook. “_______?” “It wasn’t Yuta,” you said in between breaths. “It never was. It was a fantasy that grew in my head to block the real thing. You.” “You’re not making any sense.” You took a deep breath and kissed him. Happily, he kissed you back, knowing that you reciprocate his feelings. “I understand now,” he smiled. “I’m glad you do.” The two of you stood in the doorway just hugging and whispering confessions in each other’s ear. “I need to go do something, but I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?” “Okay.” Jungkook gave you one last kiss and watched you walk away. He didn’t notice you take a left instead of a right at the end of the block towards your new destination. One that will have a big effect on your life and maybe even better it.

The door of the café jingled as you walked in. “I’m sorry, we’re closed.” The girl looked up at you and smiled. “Oh, our boss told us about you. Follow me.” You followed her to the back where the old woman waited. “I hoped you’d come. Are you here for an interview?” “Yes, ma’am.” She nodded and proceeded to ask random questions for a few minutes. “You’re hired! Give me a second to get your uniform.” The old woman stood up and opened the door. “Areum! Please bring me a uniform for our new employee.” You heard a ‘Yes, Ma’am’ and the girl grabbed a uniform, bringing it to you. “Here you go. Let’s make sure it fits before you leave.” Areum showed you to the bathroom and you tried it on. To your surprise, it fit you perfectly. “It fits,” you said to her. “I knew it would. My fashion major never fails me.” You thanked her and the boss and went home with your schedule in hand.

The next day, you got into your car and headed to your new job at the cafe. “There you are!” The old woman sauntered over towards you. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get changed in the back.” “I don’t mind. Please go see Yuna for your headband before we open up.” You nodded and went to go change. As told to do, you went to find Yuna. With the help of Sora and Areum, you found her. “Here for your headband?” Yuna asked. “Yes I am,” you say while nodding. She handed you teddy bear ears and you sighed, putting them on. “You can put your clothes and stuff in this locker.” You thanked her and checked your phone one last time to see Jimin saying he was taking Jungkook to the cafe and that you weren’t invited because you were a “Debby Downer”. You laughed at the irony and put the phone away before heading out to start seating and serving. “Sora!” “Yes?” She turned towards you smiling. “You remember the guy I was with when I came here before?” Sora nodded. “Can you seat him in my section?” “Sure thing!”

You headed off to start serving the other tables in your sections, working gracefully thanks to your many cousins that used to live with you. Then you heard the bell chime again and Jimin’s cute laugh you tease him about. “Right this way please.” They followed her to your section and sat down in their seat. “Check out the legs on that one,” you heard Jimin whisper. In the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin point at your legs from behind and Jungkook looked awkwardly. You moved to the other person who needed a quick refill before coming up behind Jimin. “If you ever comment on my legs again sir, we will have a problem,” you spoke in your most passive aggressive customer service voice. “_-___?” He stuttered out. Jungkook’s eyes widened as he realised it was you. “What can I get you handsome guys today?” You recited from memory what was to be said. Handsome guys and beautiful ladies. “I’ll have a sprite,” Jimin spoke, not taking his eyes off of you.

“I’ll have a water please.” You jotted down their drinks and recited the well known ‘I’ll be back’ before prepping their drinks. Once you returned, you grabbed your order pad and asked their order. “I would like the number two with onion rings instead of fries.” You nodded and turned towards Jungkook. “And you?” “I’d like the number four with a side of you for desert.” Jimin laughed but you didn’t find it that humorous as you were now blushing and glaring at Jungkook. “Stop glaring, princess. I know you want me.” A small scoff came from your lips. “Shut up.” “You know I’m right,” he said cockily. “I’ll put your order in now,” you hissed through gritted teeth. As you were walking away, you heard the small conversation Jimin and Jungkook had. “Are you guys dating?” “I hope so. They kissed me yesterday and said that they liked me.” You could feel the smile Jimin was giving Jungkook. “Congrats man! I know you’ve been chasing after them and getting friendzoned for a while now.” “I think my heart combusted when they kissed me.” You giggled at his cheesiness and gave the order to the chef.

Your shift went by quickly and you found it was fun. Jimin left a twenty dollar tip while Jungkook wrote a little note on the napkin. Meet me at the gym when you get off of work. You smiled and tucked it into your pocket while throwing the other inappropriate notes in the trash. It felt weird putting your sweatpants back on since the past ten hours were spent wearing a fluffy skirt. The walk to the gym was short and you embraced the squeaky door happily because behind it was Jungkook. He was punching at the punching bag hanging from the steel beam. Sweat dripped from his hair and onto his shirt sticking to his skin. When he saw you, he stopped his attack and gave you a bunny smile before reaching out to hug you. You on the other hand, ducked under his hug not wanting to get all sweaty. “Nope. Not doing it.” He pouted. “Can I at least have a kiss?” “Fine.” Jungkook moved closer to give you a kiss but pulled you into a hug and pecked your lips. “JEON!” You screeched as you felt the sweat drip onto you. “I have a clean shirt in my bag,” he said as he released you and threw you his extra shirt. “How am I supposed to change now?” “Bathrooms.”

You came out in the new shirt and a washed face. “I hate you.” “No you don’t,” he chuckled. “You’re right.” Jungkook resumed his workout while you watched in amazement. “So, I overheard you today.” “What do you mean?” The conversation from the cafe replayed in your head. “Is it true that your heart almost “combusted” when I kissed you?” He stopped for a minute. “Yeah, it did.” A small coo left your lips. “Awww, so cute!” Jungkook smiled and grabbed his towel, wiping away his sweat. “Let’s go to yours?” He suggested. “Sure.” The two of you walked home, hand in hand, talking and laughing. Once inside the apartment you forced him to take a shower to clean up. He washed up quickly to be able to spend more time with you, but you jumped in the shower. You came back to Jungkook staring off into space, muttering angrily. “Why are you angry?” “Because I’m trying to find ways to love you more,” Jungkook replied. You raised an eyebrow, feeling confused, but you sat down and began to brush out his hair. “You deserve all the love in the world and I’m trying to think of different ways to show you.”

“You’re silly, Jungkook.” You ruffled his almost dry hair and kissed his head. “You treat me like the baby when I’m older than you.” “You enjoy it though.” He huffed and crossed his arms. “Stop making valid points.” “How about no,” you yawned out. “Are you tired?” “Of course I am. It’s almost 10.” His head turned toward the clock. “Let’s go to sleep.” He laid down on the other side of your bed and allowed you to cuddle up to him. “Thank you for taking me back even after I rejected you,” you apologized. “My grandma used to tell me that if you love someone, you can either wait or move on but your decisions will affect you, so choose wisely. I chose to wait, not that it took you long to come back to me.” “I suppressed those feelings because I felt that you were out of my league.” Jungkook laughed. “You're not out of my league, I’m out of yours.” “Lies. It’s all lies.” You looked up and kissed him one last time before falling asleep. A few hours later, smiling cheesily, he fell asleep with you in his arms.

#kpop #bts #bts imagines #bts jung jungkook #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungguk #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook angst #bts angst

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part eighteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7450 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part eighteen: A week later Dean and Y/N are training for the Flagstaff Horse Show, a last repetition for Congress. They are enjoying the honeymoon phase of their relationship, until Bobby calls Dean into his office. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Little Boy’ - Barns Courtney (scene Singer house), ‘The Farm’ - Thomas Newman. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish and @winchest09 for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

“More leg, Y/N. Keep rhythm in that circle!” Dean has climbed up on the fence of the large arena. His hands are folded together and his elbows rest on his knees, the heels of his cowboy boots hooked behind the lower bar. He watches a horse and rider in front of him from under his hat, picking up even the tiniest flaw and highlighting what’s done well. As her trainer gives directions, Y/N pushes her calves a little tighter against Meadow’s flank, her right hand outstretched towards the mare’s ears as they finish their circle at speed. Elevated in her stirrups slightly, she makes sure the circle stays perfectly round while maintaining the constant one-two-three beat of hooves drumming against the earth. She can hear Dean’s strong and clear voice above the noise of the wind. “There ya go. Nice one!”

It’s 6.45 AM and the sun has just risen, its early rays of daybreak warming the headwrangler’s back. The nights are getting colder, even in the valley, so the warmth is pleasantly welcome. Summer has come to an end, which means the ranchers are following a different work schedule now. Downside; their midday siestas are no longer a thing, at least not until spring. Upside, they start an hour and a half later in the morning. When he says ‘they’, he means ‘everyone but him and Y/N’, because they have been training for Congress every day.

The perfect final repetition for the big event in Columbus is a local horse show in Flagstaff, coming up this weekend. Gold Canyon ranch is going there with a truckload of horses and both Jo and Dean are competing. The head wrangler convinced Y/N to sign up as well. They can test the new freestyle and see how Meadow does in competition, since it’s been a while since she last showed.

Pleased, he observes the woman who was born to ride. They are ready, no doubt about that. He knows it; the only person who needs to believe it now is Y/N. “Wanna practise a few stops and call it a day? Wouldn’t wanna overwork her,” he suggests when her horse comes past in a slow canter, or a lope. “No spins?” she checks, not confident with leaving such an essential element out of her training. Dean smiles at her eagerness; ever the perfectionist. “I’ve never seen you two screw up a spin. Don’t worry, they are solid,” he reassures.

She nods while looking over her shoulder, then straightens her back, following the movements of her horse. When she reaches the short end of the arena, she steers away from the fence, bringing Meadow onto the straight line out of another perfect circle. Y/N doesn’t get the chance to give aid to pick up momentum, because before they are fully straightened out, her partner speeds up already. “Circle her back. Let her wait,” Dean instructs. The cowgirl tilts her pelvis slightly and sinks deeper in the saddle, before swerving away from the line. She shakes her head disapproving. Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that.

“She keeps taking over,” Y/N ponders, slowing down when approaching her trainer. “She’s a smart horse. Most of the time that works in your favor, sometimes it doesn't. She wants to anticipate instead of letting you do the thinkin’. You don’t wanna discourage her enthusiasm, so what you gotta do is keep her busy. Give her something to do, vary your patterns. Throw her off her game a lil’ bit,” Dean explains to his pupil, who listens intently. “Ride down the line again, but don’t do the usual sliding stop at the end. Don’t speed up, don’t even think about the stop, okay? All you’re gonna do is let her wait for your call.” Y/N nods, feeling a little bit more confident after being given directions. “Okay.”

She moves her reins over Meadow’s mane, turning her around, gently aiding her to hustle forward in an easy canter. When she’s back at the short end of the large pen, the rider lets her horse roll away from the fence and onto the line again. She can feel the power under her, so much energy waiting for a release and ready to bolt. “Steady... Just sit and relax. Let her figure it out,” Dean calls out, loud enough to reach his student’s ears several yards away. A little confused Meadow pulls at the bit slightly, but Y/N does exactly what she’s supposed to do. Instead of punishing the behavior, she ignores it and lopes down the line, repeating the exercise. The second time around, the American Quarter mare already has her ears perked at her rider, waiting for a cue. “Change leads. Try the same thing on the right hand.” Trying to sit loose in the saddle, moving with the thousand pound animal under her, Y/N guides her horse onto the diagonal line and crosses the arena. Normally she would do a flying change in the center, a transition from left to right canter during the brief moment of suspension, almost like the horse is skipping. However, this time the rider decides against it, making Meadow wait until she reaches the other end, where Dean is watching his pupil closely from the fence. “Smart, well done! That’s riding, Yankee,” the head wrangler compliments.

With a smile on her face she continues the exercize, working on her horse’s assertiveness and patience instead of the actual pattern. Dean has a point; she can ride the test blindfolded. Hell, blindfold Meadow too and they would still be able to nail it, but only if the mare is willing to wait and follow her lead. The third time Y/N canters up the simple straight line, the bay mare relaxes, lowering her head a little more and calmly keeping a slow and steady rhythm. It’s exactly the response Dean was hoping for. “Next straight you do the sliding stop,” he says, just loud enough for the rider to hear, as if he’s worried the intelligent horse might pick up on it and understand what he’s saying.

Calm, Meadow turns the corner to the straight line, her breaths even, loose muscles rolling under her damp skin. This time Y/N can give the Quarterhorse an aid before she increases speed, which she does with powerful strides. When the mare is going down the line full throttle, Y/N counts down. Three… two… one…

The rider sinks deep into the leather of her saddle, pushing her stirrups forward and braces for the sudden stop. She can feel Meadow’s hindquarters lower when she plants her hocks into the soil of the arena. They slide several yards, leaving skid marks in the sand, and when the combination has come to a complete halt, Y/N moves her weight slightly to one side and takes the reins with her as well. The eager horse performs a rollback, a movement right after a stop during which the horse turns on her hind quarters and canters forward in the direction they came from. “That was awesome!” Dean exclaims. “Cool her down; she’s done for today.”

Pleased, Y/N lets her precious four legged friend transition to an easy jog, patting her on the shoulder. She feels beyond relieved that her training went so well. With her former trainer Marcel, the final repetition before a show usually meant bootcamp, pushing Meadow to her limits. But Dean treats her differently. He thinks things through, looks beyond the pattern itself and can really pinpoint what they need to work on, and often it’s not the routine itself, but the preparation and the foundation of horse riding.

“She felt really good, huh?” Dean looks up at the rider, seemingly content, as they exit the arena and walk back to the tack up area. “She did. I’m excited for tomorrow,” Y/N returns, halting under the Joshua tree. “Have you seen the starting order?” Dean nods as he glances up at her, narrowing his eyes when the sun peeks under his hat and blinds him. “I have.” “I’m fifth on the list,” the cowgirl mutters, not happy about her draw. “Any good riders in my class?” The head wrangler reads his student carefully, who is clearly fishing for answers. He’s very much aware where this is coming from. It’s a trait of hers, one that used to be much more evident, yet still surfaces every so often, especially in a new situation or uncertain times; she’s insecure.

“Does it matter?” her trainer reminds her. “Eyes on the ball, Yankee. Flagstaff is just a practice run for Congress.” “Sure, but I still want to win,” Y/N counters, matter of factly. “Oh, talking about Congress…” She looks down on Dean, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “I booked our room.” His brow perks up, staring at his girlfriend for a second. That seductive look in her eyes is giving him all sorts of ideas. “Our room?” “Yeah, most hotels were fully booked, and this room is one of the few I could find,” she adds, teasingly, swinging her leg over the front of her horse, making sure her spur doesn’t hurt Meadow’s neck. “And you know what? There’s only one bed.” “You don’t say,” Dean smirks, stepping closer and running his hand up her denim clad legs slowly. She nods, not dismounting her horse just yet, but taking off her western hat and hanging it on the horn of the saddle. Instead, she seductively keeps her eyes locked on his green ones, the sunlight bringing out a hint of amber in them. “We don’t have to worry about squeaky bunk beds, or waking half the ranch…” “Or Garth taking a piss,” Dean recalls. She laughs, leaning forward now and slipping from the saddle smoothly, but Dean catches her, holding her up.

The cowgirl folds her arms around his neck. “You know, I read this research paper on how sex actually increases dopamines, which results in the athlete performing better.” “Interesting,” Dean is barely able to stop his trademark grin from showing, the effort creating dimples in his cheeks. “Would you like to test that theory?” “I booked us a suite with a queen size bed. What do you think?” she chuckles, so comfortable in his arms. “Well, in that case I’m more than willing to go the extra mile for my favorite student,” he grins, lowering her to the ground, after which he kisses her sweetly.

Meadow turns her ear towards the pair when Y/N’s back brushes against the saddle. She doesn’t take advantage of her owner being distracted and waits patiently, even though she’s not tied up to the pole yet. If the cowgirl didn’t know any better, she’d claim her horse has been their matchmaker all along, casually walking a little closer to Dean’s horse whenever they rode side by side, even taking a liking to the wrangler, despite that she has never been a huge fan of men.

Dean reels the cowgirl in, letting his hand roam over her hips as he deepens the kiss. He can’t get enough of her, especially now that he has surrendered in the battle he was fighting with himself. Ever since he let his guard down and submitted to the feelings that lay deep, the weight he was carrying seems a little less. To have someone to share his life and his passion with, knowing that she’s his and no one else’s, it’s something he never expected to find. It’s certainly not something he feels like he deserves, but he has managed to push that denigrating voice to the back of his mind. They are in love with each other, that’s all he needs right now.

Dean watches Y/N after he parts from her, in awe by the joy that radiates from the girl who has such a hold on him. He has seen her beam before, when she’s amongst the crew, when he makes her laugh. But he hasn’t witnessed this level of bliss and fulfillment yet. She’s glowing, and damn, it looks good on her. Y/N blushes when she notices his captivated stare. “What?” “You look happy,” he comments, leaving a short kiss on her lips again. She smiles, her gaze drifting away as she lets her hands slip from behind his neck down his chest, analysing this contentment that she’s experiencing. She’s somewhat stunned by the conclusion; Dean is right.

“I feel like - like I’m finally at a point in my life where things are coming together,” she realizes. “I spent years of my life in books, riding as much as I could aside from classes, just to get better. I tried to find that ‘click’ with so many horses, fell off, failed...” She huffs, thinking of all the times she almost gave up. Overwhelmed, overworked. School, ride, sleep, repeat. All while Granddad tried to find her the perfect horse. “Then Meadow crossed my path.” She rubs the mare’s withers, earning an appreciative purr as the horse glances over her shoulder. The head wrangler watches the two, the unbreakable bond, the friendship that will last a lifetime. It’s an indescribable feeling to have such a strong connection with an animal, one he knows well.

Turning her attention to her horse, Y/N undoes the leather strap under Meadow’s chin and removes the bridle, replacing it with a halter. Meanwhile, Dean takes her hat off the horn and places it back on her head, earning a chuckle. He then continues to loosen the sinch and removes the saddle, humid clouds of warm air coming from Meadow’s back. “I couldn’t believe it when Grandpa bought her. You should’ve seen me; I went out of my mind,” she says, reminiscing while taking off Meadow’s leg protection. Dean chuckles at that, able to picture it perfectly. Her reaction to qualifying for Congress offers a good indication. Before he turns the faucet on, he hands the hose to Y/N, noticing the smile fading from her face. “But then he died. It took me a while to get back from that,” she admits, glad to have something to do to keep her mind occupied. Often the tears still prick in her eyes when she talks about her grandfather, but today she manages to keep them at bay. Mesmerized, Dean listens. He had guessed before that her granddad had passed away, since she used the past tense whenever she mentioned him. He never pushed her to talk about it, though, knowing that if the roles were reversed, he would appreciate the space too. “You got back up, though,” he says, hoping she can recognize the willpower it took. She nods, smiling faintly as she puts the hose aside. “I figured that after everything that he’s done for me, the least I could do was make him proud. I won State, I graduated a year early and cum laude.” “And then you ended up in this dump,” Dean fills in, trying to lighten the mood. She chuckles at his joke and shakes her head, untying Meadow.

“Actually, ending up in this ‘dump’ is probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me,” she states, leading her horse to her box, Dean in tow. “I’m learning a lot here, and not just about ranch work. It has grounded me. Plus, I met this very handsome cowboy, too.” Dean smirks. “Did ya?” Y/N hums, turning after she shuts the stable door. “Why do you think I can’t stop smiling?”

His eyes bounce between hers, only now realizing that he has a big part in her happiness. It humbles him, knowing that he makes her feel this way. Never before has he stood where he is standing now, in a relationship, let alone in a relationship with this one hell of a woman. Most of the time he has no idea what he’s doing, his gut feeling his only guidance, but apparently he’s doing something right. She has a spring in her step when she walks, her eyes shine when she laughs, and he is the reason.

Wanting to tell her she is his reason too, but not knowing the words to that song, he takes off his western hat to fit under hers and wields his lips to hers. The kiss is less playful than the ones earlier, but all the more meaningful. Her lashes brush against his freckled skin, her hands cup his face, fingertips tracing the stubble on his jaw. The cowboy’s heart grows warm, rising in his chest, the sensation having him light headed. She is everything he never knew he needed, and he’s never going to let her go.

They hear footsteps coming around the corner, but both the wranglers are too occupied to pay attention, until a familiar voice puts an end to their private moment. “Really? Could you not? I haven’t even had breakfast yet,” Jo puts her hands on her small waist and halts when she notices the couple. “This is a lot to muster on an empty stomach, y’know?” Y/N chuckles after breaking away from her boyfriend, Dean rolls his eyes dramatically at his cousin. “Get lost, Jo,” he scolds, ignoring her request. “I’d advise you to get lost, because my dad is hot on my heels,” she returns smartly, before opening the door to the cafeteria, which is situated next to Meadow’s box.

The cowboy’s eyes grow wide as he quickly distances himself from the woman he held in his arms just a mere second ago, before Bobby turns the corner. Awkwardly, Dean fidgets with the brim of his hat as Y/N straightens out her shirt and wipes her hands on her jeans, hoping her tan will hide the blush that heats her cheeks. “Mornin’, Bobby,” Dean greets, trying not to act suspicious. His uncle looks at them now as if he only just noticed them, his weary eyes lingering on the intern for a short second before they focus on Dean. “Can I talk to you in my office?” he asks the head wrangler, even though it sounds more like an order. “S-sure,” Dean stammers, gulping nervously. “I’m getting my coffee first,” the ranch owner announces, before he disappears into the cafeteria. “Meet me there. You can let yourself in.”

Dean takes an apprehensive breath when the door closes, the tight feeling in his chest not so pleasant now. Y/N’s observing him; he can feel her eyes burning in the side of his head. “Why don’t you just tell him?” she sighs. “It’s been over a week.” “I think he might be on to us already,” he says, clearly not at ease with that presumption. “I just wanted to ease him in when he’s not… you know, cranky.” She frowns at that. “It’s Bobby; he’s always cranky. I thought Ellen--” “- Ellen said he was gonna be fine with us being together - yes - but Bobby specifically told me not to mess around with you,” Dean recalls, returning his gaze from the door to Y/N. “Well, I hope what we have going on here is a little bit more than you ‘messing around’ with me,” she returns with a tone. “Of course it is. Hey...” He lifts her chin up with a curled index finger, pleading to look him in the eye. “This, us… It means a hell of a lot to me. Please tell me you know that.” Her expression softens. She couldn’t be mad at him if she tried. “I know. I just wish we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore,” she admits. “I’ll tell him.” He presses his lips to hers quickly, glancing at the door before he does, making sure they will not get caught. “Save some bacon for me, will ya?” “Will do,” she promises, pushing him off gingerly before she opens the door to join the rest of the crew for breakfast.

He watches her leave, holding on to the sight of her as long as he can. She’s right; he needs to come clean. It doesn’t feel right to go behind Bobby’s back. Plus, with them leaving for Flagstaff this afternoon, he wants to be able to say out loud that he’s spoken for, aware there’s gonna be a few girls who might want to make a move on him. Not by any means is he worried he will not be able to resist the temptation, because as far as he’s concerned, there is none. But he doesn’t want to have to hide their relationship just because his uncle isn’t aware yet.

Dean puts his hat back on as he steps outside into the sun, which is steadily rising in the morning sky. Going over different versions of his announcement, he jogs up the stairs of the house, pulling back the screen door before he steps inside. Out of habit, he kicks his boots off and hangs his Stetson on the coat hanger, like he was taught when he moved in with his aunt and uncle at the age of fourteen.

The house is quiet, Ellen cooking up breakfast for the crew in the cafeteria at the stables. He crosses the living room and strolls into the kitchen, taking a glass from the cabinet and pouring himself some milk from the fridge. This place still has the same homey feel to it, it even smells the same as he remembered. He still knows his way around, even though he hasn’t slept under this roof since he was twenty. At a certain age, he wanted to be amongst the crew, hang with Benny and the other guys, and have a little more freedom. Jo joined them in the bunkhouse a couple of years later when she got rebellious and never really left, even though she still has a room upstairs.

Dean leans against the counter, taking a few gulps of milk. A smile forms on his lips when he notices some of the old photos on the fridge. Ellen always mixes them up, taking them out of albums and putting them in frames, some ending up on the refrigerator or pinned to the board in the office, others are on display in the saloon and in the cafeteria. One of the pictures portrays him on one of the first mustangs he trained, and next to him Jo on her pony, a little fellow called Ghost. He must have been fifteen or sixteen at the time, his cousin not older than ten. There’s another one of him and both Ellen and Bobby at his uncle’s fiftieth birthday; Dean was twenty-one then. The first birthday besides his own where he was allowed to drink, but he has never been a saint. God knows how many times he and Benny and Gabe started the Saturday shift hung over, before he reached the legal age. He grins at the memory.

His eyes glide over the photos, all seemingly normal snapshots, freeze frames of a country boy’s upbringing. But that’s it, isn’t it? It wasn’t normal to Dean. His life made a complete one-eighty when his aunt and uncle took their nephew in. They did it without question, never once asking for anything in return. They reminded him what it’s like to feel safe, loved, what it’s like to be a kid again.

It took him awhile before he could get past the years of worry, fear, and guilt, but eventually he found his way again. Has he forgotten about his childhood, the time he spent with his father and his little brother? Hell, no. He’ll never forget what happened, how the situation escalated and how everyone gave up on family except him, until there was nothing more the loyal son could do to stop the Winchesters from falling apart. But after all the trauma, the lesions on his soul, the nightmares, and endless regret, he found a place he calls home and is surrounded by people who, by blood or by heart, are his family.

The hinges of the screen door squeak and rattle when Bobby enters the house. Just like Dean did moments ago, the old man steps out of his boots, knowing very well that his wife will scold him if she finds dirty footprints on the wooden floors when she returns. He hobbles into the house, noticing his nephew in the kitchen. “Comin’?” he says, nodding at the office, further down the hall.

Dean empties his glass and leaves it in the sink, following his uncle. When he enters the room, he notices the stack of papers on the desk, open folders littering the flat surface. There’s an open filebox on the floor, numbers and letters scribbled in a notebook. Bobby has never been the person to keep his office tidy, especially with all the extra paperwork that comes with not owning a computer, but right now it looks like a bomb went off in here. “Take a seat.” Bobby circles the desk and puts down his coffee mug, closing the blinders to prevent curious eyes from peeking inside.

Dean does as told, a frown edging lines between his brows. The vibe he is picking up isn’t a pleasant one and he’s sensing this talk will not be about his relationship with the intern. Carefully, he reads the ranch owner, who sits down, rests his elbows on the oak desk and forks his calloused hands together. Bobby doesn’t look up at him, and it’s only now that his nephew notices how the circles under his eyes seem a little darker, his head hanging low between his shoulders, which carry so much weight. “We’re taking two of the youngsters to Flagstaff,” Bobby announces. “I need you to decide which ones, so I can send in the information to the auction committee.” “Whoa, what?” Dean says, confused. “I’ve barely haltered a handful. I thought you wanted them under saddle before we sold them?” “There’s no time for that.”

His uncle adjusts the worn baseball cap on his head, still not looking at the young man on the other side of his desk. “What do you mean, there’s no--” Dean stops when Bobby glares at him from under the hat, silencing his nephew with just a look. “Pick the two who you reckon would go for a good price. And I need you to compete two extra horses as well. The palomino stallion, you think you can show him in the four year old class?” “Yeah, I - I guess,” Dean says, realizing that riding five horses in competition is going to be a challenge, especially when it comes to time management, but he doesn’t have the courage to contradict the ranch owner. “Good. I don’t expect them to come home with us,” Bobby acknowledges, picking a folder from the file case next to his desk, flipping through ownership certificates and taking out a file. “I contacted some buyers.” “Which one’s the fifth you want me to bring?” Dean asks, carefully. “Joplin,” Bobby states.

Dean closes his eyes briefly, cursing internally. He knows Y/N has grown fond of the feisty mare; it’s gonna hurt her to see the little dark horse leave. “Joplin ain’t the easiest to ride and I can’t use her for the tourists; she’s the obvious choice. She’s good for ranch work and with the cattle, so I’ll sign her up for the cutting competition.” The ranch owner takes out Joplin’s file as well, adding it to the small stack in front of him. “The intern did some cattle work with her, right?” Dean nods. “Yeah, rode her on the trail too.” “Y/N can ride her then, they seem like a good fit. Discuss it with her, let me know if she wants to,” the old man decides, looking up at his right hand when he stays quiet. “I contacted Jody Mills; she might have some clients for Joplin.” “Bobby, what the hell is going on?”

Dean’s worried eyes study his uncle, an unraveling stare boring through the rancher’s tough armor, who is unable to hold his gaze. The weariness seeps through the cracks when Bobby rubs his forehead, leaning back with a sigh, the old desk chair creaking. “We’re in bad waters, ain’t we?” the wrangler realizes. Bobby still doesn’t look up, but nods quietly, admitting to the painful truth. He seems ashamed, as if he - the head of this family - is failing. The man opposite of him can feel the pressure his uncle is experiencing; he knows it well. Just the sheer thought of the ranch being in much more trouble than he originally anticipated has him anxious, his heart rate picking up. These lands, the company, the horses… could they all be at risk?

“How bad?” he asks firmly, even though he’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer. “I just ordered stable bedding, hay and pellets without havin’ paid for the last bulk. I can’t pay you or the boys by the end of the month, unless we make a profit in Flagstaff,” Bobby admits. “Then there’s the mortgage, bank loans, taxes...” Dean leans his elbow on the armrest of his chair, rubs his temple. “What happened to the money we earned on the livestock you sold Rufus?” “Used it on the electrical bill I was behind on and paid the city and the bank. I owed Caleb a lot of money too.” The wrangler’s eyes flick up at his uncle again. “So it’s all gone?” Bobby nods again. “Yeah, ‘fraid so.”

Troubled, he reaches for his coffee, taking a sip of the hot brew, wishing it was whiskey. From under his cap he watches Dean process the information, the knowledge doing a number on him, even though he acts tough. Bobby knows his nephew. Hell, he’s been living on his land for so long, he considers him a son. He knows how he values this place and the people and animals living here. He knows how much he craved shelter when he stood on the doorstep fifteen years ago. That’s exactly what this place is for him: his safe haven. And now that a storm is coming, now that his world threatens to cave, he’s losing his footing as well.

Dean leaves his chair, paces up and down the small room twice, his arms crossed and pondering on a solution. “You can keep my salary,” Dean says, “I know it’s a drop in the ocean, but I’ve got a roof over my head, that’s all I need. I have some savings too--” “Dean, I don’t want your money,” Bobby makes clear, his voice less stern. “This ain’t your cross to bear.” “Hell, it ain’t!” he exclaims, raising his arms up in despair. “This is my home too, and I’m not about to lose it!” “Do you really believe I’m givin’ it up that easy? It’s my life’s work, damn it!” his uncle raises his voice to level with Dean’s, but tones it down when he continues. “No one is losing their home. We’re just gonna have to save and make money before this spins out of control, stay afloat until business picks up again. That’s why we’re gonna bring more horses to Flagstaff, see if we can make some deals.”

Dean calms down slightly after his outburst, but is nowhere near at ease. He places his hands on his sides now, focusing on the floorboards. After a deep breath he collects himself. “We can take the large Pinto and the red dun Mustang for the auction,” he determines. “Alright,” Bobby writes it down, picking up the phone to make the call. “We’re still leaving at three?” His head wrangler nods, burdened, taking the que and turns towards the door. “Son?” Dean halts in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at the man who has been more like a dad to him than his own father ever was. A few strands of light squeeze through the blinds, illuminating the mess they are in, the rest of the room dark, shadows looming over his uncle. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Ain’t the first recession this ranch survived,” Bobby reminds him, before he dials the number he wrote down earlier.

With a forced smile Dean watches him for a few more seconds before he leaves the office, the mask dropping from his face the moment he’s out of sight. With the unsettling information still mulling over, he puts on his boots again and takes his hat from the hall stand, walking onto the porch. He needs a moment to collect himself and let’s a heavy sigh escape his lungs, his eyes wandering over the scenery before him. Gold Canyon Ranch: sacred ground, their harbor, his church. The barn with the high doors through which he walked countless times, the Joshua tree that has watched over the horses for centuries. The saloon where on a good night laughs roar and beer flows. The bunkhouse, the crooked little prairie shed where he has a room and a bed of his own. And the Singer’s residence, where he knocked on the front door in search of refuge when he was fourteen years of age, standing in the exact same spot where he’s standing now.

The sun hits him when he descends from the steps, the source of light warming the earth rapidly, despite autumn approaching. A faint headache is throbbing behind his eyes already, the conversation getting to him much more than he wants it to. Bobby tried to lessen the blow and reassure his nephew, but he knows very well it’s ten minutes to midnight. He dismisses the possibility of losing everything all over again; he can’t think like that, it will only slow him down. What he can do is think of a way to prevent this train from derailing.

He attempts to leave the worry behind, because he can’t let the rest of the crew know just how grim the situation is. Thankfully, the guys have already started their workday. He can hear the tractor pulling up behind the barn and there’s a wheelbarrow in the stable alley. Garth whistles to a country song on the radio as he empties a box with large scoops, while Jo leads a saddled horse to the arena. A quick glance through the window of the cafeteria tells him Ellen already went to the saloon, probably to start on lunch for the group of eight tourists that are currently accommodating the guest houses, but he does spot Y/N, who’s wiping down the table. When he pushes open the door, a bright smile comes his way, her light burning away the dark clouds hanging over him.

“Hey! I risked my life defending your bacon, but I managed to save you some. Scrambled eggs and two buns too. Want me to heat it up real quick?” she asks, busy putting away the cutlery and dishes she washed. “Nah, that’s alright,” he says, slumping down in the chair where Bobby usually sits. “Here.” She puts the plate down in front of him, the smell of crispy meat filling his nose. He’s not all that hungry anymore, but he starts cutting the bread either way, knowing she made an effort to make sure he had something to eat.

��How did he respond?” she wonders after a moment of silence, drying off the frying pan. Dean was about to take a bite when he freezes, only now realizing what she’s talking about. Shit, with everything going on, it completely slipped his mind why he wanted to talk to Bobby in the first place. Y/N notices the hesitation, followed by a pair of shameful eyes coming her way. She sighs, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Dean…” “I know. I’m sorry.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose while he shuts his eyes, feeling like an idiot. “Something came up. He didn’t call me in because of us.”

The cowboy glances up warely, noticing her disappointment. If anything, he doesn’t want her to think he just forgot, or worse - that he chickened out. But business is blending with personal life here; he’s not sure if he should share with her what his boss just told him. “Why did he call you in then?” she wonders, unable to hide the discontent in her voice. “He, uh - he wants me to take more horses to Flagstaff,” he says. “To sell them.” “Oh…” Y/N puts away the pan in one of the lower cabinets. “Which ones?” “Two of the youngsters we brought in earlier this month. Bon Jovi - the four year old - and...” Dean hesitates, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “And Joplin.”

In shock the cowgirl turns to him, staring at the head wrangler. “Bobby is going to sell Joplin?” “I wish it could’ve been different,” he half apologizes, feeling sorry for Y/N. “I know you like her a lot.” She hangs the dish towel to dry and turns to lean on the back of the chair. Her airway is closing, but she swallows down the lump that builds. Dean is right; she grew fond of the little dark Quarter. Not everyone can handle her fiery spirit, but the cowgirl could, forging a strong bond between them within a short period of time. Somehow, she never expected Joplin to leave the premises. “It’s not your fault,” she says after clearing her throat. “I’m the one who gets attached to horses who aren’t my own.” The wrangler observes her, well aware she’s trying to be professional about this. “Bobby hoped you could show her at the competition,” he continues. “I can do that,” she agrees, keeping her voice steady.

Dean absently eats his bacon and egg sandwich while Y/N tidies up, giving her hands something to do while she processes what he just told her. He watches her rinse a cloth and clean the kitchen counter, rubbing over a spot to make a stain go away. Not sure if he should say anything, he focuses on finishing his plate, but it doesn’t take long before he can’t stand the silence. “You okay?” he checks, concerned. “I guess,” she turns to him, finally taking a second to sit down. “How about you?” Dean wipes his hands down his jeans to get rid of the crumbs sticking to his fingers and looks at her, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m used to horses being sold.” “That’s not what I mean,” Y/N returns, not at all surprised that he acts like there’s nothing going on. “What’s bothering you?”

She reads her boyfriend carefully when he looks at her, dropping his gaze the moment her eyes reach too deep into his soul. For a few short seconds he seems to consider telling her what’s going on, but then he shakes his head. Worry swims in circles in her stomach, his inability to open up once again having her question herself. “It’s not us, I promise,” he says sincerely, reaching for her hand across the table when he notices her doubt. “And I wanna tell you, but I can’t discuss this with anyone other than Bobby or Ellen.” “Business related?” she guesses. When Dean nods, it clicks in her head. “The ranch isn’t doing so well, is it?”

As if he got caught committing a crime, his eyes shoot up to meet hers. Shit, has he said too much? She might be his girlfriend, but she’s also the intern. She works for Bobby, for God’s sake! This isn’t information he’s supposed to share with anyone. Unsure of how to respond, he averts his gaze, but she squeezes his hand to call him back. “Dean, this is kind of my field, remember? I can see the tell-tale signs,” she reminds him.

The head wrangler holds his breath, catching his bottom lip with his teeth, but then exhales burdened, accepting she has figured it out. Self-conscious about his own vulnerability, he runs his thumb over the back of her hand as he stares at nothing in particular, focusing on the motion. Bit by bit, the curtain is pulled back, revealing just how much this newfound knowledge worries him. “Bobby says we’ll figure it out, but things are bad,” he admits after a long silence.

She nods slightly, acknowledging his statement. Honestly, she’s not surprised. She wondered how the ranch was able to run on a handful of tourists and trail rides. With only three horses in paid training, it’s impossible to generate an income that covers the dozen others owned by the family, which can’t be sold for a fair price now that the market is at an all time low. She cannot imagine the mortgage on this enormous place. There’s employees who depend on a salary, animals which need to be fed and cared for, machinery that needs maintenance. Selling stock and letting go workers; they seem like desperate measures to her, measures which will not cut it during the economic crisis this country is currently suffering from, one that might drag on for years. It’s a postponement of execution.

Dean swallows thickly, allowing her to have a glimpse of his crippling concern. He feels weak to admit it, to admit to her that the walls around him are crumbling. But a joke and a laugh cannot save him this time, there is no way he can dance around the fact that he has zero control over the financial situation, and it scares the living hell out of him. “If we lose the ranch, I wouldn’t know what to do,” he confesses. “This place is all I have.” Hell, this place is all that I am, he thinks to himself. Because, let’s face it, when you take away the horses and strip him from the opportunities he’s offered here, he’s nothing but a highschool dropout with an old pick up truck.

“That’s not true,” Y/N dismisses. “You’ve got family, ranch or not. And you have me now.” He carefully glances up at her, taken aback by the comfort in her voice. A pair of soft eyes wait for him, strengthening her words. He mirrors the small smile she’s carrying, eased by her promise. “What if I take a look at the books?” she offers. “If Bobby is okay with that, of course.” “You - You’d do that?” Dean returns, stunned, his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, of course. I mean, don’t expect miracles by any means, but I can shed some light on it. Maybe get an overview of the assets and liabilities, set up a balance sheet if there isn’t one, etcetera,” she states, making it sound like it’s no big deal. “I analyzed several large companies for my thesis.”

Impressed, the head wrangler takes in the young woman who is so wise for her age. He only now realises the intern might be the one who could steer this ship away from the massive iceberg they are heading towards. Of course she can’t magically make money appear out of thin air, but he doubts Bobby has the skill set of someone with a master’s degree in business. “You’re awesome, know that?” he huffs. “Don’t you forget it.” She grins at him, getting up from her seat and taking his plate. Before she can rinse it and reach for the dish brush, Dean’s arms snake around her waist and pull her against his chest, hooking his chin over her shoulder. He kisses her on the cheek, leaning his head against hers and ignoring his western hat when it tilts to the side. “Thank you.” She smiles. “You’re welcome.”

Y/N turns in his arms, trapped between him and the kitchen counter. She looks up to meet his admiring gaze, adjusting the Stetson on the cowboy’s head and letting her hands linger, wrists crossed behind his neck. “I’m beginning to understand just how much the ranch means to you. And frankly, this place is starting to mean a lot to me too,” she admits.

The morning light sheds diagonal beams through the set of four square windows, highlighting her hair and her beautiful smile. Dean drinks her in for a couple of solid seconds, before he dips down and kisses her. How she is able to vanquish his inner panic, just by offering her full support, doesn’t cease to amaze the wrangler. He’s not getting his hopes up, he knows the financial problems are bigger than she can fix with a run-through and a few budget cuts. But she’s trying. She’s doing her part. She’s here to help, not only the ranch, but him as well. And just like that, the future seems a lot less grim than it did a moment ago. They will figure it out and things will be okay, as long as he has her by his side.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part nineteen here

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thegeekerynj · 3 years

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All Death Metal Review (And nothing from Sweden!)

Death Metal: Trinity Crisis One Shot

Writer: Scott Snyder Artist: Francis Manapul

‘And who are YOU supposed to be? I’ve faced enough Dark Knights that no Batman scares me anymore!

Ha! Then it’s a good thing I’m not a Batman! I’m his MOTHER!’

———————————————————————————————————

Sweet Christmas! That took me by surprise!

Harley kissing Jonah Hex, that was really sweet, and gods awful creepy, and kinda gross, after the exchange, and some thought…

This is it, Gentle Readers… the Beginning of the End of the Beginning of… Oh, crap, now I’m lost… This is where the story starts rockin’!

The Gang’s all together, and the Black Lantern Bat has determined what they need to do.

The plan? Split up, naturally. That AL-ways works…

When we left them in DM #3, the Lanterns are protecting the Home Base, and taking out the Crisis Energy Antennae on the Earths left in the known Universes, The Flashes are off and running through the Speed Force, trying to find Metron, and stay ahead of the Bathattan who Laughs, while the Trinity (Superman / Antilife, Black Lantern Batman and Warden Wonder Woman) along with Swamp Thing, Harley, Hex and Jarro, head for Castle Bat, to gain access to the Crisis Earths, where the Crisis Energy is being harvested for Perpetua.

**WHEW!**

Getting into the Castle involves getting past an army of Dark Knights… and we have a bunch of real winners here!

Bat Monday - Salomon Grundy in Bat ears, I could have busted a gut laughing, until I thought about what kind of weapon a zombie with Batman’s training could be, and shivered…

Kull, the daughter of Batman and Wonder Woman, corrupted by the Dark Universe…

Ark, the living embodiment of Arkham, with all of the knowledge and abilities of ALL her worst inmates…

Chiroptor, the amalgam of Batman and Chemo (Great Elder Gods!!)…

And the Pearl, Martha Wayne, in the equivalent of HellBat Armor, complete with her iconic pearl necklace.

This is a real mindscrew for Batman, and the panels depict it, most intently.

One nice thing about Scott Snyder… he is consistent about tying up loose ends. Once we are in Castle Bat, we find out what happened to Barbatos, the Big Bad from Dark Nights: Metal. Not that we were actually wondering, since we got Perpetual, and the Batman Who Laughs, but, like I said, it ties up the package nicely.

Then, we are introduced to the character I have been most happily waiting for… the Robin King, and his Utility Belt of Death!

Gentle Readers, this is the story we have been waiting for, the chapter which tells us what the Heroes Plan of Action is, and where the story has been going, for over 40 years. You see, the opening page of this book tells us where this story began… with Marv Wolfman and George Perez, and Crisis on Infinite Earths!

Not to spoil too much, but Crisis, Infinite Crisis, and Final Crisis, ]well… they have all played a part in getting us to this story. It seems, the “Crisis Energy’ has fed Perpetua while she was trapped within the Source Wall, and, now, she wants it all, so she can recreate the Universes in her image.

Great job, if you can get it…

I can’t say enough good things about this story and artwork, as Snyder and Manapul have put together a really tight, hard hitting bottle / lead story, bringing us to the next step in the saga…

Jeebus on a popsicle stick, I hope no one lets me down… that will hurt!

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Death Metal: Multiverse’s End #1

Writer: James Tynion IV Artist: Juan Gedeon

‘Mr. Rabbit?

Yes, Young Lady?

Thank you for saving me.

What a kind thing to say! It was so scary out there, and you stayed so brave. I don’t think I could have done it without your courage.

You’re really, really soft.

I use a special carrot shampoo.

———————————————————————————————————

Once upon a time, about a million, bazillion years ago in cranky fat man years, somewhere around 1982, Roy Thomas and Scott Shaw! brought Earth-C into the DC Multiverse, the earth of anthropomorphic animals… yes, they brought Super-Hero Cartoon Animals to the Super Hero Universe.

Our introduction to this Earth was Rodney Rabbit, a comics writing and drawing hare, who created the Just’a Lotta Animals comic by day, and was Captain Carrot, a Superman-esque rabbit, who got his powers from super charged carrots, when danger struck.

But, I digress… because I got really excited!

So, we have teams on the 6 Earths, each Earth holding a tuning fork, focusing the psychic pain energy of the population to Perpetual, powering her attempts to recreate the Multiverse in her image. The Earths in play, Earth - 3 (Crime Syndicate), Earth - X (Nazi Earth), Earth - 29 (Bizarroworld), Earth - 43 (Blood League World) and Earth - 50 (Justice Lords Earth) are all worlds of pain and suffering.

Their energy is the right flavor for destroying, and creating.

The heroes, organized and led by the Green Lanterns of Sector 2814 (Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner, John Stewart, Kyle Rayner, Jessica Cruz, Simon Baz), are working to take down the Antennae before the energy can be fed to Perpetual to power her Cosmic Undoing.

So, teamed with the Lanterns, we have Hawkgirl, Kid Flash (Earth-22), President Superman (Earth-23), Wonder Woman (Earth-6) and Captain Carrot, all hellbent on stopping the respective Antennae.

The problem… Each Earth’s inhabitants have been laced into the antennae, to directly feed the psychic energy to it..since the energy is effectively terror, well, what better way to induce some? Of course, this isn’t the only problem to be contended with…

Leave it to James Tynion IV to come up with a way to make a villain creepier than the Batman Who Laughs… How, you ask? Well, take the true polar opposite of Batman, and make him realize HE IS what Giggles says he is, and you have an interesting new ballgame.

You see, while the Batman who Laughs is the Ultimate CORRUPTED Batman, Owlman is the Anthesis of Batman, the purest EVIL to the Batman’s GOOD. And he plans to make sure that he continues to be the True Opposite…

Gedeon’s artwork is rough, but considering the story being told, and the pain portrayed by the characters, it fits, perfectly. Some times, I see Joe Staton and Nic Cuti in these pages, a little cartoony, but that’s not a complaint… The story concentrates a bunch on Guy Gardner and Cap, so, it seems to fit (and the art is reminiscent of the ‘A Guy and his G’Nort’ storyline from 1991).

All in all, a very good story, and a fantastic use of a truly underused treasure.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶

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Speed Metal #1

Writer: Joshua Williamson Pencils: Eddy Barrow Inks: Eber Ferreira

‘Hey, Flash Family, Is it true a Flash has to die in every Crisis?!’

———————————————————————————————————

And the levels of snark from the Darkest Knight have reached Epic Levels!

The first three pages of this issue give us a rehash of everything having to do with Wally West, since the beginning of the Rebirth Era, from Barry pulling Wally out of the Speed Force, to Barry and Batman finding the Comedian’s Smiley Face button embedded in the Batcave wall, to the events of Heroes in Crisis and Flash Forward.

The action picks up as Barry, Wally, Wallace and Jay leave the Batman’s Vault, in search of Metron’s Chair, with the Darkest Knight hot on their trails.

In the Speed Force.

With the Darkest Knight’s presence corrupting the Speed Force, Barry and Wally bickering the entire time, I’m reminded of why I hated the post Crisis Flash… Wally wasn’t mature enough to wear the mantle of Barry’s fame.

Sure, he had the speed, he was even faster than Barry, but he was still the same jealous little kid inside, the one who needed to be patted on the head, the one who couldn’t get on with the Titans, even though he was probably the most powerful of them.

He was just an immature kid, and here, Williamson dragged that all into the foreground once again.

All so Wally West, the King of the Redemption Arc, could have another Redemption Arc…

Sorry, that did me in.

The rest of the story is pretty good… the art is wonderful, the Jay / Barry / Wallace interplay is really kinda neat, and all the Black Flashes… well, I’m a sucker for Death icons, so a mass of Death Speedsters, well that’s fun with a CAPITAL F!

But, did we need another Wally gets to whine story?

Sorry, this wasn’t the finest arc of the Death Metal Saga.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶

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Death Metal #4 ‘Shot In The Dark’

Writer: Scott ‘Scream King’ Snyder Artist: Greg ‘The Muscle’ Capullo Inks: Jonathan ‘Bloodied’ Glapion

“So, ever wonder why you never see A Harley Who Laughs’?’

———————————————————————————————————

And, that Gentle Readers, is the crux of one of those puzzles about this series… Why don’t we ever see more twisted versions of the Villains who infest Earth Prime?

The Robin King (this is the character who rates SECOND on my memorable Characters list, especially with his own One-Shot—— Who’s First?? Time, Gentle Ones in time…) puts the explanation out there, and it is very simple.

And worth the read… But, I digress.

So, Issue 4 picks up with Sergeant Rock describing what has been happening on Earth - Prime, and we finally get to see who has been carrying him around… AMBUSH BUG! Yes, the character that made the Fourth Wall more transparent than an open Anderson window has been carrying Rock around as his own personal narrator…

Which, if you know the Bug, is a joke unto itself.

So, here we go, the ride is picking up steam, and we are now following 6, count’em SIX, separate story lines. A guy could get whiplash, or Bullwhip or some other third rate character… But, I digress.

We have the Trinity storyline, the SpeedMetal storyline, Multiverse’s End, and the Lantern Storyline from the last issue, the Justice League / Legion of Doom story… am I forgetting anything?

Oh, and of course, the Robin King.

Where to start with this… I guess the simplest place to start is the artwork.

Greg Capullo’s pencils are absolutely wonderful. For anybody who it's to watch the process of drawing I want to watch so he's got a really wonderful touch I recommend Greg Capullo’s Instagram site. As he's drawing pages for these books, he posts the pencils as he finishes pieces of the process . Normally, he has six or seven photo panels showing exactly what he's been doing. In man cases, this involves crowd scenes, with extensive detail. His work is beautiful, it’s easy to see why he is such a sought after talent.

Jonathan Glapion’s inks on Capullo’s pencils are comparable to Austin on Byrne, and Janson over Miller, Janson over Colan… Enhancing, and not hiding the intricate detail rendered in the pencils, adding that last flash of lightning to bring it all together. The balance struck between them is almost organic, a constant growth between the two, bringing them to levels bordering on the true Classic Art teams of the last 50 years.

I do not make these comparisons lightly

Now, to the story. Scott Snyder is powering a roller coaster with a rocket sled. The coordination between the different aspects of these stories is both intricate and daring. With all the different aspects of this story spinning like plates on sticks, Snyder juggles the plot lines, and what is left to him by the myriad of writers as Emmet Kelly did in the heyday of Ringling Brothers.

His deft touch, and subtle influences are balanced by lace covered sledgehammer blows, leaving the reader reeling, and wanting so very much more.

Scott Snyder, much like Tom Taylor, has pulled out all the stops, cut the brake lines, kicked out the jams, insert favorite euphemism for creating a high speed, non-stop mad ride to Hell!

And, much to my wallet’s chagrin, I am very happy about it.

Now, as it crosses to other books, and other writers pick up the reins, I am sure Snyder will still be the whip hand driving the story, not allowing some of these writers to go too far astray (unless it’s Tom King… then, well Woo Hoooo!)

I can’t say enough good things about this story, or the team creating it. I’m beginning t feel a little biased, but, what the heck.

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

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Death Metal: Robin King #1 ‘The Robin Who Would Be King’

Writer: Peter J. Tomasi Artist: Riley Rossmo

‘Aw! Come on, this is the fun part!

Get up and let’s FIGHT!’

———————————————————————————————————

Games, within games, within games…

So, the Batman who Laughs wasn’t infallible.

And the Robin King is going to be the bigger threat to the Darkest Knight than any combination of the Trinity, Flashes or their cohorts.

At least, that’s my takeaway from this issue.

We continue the story of the Robin King, as started in the Tales of the Dark Universe one shot. Bruce has grown up, and grown into his sociopathy, and genius. He has used the family fortune to get all the training necessary, and to accumulate all the tools, to begin his reign as the true Evil Overlord of Gotham.

Utilizing his accumulated weapons, he has taken out Commissioner Gordon, Firestorm, Animal Man, Adam Strange Blue Beetle (Ted Kord), and the Red Tornado, all in truly spectacular and extraordinarily grisly fashion.

While the Black Hole Implosion for Firestorm was a particularly well thought out death, I think, so far, the ‘Mortal Coil’ Death, for the Red Tornado was the most imaginative… making his powers totally uncontrollable, while moving him closer to his ultimate dream, to be a real person, before his form totally destroys itself from the stresses of his own speed.

Marvelous! Fantastic! Gross!

Enter the Batman who Laughs, with the proposition to make the Robin King special, one of his own…

But, he’s a Robin, so, off to the Groblin Pit he goes!

Hence, his mistake, and possibly another chink in the boiler plate of his plans… since Bruce Wayne is NO Robin!

Peter Tomasi’s scripting for this issue is simply remarkable. The creep factor he brings to this iteration of Bruce Wayne is almost eviscerating. Reading this was painful to my eyes and psyche, feeling the levels of insanity drip off the page, and scratch across my mind like a little bird’s unnaturally sharp talons.

He really hit all the horror factors.

Then, there was the artwork for this story. Riley Rossmo’s artwork set the mood for this story. His shattered pencil / inks style, which can be distracting, was integral to telling this story. It allowed the Reader to view this story as if it were playing out in Bruce’s mind, its all the fracturing being how he is viewing the world.

For me, this story has been the highlight of the series… thus far. I am anticipating this, which is near the midpoint of things, is setting up the Wednesday Night Episode…so, -

Tune In, Gentle Readers!

Same Bat-Time

Same Bat Channel!

The Best Is Yet To Come!

Did I neglect there is a B-story, with Signal, Spoiler, Orphan and Red Robin taking on Quietus, the amalgam of Batman Ras’ al Ghul and Duke Thimas, from another Dark Universe, written by Tony Patrick and drawn by Daniel Sampere?

This story brings in a plot line for ‘What’s happening for the Other Bat-Family Elements’, as they try to find their way through Castle Bat’s myriad streets…

I am guessing we will start to see more of these stories.

I am completely fine with this, rather than having to recap things later…

Out of 5🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶.5

#dark nights: death metal #DC comics #Batman Who Laughs #Scott Snyder #Greg Capullo

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joshslater · 4 years

Text

The Reformatory

A rewrite of jd07201990′s swimmer story. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

T -1

Dear diary or however you are supposed to start.

So tomorrow is the big day. Dad and I are sleeping at a Holiday Inn at the other side of the state. Well, I'm obviously not sleeping. How could I? So I thought I should start a journal of some sort to document this experience.

Some background. Two months ago I was in a fight with Mark Samberg on the football team. It had gotten pretty bad between the football schmucks and us swimmers. The jockheads were constantly harassing us, calling us fags and prissy boys. It happened often and was getting boring. As the captain of the swim team I asked Mark to knock it off and get his players in line. Idiot as he is he tried to knock me out instead, and I lost it. In our scramble I managed to knock him down and was about to kick him in the shin when he shifted and instead I connected with his knee. Apparently it fractured. He'll be able to walk and even run, but he'll not be able to play again for years, so he lost his Scholarship.

His family sued everyone they could. Me, the school, the swim coach. In the end all the lawyers sat down in a room with a local judge and came up with something they all could agree to. Mark gets some study assistance to get his grades up, the school had this quickly brushed under the carpet, and could pretend I was never student there. Me not graduating wasn’t really a blow, as my college fund now went to pay for Mark’s education, as compensation. They were rich enough to afford it anyway, but they wanted to see punishment. I get the honor to spend the next 180 days at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where I will "participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs". They can tack on some extra days for bad behavior without going back to the judge, but essentially I get 6 months at bad boy camp for standing up to bullies.

What will I do there? No idea. The website talks a lot about work ethics and responsibility and working together with the local community. Sounds like labor camp to me. I'll guess we'll know tomorrow. But first we have to visit the hospital for a check up. My first day in prison will mostly not be in prison!

Day 1, Monday

We started with a checkup at the hospital, and man did they do a thorough job. Our appointment was at 10, but before that I had to fill out a form with 100 questions. The doctor spent more than 30 minutes doing the most extensive check I've ever had. Not only that, but after the check we had to go to the sample lab to draw blood, and finally I had a CT scan at noon. After that, and a quick lunch, we drove to the actual reformation center, which was in a smaller town 2 hours away.

It's an old boarding school building that they've turned into this "Reformation Center", and it clearly looks more like a prison than a school. Just a heap of two story brick and concrete buildings out in nowhere. Not much of security, but then everyone was there "voluntarily", meaning that we all had a proper punishment waiting for us if we left. I hugged dad goodbye and was shown to Mr. Kerwin’s office by the entrance guard.

Mr. Kerwin was a lean, ripped man in his forties that oozed military discipline. He explained that he was responsible for my rehabilitation and that he wouldn't start soft. He would give me a packed schedule, and if I didn't pull my weight he would add more days for "noncompliance". If I didn't like it I could run back to judge Stephenson and ask to start over in juvie.

Perhaps that would be better, because the schedule he showed me was totally insane.

4:30-5:00 Breakfast 5:00-8:00 Exercise pass 1 8:00-12:00 Work pass 1 12:00-12:30 Lunch 12:30-14:30 School 14:30-17:30 Work pass 2 17:30-18:00 Dinner 18:00-21:00 Exercise pass 2 21:30 Lights out

He explained that my breakfast, lunch and dinner would be pre-portioned and I was required to eat all of it. The exercise passes would be lead by himself or one of the assistants. Again, I would have to follow every instruction. The work passes were done at local businesses that wanted an extra hand, and changed depending on demand. The school passes were done as a group on whatever subject Mr. Reed selected.

Next he ordered me to get naked and place all my clothes on top of my bag and move to the other side of the room. Having done so he pointed at a stack of clothes on the table and told me to pick my size and get dressed. I quickly dressed in one of the track suits from the table. There was a baseball cap also, which confused me, but was told that it was instead of sunglasses when working outdoor.

With that I was given a rule book to study and was led by an assistant to my room where a dinner was waiting. Turkey, rice, water. I was reminded of lights out at 21:30 and wake up at 4:30. The assistant left and locked the door. 10 minutes later he came back with my journal book and pen, and told me that they'll keep the rest for now.

Having eaten the dinner and having three hours (I'm almost sure 21:30 is 9:30 PM) to kill before the lights go out I'm now summarizing the day. I'm sitting in something very similar to a prison cell. Bed, toilet, sink. Everything is clean, though somewhat worn. Looking into the mirror is kind of depressing though. I look like some jailed gang member.

It's kind of weird that I haven't met any of the other inmates, sorry students, here. I saw some of them while coming in, but perhaps this is their kind of hazing, or they do an official presentation tomorrow. Anyway, I should study the rule book and go to bed, since I didn't sleep much last night.

Day 2, Tuesday

So much to write about, so little time. I might have to split this into several entries since lights out is in 20 minutes.

I was awaken at 4:30 and given a tray with a large bowl of porridge and berries and some chalky smoothie or shake or whatever to drink. After that an assistant lead me to the gym room where we went over various machines, mainly for cardio. Elliptical, bike, treadmill. Weird thing was that it was only us two in the room during all three hours.

Sweaty and a bit tired I was then taken outside to a bus where some of the other boys where chilling. Apparently everyone else had breakfast between 7 and 8. They had no idea why I didn't join them there. The bus then drove around town and the driver announced who should exit where. My group of four people exited at a farm before town, only about 5 minutes away. I don't know exactly since I haven't been given my watch back.

There we spent hours just moving hay. Don't they know about tractors? Sweaty, itchy, tired and hungry we were then picked up and driven back. At lunch was the first time I saw the real common area. To my surprise there were more boys there than had been on the bus.

Everyone else could pick what they wanted from what was served, but I was given a ready tray with an heap of salmon and pasta. I was starving though, so it wasn't a problem to eat it all. I didn't have much time to talk, but the guys at my table were nice. Somewhat rough, as could be expected. Apparently you were chosen for the different work assignments, and if you were not picked you stayed at the center for sports or craft or similar things.

After Lunch followed a session with Mr. Reed. The first boring hour was on English grammar and the second boring hour on US geography. I aced the quizz getting all 50 states and state capitols right, so I didn't learn anything new after that. Then Mr. Reed announced who had work assignments, and I was again selected.

This time I and Troy were dropped off at a different farm where we spent almost three hours helping with fencing. Mainly carry posts and sawing them to length.

For dinner I had some meatballs with roasted sweet potatoes while everyone else had meatballs with tomato sauce. Mr. Kerwin picked me up and led me to the gym. Unlike the morning session this was all about weight training. Most of it was on finding my limits for different exercises while Mr. Kerwin pointed out how I could improve my form. You could tell that this was what he liked to do, and encouraged me to push a bit further. Once we were done I had a bottle of post workout mix of some sort and a very quick shower before rushing back to my room.

Here's the thing. My room is on a different floor than the other guys. Also, my schedule appears to be different and much more rigid than the rest of the guys. I also

Day 3, Wednesday

I couldn't finish the last entry before they cut the light. My entire body is in pain right now. I woke up like that, and it didn't go away all day. Same schedule as yesterday, but different tasks and different dishes. The assistant really pushed today during the morning session, so I was exhausted already at the bus. Planting bushes at the city park all morning didn't help. I got some rest during Reeds rehash of elementary math. Then back to doing fences, and top it all off with weight training. I asked Mr. Kerwin about the schedule and why it was so different from everyone else’s. He said that everyone's schedule is individual and that he'll adjust mine as needed.

One more weird thing before I fall to sleep. Everyone else is using their normal clothes. I haven't gotten mine back yet.

Day 4, Thursday

FUCK! I was back on moving hay today again, with Sam, Trevor and Rick. I'm still hurting like hell and Rick is one lazy motherfucker, so old fart Farmer Joe decided to complain. The end result is that I am getting 2 days added for noncompliance. Sam, Trevor and Rick got nothing. WTF!

Day 5, Friday

We were carrying merchandise all morning and Troy heckled me on how I got more days because of the piece of shit Rick. But he then said that it was a weird coincidence that every work shift I've been on has been the toughest one.

Instead of going to class I met with the doctor from the hospital who made a visit. He asked me about how I felt, where I was sore etc. Then he gave me an injection which he said would ease things for me. I didn't feel much different, but I was getting really sleepy getting back to Mr. Reeds class, but it might just be that everything he did was too simple and boring.

Apparently while I had a check up Troy had shared his theory about me being a work magnet, so there were some groans from the guys placed in my group. God damn fence work again.

Man, I'm tired. I was tired even before Mr. Kerwin gave me the toughest weight pass ever. Fuck, I'm tired.

Day 6, Saturday

So the weekend schedule is different. There is still a morning work pass, basically only used by the local farmers. But the afternoon is free both on Saturdays and Sundays. Conditions and terms applies, apparently. Since I haven't done any cleaning or dishes all week (how could I?), I'm assigned washing clothes, sheets etc. Man, how much better it is to carry laundry than hay. Best job assignment all week. Lots of downtime. Only real drawback is all the humidity. It’s steamy AF here.

Still fucking 3h workout pass in the morning and evening. The other boys were pretty vocal in mocking me on my way to the gym.

Day 7, Sunday

So the day started out as any other so far. Woke up sore. Breakfast alone and 3 hour gym session. There are no work passes outside LARC on Sundays, so I was hit with cleaning, together with Kyle G. and Rick. Rick ghosted after like three minutes, but KG did a solid work. It took us all the time til lunch though to finish it.

Then my first free couple of hours all week. It’s insane. The other guys were low key avoiding me, so I did what Mr. Kerwin had suggested and had a walk in the forest. It was actually kind of nice, and for some weird reason I didn’t feel like sitting still.

Day 8, Monday

Same shit again. Mr. Kerwin gave me a shot in the arm this evening. Apparently I’ll have one each Monday from now on. Whatever.

Also I found out today that the others don’t have formal lights out. I’m on my own floor so they can lock me up and cut the power. What the fuck?

Day 9, Tuesday

That fucker Rick slacked off again, taunting me about another two days. Ha! I got 10. Mostly for kicking him in the teeth. They locked me in my room, so I had lunch there and sat in this boring ass cell during class and work. Fuck, I don’t know what’s worse. I had to do some body weight exercises to keep sane. Fuck this shit.

Back again. I still got to have my evening workout. Kerwin was pushing harder than ever. The order of exercises was different too. Apparently to make the major muscles tired so smaller muscle groups then get to work. Or something. I don’t give a shit.

Day 11, Thursday

They fucking work now, don’t they the little shits. They know I ruined someones career to get here and another one for slacking off. They better pull there weight

Day 14, Sunday

I think I’ll stick to just write on Sundays. There is only half an hour from evening gym to lights out, so there isn’t much time for writing. I’ve even skipped shower a few times. It’s not like it matters when you start every fucking day getting soaked with cardio. Not like there are any girls around to impress either. Sunday has a different vibe tho. Cleaning, running in the forest and taking a long shower.

Starts and ends with fucking gym time though.

Day 21, Sunday

I really fucking like the forest runs. Its like you don’t have to think and can just run wherever and grab whatever and smash whatever. Fucking love it

Day 28, Sunday

Yay! A full fucking month!

It’s crazy though how much stronger I’m. I have gone up one size larger track suite and 2 sizes larger sneakers. Working hard to make me the best I guess.

Day 42, Sunday

guess i forgot about writing last week. i think the monday shots make me angry or something because last week fucked up someone else on tuesday. at least they all give me fucking respect at least.

Day 92, Monday

i dont give a shit abot reeds borin ass lessons and they fuckin repeat on a loop or some shit. today he was back on gramr and the states. i most time dont fill out his shit but wanted to do it again today. fucking aced most of the states. not so good on the capitols tho

Day 203, Sunday

only 2 weeks left tomorrow lol then im gonna yeet the fuck outta here !!!! adios motherfuckas

Mr. Kerwin enters the room, carrying a folder, and walks behind his desk, not even looking at me. I am sitting in his precious fucking antique chair I pulled from the corner. He’s sitting his ass down, rifles through the papers in the folder and starts to read from one of them.

“John Hamlin agrees to 180 days of rehabilitation training at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where he will participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs, with a possible extension of 30 days for noncompliance and a possible extension of 60 days for infractions as described by the Juvenile Rehabilitation Act (JuRA), section 1103 (b).”

He looks up at me. It sounded like easy shit when I said yes to it. I thought half a year in a bad boy summer camp, or worst case something like prison, but that would have been miles better than this fucking non-stop hard labor shit. And 180 days was a fucking joke. They never fucking intended that to be the actual time. Have someone else slack off and the slap another 2 days to the time. Kick a chair to pieces, 5 days. Punch a guy for being a cunt, 10 days. I’m close to having another fucking outburst again. It must be all that fucking shit they put in the food or shakes or whatever. I fight it. I don’t want to show any emotion in front of him. I don’t think he buys my shit.

“There is another document in the agreement that you haven’t heard. This one between Mark and judge Andrews.”

He pulls out another paper from the folder and read it.

“The state hereby directs Mark Samberg, or person(s) by him so designated, to design and oversee the rehabilitation program of John Hamlin to be administrated at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center. This includes physical exercises, physical therapy, education, consoling, dietary plan and medication, as long as it fulfills the positive development criteria (Appendix D), is within the available services at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center (Appendix A) and within the given budget (Appendix C). Additional services require external financing and approval from the Reformation Center management (Appendix B).”

That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Why the hell had the judge put Mark in charge of my schedule? I understand why he’d want to make the experience suck as much as fucking possible for me, by why had everyone agreed to it? Kerwin looks at me as if he can read an open book.

“You are wondering what has happened to you. What was the meaning of all this? Stand up.”

I jump to my feet. There are still weeks he can add to my time here, and I don’t want to give him any fucking reason to add some shit.

“Stand with your feet as close together as you can.”

He’s never asked me to do that before. I can easily tap me feet together, but I can’t really stand still with my feet right next to each other for long. What the fuck is this bullshit? My thighs are too massive for that.

“Sit down again.”

He leans back and watches me with a bemused smirk.

“Imagine that you’d been away from swimming half a year. Even if you kept in shape it would take you months to be back in good enough technique to clear the swim team tryouts. But you have not kept in shape, have you? You have a completely new shape.”

The blood is draining from my face. I understand where this is going.

“With your upper body build you can physically really only do butterfly strokes properly, but if you can’t bring your feet together the leg kick will just be a wild thrashing of water. You swimming medley would be a hilarious joke. We haven’t even talked about you almost doubling in weight, and how much more oxygen you would need to swim. Sure, you are much stronger now, but old you would swim circles around new you. And that is of course the point. If Mark couldn’t have his sports career, he didn’t want you to have yours either. And the judge agreed.”

I’m surprised that the chair doesn’t break, as hard as I’m squeezing it. I’m boiling with fucking rage. I have to really focus to not to act on it.

“Now the judge specifically set out that this transformation couldn’t be punishment in itself, but rather that you were trained in a way that just wasn’t optimal for swimming. We may have gone a bit overboard with the body building to leave you many options though. You’ll obviously never be competitive in anything with speed or agility, like football or boxing. The metabolic conditioning, hormone treatment and gene therapy have far to long lasting effects to change you back from where you are now. You could try wrestling or weight lifting though, unless you mind showing your erection through spandex.”

“What the fuck?”, I said, as much as a general question to all the things he’d said. What does metabolic conditioning mean? Gene therapy? Erections?

“The medical regimen that Marks family found for you kind of put the feet on both the gas and the break at the same time. It forces the body to grow a lot at the same time as we try to stop it, so it has to try even harder. By injecting stem cells with the right CRISPR-modified DNA we could get rapid, major and long lasting changes. Well, I say we, but all I did was to make sure you kept to the exercise regimen, for a little cash on the side… Surely you didn’t think you got larger feet and dick from eating much and working hard?”

I don’t understand exactly what they done to me, but the result is pretty fucking clear. There was no way I would swim competitively ever again, if I could even fucking swim at all now. I would come out of here looking like a fucking balloon animal muscle jock, and shedding the muscles back to where I were would take shitloads of years.

“The hormone treatment finished two weeks ago and last blood sample shows that your natural hormone levels will keep you muscled and pumped probably well into your forties. So this morning I also cut you off from all suppressive medication as well. That is going to spike your hormone levels and mess quite a bit with you, so we need to see just how badly fucked up you are before we can release you.”

“The good doctor say that you’ll be more irritable and have more excess energy than before. Both something you can work on with regular, hard exercise. But I want to see where you really are at now, so starting today you’ll have no required gym time and labor passes. You can wake up when you want, eat what you want and do what you want.”

“You said erections?”, I asked.

“Yeah, the suppression medication should have kept you limp. You haven’t jacked off while here, have you? Well, you heard what I said about gas and break and compensation. Your body has been pumping massive amounts of hormones into your blood, and will continue to do so. But now that you don’t have the suppressives anymore you should expect to be horny for the next decade or two. You’ll be nothing but a lumbering muscle dildo.”

There’s a crack somewhere inside the wood of the armrest. Fucking fourteen more days, I have to remind myself. Don’t fuck any shit up before then. If I let go of the chair I’m quite positive I will knock him the fuck out. Fourteen fucking more shit days.

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strayen-fx · 4 years

Text

My Roommate is a Demon

Minho x Reader (first person POV)

Genre: Fluff, Humor? I srsly dunno how to classify this 🤣

Wordcount: 1.9k

A/N: What is this ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Sorry for being M.I.A this past week ㅠㅠ

I wasn’t expecting a visitor at such an ungodly hour of the day. More importantly, I wasn’t expecting to see a demon chilling on my couch while petting my cat at two in the morning.

It was supposed to be a simple hangout over Netflix and fastfood, but Changbin insisted that we deserve a more “interesting” Friday night. Apparently, he stumbled upon a bunch of summoning spells in the internet, and he was more than excited to try them out. His enthusiasm won over our protests, and we spent the night over black candles and weird symbols he had copied from god-knows-where.

“Why exactly are we summoning a ghost?” Chan asked, obviously skeptic about the whole thing.

“Binnie hyung just wants to scare himself,” Jisung said. I noted, though, that his hands were shaking uncontrollably as he shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Changbin rolled his eyes. “We aren’t summoning a ghost, you folks. We are summoning a demon who could grant our wishes.”

“Like a genie,” Chan remarked sarcastically.

I sat on the couch beside Doongie, my one-year-old cat, who was busy licking his fur. “Why exactly are we doing it in my house?” I grunted.

Changbin grinned. “Because you, my friend, have the biggest stash of chips among the four of us. That is the number one requirement for the summoning to work.”

Chan paused from downing a bottle of Mountain Dew. “Oh. It’s not because of Soonie, then.”

Soonie, who was sitting comfortably on the TV stand, hissed in response. He is my three-year-old cat, and Chan is pretty much convinced that he is a spawn of Satan. (He actually typed a whole three-page essay to prove this hypothesis, but that’s beside the point.)

Jisung chuckled. “Chill, hyung. Soonie didn’t mean to spill coffee over your research paper.”

Chan groaned. “Oh, I’m sure as hell he did. He hates me – he thinks I’m stealing his master right under his nose.”

Soonie seemed to have understood that we were talking about him. He stared Chan down for a good three seconds before walking out with his nose in the air, heading towards my room. (I sometimes agree with Chan – maybe my cat is a spawn of that fiery land deep down. I mean, look at the sass. He’s gonna make Hades proud.)

Unfazed by our cat conversation, Changbin took the lead and settled himself on the center of the room. The rest of us followed begrudgingly, forming a semi-circle around a bunch of papers carelessly drawn with symbols and letters.

I knew with utmost certainty that the whole summoning was going to flop, but I wasn’t going to tell Changbin that.

We sat in silence, inhaling smoke from burning candles. We turned the lights off to complete the creepy vibe, which resulted to me having a papercut while arranging the “summoning circle” that we hastily made. Changbin was confidently muttering in Latin (or at least I thought it was Latin – it sounded gibberish to me, actually). After a few minutes of half-rapping and half-singing, he immediately gave up. He kicked the papers scattered on the floor, stood up and grabbed a slice of pizza.

“Tonight isn’t the night. We don’t have enough moon energy,” he declared.

I know not what “moon energy” was, and I was far from interested. I moved to turn the television on, not hiding the sense of relief that washed over me. Finally – the night could finally go as how it was initially planned.

Boy, was I wrong.

After a couple movies and a tower of pizza boxes, my friends finally called it a day. They were living together in a studio complex just a block away from mine; there had been no problem in getting home late for them. We bid some quick good nights, and they were off.

I locked the door after they left. I was more than prepared to plop down my couch and enjoy my moment of peace and solitude, when I suddenly heard my cat purr.

Doongie doesn’t purr unless I’m petting him.

When I turned to my couch, someone was sitting there – and he was rubbing Doongie’s belly while sitting comfortably as if he was lounging at his own home. I almost threw the phone I was holding.

“Wha- WHO ARE YOU?!?!?”

The young man winced in protest as if it was I who disturbed his peaceful night. “Good evening to you, too. As much as I would want to have an, uhh, enthusiastic conversation, I would rather not wake up your whole neighborhood.”

“Excuse m-”

“And to answer your question,” he continued, “my name is Lee Minho. I’m an intern from the ninth division of Hades Eastern Labor Line. Next time, please make sure you’d call our line during business hours. While I love receiving overtime pay, my boss clearly hates giving them, and I’m done with tolerating his hot-headed ass.”

The man – Minho – gave me a soulless, obviously forced smile. He looked pale, I noticed. His long black hair was falling over his forehead, almost covering his eyes. He was wearing a baggy black shirt and a pair of skinny jeans, matched with white rubber shoes and black socks. He looked young – I think he’s just around my age. His eyes looked perennially bored, as if being in my apartment was the last thing he wanted to do in his life.

Which bring us to the most pressing question of all time: WHAT IS HE DOING IN MY HOUSE?!

“Excuse me, but who are you again?”

He rolled his eyes, not even hiding the annoyance on his face. “The moment you rang that line, I immediately knew I didn’t like you. I’m Lee Minho, stupid-face. From the–”

“Ninth division of whatever-bbibbidiboo,” I said, cutting him off. “But who are you to barge into my house unannounced?! Who are you to stain my carpet with your filthy unwashed shoes?! How did you get in in the first place?! Who are you and why does my pet rub against you like you’re his owner?!?!?!?”

He was staring me down, and I swear I saw a flicker of fire on his eyes. Like, literal fire. I thought I was going to spontaneously combust.

“I’d tell you to go to hell, but I work there and I don’t want to see you everyday, so that’s totally out of the question,” Minho said flatly. “You called our hotline a few hours ago. That’s why I’m here. Believe me, I’d love to be anywhere else but your filthy apartment.”

I shook my head. I’m not drunk, am I? Last time I checked, soda doesn’t contain alcohol or any similar substance that could make me hallucinate stuff. “I’m sure as hell I didn’t call you.”

He rolled his eyes once more. “Well, hell is saying otherwise. Even Doongie here knows that you called me earlier.”

“… Are you crazy?”

Minho closed his eyes in an attempt to control his anger. “Please, human. I am tired. Just say your wish so I could leave, then we can live our separate lives in peace.”

It took me a whole minute before I finally realized what Minho was actually on about.

“Wait. You mean… the summoning worked? It actually worked?”

“Actually, it didn’t.” Minho continued petting Doongie, who purred contentedly in return. “My boss sent me instead, because who can summon a real demon with that half-assed incantation? I can point out about a hundred flaws in your ‘summoning circle,’ if you can even call it that, and another hundred flaws on the pronunciation of the chant. Plus, who draws the circle on a cheap bond paper? Don’t you have class?”

I tried to ignore the fact that he was outright dissing me. Well, he was dissing Changbin, actually. “If the summoning failed… then why are you here?”

Minho rolled his eyes for the nth time. “Like I’ve said, I’m just an intern.”

“So… you’re not a demon?”

“I’m half-demon.” Minho stifled a yawn. “But I’ll soon be a full-fledged one, once I’ve been summoned a thousand times and fulfilled a thousand wishes from mortals like you. Hence, like I have said a hundred times now, just get on with your bloody evil wish already.”

I took a seat on the couch opposite Minho, trying to compose myself. A demon intern was sent into my house because a real demon can’t be bothered by our half-assed summoning? A demon? In my house? At the dead of night? Tell me about it. “If you’re really what you’re claiming to be, you’re almost five hours late,” I noted.

“Well thank you for pointing that out, Dr. Punctual. You could just thank me – at least I decided to come despite your trashy chant,” he answered. “It was hard for me to cross the border to your world because of the trashy portal you made. Plus, there’s no enough moon energy at this trashy time of the month. You mortals could really use some research.”

I tried to ignore the fact that he used the word “trashy” thrice in less than a minute. “About that, I’m not the one who summoned you. It was my friend. You should go and grant his wish, not mine.”

Minho sniffed the air like a cat. (He actually looked like Doongie.) He crinkled his nose and sat back. “Your blood. There’s no mistake – it was your blood that was used to summon me.”

“My blood? What are you–”

The papercut. Crap.

Just then, Soonie sauntered from my room towards the living room. You should know that Soonie is one helluva irritable, choosy and aloof cat especially when it comes to strangers. I was expecting him to hiss and jump away from the demon-in-training on my couch, maybe even hide back into the safety of my bedroom.

“Another cat!” Minho exclaimed. I whipped my head towards him, and I saw him smiling a fatherly smile down at Soonie. It was weird, but I felt warmth from the stranger who barged into my house. There was a sincere look of adoration in his eyes, and if an outsider would look at him with my cats, they would probably think that Minho is their real owner and not me.

“How are you able to pet Soonie? He doesn’t usually warm up to strangers,” I asked.

Minho smiled – and it was unlike the previous mischievous grins he flashed. It was soft and pure, I had to doubt if he was really an entity training to be a full-time demon.

“I guess I should change my profession and be a cat whisperer instead,” he answered. “I rarely see cats Underground; they can’t endure the intense heat.”

What he did next surprised me – it was even more surprising than the moment he made himself appear in my house out of nowhere:

He lied down on my couch, nuzzling Soonie and Doongie into his arms.

“Since you don’t have a wish for me to do anyway,” Minho said, “let me stay in your house for a bit. If you have two adorable cats roaming around your household, then I guess you’re not as intolerable as I initially thought you would be.”

I stared at him for a good minute. Then: “What?”

“Do you have leftover pizza? I’m starving.” He grinned at me, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’m looking forward to living with you… roommate.”

He’s inviting himself as my roommate just because I have two cats?!?!?!?

°°°°°°°°°

A/N: Should I make a part two? What do you guys think?PART TWO IS NOW UP 💙

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Communication Issues (Alternative Title: Three Touch-Starved, Insecure, Metaphysical Beings Constantly Misinterpreting Each Other and Yet Somehow Falling in Love)- Chapter One

Ao3, MasterPost, Chap.2, Chap.3

Relationships: Eventual Analogince, implied Moceit

I usually have new stuff up on Wednesdays, Sorry this is late. I hope the length and angst will make up for this slight :) Also, because of how long this fucker is, I did not go in and manually add italics, so you can just. Imagine them there when you need them.

Warnings: Panic attack (?), overworking oneself, self-hatred and insecurity, Excessive Amounts of Hurt/comfort, eventual friends-to-lovers, slow burn, arguing, crying, angst w/ a happy ending, swearing, creative blocks, mentions of isolating oneself, excessive hugging.

Word Count: 6,396

What do you do when you find someone crying, and it’s all your fault? What do you say when you hear the muffled sobs and frantic words behind the blood-red door? When you know that, no matter how much you never wanted to hurt him- never wanted to hurt anyone- you still did. Is there anything you can do to fix it, when you’ve spent so long pretending that nothing was broken? When you’ve spent so long pretending that you didn’t care if things were broken or not?

Well, if you're Logan Sanders, a metaphysical representation of the logical thinking of one Thomas Sanders (and you are, for the purposes of this story), then you book it down the hall in a desperate effort to find someone more emotionally competent to solve the problem.

The search is short, lasting just to the bottom of the stairs. As soon as your feet touch down on the living room carpet, your haste brings you slamming into just the side you were looking for. Hands wrap around your middle, narrowly stopping you from stumbling over.

“Geez, L, what’s the-” Virgil doesn’t finish his sentence, his expression wrinkling in concern when he sees your face. He leans down to your level, his gaze flickering over you to search for injuries.

You take a step back and shake your head, struggling to explain.

“Roman- I- He-” you’re supposed to be articulate, intelligent, eloquent- but when it comes to feelings, you never are. You never have been. You try so hard nowadays, but God, do you still need help sometimes. Like these times. These confusing, awful times when you hear dear sweet Creativity sobbing self-deprications loud enough to be heard from well outside of his room, many of which are dramatized repetitions of things that you have said to him.

“Is he okay?!” Virgil, bless him, snaps you out of the oncoming mental panic before it renders you any more useless.

“Physically, yes- as far as I know- but emotionally, well-” you cut off, terrified of choking up. He seems to catch your meaning, though.

Virgil doesn’t ask any follow up questions. He grabs your arm and the room blurs. Static hisses against your ears and pricks at your skin, this form of transportation being mostly foreign to you. You don’t even rise up, merely popping into existence right in front of Roman’s door. Virgil throws it open before you have the chance to react.

Roman doesn’t notice the increased population of his room, which is concerning. His back is to the door as he works fervently at his desk, but evidently not making progress, shaking as he is. He’s muttering under his breath, much quieter than what you’d overheard before, but you can hear distinct utterances like ‘unrealistic… overused… disappointment…’ et cetera, et fucking cetera.

“Roman, what happened?” Virgil’s voice is distorted, loud and quiet all at once. You barely keep yourself from covering your ears.

Roman clamps his mouth shut mid-wail, his hands spasming in surprise against his desk. His quill drops to the paper with a soft clatter, a sound that echoes about the walls. Then, the only noise left is his staggering breathing.

Slowly, Roman peers over his shoulder at you, eyes puffy and red with mascara practically dripping down his chin.

A gasp draws from you, against your will, at the sight.

Roman makes some strangled throat-clearing sounds before trying to speak.

“Oh, hey-”

“Nope, none of that,” Virgil is across the room in two strides, effortlessly taking the lead in this situation. You can’t push yourself any further into the room, but you do shut the door behind you. Probably best not to involve any of the more unpredictable sides in what was sure to be an… emotionally charged discussion.

Roman looks absolutely mortified, jolting up from his chair and backing into the wall like a cornered animal. With distance between himself and Virgil reestablished, he then buries his face in his hands. He trembles like a leaf caught in the wind of fall, and he’d probably crumble just as easily.

Many times in your life, you’ve wished that you couldn’t feel. You even had yourself convinced that you couldn’t, for a while there. Now, all you wish is to know how to feel correctly. You’re meant to know things, Logan, aren’t you?

“Alright, so I’ve been having a bit of a rough time,” Roman’s voice cracks and wavers when he speaks, “It’s just writer’s block. Sure, I got a tad bit frustrated- but I’ll be back on track in no time, I promise! You needn’t concern yourself with my momentary lapse, I’ll have a new story for you by Saturday at the latest!”

He’s looking at you. Virgil is standing right next to him, but he’s looking at you, all the way across the room. He’s trying to… appease you? Reason with you? Give you what he thinks you want?

Say something, Logan.

“You need to take a break, Ro,” Virgil’s voice slips back to normal, “C’mon, you’re overworking yourself,” he tries to be nonchalant, but it’s obvious just how concerned he is. You can hardly blame him. When he reaches his hand out, Roman recoils, showing his face enough to see the guilt written across it.

You need to say something, goddammit.

“I can’t just ‘take a break’,” he spits, “I can’t stop now. I need to get this done first- I’ll stop when I finally do this properly. So, maybe never, right?” He laughs, horrible and twisted, and he looks at you because he’s really, truly asking you. Is he really expecting you to agree? Is that the impression you’ve left him with?

You say something.

“This is all my fault.”

Clearly, neither of them expected that. You press on.

“Your worth as a side-” no, not quite right, “-Your worth as a person is not measured solely by your productivity. I know we’ve talked before about the damages of excessive perfectionism, but I know I may not have been effective in ‘showing not telling’ that your ideas don’t need to be flawless. My harshness. My Coldness. I thought I was doing better, but obviously... I was wrong.” Again.

Virgil looks half-way to anger, but it’s unclear what he’s directing it towards. You aren’t sure of anything right now, really, except for the general upset tugging at your stomach.

“L, no, if this is anybody’s fault- it’s mine,” he turns to Roman, and what. “I didn’t know how hard you were taking all this. Dude, I had no idea. But I owe you an apology, I have for a while, for making fun of you about your insecurity. Like, kind of a lot. Long after you stopped doing it to me. Honestly, I can’t believe that I didn’t realize how much it was actually getting to you.”

“What? Virgil, I truly appreciate what you are trying to do, but I was clearly the one who pushed Roman too far,” you find the courage to step a little closer as you argue Virgil’s point, spurred on by how ridiculous you find this exchange.

“Well, I mocked his sensitivities. This is my responsibility!”

“But you didn’t know you were doing that- I acted like I didn’t care for him, and now he thinks I don’t! I am doubtlessly the one to blame.”

Virgil looks ready to snap back, and you’d be just as ready to retort, but a quiet sniffle alerts both of your attention to the matter still at hand. Roman, standing back against the wall, growing increasingly bewildered. He’s still crying, a surprisingly open display for a prideful trait such as himself, but you get the impression that he simply can’t hold it back anymore. You can see him squirm under Virgil’s and your gazes.

“It- It’s nice, that you both are attempting to take the blame for my failings, but you don’t have to. I can figure this out for myself. Then, I’ll finally prove myself to you, and no one will need to worry about anything. Which is why I need to keep working.”

“You have proven yourself to me,” Virgil darts from the desk to Roman. He grabs the trait’s ink-stained arm, gaze fierce and unyielding.

“Why, then,” Roman mutters, eyes downcast, “doesn’t it feel like I have?”

“I never tried to do right by you. Like you did for me.”

You watch them sway, awkward, and finally, finally push movement into your legs. You step to Roman’s other side, much slower. It probably appears to be deliberate, but in truth you just feel unsure. You place your hand on his shoulder in a way that is hopefully comforting.

“The same, in a different sense, is true for myself. But if you would allow us to make it up to you…?” you aren’t sure where to go from there. Virgil nods, though, granting you a hint of pride. You don’t quite buy it when he says he’s part of the problem, but you’d rather not start any arguments at this particular moment.

Roman won’t look at either of you for longer than a second, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. Just so he knows that you are, you gesture to your necktie, giving him the tiniest smile.

He buckles to the ground immediately, a mess of sobs, the both of you letting yourself be dragged along. He clings to Virgil, and you try to keep an arm around him as well. He needs all the support he can get, really.

“I-I’m so so-rry, I don’t- I-”

Virgil shushes him and shoots you a deeply concerned look: This is really bad. I’m not letting him go. You rub Roman’s back as he shakes and return your friend’s gaze with a nod: I’m not either. We’re going to help him. Don’t worry.

The three of you sit there for what feels like hours as he cries, and cries, and cries. None of you say a word, letting him get it all out. You let him hold onto you- you hold him as well, because you’re nearly as dismayed and unsure as he is.

But eventually, you need to talk. Once he finally settles, his head resting against your collar and his legs splayed across Virgil’s lap, it’s you who gets the proverbial ball rolling.

“You already know that overworking yourself leads to exhaustion, which in turn leads to an overall drop in productivity and quality of work,” Roman’s eyes fill with guilt, but you’re quick to elaborate, “but that isn’t at all my primary concern. I won’t carry on acting like it is for a moment longer, now that I see how it’s hurting you. Hurting you is something I would never intend. You mean so much to me. There are so many arguments I could use to convince you why you need to give yourself a break, but I’ll settle with this: a hypothetical ‘perfect story’ is not worth your suffering, and it never will be.”

Roman looks up at you, once more crying, so that was probably a very unhelpful thing to say. But he leans into you and hugs you close, recontextualizing his emotional display. Relief washes over you.

“Thank you, Logan.”

Virgil clears his throat.

“I know I’m not as, um, articulate as Lo is, but- for what it’s worth- I care about you, too, and all.”

You stretch out the arm that you had around Roman’s back, pulling Virgil into the hug. Roman lets out a shuddering breath from where he’s cradled between the both of you. It’s the deep, relieved breath that means the sobbing is through with, leaving only tired eyes and silence.

It is at this point of alleviated tension that the uncomfortable nature of the floor begins irking you. Like hell you and Virgil would live Creativity alone like this, so after brief deliberation you stand to move as a unit. An amoeba of facets making their way down the hall, in a manner likely comical (though thankfully no one is around to see). Your room is the optimal place to rest, as it eases emotions and calms overthinking minds, even if it is a little chilly.

You let your fellow traits drop down onto the couch, passing Roman the TV remote. Yes, whatever you like to watch, you inform him. Yes, really, anything, you confirm, waving your hand to conjure some blankets for them. The smile he gives you, though small, is enough to boost your hopes considerably.

You really can’t fix everything- at least not immediately. But perhaps, with Virgil to fill in your gaps, you’ll be able to make things right for the Prince.

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

So looking after this insecure dumbass is totally your job now. Said dumbass, of course, disagrees strongly; he tells you he’s doing better, and thanks so much for the one afternoon of help, Virgil, but he can totally take it from here. You do not give a single shit about what Roman claims, because he is very obviously lying, because he doesn’t want to be a burden. Yeah, as if.

You’re taking care of that idiot if it kills you.

Thankfully, Logan is on the same page as you (proverbial page, as he would specify). It almost surprised you that he didn’t make himself scarce as soon as he told you about the situation, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise to have him by your side in this. Roman needs all the help he can get, and you can’t think of anyone better.

The pair of you only begrudgingly leave him alone after a sufficient several hours of Comfort Time, retreating to the hall so he can rest. He looked so fuckin’ tired, face a dull red and eyes puffy, but he was smiling. You count it as a temporary win.

The first thing that you do, naturally, is slam your back against the wall and let yourself slide down to the floor out of sheer emotional exhaustion.

Logan sits next to you, much less aggressively. It’s a nice gesture, considering how he absolutely despises sitting on the ground and this is the second time he’s had to do it in one day. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He keeps trying to say something, before clamping back down on it. You bump your shoulder against his, telling him that whatever it is, you’re listening.

“I feel-” which is already a testament to how serious he’s taking the situation- “horrible.”

“Yeah, same- I mean, big mood- no, that’s worse, fuck-” you take a deep breath, hitting your head back against the wall, “I mean, me too. So, at least there’s that, right?”

Logan shoots you one of his patented Microscopic Smiles.

“I suppose that counts for something, yes.”

You manage a laugh, leaning even more against your friend. You’ve got a whole contradictory bundle of feelings coiled up in your chest, and it sucks, but also it’s a relief, but also it’s the worst thing ever. You exhale slowly, your eyes falling shut.

“I don’t wanna leave him alone, ya know?”

“I know. We’ve done all we can do for now, though.”

“I guess.”

“I’m just glad he let us help at all.”

“Well, assuming we did help. Who knows, we could’ve made him feel a million times worse by confronting him, and now-”

He cuts off your spiraling immediately.

“But we didn’t. He clearly needed intervention by that point. Besides, If we’d been making it worse, it’s unlikely he would’ve let us stay for so long. Nor would he have accepted your plan of ‘helping him deal with all this shit from now on, no matter what he says.’”

“Right,” you take another deep breath, “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

You elbow Logan in the side, playfully. He smiles again, wider and brighter in a way that most others probably wouldn’t notice. It could, from some angles, in the right lighting, possibly maybe be considered a little bit pretty. Not that you think about things like that, of course, that would just be weird.

You stop leaning so heavily against Logan, only to find how much your back hurts from sitting in the hall. Come to think of it, the hall might not be the best place to calm down from emotionally charged interactions. The only issue is that your room is literally the exact opposite of a good place to chill out right now, and you’re reluctant to move.

“Hey, uh, would it be okay if I- like, my room isn’t the best for times like this, and I-”

Logan’s already standing, taking your arm to help you up.

“Come on. I’ll set up the Planetarium for us.”

“Thanks,” God, you’re thankful for somebody like him. Such a simple word, when you aren’t crazy about spelling out all of the gratitude and nervous tension that lays behind it, and he picks up on the layers perfectly. He gets it- he gets you.

Things will be okay.

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

Once upon a time (ha), you felt appreciated. Of course you did, else how would you remember it so vividly? How would you long for it so desperately? Yes, you can safely say that you, Roman Sanders, had once been cared for. But that was countless screw-ups ago, before hundreds of your careless insults, your many vicious words followed by weak apologies and unchanging ways. The distant past of a disgraced royal- one far too imperfect, far too cruel to be forgiven without first proving himself time and time again.

That’s what you’d thought, anyway. When you expressed such beliefs to other sides for the first time, just a few mornings after said sides comforted you in the midst of a breakdown, they told you it was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard. Direct quote from Virgil.

It was stupid, apparently, because you were forgiven so very long ago, and you are actually considered to be better now than you were then. It shakes you up inside to think about. In a good way, for once.

They hover around you almost always, offering you plenty more of those somewhat aggressive reassurances whenever you give the vaguest hint of self-deprecation. You were sure they’d brush it under the rug after those first few days, perhaps even tease you about it, but it seemed that was completely false. It’s been a good week.

They’re with you this very morning, chatting idly while you wait for the kettle to shriek. You let the drone of Logan’s voice wash over you as you finish fixing your tea. You don’t believe all of their reassurances just yet, but God are you trying. You want it to be true- more than you’ve ever wanted anything- when Logan says their care is unconditional, or Virgil says that he likes spending so much time with you.

You turn around, the mug in your hands warm against your chest, and stare at the sides on the couch. The three of you are in your corner of the Mindscape; they had already invited themselves in when you awoke. You quite like that they do that- you still aren’t sure how to express that you want to be with them, without prompting. You would feel clingy. Greedy.

“Thank you,” you settle down Virgil, smiling groggily. He waves his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it, man. What’s on the agenda for today?”

That’s another thing. It’s not all crying and hugging, Lord knows how old that would get- but they just end up hanging out with you. Sometimes it’s just Logan, if Virgil’s having an off day, or sometimes it’s the opposite, when Logan’s particularly busy, but you really like it best when it’s the three of you.

That didn’t used to be unusual; you used to spend all of your time surrounded by all of your family (or most, in light of recent acceptances), laughing and joking and working all together. Then, slowly, you stopped, just as things became more complicated for everyone. Camaraderie was a waste of valuable time, time that could be used coming up with ideas that would finally be good enough. They got the hint easily enough, allowing you to isolate yourself until you were perfect for them.

No, you aren’t thinking about that right now! It isn’t the time to worry about how this will all have to end eventually. You’ll have to think about it soon, but not now, dammit!

You swing back a sip of scalding cinnamon tea, letting it clear both your throat and your mind.

“I have a wonderful idea for today!” You puff your chest out and straighten your back. In actuality, you haven’t had a ‘wonderful’ idea in ages, but you hope the confident stance will give you one.

It doesn’t. Logan notices this.

“I sincerely hope that this is not yet another attempt to ‘cure’ your writer’s block and attempt to get ‘back on task’?” he chides you. You falter, letting the regal pose fall away. Logan tells you that what you need is rest. You do not want to rest. But you don’t want to get lectured, either.

“I do not have any ideas for today. Or in general,” you grind out, the second part tacked on bitterly. You don’t look at them, even as Virgil knocks your elbow with his.

“Good, that means you can come play Scrabble with us.”

The hesitance must show on your face, because Logan sighs and adds:

“I will allow you to use your original- completely nonsense, meaningless, irrational- words, if butchering the English language makes the game more fun for you.”

Now that. That is a tempting offer. You really would be a fool to pass it up.

You might as well indulge yourself this much, for however longer they’re willing to let you. It’ll be a nice memory to draw from when you do get back to work.

Good God, your ribs hurt. You can’t breathe.

“I’m just saying, you can’t prove that the earth is round,” Virgil claims, staring mischievously across the table at Logan. Logan fumes. It is fucking hysterical.

“That’s ridiculous! Putting aside the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary for a moment, you can literally see the curve of the earth on the horizon!”

“Uhh, it looks pretty flat to me. I’m not buying your government propaganda, Lo,” Virgil’s very clearly trying not to chuckle, and his resolve is impressive. You’ve already been reduced to unintelligible cackling at their interaction. This exchange has brought the progress on the jigsaw puzzle you’d been solving together to a screeching halt, but you couldn’t care less.

“What do you mean ‘propaganda’?! This is common knowledge!”

Virgil cracks, bursting into raucous laughter. He grabs onto your arm as gravelly chuckles escape him, the both of you scrambling to keep upright. Logan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Unbelievable. Infuriating. Intolerable, the both of you.”

You compose yourself just enough to stick your tongue out at him teasingly, before hunching right back over into your giggle fit.

Then, you notice it as it happens. The aggravated expression etched across Logan’s face shifts, but he keeps staring at you. It’s inscrutable, and also weird.

“What’re you looking at?” you challenge, voice broken up by subsiding laughter. You turn your head to Virgil, as if to say wow, what a nerd, huh?, only to find him staring at you with much the same expression.

“Guys? Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Anxiety amends.

“I’m sure we were both just caught off guard, is all,” Logic adds, his attention redirected from you to the carpet hastily.

“In a good way, though. It’s nice to see you smile- ugh, that sounds so weird, I just meant- it’s been a long time since you’ve. Done that.”

You blink, taken aback, only to feel the dull ache in your face. You reach a hand up, pressing a finger to the corner of your upturned lips. It really has been a while since you’ve laughed like this, hasn’t it?

A selfish, malicious creature that stalks around in your chest tells you to stop smiling. If you’re happy it means that their job is done, then you’ll be all alone again. Is that what you want, Roman?

You almost listen to it. Before-

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you said just because Roman laughed, V.”

“Nah, you never forget anything, O keeper of memories,” Virgil flicks a puzzle piece at Logan, smirking just enough to show off his sharp teeth.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he flicks another puzzle piece. Logan’s face twitches in what is either a barely suppressed smile or a grimace, but likely a combination of the two. When Virgil finally aims a piece to hit his face, he snaps, throwing little bits of the jigsaw back at the anxious trait.

“Wow, L, you’re really just throwing away all our progress like that? Tsk, tsk.”

“I will end you,” he lands one smack on Virgil’s nose, earning a hiss. The puzzle continues to be destroyed by their squabble.

You don’t think you could stop yourself from beaming at them, even if you wanted to. Toothy, confident, amused- oh, how you’ve missed this.

How you’ve all missed this.

It hits you with the swiftness of a bullet, right when you least expect it. You’re just sitting in the living room, idly sketching as you half-watch TV with Patton beside you on the couch. You offer a laugh when he pipes up with a pun based on whatever’s on screen, but your mind is far elsewhere.

You’ve got an idea. A really good one.

You’ve filled up a page with mindless doodling while the thought was still forming, for fear of jumping on it too suddenly and losing the inspiration, but you find it solid as you continue to mentally examine it. Perhaps a bit overeager, you flip the page, scrawling excited concept sketches across the thick, rough paper. The details flow and evolve in your mind’s eye, and it becomes something of a struggle to hold back your creative aura from infecting the common area.

That confident smile, one you’ve been wearing more and more often these past few weeks, graces your face once more. The semi-subconscious expression brings a memory from just nights ago: Logan told you that your face was built to wear such a grin (‘Speaking architecturally, of course,’ he cleared his throat awkwardly, ‘The form that you’ve chosen for yourself is suited to it. Objectively.’).

You find your smiling widening, just as it had when he first told you.

So caught up in your art, half-listening to Patton, and also vaguely following along with the show he’s watching- you don’t even glance up when Virgil rises up and seats himself at the arm of the couch. It’s the way he huffs a laugh at something Morality says that first catches your attention, and suddenly he’s got all of it.

“Virgil!”

He grimaces at the volume, tilting his head to look at you.

“Something got you excited, Ro?”

“I’ve got a story! That is to say, I’ve got a premise, but also characters! Look- it’s- come here, let me show you what I’m drawing, it’s easier than explaining,” you chatter happily, shuffling your way to Virgil’s perch. You hold your sketchbook out to him and jump into explanations.

The drawing is messy, and not nearly finished, but it’s you and it’s good and it’s new. It’s a scene- heavily annotated to explain some of the more abstract concepts in the image- depicting an ent-like creature towering over a young woman, who holds a flower crown up to him. You tell Virgil about the story based around the two, some of the major plot points already planting themselves in your brain. You inform him that it just came to you, and you’ve got so many different ideas for what these two will do, what will happen to them, and how they’ll get out of it all. When you look up from your rambling, all the excitement slips off your face. It’s replaced by awe.

Virgil is grinning, showing a good deal more of his fangs than he usually likes to, enthusiasm dancing in his eyes. You’ve never seen him emote that much ever, not for any purpose. You would be lying if you said that those huge chompers weren’t at least a little hot.

“Okay, I totally wanna hear more, but pause for a sec. I gotta get Lo, ’kay?” And with that, he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, pausing only to toss the sketchbook back to you. You twist around, eyes wide with shock, to find Patton smiling softly at you.

“You saw that, too, right? Or have I gone mad?” you ask him, earning a chuckle.

“I think Virge is proud of you,” he shuts the TV off as he talks, moving to stand, “I am, too! It sounds really cute!”

“Thank you,” Patton arches up to stretch, tossing the remote down on the couch. “-Er, where are you off to?”

“I think I’ll let you three have the living room, to talk all about your story.”

“I’d hardly mind if you wanted to hear about it!”

His eyes dart to the side, an awkward smile stretching across his face. His noticeably pink face.

“Oh, I- I was planning on spending some time with Jan today. I was about to take off, anyhow.”

“Aah,” you start sketching again, if only to spare Patton your wolfish grin, “Well, if you’ve already got plans.”

He gives you a tiny wave, sinking out immediately. Thus leaving you alone with your thoughts. Fuck.

It crosses your mind that- now you have an idea to work on, an idea you’re proud of- your slump is over. The creative block has been cured. Logan and Virgil won’t need to coddle you anymore.

Your hand ghosts over the paper, and for a second you consider tearing it up. Pretending you lost the spark, pretending you need more time and help and companionship. Guilt rises in you at even the thought of being so selfish, the doubts and worries overpowering your former giddiness completely.

You can’t imagine anything worse than that brilliant smile Virgil gave you turning to disappointment, if you pretended to lose your inspiration. Or the disdain that would surely flash in Logan’s eyes at having his work interrupted for absolutely nothing. Plus, if you did so, what’s to stop them deeming you a lost cause and abandoning you anyway?

If you’re being honest, you need approval more than anything. And dear God, it is so close. You have to tell them, and hold on to whatever scraps of praise it earns you before the three of you revert back to normal. You’ll fall back into seclusion, as that seems to be one of the few things you’re good at, and they can actually get back to their own existences.

There’s a whoosh behind you. You spin around, forcing the tension out of your shoulders.

“Well hello there!”

“I want to hear about your story,” Logan cuts straight to the point. You couldn’t care less about his bland bluntness because he is watching at you in a way so unbearably fond. They both are. You push your reservations down and present him with your sketches, diving into what you’ve come up with so far (plus a few extra points off the top of your head, which isn’t an uncommon method for how you develop plotlines).

When you’ve finished, not quite as exuberantly as earlier, Logan continues with the theme of surprising the fuck out of you that this day has established.

He settles a hand on your upper arm, but really he might as well have swept you up in a hug. You blanch, the touch fuzzing up your brain, just like it has been doing so often now and God you don’t want to lose this.

“I told you so,” he sounds playful.

“What?” you question, vaguely dazed.

“I think that L’s saying we were right about you just needing a break. Seems like the rest cleared up your burnout pretty well,” Virgil loops around to your other side, patting your shoulder awkwardly.

The euphoria from being touched is broken once you actually manage to process the words.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I'm- I'm so excited to get back to work!”

Logan removes his hand and you burn cold.

“No, you aren't,” you hear his confusion, like he's trying to unravel why that could possibly be and wow you are not as good an actor as you’d hoped. “What's upsetting you?”

You try to say that it's nothing, but your voice pitches up embarrassingly. You clear your throat, but you can't make yourself maintain eye-contact anymore.

“Dude, you can tell us what's up. Are you just overwhelmed?” Anxiety is worried and caring in a way you didn't know he was capable of and it hurts worse because you don't know how to tell him that you're just selfish. But you knew this was coming- and you aren't going to make these two waste their concerns on you any longer. The problem has been solved, Roman, get that through your skull!

“I- I suppose I'm just- I’m lamenting the end of this. It’s unimportant.”

“You are upset about the end of your writer's block?” Logan tips his head to the side and gives you a bemused look. Frustration stabs at your skin.

“No! That's a good thing, obviously it's a good thing- I'm saying that I'm going to miss… I mean, I'd gotten used to spending time with you. The both of you,” Virgil's eyebrows shoot up, Logan squints at you, so you backpedal like there's no damn tomorrow.

“See? It was stupid, I know I can't always have all the attention, any-”

“You're right, that is stupid,” Virgil cuts you off with a grumble. You must deflate visibly, though, because his voice softens, “That you think we aren't gonna hang out with you, I mean.”

You feel something. You think it’s hope. It almost feels foreign- unbelievable, even.

“What?” a murmur, too small and doubting for you to associate with it, though it must be yours. Pathetic.

Logan leans forward, as though he's studying you. Good God, who let him be so tall?

“Were you under the impression that we were going to cease contact with you once you resumed productivity?”

“Wha- I mean- when you say it like that it sounds… bad.”

“It would be bad. It would also be incredibly manipulative; being kind to you only so as to get you back in working order, rather than being kind to you to provide genuine help.”

Virgil nods his agreement.

“Yeah, you aren't getting rid of us that easy, Romano.”

You recall the first Big Conversation you had with the two left-brained sides. They'd insisted to help you, despite your lack of understanding in the beginning why they'd do so. Similarly to that talk, this is filling you with an almost painful fondness, almost too much to bear.

“But, you already helped me, just like you said you would!”

“Why did we help you, Roman?” Logan inquires, in a way that makes you feel like you should know the answer. You do not.

“Because you were worried about me?”

“Why would we be worried?”

“Because you… felt bad for me?”

He groans, tapping Virgil on the shoulder. The anxious facet rolls his eyes.

“You're our friend and we care about you, stupid.”

You clear your throat, attempting to say that you knew that (even if that isn’t entirely true), but Logan interrupts you.

“In case it wasn’t clear why, allow us to explain: one, as I’ve stated before and will likely state again, we don’t value you for your ability to create alone.”

“Two,” Virgil cuts in, “You’re, like, fun to be around. Way less stiff than us, and honestly we probably need that.”

“Three, we were never opposed to being around you even before the- this. You claimed to like being alone. And I’ll admit I’m not the best with subtext.”

Virgil looks ready to add a fourth. You don’t let him, waving your hands wildly. If you verbalized what you meant to convey, you’d definitely start sobbing, and that’s just embarrassing. Thankfully, Anxiety seems to pick up what you’re laying down, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You take a few breaths and try to pretend that you aren’t being watched like a hawk.

Aaaand you’re already crying. That’s probably the point of no return, isn’t it?

“Ha, and I thought that you two weren’t the sentimental ones,” the effect of your teasing is ruined by how much your voice wavers, “You’re just big softies, aren’t you?”

Logan’s expression is caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

“You are quite literally sobbing? How are we-”

“Shut up,” you retort. The effect is once again ruined when he comfortingly pats your back and you absolutely fall against him.

“Wow, again? You’re really set on making a habit out of this,” Virgil hovers uncomfortably apart from the set of you, eventually landing on wrapping an arm around you. And it’s so him, that you can’t help the little chuckle that breaks through your crying. You really have been doing this a lot more than you’d like lately.

“I- I’m okay,” you stammer, “I’m good- this is- just- I’m relieved. Why am I crying? I’m happy!”

“It’s alright, man.”

“Yes, take as long as you need.”

You tear yourself away from them, scrubbing at your eyes, but grinning all the same. Your skin burns, you’re shivering, but you’re sick of clinging to them and crying and the desperation that tugs at you. You feel so many things, but there’s one that’s overpowering, one thing that’s so familiar and has been so distant. It’s a blur, a mash, but it goes something like this:

The people you care about, that you work so hard for- they aren’t going anywhere. No conditions. Logan repeats it plenty, Virgil shows it to you quietly, but only now-

Now you believe them. You feel looked after. Cared for. If you’re being bold, you could even say loved.

You feel secure.

“Thank you,” for being there, staying there, helping you, everything. You can’t thank them enough for everything.

Virgil shrugs.

“You’re worth it.”

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #analogince #analogical #logince #prinxiety #panic attacks tw #cursing tw #logan #roman #virgil #patton #implied moceit #my writing

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valkyrieofthehighfae · 4 years

Text

Eternally Yours

Summery: Danica, a Fae Princess from the recently discovered planet of Ellodeem in Wild Space, has come across Jedi Master Plo Koon and members of the 104th in her court’s territory, leading her to bringing them into the city of Noveria to discuss an alliance between the Republic and the Celestial Court. The young Fae finds herself being sent with Plo Koon along with a few other Fae from the other courts that make up the Celestial Court to head to Coruscant to represent their people in the Senate, and ends up with Commander Wolffe assigned to her as a temporary bodyguard. Sparks fly between the headstrong Princess and Commander of the Wolf Pack, the pair quickly finding themselves growing closer in spite of the ongoing war. Warnings: Language, canon typical violence, eventual smut A link to the Fae language I whipped up on the fly This is the first chapter in an ongoing series, so if you’d like to be tagged, click here tagging: @peacelandbread and @clonewarslover55

A golden sun shone warm and uncomfortably bright down on the quiet earth, hung high in the pearly white and pink sky in its brilliant glow, while a soft, cool breeze teased its way through the rolling green fields stretching out in front of us, the emerald grasses swaying gently and glittering in the gentle rays of gold light. Reports of strange ships landing in the Court of Stars territory prompted myself and some of our warriors to come out to investigate, tension bleeding into the ranks at the sight before us: three ships had indeed landed here on our lands, though they didn’t appear to be part of the Separatists I believed they were called. While I saw no droids, I still didn’t trust the situation and frowned deeply at the ships.

“Commander, what do you want to do here?” Tyr, one of the Captains of the guard and a close friend, queries with a slight scowl on his angular face.

“We should be cautious, but we need to go down there and confront them directly. I want two squadrons to skirt around the ships, staying nearby but out of sight just in case they’re hostile while a few of us ride down there to… greet the intruders.” I handed him his binoculars back, chewing on my lip for a moment. It wasn’t an ideal plan, but it was the best I could come up with for the time being until I knew just what their intentions were.

“On your order Commander. You heard her gents. Lieutenant Havok, Lieutenant Hunter, take Fox and Alpha squadrons and get moving. Tango squad, you’ll be with us. Narfi, I want you and Loghain to head back to the palace to inform the King and Queen about what’s happening immediately. You’ve got your orders, move out!” Tyr barked, the troops quickly hightailing it with their mounts.

“Let’s get this finished then, shall we? I still have preparations for the upcoming Harvest Celebration that I need to get done, and I’m frankly already irate at how much time these invaders have taken up. I don’t enjoy wasting my time with trivial matters such as these.” I grumbled, nudging my heels into the sides of my large, Ronki stallion I was perched upon precariously. He tossed his head, snorting, and surged forward into a graceful, if not slightly bumpy, canter towards the potential problems awaiting us.

Those are those clone troopers Father mentioned. Sul ull e faidsh. My eyes narrowed at the sight of these Republic troops unloading things off their ships, setting up a camp of sorts. It figures they would show up eventually, especially with the Night Court making a deal with those damn Separatists. The war between our courts had only gotten worse since Ellodeem had been found by Count Dooku or whatever he called himself, and offered his help to the Blood Court Queen.

“You’re trespassing on lands that belong to the Court of Stars. State your business.” I called over to the troopers, gently nudging Sleipnir to a halt. Some of the clones immediately drew their blasters, aiming them at us, prompting my men to draw their weapons as well.

“Lower your weapons immediately.” I hissed, dropping a hand to the weapon strapped to my hip as I glared at them through my helmet.

“You heard Commander Reid, lower them.” Tyr’s voice boomed, startling a couple of the troopers. A Kel Dor came out of one of the ships, moving quickly to try and ease tensions, the lightsaber on his hip catching my eye. This must have been their Jedi commander. He quickly asked his men to stand down, much to their surprise and annoyance that was clear through the way they grumbled in protest, lowering their weapons.

“Commander?” Tyr muttered out of the corner of his mouth, eyebrows knitting together as he frowned.

“Stand down, Captain,” I gave a single nod before gracefully hopping off Sleipnir. “Your men are quick to reach for their blasters, Jedi.” I strode towards the Jedi, acid dripping off my words.

“I apologize for the misunderstanding, Commander Reid -”

“You’re trespassing on our lands, Jedi. State your name and business here.” I cut him off, arms crossing over my chest as I watched him with a frown behind my helmet.

“I am Plo Koon, we’ve come to hopefully discuss the Celestial Court accepting the help of the Republic.” Plo Koon held a hand out for me to shake, which I pointedly ignored.

“I see. I can bring you to the Court of Stars King and Queen, but I’m afraid it’s only going to be a waste of your time. We’ve been fine without your Republic interfering in our affairs before, and we’ll continue to be fine if we refuse your help. You and one of your men will come with us, the rest stay here.” I sniffed in disdain. “One false move and I will not hesitate to give my men orders to step in. Are we quite clear on that?”

“You have nothing to worry about, Commander Reid.” Plo Koon responded with a nod. I rolled my eyes as I mounted Sleipnir again, easily scaling the eight legged horse.

“I hope not. Captain, please inform Lieutenants Havok and Hunter to keep an eye on our… friends here.” Exchanging looks with my captain, both of us silently agreeing this was for the best. I wasn’t overly thrilled about bringing a Jedi and clone trooper back to Noveria, but it wasn’t my place to question what King Hakon and Queen Anja would want to do in this situation if they’d come along.

“Right away, Commander. Sif, Ranger, I want you two here as well. Let the Jedi and his clone use your mounts.” Tyr began barking out orders, taking the reins immediately while I gently spurred Sleipnir into moving. I had to bite back a laugh when I spotted the clone that the Jedi chose to come with him struggle for a moment to mount Stormy, Sif’s mare. The eight legged mare snorted in annoyance, prancing in place until Sif came over to hold her steady, snickering at him. Even with his helmet on, I knew he had shot her a dirty look and I laughed out loud this time picturing it, much to his annoyance.

“Commander, are you sure this is a good idea?” Tyr had caught up to Sleip and I, his golden eyes glimmering in the sunlight as we rode on through the lavender fields, the light breeze tossing the slightly spicy, floral scent around us.

“Am I sure? No, not even a little bit. But it isn’t up to me, it’s up to our King and Queen.” I grew silent, just wanting to get back so I could take a relaxing bath before bed, the day finally catching up to me. Between my duties as Commander of the Guard, helping organize the festivities for the Harvest Celebration, and now dealing with this nonsense, I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to strip my armor off and soak in a lavender scented bath to ease the ache of the day away before going to bed. Off in the distance, the buildings of my home gleamed with a brilliance that was only rivaled by the diamond hills off to the north, signaling Noveria was drawing close. “Have we heard from Narfi or Loghain? I need to be sure our Majesties are awake and prepared to deal with this.”

“Aye, they’re awake and are eager to meet the Kel Dor. I’m… honestly unsure if that’s a good thing or not.” Tyr confirmed with uncertainty. It was odd to hear they were eager to meet the intruders, under normal circumstances they would have been put to death, though I supposed it made sense they chose not to take that course of action to avoid a confrontation with the Jedi counsel.

“Well, we’ll see when we get there.” I murmured when the large, crystalline palace loomed ahead of us, the crystal walls shimmering like jewels in the daylight. We just had to pass through the city, which had me on edge more than I already was. I could only hope my people weren’t on the streets, I didn’t want them to see us bringing this Jedi and clone into our home.

“Your city is beautiful.” Plo Koon had ridden up onto my left, his sudden appearance making me jump slightly.

“Thank you. All the buildings were carved out from the giant crystals and gemstones with magic by my ancestors.” I smiled softly, looking on fondly as we trotted over the cobblestone roads, the soft clip clopping of the ronki’s hooves the only noise echoing through the empty and silent streets. “We’ll stop at the stables first, these guys need to be put away for the night and then Captain Tyr will take you to meet with King Hakon and Queen Anja. They’re eager to meet with you.”

Tyr gave me an exasperated huff, jaw clenching momentarily before relenting silently to his fate. He knew it was pointless to argue with my decision, but it didn’t stop him from making a face at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I grinned at Tyr, shrugging delicately in response, stifling a laugh when he swore under his breath, his pearly silver skin darkening to a grey in embarrassment at being caught making a face.

“I bid you farewell, gentlemen. I’m afraid I have other duties that require my immediate attention and must depart to handle them.” I passed Sleipnir’s reins over to one of the stable attendants with a quiet thank you and strode off ahead of everyone, bounding up the deep, sapphire blue steps of the palace.

~*~*~

The gardens of the palace were even more beautiful in the soft purple light of the setting sun, the peacefulness calming before the night really kicked off with everything I needed to get done. I loved coming here, finding the solitude soothing since it was rare to see anyone aside from the gardners out here. As I turned the corner of the hedge maze, I ran face first into an armored chest, yelping in surprise as I stumbled slightly, losing my balance in the stupid heels I had to wear.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was out here!” I apologized quickly, looking up into the disgruntled face of one of the clones from last night. I sucked in a quick breath, eyes going wide as I took all of him in, staring in silent awe at just how handsome he was up close, without the helmet on.

“No need to apologize, Princess.” He rumbled gruffly, grabbing onto my elbow gently to keep me steady, the warmth of his hand radiating through the silken material of my dress.

“I’m Danica. And you are…?” I ventured curiously after a moment, realizing that I’d never caught his name last night and that I was staring at him like a fool.

“Commander Wolffe,” He seemed taken off guard to have run into me here, most likely expecting the same solitude I had been.

“Would you care to walk with me, Commander? I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.” I inquired, slipping my arm through his and smiled sweetly up at the flustered man.

“Ah… yes, of course Your Highness.”

“I see my parents have given you permission to roam the grounds freely. Will you be staying long? Our Harvest Celebration begins tomorrow and it’s a grand time. It would be nice to have someone to accompany me that isn’t one of our guard members.” I didn’t look at him when I spoke, keeping my gaze forward instead. I was waiting to see if he was going to pick up on the fact that I was Commander Reid from last night, though so far it didn’t seem like it had connected yet.

“I’m not sure how long we’ll be here, Your Highness, but I… would be honored to accompany you to the Harvest Celebration.” Wolffe finally replied, glancing down at me with raised brows. He was puzzled by my question, brow furrowing just slightly as he studied my profile with the smallest of scowls.

“Excellent! And please, it’s just Danica. You don’t have to be so formal when it’s just the two of us. I hear enough of that ‘my lady’ and ‘your highness’ stuff from our staff. It would be a refreshing change of pace to have someone speak with me like I was an actual person.” I couldn’t help but laugh softly at just how formal he was. It was quite the change from last night’s attitude towards us, though of course if he knew who I was, he most likely wouldn’t be quite as formal. “Now, what are soldiers of the Republic really doing here? I’m not sure I believe that you’re only here to try and make an alliance with us, no offence intended of course. You’ll have to forgive my skepticism, but with events of late, it’s hard to trust outsiders.”

“We are here to negotiate an alliance, but we also received word that Count Dooku himself is here and General Koon was hoping to get your people’s help in capturing him.” Wolffe explained after a moment of hesitation, his brow furrowing more when he frowned down at me, the scowl deepening.

“I see. So you were holding information back about why you were here. That figures.” With a roll of my eyes, I released my hold on his arm, walking ahead of him to a large tree with silvery leaves and bright pink fruit hanging low on the branches, looking for the ripest one and plucking it carefully. I hummed softly, focusing entirely on the fruit and cleaning it with a tendril of magic, smiling when all the dirt and impurities faded away, and held it out for Wolffe. “It’s safe to eat, promise.” I took a small bite to prove it, an explosion of syrupy sweetness bursting on my tongue even with just a small bite. He eyed the fruit for a moment longer before taking it cautiously and took a bite, the scowl quickly becoming one of delighted surprise.

“What sort of fruit is this?” He took another bite while I grabbed another one for myself, repeating the cleaning process once more.

“It’s a shimmer nectar. It’s good, isn’t it? They’re sweet with a bit of a spicy kick in the aftertaste. They make wonderful pies and tarts.” As much as I hated to admit it, I was actually finding myself enjoying his company. He was serious and gruff, and the cybernetic eye was a bit… intimidating really, yet there was something about him that I found intriguing. I wanted to get to know him, see what made this man tick, see who he was beyond the soldier. “They also make a damn good wine, too.” I spotted a small basket nearby and scooped it up, picking a few shimmer nectars along with a few other fruits, filling the basket so I could use them to make some treats for Wolffe later.

“What are your thoughts on us being here? You haven’t said much about it.” Wolffe ventured, watching me to try and gauge my reaction to his question.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not thrilled. I understand why you’re here, however, and I can’t fault you for it, though I wish you and the damned Separatists would kindly fuck off Ellodeem and just leave us alone. It’s more than enough that we have to deal with the Night Court constantly wanting to fight over territory, we don’t need your war added in on top of it.” I was careful with my words, thinking it through closely before answering. I wasn’t here to start any fights, not tonight anyway, and I didn’t want to insult the commander, but I wasn’t exactly willing to hold back, either. “If that isn’t what you wanted to hear, then I’m not sure what to tell you. I won’t apologize for my honesty.”

“I don’t expect you to, Danica. I asked you for your thoughts and you gave them to me. Honestly I wasn’t even expecting a truthful answer to begin with.” Wolffe had crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrow raised at my choice of wording. It must have been unusual to hear royalty swear like this where he was from.

“My Lady! Your mother has requested your presence in the kitchen.” Tyr approached us, eyeing Wolffe with distaste, his lip curling into a sneer, golden eyes narrowed dangerously at the clone commander as if silently daring him to make one false move towards me.

“Thank you, Tyr. I’ll be along momentarily.” I brushed him off, waiting for him to leave, giving him a pointed look when he didn’t seem to be taking the hint that I wanted him to go. “You’re dismissed, Captain.” My voice was tight, the irritation coloring my words far more deeply than I’d intended.

“What? Oh. Of course, my lady.” He was frowning, brows knitting together as he turned on his heel to storm off, muttering curses under his breath. Tyr was… overprotective at times and while I appreciated it, it grew tiring after some time. With a soft sigh, I turned back to look at Wolffe with an apologetic shrug.

“Excuse him, Commander. Tyr is a bit of a stubborn ass sometimes.” I walked a little ways away from the clone trooper, reaching out to pluck an Ellodeem rose from the large rose bush in front of me, breathing in the soft, almost sugary, scent. It reminded me of the spun sugar clouds that some of the vendors around the city would make during the Celebration of Blossoms in the springtime with that sweet smell. Taking the delicate silver bloom, I gently reached up to tuck it behind Wolffe’s ear with a slight smile. “I fear I must go and see what mother needs. Perhaps I’ll see you later?” My hand lingered for a brief moment on his cheek, fingers brushing over his warm skin gently as I pulled away, my hand raised in a parting wave. I could hear him muttering under his breath as I walked away, laughing quietly at how flustered he’d sounded over my flirtation.

And he still hasn’t put two and two together yet. That’s even more hilarious really. Maybe I’ll go down to bring him his treats in my armor. I made my way to the kitchen, wincing just a touch when I saw my mother’s stern face upon breezing through the doors.

“What took you so long, daesard?” She had her worried mom voice out and at the ready, hands propped on her hips, a perfectly plucked eyebrow raised, giving her a stern look.

“I’m sorry, mother. I was speaking with Commander Wolffe in the garden.” I set my basket down, pulling out the different fruits I’d gathered so I could wash and prepare them so I could begin cooking.

“Oh, I see. Good, good, that’s good to hear. I’m pleased to see you bonding with him. Plo Koon has been granted permission to allow the rest of his men to stay in town. They’ll be staying for a few days, most likely until the harvest festival is over. Our spies have reported that this Count Dooku has already left, so there’s not too much more of a reason for them to stay beyond our negotiations.” Mother let out a contented hum, overjoyed by the news I’d been with Wolffe. I gave her a strange look while preparing the dough for the shimmer nectar pie, her behavior rather bizarre, or more bizarre than usual, that is.

“Dare I ask why you’re so excited about this?” I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to know. Clearly there was something happening with these negotiations that would almost certainly affect me in some way or another. “On second thought, nevermind. Please don’t tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell. Yet anyway,” Mother smiled softly, rolling up her sleeves so she could help me cut fruit. “Now, who are the treats for? Has a certain Commander caught your eye?” Her voice was thick with playfulness, eyes glittering with joy.

“Oh my goddess, mother! Not everything is about my love life!” I could feel a blush creeping up my neck and cheeks at her suggestion. I mean, she wasn’t wrong, though I couldn’t stand her pointing it out.

“Mirr nesrailr, I see that look on your face! It’s the same look my mother pointed out to me when I met your father.” She was laughing, teasing me gently as we worked on forming the pastries. I groaned, rolling my eyes at her, grinning just a touch; I loved it when she would talk about the day she and father met. It was such a romantic story and so sweet. I never grew tired of hearing about it and it only made me long for a love just like theirs. “I’ll let you bake these on your own nesrailr. It’s more special coming from the interested party.” She brushed her hands off on a towel, squeezed my shoulder, and let me get back to my baking. I sighed softly, still chuckling at her antics.

I love that crazy woman so much, but my goodness she’s wild. I popped the pastries into the oven, pleased with how good they looked. While those baked, I looked around the kitchens, chewing slightly on my lip as I tried to think of what to do next to kill some time while waiting. I supposed I could always make some extra treats that didn’t require baking that I could pack up for Wolffe. I could feel my ears growing hot just thinking about the man, cursing under my breath at how silly I was acting over someone I quite literally just met. And yet… maybe I wasn’t being silly. Fae had a tendency to pick up on when our mates were near, maybe it was Wolffe. Or, and this was more likely, I was getting ahead of myself and turning it into something it wasn’t. I was so eager to find a love of my own that I was seeing things where they most likely weren’t. Was it so wrong to hope, though? To hold onto an idea that maybe, just maybe this could be the real deal?

“Damn it all.” I sighed, pulling out a nice wicker basket, lining it with a pretty blanket that I kept stashed in the kitchens for picnics. The soft suddul material was cool and comforting to the touch, the blue and purple fabric shimmering in the light of the kitchen, bringing a smile to my face as I daydreamed about using this blanket to have a picnic with Wolffe. A loud beeping sound pulled me out of my thoughts, the delicious smell of pastries catching my attention quickly, prompting me to leap over to the oven and remove the oams, ma’assoas, and naos with a pleased grin. Wisps of a sweet and tangy fruit and freshly baked bread with a hint of chicilausu and rae rerdan sesenar filling the air. I was thrilled with how perfectly they had turned out, the breads and crusts just perfectly browned and crisped to perfection. I set them on a wire rack so they could cool properly while I finished making the preparations with the basket, adding in a couple bottles of spiced sainas and nirran llao.

“Danica, I need to speak with you if you have a moment.” A cool voice spoke up from the shadows behind me, a sudden chill in the air making a shiver run down my spine.

“Gael, to what do I owe the pleasure of your appearance?” I swallowed thickly, turning to face the dark figure that watched me with glowing red eyes.

“A small troop of Blood Fae are coming. They’ll be here in a day and a half at the latest. I took a big risk coming here to warn you, Danica. I’m hoping your people will provide me sanctuary against those who would kill me for betraying them.” Gael rasped, taking a step towards me, hissing softly at the light that hit his obsidian colored hand.

“You know we will, Gael. And what of your people? Will they be okay if you’re gone? Do I need to send a squad in to rescue them?” I set my things down, going to turn the lights low so he could emerge from the shadows without the light hurting him. Even artificial lights were uncomfortable for Shadow Fae, much to their annoyance.

“No, no that’s alright Dani. Just keep me hidden and out of sight, that will be enough. Thank you for your kindness… it’s not something I’m used to with the Night Court, aside from the Death Fae. They’re the only ones who are kind to, well, anyone really. Even if they don’t deserve it.” Gael was fidgeting, twisting his long, thin fingers nervously.

“Of course Gael, it’s the least we can do. You should let father and Captain Tyr know what’s going on, they’ll want to sit down and devise a plan. I’m off Commander duties thanks to the festival starting tomorrow. I’m back on Princess duties for now.” I took one of the pastries and handed it to Gael with a gentle smile, watching as he melded back into the shadows.

Now that that’s dealt with, let’s get this brought to Wolffe. I smiled shyly to myself, getting everything wrapped up nicely and tucked away very nice and neat.

#kat writes #Wolffe X OC #Commander Wolffe #High Fae OC #be kind I haven't written for SW in ages #tcw #Wolffe x Danica

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falseroar · 4 years

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Is This Your Card? Part 7: A Good Man

((The District Attorney decides to follow Abe’s advice and question the other guests. The Colonel’s version of events is questionable, and the butler thinks he might have a lead.

Warning for swearing, same as the original dialogue of WKM, and discussion of a death.

Links to Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.))

You didn’t have it in you to tell Abe the other fear that came to mind when you saw him draw your card from Mark’s pocket. The thought that it could have somehow led to his death was terrible enough without the lingering questions it left behind. That hadn’t been the same pocket Mark put his cards in after dinner last night, you were fairly sure of that, which could mean he had taken them out and looked at them again during or after the party.

What had he thought, when he saw that single word written on your card? He must have known who it was meant for, what it might mean.

What had crossed Mark’s mind when he put it together, when he realized you were a werewolf?

The sound of raised voices was a distraction you didn’t know you needed, and you followed the sound of Damien’s voice to the theater room you had noticed before.

“How can you be so flippant?!”

“Flippant? I’m taking this matter very seriously.” You recognized the drawl of the Colonel’s voice, who sounded relaxed in the face of Damien’s anger.

“Oh, don’t give me that horseshit! I know you hated him, but…God damn it, he reached out to you!”

“Oh, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to care!” Damien’s voice cracked with the plea as you approached the door and peered in, uncertain whether to interrupt or walk away.

“Just because I’m not weeping like a child doesn’t mean that I don’t care.”

“I can’t believe…” Damien gestured with his cane, momentarily lost for words. “You come find me when you pull your head out of your ass!”

Damien turned toward the door suddenly, pausing for a brief second when he saw you standing there before he muttered a brief “Excuse me,” his eyes unable to meet your own as he brushed by.

You looked over your shoulder as the mayor walked away, wringing the cane in his hands as he always did when he was upset, and decided against following him. You’d learned over the years that when Damien was like this, it was better to give him his own space to cool down first.

Instead, you walked into the room and spotted the Colonel sitting in the corner, head turned toward the window where it was so dark outside you could barely believe it was still morning and not the middle of the night.

At the sound of your approach, he angrily said, “Damien! I don’t—oh.”

He stood, his tone friendlier as he said, “Ah, good to see you again! I had hoped to have a talk with you after last night’s festivities. But…you’re probably here to help the hunter’s ‘investigation of murder.’”

You both looked up and toward the windows at the sound of thunder, the lightning briefly illuminating the expansive grounds outside. When nothing followed that outbreak, he asked, “How’s the eye doing?”

You reached up and gently brushed a fingertip against the swollen skin around your eye. Abe certainly hadn’t bothered with holding back his punch last night.

“All the better for you asking about it. You…wouldn’t happen to remember why he punched me, would you?”

“Ah, a little too far into the drink to remember, eh?” The Colonel chuckled. “Does he really seem like the type to need a reason? Anyway, I’ll help you, I’ll tell you what happened to our dear friend Mark.”

Did he mean to sound so sarcastic with those last three words?

“I remember the events of last night clearly, especially when we were playing poker and he said,” here the Colonel jumped into an imitation of Mark, or at least a loud, overbearing version of him. “’Oh, look at me! My name is Markiplier now! Forget all my friends or the people that helped me along the way, just look at my money! Oh, I need to pay people to be my friends!’”

“I don’t remember it going that way—”

“Who’s telling the story, me or you?”

“Okay, but is the voice really necessary?”

“…Yes.”

“’Everyone just received terrible reminders of their past, but do I care? No! I just pay all my problems to go away! Glug glug, oopsie-poopsie, I can’t hold my booze! Gotta go off to the little boys’ room, who wants to join me? I’m going to go up there on my stairs, my house has more than one staircase, oh look at me and how great I am, oh no, there’s someone already in the little boys’ room! Oh no, it’s the delivery guy and he’s killing me!’ And dead.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on.”

“That’s how it happened. Probably,” the Colonel said with far too much self-assurance.

You sighed and rubbed your forehead, wondering where to start.

“The delivery guy?”

“Well, obviously whoever sent the package is behind Mark’s murder.” The Colonel paused to give space for the thunder and lightning to do their thing before continuing. “I clearly remember Mark leaving the poker game early, and did you ever see him come back?”

Well, no, you couldn’t remember seeing Mark during any of the shenanigans going on after the game was over, but that didn’t say much. Still, maybe someone else had noticed Mark leaving early—that could narrow down the suspects if true.

“You mentioned everyone receiving terrible reminders of their past. Do you mean the cards?”

The Colonel waved his hand as if to dismiss his own words. “I just mean, Mark was the only one of us who wasn’t bothered by the cards he got, and look what happened to him.”

A suspicion that had been forming for some time now made you ask, “Colonel, how many cards were in your envelope?”

“Two, same as everyone else I suppose,” the Colonel answered. He shrugged. “A Tarot card and a card with something written on it, not that either bothered me as much as it did some of the others.”

Thinking back, the room had been very quiet when everyone opened their envelopes, but you were so thrown by your own card that you hadn’t paid much attention to the others.

As if sensing that, the Colonel placed a hand on your shoulder and smiled as he said, “They’re just words on a card. They don’t mean anything.”

Easy for him to say, you thought to yourself, and asked aloud, “What did yours say then?”

Without hesitation, the Colonel pulled a card out of his pocket and showed it to you. There was only a single name typed on it, which you read aloud.

“Dave?”

“Good man, good soldier. I served with him back in the day.” The Colonel gave the card a sad smile and slipped it back into his pocket. “Buried him myself.”

“I’m…sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, there are worse ways to go than blood loss. At least I didn’t have to put a bullet in his head to make sure he stayed down, eh?” The Colonel laughed, or tried to, but the sound was so close to tears that you wondered if his tinted glasses were hiding something.

Strange, that the death of Dave would bother him so much, but losing a friend only this morning barely registered. It certainly sounded like the Colonel and Mark hadn’t been on the best of terms, and shock and grief hits everyone in different ways, but you couldn’t blame Damien for being frustrated.

“I should go and check with the others,” you said, and the Colonel nodded.

When he spoke again, he sounded much more like his usual self. “Can’t just take my word for it, but I’m sure someone will back me up. Just be on your way and investigate the entire house—although you might want to start with the kitchen and something for that eye.”

“…Right. Thanks.” You resisted the urge to touch your eye again and turned toward the door while the Colonel eased himself back into his chair and went back to staring out the window.

“I’ll be here, when you’re done.”

You paused in the foyer to check your reflection in a mirror hanging there and winced. It was a bad bruise, and with the zero effort you had put in cleaning yourself up this morning after last night, you looked like the definition of a rag-a-muffin. If you showed up in the courtroom looking like this, no judge in the city would have hesitated to have you thrown out.

“You have looked better.”

Jolted out of your thoughts, you looked left to see the butler standing near the base of the stairs, just out of sight of the mirror’s reflection. Benjamin cleared his throat and tried to sound a bit more professional as he continued, “You’re just the person I was looking for. Come with me, I need to show you something.”

You did not move. “What exactly do you want to show me?”

The butler hesitated. “It’s…difficult for me to talk about. It’s better if you see it for yourself.”

Against your better judgement, you decided to follow Benjamin down yet another hallway. For a moment, you were afraid that he might take you back into the room where Mark’s body still lay, but he must have led you in a different direction than you’d been in before because none of this part of the house looked familiar.

How big was this place?

“Now if you’re looking for answers, there’s really no mystery at all. There isn’t a single detail of this house that I’m not privy to,” Benjamin explained as the two of you walked together. “And not a single guest that I’ve not personally vetted.”

“You think you know who might have killed Mark?” you asked. You saw the butler’s eyes glance upward, but for the moment the storm outside was quiet.

“I believe I may have found a vital clue, at the very least.” The butler stopped and turned on you suddenly. “Now I warn you, what you are about to see is not for the faint of heart.”

He looked down a flight of stairs leading into darkness and took a breath to steady himself. “A domain of evil, but in we must go. You first.”

You looked from the stairs to the butler, waiting to see if he was serious, but as he stood there holding the waist-high gate to the stairs open for you, you could practically smell the fear washing off of him. Reluctantly, you walked down thick, polished steps that turned to stone on the first landing to match the rough stone walls, and went down again into the darkened cellar.

A single light barely illuminated barrels and some furniture, and for some reason yet another chandelier, as if this place didn’t have enough of those. Your eyes rested on the wine racks, but seeing nothing amiss there you looked down to find a single broken bottle.

“Avert your eyes!”

The butler dashed down the last of the steps, broom and dustpan in hand, and went straight for the broken glass.

“I’m so sorry you had to see this!” he wailed, sounding genuinely devastated as he began to sweep. “Master would be so displeased! If only he were still alive!”

His wailing cries echoed off of the cellar walls as you backed away and then made a hasty retreat up the stairs and away from…whatever was going on down there.

At the top of the stairs you took a breath and tried to shake off the discomfort that whole encounter had left you with, but it wasn’t working.

Why did he think a single broken bottle was a clue? After last night’s party, it was more surprising that the house was still intact, much less as neat and orderly as he had managed to make it in just a few hours’ time.

But who would have gone down into the wine cellar last night, except for the butler? And you somehow doubted that guy was up to breaking anything, and certainly not letting a mess stay out in the open for just anyone to see.

You eased your way back down the stairs quietly, not that you needed to bother. Benjamin was so wrapped up in his weeping and sweeping futilely to get every last shard of glass up that he couldn’t possibly hear your return.

He certainly didn’t see you stop and close your eyes before taking a deep inhale.

The air in the cellar was cleaner than you might have expected, although it was more open and airier than the average basement. There was still a definite mustiness in the air, possibly from the barrels, along with the sharp ting of alcohol from the faded stain on the ground.

More importantly, you caught the whiff of Mark’s terrible cologne from last night, so overpowering that it took you another second to recognize the last smell that barely lingered in the air, already faint and growing dimmer with every disturbance caused by the butler’s movements.

Gunpowder.

((End of Part 7. Thanks for reading. I might have been too tired to think of a better title or tags when I scheduled this post, ha...

Link to Part 8: What Little Chef Saw.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch))

#markiplier #fanfiction #wkm au #werewolf au #monster hunter au #wkm district attorney #wkm colonel #wkm butler #dave #scene of the crime

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afaimscorner · 3 years

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Bellamy Blake Story-Arc in Season 7

So, now it’s time to look at this narrative mess, I guess. Which actually, if you look closer, isn’t such a great mess at all. The problem is that the ending of 7x13 was rewritten - this is not the point where Bellamy’s Arc was originally supposed to end, which is very obvious, when you look closer. However they decided to bump him off in order to elevate Clarke (who actually was Character Assassinated in 7x13 and whom I don’t care for anymore right now. As far as I am concerned she is a lunatic who should be put down rather sooner then later, so ... yeah, good job, you succeeded in making your audience hate your Lead, dear 100 Writer’s Room), because appearently a show is only allowed to have one Main Character and everyone else is just spare.

But back to Bellamy.

The thing is Season 7 wasn’t really about getting Octativa back, it was about getting Bellamy back thanks to his unforseen abduction in 7x01 and the fact that we got Octavia back by 7x02. Which is why 7x13 is so frustrating, it just killed of the main story arc of the season - quite literally.

Now, the Bellamy Arc we got in the last three episodes and the couple of scenes we had with him in the other three eps or so was in was actually pretty interesting. Mainly because it was obviously leading somewhere, however we never got to see where.

But it is pretty obvious. It is all about the Vision Bellamy had on Etherea, the Vision that was a shared vision, Cadogan was in it, and obviously could remember after. Remember when Bellamy told Clarke he couldn’t lie to Cadogan? It was pretty strongly implied he meant that literally. Because Cadogan was somehow in his head thanks to the shared vision and would know if he lied. This connection obviously went both ways because Bellamy seemed to know thinks he was not told On-Screen. Now of course Cadogan could have just told him all this stuff Off-Screen, but this is not the impression I got. Bellamy was acting very self concsious around Cadogan in those to episodes, always catching himself when he was acting normal (like in the scene with Emori) as soon as he was looking at Cadogan. Which could just be “holy cult leader” stuff of course, but it clearly wasn’t. He was submissive in a way no one else was, almost seemed to be afraid of Cadogan, always appeasing him, and at the same time he is the one that pointed out the flaw in the Disciples logic to Ducette just an episode before.

It is also strange that Bellamy seems to exist outside the ranks of the Disciples. Everyone else, who was recruted, had to ungerdo training, achieve Levels, get numbers painted in their face - Bellamy was just in the minute he stepped foot on Bardo again, because he took a Leap of Faith, but how would anyone know if he wasn’t just faking it? Cadogan was the one, who declared him his honored side-kick, and Co-Messiah if you will, mainly because he was on Etherea and went through the Pilgrimage. But so did Ducette. Now Bellamy is the one who had the Vision and whose prayer did make the storm go away, which means he was touched by .... the Transcendents (I don’t know what they are called yet), which means he is higher up in the ranks of the Disciples than Ducette, howvever it was Ducette who became the new First Disciple, not Bellamy. But what did Bellamy became then? The Second Shepherd? Appearantly. But again: Why? Cadogan wouldn’t trust him, if he wouldn’t have a very good reason to.

So assuming the reason is that he was touched by the Transcendents, this is the reason why Bellamy is suddenly Number Two on Bardo. And maybe he always was supposed to.

Now, I never understood why Bellamy was kidnapped in the first place in 7x01. It could not have been to have leverage against Octavia, not really, because they already had her, and had leverage against her anyways, it could not have been to draw out Clarke, because ... honestly why did the just not kidnap Clarke in the first place, when they wanted Clarke? They ordered this as soon as the found out Clarke had the Key, but Bellamy was abducted sooner, so we are back to the leverage against Octavia theory, which makes no real sense given that they had Diyoza and a machine which could go into Octavia ‘s mind. I thinkt that is what they claimed the reason to be a some point, but as soon as Bellamy showed up, Anders said the did not actually need him. And he claimed to send him back to Sanctum, but did send him to Etherea instead. Why?

I think because Cadogan had always known Bellamy would come to Bardo and eventually become his Co-Shepherd. He knew since he had his own Vision on Etherea all those time ago. That is why there was a Standing Order to get Bellamy Blake as soon as someone with pictures of him in his mind would show up on Bardo. This happend when Levitt saw Bellamy in Octavia’s mind, therefore a team was send out to fetch him, and therefore Anders send him to Etherea because that also was a Standing Order or maybe Cadogan actually told him that flat out when he woke him.

So yeah, Bellamy is special because he has a connection to the Transcendents.

But that does not mean, he was really on Cadogan’s Side. Yes, he sincerly wanted to end all wars and knew the test was coming and was calling it the last war, however I think he actually understood it wasn’t an actual war but a war against oneself and one’s better nature.

Now, for some reason everyone assumed Bellamy was not undercover but had really joined the Cult. I am not sure why because this is exactly what Echo, Octavia and Gabriel themselves did: They pretended to join, even went as far as to betray their friends to proof their loyalty and played that charade for months. Bellamy was on Bardo for a much shorter period of time.

For some reason everyone always wanted him to say out loud he was only pretending. Again I am not sure why, because we know there a cameras and I never got why those don’t record sound, but after what Echo and Hope pulled, I sure as hell would record what my hostages are saying at this point. Also they own a mind reading device, so yeah, even if Cadogan weren’t in Bellamy’s mind, I would not go around and admit that everything is an act out loud if I were Bellamy.

Moving on to the bad things Bellamy did, which made him deseve death in Clarke’s Eyes: Well he did not do anything. He told Cadogan Clarke did not have the Flame, which would have come out eventually anyways, because that bluff had been stupid from the first moment on, and Cadogan might have even known at that point already, beause as you might recall Niylah did slip up and more or less told him Callie was the First Flamekeeper after Clarke had claimed she was a Heda, since then Cadogan was suspicious and might have shared this suspicion with Bellamy just before he presented him to his friends at the end of Etherea. The next thing was that Bellamy picked who to mind scan, which again would have happened anyway, since no one was cooperating any more. All Bellamy did was point at the persons who could know where the Flame was so that not all of his friends would get mind scanned but only two. And finally the reason Clarke murderd him: A fucking Book of Drawings, he had not even given to Cadogan at this point. Clarke did it to keep Madi safe, but who says Bellamy would have told Cadogan who made the drawings or that he would have let them mind scan Madi? He told Clarke and the others several times to trust him, and they decided just not to. Why? Mainly because he did not storm Bardo gunblazing but used his head instead of his heart to save everyone, just like Clarke told him to at the end of Season 5.

His last words were also: “This is how we do better” just like Kane:s were. Not killing and maiming anymore is how we do better - same message.

What’s more: Why the hell did Clarke assume she could keep Madi a secret from the Disciples anyway? And why did she not just shoot all the Disciples like she threatend to, took Bellamy hostage and with her through the Anamoaly or took the drawings instead? She already had Madi, she could have just kept her daughter save at her side, no matter what Bellamy might do with the drawings.

And of course: Why would she need to kill him? The threat was the book with the drawings, not Bellamy. She is a much better shot than that: Arms, Legs, fucking stomage, which is bad but not necessary deadly - she could have shot Bellamy, but did not need to kill him.

He was no threat to her or Madi at this point. The whole scene would have worked if Bellamy would have done anything bad before or during the scene, but like I said he did not! He was not holding a gun to Madi’s head, he was holding a book with drawings!

Also: Shedheda, Madi, Cadogan and Bellamy all seemed to know something important about the Anomaly/the Transcendents - and three out of four more or less worked together because of this. Knowing what those Aliens can do, maybe it would not be such a bad idea to listen to them? For Humanity’s Sake?

So overall: Bellamy was on principle right in those episodes, while his methodes might have been wrong and working with Cadogan might have been too, but I am not so sure that was what he was really doing. Maybe the overall Arc was going towards Bellamy replacing Cadogan as the Shepherd to get the Disciples on their side. Ducette certainly would have gotten along with this. (By the way: Why did Ducette have Night Blood? This was the most confusing thing about that horrible 7x13 ending scene to me, because I could make no sense out of it. The Disciples are the Second Dawn Spawns and therefore those without Night Blood, are they not?) Maybe the two even started planing that on Etherea.

It certainly would make sense with the theme of the season and Murphy’s and Emori’s and Shedheda’s Storyline about pretending to be a god. Why should Bellamy not pretend to be a Messiah, especially given that he actually is one by the definition of this Cult?

Whatever, I guess we will never know, because the writer’s decided they needed Clarke to go insane. Maybe it’s because they wanted her to do something unforgivebale and this it why they staged the whole moment that stupid, but at this point it just makes no sense.

Overall I also have to say that I am starting to find it worrying that as the season progresses the Disciples seem to become the ones that are actually right, and Clarke and the others are the monsters here. I mean of course the whole Final War, No Family, and No Individual Love is nonsense, but somehow the other are the ones who are doing the real horrible things here - killing of people for no good reason, planning mass murder out of revenge etc. It’s probably on purpose (by the writers), but everyone had come so far before, and now Nikki is the one who acts more sensible than Clarke by sparing Raven’s life, while Clarke murders Bellamy without good reason? Something has gone very wrong in the Writer’s Room in this season.

#The 100 #The 100 Season 7 #Bellamy Blake #Etherea #The Stranger #Blood Giant #Season 7A #Bill Cadogan #My brother calls him Coldagan by the way which is the name of a toothpaste #Clarke Griffin #Octavia Blake #Ducette #madi griffin #Bardo #The Disciples

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bethhxrmon · 4 years

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do flowers exist at night? -chapter four

Chapter Four: Attempts in Babysitting

Pairing: Steve Harrington x OC

Chapter Summary: After Steve’s failed attempt to get Nancy back, he and Annie have much larger problems on their plate brought to their attention by none other than Dustin Henderson.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Swearing, inaccurate dialogue

A/N: We’re really getting into season 2 territory! It’s kinda difficult to figure out how to divide these chapters, but I figured it out. If you enjoyed this, please let me know, I absolutely love getting feedback! If this is you need the other parts of this series, you can find them here.

~*~*~*~

Annie was quick to step out of the car to find out what was going on. Though, whatever the kid’s name was, she was quick to recognize him. It was hard to not remember the curly hair and that hat.

"Woah, what's going on here?" she asked, running up to Steve and the kid.

The curly haired kid huffed, "Why do you have some random chick here with you?"

"Hey, I’ve got a name! Hold up, you're the asshole who told me my house was haunted!" she exclaimed.

He ignored the comment, "Come on, Steve, I need the bat! We gotta go now!"

With that, the kid proceeded to continue yelling about how they needed to leave as he rushed into the passenger seat of the car. Annie scoffed, rolling her eyes as she was forced to take the backseat. The nerve of this child truly astonished her.

"Wait, what's going on, Dustin?" Steve asked as he drove off.

The kid took a deep breath, "I think I found a baby Demogorgan and I accidentally kept it as a pet."

"A what now?" Annie asked, interjecting, "Does anyone wanna explain what just happened?"

Steve sighed, "Annie, meet Dustin. Dustin, meet Annie. She's dealing with something that I think might be the Upside Down."

"Wait, that's what you call it? Why, though?" she asked.

Her comment was ignored as Dustin continued to go on about some monster that he didn't expect. Whatever was going on was now completely beyond her. It seemed Steve was taken aback as well. Maybe having two inter-dimensional issues in one day was a bit on the unbelievable side. What was more unbelievable was that she was older than this kid and she had to sit in the middle of the backseat so she could sit up closer to hear what was going on over the music Steve was playing.

Dustin glared at her, "Steve, she can't know this stuff."

"She's a part of this stuff. I can't take her home. We'll just go see what you're talking about and go from there," Steve insisted.

What was eating this kid was beyond her. Instead, she just wanted to know what was really going on. Something which she only had the vaguest idea of. Neither guy seemed keen on elaborating about what they were dealing with. That only left her with a sick feeling in her stomach.

Annie huffed, "Hey, it's me, the girl who's involved all this stuff. Are you guys gonna elaborate on what the hell 'this stuff' is supposed to mean? Or am I just supposed to sit back here and shut up?"

"Would that be too hard for you to do?" Dustin asked.

"Hey, can you two get along for five minutes? Where're we going?" Steve asked, looking over at Dustin.

"You've got the nail bat on you?"

"Yeah, in the trunk, always have."

"Why the fuck do you have a nail bat in your trunk?!" Annie exclaimed.

Steve sighed, "Yes, I've got a nail bat in my trunk. That's not the point. Where am I driving?"

"My house. It's in the cellar."

"And you're sure that... that this thing isn't just a lizard?"

"Yes, Steve, I'm sure it's not a lizard."

"But how do you know?"

"Because it grew and I caught it eating my cat!" Dustin yelled.

Steve stayed quiet for a few moments, "Oh... oh, yeah, yep, okay."

The remainder of the drive stayed completely silent aside from the music playing in the background. Most likely due to Steve not knowing what to say next and because Annie wasn't sure what to do with most of the information in front of her. What kind of monsters just appeared and grew and ate cats? Were those the things crawling over her earlier that day? She tried to not wonder too much despite wishing someone would spell out what was going on to her.

Since it was the middle of autumn, the sky was starting to darken earlier and earlier. By the time the three of them made it to Dustin's, it was pretty dark outside. Steve parked in the driveway and the three of them got out. They were first led to the doors of the cellar which were locked shut.

"I swear if this is some Halloween prank..." Steve warned, clutching the bat in his hands.

Dustin shook his head, "It's not."

"Wait!" Steve stopped himself from banging on the door to turn to Annie, "Why don't I get a nail bat or something?"

Steve shrugged, "You really think you can take it?"

"Well, if you get eaten alive, I don't wanna be next," she retorted, crossing her arms.

He sighed, "Okay, Dustin, get her something from your shed."

The kid came back a couple moments later with a pitchfork. Annie took it, holding it and trying to gauge its weight and how she could use it. This couldn't be too different from the stage combat class she took a couple of years before. Well, aside from the fact that if she screwed up she would wind up dead.

"I can work with this," she said, holding it almost like she would a broadsword.

Steve went ahead and unlocked the cellar door and opened it, his movements hesitant as he did so. The door was open and Annie clutched the handle of her pitchfork, her grip tight. She was unsure of what to expect, but she was mentally preparing herself for anything.

Nothing. There was only the dark stairway that led down to the cellar. Dustin was more than happy to let Steve go down first. Annie followed close behind Steve. While she didn't want to admit she almost tried to hide behind him, she did just that.

Only, when the pair got down, there was still nothing. No monster to speak of. She looked around, almost prepared for something to burst out of the wall and attack them like the kool-aid man. Steve picked up something gross and slimy from the ground.

Annie slowly walked toward a massive hole in the wall, "Um... do you think that's always been there?"

"Holy shit," Steve murmured before rushing back to the bottom of the stairs, asking for Dustin to come down.

Once Dustin was down with the pair, they were able to come to the conclusion that Dart had dug out of the cellar. As tempted as Annie was, the guys didn't let her go into the tunnels herself. Though, it seemed that those things had to lead somewhere. Maybe it was best to not find out. Nothing good could possibly come out of wherever it led.

Unsure of the next move, Dustin ran in to tell his mom that he was spending the night with one of his friends. Surely with putting their heads together, the three of them could come up with something. That was the hope as the three of them piled back into Steve's car. Dustin somehow managed to snag shotgun from Annie yet again. How she was losing to some annoying middle schooler was beyond her.

Soon enough, the three of them were sprawled about Steve's living room. Dustin laid across the couch while Annie managed to snag the recliner which left Steve on the floor. None of them had it in themselves to actually eat dinner.

"Well, we know they like blood," Steve suggested, "Maybe if we got some raw meat or something? That would draw them in, right?"

Dustin rolled his eyes, "I'm telling you, some nougat would be the way to go."

"Maybe for whatever creepy relationship you had with Dart, but there's more than one. We know that. If blood worked before, that's probably the best way to go," Annie said, her knees tucked up to her chest.

The conversation went around in circles for forever. At least, until they decided on going to the butcher's first thing in the morning. Hopefully, Dustin would be able to get to some of his friends involved. Not that Annie was sure how a bunch of thirteen-year-olds were going to help, but this was their only option given that the sheriff was nowhere to be found.

Eventually, Dustin wound up conking out on the couch. That left just Annie and Steve to their own devices. It was silent for a good while. After the last few months, Annie wasn't sure if she really liked the quiet all that much. And in the new setting, even with Erik roaming around the house, she couldn't help feeling like the whole place was disquieting.

She was the first to break the silence, "I'm sorry you didn't get to talk to Nancy."

"It's um... it's whatever, I'll get to it eventually. We've gotten back from worse," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry you had to deal with all this. You know, if this is too much for you-"

"I'm stopping you right there," Annie said softly, "You're not going through this alone, okay? And no, Dustin doesn't count. He's smart, but he's pretty much a child."

Steve shook his head, "I'm serious, this is serious shit. It's like... could get you killed level of serious."

"All the more reason to stick around. Steve, you're my only friend in this shitty town. Now, I'm not gonna say I know how to actually fight with a monster, but I know how to use that pitchfork. Just trust me on this," she said, slipping down from the recliner to sit next to Steve against the coffee table.

He let out a small sigh, "You're sure?"

"Well, knowing the context of all this would be nice."

"Okay... you've heard of Will Byers, right?"

A long while later and Annie knew all the events that took place in Hawkins just a year prior. How Will Byers vanished into an alternate dimension and almost died. More importantly, Steve's involvement and how he obviously blamed himself for a death that had nothing to do with him. All of it leading up to the truth behind what happened on Halloween. The fact that Nancy tried to make him feel culpable made her blood boil. Whether she was drunk or not, Annie wasn’t sure how Steve was so forgiving.

She frowned, crossing her arms, "It's not your fault, you know."

"What's not?"

"Everything with Barb. It's not your fault that she was at a party you kind of invited her to. And it's not your fault that she left either. More importantly, it's not your fault that she died that way. You did nothing wrong, Steve. A monster did that, a monster you couldn't have possibly known about. Nancy's wrong about all that."

"What if she isn't?"

Annie turned to face Steve properly, "She is. Sure, maybe you were a dick a year ago, but that's not a crime. Your douchebaggery had nothing to do with Barb dying. I'm sure you never wanted her dead."

"No, never... fuck I just... I feel awful about it, but I couldn't tell anyone. I'm sure you won't be able to tell anyone after this is over either," he replied.

She let out a small yawn, "That's fine, but it's not like you're in this alone now."

"Yeah, I guess not. You should get some sleep though..."

It took almost no time for Annie to pass out. The events of the day were exhausting in their own oddly cruel way. She had nothing to do other than pass out. Though, she suddenly snapped awake right as the sun was starting to come up. It took her a moment to realize she fell asleep on Steve's shoulder. Not wanting any remarks from Dustin, she carefully made her way over to the recliner again.

This time when she woke up, it was because Dustin was shaking her awake. They had to get up and get started on their plan.

Steve groaned as he got up from where he sat, "Can you give us five more minutes?"

All Dustin gave them time for was a sorry excuse of a granola bar for breakfast and a few minutes to get ready. He didn't even give time for them to change clothes. So Annie spent her time brushing her hair and teeth. The nerve of this kid was more than likely going to be the death of her.

Dustin finally got a hold of his friend Lucas as the three of them grabbed the things they needed. The guys decided to throw the meat around and Annie was carrying her weapon and the gasoline.

Asking the butcher for a bunch of raw beef had been something Annie thought would derail the plan. However, they were given exactly what they needed without question. It made her wonder what else the guy had to give out to people.

She walked right behind Steve and Dustin as they tossed the meat along the train tracks. This was supposed to lead to the junkyard. Then, there was supposed to be a bus that they could reinforce so they could safely light Dart on fire. Whether that would actually work or not was beyond her. However, it was the one plan that all three of them were able to agree on.

Dustin was going on more about Dart since Steve asked. A story that was pretty much beyond both her and Steve. It was more lost on her since she woke up to those things crawling all over her. The last thing on her mind was keeping one for a pet. They were disgustingly slimy.

"So... you kept this thing to impress a girl?" Steve asked.

Dustin shrugged, "I guess."

"And what made you think that would work?"

"It's a new species, an inter-dimensional slug! It's awesome, who wouldn't be impressed by that?"

Steve sighed as he tossed another piece of meat on the ground, "Kid, I hate to break it to you, but that's not how you impress girls."

"Yeah, well we don't all have your hair," Dustin said.

Annie let out a laugh, knowing for a fact Steve spent more time on his hair than she did on hers that morning. In all fairness, there was something to be said for that. He looked good. Then again, he always had. The girls in her classes would not stop talking about that.

Steve rolled his eyes, "It's not about the hair. The trick with girls is just acting like you don't care."

"That's the shittiest idea I've heard in the last day," Annie remarked.

Ignoring the response he got, Steve went into how there would be a sexual electricity and that there were two types of girls. The kind who liked to have something fast and intense. Then, there were the girls who liked it when the guy went slow and stealthy. Like a ninja. Annie listened as the two of them talked, and she kept her shut when Dustin asked about Nancy. Although, there were plenty of things she had to say about that. Especially when Steve claimed Nancy was different.

Except, she wasn't different. Not really. And in all fairness, Annie wasn't sure that she was all that different from Nancy when it would come down to it. She wasn't all that different from most girls. Sure, maybe not every girl read at the rate she currently did, but she wouldn't be reading that much if she actually had someone to talk to. The point was, Nancy was just as much like the other girls at the school as she was. That would take too much to explain, though, so she kept her mouth shut.

Steve looked at Dustin, "Hold on, you're not falling in love with this girl are you?"

"What? No," he replied.

"Okay, good," he nodded, "'Cause she's only gonna break your heart and you're way too young for that shit."

"You know, giving shitty advice because your love life's going downhill isn't going to do anyone any good," Annie said, unable to keep her mouth shut, "Sorry... but if you really wanna be with a girl, you have to find out what she likes and what you guys have in common. If a girl plays some stupid game of pretending to not care, it's not worth it."

Steve glared at her, "And you know so much about this stuff?"

"Um yeah, believe it or not I've had some experience. Plus, I'm a girl. Kinda makes my advice better by default since I know how girls actually work."

There was a pause between all of them. Annie knew she shouldn't have said anything about Nancy. It wasn't fair, but the advice Steve was giving was awful. That was how guys tried to treat her in the past and it always ended up hurting her more than it ever hurt the guy. She wasn't about to go into that, though. No one needed to know.

"Farbergé," Steve finally said.

"What?"

"Fabergé organics, that's what I use," he said, tossing another piece of meat, "And when your hair's damp. Not wet, damp."

"Damp."

"You do four puffs of the Farrah Fawcett spray. Now, you tell anyone I just told you that, and your ass is grass, you're dead" he said before looking back at Annie, "That goes for you too, Hardwick."

Annie laughed, "You use the same stuff that my mom does. Not that it's bad or anything, it's cute, actually."

"Farrah Fawcett?" Dustin asked, shaking his head.

Steve shrugged, "I mean, she's hot."

After what felt like forever and a few different conversations later, the trio were in front of the junkyard. It was sunny, but Annie could already feel the breeze starting to bite through her green flannel. She hadn't thought to bring her jacket when she had been rushing to leave the house.

Steve took off his glasses, "This will work... Yeah, this will work just fine. Nice job, Henderson."

While Steve and Dustin put the last of the beef in a pile, a boy biked up with a girl on the back. With how the kids all looked at each other, Annie couldn't help thinking that this was the girl Dustin had been talking about.

They were arguing about the girl knowing about all this. That was when Lucas pointed to Annie.

"You told some random chick!" Lucas exclaimed.

"I didn't! Steve did!" Dustin yelled.

Annie waved her arms, "Hey, I'm literally right here. And for your information, I'm just as involved in this as everyone else. Give me a break."

The boys were more intent on arguing than helping to fortify the bus. Instead of worrying about them, Annie went over to a piece of metal that the redhead girl was trying to pick up.

"Here, let me help you out," Annie said, bending down to make it a bit easier.

The girl gave a small smile, "Thanks... um are you in on this prank?"

Annie helped to get the metal against the bus, "I wish it were a prank. Kinda hard to think that when I woke up and these slug things were crawling all over me yesterday."

"What?"

"Yeah, I guess they're from some other dimension and my house is kinda flip flopping dimensions or whatever," Annie sighed as they got another slab of metal to board up the windows of the bus.

Max shook her head, "I don't get why you're trying so hard... hey, you're kinda new here right?"

"Um... yeah, unfortunately. Why?"

"Nothing... just, heard about you or whatever. Being new kinda sucks."

Annie laughed, "I'll drink to that."

"So are your only friends really that Harrington guy and Dustin?"

"Pretty much."

Within a couple hours, Max and Annie wouldn't stop talking as they got the bus ready. There wasn't much time for conversation seeing as the sun was going down earlier and earlier every day, but the two of them were getting a lot done. So once Dustin and Lucas finally decided to help, the sun was going to start heading down soon.

By the time it was sunset, the gasoline was poured and they were all in the bus. Lucas had decided to scout the area, keeping an eye out for Dart. Wherever that monster could possibly be.

After an outburst between Dustin and Max, she left to go on the roof with Lucas. Annie watched as Steve played with his lighter and she also messed with the pocket knife she had in the pocket of her overalls.

"Hold up, you had that the whole time?" Steve asked.

Annie shrugged, "Yeah, why? You think I could use just this against some... glorified Audrey II?"

"Wait a what?"

"Audrey II? You know, Little Shop of Horrors, the musical?" she asked, "You know, 'little shop, little shop of horrors, little shop, little shop...' huh guess it’s just me."

Both Steve and Dustin stared at her.

"You guys need to get out more."

That was when Lucas screamed about the monster. Annie, Steve, and Dustin were all pressed against each other as they all tried to get a look. Sure enough, there it was. She didn't even know how to describe it as the thing walked around the pile of meat.

Steve shook his head, "It's not taking the bait. Why isn't it taking the bait?"

"Maybe it smells the gasoline?" Annie suggested.

He sighed, "Or maybe it's just tired of cow."

Annie's eyes widened as he went to pick up the bat.

"Wait, what're you doing?" Annie and Dustin asked at the same time.

Steve sighed, tossing the lighter to Annie, "Just light it up when the time's right and keep the kids safe."

Then, Steve turned and went out of the bus. There was no way there was just one of those things. That was too good to be true. Annie shook her head.

"'Keep the kids safe' my ass," Annie muttered before putting the lighter in Dustin's hands, "You got this, okay?"

Annie grabbed the pitchfork and slipped out of the bus quietly. Her heart was pounding out of her chest and her throat felt tight. What was she doing? This was dangerous and could easily get her killed, but she didn't care. Lucas started shouting about another one of the monsters and Annie rushed towards it, going to fight them off.

Steve and Annie were surrounded in no time, and Dustin was screaming for them to get back in. Everything was such a blur of lunging and stabbing that Steve had to tug her towards the bus.

There wasn't much for Annie to comprehend other than that she was sure she stabbed some of those monsters as Steve pulled her back into the bus. He was screaming something, and she was sure it was because she followed him out when he didn't want her to, but she didn't listen. Even when back in the safety of the bus, there wasn't a chance to say anything.

The monsters were trying to get into the bus and for a moment she could only watch in horror. Annie couldn't tell if she was screaming or if that was one of the kids.

"Annie, get it, do something!" Steve yelled before she stabbed at another one of the monsters trying to get in through the windows.

Steve threw a sheet of metal at the door to keep them out. It was quiet for a moment, but then there were thumps coming from the top of the bus. Annie's blood ran cold as she realized there was a way in through the top. They were done for. There were far too many monsters for just her and Steve to take care of.

Max was near the opening at the roof of the bus. Right as the monster appeared and opened its mouth in an odd venus flytrap way, she and Steve ran in front of the kids. This was it. Getting in front of the kids was going to be in vain, Annie knew that. She was sure Steve was aware too. That didn't stop him from yelling in the screaming creature's face.

All of a sudden, there wasn't any screaming. The monster's mouth closed and its head turned up towards the sky. Then, it turned around and left with the rest of the monsters. Annie let out a deep breath, realizing that they weren't dead yet.

"Do you think Steve scared it off?" Lucas asked as all of them slowly filed out of the bus.

Steve stepped out into the night, shaking his head, "No... no way, they're going somewhere."

Unsure of where that place was, all of them tried to follow anyway. The kids were a little bit in front, leaving Annie with only Steve to talk to. That was, if she could manage to comprehend what she just went through.

"So... are we really about to take these kids with us?" Annie asked.

He shrugged, "I guess. If we didn't, they would just follow us. These kids are persistent little shits. It's better they have someone to protect them."

"Because we did such a great job?"

"Hey, we did our best and you know it," he insisted.

The conversation didn't go any further because Dustin and Lucas were starting to argue. Steve didn't help by only confirming that Dustin did keep Dart.

Annie rolled her eyes, "If you guys don't get your shit together, then we're all going home right now, get it?!"

A shrieking in the distance stopped all of them from saying anything more. For a moment, Annie thought she screwed all of them over, but nothing came. They ended up following the noise out to a clearing. The monsters were going to the lab. A place Annie only knew about due to Steve telling her the night before.

It was a long walk, one where none of them really said anything. If nothing else, because they all knew that nothing good could come of all this. She was leading these kids into something more dangerous than she could even understand. How Steve was doing it without hesitation was beyond her. Maybe he wasn't thinking. It seemed like he was almost on autopilot the whole time.

They were soon getting closer to the lab and Annie heard someone calling out to them. Much to her surprise, it was none other than Nancy and Jonathan.

"Steve?" they both asked before Nancy looked at Annie, "Who're you?"

"Um I'm Annie," she replied, clutching onto her pitchfork.

There wasn't a whole lot of time for introductions as the lab seemed to be overrun with those monsters just as thought. It meant there wasn't even a chance for Annie to feel sorry for Steve as she started to put together Nancy's lack of jealousy and the way she looked at Jonathan. Especially when she was being thrown into a police cruiser minutes later.

Tag List (please let me know if you’d like to be added!): @dungeons-and-demodogs @ilovebucketbarnes @jxnehxpper

#steve harrington #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x oc #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things 3 #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x original character #stranger things x oc #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst #dfean?

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years

Text

Dark Side of the Moon: Final Part

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,441

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Underneath a ‘Come In We’re Open’ sign, Ash draws another sigil-formula. This one is different from the other ones you’ve seen, but you know it’ll work.

“All Access Pass to the Magic Kingdom,” Ash smiled.

“Good,” Dean nodded, but when Ash gave him a pointed look, he changed his attitude about it. “Not good?”

“That Zachary fella is going to be watching every road to the Garden.”

“We’ll be prepared. Thanks, Ash,” you thanked, giving him a hug.

Behind you, Pamela hugs Sam before moving onto Dean. Instead of hugging him, she decided on other things. She pulls his head down for a kiss. You wanted to care, but since she was dead you kind of gave her a pass for it. Plus, he needs to be used to kissing other women since he’s definitely breaking up with you once he finds out. You have to tell him when you’re alive because this was getting to be too much for you to handle.

“Yup. Just how I imagined,” she grinned.

Dean looked over at you, but when he saw you not even looking at him and Pamela, he knew something was definitely wrong. He is going to have to question it when he gets back to his body.

“Ah, gentlemen and lady. I don’t mean to be a downer or anything but… I’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” Ash chuckled once the contraption was ready to go.

“Well, keep a sixer on ice for us,” Dean declared.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

He opened the door for you three, and you walked in first with Dean right behind you and his little brother in last. Whatever Ash did definitely didn’t lead to a garden because this was the living room of Dean’s childhood home in Lawrence. It’s dark, empty, and kind of creepy if you’re being honest. A train’s whistle can be heard in the background.

“What the… Why are we back home?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. So what are we going to do?” Sam wondered.

“Keep looking for the road, I guess,” you shrugged.

You turned to start looking when you noticed Mary standing behind you three. Nudging Dean’s shoulder, he turned around first and then Sam last. This time, Mary was just like how she is in the pictures Dean had, but she was wearing the nightgown she wore the night she was killed.

“Honey. Why are you up?”

“Look. I’m-I’m sorry. I love you but you’re not real and we don’t have time—”

“Did you have another nightmare? Tell me,” she interrupted him.

“I gotta go,” he shook his head.

“Then how about I tell you my nightmare, Dean? The night I burned,” she chuckled.

Blood started appearing on the nightgown right above her stomach.

“Sammy let’s get out of here,” Dean said shakily.

“Right behind you,” you declared.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” Mary snapped, and Dean halted in his steps. “ I never loved you. You were my burden. I was shackled to you. Look what it got me.”

She blinked and her eyes turned yellow… the same yellow as Azazel’s.

“Dean, come on. This isn’t real,” you urged, yanking on his arm to get him moving.

However, he just seemed frozen in place. When he could finally move, he turned to you with a look of pure devastation. The lights in the house begin to change color, taking on an unhealthy green hue. The room starts to change all around you, and suddenly, the doors are gone. Mary blinks once more and they are back to their normal color.

“The worst was the smell. The pain, well. What can you say about your skin bubbling off? But the smell was so… you know, for a second I thought I’d left a pot roast burning in the oven. But… it was my meat.”

Dean moves away from his demented mother to go to the wall where the door once was. Instead, it’s been bricked over so there was no chance to escape.

“And then, finally, I was dead. The one silver lining was that at least I was away from you. Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy. Daddy. Even Sam. Y/N eventually. Want to know what she did?” she asked with a huge smile.

“Okay, shut the fuck up! You’re not real!” you yelled, throwing your hands out as if you still had your magic.

“Not going to work on me, sweetheart,” she said to you before turning to her eldest son. “You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it’s not them. Maybe, it’s you.”

“Easy now, kitten,” Zachariah revealed himself.

“You did this,” Sam glared accusingly.

“And I’m just getting started. I mean, guys. Did you really think you could just sneak past me into Mission Control?”

“You son of a bitch!” Sam yelled.

Very large angel goons appeared behind you three, and they grabbed you from behind. Normally, you could have gotten out of this with your magic, but you didn’t have it to protect yourself with this time.

“You know, I’d say the same thing about you, Sam, but I have actually grown quite fond of your mother. Or at least the Blessed Memory of her,” he chuckled.

He moved Mary’s hair away from her neck and began to kiss it. Dean has no choice but to look away since he won’t be able to handle this.

“I think we’re going to be logging a lot of quality time together. I’ve discovered she’s quite the... MILF,” he chuckled.

“I’m going to kill you,” you threatened harshly.

“With what? You’re magicless here, Y/N. In heaven, I have six wings and four faces, one of whom is a lion. You see this vessel because you’re,” he ran his fingers down the length of Mary’s arm, and it’s Sam who can’t watch this time, “limited.”

“Let’s brass tack this, shall we?” he continued, snapping his fingers to make Mary disappear.

“You gonna ball-gag us until we say yes? Huh, yeah, I’ve heard that one too,” you challenged.

Zachariah walked up to you and wasted no time slamming his fist in your stomach. If you were till pregnant, then that would surely kill the baby. He knew this would mess with your head which is why he did it in the first place. You folded over in a painful groan.

“I’m going to do a lot more than that. I’ve cleared my schedule. Get her up,” he ordered.

The angel holding you forced you to straighten, and Zachariah gave another hateful punch to your gut. Sam and Dean struggled against the angels holding them to they and help, but it wasn’t working.

“Let me tell you something. I was on the fast track once. Employee of the month, every month, forever. I would walk these halls and people would AVERT THEIR EYES!” He yelled, and the house begins to shake. “I HAD ‘RESPECT! And then they assigned me you three. Now look at me. I can’t close the deal on a couple of flannel-wearing maggots? Everybody’s laughing at me… and they’re right to do it. So! Say yes, don’t say yes; I’m still going to take it out of your asses. It’s personal now, and the last person in the history of creation you want as your enemy is me. And I’ll tell you why. Lucifer may be strong, but I’m ‘petty’. I’m going to be the angel on your shoulder for the rest of eternity.”

“Excuse me. Sir?” a third party spoke from behind Zachariah.

All heads turned to the stranger who interrupted this fun fest. He is a slightly older black man who had a calm look on his face.

“I’m in a meeting,” Zachariah said.

“I’m sorry. I need to speak to those three.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a bad time, I know, but I’m afraid I have to insist.”

“You don’t get to insist jack-squat.”

“No, you’re right. But the boss does. His orders,” he chuckled which only unnerved Zachariah.

“You’re lying,” he said uncertain.

“I wouldn’t lie about this. Look, fire me if you want. Sooner or later, he’s going to come back home and you know how he is with that whole wrath thing.”

Zachariah gave one last look at you, Sam, and Dean before turning to face the newcomer. The stranger is clearly not going to back down, and it was foolish on Zacharia’s part to challenge him. In a flutter of wings, Zachariah and his goons have gone away. Suddenly, the environment changed from a childhood house to a verdant, green garden—a conservatory. You are surrounded by the sounds of a forest. You walk down stone steps, approaching the stranger.

“This is heaven’s Garden?” Sam asked.

“It’s-it’s nice… ish. I guess,” Dean shrugged.

“You see what you want to here. For some, it’s God’s throne room; for others it’s Eden. You three, I believe it’s the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. You came here on a field trip.”

“You’re Joshua,” you concluded.

“I’m Joshua.”

“So, you talk to God.”

“Mostly, He talks to me.”

“Well, we need to speak to Him. It’s important. Where is he?” you asked.

“On Earth.”

“Earth?” You were very shocked at this.

“Doing what?” Dean cut in.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know where on Earth?”

“No, sorry. We don’t exactly speak face-to-face.”

“I… I don’t get it. God’s not talking to nobody so…”

“—why is he talking to me,” Joshua finished for Dean. “I sometimes think it’s because I can sympathize—gardener to gardener—and, between us, I think he gets lonely.”

“Well, my heart’s breaking for him,” Dean said in a disgusted tone.

“Well, can you at least get him a message for us?” Sam asked, bringing the topic back to the important issue on hand.

“Actually, he has a message for you. Back off.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed.

“He knows already. Everything you want to tell him. He knows what the angels are doing. He knows that the Apocalypse has begun. He just doesn’t think it’s his problem.”

“Tell me you’re joking because I am this close to kicking someone’s ass,” you growled.

“God saved you already. He put you on that plane. He brought back Castiel. He granted you salvation in heaven,” he turns to Sam, “and after everything you’ve done too. It’s more than he’s intervened in a long time. He’s finished. Magic amulet or not, you won’t be able to find him.”

“But he can stop it. He can stop all of it,” Dean stuttered.

“I suppose he could, but he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why does he allow evil in the first place? You could drive yourself nuts asking questions like that,” the angel shrugged.

“So he’s just going to sit back and watch the world burn?”

“I know how important this was to you, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Forget it. Just another dead-beat dad with a bunch of excuses, right? I’m used to that. I’ll muddle through,” Dean said.

He was clearly too emotional about this, and that only added onto your guilt. He would have made a great father.

“Except… you don’t know if you can, this time. You can’t kill the Devil, and you’re losing faith in yourself, your brother, even your girlfriend, and now this?” Joshua asked, motioning to Heaven as a whole.

You were shocked at this because this is the first time you realized just how desperate and depressed Dean really is. Sure, he tells you things, but nothing like this. How could you ever tell him this now?

“God was your last hope. I just… I wish I could tell you something different.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Sam voiced his concerns.

“You think that I would lie?”

“It’s just that… you’re not exactly the first angel we’ve met.”

“I’m rooting for you three! I wish I could do more to help you, I do! But I just… trim the hedges.”

“Then what now?” you asked bitterly.

“You go home again. I’m afraid this time, won’t be like the last. This time, God wants you to remember.”

Joshua lifted his hand to send you three back to Earth, and he did so in a bright light which blinds you so much that you had to close your eyes.

When you open them next, you can’t help but wake with a loud gasp. Shooting out of bed, you noticed you were back in your motel room, the same one in which you died. Sam and Dean are lying lifeless on their beds, and before you could go to them, they awoke in a similar fashion. Both brothers sit up and cough as they tried to get used to being alive again.

“You two alright?” you asked.

“Define alright,” Dean sighed.

He got up and snatched his phone from the bedside table. He dialed a number with his back turned to you, and you could see his back is covered in blood where the hunters shot and killed him. Within a moment, Castiel appeared in the room so that you could update him on what happened. Once finished, he looked lost and without hope. He leans against the divider while Sam and Dean pack up their gear.

“Maybe… maybe Joshua was lying,” the angel said.

“I don’t think he was, Castiel. I’m sorry,” you sighed.

Your bag was already packed since you got it packed before you were killed. Castiel walked into the light, and he was glaring at Dean harshly.

“You son of a bitch. I believed in—”

He stopped short since he couldn’t think of the right words to say. He looked above for any kind of sign, but there is nothing to be seen. He shakes his head in disappointment before pulling out the amulet that he took from Dean.

“I don’t need this anymore,” he scoffed, tossing it to Dean. “It’s worthless.”

“Castiel!” you called out, but the angel was already gone.

Dean stared at the amulet in his hands with anger and regret.

“We’ll find another way. We can still stop all this, Dean,” Sam tried saying.

“How?” the older brother asked, finally looking up.

“I don’t know, but we’ll find it. You, me, and Y/N, we’ll find it.”

Dean clearly doesn’t believe him, and you and Sam both know it. He picked up his packed bag and walks past Sam without a word. As he walks out the door, he drops the amulet in the trash. Your heart broke, but you walked over to the trash to stare at the amulet. With one look at Sam, you reached in and grabbed it since you knew this was too special to throw away.

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