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magicalmysteries777 · 3 months

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The Shire Is Burning - Chapter 10.

Summary: Trying to navigate problems like growing up as a teen in the 80s in a new town can be tough enough without taking things like being on the run for faulty murder charges, alternate dimensions, and a psychopath with powers that's hellbent on revenge into account. Can Lilith do enough to help her new friends save everyone from Vecna? Or at the very least... just one person?

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character.

Contents: Swearing, smoking, drug use, eventual smut, and canon typical violence mentioned throughout. Minors DNI.

Chapter: 10 of ?

Chapter Masterlist: The Shire Is Burning - Masterlist.

WC: 2079.

A/N: I am currently in the process of re-writing this abandoned wip from last year so I can move onto new projects without feeling guilty. Enjoy ❤️

March 23rd, 1986.

Lilith placed the walkie-talkie down on the coffee table and stood up, intending to go back to the bedroom. Eddie grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“What’s wrong, Henderson? You’ve been acting like a bitch ever since you had your little chat with Harrington,” he asked.

“You think I’m acting like a bitch now? You’ve seen nothing yet, Munson,” she laughed.

“Are you going to talk to me or not?” he asked.

“Trust me, you don’t want me to. It’s better if we just keep our distance as much as we can until all of this blows over. You can stay in the living room and I’ll stay in the bedroom,” she seethed, storming into the bedroom.”

Lilith was furious. She laid on the bed for hours thinking about everything that had happened between them in the last couple of days.

“If you knew I was ‘The Freak’ then why did you get in the van?” Eddie asked.

“You are a bit of a freak, aren’t you?” Lilith teased.

This whole time she was defending him to her friends thinking that he genuinely was a nice person but this whole time he’d been trying to play her like some game. A game, it appeared, that had risked her entire life. She had lost the moment she got in the van with him. Seeing red, Lilith sat up and stormed into the living room.

“Why did you offer me a ride home on Friday?” she quizzed. Eddie turned to face her and, after seeing the look on her face, began to look a little paler.

“To be nice. Why?” he answered.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. Why did you offer me a ride home?” she spat.

“To be nice. Why are you so angry?” he asked appearing confused.

“Oh my god, you’re still lying. Just admit it,” she probed.

“I haven’t got a fucking clue what you’re talking about, Henderson,” he replied, his voice beginning to raise slightly.

“Steve told me so don’t try to deny it. My entire life is on the line and it’s your fault!” she yelled.

“Don’t blame me for what happened to Chrissy! You were there. You saw what happened. Don’t you dare blame me for that!” he spat.

“The bet with Gareth, Munson, I know all about it. So, yes, it is your fault. It’s your fault that I’m not going to graduate, it’s your fault that I’m on the run, it’s your fault that I’m a suspect in a murder case and it’s your fault that I might end up not making it out of all of this!” she yelled.

“Okay, now you’re the one who doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” he laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me, you prick. Steve was right about you,” she fumed.

“That stupid idiot doesn’t know the first thing about me!” Eddie yelled.

“He knew enough about you to warn me to stay away from you,” she yelled back.

“I don’t know what he’s told you, but I can guarantee you it’s not true,” Eddie tried to reason.

“Mike heard you and Gareth talking about the bet, you idiot,” she pointed out.

“Mike didn’t even hear that full conversation!” Eddie argued.

“Spit it out then. What was it? Were you going to fuck and chuck me? Is that why you were laying on the charm on so thick?” she sneered.

“Gareth made a bet with Jeff the night you saw us play at The Hideout. He thought you were some basic groupie type of girl. Jeff reckoned I’d be able to convince you to go home with me by the end of the night. Gareth thought I’d be able to do it before the second half of the set. I will admit, I joined in on the bet-” he began, before Lilith cut him off.

“I knew it!” she yelled before turning around and storming in to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Eddie pounded on the door.

“Let me finish, Henderson, you don’t know the whole story,” he pleaded.

“Fuck off!” she yelled.

“Just hear me out!” he yelled back. She didn’t respond.

Lilith was trying to distract herself by reading The Two Towers but it wasn’t working. She was still seething. Lilith couldn’t quite work out if she was more angry at him for doing it or at herself for almost falling for it. Her heart rate begin to pick up. How could she have been so stupid? Her chest began to tighten. She was truely alone now; no friend by her side going through this with her. Her breathing had sped up rapidly now and her hands began to tingle. She was having a panic attack.

She tried to slow her breathing but it wasn’t working. She needed air. Fast. Lilith ran to the window and peered out of it, making sure there wasn’t a soul around before riving it open and climbing out of it. Lilith looked around; where would she go? The fresh air hitting her lungs was helping to calm her down already, but it wasn’t enough. Lilith sat down on the ground and ran her hands through the dirt try to ground herself.

Five things she could see - trees, shrubs, dirt, a squirrel, and the sunset. Four things she could touch - the ground, pebbles, twigs, and grass. Three things she could hear - the breeze rustling through the trees, wildlife and her own breathing. Two things she could smell - the smell the air has before it rains and pine. One thing she could taste - her own saliva.

Her breathing began to slow down, as did her heart beat. She sat there for a few more minutes making sure she was definitely okay before she stood up. Lilith scanned the vicinity again looking for somewhere to go before her eyes landed on a large tree about ten feet away from the bedroom window. Lilith walked over the tree and scaled it until she was high up enough to be covered by the leaves. She tested a couple of branches before finding the thickest, most secure one and sitting on it, her back resting against the trunk of tree.

Lilith looked up towards the sky watching the stars pop out as the night grew ever darker. She wasn’t sure how much time how much time had passed. All the days since they ran from Eddie’s trailer had began merging into one in her mind, time felt like it was so moving so differently now. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, and days felt like weeks.

“Henderson? Henderson? Are you out there?” A loud whisper belonging to Eddie called from below.

Lilith stayed silent. She was starting to feel a little more calm now and she didn’t want to ruin it already.

“Henderson? For fucks sake.”

She waited quietly for him to speak again. He didn’t. She let out a sigh and diverted her attention back to the stars above, allowing her mind to wander once more.

March 24th, 1986.

As the sun began to rise, Lilith began to yawn. She’d stayed sat in the tree all night waiting for the brick wall of exhaustion to hit her but it never came. Lilith slowly began to climb down the tree, her eyes scanning the vicinity with constant vigilance. After triple checking the coast was clear, she jumped down and made a beeline back to the bedroom window before climbing back through it.

Lilith landed on the floor with a thud. She waited anxiously, listening for sounds of movement from the next room. Silence. She grabbed a fresh t-shirt from the bag, opened the door, and tiptoed across the living room into the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she turned on the shower and undressed, throwing the clothes into a pile on the floor.

She stood under the shower letting the hot water wash over for a few minutes before washing her hair and body. She got out and dried off, wrapping her hair in the towel to allow it to soak up most of the excess water. Opening the cupboards, she began to look around for anything Rick had left that would help her feel a bit more clean. Grabbing what limited supplies she could, Lilith got to work.

Her face thoroughly scrubbed and three rounds of mouthwash later, she was feeling much better. Lilith got dressed and let her hair down from the towel, hanging it back up once she was done. She opened the door and found herself face-to-face with Eddie.

“Where the fuck were you?” he asked angrily.

“I told you I needed to be alone,” she pointed out.

“You should’ve told me if you were planning on wandering off, Henderson. I’ve been going out of my goddamn mind! I almost walkied Dustin, but…” his voice trailed off.

“But what? Spit it out,” she demanded.

“But I couldn’t disappoint him. I made a promise that I’d protect you, okay?” he admitted.

"Oh, please. I don’t need your protection, Munson,” Lilith spat.

“Bulltshit! You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” he pried.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes or no? Did you sleep last night?” he demanded.

“No, but I-” she began.

“Exactly!” he cried, “and why didn’t you sleep?”

“Wasn’t tired. Look, what the fuck does that have to do with anything? I don’t have time for this, Munson. I want to go to bed,” she sighed, trying to push past him. He didn’t move.

“Dustin told me everything, okay, he’s heard you screaming in your sleep every night since you came back to Hawkins. He heard your aunt on the phone with your mom, too. They’re all worried about you, Henderson. I am too. Your nightmares have gotten worse ever since you came back, haven’t they? I saw the look on your face the other morning. I’ve never seen someone look so scared…” he admitted.

“Why do you care so much? Trying to win me over again so you can carry on working on your little bet?” she spat.

“I wondered when you were going to bring that up. Are you going to hear me out yet?” he asked.

“No,” she said, trying to push past him again. He still didn’t move.

“I’ve got all the time in the world, Henderson…” he said, folding his arms and standing up a bit more straight.

“Fine,” she muttered, “if that’s what it’ll take to get you the hell out of my way.”

“I made a counter-bet against them,” he admitted.

“What?” she asked, confused.

“I told them they could have their stupid little bet but, if you didn’t come home with me, I got the cash,” he explained, “I knew the minute I saw you that you wasn’t that type. Easy money.”

“Like that changes anything; you still used me like some pawn for your stupid fucking game,” she retorted.

“How does that not change anything?”

“What part of the point are you not getting? You used me, Eddie. For profit. What about everything since? Huh? That all part of your game too?” she asked, her voice raised.

“No? I thought… Look, I didn’t hear you complaining,” he tried to reason.

“Thought what?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied coldly.

“Yes it does,” Lilith stated.

“I thought this was going somewhere,” he admitted gesturing to the two of them, “why do you have your panties in such a twist about this?”

“Don’t, for one minute, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties. You thought wrong. This,” she too gestured to the pair of them, “has never been going anywhere and never will,” she fumed.

“I-” he began.

“I don’t want you, Munson. Get it over so we can focus on getting out of here,” she yelled.

“I don’t want you either. God. You’re such a cold-hearted bitch, aren’t you?” he yelled back.

Before she knew what was happening, Lilith’s hand had stuck Eddie’s cheek with such velocity that it left her hand burning so badly it felt like it was on fire. She stood there, breath held, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Eddie raised his fingertips to his cheeks to assess the damage. His head slowly turned back to face Lilith. He stared at her, jaw clenched and breathing heavily.

Eddie reached out towards Lilith and cupped her face with his hands before crashing his lips furiously onto hers.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson x fem oc #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things fic #fanfic #the shire is burning #tsib

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fellamarsh · 5 months

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✨Nanowrimo Update: Week 2✨

Project: Taker of the Third Path (draft 2)

Word count: 23,625

This is how I've felt this week:

And a lot of that time has been in the it's so over category. I've lost most of my lead but I've been able to stay up on word count through sheer force of will and/or counting words that I write in my notes and/or delete the next day lol.

However!

This is fairly typical for me and I've been feeling solidly like we're so back today and yesterday, so I'm pretty confident that I can ride that for a minute and catch back up. I reeeaallly wanna be a few days ahead by the end of this week because I want to take family meal day off and also I work an extra day the last week of the month and can't reliably get much done those days so. But we'll see!

Anyway, here's an (unedited) excerpt:

“I don’t think I like this story.” The Fastness, now fully awake, had come into languid life. A profusion of green surrounded the inn, cascaded to the valley below, coated the mountains in a veritable explosion of growth. When the breeze came, it was a warm, wet breath. Summer had fully arrived, and Summer—according to his students—was the perfect time for ghost stories. They were sitting in the shaded area of the clearing bumping up against the Siffsarta’s east side, the children arrayed before him, the third path just visible in the corner of Lin’s eye. Driel and her Warrenkin Somi, who he’d been waiting for before starting their lesson, had wandered up just in time to hear the tail-end of a story about an invisible monster. The monster wandered through the Fastness, so powerful that it could suppress any trace of its magic—disguise it as the feeling of the rocks, the trees, Tellur’s soil—leaving its victims completely unaware they were being hunted. The monster could cause floods, landslides, blizzards, and other disasters; it liked to snatch away villagers in the dead of night or the brightness of day; it could even disappear whole towns and cities without a trace. Apparently, its favorite victims were those with especially strong or uncontrolled magic, which it would add to its own cache. It was at this point, seeing the storm clouds growing dark on Rukne’s face, that Linmiru voiced his disapproval. Heedless, Rizhen hissed, “I’m almost done,” and continued in zir best grave stage whisper, “So learn and grow, young ones, but take care to never become more strong than another. The only thing you might see before it takes you is a flash of red. Anyone could be the monster…” Rizhen’s eyes flicked to Linmiru and took on a distinctly mischievous character. “Even aremi.”

#taker of the third path #nano 2023 #nanowrimo #update #writeblr #wip

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pertinax--loculos · 2 years

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(Not A) Weekly Update

Yeah, so, that idea didn’t work out. :/ Still! Here’s a brief rundown of where I’m at right now.

As is typical for, just, my life in general, I’ve gotten onto quite a good roll with writing and so of course uni goes back today. -.- As a result, odds are my time and inclination for writing is probably going to nosedive. :( However! I am going to try and keep it ticking away if I can. We’ll see how I go.

As far as actual projects, and what I achieved over the semester break:

Forgotten Fates Did not write the entire draft of this like I wanted. I’m honestly a little disappointed in myself for this, but them’s the breaks. Interestingly, I got up to a scene I’d quite been looking forward to writing and just stalled out big time. I’m not sure if I sort of intimidated myself about it or what. But on the upside, I have an almost scene-by-scene plan for the rest of the story, so with any luck I won’t forget any important plot points when I do get back to writing it (see below). Wordcount over the break: 66k

Random Thing Self-indulgent piece I played around with briefly, though likely won’t continue. Any idea of a plot is still entirely amorphous, though I did have fun writing it, so I’m counting it as a win regardless. Wordcount: 6k

New WIP (?) Tentatively calling this MTG, and it appears to be going the way of The Monstrosity, re: random scene idea turned into series of scenes turned into characters and whatnot turned into plot. I enjoy writing in this style and I’d really like to keep up the momentum. Utterly self-indulgent heavily-inspired/derivative kind of piece that last night whacked me over the head with a potential actual plot. The aim with this is going to be to get as much of it down as I can. Similarly to The Monstrosity, I’m not too concerned with connecting scenes etc and I’m continuing my experiment started with FF re: making my scenes shorter. Not thinking about beats or arcs or much except getting the scenes down that I want to get down and telling myself as much of the story as I possibly can. There’s a very good possibility I’ll somewhat intro this at some stage, and when I get to That Scene That I’m Very Looking Forward To (which is about a scene and a half away), if it comes out even half as good as I’m hoping I’m definitely gonna share it here. Wordcount: 16k

So that’s the summary! Ended up writing 88,000 words over the approximately six-week break, and even if all of them weren’t for the project I was hoping they’d be for, I’m still pretty happy with that. (It includes an entire week off as well as Quite A Few days where I went ehhhh I’ll do it tomorrow, so I don’t think it’s too bad.) Got a new project and I’m embracing the concept of WIP-hopping for the time being, mostly because I’m having so much fun.

Primary challenge for the foreseeable future: keeping up creative momentum whilst also studying full time. This is complicated by Potential Plans I have for next year, but we’ll just see how I go.

I hope everyone else is doing fantastically. :D Feel free to hit me up if you have something you wanna gush about! I’m definitely lurking around here all the time even if I’m not being particularly active. Might try to carve out some time to get to age-old tags etc next weekend. Life is mostly good. Can’t ask for much more than that. ^_^

#pockets muses IWL #(not a)#weekly update #update #writeblr #anyway #sorry this got so long #i am if nothing else unreasonably loquacious #hence the attempting to shorten scenes etc #which has Repercussions for potential editing in future that i am NOT thinking about #genuinely hope you're all doing well!#and thank you forever for all the tags and asks and whatnot i have not responded to #i LOVE getting them i'm just hopeless #it happens

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flowerslut · 2 years

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S / T

OOF—I’m super picky with what I read AND write, so strap in for these answers lmao

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

typically what I write and what I read are fairly similar all across the board with the exception being: I’ll usually give a well-written fic a solid chance even if it’s about something I typically can’t fucking stand (crossover fic/modern aus/etc)

BUT!!! no matter the fandom no matter the pairing I can not get ENOUGH of canon divergent stories and fix-it fics. I love when I can read a story where an author took one look at canon, picked a point in the story, and then took the story in a different direction than canon did. as someone who has Big Qualms with the source material of their last few fandoms and the way canon has gone, I’m obsessed with canon-divergent fic. fuck! me! up! also as I writer I usually default to this setting when brainstorming fanfics. it’s how call of the night was born, it’s how changing skies was born, pocket full of stones, swallow your sleep—most of my Big Projects are born from me squinting at canon, going *taylor tomlinson voice* “okay, not this,” then throwing a dart at the canon timeline and diverging from there.

honorable mentions go to hurt/comfort stories, dark fic, and any sort of “enemies-to-lovers” variation. they don’t even need to start off as enemies. they can even be “friends to lovers to enemies to friends”. it doesn’t even matter. show me some ups and downs besties! show me just WHY these character can’t avoid each other within the story 🤩 more shoutouts to slow burn and all other forms of angsty fic. chefs kiss baby

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

I have and will ALWAYS despise with every ounce of my being, love triangles. I fucking hate them. I hated it in twilight, I hated it in the hunger games, I hated the fake version we got of it in naruto, and I hate it in fic. no exceptions.

now, I DO allow one-sided infatuation with a member of the pairing (for example: if jacob’s crush on bella would have remained one sided I would have had a much more enjoyable time reading All Of Eclipse And BD) but as long as it’s made apparent that the infatuation ain’t going to effect the main pairing in any stupid way i.e. one member of the ship is like “oh maybe I DO feel something oh woe is me!” then I can tolerate it. that doesn’t mean I don’t love a little spicy drama initiated by a third party who may or may not feel some type of way about one member of the pairing. but once that line from A to B morphs into a proper triangle and includes a C? i’m out. your fic better be fucking spectacular if I’m going to keep reading it

(honorable mention here goes to @volturialice for getting me to accept the canon that is demetri’s obsession w alice. if u need to know more, go ask her to elaborate. bc that’s some good fuckin good.)

I also will not read under any circumstance:

cheating fics

A/B/O

self-insert or y/n fic

any fic where the characters are being tortured just to be tortured. like if you’re going to put your characters through it there better be a fucking reason. show me the plot, you assholes

tropes that I strongly dislike but will read if the writing is good enough or if I trust the author enough:

modern aus

OOC characters (like, I’m reading about these characters because I like them. if you’re writing them out of character—or even, god forbid, just fucking suck at characterizing them—then I’m not interested lmao)

crossover fic

if your writing is too purple. sorry, I’m here for plot and dialogue. get to the point already

again. I’m….. very picky about what I like! if you enjoy any of these listed above, hell yeah! keep rocking! it’s just absolutely not for me lmfao. also while trying to remember fic trope names I came across this awesome tier-maker and made this great visual representation of how I feel about certain popular fic tropes. here’s to hoping mobile doesn’t eat the quality of this:

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impostoradult · 3 years

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I finally figured out why it feels like Supernatural murdered a unicorn (AKA why you need to STOP telling me to watch Black Sails)

I’ll start by saying, everything everyone else has been saying CERTAINLY bothers me:

- the queer-baiting - the bury your queers - the undermining of Dean’s character arc - the wasted opportunity for a certain kind of overall narrative closure - the flat out disrespect to Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles

All of that bothers me tremendously.

But there has been something else rather ineffable about this that has left a horrible taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite pin down until last night. Bear with me, if you will, because this will require some set-up.

*** This is not the first show to ever disappoint me in a spectacular fashion, nor will it be the last, I suspect. And one of the ways I’ve always coped with that disappointment was to remind myself that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right. (”It” being any number of things from just pure narrative emotional coherence to not burying your queers to not stringing along your queer audience and then yelling fuck you to them on the way out)

But somehow that assurance -- that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right -- has rung particularly hollow in this instance, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why until yesterday.

I kept asking myself, why do I still have this feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach, like something was lost here that can never be recovered?

Because something was lost here that I am doubtful can ever be recovered, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else talking about this aspect of it at all.

***

A few months ago, TV critic Maureen Ryan did a great interview piece with Mike Schur (of Parks & Rec/The Good Place) discussing the death of long-form TV in the streaming era. They explore how the longer seasons and longer runs of traditional broadcast/cable TV provided an opportunity to tell particular kinds of stories that you simply can’t when seasons are 8-10 episodes and series typically run 2-4 seasons (thanks Netflix).

One key thing we’ve all lost in this new era of highly condensed TV storytelling (and of prestige TV narrative styles)? The traditional (several season’s long) slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance. Not only is there simply no longer the time or space to write such romances, it has also come to be seen as hacky, manipulative, cheap, artistically impoverished, low-brow, a embarrassing vestige of the era before TV became art™.

Everybody is trying to be Fleabag now. No one wants to be Frasier. (”It’s really more like a 10 hour movie” they all like to brag)

Obviously TV still has romances, even ‘drawn out’ romances. But ‘drawn out’ in 2020 is like 2-3 seasons, maybe. More commonly it’s like half a season. Take Schitt’s Creek. The number of episodes between when David and Patrick first meet and when they first kiss? Seven. Seven episodes. Half a season. If you watched it live, it took less than 2 months for them to move from introducing that dynamic to consummating it. And I’m not bagging on Schitt’s Creek; I think the David/Patrick’s story is very lovely and well-written.

But Niles & Daphne (Fraiser) had to wait 7 years and over 150 episodes before they finally got there. Josh & Donna (The West Wing) had to wait 6+ years, and 145 episodes. Mulder & Scully (The X-Files) had to wait 7 seasons and 143 episodes. Booth & Bones had to wait...you see where I am going with this.

And my point is (and I can’t believe I never realized this explicitly until now): there has NEVER been a queer slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance of that type on TV ever. EVER.

I’m going to say that again, because I think it bares repeating:

There has never been a queer, slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance that fits the 100-150 episode paradigm of delayed gratification on TV.

Not ever.

I can’t think of ONE example Not a single, solitary one. And I know queer TV pretty well. Arguably the closest we’ve ever come is Legend of Korra, and that ran 50 episodes, a THIRD of the length of old school will-they-won’t-theys like Booth & Bones or Josh & Donna.

Queer people have had a fair number of canonical romances on TV by now, even fairly long running ones. But we never got a primary/front-and-center romance that you had to root for for 100+ episodes before you got any kind of canonical consummation.

That is a particular kind of TV experience that queer people and queer characters were just 100% shut out of until it was too late. And because of how the TV landscape has changed in the last 10 years, I don’t know that that opportunity will ever come back around in our lifetimes.

***

Dean and Castiel are/were a legacy of an earlier era of TV, an era that still contained the possibility for a will-they-won’t-they of that particular mold. There were other shows that could have also filled this gap at one time - Rizzoli & Isles, OUAT, House MD, etc. But one by one all of them were killed off, their queer romances unrequited, until Supernatural was the only one of its’ generation left standing.

And they should have acknowledged that they were a species about to become extinct.

There are plenty of other valid and compelling reasons Supernatural should have gone full Destiel, don’t get me wrong.

A) It would have been the most emotionally satisfying ending to the series and to those characters (and that would have been reason enough).

B) It would have stopped the manipulative queer-baiting of the (disproportionately queer) fanbase (and that would have been reason enough).

C) It would have been queer representation of middle-aged men, of bi men, of queers who came to their queerness later in life (and any/all of those would have been reason enough).

D) It could have been a glorious subversion of the bury your queers trope, considering how often they’ve died and been resurrected (and that would have been reason enough).

But point E) on this list is the reason this one hurts in a singular way that no one even appears to be acknowledging.

Almost all of the other wrongs and missed opportunities contained in this Supernatural debacle have the possibility of being rectified (at least to a degree) elsewhere. I can and I likely will get more bi male characters from TV as time goes on. I can and likely will get more middle-aged queer characters. I can and likely will get more queer characters coming to their queerness later in life, and starting queer romances later in life. I can and likely will get more queer characters who aren’t killed cheaply and prematurely. I can and likely will get more genre TV shows with sprawling myth arc plots that are resolved in a coherent, satisfying way. I can and likely will get Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles involved in other projects that value their work and their talents.

All of those other things are at the very least POSSIBLE, and many are even likely.

But a queer 100-150 episode slow-burn romance a la Mulder & Scully or Niles & Daphne or Booth & Bones? That is the one baton Supernatural dropped spectacularly that no one else even has the possibility of picking up again for the foreseeable future. (They don’t even write those types of romances for heterosexuals anymore!)

Seriously. It was a TV unicorn. And rather than letting it run wild and free, they stabbed it with a rusty nail.

***

Given the monumental shifts in the TV landscape that have occurred in the last decade, I don’t know that TV will ever go back to the slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance spanning 100-150 episodes. Today it is a miracle if you can get ANY show to last longer than 50 episodes in the first place.

And that is the piece of this that makes it feel (to me) like they murdered a unicorn.

Because queer people have gotten a lot of things from TV, and they will get a lot more as time goes on. But that one? That one could very well be a totally extinct species.

That is the larger missed opportunity here that has left this feeling especially hollow and destructive. That is the thing that makes me balk when people tell me to go watch Black Sails or Pose or whatever other prestige TV show is doing this representation ‘better.’ Because that’s not really the loss I am mourning here. I KNOW there is ‘better’ representation elsewhere.

But the will-they-won’t-they/slow-burn romance is a qualitatively unique thing that queer people literally just never got. Ever. There is no substitute, no alternate, no other show I can turn to with that kind of build-up and pay-off for a queer couple, and there probably won’t be in my lifetime. Not unless the TV industry undergoes another monumental evolution similar to the streaming revolution that shifts the incentives back to telling those types of stories again.

All those shows you want me to displace Supernatural with? None of them can give me the one thing I uniquely wanted (and could have gotten) from Supernatural. THAT ALTERNATE SHOW DOESN’T EXIST. It doesn’t exist. And I have no reason to hope it will ever exist in my lifetime.

So stop telling me to look somewhere else; you don’t understand what made this one a unicorn.

***

Addendum: The only other possible show that could perhaps fill this gap is It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (re: Mac/Dennis). But I’m hesitant to say it exactly meets that criteria, for a number of reasons:

1 - It’s far less serialized relative to Supernatural and (except for a handful of stand-alone episodes) very little of the story is grounded specifically in Dennis/Mac’s romantic dynamic (unlike SPN, where it is absolutely central to much of the narrative)

2 - IASIP is fundamentally satirically in nature/tone which makes it much harder to have genuine romantic pathos (not impossible, but harder)

3 - All the characters on IASIP are fundamentally crummy people who you aren’t exactly supposed to root for. Which doesn’t mean a romance between two of them can’t have its value/charm/worth but it’s not the same as when it is between characters who unequivocally deserve nice things/happy endings

#Supernatural #Destiel #queer representation #sorry this is long

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nkhrchuwuya · 2 years

Text

the start of fairy-tales

bungou stray dogs | G | 930 words nakahara chuuya x reader / oc

chuuya catches someone who ought not to be in the middle of a port mafia party. he whisks you away, not knowing he’s writing himself right into your book.

when you’d first received—well, really, swapped a project for—a ticket to a masquerade in the city, it was because you were expecting something magical to happen. the kind that happens in storybooks, in fairy-tales. but here you are instead, slightly tipsy, your friend having stood you up, alone in a room full of people you don’t know.

why don’t they turn out like in stories?

“mind if i join you out here?” you ask gently, directing the question to the only other person in the balcony—a redheaded gentleman thumbing at his mask, looking out at the view below. you’re careful not to surprise him out of what seems like a deep reverie.

“do whatever you want,” he answers gruffly; but then when he spots you, he clears his throat. “sorry, yeah. s’fine.”

“thanks.” with his permission, you lean against the railing a few feet away, looking up at the blue sky. the music from inside the hotel’s grand ballroom is carried through the air. man, you’d even worn your only extravagant looking dress, too. looks like the only thing you’re warming with your body tonight is the champagne flute in your hands.

the other man turns to look at you curiously. from your peripheral vision, you try to catch what he looks like—a typical suit get-up, coat hanging loosely on his shoulders instead of being properly worn. and he has a hat, too.

if this was a tv drama you could probably get away with saying, be my prince charming for the night?, but you aren’t in one, so you keep your lips sealed.

he doesn’t. “so what do you do?”

you blink. “um… i’m an editor,” you answer truthfully.

“not what i meant,” he says. “like, what do you do. why are you here?”

the question is no clearer than the last one he asked. you shuffle your brain for an answer through the fog of alcohol and manage to muster “i got a ticket from my friend who stood me up.”

he narrows his eyes. “so no business here, huh. brave girl.”

“is there… is there something to be brave about here?” you ask. something in your chest flutters. the start of every story has a cinch—has something that keeps the main character on their toes. something that pushes the story forward. “it’s just a masquerade, isn’t it?”

the man laughs. something about it sends warmth in your belly—he laughs so wholeheartedly. “ya really don’t know where ya are right now, do ya?”

“is there something i have to know?”

he pauses for a moment, like gauging you. for what, you’re not sure. after what seems like an eternity, he finally answers.

“surely you know ‘bout the port mafia.”

that takes you aback. of course you do. yokohama’s underground secret—the one everyone knows is somewhere, but not exactly where. you swallow.

“hah-ha,” you laugh awkwardly. “no way i attended a port mafia party, right?”

“and yet here you are,” the redhead smirks.

fear is injected straight into your veins. the port mafia holds masquerades?! is the first thing that comes to mind, but then, i’m in the middle of a port mafia fucking masquerade?! crashes equally as fast. you cast a glance at the man in front of you, his fiery red hair, gray eyes under the moonlight, the way he’s leaning backward so casually like he wasn’t part of such a dangerous organization.

(something about that is delicious, but god forbid, you’ve been told off multiple times about your attraction to danger.)

you imagine the worst for flashes of a second, until the man clears his throat and you ground yourself again. he nods his head toward the direction of the ballroom—and its exit—and asks:

“wanna get out?”

you narrow your eyes. “how do i know you won’t do anything to me?”

he shrugs. “contrary to popular belief, not all of us are assholes.” only then do you realize that he’s made sure to step backward from you, giving you space—giving you the option to get closer. “besides, i’m gettin’ kinda tired of this party, too.” he lifts one arm in invitation. “s’easier to get out in pairs.”

“cross the line and i’ll break your nose,” you warn him, but link arms with him anyway.

turns out he’s right—it is easier to get out in pairs. the guard at the door gives your exit strategy a questioning look, one he dismisses with “tell boss i’m going home,” together with a flicker of a look towards you. the stubborn guard opens the door immediately, and in five minutes you’ve been whisked down an elevator and onto the hotel’s front lobby.

he undoes your arm around his and tucks his hands in his pockets. “see? safe with me.”

you cross your hands over your chest. “thanks. i’ll keep you in mind the next time i’m frozen in fear over your organization.”

“and i’ll remember you the next time i see a lost little lamb in a party full of wolves.”

the two of you grin at each other, something clicking into place. before you know it, you’re offering him your name. “easier to remember with a name, right?”

“sure is,” he says, extending a hand. you take his hand in yours and give it a firm shake.

(you’re a writer. you know this. you know what it’s like, the introduction of the story’s next major character, the one that would change the plot forever.)

“nakahara,” he introduces himself with that lopsided smirk. “nakahara chuuya.”

#nakahara chuuya #bungou stray dogs #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #bungou stray dogs imagines #bsd imagines #bsd x reader #💌 chuuya lovemail #genre:lore #genre:fluff #rating:G #i'm going to make lore sundays a thing now!!!!#so i can build backstory over their relationship too <333 #Lore Sundays #timeline:pre

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fanfic-chan · 3 years

Note

Okay, so how about this?

Lers! Jirou and Kirishima

Lee! DadMight

So I have it in my head that Toshinori likes to knit (or do some type of crafty thing) bc he’s a generally fidgety guy, and he likes making little gifts for his kiddos. So, it’s a rainy night, and he’s got the TV on for background noise, and he’s trying to learn a new technique, or is knitting a new pattern but keeps messing up. He gets annoyed and gives up. Jirou & Kirishima who are hanging out in the common room with him doing homework, realize this and try to cheer him up. And he finds that after the tickles and hugs, he can focus easier and is able to do the technique! And then he’s like, “Thanks for the help,” xD lol

Do whatever you like with this! Sorry it’s a bit rambly xD I like to be thorough

Oh my God this prompt was so cute! I absolutely love the headcanon that Toshinori knits, and it's something I actually headcanon as well XD. I also really love the fact that you included Jirou. She's not a common pick and I really loved getting the chance to write for her. Having Kirishima, who is one of my comfort characters, was definitely an added bonus. I hope you enjoy this and thanks so much for sending this in! It definitely helped with my stress levels!^^

Close Knit

Lers: Jirou and Kirishima

Lee: DadMight

Toshinori grumbled slightly under his breath, annoyed. Recently, the general studies student, Hitoshi Shinsou, had been spending a lot more time in the 1A dorms. This was because starting next semester, he would become an official hero course student, and would join their class officially.

To celebrate this accomplishment, the former number one hero had been intending to knit something for the boy, as he did for all his students after hitting a milestone, and after learning how much the mini Aizawa liked cats, he'd had the amazing idea of a knit cat pillow. It would be useful for the boy's insomnia while also cute and comforting. A win win.

What he hadn't anticipated though, was that this particular pattern was difficult. So difficult that he'd already had to pull out the same yarn five times in the last ten minutes and start the section over again. He wasn't typically the type to get frustrated, but this little sucker was truly starting to get on his nerves.

After the seventh time of having to redo it, he finally dropped his project gently into his lap and leaned his head back with a groan.

"Maybe I should just.. find another pattern.." He sighed, feeling slightly disappointed in himself for not being able to complete it, but not feeling as if he had much of a choice at this point.

"Sensei? Are you… Are you ok?"

He jumped slightly, having forgotten that Jirou and Kirishima had been studying on the floor nearby. Between the light sound of rain outside, and the news playing in the background, they'd been completely silent.

"Ah- Young Jirou! Yes, I am fine, thank you. Just a bit frustrated with this pattern, that's all." He responded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, similar to how Midoriya did when he was feeling bashful. The comparison was rather adorable considering how close they were, despite their best efforts to hide it. "I was just thinking maybe I should try something else since this one isn't going very well so far."

Both his students made their way over at this point, and settled down on either side of him to get a look at what he was doing.

"Ah, don't give up Sensei! It looks really good so far. Maybe you just need to look at it from a different perspective. Right Jirou?" Kirishima piped up, as enthusiastic as ever. The young musician nodded slightly in quiet agreement, and Toshinori couldn't help but smile slightly at his student's unwavering faith in him, despite his retirement and shortcomings as a teacher.

Still, he wasn't entirely convinced, and his students seemed to recognize that. Things went quiet for a minute before something surprising happened.

A sudden gentle, but ticklish poke to his side.

Now, this in and of itself wasn't all that surprising. Cheer up tickles were common amongst the class 1A dorms, and were far from unexpected.

What was unexpected though, was for Jirou to start them. The girl was generally pretty reserved and quiet unless amongst people she was comfortable with, and aside from her mostly playful jabs at Kaminari, physical displays of affection were rare for her, especially in front of people.

So all things considered, well, it was a rather touching moment.

Toshinori might have even teared up if not for the fact that that one poke and the small chuckle it caused had also caught Kirishima's attention, and the boy had immediately been inspired, practically pouncing at the chance to make his Sensei happy again, and the retired hero was immediately reduced to a puddle of amused laughter on the spot.

"Cheer up Sensei! We know you can do it!" The redhead cheered with such enthusiasm that you might think that his teacher was about to take down some crazy powerful villain.

Jirou also kept up with her shy, tentative poking, a small blush spread over her cheeks from such silliness.

"Ahahahalright!! Ahahalright!! Ok! I'll try agahahain!!" He bellowed out finally, and both young heroes ceased immediately, Kirishima grinning like a madman, and Jirou with a small smile on her face, twirling one of her earjacks around her fingertips.

Once he'd caught his breath, he pulled each of them into an affectionate hug.

"Thank you. Both of you. I really appreciate it." He said sincerely before releasing them to finish their work, while he went back to his own project with renewed determination. It only took him two more tries before he got it, and both teens cheered in celebration.

He really did have the most amazing students.

Requests are: Open

#ler jirou #ler Kirishima #lee DadMight #yagi toshinori #bnha+tickling #sfw tickles #sfw #dadmight #knitting

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javierpinme · 3 years

Text

Part One: New Beginnings

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Infidelity, angst, friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol

Rating: M (might change)

Summary: You’ve lived in a small town for half of your life and nothings really changed until it did. Moving halfway across the country you find lasting friendships and a love you needed at the exactly the right time.

A/N: There is not a ton of Frankie in this one since I wanted to set the tone for the reader before they meet! They don’t see/meet each other until near the end (or do they?) I wanted to build the reader’s relationships with the people in her life as there will more parts.

AO3

Masterlist

Want to be on my taglist?

It’s hard to build friendships as an adult without being under the pretense of school or college. It’s especially difficult when you decide to move across the country. Away from your family and friends, but it’s what you needed. Seeing the same four walls you lived in, that same greasy diner that was always your go-to after one too many tequila shots the night before, and that one ex from high school that you’d really rather forget while running errands were making you feel complacent. Wake up. Drink. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. You’ve spent most of your life here. You weren’t about to spend the rest of it here. So, you did something completely unlike you. You packed up your life and moved. The house was beautiful. You’d never owned anything in your life; just rented so this is a major upgrade for you. The first sight that greets you is the stairs after living in a first floor unit for most of your life. The house isn’t in perfect shape, but it’s yours which is all that matters.

The movers have left so you finally had the place to yourself. You couldn’t help the defeated sigh that fell from your mouth at the sight of all the boxes. If your sister and friends were here you’d probably be knee deep in pizza and wine while attempting to build furniture. You gave your brain the space to let that thought sink in, but you craved the freedom so you didn’t let that sit too long. You came here to build your own memories; no room for regrets now. So, the first thing you decide to acclimate yourself with is the closest liquor store and that is how you met Hannah.

The first thing you hear after getting lost reading a wine label is a loud oof before slamming into somebody. You only barely managed to catch the bottle before it became one with the outdated tile.

“I am SO sorry! I’m not even going to lie to you I was not watching where I was going. Are you okay? You didn’t drop anything did you?”

You manage to form a sentence between your scrambled apologies in between. The first thing you notice when you look at the face standing in front of you is how pretty she is. That typical blonde hair and blue eyes type that reminds you of the girls you went to high school with. You wince. Stop it.

“Oh, I’m okay! It was more the residual shock of it really. You must really need that bottle because you were just about ready to run me over in your pursuit to the cash register. Cheating ex or bad date?”

She says with a laugh while pointing at the wine still in your hand. Oh, she’s nice. You immediately feel guilty for that initial judgment when first looking at her.

“Oh, neither. I just moved here and need sustenance to unpack. Who knew you could fit your entire life into boxes?” You mirror her laugh.

“I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. Walk around the neighborhood and find the necessities which is how I ended up here.” You say with a twirl in your finger.

"Ah, the one down the street that's just begging to be demolished?" She says while snapping her fingers with a mischievous smile.

"Hey, don't talk about her like that. She's old, but she's got character." You can't help the lopsided grin you give her. She hasn't even seen the dream kitchen with those beautiful green cabinets.

“Hey, well if you need help with that-“ her eyes shifting to the bottle, “I live right down the street so I can come over. I know moving somewhere unfamiliar can be a little daunting especially if you’re alone.” You can’t help the wide smile forming at her sweet gesture.

“And to help me unpack right?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean I’m better at draining a bottle, but if it’s necessary I will work for food and drinks. But, if I’m going to help you we are going to need way more than that.”

She finishes her sentence grabbing more bottles while traveling through the aisles. The sound of you’ve got to try this one and this one’s local in between aisle changes filling the store. You assure her that she is not off the hook with helping even with the promise of the “best merlot you’ve ever had in your life.”

Bags filling both of your hands and way too much alcohol for just two people to consume you make your way up the steps. Hannah pauses and looks up at the house.

“I was right. It should have been demolished. Will the porch cave in before I make it inside?” She says with skepticism at the foundation of your new home.

“Probably eventually but-“ you turn around to face her, “she’ll last for now. Come on, I haven’t even showed you the best part!”

You open your door and make your way inside leaving the door open for her to follow. You faintly hear from the kitchen “I seriously doubt that”, and you can’t help your chuckle at the remark.

You’ve always wanted a fixer upper; probably from all the HGTV shows you immersed yourself in as a child and the fact you’ve only ever lived in apartments. The first and only thing you managed to unpack first was your wine glasses. You definitely made a point to label them in big writing while packing up back home. A decision you are patting yourself on the back for now.

“So, do you like pizza? I know a good place. Pizza and wine should always be paired with move-in days. Oh, you’re right. This is probably the only good part of your house.”

Hannah leaned on the counter next you before shifting to test the weight taking in the scene of your kitchen.

“Love pizza. It’s not there yet, but I definitely have some plans with it; starting with keeping the color of those cabinets.”

In between sips of your glasses of wine you start to collaborate over your ideas of making it functional and aesthetically pleasing.

It didn’t take very long to start building friendships with the people in your area. You even started joining Sunday brunches and you were overly ecstatic finding out that bottomless mimosas existed. They didn’t have these at the diners back home. They even started assisting you with choosing paint swatches and going to Home Depot because you just had try that DIY project of making your own lounge chair that you found scrolling on Youtube.

“I think your measurements are a little off.”

Alex, probably one of your favorites of the group, mirrors the tilt of your head with his arms crossed. He co-owns a woodworking business with his husband so you wanted him there for any adjustments and moral support. Unfortunately for you, he wanted you to learn first which really meant fail.

You grimace at your handiwork and say, “yeah, I think maybe I should stick with what I’m good at.”

With a breathy laugh he adds, “give yourself some credit. You managed to tear up the carpet in the living room AND still able to keep the original hardwood. That’s no easy feat.”

You’ve somehow managed to create a whole support system in the little time that you’ve spent here. You’ve finally had the time and resources to create your own little touches that make your house now a home.

“Hannah, can’t we just stay in tonight? I’ve already been defeated twice by the light fixture in the living and my fingers are still tingling from the faulty power box. I’m really not in the mood.”

You give her the biggest puppy eyes you can manage while exaggeratingly lifting you fingers.

“Oh no, you’re going out to the bar tonight. You’ve been here for months and you really need to get yourself out there. You’re hot. Own it. Besides, it’s just you and me so there’s no pressure.”

She says with a swat to your ass and a push towards your closet. The only response you can add to that is Hmph.

The bar is nice enough with the dim lighting and it’s not so loud that you can’t hear yourself talk. Hannah insisted you wear one of your nicer dresses, but you wanted to feel like yourself so you opted for a t-shirt tucked into light wash jeans. If you were going to meet anyone tonight you wanted to set the standard for anything that could happen at the start. You’re still nursing your second beer while Hannah is on her third shot of the night. You feel a presence to your right and a sharp pinch to your thigh on your left. Hannah is of course attempting to alert you to the attractive man on the other side of you as if you didn’t notice. You turn around with a pained look on your face to her which she just shrugs off before making herself scarce.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Your attention is brought back to the man to your right. He is very cute in a boyish kind of way and you briefly wonder if he’s talking to someone else. He’s dressed like he just got out of a business meeting, but his rolled sleeves are definitely doing something for you.

“Sure. What’s your name?” You say with the flirtiest smile you can muster.

“Joey. Nice to meet you.”

God, his smile must do wonders for his conquests. It’s working for you quite honestly. You completely lose track of time talking to him and see out of the corner of your eye Hannah leaving the bar holding onto a man with salt and pepper hair and scruff. Looks like she got lucky too. She gives you a wink as she walks out the door and you look to see where he was sitting in case you need to remember faces. Seems like he was out with some of his friends, but you didn’t get a thorough look because your attention is immediately brought back to Joey. You set a reminder for yourself to check in with her before you go to bed tonight.

It’s been a constant date after date and you were really beginning to develop feelings for him. Sure, you always tried to convince him you didn’t need to be wooed with all these extravagant dates. You were just happy to spend time with him. You didn’t need to go to a fancy restaurant to tell you that. It just wasn’t your style, but it made him happy so you went along with it. You had initially assumed him to be a one night stand, but you were pleasantly surprised to hear from him the next day asking to take you out dinner.

Your muscles in your stomach are straining from how hard you’re laughing at America’s Funniest Home Videos on the TV. Joey is sitting next to you on the couch with takeout cartons loitered all over your coffee table. The living room is starting to lose its natural lighting due to the day coming to a close; the only light source in the room being the lamp sitting on the end table next to the couch and the glow from the TV. You notice Joey looking at you with a far off look.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a furrow in your brow. “Nothing.” His face shifting to a more pleasant tone once he turns back to the TV. The two of you had settled into a routine at your house. You had even introduced him to your friends and they really seemed to enjoy spending time with him. It was easy for them to fall for his charms as you did.

“Come on, hurry up. You’re supposed to be helping me pick out an outfit for tonight!”

Hannah still continued to see the man from the bar, Santi, his friends called him.

“If I’m supposed to be helping you pick an outfit then why are we in the lingerie section?” You ask with a sly grin on your face.

“That’s for after, of course. Gotta keep it interesting.”

Her laugh followed by her adding some bras and panties to her hands. You agreed to come with her tonight to officially meet him and his friends. You’ve heard enough about him from her. Some very intimate details as well. They weren’t exactly exclusive to each other and as far as you knew they were dating other people which you respected. You were nervous about meeting them, but you knew it was only a matter of time until Hannah would want to do this. You trusted her judgment and you were already comfortable that it was going to be in the bar you usually ventured out to.

In her words, “your only forms of entertainment can’t just be your home projects, Joey and me, you know? You deserve to have fun too and these guys will show you a good time I promise” while ringing up her purchases.

You barely manage to make it through the door of the bar before you feel a breeze next to you from her speeding to Santi with a kiss. You lovingly shake your head at her dramatic antics and make your way over to the table. It’s a little awkward at first since Hannah still had yet to let go of the man sitting next to her and you didn’t know how to start a conversation with these men with what was going on next to you.

“Sorry. I’m Santi, but everyone calls me Pope.”

He reaches over to shake your hand with a tone that is definitely not apologetic at all, but you find it amusing. You like him already. You can definitely see why Hannah was interested, but not your type.

He starts introducing his friends off to you. Will. He seems like the more mellow type of the group and his call sign is Ironhead. Benny is just Benny since he’s the baby of the group.

“He’s the menace of all of us so watch out for this one.” Will ruffles his brother’s hair for added measure which Benny recoils from.

Then, Frankie, they call him Catfish. Oh he’s handsome, but not in the boyish way that Joey is. He’s handsome in a more ruggish kind of way and you can’t seem to break eye contact from him. Your eyes don’t know where to go first so they travel from his deep brown eyes, to the bare patches on the beard he can’t seem to grow that you find yourself wanting to kiss, and to the curls peeking out of his standard heating oil hat. You find yourself itching to take that hat off and run your fingers through the nape of his hair. Stop. He’s the more reserved one in the group which makes sense since he really hasn’t fully spoken more than a few words at a time to you. You can’t control the side glances you keep shooting at him throughout the night. You’re just appreciating the view and maybe conjuring up a few very much domestic fantasies in your head. Liar.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to get a grip on your emotions. Tilting your head at your reflection you point an accusing finger “get yourself together. You ca—.“ You jump at the intrusion of an elderly woman walking into the otherwise empty bathroom; a quizzical look forming on her face from your actions. Your nervous laugh gets the best of you. “It isn’t what it- I don’t always do this.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to explain yourself since she’s already closed the stall before you even got the chance to finish your sentence. You find yourself even more flustered leaving the bathroom than before going into it. This is going to be a long night.

***

Frankie was nervous when Santi first told him that Hannah would be bringing a friend. He remembers you from the night Santi first left with her. How could he forget? You had his attention the moment you stepped into the bar, but by the time he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you another guy had already swooped in. It wasn’t that surprising considering and it was probably for the best. He really wasn’t in any headspace to be in a relationship. His eyes followed you when you left to go to the bathroom in a hurry and he could just feel Santi’s eyes burning into him. He knew. You were exactly his type and he hoped to whoever was up above that he would just leave him to his hopeless crush without interfering.

***

You sit down at the table preparing to come up with some segway into the conversation between everyone when Santi breaks it with a loud clap calling your name out. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

You miss the glare that Frankie shoots him and the embarrassed groan he makes. You don’t miss the warning tone Will gives when calling Santi’s name out, but you get the feeling you’re not entitled to know what that’s about.

“Yes, I am.” Why does it feel so wrong to say that? “His name is Joey.” Hannah chimes in while rubbing Santi’s shoulders.

You also miss the sight of Frankie’s shoulders deflating at that piece of information. Your answer seems to satisfy Santi since he drops it after that and moves on to a different topic. “Benny, when’s your next fight?” It’s Friday apparently and all the guys along with Hannah are going to support him.

Will shifts towards you and says, “you can come if you want.” You cringe on the inside; your insecurities getting the best of you. If you want. They’re only inviting you because you’re there at the moment. “Maybe.” You won’t.

Somehow, Hannah has convinced you to go out with them a second time. “Come on, you can bring Joey since you’re so nervous! Please bring him,” she says with pleading eyes.

“I’m not nervous!” Liar. There is a sliver of truth to her statement, but you don’t want to tell her the reason for your nerves is seeing Frankie again. Yet here you were sitting in a booth with Joey across from Hannah and the rest of the guys.

“Jesus Hannah, he’s not going anywhere.”

You say with a loud laugh at her not so subtle PDA with Santi. “Sorry.” She said with a swipe of trying to remove her lipstick from Santi’s face; her smile never leaving her face. Frankie hasn’t looked at you at all tonight and you can’t help but wonder what you did wrong. You see those eyes crinkle and that cute dimple when he’s dedicating his attention to everyone else at the table, but disappears when his eyes go in your general direction.

At some point the guys and Hannah walk off to buy more drinks leaving you with Joey. He’s hasn’t hid his disinterest of the night at all even when the guys were trying to include him.

“Why are you so grumpy?” “I’m not.” His deep sigh a dead giveaway to his sour mood. “I’m just not vibing with them that’s all.” His eyes following the guys by single file line as he said it. You assure him that you can leave soon which after an hour or so you do.

Tonight’s events must have tired you out more than you thought because you’re fighting yawns the entire ride to Joey’s apartment. You don’t usually spend time here since he prefers staying at your place, but his place was a lot closer to the bar. The minute you walk inside you walk straight to his bedroom so you can promptly pass out as Joey showers. As you start to pull back the blankets something catches your eye. That’s not mine. Your heart rate is starting to speed up at the thought that’s forming in your mind. You reach down and grab a bra that was haphazardly thrown on the floor. The thing is you’d recognize that bra anywhere because you were there when she bought it; the day you were meeting Santi for the first time. You almost didn’t hear the water being shut off in the bathroom and the footsteps coming into the bedroom.

“Hey, what’s goin o—“

His eyes follow where you’re looking and then back up to your face. He’s not even trying to defend himself or come up with some shitty excuse that wouldn’t work anyway.

“How long?” Your voice is barely managing to stay steady while still staring at the incriminating evidence of your betrayal.

“How long, Joey?” His hesitation gives you your answer. It’s been a while.

71 notes · View notes

txemrn · 3 years

Text

The Missionary's Daughter

Ch. 1: "Meant to Live"

Need to catch up? Prologue: "It's Over"

Chapter Song Inspo: "Meant to Live" by Switchfoot

Series Song Inspo: "Changed by You" by Between the Trees

Pairings: Drake Walker x OC (Margot Hughes); Liam Rys x Riley Brooks

Series Warning: 🛑 for mature audiences only (🔞); series contains angst, language, NSFW🍋 material; trigger warning: heavy discussion/depiction of drug and alcohol abuse, suicide, religion, mental health; please be advised and exercise discretion

A/N: When I say that this took a village, it would be the understatement of the century! Huuuuuuuuge thank you to all of my amazing sweet writing sisters that encouraged me and helped me pull this together, but especially to @charlotteg234 for brainstorming and mapping this out with me, @kat-tia801 for doing the same, but then having to deal with me incessantly asking, "Does this sound right?" and @chemist-ana FOR GIFITNG ME MY FREAKING AMAZING MOODBOARD! It's SO beautiful, and it literally puts me in the mood to write about my Druggy Drake and Margot! Thank you so, so much, friend! Most of the characters and some of the plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry.

A palpable crackle ignites the sterile air of the staff locker room. To say she was ‘nervous’ is a painfully severe understatement to the jitters that spark from her fingertips. But, rather than dance chaotically like cut wires on pavement, she is lightning, mesmerizing, lighting up the sky with excitement and power.

***

Dressing for another Monday morning at her weekly volunteer job at the prestigious Cordonia Family OB/GYN, Margot Hughes swiftly shimmies a monogrammed ceil blue scrub top down her curves. Pulling her brilliant strands of autumn harvest into a high bun, she slips on her work clogs while nudging her locker closed with her knee.

Before leaving the changing area, she catches her visage in the mirror, the unflattering fluorescent lights casting more shadows onto her worried features. She can feel the rumble of her rapid heartbeat echoing in her ears; her chest constricts tightly as her breathing becomes shallow. Her eyes begin to sting with fear as the whites burn red, threatening with a glaze of tears.

Today is the day her entire life will change; everything she has ever wanted, everything that she has ever worked for will suddenly determine the course of her future in a single moment. Seeing the all-too-familiar terror in her eyes, Margot flutters her eyelids shut. Her fingers nervously trace along a simple chain around her neck until they finally grasp tightly to a dainty sterling silver charm: a cross.

“Take my anxieties, Lord,” she whispers with prayerful conviction, her sparkling blue eyes gracefully opening to look at her necklace. She exhales deeply. “Your will be done.” Margot stares at her reflection for a few more moments, focusing on her breathing to calm her restless heart. “You are strong, Margot. You've got this,” she affirms herself in a hushed tone, a bright smile breaking across her face. “This is your day--" suddenly overwhelmed with peace, a joyous smile paints across her face. Chuckling to herself, she glances upwards: “I'm counting on You.” Taking a deep cleansing breath, she eagerly exits the stillness of her thoughts, and joins the bustle of the morning's clinic appointments. Today is her day.

***

Halos of blurred auras bleach his vision as Drake cautiously opens one blood-shot eye. His tongue sticks to the roof of his roughly parched mouth as he massages his pained forehead. Clueless of what day it is--much less what he did last night--he is greeted with a sudden glorious sensation: a supple wet mouth on his hardened morning length.

His body relaxes back onto the dampened, disheveled sheets of his bed; he releases a pleasurable exhale as he blindly reaches for the head behind the lips. He strains to focus his view, but can only make out a foggy shape of a nude woman with long, tousled brunette waves.

It’s her. His love.

Drake smiles; delicately tangling his grip in her strands, he admires how even the afternoon sun catches her beauty perfectly. He quietly smacks his lips. He can still smell her on his stubble; he can still taste her on his tongue.

Had she told Liam? Were they celebrating that they could finally be together?

As she takes in the head of his girth, he arches his back, relaxing his body into her hungry touch. Closing his eyes, he offers a guttural groan deep in his chest as she swirls her tongue around his firm thickness.

“God, you’re incredible, Riley--”

---

Pulling out a pen, Margot reaches across the counter to grab a patient’s clipboard--that is until Iris, the front desk manager grips her long, manicured nails to the other side of the particle wood. “Miss Mary-Margaret,” she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice, “do we know anything yet?” Margot chuckles, shaking her head. “Child, you better come find me the moment you know!”

“Only if you promise to start calling me ‘Margot’” the young blonde jests, opening her client’s chart.

“How about I start calling you what we’ll all be calling you in just a few short years: ‘doctor’?” Rosy pink swirls splash across Margot’s face, warming her cheeks to the touch. She bows her head coyly at the mention of her dream becoming a reality. The thought that she will soon find out if a medical career is in her future makes the twenty-one-year-old’s heart leap with unbridled excitement.

For as long as she can remember, Margot has had a strong desire to serve and help other people. Much of that selfless attitude was instilled into her heart by her own parents. They were called to be Christian missionaries when Margot was only eight years old. After much planning, church fund-raising, and prayer, Roy and Mary Hughes left their comfortable home of Lafayette, Louisiana, and settled in the small Mediterranean country of Cordonia.

Many of their friends and family were shocked that the church would send them to such a beautiful area of the world. Typically missionaries humble themselves to serve the needy, the homeless, the lonely and the sick. They sacrifice the luxuries of home for the sake of loving humanity. They help people in war-torn countries, third-world countries, countries that don’t have electricity or running water. But, this country?

Cordonia itself is a lavish nation, rich in heritage and traditions. And funds. Thanks to the ideal weather conditions, the fruitful soil produces bountiful harvests and exquisite supplies for fine textiles that remain in high demand throughout the world. The Cordonian government, a monarchy, discovered a new opportunity to expand their wealth in the late 19th century: costly tariffs to international investors. Within the first ten years of increasing the taxes on exports, the national treasury was not only in the black, but their funds had exponentially increased every year. Farms were flourishing as the working class became larger, stronger.

But, the treasury began to dwindle quickly due to the extravagant demands of the royals. For the first time in the country's history, commoners were wealthier than some of the nobility. Disdain from the upper class quickly ensued until finally, in the early 20th century under the rule of William I, a new tax law was implemented to all of Cordonia: anyone involved with international exchange would have to pay into the treasury to handle such business.

Unfortunately, there were no limitations to this new tax law, and many farms floundered, property ownership being seized by the government. Families were uprooted; jobs were lost, and worse, assets were sold for even more money, filling the pockets of the greedy leaders. The people that once had a plethora of goods at their fingertips were now starving and unsheltered. And vengeful. The Cordonians were outraged by the gouging, many of them forming violent riots, banding together with outside influencers in hopes of overthrowing the government.

On the cusp of a civil war, King William I decided to rezone the country, providing a place for the displaced working class to claim safety and sanctuary, a place that would offer shelter, education, and more affordable options for goods. To appease the people even more, he named the project ‘the Core,’ paying homage to their greatest export, the Cordonian Ruby. It was also a way for him to forever express his gratitude for such a fruitful nation: they were the core reason the nation was thriving so richly.

Like many government-assisted programs, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show in the infrastructure. And with funding cuts over the years, the Core began to crumble, striking a sharp contrast from the rest of Cordonia. The Core, now often referred to as ‘the slums’, have become a breeding ground for crime, drugs, and prostitution. It is the blemish of Cordonia, its existence often not acknowledged amongst the elite.

But, according to the Hughes, ‘God saw the need’. They were sent to serve in the slums of Cordonia, starting up several free programs, including a nightly soup kitchen, afterschool programs to keep children out of trouble, and trade classes to help adults out of poverty. The people accepted the help and adapted quickly to the missionaries; but even more importantly, they embraced these Americans as their own, many of them forming important and lasting relationships with the Hughes.

But, still there was something missing, something that burdened the missionary’s oldest daughter: healthcare. Having good health and access to a doctor is still treated as a privilege in Cordonia, and time and time again, the curable were disabled or buried. A change needed to take place. And Margot, although unsure of how, knew she would devote her life in making it happen for the Cordonian people.

As she makes a few notes on her clipboard, an olive-complected arm stealthily reaches around Margot, gracefully grazing her sun-kissed skin before gently placing a cup of piping hot black coffee in front of her. Staring at the hand, she instantly knows who it is. And she titters, playfully rolling her eyes. “Tadd! Another coffee?” She grabs the coffee, twirling on the ball of her foot to face the clinic’s young ultrasound technician. "My tab must be over a hundred euros by now!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," he chuckles, rocking on his feet. “Plus, I figured with your new gig at Bríki--” he jovially shrugs his shoulders.

“You figured what?” Margot playfully punches his shoulder. “That I could sneak you free coffee?” She gives a mischievous smile, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think Mr. Pavlis would appreciate me offering free drinks, especially since I haven’t even started yet--”

“That’s right!” Tadd eyes widen. “Today’s the day--!”

“As if I didn’t already have enough to be nervous about today,” Margot’s voice becomes shaky, as she clenches her teeth in a forced smile.

“Hey,” Tadd’s voice turns into an endearing whisper. He shifts his head until his piercing jade eyes meet Margot’s baby blues. “You have nothing to worry about. We both know you did well on that American doctor test--"

"The MCAT," Margot stifles a laugh, rolling her eyes into an appreciative grin.

"Whatever," a crooked smile grows across Tadd's handsome features. "And as far as the coffee shop, you're a fast learner. And a hard worker. Plus, if they see what we all see in you--" he sighs, his gaze never breaking free from hers, "-- they're going to love you."

Margot looks down at her feet, hugging her clipboard tightly to her chest. Feeling her palms begin to sweat, she coyly looks back up at her dear friend. "Thanks, Tadd."

After a few silent moments of staring at each other, Tadd clears his throat. "So, um--" he starts, "have you heard anything yet? About the test?" Tadd changes the subject. Margot shakes her head as she takes a pull from her coffee. "Well, when you do, um, maybe we could, I mean, I thought we could--"

Suddenly an intercom buzzes overhead. "Thaddeus to exam room four. Thaddeus to exam room four."

Tadd furrows his eyebrows, looking to the ceiling before resting a kind half-smile back on Margot. "Duty calls," he nervously sighs as he bounds down the hallway. Halfway down the corridor, he spins around to face Margot. "Hey, um, come find me! Before you leave at noon!" He finger-guns the air before returning to his pursuit.

Margot awkwardly finger-guns him back before smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Seriously, Margot?" she mutters to herself, turning her attention back to the central desk of the clinic; however, she realizes quickly that the attention is all on her.

"When are you two going to make it official, Miss Mary-Margaret?" Iris chokes in the midst of her belly laughs, nodding with other scrub-adorned coworkers.

Biting her bottom lip feeling her heart flutter, Margot straightens out her demeanor, becoming stoic. "I--I don't know what you're talking about--"

"Margot, isn't it obvious?" Chimes in a jolly intake nurse. "That boy loves you--!"

"Who? Tadd?" Margot feigns innocence. She fixes her attention to the chart as she scribbles down more notes. "It's not like that--I mean, we're not, um--" she sighs. "We're just friends--" An instant roar of laughter abrupts from the reception desk, making it impossible for Margot to hide her toothy-smile paired with her scrunched up nose.

"You say that now, baby girl--"

"That's right," chimes in another giggling co-worker, "friends for now!"

An older plump nurse places a tender hand on Margot’s hand, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Some of the best relationships come from friendships, moró. Give it time. Let the love grow," she winks at Margot.

Margot fidgets with her pen, delicately licking her bottom lip. She then tries to form words with her mouth, but no sound is heard. Her pink cheeks reveal she is flustered. She quickly closes up the chart, pushing loose hairs behind her ear. "Have a good day, ladies."

Hearing the squeals of her coworkers diminishing behind her, Margot quickly escapes into an empty exam room. Closing the door behind her, she leans against it, looking up at the textured ceiling tiles. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach bouncing through to her heart as her legs wiggle with weakness like gelatin.

The idea of 'falling in love' excites Margot, an idea she has dreamed about ever since she saw Baby meet Johnny. But, so far in her young life, she has never experienced it first hand, let alone a romantic hand- hold. Was this love? All she knew for sure was today was not the day to figure it out.

***

As soon as Riley’s name escapes his breathless moans of ecstasy, a searing sharp pain instantly ignites around his hardened girth. And Drake sees red.

"Fuck!" He lets out a guttural roar until no sound comes out of his mouth. He gnashes his teeth, trying to breathe through the agony, but only froths at the corners of his lips. The veins in his neck and his forehead protrude violently as streams of tears roll down his face. Petrified to move, his face turns a deep ruddy color. Before turning violet.

A sudden sensation of relief washes over him as the stabbing sensation fades to throbbing. Drake nervously looks down at his softening cock, relieved to see his member in one piece. "Goddamnit, Brooks," he pants furiously, "you fucking bit me--"

The brunette quickly tosses her curls out of her eyesight right before her fist meets Drake's jaw. "Oh, shit!" The cracking of the joints in his face echoes around the room. Drake starts to gently massage his chin. "You're not Riley--"

She climbs off of his body, standing her naked body in front of him. "No shit, Sherlock!" She slinks her short black spaghetti-strap dress over her dangerous curves before hastily grabbing her clear platform heels and racing out the door. "Fuck you, Drake Walker!"

***

A heartless, cocky laugh pours over the phone speaker. "Shit, Walker. Just--" the baritone voice trails back into a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny, Leo--" Drake warns, accidentally shifting his weight in bed, stirring a soreness to his recent injuries. "Ow!” he sucks air quickly between his gritted teeth, “fuck!" he whimpers to himself, adjusting the cold packs on his genitals.

"But you actually called her a different name, bro. A different name! With her mouth on your salami, your pocket rocket, on your--on your anaconda--" Leo's words fade back into cackles.

"As if you remember every goddamn hook-up’s name--"

"Dude," Leo interrupts, "if she's going to go all hungry, hungry hippo mid-blowie, I'm going to remember her name."

Drake scoffs. "Bullshit--"

"What? I'm serious, bro" Leo's voice becomes sincere. "All of these bitches we meet are looking for one thing--" he pauses dramatically for his wounded friend to finish his sentence; but the silence proves Drake is clueless as to where Leo was going with this. "A connection, Walker!" Leo's voice drips with conviction. "These women don't want to feel like they're disposable, even though--" he chuckles to himself, “let’s be honest: we’re doing them a favor--”

"--’A connection’, Leo" Drake interrupts, urging the conversation back on track.

"Right! ‘A connection," reaffirms Leo, circling back to his point. "Now, okay,” he knowingly titters, “I can’t remember all of these names--”

“Ha! See?” Drake barks.

“--Which is why--” Leo enunciates over Drake, “I use a single pet name. ‘Girl’.”

"'Girl'? That’s your trick? You call them 'girl'?" Drake raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Hear me out,” Leo continues. “If you call them something like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie’, it can be seen as patronizing, that you’re clearly looking to smooth-talk your way into their pants--” Drake rolls his eyes, moving the phone to his other ear “--but now, calling them ‘girl’, I’m showing I want to be a friend, that I just simply want to connect. And then when you’re having your way with her, call her whatever the fuck you want as long as you finish the name with ‘girl’. Good girl. Dirty girl. Naughty girl. Sweet girl. Or in your case, hungry girl--”

Drake clears his throat, stifling a laugh. “--That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard--”

“Hey!” Leo interjects. “Who is wearing a bag of frozen peas on his one-eyed trouser snake?”

“Touché,” Drake sighs. “So, where are you right now?”

“With Jason up at his shop.”

“Who?” Drake lets out yawn, looking at his bedside alarm clock.

“Shit, Walker, you really were fucked up last night," Leo sighs. "Jason. You met him last night.” Leo’s voice lowers into a whisper. “He helped you get fucked up last night.”

“Oh! Right, right,” Drake rubs his head, “that was--wow, that shit was--”

“Good, right?” Leo finishes. “Hey, come join us at his shop. We’ve got coffee, and he’s got some new, um, product he’d love to show you--”

“Oh, Leo, I don’t know--” Drake removes the melting bag of vegetables from his lap. Gently lifting up on the waistband of his boxers, carefully inspecting his bruised parts.

“Does Liam have you working today?”

“No, no, it’s not that--” Drake hesitates.

“Oh!” Leo knowingly exclaims. “Does Riley have you working today?” He begins to chuckle. “You might need to let her know that you’re currently indisposed for --”

“Leo--” Drake warns.

“Then what's the hold up?"

Drake glances over at the mirror affixed to his antique dresser, but he doesn't recognize his own reflection. There's an emptiness in eyes, an inexplicable turmoil overcoming the man he once was. How did everything get so complicated? How did he get to such a place that it's better to be absent in life than to live it?

She was just a friend--at least that's what he convinced himself when Riley Brooks first caught his eye. Beautiful. Extremely witty with a fight he had never seen before. When they first kissed, he swore it was a mistake. Hormones. It had been so long since he had touched the delicate petals of a woman's lips.

But, this wasn't just any woman. It was her. And he soon would find himself wrapped up in her bedsheets, wrapped around her finger, wrapped in an awful web of lies.

And, all of his transgressions were against him, his very best friend, the man he regards as closer than a brother, his closest ally and confidant. Normally, Drake would turn to Liam in a heartbeat with any troubles, but this? How could he? How could he talk to Liam about his own devastation when the truth would devastate Liam?

It's been four days since that fateful night of Liam's coronation, four days since the love of Drake's life walked away from him, forcing his hand into harboring secrets from the crowned prince. It's been four days since Drake heard his own voice in his head, four days since he's been sober enough to even think. Even though he deemed the temporary escape necessary, the sudden twinge of discomfort in his groin makes him realize that taking another hit right now is the absolute last thing he needs.

"I think I better stay put," Drake answers, combing his fingers through his disheveled tresses.

"Suit yourself," Leo jovially retorts. "If you need any oxy for your boo-boo, hit me up--Oh, and Drake?"

“Hrmmm?”

"Her name is Whitney."

"What?"

"Jaws? You know, the bitch who chewed on your Moby Dick?" Drake sighs heavily, regretting that he ever told Leo what had happened. "Her name is Whitney."

Drake furrows his eyebrows. "Now, how do you remember her name--?"

"Oh, bro, you don't forget WAP Whitney--oh shit, you probably haven't gotten a good look at your sheets this morning, have you?"

With a grunt, Drake ends the call. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. He carefully gets up, waddling to grab his clothes before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

In the middle of splashing his face with cold, soapy water, Drake's phone rings. Grabbing a hand towel he carefully saunters back to his room, answering the call without hesitation. "Just let it go, Leo--”

"Drake?"

An icy chill shoots down Drake’s spine, freezing him in his steps. He knows that melodic voice anywhere, a voice that reminds him of early morning sunrises and late night silver moonlit paths. “H-hey, Riley,” he stutters, caught off guard. A brief awkward stillness falls over the conversation. “How are you--?”

“I miss you, Drake,” she interrupts.

Drake’s vision suddenly begins to spin as the air in the room becomes stagnant. Stiffening his bottom lip in anger, his breathing quickens as he reaches out carefully to brace himself against the wall.

“Drake?”

“I’m here,” he chokes out. “What do you want, Brooks?” He can hear the tears in her voice, but he wills himself not to care, he wills himself to not even ask.

“Drake, I think I made a mistake--”

“No,” Drake barks out, “no, you can’t do this to me--”

“Drake, please,” Riley sobs, “I’m on my way to the doctor--”

“The doctor?” Drake’s tone suddenly changes. “Are you okay? Is everything with--um, you know--” he slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand, “--okay?”

“Yes--” she sniffles, “--no. I just, I can’t do this alone, Drake. I can’t do this--”

“Riley--” he roughly says her name to grab her attention, “you made your decision: you chose Liam. You want to raise our baby--my baby with him--”

“Don’t you think I want to have this baby with you? That’s all I can even think about Drake,” she takes a moment to calm down her shaking voice. “I love you, Drake. I want a life with you. I want you to be there when this baby is born, when this baby needs his or her father--when this baby needs you--”

“Riley--” Drake exhales with frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, “--but Liam--”

“I know, Drake. I know--” Riley takes a deep breath, “Can we just talk? In person? Just so we can figure this out? I can come over there--”

“Brooks, I--” Drake stumbles over his words as he runs his fingers over his coarse, overgrown stubble. Of course, he wants her to come over. And to stay. But, has anything changed? Liam just proposed, and she made it clear what her intentions were. But, still, it’s possible she had a change of heart, and this was a second chance he may never get again. He sighs heavily. “Sure. Okay."

After finishing his impromptu conversation with Riley, Drake realizes he needs to make another phone call. He scrolls through his call history, and clicks the green send button.

"Did you change your mind, Evander Holyfield?"

"Funny, Leo," Drake sarcastically responds. "So, yeah, um, what's the address to the shop?"

***

“Does that--does that say what I think it says?” Margot nervously stammers. "I think I saw my score--oh gosh!"

“Here. Let me look--”

Margot quickly covers the computer screen with her hands, "No, Mrs. Iris!” Margot squeals. “I’m not ready--I’m not ready for this!”

“Child, you have been ready for this for months. Now, if you don’t get your hands out of the way--"

"What's with all the commotion?" A few technicians and nurses pile into the room, each giving an endearing rub to Margot’s back. Everyone begins craning their necks to see the computer, covered by Margot's arms. "Is it time? Have they posted the scores?"

"They sure have!" answers Iris before turning to Margot. She tucks several blonde wisps behind Margot’s ear before putting her finger under her chin. "C'mon, baby," she smiles encouragingly, "it's more fun celebrating than worrying."

"I'm--" Margot takes a deep breath, biting back her tears, "--I'm so scared--"

"--and the Lord knew you would be, baby." Iris wrinkles her nose at Margot, her voice becoming stronger. "That's why He called you to be courageous. C'mon."

Margot bites her lip, slowly nodding her head. Feeling the storm brew in her eyes as the weight of the world sits on her chest, she carefully peels back her hands. Her eyes scale the black and white on the screen, but nothing seems to make sense. A burst of silence overwhelms her hearing, time standing perfectly still. Her only company is the beating of her heart.

Take my anxieties...

You have nothing to worry about…

Your will be done…

Be courageous...

Like suddenly breaking through the surface for air, an abrupt roar of cheers fill the room, shaking Margot from her trance. "Our baby girl got a 519!" screams a tearful Iris, pulling Margot from her seat and into a tight embrace. Other coworkers join in, creating a giant group hug.

Margot remains speechless, shocked by her score. She always knew she was an excellent student, studying hard all through school and excelling in her classes. When it came to the MCAT, she was confident she would score better than average, a score of 500. But, to even be noticed by top medical schools, she needed to score in the top 5%, a score 517 or greater.

News swept like wildfire through the clinic, and shortly thereafter, Tadd and some other technicians filed into the breakroom with a decorative chocolate cake and punch in tow. "I knew you could do it!" Tadd cheers victoriously, offering a chaste hug to Margot. "Dr. Hughes," he swipes his hand in the air as if to paint an imaginary portrait. "It has a nice ring to it."

"I still don't understand why you put yourself through all of that," mentions an older phlebotomist. "Cordonia has a medical school right down the road--"

"Because Margot wants to go to one of the best medical schools in the world," interrupts a deeply demanding, yet sincere voice. “To Harvard. Like me.”

"Dr. Ramirez," Margot smiles brightly, jumping up to greet her mentor with a hug.

"That is, you are still looking at my alma mater for medical school--"

"Yes ma'am!" Margot's eyes light up with the thought that her dream of going to Harvard Medical School is becoming her reality. "It would be such an honor to go there, let alone to follow in your footsteps."

Dr. Ramirez pulls Margot in for another tight hug. "My word, Mary-Margaret, 519?" she presses her cheek to Margot's, "I am so proud of you."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez," Margot warmly responds, "thank you for taking a chance on me and helping me so much with my studies and research--"

"You know I did that for selfish reasons, right?" The practitioner stifles a smile while Margot squints her eyes with suspicion. "Cordonia needs more female physicians, and more importantly, physicians that will make a difference in its healthcare," she grips tightly to Margot’s hand, "for everyone. I believe you will lead this country in a health care reformation."

"I don't know what to say," Margot clears her throat as she fights back the tears. "I hope I make you proud--"

"You already do." Dr. Ramirez gently touches Margot's cheek lovingly before turning to exit the room.

"Oh!" Margot quickly chases after the obstetrician, “can I talk to you? Privately?” With a nod, Dr. Ramirez leads Margot into a quiet corner. “I know my work-study ends in two weeks--”

“I know. Don’t remind me, Margot--”

“Well, I was wondering,” Margot chews on the side of her mouth, fidgeting with her fingers, “if by any chance I could possibly stay on?”

“Oh, Margot, I wish I could. Unfortunately with budget cuts--”

Margot shakes her head. “No, no, Dr. Ramirez, I meant if I could stay on, shadowing my usual Monday and Thursday mornings, I mean, if that’s alright. Learn more? Keep up my skills?”

“You want to continue volunteering with us?” The doctor gives an inquisitive look. “Don’t you want to get a job to earn money before you move to the states next year?”

“I already got that covered,” Margot assuredly answers. “I just got a job at Bríki, the coffee shop past the square--”

“Oh my gosh,” Dr. Ramirez’s eyes light up. “Does Aleksi still own that place?”

“Mr. Pavlis? Yes! Him and his son run it together, I believe--”

“They have the best coffee,” she energetically smiles, “now I have another reason to stop by.” She kindly places her hand on Margot’s shoulder. “Of course, you can stay on as a volunteer. Whenever you want, however much you want. It is a pleasure to have you around.” With a squeeze of her arm, Dr. Ramirez turns to go to her next appointment, but stops halfway down the hall. “Oh, Margot? My nurse stepped away to make an important phone call. Do you mind escorting my next patient to the exam room?”

Margot dutifully nods with a grin. She twirls around, bounding for the front desk to grab the chart of Dr. Ramirez’s next patient, a new patient. After making a few small notes, Margot opens the door to call her back.

“Brooks? Riley Brooks?”

*****

Tags: (this is my original tag list for this series; if you wanted to be added or removed, please let me know!) @alyssalauren @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovingchoices14 @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @sweatyrysconnoisseur @taniasethi @tessa-liam @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @thegreentwin @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

#the royal romance #the royal romance au #the missionary’s daughter #drake walker x oc #choices fanfiction #trr fanfiction #liam x riley

49 notes · View notes

rafeyybabyy · 3 years

Text

I found myself while loving you

Summary: Draco Malfoy, Slytherin King, one of the meanest boys at Hogwarts finds he might not be who thinks he is after all

Pairing: Draco X Hufflepuff reader

Word Count: 2153

A/N: Helllooo loves!! So this is my first time EVER writing a fic so please go easy on me. Im so nervous to post this, but I want to start writing and I have to start somewhere! and see if I’m even good at it!! Honestly I don’t know if any of my followers read HP fandom fics but if you do please check this out, tell me what you think! AHHH anyways I hope you like it

Growing up we typically believe our parents can do no wrong. We hold them above everything and everyone. We learn to turn a blind eye to the wrong they sometimes do, even go as far as justifying it.

This is exactly what Draco did when it came to his father. Mr. Malfoy could do no wrong in the eyes of his little boy, even though all he did was wrong.

The only thing Draco wanted to do in life was to make his father proud, to be the spitting image of the man. He spoke like him, walked like him, held his head as high as he did. This didn't go unnoticed by his father, but this was not a “proud dad moment” type of situation. Lucious Malfoy took this as an opportunity to shape Draco into everything he wanted him to be, for his own personal gain.

Draco being in one of the most infamous death eater families meant a dark light was shed on him. Welcoming this with open arms Draco became the meanest student at Hogwarts, from the very moment he stepped onto the train the first day of first year.

Going into his fifth year, nothing has changed.

Draco sat with his gang of Slytherins in the Great Hall, back pressed to the table, his long legs crossed at the ankles stretched out in front of him, waiting for the newest first years to enter and get sorted into their houses. He threw his head back in laughter at a joke Blaise made. As his head was falling back into place, the smile on his face disappeared and his eyes widening. ‘That couldn't possibly be Y/N Y/L/N… absolutely couldn't be.’ He thought to himself as you walked into the room. You had not looked as you did last year. You had not been ugly by any means, just you, nothing special. You matured quite a lot over the short summer break, turning into a very beautiful young woman.

And he had definitely noticed.

He couldn't take his eyes off of you. In his shock, he leaned over and roughly shook Blaise by his shoulder, “Is that Y/N?”

“What? Merlin it is, she sure did change this summer.” Blaise said adding a whistle.

You were the true definition of a Hufflepuff, hard-working, patient, loyal, and one of the sweetest girls you would ever meet. Your Y/E/C eyes constantly shine with happiness, sending sweet smiles to everyone who walked by, no matter the scowls or disgusted looks they gave.

You made your way past the Slytherin table, eyes falling on Draco and sending him a small grin, tucking your hair behind your ear in nervousness. He had never looked at you like that before. Only taking notice of you when he was giving you an odd scowl as you walked past him and his friends in the hallway during previous years with a smile permanently etched on your face. You on the other hand had always taken notice of the Slytherin King. It was quite an odd thing, the sweetest Hufflepuff finding herself swooning over the meanest boy in their year. But you couldn't help it, you were simply intrigued by him. Wondering what made him the way he was. Wondering what had to have happened to make him so cold to others. And also wondering what kind of things made him smile, and how you wished you could do those things, wished you could make him smile. You sort of felt like a creep, due to the fact that you had never even really spoken to each other outside of being partnered with each other for a Transfiguration project last year. But you couldn't help the butterflies you felt whenever you saw him.

Something inside Draco changed that very moment. For the past two years he had noticed you, not a lot, but just enough to wonder about you from time to time. It was like he was seeing you for the very first time and he needed to know you, to know everything about you.

Throughout the entire sorting ceremony he couldn't keep his eyes off of you, where he was seated he had a perfect view of your side profile. He took notice in the way your eyelashes curled up, the soft freckles that dusted over our nose and cheeks, the way your head was slightly tilted as you watched the students with interest as they were sorted.

Simply breathtaking he thought.

As the first few weeks passed, things did not change. Draco spent every chance he got looking at you, trying to come up with an excuse to speak with you. Once again you had Transfigurations together. “Today you will be working in pairs to vanish a group of mice.” instructed Professor Mcgonnagal, “You may choose who you partner up with, begin.”

Before he even realized what he was doing Draco had jumped up from his chair and was standing over your desk saying “Would you like to be my partner?”

He was sure he shared the same shocked expression on your face. Cheeks turning a light pink you agreed.

Neither of you spoke much during the class, stealing quick glances at one another more than words. After successfully vanishing all of your mice in record time, you turned to him, “Well I can see you have very much improved since last year” a small teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“I'd like to think so,” he said shyly. This had to have been a mistake you thought, Draco Malfoy shy? Around you? No way, not possible.

As the thoughts were running through your head you heard him speak again, “Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? It's the first trip of the year.”

It seemed you forgot how to speak, your mouth opened and then closed, your mind suddenly completely blank.

“Nevermind, that was stupid, why would someone like you want to..”

“I'd love to go with you” you practically yelled as you realized he was spiraling, probably thinking you would want to do anything but spend time with him.

And then there it was, the smile that you rarely got to see, and you felt like your heart could burst. The bell rang and he stood up, “I'll meet you in front of the Great Hall after breakfast Saturday then,” he said, a smile still in full view. All you could do was nood, an expression of utter disbelief on your face.

The rest of the week flew by and next thing you knew you were walking out of the doors of Hogwarts with Draco by your side. The two of you spent the day walking around the shops, and stopping for a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. You were surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. As much as you didn’t want to, you had always thought he had to be just as everyone said he was, mean. But you were completely wrong. As you got to know him more and more during your short time, you had a feeling there was a lot more to the boy.

As the months past your time spent with Draco increased. Meeting in the corridors before and after classes, sneaking you to the Slytherin table during meals, and sneaking you into his dorm for late night cuddles every so often.

This was completely out of character for you by others standards but with him you had never felt more yourself.

And Draco was feeling the exact same way. Slowly but surely his bad guy persona was fading, and people were starting to take notice. Word was getting around that he was becoming a different person. But he did not care anymore.

“He has to be faking it, he has always been the nastiest boy to walk these halls.”

“If his family could see him now they would not even recognize him..”

There was no way for him to not hear these things being said about him as he walked from class to class with you on his arm. And one day it finally hit him. They were right, he was not the same boy he had been the previous years, and he had you to thank for that. He realized now that this was him, this is how he was meant to be.

He had spent his whole life before this trying to live up to his fathers attitude and beliefs that he had become something he wasn't. But he was done, he was done trying to please him, constantly miserable from never seeming to be able to. He was himself now.

Word about the way Draco changed so drastically had finally gotten to his father. And it could not have happened at a worse time. This Hogsmead trip he had asked his mother and father to meet him, wanting to introduce you to them. Surprisingly he was not at all nervous, just excited to finally have you meet his family, thinking they would love you just like everyone else did.

The two of you sat in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop waiting for them to arrive. The door opened and Draco shot straight up, straightening his shirt and hair as his parents walked in. “Father, Mother, it's good to see you. You both look well.” he said. “As do you,” his father said simply. His mother sent him a small smile, from her position behind her husband. Sitting down Mr. Malfoy wasted no time speaking of the rumors he had been hearing about his son. “It has come to my attention that you have changed Draco, and not in a way I would categorize as acceptable.” “You've lost your mind if you think I am going to let you lose yourself,” he sent you a nasty side eyed look, “because of a silly girl.”

You felt Draco tense beside you and instinctively interlaced your fingers with his to try to calm him down. This did not faze you , you know the reputation his father had and did not fool yourself with the thought of him being overjoyed at his son's new attitude.

Draco spoke as calmly as he could “The way I have been acting is certainly because of Y/N, in the sense that she has made me realize I do not want to be like my miserable father anymore.” He no longer cared if this was supposed to be a happy meeting, introducing his girl to his parents, no this was it, this was where he was going to break free of the hold his father had on him. This was where he was getting the stain of his family's name off of him.

This seemed to shake his father to the core, realization hit him that he did not have control over his boy anymore, and he was now his own person. His mothers head was tilted down but Y/N could see the small smile on her face. She knew what Dracocould be, and she was proud he was becoming his own person.

Without saying another word his father got up and stormed out of the shop, his mother throwing him a proud smile as she ran after his father.

“Draco I’m so sorry, I never meant for this to happen,” You said sadly.

Without saying anything he stood you up and pulled you into a kiss, breaking away to say “Let's get out of here,” with a smile on his face.

You sat by the fire in the Slytherin common room late that night wrapped up in Draco’s arms. He was still reeling from the day's events, he had never felt more happy with himself. “I can't remember the last time I felt this good...” he spoke so softly you almost didn't hear him. You turned to look at him, waiting for him to continue. “I've spent as long as I can remember tied up in the idea that I needed to be just like my father to make him love me, but I don't want to do that anymore. I want to be who I am with you all the time, with everyone. It's much easier than being miserable all the time.”

You took his face in hands, your thumbs stroking his jawline, “I always knew there was more under that hard exterior, I'm happy I was able to help you let it out.”

He dropped his forehead against yours, breathing deep, his lips landed on yours in the sweetest but most passionate kiss you had shared. It took your breath away and you were slightly panting as you broke apart.

“The only love I ever wanted was from my father. But now, the only love I want is yours. An… and i love you more than i can tell you.”

“And I love you just as much.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy one shot #hp fic #fanfic #draco fic #draco fanfiction

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magicalmysteries777 · 3 months

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The Shire Is Burning - Chapter Nine.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character.

Contents: Swearing, smoking, drug use, eventual smut, and canon typical violence mentioned throughout. Minors DNI.

Chapter: 9 of ?

Chapter Masterlist: The Shire Is Burning - Masterlist.

WC: 2162.

A/N: I am currently in the process of re-writing this abandoned wip from last year so I can move onto new projects without feeling guilty. Enjoy ❤️

March 23rd, 1986.

“Help me, Lilith! Please!” Chrissy yelled, her arms beginning to break.

“I’m trying, Chrissy, but nothing’s working!” screamed Lilith. Chrissy’s legs snapped with a crunch leaving Lilith quaking in terror.

“You can’t save her, Lilith. You can’t save any of them. I warned you… don’t you remember?”

“Henderson, snap out of it!” Eddie grumbled, shaking her gently.

“W-What?” muttered Lilith, her heart beating ten to the dozen as she opened her eyes and tried to sit up.

Eddie tightened his grip around Lilith and dragged her back down onto his chest. “Shhhhh,” he whispered, “go back to sleep.”

“Hang on a minute, did you stay here all night?” Lilith asked.

“Mhmm,” he muttered. “You looked peaceful, I didn’t want to move you. Now shut the fuck up and go back to sleep, it’s still dark out.”

Before Lilith could hit him with a comeback, Eddie let out a quiet snore. She chuckled to herself quietly before she too let herself succumb to sleep.

The sun was shining through the curtains by the time Lilith woke up again. Her head was still laid on Eddie’s chest, rising up and down with his breathing. She didn’t know how she’d ended up there the night before but she was too comfortable to care. Lilith looked up at him, watching as he slept. This was the first time she’d managed to get a close, long look at him and it was only now that she began to see the details of his face.

His eyelashes were long and thick, his eyebrows unkempt, the five o’clock shadow on his chin was setting in, and his curly hair was starting to become quite unruly in the humidity. He had four freckles on his face; two on his jawline, one under his right eye, and one on his left cheekbone. Tattoos were scattered across his body, each one vastly different from the last.

“I can feel you staring at me, creep,” Eddie muttered in a raspy morning voice.

“Well, that makes a change, doesn’t it? It’s usually the other way around.” She replied.

“What are you talking about, Henderson?” he yawned.

“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about, Munson. The bar, Axel’s…” she began.

“Okay, okay, you caught me.” He sighed, defeated. Eddie opened his eyes and looked at her. “I was looking.” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind Lilith’s ear, resting his palm against her cheek. “Did you know you snore?” he asked, playfully.

“So do you.” Lilith retorted.

“At least I look cute while I do it” he smirked, stretching. “We should get up. I’m starving.”

Choices on what to have for breakfast were definitely limited now and they were running out of food fast. Lilith opted for another bowl of dry cereal paired with water to wash it down while Eddie used the last of the bread to make toast.

“What are our plans for today then, Munson?” Lilith asked in between mouthfuls of her breakfast.

“Oh, well, I thought we could start off with a nice walk, then maybe swing by the movies…” he looked up, smirking at the sight of Lilith’s raised eyebrows. “I’m kidding, duh. Movie or ca-” he was cut off.

BANG.

“Boathouse, now.” He instructed.

Eddie grabbed her hand as they ran through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the boathouse. Lilith ran for the tarp while Eddie grabbed the nearest thing he could find as a weapon and waited by the window trying to see who it was. The door burst open.

“Delivery service!” cried Dustin, barging in with his hands full of bags of food. Robin, Steve, and Max followed.

“Fuck sake, Dustin, a bit of warning next time!” Lilith said sternly, emerging from underneath the tarp.

“Gimme.” snapped Eddie, snatching the bags from Dustin.

A minute later, he was sat elbow-deep in a box of Honeycomb Clusters in the middle of the room.

“So, uh, we got some good news and some bad news. How do you prefer it?” Asked Dustin, cautiously.

“Bad news first. Always.” Stated Eddie, taking a large sip of chocolate milk.

“All right, bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro and they’re definitely looking for you. Also, they’re, uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy.”

“Like, 100% kind of convinced,” added Max.

“And the good news?” Lilith asked.

“Your names haven’t gone public yet. But if we found out about you, it’s a matter of time before others do. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is going to be gunning for you” Robin told the pair.

“Hunt the freak, right?” sighed Eddie.

“Exactly”.

“So, before that happens, we find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence,” beamed Dustin.

“That’s all, Dustin? That’s all?” snarked Eddie.

“Yeah, no, that’s pretty much it” he replied.

Robin interjected. “Listen, guys, I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional but we’ve actually been through this before. I mean, they have a… a few times and… and I have once. Mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related, but bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

“We usually rely on this girl who has super powers but, uh, those went bye-bye so-” began Steve.

“So we’re technically in more of the-” said Robin.

“Kinda-” said Steve.

“Brainstorming phase” finished Max.

Eddie and Lilith looked at each other in shock and disbelief, the reality of their situation sinking in.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Dustin tried to reassure them.

“Nothing to worry about? Are you kidding me? We’re wanted for murder, Dustin. You expect us to sit around while you try to figure out a way to kill a wizard from another dimension. Do you have any idea how fucked up that sounds?” Lilith yelled.

“Lil,” Robin began, placing an arm around her shoulder, “I know it sounds… well, mad, to be honest. But really, it’s going to be okay. We’ll find a way to clear your names. Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private for a few minutes so we can talk.”

Lilith and Robin checked that the coast was clear and made their way back to the cabin before sitting down at the kitchen table.

“Are you okay?” Robin asked after a few seconds of silence. Lilith’s eyes filled with tears instantly. “Aw, Lil, come here,” Robin said, pulling her into a hug. Lilith held on tight, letting the tears flow as Robin consoled her.

“I’m scared, Robin,” she admitted.

“I know. I know. I’d call you a fool if you weren’t. Listen to me. I know you’re worried about your life being in the hands of a group of fifteen year olds, but you’re forgetting something,” Robin soothed, removing Lilith from her shoulder so that they were face to face, “me, Steve, and Nancy are helping too. You trust me, right? And Steve? We wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Lilith nodded, took a few deep breaths, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Sorry,” she said, “I think I just needed to get that off my chest.”

“I know. It’s okay, Lil. We’re going to fix this.”

The back door opened causing both of them to spin round in its direction. It was Steve.

“Hey, guys. When you two are done, I also need a little word in private with Lil,” he told them.

“I’ll meet you back in the boathouse, Robin, thank you. I really needed that,” Lilith said, hugging Robin a final time before she left Lilith and Steve alone.

Steve joined Lilith at the table.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Lilith answered, “I think I am.”

“Look, I’m going be straight with you here and I don’t think you’re going to like it. I’m not happy about it myself but I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t tell you, okay? So don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Okay…” Lilith cautiously agreed.

“It’s about Eddie.” Steve blurted.

“Oh, Steve, lay off. Didn’t we already have this conversation?” she asked, annoyed.

“Lil, hear me out, please,” he pleaded.

“Fine.”

“Max told me that Lucas told her that Mike told him that Eddie has a bet with Gareth and it’s something to do with you.”

“What?”

“Max told me that Lucas told he- you know what, who told who doesn’t matter. Eddie has a bet going with Gareth and it has something to do with you.”

“He what now?” she asked, perplexed. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“I’m sorry, Lil. I don’t know if you guys were friends or… more,” he shuddered, “but I had to tell you,” he apologized.

“Thank you for telling me, Steve. You’re a good friend,” she told him.

“Can you at least wait until we all leave to kill him? As much as I would love to see you beat the shit out of Eddie Munson, it might spook the kids,” he laughed.

“You’re a good babysitter too,” Lilith teased.

“You know me - always the goddamn babysitter!” he chuckled. “Come on, let’s head back.”

The pair of them rejoined the group in the boathouse, Lilith standing as far away from Eddie as she possibly could.

“Anybody come up with any ideas yet?” Steve asked.

“Not yet,” Max answered.

“I think we need to-” Dustin began before getting cut off by sirens wailing in the distance, growing closer and closer.

“Tarp! Tarp!” cried Robin, pointing frantically at the boat in the center of the room.

Eddie dived under the tarpaulin whilst Lilith dived under the table, they all waited anxiously. The sirens were right on top of them. Everyone held their breath, hoping and praying that they weren’t coming here. Then, the sirens began to fade away until there was silence in the boathouse again. Lilith and Eddie emerged from their hiding places looking petrified.

“Do you think that was something to do with us…?” Eddie asked the group cautiously, looking out of the window into the distance.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Dustin replied routing through his rucksack, “Here, take this-” he thrust a walkie-talkie into Eddie’s hand. “We’ll go check that out and let you know what’s going on later, okay?”

The group left in a hurry, eager to check out whatever the police had found in the hopes that it would give them a lead to go on.

“Do you really think they’re going to be able to do this?” Eddie asked, his tone was doubtful.

“Mhmm.”

“I really hope so, I’m far too pretty for prison,” Eddie said matter of factly.

“Pretty full of yourself, more like,” Lilith responded.

“What? I’m only saying what you’re thinking,” he teased.

“Am I that transparent? I want you. I need you. Oh baby, oh, baby.” she said dryly.

“You wait, Henderson, you’ll see,” Eddie said standing up, offering his hand to help her up. Lilith declined this offer, choosing to stand by herself. Eddie looked down at his open hand and dropped it to his side, letting out a small sigh before walking to the door.

“Movie or cards?” Eddie asked, sinking into the couch.

“I’m going to go read in the bedroom,” she told him whilst making her way across the living room.

“What’s up with you?” he asked warily.

“I just want to be alone, okay?” she snapped, closing the door behind her.

“We’re in hiding, Henderson. How much more alone can you get?” he shouted loud enough for her to hear through the door.

“Henderson! Oi, Henderson! Get out here now,” Eddie called from the other room. Lilith ignored him. “Aw, you still moody?” Eddie sneered.

“Fuck off, Munson. What do you want?” Lilith replied coldly.

“Dustin’s on the walkie, they found something.”

Lilith sprang from the room and sat next to Eddie in three seconds flat.

“Guys, do you copy? It’s Dustin. Over,” Dustin said through the walkie.

“We’re here, Henderson. What happened?” Eddie asked. “Dustin? Dustin?”

“Say ‘over’ when you’ve finished talking,” Lilith instructed.

“What? Why?” Eddie asked with a puzzled look on his face. Lilith rolled her eyes.

“Just do it.”

“We’re here, Henderson. Over,” Eddie said.

“Someone else has been killed. Over,” Dustin told them. Lilith’s stomach churned. She snatched the walkie-talkie out of Eddie’s hand.

“Was it anyone we know? Over,” Lilith asked.

“Fred Benson. Him and Nancy were at the trailer park where Eddie lives last night digging around for information and he just… disappeared. They found him in the middle of the road this morning in the exact same state as Chrissy. Nance was talking to the police when we got there. Over,” Dustin explained.

“Shit,” Lilith replied.

“Say over, “ Eddie told her, a wicked smirk spreading on his face.

“Nobody likes a smart ass,” she reminded him.

“Don’t panic,” Dustin told them, “We’ve got a couple of leads that we’re going to go follow up now. Just… sit tight. Talk soon, over,” he finished.

The radio went silent and just like that, they were alone again.

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years

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Point of View - Original Statement Fic

Point of View (5004 words) by LadyNikita Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), this was intended as the eye but evolved into the vast as well, happens, cosmic horror, attempt at Eldritch Madness, unreality, Discussions of pointlessness and meaninglessness, Canon-Typical The Vast Content (The Magnus Archives), from the eps about space, Mentions of Death, Compulsion, discussions of free will (kind of), Dissociation, Panic, Mentions of addiction, Leitner Book (The Magnus Archives), except it was not possessed by Leitner, Pretty Colours <3, Neurodivergent Protagonist, Queer Protagonist, because I can project a bit as a treat, Can Be Read Without Prior Knowledge of the Podcast (I think)

Summary: "Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?" --- Statement of Lyria Ellison regarding a different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

Notes: Hiiiiii <3 I've been reading Lovecraft recently and as much as I hate the dude, The Colour Out of Space gave me so much inspiration that I immediately sat down and produced this in one sitting. I've been meaning to play with the concept of eldritch madness for a while; something about this trope is really appealing to me and I'm really enjoying my attempts at shaping it with words. Lyria is a preexisting OC of mine, I will give some background on her in the end notes because I love her very much. This is a form of practice for me; I'm playing with horror themes and I'd like to get acquainted with them to better incorporate them into my overall writing. Therefore I will accept constructive criticism if anyone wants to give it, but only in the form of DMs, either on Tumblr (your-queer-vampire-dm) or on Discord, if we know each other through a server. All of the warnings I think should be mentioned are in the tags, but if you think something should be added then please tell me!

Date: May 10th , 2018

Name: Lyria Ellison

Subject of experience: A different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

—

How do you start telling a story that changed your heart, your mind, and your soul so profoundly that you can barely still function in a society? How do you say all that without sounding borderline insane? Nobody knows what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I know they would all say I’ve hallucinated it all and should seek treatment. But I know it won’t help. I know… I know so much now. Too much and not enough. Never enough. I know what happened was real . I don’t have proof so I’m guessing you won’t believe me either, but I need to tell someone about it. So I might as well tell you.

My name is Lyria Ellison and I’m a neuropsychology major. Ex-major, I should say. I dropped out after… Yeah. I dropped out; there’s not much point in continuing studying things about the feeble, insignificant human brain. Utterly pointless venture.

Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?

Just a year ago, I was convinced I was going to finish my degree. I was so passionate about it too, eager to learn more and more, to research and seek knowledge. Curious and fascinated by the world around us. What a foolish thing it was to give into that drive. My mind was open to the supernatural, although I always approached it scientifically; I never said the supernatural existed, but I also never said it didn’t. It was plausible; all in all, every scientist must accept that there is still a vast amount of knowledge we don’t have about the world.

The ignorance was a blessing. But I shall not get ahead of myself.

It started around December last year; my dad had died, and my girlfriend, Shawala, and I were clearing out his house. There wasn’t really anyone else to do it; my mother had passed a couple years prior, I had no siblings, and extended family was out of the picture as well; and my dad had gathered a lot of things in his adventurous life; he was a traveller, and he loved the world, loved learning about it, just like me. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with it all; my dad meant a lot to me back then, and Shawala proved an excellent support at that first shock. She promised to do some first view assessments of the ground floor, while I went to scope out how things looked in the attic.

It’s always either basements or attics, isn’t it? I used to read horror, Lovecraftian was my favourite – how ironic, isn’t it? How stupid . How utterly ignorant. The hubris of the human race at its finest.

Anyways, the attic was half-lit from the small windows in the roof, and dust was swirling in the faint light of the afternoon sun. It was cold here, but I didn’t pay much mind; the house was old, and it wasn’t surprising that there was draft. To say the space was cluttered would be an understatement; I could barely walk around the numerous boxes, old furniture, crates, and overflowing bookshelves; all of which made something in my chest curl tight, bringing tears to my eyes. I steered my steps towards the nearest bookshelf; I’ve always been a bookworm, fascinated by nearly any tome I came across; I’ve been reading popular science books since I was eight. So naturally, I was drawn to the books, taking huge steps above the cardboard boxes and careful not to hit anything else.

The books were old, of course, and dusty. Some of them had loose pages, and I treated them very gently, almost reverently. I have a little bit of a bookbinder streak, and I decided I would take them home and try to put them back together. As I rifled through them, I saw they pertained to a vast variety of subjects, from poetry, drama, and history, to science, metaphysics, and maths. The deeper I looked into this stunning collection, the more reverence rose in my heart; at my fingertips I had the oldest and the biggest accumulation of knowledge I had ever seen. I saw some books dated back even two hundred years ago.

At that point Shawala called me to check if I was alright. I put the book I had in my hands back and my knuckles brushed against the black leather cover of the next one on the shelf. I felt pleasant tingling in my palm at the touch and my heart leaped at the prospect; I didn’t know why – the book seemed ordinary enough on the shelf and there was no title on its spine.

I sometimes wonder if I could have just left it there and gone downstairs; chosen to come back later and then maybe, it wouldn’t have enticed me as it did. If, by that point, I had had any choice left on the matter.

Alas, intrigued by the book, I placed my palm on the spine and took it out. The leather was soft and smooth, probably sheep, with familiar subtle grains all over the texture. I remember it striked me as odd that it was warmer than the rest of the books in the drafty attic, but I shrugged it off. The front cover had a title, small but visible in the centre, etched in gold – Punctum Visus .

I, by all means, cannot read or speak Latin, but I figured it was something to do with vision. I opened the book, an unknown anticipation buzzing in my stomach. The pages were worn and old, their texture was slightly rough but pleasant under my fingertips; as I opened the front page, I saw the title again, this time in thick but still elegant, black letters, and the smell came up to my nostrils.

I tried to describe it in my head countless times after. I always loved the smell of old books, and I knew it very well, so it came to me as a surprise to realize it wasn’t the only smell I could feel from the book. It was… cold, somehow, distant but prickling at my nose, a little bit the way peppermint tastes. It reminded me of the night sky and distant stars somehow. The smell awakened an unease within me, as I couldn’t quite place what it was and why it seemed so weird , but it wasn’t by any means unpleasant. It was… enticing. Like a promise of a mystery.

I breathed it in again through my nose, closing my eyes, and for a moment I lost all feeling in my body. I was untethered and immaterial, somewhere in deep darkness that seemed to envelop me whole. It felt cold on my mind, stretching it thoughtlessly in the empty vastness, and I saw distant flickering lights of stars. Before I could form a coherent thought, I was back in myself, panting and shaking, staring at the front page of the Punctum Visus . I looked around with shaky breaths; the attic looked the same, and Shawala’s steps on the stairs reached my ears, with her voice calling my name. A shiver passed down my spine, causing goosebumps to bloom on my skin; was it the draft, the dread, or the excitement I couldn’t tell.

I knew I had to read this book, no matter what it took for me to do so.

I took it home, almost forgetting about the rest of the books upstairs. It had spent the next month laying in my room, as I dealt with the formalities and moving the rest of things that weren’t sold from the house either to my place or to charity. After the day we left the house for the last time, I collapsed in my bed, exhausted, but instead of closing, my eyes fell on the book unassumingly waiting on my nightstand.

A surge of excitement passed through me, waking me right up. I sat up and reached for the book. It was still warm; I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but warm it was. I think it made me subconsciously assign it more… being? Like, even before I knew anything, I somehow subconsciously accepted that it was more than just an object; that it was, in a sense, alive on its own. I brushed my fingers on the cover, feeling the texture of the leather and the etching of the letters. In the meantime during this month I had checked the meaning of the title – Point of Sight; a position from which a thing is or is supposed to be viewed. It makes so much sense now.

But then I didn’t know what dangers it held; or I didn’t want to think about them. I do remember feeling anxious, my hands trembling every time I opened the cover, but it was so mingled with exhilaration of the certainty I was discovering something important that I must have disregarded it. As I turned the pages, I wasn’t surprised to find the text in Latin; though I still felt a pang of frustration that it meant I couldn’t read it for now. I rifled through the pages, looking curiously at the letters that formed words yet unattainable to me. There was a hunger inside of me; a hunger to Know. As I turned the pages past various symbols, illustrations of the constellations, and of Earth, I determined it must be some sort of a metaphysical work. The point of view on the world around us.

Normally I just skim through works like this and leave them. While they are an interesting read sometimes, they’re not my favourite genre and, looking objectively, putting in the effort of learning a whole language just for the sake of reading a treatise on the meaning of cosmos by an unknown author seems strange at best. But somehow it seemed obvious to me that I had to read it. It called to me, sang into a part of my being that begged to be filled, promising knowledge that would finally leave me satisfied. I know now that it’s impossible. Once you’ve tasted the hunger for knowing, you will never find satisfaction; it’s like an addiction. You just crave more and more, and the knowledge never ends. After a certain point you know too much and when it all connects, when it starts to make sense… you slip. I didn’t know that, even though maybe I should have. I didn’t know what those things I was feeling meant then and I didn’t stop to question them; I gave into it as soon as it touched me. I was stupid.

What followed were a busy couple of months. Every waking moment that wasn’t spent keeping up the pretence of being interested in my major (back then I only thought it a brief hyperfixation, of course, and wouldn’t have called it a pretence at all), I was learning Latin online or staring into the incomprehensible words on the pages. This period of my life is a blur; I remember my friends checking up on me if I was alright, since I wasn’t particularly social anymore. Shawala got progressively more worried, but it fully escaped my mind to care. I know that staring thoughtlessly at the book took up more and more of my time; once, I remember, I returned from my classes at three PM and took the book out; when I came back to myself it was well past midnight. That’s when I started to feel truly uneasy about it. It was the second half of April; I looked back on what I’ve been doing these past months and this cold dread started creeping up to my throat. I realized I didn’t know why I wanted to read the book so much and I remembered the “vision” or the hallucination I had that first time in my dad’s attic. I had set it aside completely as unimportant, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why. I started shaking and theorizing in my head about the book being able to influence my mind somehow, to control it. Had my actions not been my own? How much of it was my own will and how much was the book? Was it even possible for it to influence me like that; could it be that it was supernatural in some way?

The house became cold, unnaturally so. It was dark and all the windows were closed, but a chill draft managed to find its way into the corridor I was in anyway. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trembling in panic. I was all alone in the flat, everyone I knew was surely already asleep in their homes, and I was small and weak in the face of something that maybe could have controlled my mind. I suddenly became aware of the leatherbound book in my hand, and I threw it along the corridor at the front door with a whimper, as far away from me as possible. The book thumped against the door, then the floor, and opened on a random page.

I’ve read enough horrors. I knew that the page would be significant, and that knowledge made me sob and hug my knees tighter. I didn’t know what was happening; I felt like I’d just woken up from a months-long dream… and perhaps I was right. The recent past felt alien.

I felt tears sting my eyes and that’s when the smell reached me. Again that mixture of old paper and peppermint cold, distantly sweet but freezing the blood in my veins. My breath came in ragged and shallow, and tears streamed down my face as I stared at the open book that was calling me in an inaudible whisper. The logical side of my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it, to assign the dissociative feeling to my father’s death and yeah, it was plausible, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. The whispers sounded again, swirling around my head, the golden sound almost touching the back of my neck, making me wince. It was enticing and promising, but this time, I felt terror instead of excitement. Disregarding how my mind was trying to rationalize the situation, I knew the book was cursed somehow. I knew that I was its victim. And I knew that I would not be strong enough to resist it.

I don’t know how much time I sat there, trembling, and sobbing into my knees, before I calmed down from the panic and decided I had to do something. I had to find out what this book was and how it found itself into my dad’s library. I couldn’t remember seeing anything in his diaries that would mention it at all, but then again, I didn’t read them all cover to cover. On wobbly legs I carefully made my way back to my room and searched the Internet until the sun started peeking out of the window; I found nothing about any book titled Punctum Visus . I tried all the libraries that I’d known of, that had their assortment online, all the research databases; nothing.

So, at the crack of dawn, with a fast-beating heart, I stood in the door of my room, staring out into the corridor, where the book still lay by the front door, unmoving. The golden strings of a wordless melody made it to my ears; it promised an explanation; that this time if I looked close enough, I would find what I was looking for.

What was I looking for?

Where else could I find the answers if not in the book itself?

I could feel its cold fingers slowly wrap around my mind, steering me to come closer. It called me with a hypnotising voice that awakened all the red signals in my brain, telling me to run and hide, but I didn’t. The voice meant danger, but I knew it also meant knowledge.

Dangerous knowledge. The pull dragged me through the corridor step by step; I hadn’t been fighting it as strongly as I could have had and I was about to start, since I was getting closer to the book, but suddenly I felt the chill of the influence let go, hovering close but out of reach. It was still compelling me to come, to Look, but I could move my own limbs. I had a choice to make.

Knowledge of danger. Did I believe my own warning thoughts that I would regret looking into the book? Did I take my own logical, rational side seriously? Was I ever good at resisting my own impulses?

I’ve never been addicted to anything, but then again, I never really had the opportunity, as it were; my friends were more of a no-alcohol types and I really ever smoked cigarettes once. I’ve never seen drugs in real life. So who’s to say if I’m not an addictive personality? And this, this was addictive. The thrill of mystery, the exhilarating process of learning, the anticipation of the answers.

Was it ever really my choice?

No supernatural force guided my steps that night; no cold fingers made me kneel next to the book and carefully cradle it in my arms, looking at the page with a shaky breath and tears in my eyes, as if I was coming back home like the prodigal son. But I’m sure it was by some paranormal means that this time I could understand the text on the pages.

I honestly don’t remember what it said. As I read the unfamiliar words, the meaning presented itself in my mind, not entirely unlike that first “vision” I had in the attic; as soon as I started reading I knew that I had made the choice and there was no turning back. That cold draft enveloped me, sat on my skin, and started to bite; I felt that smell again, stronger than ever before, something intangible but unmistakably inhuman . It was then that I realized that’s what had felt wrong to me about the smell since the beginning. It was inferior and alien. My hands started shaking as my eyes, glued to the text, moved now on their own down the page, drinking the words in. I was terrified out of my mind, but the pleasant tingling along my nerves was back, the anticipation of the promised understanding.

My mind was drowned with the tide of knowledge. This was just a prologue; a true discovery would require preparation, but I was almost ready. The voice said I was chosen, that I was a perfect candidate to bring It what It needs and that I would be rewarded. I cried tears of amazement and horror at the sheer scope of the voice – it seemed to encompass the entire world. I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t know then that it was a blessing. I wanted to know, I craved to know what It was and how I could be of use to something so powerful, so huge. Divine. That was a word that crossed my mind, as much as I don’t like that. I don’t like many things, but I can’t change any of them.

The voice said I’m on the right path. I would Know and Understand. First, I needed to do something. As It told me what that was, doubt started to creep up to my mind. What was I doing? What was happening? How could this be real?

I came to on the floor by my front door, the cursed book in hand, with a tear-stained face and a bloody nose.

I knew what I had to do to get ready and, as I calmed down and went over everything in my head, I was surprised by how trivial it was. Honestly, by this point I was kind of afraid It would tell me to hurt someone, so I was glad this was just about reading a bunch of words in a specific location at a specific time. I was aware of the fact that this was most probably a ritual, and I was quite apprehensive. I kept arguing with myself in my head, over and over whether I should follow through, but deep down I knew that I would, no matter what I told myself. This part, I think, scared me the most; how compelling the promise of knowledge was, how reverently I’d found myself thinking of the book and its owner (which I assumed was the voice), how fanatical some of my thoughts sounded. I’ve never been religious, never really felt idealistic either. I was always focused on facts, on the here and now. Can knowledge be an ideal? Can you be a fanatic of Seeing and Knowing?

How much had I changed since I’d found Punctum Visus in that old attic.

I found a good, quiet spot, on the north-west side of the New Forest National Park near Southampton. I told no one about this, deeming it unimportant. I would come back after my big discovery, I would explain everything. I laugh at myself now; at my naivety.

The night of April 28 th was clear, and the starry sky looked back at me as I parked my car on the road in the forest and locked it. I tied a piece of a long red string to the wheel, not to lose my way in the forest, and started to walk forward. I held the book close to my chest, as if it could protect me from the dark, eerie outlines of the trees, swaying gently on the wind and whatever the darkness around me held. I didn’t light the torch; the moon was nearly full, bathing everything in its gentle light, and besides, for some reason it seemed that the crude yellow light would somehow break the sanctity of what I was about to do. I could see the ground in front of me and managed to lose sight of my car and everything else besides trees pretty fast.

I stopped when I found a small clearing. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on me like a big eye; I didn’t know why this comparison seemed the most fitting, but it did. I took a deep breath, feeling a chill plant little dots all over my skin, making my hairs stand on end. The wind died down and the trees froze, as if in anticipation. I felt something watching me closely; I was not alone here anymore.

The realization made my breath catch in my throat and the last streaks of sanity broke through my thick skull. Run! Drop the book and run! I didn’t. My hands trembled, my muscles tensed, and I stood there, frozen with fear as something stared at me, seemingly for eternity. Something bigger than me, bigger than anything I have ever seen was watching me, waiting. My eyes dropped to the book in my arms. The black leather was warm, as always, but this time I felt a pulsating sensation from it. A heartbeat.

I screamed. The book landed discarded on the ground, and I stumbled backwards and tripped, landing in the grass as well. It was cold and wet, and it glistened with something in the faint moonlight. At first I took it for water, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the grass itself that glittered – a shy rainbow, glowing iridescently in an impossible way. I froze, stunned, for I have never seen such colours before. It seemed utterly alien, something unfitting for the human eye to see; simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

As I looked around, I noticed that everything alive in the forest – the trees, the grass, the bushes, the plants – had taken on that iridescent mixture of faint light that prickled my eyes and sent a shiver of terror down my spine. It was beautiful, utterly gorgeous in a way that nothing a human eye can perceive could be. It was horrifying in how different, alien, and other it was. My senses could tell this is not of the Earth; not of this reality, not of this world; everything in me that still had common sense tried to recoil from the inferiority of this magnificence and the danger it brought, but I had abandoned common sense a while back. Maybe even when I touched the book for the first time. I stared then, breathless and trembling, at this scenery as if from a fairy tale and decided to lock away my rational thoughts. I wanted to See, to Know; I wanted to experience and if this was the death of me then hell, it was a pretty good way to go. To behold such a sight, I thought, was a reward in and of itself.

Of course, I had no idea what any of it meant. I slowly rose to my knees and patted the ground down until I felt the book. It still pulsated with this heartbeat and the letters etched in the leather glowed with golden light. My hands were sweaty, and I didn’t know whether I was shivering from fear or the cold. I opened the book on the first page.

What I saw was not what I had expected. I remembered that the first page, after the titular one, was the beginning of the introduction, that much I had understood, but now it was a big picture in black and white; a night sky, with an almost full moon and strewn with stars. It was a shot from the ground and treetops could be seen at the edges of the picture. As the book swayed in my hands, the stars glittered, and the perspective shifted ever so slightly, as if it was in 3D. Stricken by a surge of dread and cold certainty, I looked up. My suspicion was right – the picture in the book depicted the exact image that was now above me. I gasped quietly and looked down at the book—

And this is where things started to really go horribly, horribly wrong.

The book was gone. What’s more, the ground was gone too and suddenly everything was not where it should have been. I blinked but it did nothing to ease the dizziness; and when I composed myself enough to register what I was seeing I froze, the most intense horror I have ever experienced crushing my body from all sides and inside out.

I realized that I was Seeing. I was finally Seeing, and I Understood it all.

I don’t know how to convey in words what I saw. I don’t believe it’s possible; humans were never made to see and understand such things. I should have never touched the book, I should have never asked for knowledge. All my life I believed that knowledge was the point; it was a tool, and it was power. I don’t know what I think anymore. I think some knowledge should always be hidden because we were not made to know everything. We can’t , it’s physically impossible for us to comprehend.

For one moment in my life. For one moment I became something else, and I saw the world in the way It sees the world. For one moment I shared a mind with an eldritch being, a thing that is Fear itself, and I saw the Earth through Its Eye. I can’t… I can’t tell you just how horrible it is. How… How meaningless; we’re all intertwined things, guided by strings of web that lead us through life, and we’re all connected in this maze of fear . We’re not individuals; we’re not special. We don’t have souls and none of our experiences matter. We’re just fear. These… These entities are a part of all of us. They’re our fear and they live inside of us, inside of every living creature that can feel fear. Can you comprehend that? How can you be sure you are yourself when there’s a cosmic entity, a power as old as life itself, living you ? And no one has any idea. Nobody knows and if I tell someone they’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy. But deep down I know what I saw. I know it was real. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified because I know that this Being of eyes that I became a part of watches everything I do. I feel Its presence here very strongly, and I guess it makes sense. It will never leave me. It’s a part of me, just like the rest of them; just like they’re all a part of every one of you, yet you have no idea. But I know. And I know I’m all alone with that knowledge, the knowledge that I can’t comprehend, but I know I could in that one moment. It’s a very lonely place to be and I’m scared.

I’m scared as I have never been before; this fear doesn’t leave me anymore. Every second of every day I’m aware I’m watched by something as great as cosmos. I’m aware I shared my mind with that being and it makes my skin crawl.

I don’t know what to do now, but I don’t expect any advice from you. I’m leaving the book with you, as proof. Its heart doesn’t beat anymore, and I’ve seen what I was supposed to.

Don’t read it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment!! For people interested in a little bit of background: Lyria is a D&D character I have created that still awaits her chance to play in a campaign. She's an arcane scholar that has a dark little secret of actually being a warlock of a being she doesn't know a lot about. She's in love with knowledge and she seeks to learn about her powers as well as the world around her. I'm currently DMing a Ravenloft campaign and I just couldn't miss the fact how much potential for a corruption arc she has. Then I listened to TMA and I was like, she would definitely become the Avatar of the Beholding.

#i discovered you can copy tags straight from ao3 #ive been using that site for how many. 5 years now #:|#anyways #tma #the magnus archives #tma original statement #cosmic horror #niki.writes #lyria elerieth #goes in my oc tag because thats technically an au #im really happy with this one guys!

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mintandcoldwater · 3 years

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So…do you guys know The Nanny? As in,,, this sitcom?

Well that, but make it Bakugou.

The Nanny Bakugou HC

NatsuBaku (Also?!?! currently there are 27 Bakugou/Natsuo fics on AO3 and only around 16 are like actual full stories (by that I mean not only PWP, or incomplete) Therefore, it’s is my DUTY to provide more. I just feel it in my bones.)

Bakugou being a nanny hired by one Todoroki brother (here it’s Natsuo) for their oc!kids

So, on a streak of bad luck Bakugou loses his job, his boyfriend broke up with him, said boyfriend also kicked him out, so there goes his living situation too. He ended up taking the nanny job to fix the living situation, and to also give him something to work with while he sorts out everything for the other job he wants.

So, Natsuo has three kids. Your typical lineup (idk if there’s actually a typical line up of kids shh), a teen, a preteen and a toddler basically. Or maybe whatever you call that age where they’re older than a toddler but not preteen as yet. The age when they still like stickers. Anyway.

The oldest is his daughter. Because being the eldest daughter is A Struggle that I can write from the sole of my feet to the end of my hair follicles.

The middle… Wait middle should be twins.

They should be twins if only for a scene where Bakugou can tell them a part when Natsuo’s girlfriend can’t. Hahaha.

The last child is an toddler who doesn’t like anyone and always cries but is really calm around Bakugou.

The kids all end up loving Bakugou but it takes them a while to Get There. Except the last one. The toddler loves him immediately.

So naturally, when Bakugou first arrives they try to drive him away. They make everything harder for him, from making food, to driving them places, to letting him know how the things around the house work or where stuff is supposed to go. Even purposefully messes up his schedules so he always has to rush when it comes to getting them to things. But if they think they can out stubborn Bakugou??? They got another thing coming.

He curses them every single step of the way, but he does not quit. Nope. Cue a typical scene where they bond because Bakugou helps one of the twins with their homework, and the other is like ‘don’t side with the enemy!!’ but eventually they get won over too when Bakugou starts kinda being an asshole to them too. Not really malicious, just doing little things that makes all their little pranks difficult for them instead.

Now I want to to figure out if their other parent is 1. Dead. 2. Alive but doesn’t really care for them. 3. Cares for them but is busy

none of these options include them still being with Natsuo

Dead can fit so much trauma, but the idea of the other parent mistaking Katsuki for Natsuo’s new partner when he isn’t tickles my brain so hard,,,, the other parent is around but they’re distant it is.

The other parent : Doesn’t really care for the kids, doesn’t even want them really. Just paying their money and leaving.

The only argument the twins have is over the other parent. One of them can’t help but miss them while the other just really hates them.

One of the twins invited the other parent to a rehearsal, recital whatever the fuck you want to call it and they didn’t show up but guess who did??? Bakugou. Idc if it’s cliché, I. Do. NOT!! Embrace the cliché.

Bakugou brings them flowers and they both get little charm bracelets with something special to a moment each of them had with him.

Bakugou gets the other job and it’s a teaching job. Before he like, fully here goes though he has to be on a temporary course thing, and who goes to said school? The daughter.

*slaps top of chemistry teacher headcanon* “So many awkward bonding moments can fit in this baby!”

She’s struggling in school? She fears bullied? She has a completely different persona from when she’s at home because she’s uncomfortable with herself/around her ‘friends’ and uses it as a way to cope? Oh my god, she has a completely different persona from when she’s at home because she’s uncomfortable with herself/around her ‘friends’ and uses it as a way to cope. *sobs* so many bonding moments.

Now. His relationship with Natsuo. So much teasing.

So cheesy too.

Natsuo who has more time to eat with the family now that Katsuki is around.

Who had time to go to parks, or sit in the garden outside

Who had time to watch cartoons on Saturdays with the twins

And the always eat breakfast together .

Whenever Natsuo brings home work, Bakugou lounges in his office and works in whatever he has too.

He listen to Natsuo complain about his coworkers and tell Natsuo about whatever dumb things his friends did/were trying to pull him into or complain about teaching

Natsuo always brings home a pastry from the bakery by his office for Katsuki because according to Natsuo they were the ‘best bakery to ever exist’ but according to Bakugou the goods were ‘subpar at best and I could totally make better’ and he wanted to find one that Bakugou liked so that Bakugou would finally bake him something

Bakugou kinda hated Natsuo at first, because he knows all about shitty parents that don’t give their children the time of day, but he eventually sees that Natsuo is trying his hardest and is here for them in all the ways that matter, so <3 (he also said to himself that the family dynamics wasn’t his business and that he wasn’t going to judge. But there he was, judging, judgingly)

Bakugou falls asleep one night with the kids on the sofa while reading them a book(like a novel novel) (yes even the eldest, she like making fun of his exaggeration/taking turns reading parts) and when Natsuo comes home he just…stops and looks at them.

Consider Natsuo having an emotional freak out and projecting onto Bakugou because the baby’s first word was ‘papa’ but they weren’t looking at Natsuo when they said it. (yeah, one year old still counts as a toddler right? I dont think that's late for your first word?? Is it? I’ll look it up later)

He spends so much time over thinking it and thinking about how much he doesn’t hate it a single bit that he ends up fighting with Bakugou and basically firing him.

And the twins get really upset with him. Visibility upset. He thinks his daughter is fine, because she doesn’t complain or even say anything because #eldestdaughterthings but he hears her crying one night on the phone with Bakugou.

Now, everyone is sad and a bit stand-offish, the baby is crying more often, and he misses Bakugou and everyone else misses him too and it’s a mess.

… they get together when the other parent comes for their like,,, check in, pay confirmation, idk I’ll make up something, and then they ask Natsuo where his ‘little boyfriend is’. After Natsuo clarifies that they’re not dating, never were, and that Bakugou is not here they say something like ‘what a shame. love looked good on you.’ or something to that effect, I don’t know the words right now, just the vibe.

(I totally forgot about the girlfriend I mentioned earlier so yeah, this was where he finally saw that he needed to break up with her, she already saw it coming, pain, bless her heart)

Anyway. Natsuo going to find Bakugou and there is some cursing, some tears, well deserved use of the term ‘fucking idiot’, maybe a bit of time and space(?) and finally *plays It’s Quiet Uptown* ‘forgiveness. Can you imagine?’.

Welp, that's the main plot! Writing will definitely include more characters (Fuyumi, Shoto, my loves, I’m looking at you) and what not. I’ll get on it right after I finish the next few chapters of the BakuMomo friendship fic i have going on.

#I saw this entire thing in my head like a movie #i thought this was a lot while writing it but seeing it all in one place it's really not #or maybe it's because i started on mobile and finished on desktop wtv #I didn’t stop for a second to read anything so any errors are your problem not mine #shhh just enjoy the rare pair #minty hc #minty natsubaku hc #natsubaku #mha natsuo #mint fic #todoroki natsuo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou headcanons #Todoroki Natsuo headcanon #Natsuo headcanon #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia

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sunshineandaisies · 3 years

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Tuesday

Words: ~3.3k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injury, a tad bit angsty?

Note: I haven’t written anything new in the marvel fandom for 4+ years now, so this is me dipping my toes back into it before I start working on new series that I have planned. And because I hate myself sometimes, I decided to write something for a character I’ve never written for, our smol bean peter. Hopefully I did okay???

A typical Tuesday for you was, well, normal.

You’d go to school, mildly pay attention in class, and do your best to stay out of whatever drama was currently overtaking the halls of Midtown High. When the final bell of the day rang, you walked home with your headphones in, playing loud music to drown out the sounds of the city. You’d get home from school, maybe have a less than healthy snack, and watch a random television program until your mom was trying to pull you away from the couch for dinner. After dinner was eaten - and the dishes were cleaned and drying, because you needed that weekly allowance money - you shut yourself in your room to work on homework and to subsequently procrastinate that homework by playing mobile games on your phone. Usually, you’d end up falling asleep with one of your textbooks open to the page you’d been in the middle of reading and with your phone slowly dying in your hand because Candy Crush was lighting up your screen and draining the battery.

Pretty uneventful, right?

This Tuesday, however, was anything but uneventful.

You should’ve known from the moment that Peter Parker spilled chocolate milk on your white top at lunch that the day was going to be anything but your typical Tuesday. It only got worse when he shoved a handful of napkins onto your chest, dabbing at the stain while stammering and blushing and being so frustratingly cute that you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him for practically pawing at your chest in the middle of the cafeteria.

It didn’t end there.

Your locker jammed between fifth and sixth period, preventing you from grabbing the calculus assignment that you had spent hours trying to complete over the weekend and making you unable to turn it in on time. The worn strap of your backpack finally broke on your walk home from school, and you were forced to carry the heavy bag in your arms, making the limbs numb and tingly by the time you finally reached your apartment. Your mom had picked up a rare night shift at the hospital at the last minute, leaving you to fend for yourself for dinner – which, in normal circumstances, would have been fine, but the Moroccan place down the street that you ordered from had given you the wrong food and you were too hungry to call them and have the order corrected.

You figured that would be the end of it. You figured that there was absolutely no way that anything could go wrong as you spent the rest of your evening actually working on homework, sprawled lazily across your bed, and bopping your head in time to the music coming through your headphones.

Oh, how wrong you were.

It had to be nearing midnight when you were startled from your chemistry homework by the sound of banging on the fire escape outside your window. You paused your music, slightly startled and more than a little confused. Sure, there were occasionally stray cats that somehow found their way to the metal platform outside your window, and sure, sometimes those cats where assholes and pushed each other around every now and then – but this…that thump either came from a very, very large cat, or someone was outside your room.

You got your answer when a very sweaty, very tired looking Peter Parker stumbled through your window and landed face down on the floor, groaning softly. Your mouth soundlessly opened and closed, opened and closed, opened and closed as you tried to find your words, but the Spider-Man suit that he wore and the red mask clutched tightly in his hand had left you absolutely speechless.

You easily stared at him for five minutes, trying to process what had just happened. Did Peter Parker really just crawl through your window and then pass out on your floor? Was Peter Parker fucking Spider-Man? Was Spider-Man – the Spider-Man – in your bedroom? Did Spider-Man touch your boobs today?

“What the fuck?” you finally spoke, startling Peter as he looked up at you with wide chocolate eyes before panic sunk in and he jumped up to his feet abruptly, which in turn only served to startle you more and make you repeat, “What the fuck?”

“Y/N?” he asked, as if he wasn’t sure that it was truly you that sat in front of him. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as he started to pace, pulling at his hair nervously. “Mr. Stark is gonna kill me.” He glanced back up you, eyes still wide. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re Spider-Man,” you countered, eyes flitting over the tight suit before focusing on the mask in his hand. “You’re Spider-Man, Peter.”

“Okay, so- so maybe it is what it looks like, but I-” He cut himself off, and you could tell that he’s struggling to explain the entire thing away. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, yes. I’m Spider-Man, but you can’t tell anyone. Please, Y/N. No one else can know about this.”

You nodded slowly, abandoning your textbook and sitting at the edge of your bed as you stared at one another awkwardly. “Don’t tell anyone. Got it. But, like… Are you- Can I ask questions?”

“Um, yeah, I- I guess.” You watched him scratch the back of his neck nervously as his checks tinted pink. “Ask away.”

“First question – why are you in my room?” It seemed like the obvious question to ask. If Peter – Spider-Man – hadn’t crawled through your window in the first place, you wouldn’t even need to ask him any questions at all.

You had to bite back a laugh as you watched his eyes widen momentarily as he finally took in his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the few photos you had of you and your friends hanging on the walls and the stack of books that sat on your desk just waiting to be read. “Your room? I, uh- To be fair, when I crawled through the window, I thought it was my room.” You opened your mouth to interject, but he continued, “I live here. Well, not here, here, but in this building. With my aunt May. We live here. In this building. I must’ve swung to the wrong fire escape.”

“Swung?” you asked, his explanation providing more questions than answers. “Like with your webs?” He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “And you swing around the city and fight bad guys?” Another nod. “You’re Spider-Man.”

He paused, as if thinking his answer through. “Yeah.”

“This is wild,” you commented more to yourself, leaning in closer and poking at the material of his suit. He stayed completely still as you prodded the suit some more, feeling the thick fabric beneath the pads of your fingertips. You let out a short laugh and looked up at him, repeating, “You’re Spider-Man.” You laughed freely then, and the little smile he gave you was enough to make your heart pound wildly in your chest. “Don’t worry,” you assured him once the laughter died down, “your secret’s safe with me, Parker.”

You could almost feel the tension and nervous energy leave his body, and you watched as his shoulders slumped forward, finally relaxed since he first realized that you saw him as Spider-Man. “Thank you, Y/N. I know I’m asking a lot, but I- It’s really important.”

You smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Parker. My lips are sealed.” You mimed zipping your lips and locking them before throwing away the key, and it made a small burst of laughter escape his lips. “Besides, you have more things to worry about than me telling the world that you double as a superhero after school hours. Like our Spanish test in first period tomorrow.”

“Spanish test t- Shit!” You watched his eyes widen again at the reminder of the test that you both had to take in eight hours, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he quickly scrambled towards the window. Halfway through your window, he glanced back at you with a soft smile curling his lips. “I, uh- Thanks again, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Spider-Man.” You winked, and he was gone, crawling up the wall to the fire escape above yours. You crouched down at your window and listened for a moment longer as the sounds of Peter hauling his body over the rails of the fire escape and the opening of a different window – presumably his – echoed through the alley between your apartment building and the building next to it. Knowing that he’d be able to hear you, you called out, “Goodnight, Peter,” and shut your window.

After that night, your typical Tuesday was anything but normal.

Your mom started to regularly work night shifts on Tuesdays, and while there were no more mishaps with incorrect takeout orders, no more chocolate milk spilt on shirts, and no more jammed lockers, there was Spider-Man.

Peter was quick to realize that every Tuesday night, you would leave your window slightly open just for him regardless of how cold the autumn air outside was. Some nights, he crawled through your window as early as eight. Other nights, you didn’t see him until nearly midnight. Some nights, you would spend hours going over chemistry and calculus homework with him – because, seriously, Peter Parker may just be the smartest sixteen-year-old you’ve ever met – and discussing his latest superhero escapades. Other nights, you simply sat together on your bed, sharing candy as you talked about school, friends, family, and everything else that happened to come up in the course of your conversation.

The easy friendship you had formed with Peter had confused a few people, to say the least.

His best friend, Ned, had openly stared at you with wide eyes the first day you sat beside Peter in the cafeteria, and your friends looked at you with confused expressions before quickly following suit and taking a seat at the table. MJ – who you thankfully already had somewhat of a tentative friendship with thanks to a history project during freshman year – simply lifted her gaze to you, shrugged her shoulders in greeting, and returned to the book she was reading. Flash was quick to make a mean comment about Peter once he noticed you and your friends sitting at the table, but after you made a passing threat of sharing his Spider-Man fanfiction with the school, he scurried back to his own table with his tail between his legs.

Peter, though. Peter looked at you with such a tender expression that made your heart flutter uncontrollably in your chest and your cheeks flood with warmth as you settled into your seat beside him. You playfully knocked your shoulder against his and made a quip about Spanish class that made him laugh before falling into easy conversation with the others, though your mind never drifted far from the way that your thigh was pressed against Peter’s or the way that his pinky finger would occasionally brush over yours.

That first day you sat with Peter in the cafeteria had a domino effect. Over the course of a few weeks, you spent an increasing amount of time with Peter, both during school and outside of school hours. You walked home from school with Peter every day (or at least every day that he didn’t disappear for Spider-Man duties); you joined him, Ned, and MJ for movie nights on Fridays; and you even had dinner with Peter and May on the rare nights that you spent hours studying in Peter’s bedroom rather than alone in yours.

But the domino effect didn’t stop at just changing how you typically spent your days.

Without any warning, you found yourself falling painfully in love with the nerdy boy that lived in the apartment above yours and that masqueraded as a crime fighting superhero in the evening and on weekends (though you knew that if he were really needed during school hours, he would find an excuse to disappear from class for as long as Spider-Man was needed).

You thought about telling Peter, you really did. Every time he crawled through your window, a wide smile on his face and his cheeks tinted pink from the exertion of swinging through the city, you thought about telling him how he made your heart race in the best way. Every time his fingers brushed against your arm as you walked home or across your fingers as you sat in the cafeteria, your thought about telling him how he made your skin tingle pleasantly with just the slightest touch. Every time he appeared at your place with sandwiches from Delmar’s and spent hours on your couch watching old sitcoms, you thought about telling him how moments like that were what made you happiest.

You thought about telling Peter, but you never found the courage to speak up.

Your friendship with Peter was too valuable to risk losing it because of your feelings, and you didn’t miss the way that he would look at MJ when she wasn’t paying attention, the way that he would go out of his way to speak to her in the halls between classes, the way that he seemed so in tuned to everything that she was doing and saying. Your feelings would fade eventually, so you kept them to yourself and told yourself you were content with just friendship.

It was only fitting that it was a Tuesday night when everything changed nearly three months after Peter mistakenly crawled through your window.

Despite the December chill and the light dusting of snow on the fire escape outside your window, you left the window cracked open just enough for Peter to easily pull it open and crawl inside. It may have made your room almost unbearably cold, but it was nothing that fuzzy socks, a comfy sweatshirt, and a heated blanket couldn’t fix.

It was later than usual when Peter finally arrived, stumbling through your window when he finally managed to open and it, and it didn’t escape your notice that his fingers had left bloody streaks on the glass pane of the window.

“Peter!” You heart leapt to your throat as you scrambled from your bed to support him, and he slumped forward, struggling to stay on his feet. “Pete, c’mon. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Stabbed,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “He had a knife.”

You were not prepared for this. Absolutely not. No one had ever told you that being friends with a superhero would mean them stumbling into your apartment at two in the morning with a fucking stab wound. “Okay. Uh…” You led him to your bed, helping him lay down before scanning your eyes over his body. And just as he said, there was a large slash across his abdomen, his red suit staining an even darker red as he bled from the wound. “Shit, I- Pete what do I do? Tell me how to help you.” You tugged at his suit with shaking hands, trying – and failing – to pull the material away from his body. “How do I take this fucking thing off?”

You stepped back as his hand pressed against the spider symbol on his chest, and the suit instantly enlarged, allowing you to pull it away from his body and to bunch the material around his hips. (If it hadn’t been entirely inappropriate given the circumstances, you most certainly would have taken your time appreciating the sculpted muscles on Peter’s chest and abdomen).

You inspected the damage, your eyes burning with unshed tears and the fear you felt increasing exponentially the longer you looked at the gash that marred his skin. It wasn’t too deep, but it was deep enough to nearly send you into a panic. “We should call 911, Pete,” you told him once you found your voice, though it was still thick with fear. “I- I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know how to-”

“Hey,” he whispered, his warm hand curling around yours and squeezing reassuringly. “I know you can. I watched you stitch that pig up in biology at the end of the dissection a few weeks ago.”

“I just didn’t want to leave it cut open like that,” you defended, though you knew there was really no need to. “But a dead pig is much different than a living human, Peter. I don’t…” You took a deep breath, squeezing his hand even tighter. “I’m scared, Pete.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I promise.” He let out a hiss of pain, his jaw clenched tightly. “Your mom has a first aid kit, right?” You nodded. “Get it.”

You did as you were told, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet in your mom’s bathroom before returning to Peter. You worked slowly after you had cleaned his wound as well as you could and threaded the needle. Your hands shook as you started stitching the wound back together, careful to not make it any worse than it already was. Peter hissed in pain each time you poked the needle through his skin, but he whispered reassurances to encourage you. Soon, his abdomen had been stitched together, and while it certainly wasn’t pretty and would definitely scar, it looked stable.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do wi-” he began, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” you hissed. “Do you have any idea how fucking terrified I am right now?” The tears you’d been holding back while you stitched him up finally spilled from your eyes. “Do you have any idea how much it fucking hurt to see you like this?”

He sat up on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows. You didn’t miss the way he winced in pain from the movement. “Y/N, I-”

“I’m not done talking, Peter,” you snapped, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “I get that you’re Spider-Man, that you feel responsible to protect the city and do whatever it takes to stop the bad guys, but- Fuck, Pete! You could die!”

“But I won’t!”

“You don’t know that!” you shouted, your lip trembling as you sat next to him on the bed. You lowered your voice to a whisper and repeated, “You don’t know that, Pete. You just don’t. Tonight, you got lucky. But what if next time, instead of a knife, they have a gun, and you get shot.”

He glanced up at you sheepishly, his chocolate eyes pleading with you to stop crying. “I heal fast,” he tried to reason, but it wasn’t enough to appease you. You looked away, but a gentle hand on your cheek brought your attention back to him. “Besides, I’m pretty motivated to not die. I can’t take you on a date if I’m dead.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him before promptly snapping it shut. Did he really just say that? Was it the pain and the exhaustion talking, or did he really mean it? “Date? Did you just- What did you say?” It was definitely the pain and exhaustion talking, right? It had to be.

He leaned forward and rested his head on your shoulder, and you froze, concentrating on the way his warm breath ghosted over the skin of your neck. “A date, Y/N. Uh, if you- I mean, only if you’d want-” You giggled as he stumbled over his words, tilted your head slightly to rest atop his. The action must have soothed his nerves, because he took your hand in his and confidently said, “I wanna take you on a date, Y/N.”

Your lips curled up into a wide smile, unable to contain how absolutely giddy you felt in that moment. “I’d like that, Pete,” you told him. “But we really need to have a conversation about superhero safety.”

He laughed, but it was cut off by a groan of pain. “We can probably do that.”

And unsurprisingly, your first date was on a Tuesday.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #spider-man x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker reader insert #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfiction

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

let's play, my love

for @yourlocalheartbreaker , who posted this painful idea, i really hope you enjoy this! also, apologies in advance for the pain that this might cause you?

characters may seem a bit OOC. as per usual, this had little to no proofreading, so apologies for any mistakes. i might also post a commentary later since there are parts i kind of want to explain (or clarify)

warnings: substances, gun violence, canon-typical violence, abuse, suicide, character death

word count: 3.2k words

They were always good at acting.

He might have forgotten practically all of his lines up on that stage as the Fourth Pirate, but even that fiasco did not detract from his carefully cultivated image as the lone wolf, injured and bleeding but strong enough to rip anyone approaching to pieces.

The fact that she had single-handedly created the drama department in their small school that accommodated all of the children and teens in that little backwater town was enough to demonstrate just how good she was at both acting and standing tall in the chaos.

They were just as good as seeing through bullshit and picking apart facades, no matter how well-layered it might seem to be.

They were also just as good as ignoring what they didn’t want to see, and while that might have done well to keep them together, there was only so much they both could take.

So when he started feeling woozy in his home office hours before he normally hit his limit and two weeks into a local serial investigation, he felt something inside him shatter, giving way to an awakened creature crawling out of its sleep before he finally blacked out.

A gentle light was filtering through the curtains when he came to with a pounding headache. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted over him, and he slowly opened his eyes, only to flinch at the bright light that suddenly flooded the room when the curtains were jerked open.

Hotch blinked the stars away, looked back in front of him, and froze as he was faced with the evidence of his complicity, his weakness, spread all over the table.

The old birthday card.

A single faux feather that he had recognized to have been ripped off from that old costume hat.

An old ticket stub for the opening night of Rent.

A wedding ring.

Even though they were sealed inside plastic evidence bags, he could still smell the perfume he had bought her as a wedding gift, that she had sprayed on all of those keepsakes that she had left behind as taunts.

His breath caught in his throat when cold metal momentarily pressed against the back of his neck, but he forced himself to remain still.

This is the endgame. You have to play now. You can't avoid it like you have been, with your evidence pilfering and self-imposed isolation from the team.

“Don’t bother trying to move. Your handcuffs have been put to good use.”

Haley walked around the table, helping Jack up onto his chair before settling down across from him with a revolver deliberately placed on top of the table. She met his eyes unflinchingly, a cold sort of amusement on her face at the stone facade he was wearing that was quickly falling to pieces.

“It’s about time you are here for breakfast, instead of in the middle of nowhere doing God knows what.”

Hotch couldn’t help his flinch at the sharp jab, knowing all too well how true it was. He tried to force himself together, just so he could gauge the situation with a profiler’s eye, but there was only so much he could do as the once-hibernating creature tried to rear its head.

He focused back on his wife, who was still staring at him, anger simmering underneath an oddly genial expression. “When did you realize?”

It was genuine curiosity, he realized with some faint surprise as he cleared his throat. “I knew something was off two weeks ago, after the first murder,” he said, trying to sound offhand. “The pieces fell together with the third murder.”

“Was it a shock?”

His swallow was convulsive as he attempted to keep the bile down. “No,” he finally forced out, looking away as he thought about why.

My fault. I knew exactly why you did what you did within minutes of figuring out it was you.

“Look at me.”

Hotch flinched at the tone that was so unfamiliar and so strange, and forced his eyes over to Haley after flicking a brief glance at Jack, who was playing with his cereal on the other side of the table. “I know the others,” she spat the word, beautiful features suddenly twisting harshly in hatred, “don’t know that you have had a full profile ready for days.”

“Haley, I know you—”

“Do you?”

The ringing question struck him straight in his core, sending the creature in his chest skittering back as he swallowed convulsively, unsure how to answer. She scoffed derisively. “Well, we’ll find out then, won’t we?” she asked rhetorically, fixing him with a cold stare, rage simmering underneath. “Tell me your profile.”

It was an order.

And with a revolver clenched in her hand and their son only a few feet away, he could only agree.

“The unsub is a woman—”

“Wait.”

Hotch stopped, attention drawn to Haley’s hands, which were fiddling with the barrel of the revolver. Dread pooled in his stomach when he saw her empty the cylinder of all but one bullet.

Russian roulette

“You know what this is, so let's play, my love,” she said mockingly, closing the cylinder and spinning it. She looked him square in the eyes, steely resolve barely masking an anger that was becoming more and more clear. “I read your notes. You get something wrong in your delivery, and we play a round.”

He took in her clenched jaw and trembling hand and tried to summon up his years of expertise only to find himself at a complete loss, the storm in his mind frozen for the first time in years as he was faced with a situation he never could have anticipated. Haley tilted her head mockingly when he didn’t start speaking.

“Show me what you keep leaving me behind for,” she sent towards him tauntingly, hand twitching on the revolver as she lifted it up and let it linger as it was aimed towards his chest, only to bring it to her temple.

She lifted it up and let it linger as it was aimed towards his chest, only to bring it to her temple.

No—

She knows all of your pressure points, of course she would use them.

Use that brain of yours and think.

Eyes unable to leave the weapon, he forced himself to verbalize the stream of consciousness he remembered going through his head as he was writing notes three nights ago.

“The unsub is a woman in her mid-30s to mid-40s and exhibits traits of both an organized and disorganized killer. The killing of the first couple was spontaneous and unplanned, as shown by the messy crime scene. But it triggered something within her, and she killed again within a few days.”

How is it that, out of the two of us, she snapped first?

“This time, the scene was markedly cleaner and demonstrated rather high organization, which helped us narrow the age range. While the wife was killed quickly and efficiently, she loses all control when it comes to the husbands, evidenced by the immense overkill and the destruction of the mens’ belongings.”

How does someone so good snap before someone who didn’t even know love until they were a young adult?

Hotch abruptly came back to the present—you're not at a precinct, dammit, focus—as he swallowed, throat dry. He sent a quick look to Haley who seemed to have turned her attention to Jack, but the gun was slightly lowered and he could tell she was listening. He continued, now choosing his words carefully. “Victimology suggests she was inserting herself as the wife of- of absent husbands. She projects her rage at her own husband towards the male victims and her self-hatred towards the wives—”

“Stop,” Haley suddenly ordered, voice trembling in suppressed rage, and for a brief moment, Hotch wondered how far she had devolved since the last killing.

Look around you. Jack is just feet away.

She took a few deep breaths, trying and failing to return to the level of composure she was at before. In frustration, she slammed the revolver back onto the table, the noise startling both him and Jack, who only looked around in confusion.

She's losing control.

Well done for stating the obvious.

Didn't I tell you long ago not to listen to your heart?

The malicious voice of his father echoed through his head, an oft-ignored presence in his head louder, more present than it had ever been.

And look where that's gotten you.

“I'm surprised at how good your memory is, especially since you forgot about Jack's school performance two weeks ago,” Haley's scornful voice jerked him out of the storm that was once again gathering in his head. “No matter, there is another way we can do this,” she continued, pulling what he recognized to be his phone out of a pocket and dialing a number.

“I'm calling your team right now,” Haley said to him lightly, her tone a stark contrast to the manic anger that remained in her expression. “It takes about forty minutes to get here from Quantico. During that time let's tell them about all the secrets you've been keeping.”

The malice in her voice was like a blow to the chest, forcing all the air out from his lungs.

Haley…

Old lessons from the Academy profiling classes floated back into his consciousness—

Once someone devolves too far…

Years of working in the field, and faced with the woman he helped turn into a killer, he could only turn to the basics of profiling he had learned ten years ago.

Did I do this to you?

He flicked another look towards his son at the side, who was still happily entertaining himself and blissfully unaware of the sheer danger he was in.

… there’s no telling what they could do.

“Hello, Agent Gideon,” Haley suddenly greeted, voice still in a strange calm.

The team—

“Don’t talk, just listen..."

They'll kill her—

"I have a revolver on the table and we're about to play a little game of Russian roulette..."

They wouldn't—

“You would do well to start heading over here.” She sent Hotch a derisive look over, then turned back to the phone. “There are some things I'd like you and your team to find out about Aaron that I think you should know.”

Would they?

She placed the phone on the middle of the table and looked back at Hotch. “Here are the rules, husband. You cannot flinch, you cannot react, you cannot break eye contact with me, otherwise, we go through a round,” she began, her stare boring into him as she carelessly swung the revolver around. “Do you know why I'm doing this?” she asked, making her voice sound saccharine sweet and grating to the ear.

Hotch remained silent, all too aware of the team that was probably listening to him through the phone. Suddenly, his head snapped to the side as a sharp pain bloomed across his face, and the creature in his chest snarled.

“Say it, Aaron Hotchner,” Haley brought the revolver up. ready to hit him again. “Answer the question, or take the gun.”

Finish this.

His traitorous brain superimposed an old memory over her, his father's pose fitting perfectly, and something in him snapped.

A weight disappeared from his chest, it suddenly became much easier to meet her stare with his own dark look, the one he vowed never to bring home, to leave at work with all of the darkness that trailed after him.

Finish this before they get here.

Play the game.

“Uncuff me,” he requested simply.

The creature purred in satisfaction at the surprise that came across her face, but all he could think about how easily he was breaking his promises, ripping through them like they were tissue paper, why was it so easy—

“Try to leave, and I’ll kill everyone in this room,” she hissed into his ear, pressing the revolver up underneath his chin as she slowly freed his hands.

And there’s the threat.

He glanced towards Jack again, reassuring himself and the creature that the child, so innocent and so ignorant of what was happening, was still safe, and then at the revolver that had been placed in front of him.

To be a coward, or to lose everything. That is the question.

“You know I don’t want Jack to go through what went through, a vow I had made years ago. You’re doing this to punish me because in a way, this is worse than what I went through.”

The answer easily flowed from his lips, much easier than he ever would have expected, especially knowing that the team was listening in. The creature in his chest was strangely settled, and he vaguely wondered what that meant when his attention was pulled back towards Haley, who had sat back down across from him.

He looked closely at her, and the high that was in her expression was easily recognizable to him.

How many times had he seen that in unsubs desperate for control, no matter how temporary?

Hadn’t he recognized it in himself for weeks after that night, twenty years ago? When he finally reclaimed control from the alcohol-induced monster that prowled his childhood home?

Taking a gamble, he decided to ask a question. “Haley, you’re entirely in control, and you can choose what to do to me,” the familiar buzzwords fell from his lips, tinged with desperation while trying to be coaxing.

He couldn’t help but flinch at the loud smack that sounded when she slammed her hands onto the table and leaned over towards him, the sound bringing up too many old and unpleasant memories that easily broke through the odd veil of calm that had set over him.

“That’s right,” she began, an odd note to her tone. “I’m entirely in control, so here’s what I’m going to do,” she said, snatching the revolver from his side of the table and opening the chamber again to rearrange the bullet so that it was in the next cartridge.

Haley walked back over and pressed the gun into his right hand so that she was controlling his finger over the trigger. Slowly, she shifted the chair he was sitting in so that it was facing Jack in his chair and brought the revolver to his temple. Hotch could only freeze, mind rapidly moving through scenarios that accounted for his miscalculation, and—

“Game over, Aaron,” she said quietly. “It’s been lovely playing with you, my love.”

He felt the warm blood splattering across his face before he registered the gunshot and the body dropping to the floor behind him.

Slowly with his ears ringing, he stood up, turned around, and stared.

And stared.

The image shifted, and suddenly he was in the doorway of his parent's old bedroom, smelling the sharp tang of blood that was diffuse in the air.

He blinked, and he was back in his house in Alexandria, staring at his wife’s cooling body on the ground with an apathy he thought was left behind in his youth.

But reality suddenly crashed over him in a wave, and all of the emotions he had cycled through in the past two weeks sent him crashing to his knees and the creature in his chest fell silent and still when he realized—

Haley killed all those people.

She killed all those people because of me.

All of those people are dead because of me.

She forced me to pull the trigger

I killed her.

…

And Jack—

He whirled around to pick up his son who was crying his heart out in fear of the loud bangs and wanting comfort from his parents, but he saw that a few droplets of blood had made their way onto his face.

And as quickly as the grief had cascaded over him, an inferno of rage was suddenly ignited within him, burning through his grief.

Stronger and more wild than he had ever felt in his life, it scorched its way through the remnants of his person, burning him from inside out with all of the passionate emotion and hatred and anger he had suppressed over the years until all he could hear was the roaring of the creature inside his chest and all could see was the child that had been the catalyst to a series of events that got his mother killed—

she protected me and he beat her to death

—had gotten the woman he had loved so much killed

she showed me what kindness was, she was a mother of two

–killed because of the one who should have loved her with all his being—

she was too good for this world, and even the darkness of their home couldn’t dampen her spirit, so she had to be killed—

The front door burst open just as another shot was fired.

And then silence.

Silence.

…

Aaron? Is Mama okay? I heard loud noises.

Mama’s fine, Sean She's just sleeping. The noises were my fault, I’m just making sure I didn’t wake her up.

Oh. Okay.

Go with your friends, I know they’re waiting for you.

He knew they were looking at him in horror.

Why wouldn’t they?

He was, after all, standing above the bodies of the two people he was supposed to love and cherish until his dying day.

But they only saw the obvious. They didn’t see that it was his own fault this happened, they didn't see the masks fall and they didn't see the creature prowling about, preparing to rip anyone approaching to pieces.

They didn’t see that this was the only way to make things right, to make sure his cold, ravenous darkness didn't swallow everything now that it was free after twenty years of waiting.

The cold metal tasted of bitter victory.

He smiled.

His father remarried within months, and Sean grew close to their stepmother.

But his little brother was forgetting their biological mother, and soon, he would be the only one in the family who thought about her.

That revelation had hurt more than he could bear.

Over the years, though, he had hardened, and the creature in his chest that was born when he saw his mother take her last painful breaths had learned to bide its time.

He knew of his father’s plans already.

He knew where the note was, where the will was, where the gun safe was.

He was supposed to be on the way to college for his freshman year, and Sean was over at a friend’s place for a sleepover.

It was a warm night, and his father hadn’t raided his stash of alcohol yet, hadn’t turned into a creature of rage.

Which meant they were both fully aware and cognizant when he shoved the metal into the man’s mouth with an ease and apathy that shouldn't be seen in a healthy, well-adjusted teenager—

His smile had always been too sharp, his eyes too dark.

His love was twisted and broken.

Hidden, it lay in wait, ready to destroy everything that posed a threat.

…

He tilted the gun upward, pressing into the roof of the man’s mouth.

He pulled the trigger.

#dedicated to sumayyah lmao #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #sodone let's play #criminal minds #bau #tw character death #tw guns #tw violence #tw suicide #tw substances #tw abuse #tw murder

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