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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 years

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Out Of Time ~ 127

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 3,080ish

Summary: Tony and Y/N run into an old friend and meet two of the Children of Thanos.

Previous in Out Of Time:

“Tony—“

“I know, getting ahead of myself again. You know what there should be no more surprises. Let’s have a nice dinner tonight and we should have no more surprises. I should promise you.”

“Actually, Tony, I really need to talk to you about something. I made—“

“Tony Stark,” a man with a red cloak appeared a few feet away. There was an orange portal behind him. “Y/N Rogers, I’m Doctor Stephen Strange. And I need you both to come with me.”

The necklace around the man’s neck immediately caught Y/N’s eye as Tony moved to stand protectively in front of her. It was the same necklace that the Ancient One wore, it housed the Time Stone.

“I’m sorry, what are you doing here?” Tony asked. “You giving out tickets or something?”

“We need your help,” Dr. Strange responded, glancing at Y/N, which made Tony tense. “Look, it’s not overselling to say that the fate of the universe is at stake.”

“No,” Y/N gasped softly.

“And who’s ‘we’?” Tony questioned.

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce Banner greeted, nervously emerging from behind Dr. Strange.

“Bruce?”

“Y/N.”

“Hi,” she responded quietly.

“You okay?” Tony asked.

Bruce came up to Tony, giving him a desperate hug, not answering the question. Dr. Strange was focused on Y/N. Slowly, she walked up to him.

“It’s time,” he told her.

“I know,” she responded quietly.

Tony guided Bruce over and through the portal, grabbing Y/N’s hand as he passed. Dr. Strange was the last one through, closing the portal after them. Another man, Wong, was waiting in the building on the other side of the portal. Tony sat down while Y/N stayed standing, nervously biting at her nail. Bruce told them of what had happened to him and why he was back. Wong used his magic to show the universe and five of the six Infinity Stones.

"From the dawn of the universe, there was nothing,” Wong began, “Then, boom! The Big Bang sent six elemental crystals, hurtling across the virgin universe. These Infinity Stones each control an essential aspect of existence.”

“Space. Reality,” Strange named the Stones, each one lighting up as he did. “Power. Soul. Mind. And,” he opened his necklace, “Time.”

“Tell me his name again,” Tony ordered, very attentive.

“Thanos. He’s a plague, Tony,” Bruce answered. “He invades planets. He takes what he wants. He wipes out half the population. He sent Loki. The attack on New York. That’s him.”

Tony stood up and looked at Y/N. It was obvious that Y/N knew about the Infinity Stones. Honestly, he wasn’t all that surprised but he was a little hurt. Things were falling into place now, the headaches, the connection with the Tesseract, her powers. She was connected to all six Stones.

“This is it…” He said quietly to her. She nodded. He turned to face the other men. “What’s our timeline?”

“No telling,” Bruce replied. “He has the Power and Space Stones, that already makes him the strongest creature in the whole universe. If he gets his hands, on all six Stones, Tony—“

“He can destroy life on a scale hitherto undreamt of,” Dr. Strange interrupted.

Tony leaned against the cauldron near the stairs, stretching like he was about to go for a run. “Did you seriously just say ‘hitherto undreamt of’?”

“Are you seriously leaning on the Cauldron of the Cosmos?”

“Is that what this is…?”

The cloak on Dr. Strange’s back suddenly smacked Tony’s arm, surprising him and Y/N. Tony looked at the thing, slightly offended before straightening himself up.

“I’m going to allow that,” Tony continued. “If Thanos needs all six, why don’t we just stick this one down the garbage disposal?”

“That’s not how it works, Tony,” Y/N sighed.

“No can do,” Strange said.

“We swore an oath to protect the Time Stone,” Wong added. “With our lives.”

“And I swore off dairy, but then, Ben and Jerry’s named a flavor after me, so…”

“Stark Raving Hazelnuts,” Strange stated.

“It’s not bad.”

“A bit chalky.”

“A Hunka-Hulka Burning Fudge is our favorite,” Wong said.

“That’s a thing?” Bruce questioned.

“Whatever,” Tony said. “Point is: things change.”

“Our oath to protect the Time Stone cannot change,” Strange said. “This Stone, and Y/N, may be the best chance we have against Thanos.”

“Y/N?” Bruce repeated. “Why Y/N?”

“My… My abilities,” she nervously answered. “They’re from the Stones. I can control them.”

“Not gonna happen,” Tony quickly stated. “That Stone needs to go because it may also be his best chance against us.”

“Well, if we don’t do our jobs,” Strange said.

“What is your job exactly, besides making balloon animals?”

“Protecting your reality, douchebag.”

“Okay, guys, could we table this discussion right now?” Bruce requested. “The fact is that we have this Stone. We know where it is. Vision is out there somewhere with the Mind Stone, and we have to find him now.”

“Yeah, that’s the… thing,” Tony muttered, awkwardly.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked.

“Two weeks ago, Vision turned off his transponder. His offline.”

“What?” Bruce exclaimed. “Tony, you lost another super bot?”

“I didn’t lose him. He’s more than that. He’s evolving.”

“He’s with Wanda,” Y/N whispered. “They’ve been sneaking around like we have, haven’t they?”

“That’s been my guess.”

“Who could find Vision, then?” Dr. Strange asked.

“Shit,” Tony quietly muttered to himself. He looked around at the others. “Probably Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, great,” Strange sighed in exasperation.

“Maybe. But…” Tony sighed.

Looking over at Y/N, he was met with her scared gaze. Everything was going to suddenly change, he knew it. It just hoped this didn’t change where they stood.

“Call him,” Bruce pressed.

“It’s not that easy Bruce,” Y/N responded. “Things happened. Technically, it’s illegal for me to be here right now. Everyone in this room should be calling the police.”

“The Avengers broke up,” Tony clarified. “We’re toast.”

“Broke up?” Bruce repeated. “Like a band? Like The Beatles?”

“Cap and I feel out hard. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Then Y/N. Call your brother.”

“I have no way to get a hold of him,” she shook her head. “I haven’t spoken to him in two years.”

“Tony, Y/N, listen to me. Thor’s gone. Thanos is coming. It doesn’t matter who you’re talking to or not.”

“I know what’s at stake here, Bruce… I’ve known for a while now.”

Y/N could feel everyone’s gazes on her. Bruce was questioning what she meant, but the others knew and they looked at her with pity. With a sigh, Tony pulled out a flip phone. The one Steve had mailed him. He flipped it open, hovering over the call button to the only number on the phone.

“What’s that?” Y/N asked. Tony met her gaze and went to explain, but it was too late. She already knew. “He sent that to you,” a statement, not a question. “You've been able to contact him the whole time…. Have you ever…?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “I almost did once. When I found you at the cemetery that first time. But then—“

“The Soul Stone took me. And you were worried… don’t worry. I don’t blame you.” She let out a shaky breath as she walked over and grabbed Tony’s free hand. “Call him.”

Looking back down at the phone, Tony hovered his thumb over the call button once again. Y/N gave his hand a slight squeeze as she watched. But before he could press call, an unusual rumbling could be heard from outside. Tony looked up and around, noticing that something was off.

“Say, Doc, you wouldn’t happen to be moving your hair, would you?” Tony wondered, pointing the phone at Strange, whose hair was slightly moving.

Strange looked up. “Not at the moment, no,” Strange answered.

Looking up through the whole in the ceiling, Tony and Y/N saw debris flying by outside. All of them looked towards the doors, able to see things flying by and people running.

“I’m not ready,” Y/N whispered. “I-I can’t…” Her heart was pounding. “I… I can’t—“

“Woah, woah, woah,” Tony was in front of her, hands rubbing her shoulders. “No one’s asking you to do anything right now. We don’t know what’s going on out there.”

“I won’t be able to save them all…” She shook her head, tearing up. “I already know that… And I’m not ready for that…”

“But you don’t know that, Y/N. We don’t know what’s out there or what’s about to happen. But we will do our best to figure it out and prevent what’s coming. Together, alright?” Y/N nodded. “Alright.” Tony ran a hand down her arm and intertwined his fingers with her. “Let’s go see what we’re up against.”

Holding hands, Tony and Y/N walked up to the front doors, glancing back at the men behind them before going through them. Outside was chaotic. People running and screaming in alarm, traffic tangled, a litter-filled wind. As the two make their way towards where people are running from, a woman fell at Tony’s feet. He quickly helped her up.

“You okay?” He asked, concerned.

Ignoring him, she quickly keeps running. A car suddenly crashed into a pole behind Tony and Y/N. They flinch, turning to see a man inside.

“Help him!” Tony shouted. “Wong, Doc.”

“Go! Got it!” Bruce replied, rushing to the car.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Tony retrieved a pair of sunglasses. He put them on, keeping him and Y/N going towards the issue.

“FRIDAY, what am I looking at?” He asked his AI.

“Not sure,” FRIDAY responded. “I’m working on it.”

“Hey! You might wanna put that Time Stone in your back pocket, Doc!”

Dr. Strange moved his arms, golden bands appearing around his forearms. “Might want use it,” he responded.

“Don’t leave my side,” Tony told Y/N.

“Okay,” she replied with a nod.

Approaching an intersection, the two turned the corner together. Floating over the street, was a huge circular ship.

“FRIDAY, evac anyone south of 43rd Street,” Tony directed. “Notify first responders.”

“Will do,” the AI replied.

From behind them, a large gust of wind came, clearing the dust and debris from the air. Both Y/N and Tony turned to see Dr. Strange behind them. He threw a wink at Tony. For a split second, Tony is begrudgingly amused. Close together, they walk closer to the ship, stopping when two beings appear in front of them.

“Hear me, and rejoice,” the skinny one exclaimed. “You are about to die at the hands of the Children of Thanos. Be thankful, that your meaningless lives are now contributing to—“

“I’m sorry,” Tony interrupted, folding his arms over his chest as he stepped up, “Earth is closed today. You better pack it up and get outta here.”

“Stonekeeper,” the alien called, looking at Strange, “does this chattering animal speak for you?”

“Certainly not. I speak from myself,” Strange responded. Magical shields are readied at his fists as he stepped forward, Wong emulating him. “But you’re trespassing in this city and on this planet.”

“It means get lost, Squidward!” Tony shouted.

“He exhausts me,” the skinny being commented to its larger, bulkier being. “Bring me the Stone.”

The larger being dropped its huge hammer, dragging it along as it obeyed the ordered. From slightly behind Tony, Y/N’s hands began to glow purple.

“Banner you want a piece?” Tony asked.

“No, not really,” Bruce responded. “But when do I ever get what I want?”

“That’s right.”

Channeling his anger, Bruce attempted to release the Hulk. But instead of Hulk coming out easily, green shows up on Bruce’s neck and then quickly disappeared.

“Been a while,” Tony continued. “Good to have you, buddy.”

“I just... I need to concentrate here for one second,” Bruce said. “Come on, come on, man.”

“Where’s your guy?”

“I don't know. We've sorta been havin' a thing.”

“There’s no time for a thing.”

“I know.”

Tony pointed forward and the approaching being. “That’s the thing right there. Let’s go.”

Bruce gave out a loud grunt, but still failed to release the Hulk. Dr. Strange stared at Tony and Bruce in disbelief, while Y/N slowly had her powers snake their way to the two beings.

“Dude,” Tony muttered to Bruce, “you’re embarrassing me in front of the wizards.”

“Tony, I’m sorry,” Bruce apologized. “Either I can’t or he won’t—“

“It’s okay. Hey,” Tony set his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, “stand down.” He turned to Wong, guiding Bruce back. “Keep an eye on him. Thank you.”

“I have him,” Wong replied with a nod.

“Damn it,” Bruce murmured.

Tony then noticed Y/N’s hands. “No,” he quickly said, rushing in front of her. “You need to save your strength.”

“If I can stop them, I want to before it’s too late,” Y/N retorted.

“Really no time for this,” Strange cut in.

Tony turned to see the being coming closer. Stepping up, Tony taps his new arc reactor, revealing his nanotech Iron Man suit that quickly forms to him. He forms a shield on one arm, protecting him from a hit from the being. Then Tony forms a set of blasters that easily throw the being back to the skinny one, who gestured and deflected his massive companion into some cars.

“Where’d that come from?” Bruce wondered, in awe.

“It’s nano-tech,” Tony responded, turning around. “You like it? A little someth—“

Suddenly, a spike of earth shot up and threw Iron Man far up. Using uprooted trees and other debris, the skinny being began attacking the rest of them. But before the attack can even do anything to the small team, Y/N steps forward motioning her hands in front of her and dissolving all the objects in one swift movement.

“Interesting,” the skinny one observed. “You are a strong one. I sense a great power in you.”

“And I sense a great deal of annoyance,” Y/N responded.

“Dr. Banner,” Dr. Strange said as Y/N and the being were having a stand off, “if the rest of your green friend won’t be joining us…”

Strange teleported Bruce away, along with half a taxi. Iron Man then returned to the fight, pushing a car thrown by the skinny being back at it. The car get cuts in half, and the being was untouched. Y/N put her hands in front of her, blasting the being with a purple beam. It flew back, crashing into the building behind it.

“Gotta get that Stone out of here, now,” Tony ordered, blocking a blast meant for Y/N.

“It stays with me,” Strange responded.

“Exactly. Bye. Y/N, get out of here!”

“No way in hell!” Y/N replied as Tony flew through the forming obstacle course.

As Tony made his way through, Y/N began to destroy the obstacles in his way. Before he could get to the end of the course, Tony was cut short my the big guy’s hammer, sending him through a building at high speed.

“Tony!” Y/N screamed.

Her emotional scream caused power to be released from her whole body, destroying everything the alien had put in their way. She was panting and angry when the dust settled again.

“Well, well,” the alien chuckled, “I guess I was right.”

“Leave here,” Y/N demanded. “Before I end you.”

“I can’t wait to see you try.”

“Y/N, go!” Strange ordered, him and Wong being to fight off the being.

“What?!” She exclaimed, helping them. “You know what I’m capable of, what I’m meant to do. Why order me away?”

“Just listen to me!”

“Not without the Stone! You and I both know that I can protect it better than you!”

“And why is that?” The being asked, having heard the conversation while using the surroundings to attack.

He shot bricks turned into sharp points at them. Channeling the Time Stone, Y/N turned back time so that the bricks were dust. The Time Stone glowed in the necklace and Y/N’s hands were glowing green.

“Impossible,” the being whispered. “You… You’re channeling the Stones.”

Y/N blasted him with a powerful beam, sending the alien back and scraping agains the road. It stood back up, cuts littering its body. Angry, the aline used a broke fire hydrant’s water steam to knock Wong back several meters, rending him unconscious. Dr. Strange then snaps a whip of magical energy to bind the alien’s hands and yanked. The alien flew forward with the pull and pins Strange upside-down against a building, using the bricks to trap him.

“Get to Stark!” Y/N heard Dr. Strange say in his head. “Listen to me! Get to Stark! Now!”

Y/N hesitated slightly before deciding to not listen to Strange and attack the skinny alien from behind. The bricks continued to pile on Strange as the skinny alien turned around to face Y/N. Debris began flying at Y/N in all directions. Using her powers, Y/N blocked them, set them away, and dusted them. But she couldn’t see everything that was coming. From behind, the alien launched at car at her. It hit her, hard, shooting her forward and skidding her across the road, knocking her out. The alien turned its attention back to Strange.

“Your powers are quaint,” it taunted. “Especially compared to the girl over there. You must be popular with children.”

The alien reached out and tried to grab the necklace holding the Time Stone. It quickly jerked back when the necklace burnt its hand.

“It’s a simple spell but quite unbreakable,” Strange stated.

“Then I’ll take it off your corpse.”

The alien pulled Strange away from the building and threw him to the ground. Strange began to gesture to use the Time Stone, but utility cables pin down his arms, wind around his torso, then tighten around his throat.

“You’ll find… removing a dead man’s spell… troublesome…” Strange choked out.

“You’ll only wish you were dead.”

Knocking out Strange, the alien raised a portion of street pavement to use as a carrier. With a smirk, went over to Y/N.

“Thanos will be eager to meet you,” it said, using its powers to pick her up and tie her next to Strange. “Or kill you. Guess we’ll just have to see.”

next chapter >

I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS AND SUCH!!! FEEL FREE TO SEND IN AN ASK OR DM, OR YOU CAN REBLOG OR COMMENT. THANKS FOR READING!

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#tony stark x reader #stephen strange x reader #dr strange x reader #iron man x reader #bruce banner x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #tony stark imagine #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #tony stark #Avengers infinity war #avengers imagine #infinity war

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btsqualityy · 3 years

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Heaven Sent; Part 9

Jin x Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Warnings: None to note.

Three months later, it was a year to the date of your husband’s death and you found yourself standing in front of his gravesite and headstone with Aera and Jin next to you. You hadn’t been to the cemetery since the day that Hae-il was put into the ground and you wouldn’t have come back if Jin didn’t convince you.

Although you allowed him to convince you to go, it was a harder fight to get you to agree to bringing Aera. You weren’t sure if she was ready for that, with her still being so young but Jin pointed out that, just like you, Aera probably had things that she wanted to say to her father and denying her of the opportunity wouldn’t be setting a good precedent. Needless to say, you relented after hearing him explain it that way.

“Do you have anything that you want to say to your Daddy Little Heart?” Jin asked her and Aera glanced up at him, her eyes wide.

“I can talk to him?” She asked and you and Jin both nodded. “Will he be able to hear me?”

“He’s always able to hear you Love, even though you can’t see him. Remember how we talked about that before?” you reminded her gently and she nodded her head before looking back at the large marble headstone in front of her.

“Hi Daddy,” she begun slowly. “I miss you a lot, and wish that you were still here with me and Mommy. I miss your hugs but Mommy and uncle Jinnie give me a lot of them so I feel better about them. I miss how we used to laugh a lot and how you made me feel special but Mommy and uncle Jinnie do a good job just like you did. I love you Daddy.”

“Good job Love,” you praised her, squeezing her hand firmly. “I think Daddy liked it.”

“Good,” Aera grinned widely.

“Go ahead Jin,” you encouraged him and he nodded before turning to the headstone and taking a deep breath before beginning to speak.

“Hey Hae,” He smiled softly. “It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year but I guess what you used to say is right: time waits for no one. I’ve been doing my best to try and live more in the moment, the way that you used to always tell me I needed to. I guess spending time with Y/N-ah and Little Heart has kind of helped me with being able to do that too. You always used to brag and talk about how amazing it was to have a loving family and I think I’m starting to understand what you meant. Just know that I’ll do my best to keep taking care of your girls and making sure that they’re safe and happy. I miss you man, always.”

“I think that was good,” Aera spoke up, making Jin smile as he looked down at her.

“Thanks Little Heart,” he chuckled before looking over at you. “Y/N-ah?”

“Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to him alone,” you confessed. “Give me a minute?”

“Of course,” Jin agreed easily. “Come on baby, we’re gonna let Mommy talk to Daddy by herself for a little while.”

“Ok,” Aera nodded, letting Jin lead her back towards the direction of the car. Once you were sure that they were far enough away, you stepped forward and kneeled down, settling yourself right in front of the headstone.

“Hi baby,” you whispered, reaching out and placing your palms flat on top of the headstone. “I’m sorry that I haven’t come to see you, but it’s just been too hard. Seeing you like this, especially knowing that you shouldn’t be like this....it just breaks my heart. I miss you so much, just as much as I did that first night you were gone and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“You probably have figured it out, but I’m seeing Jin now,” you confessed softly. “It’s still so weird because I’ve been seeing him officially for 3 months now and at this point, I’m pretty sure that I love him but I still feel so bad for moving on so quickly. It’s crazy because I know you’d probably be like ‘if that’s how you feel, then why stop yourself?’ but it’s hard when I know that I wouldn’t have even looked his way if you were still alive. I guess that’s the point though, huh? You’re gone and things have changed.”

“I’ll always love you Yoon Hae-il. You were my first love and the father of my daughter. However, I know that you would want me to be happy and in order to do that, I have to let myself be with Jin because he’s what makes me happy. You always told me that I have a tendency to get in my own way so I’m finally gonna listen to you and get out of my own way,” you smiled sadly. “You’ll always have a piece of my heart, I promise. I love you baby, and that’s forever.”

Taking one last second to let your fingertips run over the engravement of Hae-il’s name that was etched into the stone, you hauled yourself off of the ground and blew one last kiss to the headstone before turning and walking away. Once you made it to Jin’s car, you saw that he was just finishing strapping Aera into her booster seat.

“Hey,” he muttered, shutting the backseat door before gathering you up in his arms, hugging you tight to him. “You ok?”

“As much as I can be,” you replied lamely as you hugged him back. “Felt good to say what I needed to though.”

“I figured it would,” Jin said, pulling away from the hug a little bit so that he could look at you. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I used to come out here almost every week for the first 6 months.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It was just so hard for me to really grasp that he was gone so I started coming out here so that I could get used to the idea but then I’d start talking to him and the next thing I would know, I’d spend two hours out here.”

“That’s understandable, it was probably much easier to talk to him without him being able to interrupt like he always did,” you giggled, making Jin laugh as well.

“That’s very true,” he nodded. “That’s why I figured you needed to come out here though. I got the feeling that you were still a little unsettled when it comes to us, so I figured that the only person who could give you any type of reassurance would be Hae.”

“And you were right,” you smiled. “Thank you so much, for being there for both Aera and I this past year. I didn’t know that it would happen as quickly as it did, but you gave us the love and laughter that was ripped away from us when Hae died and I’ll never be able to repay you for it.”

“You don’t have to repay me, because I wanted to do it,” he swore, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Now, why don’t you and Aera come back to my place for tonight? I can cook for us and we can have a cozy night in, just the three of us.”

“That sounds amazing,” you nodded instantly. After you and Jin had both gotten into the car and he had pulled away from the cemetery, your mind began to wonder as he drove through Seoul back to his apartment. The day that Hae-il was buried, you had cried out wondering why he had left you alone with Aera. However, it wasn’t until now that you remembered that he’d always used to say “everything happens for a reason Y/N-ah. You have to trust the process, even if it hurts”. Just maybe, even though Hae-il didn’t have any control over how he left the two of you, he made sure that you both wouldn’t be alone for long.

You weren’t too certain on how true that might be but admittedly, when you thought about the possibility that your husband had sent someone new to love you and your daughter as well as someone that you could fall in love with....well, you weren’t mad at it. In fact, you couldn’t be more grateful.

#bts #bangtanarmynet #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts jin #kim seokjin #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #jin fluff #jin angst #jin smut #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #seokjin smut #bts seokjin #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts scenarios

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judediangelo75 · 3 years

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Claws To Wings

Welcome one and all~

I did say I was going to be working on the Talith lore, so here’s another installment of that. So I did some tweaking to the storyline that Jam City had. So the first Valentine’s Day happened in 4th year instead of 5th (because you can unlock I think both Valentine’s Day TLSQs in the same year and it didn’t make too much sense to me).

Plus there are future true events that happen in 6th year, if you’re already familiar with the Without You/The Man Behind the Necklace series than you already know. During that time, Judith and Talbott are together and have been for quite some time. But before that, they have been pining after each other for years.

In my first story, “The Scent of Love to the Heart of a Loner Poet”, Talbott is coming to realizing how deep his feelings were for Judith (whose been crushing on him since 3rd year). Between then and now, those feelings have grown and they’ve been dancing around each other.

There’s gonna be some details here that are definitely gonna be new (because it’s part of a super old character reference I created for her when I first started posting about HPHM content here).

Anyway, enough rambling. On with the story! Enjoy! 💛

MC friend: David Willows ( @that-scouse-wizard )

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Talbott stood before his mirror, readjusting his tie for probably the fifth time.

He was trying to soothe his nerves. Why you may ask?

Because of the Ball.

The Valentine’s Day Ball.

In his right mind, he would avoid such social gatherings like the plague. But it’s fair to say he hasn’t been much of his right mind ever since he met her.

Judith Harris.

A Hufflepuff witch with pale gold eyes and a heart of gold to match.

He met her alongside her best friend, David Willows, early third year. When they came to him seeking help on becoming Animagi. He was quick to shut both of them down. While David glared and protested, Judith eased the bullheaded Hufflepuff and gave him a shy sad expression along with an apology for disturbing him.

At the time, he wasn’t sure why he suddenly changed his mind to help the two. But as he got older, he did realize it was because of her.

Something about Judith was familiar. And…

He didn’t like the sad look into those bright eyes…

After the two achieved their forms and helped him find his feather necklace, Judith and Talbott became closer. Even to the point where he followed her out to the cemetery and learned about her dead father, Kendrick, on the anniversary of his death.

That’s when he learned that she was a part of his past.

That single day of his childhood where he made a friend. And developed a bond on a girl who he thought was unique with her long pretty locs and Caribbean accent.

With it being their 5th year, Talbott has gone on two dates with her. Their very first date out by the Black Lake and last year on Valentine’s Day when he learned that he has deeper feelings for her outside of a friendship.

He can still remember the sweet blush on her face after he shyly gave her a kiss on the cheek after gifting her with a heart statue.

Giving her a physical representation of his heart.

He fiddled with the ring she gifted him that day. He always remembers seeing it on a black chain around her neck on occasion. Judith was a person who cares about sentimental value so it’s very likely she gifted him something that has a level importance to her. But he was so stunned when she slipped it onto his finger, and that it fitted perfectly, while announcing that it was her Valentine’s Day gift to him that he forgot to ask…

Maybe today he will. After all, after the Ball, he had a special surprise for her.

Of course, there had to be some last minute changes when he realized a certain Slytherin witch ALSO planned on using the Library and two fairies also got into a squabble. He had at least a day to make the arrangement work and the “Most Powerful Witch at Hogwarts” actually might of done him a favor.

It would be nice to revisit where their tale began.

Talbott sighed, looking over his appearance once more before turning on his heel and leaving his room.

‘I hope she likes what I planned. She’s the only who deserves to see this side of me,’ he thought as he made his way to the Great Hall.

——————

“C’mon Little Tigress! We’re gonna be late,” David huffed, knocking insistently on his best mate’s door.

“I look ridiculous! I’m not going anymore!” Came the stubborn reply from the other side. David rolled his eyes at Judith’s behavior.

They’ve been busting their asses to save the Valentine’s Day Ball from a lonely Madam Pince by using a pining Mr. Filch. However, due to all the planning and finally asking out Merula and Talbott (after Judith finally got over her initial shyness), they didn’t have time to style an outfit for themselves. So they went to the resident Style Wizard for help.

David’s pick was easy.

Judith however… not so much.

It was fair to say that Judith was more than disgruntled as she looked in the reflection for the suit Andre put together.

“You lost your damn mind Egwu if you think I’m going to the Ball like this. I look like a mom in her mid-30s looking to speak to your manager to file a complaint.”

David was on the floor in tears when he saw the offended look on the Ravenclaw wizard’s face. To be fair, the suit plus the pixie cut that Andre magically put together wasn’t doing his best mate any favors.

However, she didn’t step out to show the dress to them. She tried it on, switch back into her normal clothes, and left without much of another word.

Now David was curious to what could be wrong with Andre’s design for her to believe she looked “ridiculous”.

“C’mon Judith. What’s wrong with it? Surely it can’t be as bad as that suit Andre design,” David coaxed.

“…It’s… a lot…” David wasn’t sure what to make of that and they’re gonna be late if Judith kept this up.

“Judith, it’s either you open the door willingly to show me what you’re talking about or I break into your room to see for myself. We don’t have time for this right now,” David huffed. He didn’t want to late with for his dance with Merula.

Silence ensued and David was half considering going through with his threat when the tell tale sound of the door unlocking hit his eyes. David turned the knob and walked in.

He paused when he took in the sight of his little friend.

Judith was wearing a short black dress decorated with pink and red roses. A small slit can be found on her right leg. White 3-inch open toe heels were on her feet. Her usual ear accessories and earrings were present. A familiar dark red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, and black eyeliner made an appearance on her face. Her hair was out from its normal twists, curls and coils tumbling down her back and a bang swept over her right eye.

“David,” Judith mumbled awkwardly as her friend stared at her. That seemed to have broke the spell on the wizard as he shook his head to recollect himself.

“Well I’ll be damned… you look far from ridiculous, Judith. You look beautiful,” David said with a smile. Judith blushed and rubbed the back of her neck.

“You sure? It’s kind of revealing, don’t you think,” she asked. David cocked his head to the side, rescanning the girl from head to toe.

He could see her point, but it wasn’t as bad she probably thought it was.

The dress fitted her like glove, revealing the curves she was developing as a young woman. While the dress did show quite a bit of skin, it was still respectable.

“No, not really. To Bill and Orion, possibly but they’re big brothers who naturally want to keep every perverted wizard away from you. Hell, I may end up breaking someone’s teeth in if they think they can disrespect you like that. But you look beautiful Little Tigress, don’t think otherwise. Talbott would definitely agree with me,” David stated, watching his fellow Hufflepuff blushed at the name of the boy she’s been crushing on since third year.

David has been watching the two dance around each other since Judith admitted that she fancied the Ravenclaw wizard in the Charms classroom when practicing the Memory Charm. He was waiting for the two to finally get together already.

“If you’re done worrying, we still have a Ball to get to,” David said with a raised brow.

“But-EEP!” David already saw the protest in her eyes was quick to walk across the room and throw Judith over his shoulder. He only resorted to such measures when she was be difficult, and she was definitely being difficult.

“C’mon Little Tigress, your bird boy is waiting for you,” he said as he made his way out of her room. Judith spluttered over her words, mainly out of embarrassment at both what he said and the unnecessary position David has put her in.

“DAVID! Put me down, you brute! I’m in a dress for Merlin’s sake,” she protested loudly, wriggling in David’s unforgiving grip.

‘Damn demon lineage...’ she thought with a grimace.

“I'm well aware, we can clean you up when we're there with a spell, I not missing my chance to dance with Merula,” David said breezily. Judith gave up, allowing herself to be carried off like a sack of potatoes.

“Bloody sap... stupid dance,” she grumbled under her breath. David chuckled at her disgruntled mood.

“You’ll thank me for it by the end of the night, trust me,” he said. Judith pouted.

‘Assuming I don’t hide in a dark corner somewhere first...’

“Do that and I'm casting Lumos Maxima so there's nowhere for you to hide,” David said suddenly, nearly scaring the girl half to death. Judith mentally slapped her forehead out of exasperation.

She should know better not to think aloud around David, seeing how they’re both Legilmens.

Damn it...

“Fine,” she huffed. Luckily for her, they finally arrived near the entrance of the Great Hall. David finally set her down, and casting a spell that made her look presentable again.

David offered his arm to her.

“Shall we, Little Tigress?” Judith felt her cheeks heating up at the thought of the person waiting on her inside the Great Hall before letting out a sigh. She took her best mate’s arm.

“I guess we shall...”

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

Talbott was chatting alongside with Merula, twirling a red rose between his hands when he heard a whistle. Both turned to make out the figures of their dates not too far from them.

David separated himself from his fellow Hufflepuff to walk up to the two. David gave Talbott a smirk and nodded over in Judith’s direction before stealing Merula away.

Talbott only raised a brow at the Hufflepuff wizard’s behavior before walking up to his date for the night. As he stood in front of her, any words that he was going to say to her, died at the tip of his tongue.

Talbott stared at his date, heart racing with a blush on the high points of his cheekbones as he looked at her from her curls to her high heeled shoes. The silence was starting to unnerve the Hufflepuff witch as her long time love interest stared at her without saying anything.

“Y-you clean up quite nicely, Talbott,” she blurted. She mentally smack herself immediately afterwards.

‘When did I become this awkward, goodness…’

However, seem to have done the trick and snapped Talbott back to reality.

“S-sorry, little bird. I-I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I-It’s just that…” Talbott shook his head, trying to focus.

“It’s just that,” Judith echoed slowly, biting her bottom lip. She was worried that David might’ve been wrong and she looked like a fool in front of the boy she had feelings for.

Talbott stepped closer to her, tilting her head up by her chin so she could look at him. He offered a shy smile.

“You look beautiful, Judith. More lovely and temperate than a summer’s day,” He said softly, placing the rose he had behind her left ear. Judith blushed as she felt her heart race at his barely there touch.

“I-I… thank you, Talbott…” The Ravenclaw wizard smiled at the shy response. Behind them the instruments started seemed to be warming up to play the first song.

“May I have this dance,” Talbott asked, mock bowing to the girl. Judith giggled behind a red manicured hand.

“You may…” Taking her hand Talbott led Judith close to the center of the dance floor, with David and Merula standing not too far from them. The fairies that were lighting up the room swirled around the students, leaving them in awe at the magical moment. In the midst of this, David gave his friend a wink, who in turned returned it with an unimpressed glare. Judith returned her attention back to her date once she felt him take one of her hands

“I’m not usually one who likes public displays, but… I quite like this one… almost as much as I like you,” Talbott quietly admitted as he looked into pale gold eyes.

‘Is it possibly to pass out from blushing so much? Because I think I’m close…’ Judith thought as she ducked her head with a smile. Talbott was being so sweet and kind to her, she wanted to be wrapped up in his arms and dance the night away.

Judith looked back up at him with a teasing grin.

“I hope you like dancing too, because it’s our time to shine…”

————————

Talbott was smiling at the laughing girl in his arms as he spun her around. The two have been in their own little bubble ever since the dance started.

Their shy exteriors melted away leaving behind something much warmer and intimate. Anyone with eyes can see that they were clearly smitten with each other. Which were plenty watching them on occasion.

Red eyes darted around the Great Hall, finding the person he was looking for. He gave the Headmaster a subtle nod which he returned with a knowing smile. Talbott stepped back from Judith to clear his throat with a smile.

“All this dancing is making me thirsty, I think I’m gonna get a refreshment,” he said. Judith smiled at him, making his heart stutter in a lovestruck sigh.

“A refreshment sounds great, actually! I’ll go with you-”

“N-no need! I-I’ll get one for you! Just... stay right there,” Talbott stuttered before taking off. Judith’s brows furrowed in confused as she watch Talbott disappear in the darkness.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she saw the cheery smile of David.

“Cheers, Little Tigress! I see that I was right about you enjoying yourself,” he said with a grin. Judith glared and punched his arm.

“Cheeky bastard,” she growled. David laughed good naturedly while rubbing his arm.

“I’m surprised you’re not with Synde. Seeing how eager you were to get here and be with her,” she retorted. David shrugged.

“Mer said she going to get refreshments for the both of us. She actually suggest I go find you to see how your night was so far,” David replied. Gold eyes narrow out of suspicion.

“That’s a little odd. Talbott just let to do the same thing...”

“Was it? I found it very typical of Miss Synde and Mr. Winger,” a third voice said. David and Judith turned to see the amused face of their Headmaster.

The pair chatted with Professor Dumbledore for a while when Judith noticed something was amiss.

“It’s bit awhile since Merula and Talbott went to get refreshments. Surely it can’t take that long,” Judith pondered out loud. Dumbledore smiled.

“Clever eye, Miss Harris. That’s because they’re no longer here and they personally asked me to distract you,” he chuckled. David and Judith glanced at each other before looking back up at Dumbledore.

“Professor,” David asked warily. Dumbledore chuckled.

“Mr. Willows, you can head to the library. Miss Harris... while Mr. Winger wasn’t explicit with the location for you to go to, he did say ‘Remember our first date’ as a clue. Enjoy the rest of your storybook fairytale night, you two. You deserve it,” Professor Dumbledore informed the pair with a knowing smile.

Judith blushed walking out of the Great Hall with David. The two said their goodbyes as Judith made her way outside. Transforming into her Black Sparrowhawk, she couldn’t help but wonder what Talbott had planned at the Black Lake...

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

Judith landed on the shore and transformed back, only to be surprised to find who was waiting for her.

“Lily,” she asked as the little fairy flew around her, buzzing out of excitement.

What was her little friend doing all the way out here?

The magical creature took ahold of her hand, tugging her to the Boat house.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Just slow down, I am wearing heels after all,” she laughed gently. Judith followed the excited fairy inside only to freeze at the door way.

Standing inside was Talbott. The place looked to have been cleaned out. Numerous fairies including her own lit up the Boathouse in a soft glow. Rose petals scattered the floor, along with some candles. A large heart made up of different colored roses was hung up behind the Ravenclaw wizard. A small table with some chairs of some of the food and drinks form the Ball sat in a corner. Somewhere in the background, there was soft music playing as well.

Talbott walked up to the stunned Hufflepuff witch and took her hand.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, little bird,” he spoke softly. Judith shook her head out of disbelief.

“W-what is all this, Talbott,” she asked. The young man bit his lip.

“I-I... I may have been planning this while I was at the Owlery... I wanted to surprise you. While I did originally plan to do this in the Library, someone else had the same idea... So I’d figured the Black Lake was the next best thing. I did have some help putting this together,” Talbott admitted.

Lily buzzed, as if she was giggling at the two. Judith rose a brow at her Fairy’s cheeky behavior before chuckling.

“I just thought that... after everything you’ve done for Hogwarts, for me, you deserved a storybook romance,” Talbott said. Judith rescanned the room before offering a smile.

“I had no idea that you could be such a romantic, Talbott. But clearly you are.” Talbott blushed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I guess all that poetry paid off...”

--------

The pair sat and ate, chatting in between. Talbott giving going as far to feed Judith a bit of a cupcake. He ended blushing when he felt her lips touch his fingers tips as she let out a pleased moan.

Currently they were slow dancing in the middle of the room, listening to the music softly playing in the background.

“This is really amazing, Talbott,” Judith spoke up, daring to look up at red eyes that reminded her of rubies.

“You’re the amazing one, Judith. I was simply following my heart,” Talbott replied, squeezing her closer. That foreign yet familiar scent that clung onto the Hufflepuff filled his nose.

“O-Oh stop it. I am not,” Judith insisted with a nervous laugh. Having Talbott so close to her was causing her heart to beat faster than normal. Talbott stopped dancing in favor of holding her hands. His gaze was unwavering.

“I mean it, little bird. You made this Valentine’s Day perfect for everyone, even Flich and Pince... And especially for me,” Talbott confessed. Pearly whites flashed at him.

“All I wanted was a magical Valentine’s Day with my date,” Judith started, glancing down for a quick moment to gather herself before looking back up at Talbott through her lashes.

“...And... And I’m so happy that date is you...” And she was. Truly.

Talbott was the picture perfect gentleman. And the fact he went through great lengths to make Valentine’s Day memorable for her reminded her of happier times from her childhood. Except now it was with someone who likes her for her.

She hasn’t felt this special in years...

Talbott urged his heart to calm down as he reached for his wand.

“I feel the same way, Judith. And I... made something for you...” Stepping back, Talbott casted a spell, causing a book to appear. Judith blinked out of surprise at the book that hovered between them. Carefully reaching for it, she opened it to a random page somewhere in the beginning.

“...The loner poet listened to the Howler professed the words he wasn’t aware that lived in his heart. Speaking of a deep longing for a girl with otherworldly pale gold eyes. To never leave him because when he looks into her unique irises, he can see future. A future where he would wake up to them every morning. A future where he would look at child with the same eyes as her. A future that would lead to forever together.

He felt his heart stall in his chest, itching to cast a spell to light the Howler ablaze to prevent its words being heard by unwanted ears. It was then he smelled her before he heard her.

A hint of sea breeze that made him feel like he was standing so close the never-ending ocean. Chocolate that reminded him of her skin tone. A variety of fainter sweet scents, most he couldn’t name but the one he could pick out was honey.

Her melodious low voice sung to his eardrums:

“Hey, what did your Valentine Howler say?” He swiftly turned to find pale gold eyes curiously looking up at him. He could feel his heart speed up when he connected the dots.

It was her.

She was the one his heart longed for.

Everything that has transpired that day and this revelation became too much for the loner poet to take. He was quick to deny that his Howler hasn’t said anything, using the opportunity their teacher has created to leave the classroom.

He needed time. Time to think of what to do next...”

Judith was so engrossed in words written on the page that she didn’t realize that Talbott was now standing behind her.

“It’s not finished, more so of a... work in progress for an ongoing story...” Judith jumped a little when she felt his breath ghost over her visible ear.

“This is about you,” she whispered, releasing the book to float again. She turned to find Talbott staring down at her with half lid eyes.

“It’s about you and me, little bird,” he whispered, cupping one of her cheeks. Judith closed her eyes, leaning into his warm touch.

There was a shift in the air and she nervous but secretly excited to where this could lead...

Talbott withdrew for a moment forcing Judith to open her eyes again. She notice a heart shaped key necklace in his hand.

“What’s that,” she asked quietly.

“This is the key that unlocks the book. I made it be this way so you can wear it like a necklace. So our story would always be with you,” Talbott answered, carefully placing the it around her neck. A full body shiver raked Judith’s body when she felt the tips of his finger ghost over the sensitive skin.

“I... I never had someone put this much effort for me. To bare your feelings like this, Talbott... I... I don’t know what to say,” Judith confessed quietly. She could barely hear her own voice over the roar of blood rushing to her face combined with the sound of her heartbeat pounding against her eardrums.

Talbott caressed her cheek again.

“I don’t expect an answer from you right away little bird. I’m more than happy to do this for you. You’re the only one who deserves to see this side of me...” Talbott leaned closer aiming to place a kiss on her cheek. Much like he did last year.

What Judith did next surprised both of them.

Turning her head ever so slightly, she caught Talbott’s lips with her own. This stunned the pair, both remaining motionlessly for a few moments. Just as the Ravenclaw wizard was about to pull back, Judith held him there by his tie, pressing against him. Her painted lips moved against his unresponsive ones slowly, testing the waters and his resolve.

After a moment of deliberation, Talbott gave in and returned the unexpected kiss. With one hand cupping her face, its twin finding refuge on her lower back, pushing her closer still. Judith released his tie in favor of wrapping her arms around his neck, melting in his embrace. Both of them were placed under a cloudy haze as their lips continued to move against one another.

The pair broke apart for air, foreheads resting against one another. Talbott silently licked his lips, picking up the taste of vanilla.

‘She tastes just as sweet as she looks. Good Gods help me...’ came the helpless thought as he found himself at the end of Judith’s sultry stare.

‘What are you doing to me, Talbott? Why do I feel this way towards you...’

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Talbott,” Judith whispered, placing a soft kiss against the corner of his lips. Talbott shivered at the sound of her voice, which has dipped down an octave. Her accent came out, loud and clear. His hands, which has migrated to her waist, squeezed down on the curve for a few seconds.

He could listen to her speak to him like this for hours...

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Judith... Thank you for being my valentine...” Judith let out soft chuckle, pulling him in for another kiss.

In the midst of this an involuntary thought passed through her mind. One which would shatter the Hufflepuff witch later on.

‘I love you, Talbott...’

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

Some time has passed since the Valentine’s Day Ball. Judith more or less went back to her life as per usual.

With occasional outing with Talbott when classes and working for Rakepick became too much for her.

It was late at night and she was at the shore of the Black Lake, practicing her spellwork. She always wanted to remain sharp on her skills and it was a way for her to prepare for the upcoming O.W.L.S., which was approaching fast.

She decided to practice the Patronus Charm, seeing how she hasn’t casted it in awhile.

“Expecto Patronum!”

What came out of the tip of her wand shocked her.

Instead of her usual Siberian Tiger was a-

“G-Golden E-Eagle?!” Her eyes watched as the avian predator flew above her before disappearing.

She shocked her head, not believing what she just saw.

Over and over again, she casted the spell, waiting to see her beloved tiger. Only to watch the animal that came out soar its wings above her.

Her legs gave out from beneath her.

“No, no, no! How can this be happening?! Patronuses don’t change,” she panicked. A vague memory came resurfaced in her mind.

“Though I have heard of Patronuses changing forms after falling in love...” Judith’s eyes widen.

That voice belonged to Tonks when they were dealing with the Dementor threat from last year.

Another memory surfaced, however, much older...

“Gift this ring to the one your heart desires above all others. It will only fit and accept that one person, anyone else, it’ll reject and return to you...” Tears ran down her cheeks. When she realized what memory it was.

“Gran-Gran...” came the broken whisper. Her grandmother gifted her a magical blue and silver ring before she died. The same ring she gave to Talbott just a year prior. She didn’t remember her dear grandmother’s words when she gave it to him.

Now that she thought about it, the ring never returned to her. And it was on Talbott’s left ring finger the night of the Ball.

Even as she kissed him, those three words that haunted her since childhood has crossed her flowery dazed mind.

She couldn’t do anything but face the truth. To speak the words that haunted her in form of a Boggart from third year.

“I love Talbott Winger...”

And she was secretly terrified.

Because she knew if he were to confess the same, she was done for.

Her heart would be his.

And risk breaking if he were to ever leave...

17 notes · View notes

anxiousstark · 4 years

Text

S2 01 | Omega

BIG MASTERLIST | TW REWRITE

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count: 1802

Warnings: Mentions of dead bodies, injuries, blood, angst, swearing (always).

"Seriously? Come-" Stiles started hitting the spending machine that was placed in one of the halls at the hospital. He has spent all weekend waiting to be able to see if Lydia was feeling any better. He also stopped at the McCall house a couple of times, asking about my stitches.

He pressed his face against the spending machine, trying to shake it, so the snack he paid for would fall as it got stuck. I chuckled, his attention going back at me. "I'm gonna go check on Lydia. Don't break the machine, Stilinski." I pointed my finger at him. I had decided to stay at the hospital with Stiles. Someone had to take care of him while he was taking care of someone else.

I entered the room she was assigned, but there was no hint of Lydia laying down on her bed. I heard the water running and decided to stay outside the bathroom, giving her space. But also ready to go inside if her injury started throbbing. I quietly waited, chewing on my lower lip.

I heard her cough and decided to get closer to the bathroom door. "Lydia? Uhm, it's me Y/N." I expected an answer that never happened. I heard the water being splashed, she was whining.

"Lydia? Do you need help?" Again, no answer. I settled to go inside. The curtain was moving while her whimpers got louder. "Lydia!" I slid it. The water was red due to her wound. I followed her gaze, noticing that there was hair, lots of hair. Someone or something was messing with her mind.

I grabbed her arm. She glanced at me, eyes full of tears. "It's okay," I whispered, grabbing a towel to cover her naked and freezing body. "There's nothing." Or so I thought. Two bloody hands came out of the bloody water, one grabbed Lydia's right leg while the other pulled me in. I could hear Lydia's screams, even though my head was under the dirty water. The hand was grabbing me forcefully, not letting me go. "Breathe." A wicked voice echoed inside my head.

When the hand let me go, I didn't have time to properly breathe. Lydia was climbing out of the window, completely naked. "Lydia, wait!" I followed her.

Noah Stilisnki studied Lydia's dad, hoping that he would give a better description of his one and only daughter.

Stiles nervously interrupted their conversation. "Y/N is (y/h), her eye color is (e/c), skin color is (s/c). Her hair is (h/l) and (h/c)." He didn't take a breath. "Lydia is 5'3", green eyes, fair-skinned, and her hair is actually strawberry blonde." Noah stared at his son. He would expect him to know all that about Lydia as he has had a crush on her for so many years. But he was astonished at him noticing Y/N in the same way he noticed the Martin girl. "Also, black fitted jeans, black boots, and a bumblebee yellow hoodie. It's my favorite I've seen on her." Stiles gazed at his father. "That is what Y/N was wearing. Ahm, her hair was down, it's always down."

"Is that right?" Stiles nodded. The sheriff grabbed the back of his son's neck, moving him away from Melissa and Lydia's dad. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

"Um, providing moral support?"

"Uh-huh. How 'bout you provide your ass back home, where you should be."

Stiles bit his lower lip, glancing at his dad from the side of his eye. "Okay, I can do that too." A little sigh escaped from his mouth.

"We're gonna find her, so don't worry."

"Her?" Stiles stopped. His father looked at him, puzzled. "You said 'her'? Referring to who? To Lydia?" His dad nodded his head, not realizing what his son was trying to say. "What about Y/N? She is also gone. You need to find her too because-"

"Stiles." He intervened. "Of course, we are gonna find both girls." Of course, they were going to do so. Noah has used 'her' because he thought Stiles's mind was worried about Lydia. That kid could be a little blind when Lydia Martin was near-by. "We will find them."

Stiles got into his jeep, holding Lydia's hospital gown tightly between his fingers. Closing the driver's door, he extended his arm to hand Scott the gown. It was so he could have Lydia's scent and find her. He looked at his wrist, taking off the hair tie. "It's from your sister." He coughed. "She left it here the day we saw Jackson with Chris Argent. I intended to give it back to her, but I forgot." He looked at Scott deeply in the eyes.

"She isn't my sister," Scott whispered, even though he felt like it wasn't the most designated situation to say something like that. "And, she lives in my house so I have her clothes there." He desired to let him know that he didn't need to give the hair tie to him. "We will find them, Stiles." He grabbed his friends' arm. "I'm not gonna let anyone hurt Lydia. Not again." The Hazel-eyed boy got mad. Why was everyone centering in Lydia? He wanted BOTH girls to be found. Not just Lydia, but Y/N too. He still needed to thank her for saving him from Peter Hale, and he wanted to apologize again for what happened at the dance.

Stiles turned the engine of the jeep on but was stopped when he saw Allison at the front.

"What are you doing here? Someone's gonna see us." Scott asked his girlfriend when she got closer to the window.

"I don't care. She is my best friend, and we need to find her before they do." She referred to Lydia, again. Stiles tried not to jump and say something that could sound rude. "And I don't know much about Y/N, but I care about her too."

"I can find them before the cops can."

"How about before my father does?"

"He knows?" Stiles was getting even more anxious. Then, he remembered that Chris Argent was the one that hit Y/N's head the night of the dance. That asshole gave her seven stitches. He also knew that Chris Argent wanted to hunt Y/N.

"Yeah. I just saw him and three other guys leave my house in two SUVs."

"Search party."

"It's more like a hunting party."

"Get in," Scott called out to her.

"All right, but if both of them are turning, would they actually kill them?" He wasn't sure if Lydia would turn, but he knew she was something. The same thing was happening with Y/N.

"I don't know. They won't tell me anything. Okay, all they say is, 'We'll talk after Kate's funeral when the others get here.'"

"What others?"

"I don't know, they won't tell me that yet."

"Okay, your family's got some serious communication issues to work on." He screamed the following words. "Scott, are we going the right way?"

Scott's face was out of the window, trying to smell Lydia and Y/N's scent. "Take the next right!"

"Hey, you know, maybe they're just here for the funeral. I mean - what if they're the non-hunting side of the family? There could be non-hunting Argents. It's possible, right?" Stiles was hiding behind a statue in the cemetery, Scott by his side. Both of them were trying not to be seen by the Argent family who was mourning the death of one of their members. Of one of their killers.

"I know what they are. They're reinforcements."

Both of them were shocked when they were grabbed by their collars. Scott was a wolf, but nobody could hear Noah Stilisnki capturing his prey. "Ah. The two of you. Unbelievable. Pick up my tie." He told Stiles, teeth clenched against each other.

"Got it. Sorry. I know, I'm supposed to ask."

Both of them were now sitting on the back seat of the sheriff's car. "1-5 Adam." The radio they used to communicate with each other emitted the sound of another agent.

"I didn't copy that. Did you say 4-1-5, Adam?"

"Disturbance in a car." The hazel-eyed-boy whispered to his friend.

"They were taking a heart attack victim - D.O.A. But on the way to the hospital, something hit 'em." After Noah asked if the ambulance was hit, the man continued giving information about the events that had occurred. "Copy that. I'm standing in front of it right now. Something got in the back. There's blood everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

"All right, unit 4, what's your 20?"

"Route 5 and post. I swear, I've never seen anything like this."

"All right, take it easy. I'm on my way. Now, as for you two-" When he turned around, the doors were open and both teenage boys had disappeared from the backseat of the car.

"Just-" Stiles tried to give a reasonable answer to his father. Of course, after hearing him talk with one of his coworkers on the radio, he had to come to the place himself. He needed to know if one of the girls had been the one transforming and hitting the ambulance. To his surprise, there was a man inside the vehicle, everything full of blood. Stiles gazed towards the bushes as he thought he had seen something move. "Lydia? Lydia? Lydia!"

Lydia wasn't naked. She was wearing a bumblebee yellow hoodie. He knew that hoodie. He knew that it was the one that Y/N was wearing before disappearing.

Noah paced gradually towards Lydia as she seemed to be in shock, her hair a complete mess. However, Stiles ran to her. "Lydia, are you okay? Where is Y/N?" His hands were delicately settled on her shoulders.

"She needs help." Lydia was quivering uncontrollably. The hoodie she was wearing was wet, Stiles was hoping that Y/N gave it to her so she wasn't naked. "Y/N needs help. We all need."

The sheriff put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Stiles, let the paramedics check her."

Said boy was going to disrupt his father when Lydia pointed to the bush behind her. Noah didn't let his son take another step forward, he slowly got closer to the bush that a couple of seconds ago Lydia Martin had pointed. He didn't expect what he saw. "We need paramedics here too. Fast!" A group of paramedics started operating towards the bush, while one of them took Lydia to one of the ambulances to make sure she was safe.

Stiles walked to the bush, he tried to see what was going on but the paramedics were making it difficult for him. Until he saw Y/N unconscious. Nose and ears bleeding.

What Stiles didn't know is that someone else in the other part of Beacon Hills was trying to sleep. Body full of sweat. Napkins were full of blood.

Jackson Whittemore.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99 - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos - @littlemiss-forgotten - @enchantedcruelsummer - @coldfreakeggsexpert - @merla123 - @sammypotato67 - @weirdowithnobeardo - @maggiesblogsblog - @itskindyl - @bobo-bush - @moongoddesskiana - @multifandxm353 - @irwxnhugsx - @xoprincessmel - @iclosetgeek - @andreagf956 - @niawoods - @anerroroccurrrrred - @perrytheplatypus11 - @trustfundparker - @nmriia - @steve-harringtonnn - @trustfundparker -

People in black means it doesn’t let me tag them.

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 3 years

Text

Sunset Swerve - Part 11

Pairing: Luke Patterson x OC

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: discussions of death, one mention of suicide, swearing probably

A/N: I can’t believe there’s only one more chapter and maybe an epilogue after this! Our journey is almost over. Just a heads up, the first part of this is kinda heavy as Jordan grieves but things lighten up along the way! As always, let me know what you think and you can message me/send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

Part 10 Masterlist

___

Jordan couldn’t properly explain how grateful she was for Luke’s hand in hers as Willie delivered the worst news she’d heard in her afterlife. She tried not to look too much into it, he was just returning the favor from his birthday. Still, she couldn’t deny the comfort she felt from it, like he was offering to share the weight of the situation with her.

She leaned into that comfort as the four ghosts went their separate ways. She spent the night in the loft wrapped up in his arms. Once they were alone she let herself cry, burying her face into his chest as he rubbed her back softly, holding her close to him.

They stayed that way until the sun came up, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she curled into him. They didn’t talk at all, neither of them really knowing what to say. Jordan wanted to scream at the world, to curse everyone and everything for taking her parents away from her once again. Instead, she relished in the silence, in the comfort of the arms around her. There would be time to scream tomorrow, but for the time being, she needed someone to help her carry the weight of her pain.

There was also a part of her that relished in the feelings of his arms around her, the warmth of his chest, the pleasant smell of his flannel which he’d wrapped around her when they left the Walk of Fame, insisting that she needed it more than him. The part of her that made butterflies swoop around her stomach and her head spin whenever they were this close.

She didn’t want to think about this part of her brain right now, Luke was only doing this because he cared. They were friends now (they’d actually been friends for a while, she realized) and friends were there for each other when they lost their parents, just like he’d been there for her twenty-five years ago. Just like she’d been there for him on his birthday.

Not to mention the guilt she felt every time her mind drifted away from thoughts of her parents to how comfortable but strong Luke’s chest was or how nice he smelled. She was losing her parents again and all she could think about was a boy.

She never stopped to consider that it was a testament to Luke’s comfort that her mind was able to stray at all.

Only once the sun came up and the world began to stir around them, the other boys returning and the lights in the Molina’s house started to flick on, did Luke speak as they untangled from each other.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, his arms still wrapped loosely around her as she pulled away. “I mean, of course you’re not, but-“

“No, I’m not,” she agreed, her voice coming out rough after the night of crying. He could see the tear stains on her cheeks now and it broke his heart. “I think I need some time alone today.”

“Okay,” he said eagerly, stretching his legs out and reaching for his flannel as she fully pulled herself away from him. “Okay, we can go-“

“No, Luke,” she said firmly but she knew she sounded weak and exhausted. “Just me.”

“I don’t want to leave you by yourself like this.”

“What am I gonna do? Kill myself?” She responded bitterly, raising her arms at the side as a reminder of their physical state, or lack thereof.

“Jordan-“ he gasped, reaching out for her but she stepped back.

“I just need some time,” she insisted, the rest of her statement remaining silent. ‘Time to process without thinking about you.’

___

She reappeared in the cemetery, this time taking a seat in front of the double grave next to her own.

The last time she was there she’d been puzzling at mortality and the bizarre and unfair nature of the situation she’d found herself in. This time wasn’t so different, but rather than mourning herself she was once again mourning her parents. The two most important people in her life who were once again being ripped from her.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, unable to read the names on the tombstone in front of her, staring at the grass just in front of it. Briefly, she wished she had been able to bring them flowers. Time passed so differently as a ghost and her spiraling thoughts didn’t help any. The time she spent there was muddled and tear-filled. She thought at one point she pleaded with them to come back to her. At another point, she prayed to whatever gods she could think of.

No one answered and so she remained.

She was finally drawn out of her mind by the sound of footsteps moving towards her. She turned, expecting to see a fellow mourner but instead meeting Julie’s eyes.

She sniffled, turning back towards the grave, not bothering to hide her tears.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Julie asked softly when she finally reached her.

Jordan shook her head, not turning to look as her friend sat in the grass beside her.

“Luke told me everything,” Julie spoke up after they had sat in silence for a few minutes, “About Caleb and the curse, and the Orpheum, and crossing over.”

“I’m sorry we’re leaving you,” Jordan whispered, pulling her knees tighter to her chest.

“Me too,” Julie responded quietly, “I was really mad- I still am- but then Flynn and I talked and she reminded me that I’m not the only one who’s lost people.”

They let her words hang in the air for a moment before Jordan finally spoke, the words catching in her throat as they went.

“It feels like I’m losing them all over again.”

Julie nodded and Jordan caught the movement from the corner of her eye.

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” she whispered, likely thinking about her own mom. “But hope isn’t lost. We just have to make sure you guys cross over in time.”

“They’re never gonna let us play the Orpheum,” Jordan dismissed, resting her chin on her knees as she stared tearfully at the ground, the anger welling up at her situation being overpowered by the hopelessness of it all.

“They will, they just have to hear us play and-“

“It’s okay Julie, I’ve resigned myself to the fact,” Jordan interrupted.

“Well I haven’t,” Julie said firmly before taking a shaky breath as if trying to brace herself for what she was going to say next.

“I lost my mom, and I’m not getting her back anytime soon.” Her voice cracked. “The least I can do is make sure you don’t lose yours too.”

___

When Julie and Jordan arrived at the studio they found the guys looking about as hopeless as Jordan felt. It was nice to know she wasn’t alone, but it hurt her to see them this way.

Reggie was sitting sideways in one of the chairs, looking mournfully at his bass while Alex laid across the couch, attempting to balance one of his drumsticks in his nose, and Luke sat on the floor between them. The scene itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, Jordan had watched them spend many a boring afternoon this way, but it was clear that the tone had shifted. They weren’t biding their time until Julie got home from school. They were biding their time until they died again.

“Snap out of it!” Julie yelled, startling the three boys who didn’t seem to have noticed their presence, Alex falling off the couch in shock.

“Geez, I think you broke Alex,” Reggie spoke, though his usually light, teasing tone was absent.

Once Luke helped push Alex off his lap and back onto the couch he patted the ground by his side in a silent invitation for Jordan to join him. Once she had sat down next to him, knees pulled up to her chest once more, he slipped a comforting arm around her, hand resting on her waist. If the rest of the group noticed, they didn’t say anything.

“Do you guys wanna cross over or what?” Julie asked, giving the ghosts a borderline disapproving look before getting frustrated by their silence. “Get it together!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands with each word for extra emphasis.

“They’re never gonna let us play the Orpheum,” Luke spoke, echoing Jordan’s words from earlier.

“We’re nobodies,” Alex added on, matching Luke’s dejected tone.

“We’re less than nobodies,” Reggie chimed in. “We have no bodies.”

Luke lifted his arm to point affirmatively at Reggie and Jordan almost laughed, but she couldn’t quite find it in her.

“Someone once told me that you don’t ask for permission,” Julie spoke, turning to address Luke specifically, “You book gigs by doing.”

Jordan rolled her eyes at the smug look that had appeared on Luke’s face, throwing an elbow into his side in an attempt to wipe away the expression.

“Ah yes, the Dumb-set Curve motto,” Jordan scoffed. In retaliation Luke used the hand already resting on her waist to jab at her side, causing her to curse and glare at him while he grinned cheekily.

“This isn’t over,” Julie spoke to the group, refocusing their attention. “We were brought together for a reason! To help each other.”

“Yeah, but like Luke said, people don’t just play the Orpheum because they want to,” Alex sighed and the rest of the ghosts nodded in agreement, the smile slipping off Luke’s face again.

“People don’t,” Julie agreed, “But ghosts do.”

Jordan turned to stare at Julie, her head tilted and eyebrows knitted together in confusion and curiosity.

“I have a plan,” Julie said before launching into an explanation.

There would be a show at the Orpheum that Friday night. All they needed to do was get rid of the opening act and get the promoter to offer the gig to them. This could actually work. For the first time since Jordan heard the news from Willie she actually began to feel hopeful.

___

Alex had managed to enlist Willie to their cause which was fortunate because Jordan was pretty sure none of the rest of them could drive a bus.

The four ghosts stood outside the Orpheum that Friday afternoon anxiously waiting for Willie to appear. Jordan had grabbed Luke’s hand early on and neither one had let go. It seemed that everyone’s spirits were higher that day than they were the day before, as Jordan noticed both Reggie and Alex occasionally glancing at their entwined hands and sharing knowing looks. She wasn’t quite back to where she’d be able to yell at them for it.

She had just started to contemplate if she’d still be holding Luke’s hand if it didn’t feel like the only thing keeping her grounded while everything fell apart around her when they were struck by another jolt, immediately tearing her from her thoughts.

“Hey, you guys okay?” Willie asked, appearing behind them as they each clutched their chests where the jolt hit them.

“Yeah,” Alex answered, the first to turn around and face the skater ghost. “Yeah, it’s nothing we haven’t felt before.”

“How’d it go?” Jordan asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. There was always the chance that their plan wouldn’t work.

“Well, when that opening band wakes up they’re going to find their bus two-hundred miles outside Vegas with no chance of getting back in time!” Willie announced with a giggle, adding a spin to emphasize his success.

“And that means there’s probably a promoter upstairs right about now freaking out,” Luke spoke, bumping his shoulder excitedly against Jordan’s with a grin, causing the girl to grin back at him.

“Nah, this is Hollywood man. I’m sure he’s being very professional,” Willie contradicted and Jordan rolled her eyes, not believing it for a second.

“Sure he is,” she said sarcastically.

The group lapsed into a tense silence after that, no one knowing what to say. A moment later Alex stepped closer to Willie, the two boys clearly about to have a moment. Jordan tugged on Luke’s hand, guiding him away to give Alex and Willie some privacy, and Luke gestured for Reggie to do the same.

“Jordan are you doing alright?” Reggie asked, trying to fill the silence while Alex and Willie spoke behind them. “We didn’t see much of you yesterday and you’ve seemed a bit… lost, since the other night.”

She couldn’t help the way her heart warmed at the fact that he’d noticed and cared enough to inquire about her, but she also couldn’t help the way her stomach dropped at the prospect of having to tell him what was going on.

“Reg, Jordan’s doesn’t have to-“ Luke began to cover for her but she squeezed his hand, stopping his words.

“It’s okay, Luke,” she said quietly before addressing the dark-haired boy. “How about if the plan works I’ll tell you, hmm?”

Reggie nodded, cheeks slightly flushed in embarrassment at having overstepped.

The sound of Willie skateboarding away pulled them all from their thoughts, the three ghosts turning to rejoin Alex.

“Alex, you alright man?” Luke asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said, and Jordan was surprised that while he seemed to be psyching himself up to say it, he sounded sincere. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Well, thanks to Willie, Panic! at the Disco needs an opening band,” Luke grinned, giving Jordan’s hand a quick squeeze in reassurance and excitement.

“Then I guess there’s someone up there that needs to know we’re available,” Alex responded and the group shared knowing smiles before poofing up onto the Orpheum office.

They were immediately greeted by the screams and shouts of an angry promoter.

“Stop saying the bus drove itself! Busses don’t drive themselves!” The bald man yelled into the receiver before slamming the phone down several times.

“Yeah, total pro,” Jordan muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes at the grown man’s temper tantrum.

“Alright, boys- and girl-“ Luke squeezed her hand and Jordan was reminded of the night they died when Luke had addressed them similarly. “Let the magic happen. Alex, no dancing.”

Luke smirked when Alex jumped into a ballet pose before gracefully twirling behind the assistant’s desk and knocking over her pencil cup. Jordan grinned, jumping into action with the other boys as she poofed over to Alex, snatching the pen from his hand as she wrote down Julie’s name and number on a sticky note.

They all stepped away at once, Jordan dropping her pen on the paper as if it had burnt her, as the woman stood back up, having collected her belongings off the floor. Once she was back in her seat she was greeted by the sounds of Edge of Great playing through her computer speakers. Her bewildered expression was replaced with an impressed look as she watched their performance and the ghost surrounding her all shared a proud smile.

“Tasha! Get CJ on the phone, tell him I need a new band in three hours,” the promoter demanded.

“Sure, but you, might wanna check this out,” she said, and the promoter hung up the phone before walking over to see what she was talking about. Jordan poofed back to Luke’s side to stay out of the man’s way as he stood in the place she had just been. “Somehow this video started playing on my laptop. It got half a million hits in just two days.”

“Who are they?”

“They’re a hologram band. They call themselves Julie and the Phantoms.”

“Tell your friends,” Reggie chimed in even though neither of the lifers could hear him.

“Where are they located?” The promoter asked.

“Our very own City of Angel.”

“Book ‘em!” The producer exclaimed as if he couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation.

The band of ghosts cheered as Tasha stared puzzled at the pad of paper on her desk. She looked around suspiciously as she examined the contact information for Julie and the Phantoms.

“Wow your handwriting is better than mine,” Luke admitted grumpily as they all leaned over the woman’s shoulder.

“Obviously,” Jordan shot back snarkily with her signature eye roll and Luke reached down to rejoin their hands, smiling softly down at her and sending the butterflies in her stomach aflutter.

They poofed back to the studio after that, immediately greeted by an extremely anxious Julie pacing back and forth.

“Oh my gosh! What took you so long? Did Willie do it? Did you talk to them? Did they watch? Did they like us? Are we playing? Can someone answer me? Why is no one talking?” Julie questioned them rapid-fire, her arms waving around wildly as she did.

“Woah! That’s a lot of questions!” Reggie exclaimed, eyes wide. “Luke, you wanna take this one?”

“Take a seat,” Luke instructed, Julie sitting on the edge of the couch while the four ghosts gathered on the floor across from her.

“Everything’s fine,” Jordan chimed in, hoping to ease her friend’s worries.

“Yeah, you should be getting a call right…now!” Alex exclaimed, pointing at Julie’s phone in the middle of the coffee table however the screen remained blank.

Julie looked worriedly between the four ghosts before Alex spoke up again.

“Okay. Right… now!” Alex tried again, this time the phone ringing a second later.

Julie cheered excitedly, staring expectantly at the ghosts in front of her while the phone continued to ring.

“Answer it!” Jordan exclaimed while the guys gestured franticly towards the device.

“Oh! Right!” Julie slid her finger across the screen, answering the call. “Hello!”

“Hi, this is Tasha from the Orpheum in Hollywood,” the woman’s voice came through the speakers.

The room was suddenly filled with energy as the band began jumping around excitedly.

“Is this Julie of Julie and the Phantoms?” The woman’s voice rang out and Julie flung her arms out causing the ghosts to freeze their actions before she leaned forwards to scoop up her phone.

“Yes, it is,” Julie responded.

The room erupted once more into cheers from the ghosts and silent screams from Julie as they jumped around the studio. They were playing the Orpheum!

For the first time in over twenty-four hours, Jordan wasn’t thinking about her parents, her head filled with the brown-haired boy who was still clutching her hand even in his excitement and who’s smile created flurries of butterflies in her stomach and caused her heart to swell with emotions she could quite explain.

Too caught up in her feelings and the excitement of the moment to think about what she was doing, Jordan tilted up onto her tip-toes and planted a quick kiss on Luke’s cheek before pulling away to jump celebrate with Alex and Reggie. However, before she could get far, Luke was pulling her back by their still-connected hands.

“You missed,” he said quietly before he leaned down and connected their lips.

The kiss was brief but felt like it lasted an eternity. Jordan’s mind went completely blank and her body moved on autopilot, gripping Luke’s hand like it was the only thing tethering her to existence. In the back of her mind, she registered the end of Julie’s phone call with the woman from the Orpheum and Alex and Reggie’s cheers dying off. If her brain hadn’t short-circuited she probably would’ve connected the sudden silence with the rest of the band staring at her and Luke however that reality didn’t hit her until they pulled away.

Their cheeks flushed as they stepped away from each other, meeting each other’s eyes just long enough for Jordan to give him a brief smile before letting go of his hand and skipping excitedly towards Alex and Reggie who seemed torn between wanting to comment and pretending they hadn’t seen.

“Say something and I promise I’ll find a way to kill you both again,” Jordan threatened cheerfully as she threw her arms around their shoulders before tilting her head back and shouting excitedly, “We’re playing the Orpheum!”

“We’re playing the Orpheum, baby!” Julie repeated throwing her arms into the air and the guys all responded with whoops and cheers, Luke and Jordan’s kiss momentarily forgotten.

Part 12

___

JATP Taglist: @meangirlsx @morganayennefertyrell

Sunset Swerve Taglist: @oopsiedoopsie23 @angryknightstatesmantrash @onlygetaway @deni-gonzalez @advicefromnixxxx @brooke0297 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @cordeliascrown @lukewearingbeanies @bright-molina

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #julie and the phantoms fic #luke patterson fic #luke patterson #luke patterson x oc #luke jatp #jatp luke #julie molina #reggie peters #alex mercer #willie jatp #ghost oc #jordan moss #sunset swerve #sunset curve #erin writes

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idkxwriting · 4 years

Text

Treacherous - Chapter 16

Author: idkhaylijah

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7k

A/N: Well, this is it. Thanks for reading - this was a lot of fun to write, and I’m going to miss it. But who knows, there are always sequels, right? ;) Shoutout to @xxwritemeastoryxx for letting me run things by her

Chapter 15 - Masterlist

They drove back to Kansas in silence.

"Maybe we should just stay here for a few days..." Sam had suggested.

But Dean had refused, covering Y/N's body in a blanket and placing her in the back of the Impala with such delicate care. He slammed the car door shut, the familiar groan of the metal grating against his nerves. "We take her home, and we give her a hunter's funeral," he said with finality.

"She has friends here, Dean. People she loved, people that loved her..."

Dean ignored his brother, climbing into the driver's seat and keeping his head forward and leaving no room for further argument.

They drove through the night, Dean white knuckling the wheel. They made it in less than half the time, Sam not daring to suggest they slow down.

*****

"They're gone," Freya sighed.

"What do you mean they're gone?" Stefan asked. They were supposed to drive her back here..."

Freya shook her head. "Dean wanted to take her home," she explained. "He wants to give her a hunter's funeral."

"And they didn't think that was important to discuss with us first?" Stefan yelled.

She winced, but let him yell, waiting until he regained his composure once more. "He's hurting, Stefan. He loved her."

Stefan's jaw tightened.

"Where's Damon?" She asked quietly.

"He went to wake Elijah," he explained.

Freya nodded solemnly, knowing her brother would never get over this, that the grief would consume him.

*****

Dean lifted her carefully, carrying her inside the bunker, and laying her on her bed delicately. Sam watched from the doorway as his brother uncovered her face, brushing her hair back and dropping his head. "I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered.

Sam's eyes burned, wishing he could fix his big brother. His brother who was always so strong, so sure. It wasn't the first time he had seen him cry, but as his shoulders sagged and they began to shake, Sam turned away, feeling like he was intruding, as though he had no right to be there in Dean's grief.

He turned, walking away quietly and when he was sure Dean could no longer hear him he sunk to the floor, letting his own grief wash over him.

*****

Damon sighed as he read Stefan's text letting him know that Dean had taken Y/N back to Kansas. He glanced over at the body next to him, his patience beginning to wear thin.

Elijah's eyes shot open, and he took a deep breath, everything rushing back.

"Welcome back," Damon said, his voice grim, spinning the dagger absentmindedly in his hand.

Elijah sat up, his eyes moving toward the flames in the fireplace of the cabin. "Where is she?" He asked, his voice low, already knowing the answer.

"We should talk..."

*****

Dean stepped into the library, looking for Sam. He didn't want to wait, he couldn't stand the thought of leaving her in the infirmary like that. He knew they had to move, plan to send her off properly, burn the bones. He wiped his hand over his face, exhausted.

The books they had been searching through just days before were still sprawled on the table, and he ran his fingers across the pages. A vision of her face lighting up when he offered to let her tag along on a hunt popped into his mind, and he remembered the kiss he had stolen from her in the kitchen. He slammed his eyes shut, anger boiling up under his skin until it burst. He picked up a chair, throwing it across the room, the legs cracking as they came in contact with the wall. He roared, throwing the books and slamming his fists on the table.

"Dean..."

He turned to find Cas at the other end of the table, his expression grim. Dean squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw, his rage simmering as he looked at his former friend.

"I'm sorry about Y/N," the angel said quietly.

"You're sorry?" He shook his head. "Why didn't you just stick to the damn plan."

Cas' looked at him sternly. "That was the plan."

"And when the hell were you going to loop me in on that?" He shouted. "You let her march in there to die!"

"Crowley and I-"

"Crowley!?" He boomed. "Now you're working with Crowley again?"

"Empusa had to die, and the only way to do-"

"How many times are we gonna go down this road, Cas?" Dean cut him off, his rage out of control. "We would have found another way!" He bellowed. "We would have figured it out, like we always do! WithY/N!"

Cas shifted, getting defensive. "Like we always do? Dean, everything alwaysfalls apart! I know it doesn't feel like it now, but this is a win. If you knew what Emp-"

Dean shook his head, the muscles of his jaw tightening as he cut Cas off. "This wasn't a win," he gritted.

"I did what I had to do," Cas was firm, but his friend said nothing, instead turning away from him and refusing to look him in the eye, his anger rolling off of him in waves. Cas nodded in understanding and turned away, wishing there was anything he could have done to save her, to save Dean.

Dean held his breath, clenching his jaw when he heard the telltale sign of angel wings. Refusing to break again, he ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.

"Dean! Come quick!" He heard Sam's heavy boots running down the hall.

He bolted, his legs pushing him forward as fast as he could, following his brother straight to the infirmary. As he turned the corner he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Y/N?"

She sat up in her bed, alive and real.

Her eyes met his, panic lacing the deep y/e/c of her irises. "What happened to me?" She breathed.

Dean made no move towards her at first, Sam sitting on the edge of her bed, his hands on hers. He watched as his brother hugged her, making sure she was really there, she was really her.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, searching his mind for some explanation.

She glanced down at herself, her brows furrowed as she struggled to put the pieces together. "I don't understand," she breathed, patting her chest where she had stabbed herself and finding nothing. A memory flashed before her, Empusa's hands on her throat, Dean's face as she tried to let him know she loved him before she lifted the blade...

"I died..." she recalled.

Still, Dean made no move towards her, his mind racing at all the possibilities.

Sam cleared his throat. "How are you here?" He asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know, I..." she stopped, the answer dawning on her as another memory rushed back.

Y/N, are you sure you want this?"

She nodded, untying the leather bracelet infused with vervain that she wore constantly. She tossed it into the passenger seat of Damon's car as they stood outside of the Grill.

Damon sighed heavily. "I'll get you the dagger," he promised. He dipped low, his hands coming up to hold her face so he could look her directly in the eyes. "When you're ready, you'll take the dagger and use it on Elijah."

Her pupils dilated as she repeated him in a daze. "I'll dagger Elijah," she whispered softly.

Damon continued to hold her face, his eyes sad but focused. "But before you do, you'll tell him and Dean how you feel, because they deserve to know."

She nodded.

"Good. Now I want you to put your bracelet back on, and forget we ever had this conversation."

"What do you remember?" Sam asked.

She shook her head. "I asked Damon to compel me," she whispered as the realization hit her. "He told me to be brave, that I needed to dagger Elijah to keep him safe." Her eyes met Dean's and her face flushed, deciding to keep the fact that she was compelled to make her confession to herself.

Sam swallowed nervously. "What else did he say?"

Her mind continued to rush as the moments she had forgotten came back with sudden clarity.

They moved through the tunnels mostly in silence, Damon leading the way.

"Do you ever think about dying?" Y/N asked after a while.

Damon shrugged. "It's not really on my to do list..."

"Yea, but even you aren't entirely invincible. Don't you ever wonder what happens to us after we die?"

"No," he stated matter-of-factly. "No, I don't."

She continued to follow Damon in silence, and when they reached their destination, Damon turned to her. They stood in an old crypt, and even in the darkness she could see the dust and decay that littered it. She was beginning to breathe heavily, and he took her hands in her face. "Hey," he reassured her. "I don't know what happens next," he paused. "But I believe no matter what comes after all of this, we're all okay in the end."

She nodded, trying to convince herself that he was right. "We're all okay," she repeated.

He pulled her wrist up, glancing at the leather bracelet. "Y/N, if you need me to, I can compel you...take it away so you don't have to be afraid."

She shook her head adamantly, stepping back from him. "I can do this, Damon." She closed her eyes, picturing everyone she cared about. The people she had loved, the ones she was lucky enough to have love her back.

Damon didn't doubt that she could, but at the end of the day, he couldn't. "Screw this," he muttered, tearing off her bracelet. His fingers burned as the vervain touched his skin, and he winced, but ignored it.

"What are you doing?" She struggled in his hold, but he gripped her chin.

"You deserve more than this, Y/N. Drink. Drink and forget this happened." He bit into his wrist and held the wound up to mouth and she did as he demanded, his blood racing through her system.

Dean put the pieces together for himself, and just like that all his hope was shattered as quickly as it had rushed in. He stormed off, Y/N and Sam wincing as a door slammed.

She covered her mouth to stifle the sobs she felt coming on. "I drank his blood," she confessed. "At the cemetery."

Sam gripped her hand, squeezing lightly and glancing away from her. "You're in transition."

*****

"You really make a girl work for it when she's dying."

Dean glanced up from under the hood of Baby to find Y/N standing in the door of the garage. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and his eyes trained on his hands.

"Hey," she whispered back.

He looked at her again, she had showered and was wearing a pair of shorts with one of his black t-shirts, looking so beautiful and alive he wondered how death could possibly dare to take her. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

She shrugged. "Hungry, if I'm being honest..." When he didn't respond she stepped further into the room. "Or maybe it's thirsty?" She joked.

"Don't do that."

"Oh come on," she whispered, trying to lighten the mood. "We've been given a second chance to say goodbye."

He shook his head, fidgeting with the wrench in his hands. "Look, I've been thinking, if you hold off on feeding and we can find Damon..."

She sighed. "I'm not going to kill Damon," she cut him off. "Sam already told me about your grandad's cure to vampirism. I can't do that, Dean."

"The guy's had a century to live, you've had nothing..." he argued.

"He's also long gone, if I know anything about him at all. Besides, I couldn't do that to Elena." She shook her head, stepping into him and wrapping her arms around him until he hugged her back. "This is my choice," she whispered.

He moved out of her hold, throwing the wrench across the room. "Yea, well this is bullshit!" He shouted.

She winced at his outburst.

"What about my choice?" He yelled. "Huh? Because you sure as shit didn't consult with me when you decided it was okay to run that damn blade through your heart!"

She bit her lip. "Would you have gone along with things if you had known what I was going to do?" She asked quietly.

"There is always another way!" He exclaimed.

"It was the only way Dean! And if I had to, I'd do it again if it meant you were safe!"

He didn't wait to hear more. He was so tired of losing, and too tired to fight anymore. He stormed off, leaving her in the cold garage.

*****

Y/N sat at the base of a tree just outside of the bunker, her phone in her hands. She had just gotten off the phone with Stefan, explaining to him that she wasn't going to feed.

"I can be there in a few hours," he had suggested.

She smiled at the offer, even though he couldn't see it. "Stefan," she spoke softly into the receiver. "This is hard enough. I won't be able to say goodbye if you come here. Please, just tell everyone I love them."

Stefan teared up on the other end but she knew he respected her too much to deny her this request. "I will," he said, his voice cracking.

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yea," he whispered. "I'll see you later."

She jumped at the slam of the bunker door, the sound ungodly loud. It grated on her nerves and caused her head to pound. She heard each fall of his boots as he walked toward her, each footstep louder and more irritating than the last. Dean finally stepped into view, distracting her from the annoyance, and her heart raced at the sight of him.

He didn't say anything for a moment, sitting down next to her with his gaze watching the field in front of them. He was careful to leave some distance between them. He thought of their time together that night she had asked him to stay with her, the way she felt underneath him, the way she said his name as she came undone. The way his heart pounded at the sight of her, and the way it had calmed when she laid her head on his chest.

They sat in silence, and she sunk into the memory of the last time they had watched a sunset together - knowing the sun going down had never brought him peace. Because there was no beauty in the twilight for Dean, only a heaviness as he anticipated the monsters that would crawl out of the shadows when the last bits of light were stolen away.

"So you were right," he broke the silence. "Damon is long gone."

She chuckled, but didn't offer him anything else.

He took a deep breath. "I've always known this would end bloody for me," he said, keeping his eyes forward. "And you know, I've been okay with it if it means we gank some sons of bitches and save a few lives. It comes with the territory."

She leaned forward, curling up against his back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, unsure if she was trying to comfort him or herself.

"I made my peace with this life a long time ago, but I gotta be honest here. Losing you? I don't know if I can ever make peace with that. I can't do this, baby." He ran his hand over his face, sniffling. "Maybe I'm being selfish here, but the hits have been coming for as long as I can remember, so when will it be enough? I have lost everything. I can't lose you, too."

She felt his shoulders sag beneath her, and she clutched onto him. "Shh," she whispered into his shirt, holding onto him. "I don't want to leave you either, Dean. But you can do this," she moved to his side so she could turn his face until he looked at her. "You have Sam, and he needs you," she whispered. "You can do this."

He shook his head in protest but she silenced any argument from him with a kiss. He pulled back to look at her, stroking her cheek and swiping away the tears that had begun to form.

"Just sit with me for a little while? Watch the sunset?" She asked quietly, her voice beginning to sound weak.

He nodded, scooting back so he was against the tree, and she curled into him. He gripped her hand in his, their fingers intertwined as he committed the curves of her face to memory. Her eyes began to flutter shut, her body breaking down without feeding. "Dean," she said quietly. "Do you remember that hunt we did in Seattle a few months back?"

He nodded. They had taken out a nest of vampires, narrowly escaping without being turned themselves. "Yea."

"Do you remember our promise?"

He shook his head, remembering how she had made him promise to end it himself if she was ever unlucky enough to turn. At the time he had agreed happily, asking for her to do the same in return. "It won't come to that," he whispered.

She nodded sleepily. "I know. But if it does..." she held her free hand up, her pinky out.

He glanced down at it for a moment, swallowing before he wrapped his own pinky around hers, promising once more he wouldn't let her be a monster. He pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Thank you," she whispered, closing her eyes and relaxing, her pinky still wrapped around his.

He thought she had drifted off to sleep, but she broke the silence with a whisper once more. "Dean..."

"Yea sweetheart?"

"It would have been you."

*****

Y/N woke sometime later, and smiled at how peaceful Dean looked. She wondered when the last time he really slept was. She let her fingers trace over his lips before ghosting her own over them.

The scent of his skin was enticing, and she found that this close she could hear his blood pumping, and her mouth began to water. She pulled back, surprised to find that being close to him suddenly felt overwhelming. She stood quietly, ashamed that she was tempted at all, needing to get away.

She glanced around, unsure of where to go as panic began to wash over her. She remembered the room they had locked Crowley in a few times - the dungeon - Sam had called it. She ran back to the bunker and moved down the stairs, losing her balance. She caught herself and held herself up along the wall.

She felt tired and weak, but more than anything she was hungry.

So goddamn hungry.

She felt lightheaded and closed her eyes for a moment when she heard shuffling. She followed the noise to the library, where she found Sam sorting through books.

His hair was damp and he wore a fresh set of clothes, the stubble that had built up over the last several days gone, his face familiar once more.

She coughed, alerting him to her presence, and he glanced up at her. "Hey, sit down," he said, rushing to her side as she struggled to hold herself up.

She leaned on him, gripping his arm as he helped walk her to one of the chairs.

"You don't look so good..." he commented.

She shook her head. "I don't feel so good," she mumbled. She dropped into the chair with a sigh, the pain behind her eyes growing as she struggled to catch her breath.

Sam looked at her sadly, and knelt down in front of her. "Can I get you anything?" He asked, leaning over to grab his glass of water for her.

"I'm fine..." She shook her head, but as he turned his face she saw the small cut on his neck. It was fresh, left behind from his razor, and her mouth began to water.

"Here," he offered his water, and while she should have been grateful she found herself frustrated and angry.

"I said I'm fine!" She pushed the glass away, knocking it to the ground and Sam faltered as it shattered, surprised at her outburst.

He took a step back, looking at the pieces of glass and the water tracing the patterns on the floor beneath them. "Y/N, you're not fine."

"I'm sorry..." she whispered. She slid out of the chair and dropped to her knees, picking up the shards of glass, careful to avoid the sharp edges.

Sam stopped down next to her, taking the pieces from her hand gently. "Let me." The glass pricked his skin, ever so slightly, so soft he had barely even registered the cut.

But it was enough.

She pulled his hand into her own, delicately removing the glass, a single drop of blood forming on the tip of his finger.

Her mouth watered, and she began to lean forward when he pulled back suddenly. "Y/N," he warned.

She began to cry, frustrated that she was already losing herself, frustrated at the way her throat burned, begging for relief. "Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay." He soothed her, pulling her in for a hug.

She felt small in his arms, though she imagined most people did. She let him pull her close and she wrapped her arms around him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.

Her nose brushed against his skin where his razor had nicked him earlier, and she lifted her face slightly, so her lips hovered above it. While Sam continued to whisper words of encouragement, she drowned him out, focusing on the thrumming in his veins.

Her throat continued to burn, and everything else faded away, the only thing she could think of was ending the insatiable hunger she felt. His blood pumped louder and louder until she could no longer fight it, and she bit into his flesh.

It was only a moment, but she felt her world stop as the warmth of the blood hit her tongue. Her mouth ached as she felt her gums tear, but it was over quickly and suddenly she felt alive.

The way the blood felt on her tongue, the way it hit the back of her throat, the way she could feel it rush through her body, was pure ecstasy.

And just as quickly as it had begun it was gone.

Sam shoved her off, the force knocking her back and pulling her back to reality. "What the hell?" He shouted, jumping to his feet and feeling at his neck frantically.

She jumped up, too, the sorrow rushing forward as she realized what she had done. She felt at her mouth, the telltale sign of fangs that should definitely not be there confirming her worst fears. She was a monster.

"Sam! I'm so sorry." She stepped towards him but he moved back. "Please..."

He held a hand up, telling her to stay where she was. "Y/N, stop. We need to get you some help. I'm just going to go get Dean, and..."

She was behind him suddenly, startling him. "No! Please don't tell Dean...he can't see me like this. Please!" The guilt she felt was crushing, the worry of Dean's reaction enough to ruin her.

Sam shook his head, backing away carefully. "It's okay," he said calmly. "He'll know what to do."

She felt confused, her emotions bouncing wildly, making it difficult to keep track of exactly what she was feeling.

But the feeling always at the forefront of her mind was a desperate hunger.

She tried to ignore it, to pin down another emotion, until she found anger. Rage, even, that he was going to get Dean, that he'd let his brother see her like this.

She felt her eyes shift, and some part of her knew what she must look like, but she couldn't find a reason to care. She only knew she had to keep Sam from going to get Dean, so she lunged forward.

The sheer force of her knocked him off balance, and he fell back against the table. She used her newfound strength and speed to follow his movements, and she was on top of him, pulling his head back while pinning his arms down. The need to feel the same relief and ecstasy she had felt earlier was overwhelming all of her senses, all rational thought.

She bit into his neck, this time her teeth equipped to do the job properly, her fangs piercing his skin with ease. She pulled at his blood greedily, and she worked without thought or care, tearing into him, eager for more.

She felt him fight beneath her, but she ignored it, finding it as insignificant as a fly buzzing near her food.

"Y/N!" He choked out, and she had a vision of Sam, lifeless beneath her, as her chin dripped with his blood shook her out of her bloodlust.

She released him, jumping back, and he dropped to his knees, clutching his neck.

"No, no, no..." she began to panic, and she dropped down next to him, shoving the glass aside. "What did I do, what did I do?" She whispered, the tears coming fast and furiously. She rocked for a moment and she found that she could hear his heartbeat, slower than before, but the blood was still pumping strong, tempting her.

Sam held his free hand up cautiously, as if approaching a dangerous animal, his other hand pressed against the wound. "Y/N, calm down," he rasped.

Before he could say more she was gone.

*****

Dean woke from a dream - a damn good one - which didn't often happen. He sat up slowly, searching around him as the chill of the air fell over him. The glimpse of relief he had gotten while asleep faded rapidly as reality sunk down around him.

The silence that greeted him was eerie, and he had an all too familiar dread in the pit of his stomach.

Y/N was dying, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. And now she was missing.

He made his way back to the bunker, and a sense that could only be honed by a lifetime of hunting the things that go bump in the night told him to be careful. He opened the door slowly and moved silently down the stairs, knowing inherently something was wrong. He moved lightly, but quickly, until he heard the stifled sobs.

His heart stopped, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, alerting him that he wouldn't like what he found.

He turned the corner, stepping cautiously into the library and his heart dropped.

There across the room was Sam, clutching his neck.

"Sam!" Dean rushed, dropping beside his brother and searching frantically for the source of the blood.

Because there was so much blood.

"She's gone," Sam said.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, helping him to his feet.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he rushed, trying to reassure his brother. "But she fed, and now she's gone."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Dean, we have to find her. We have to save her."

Dean shook his head, already headed towards his car. "She's gone, Sam. You said it yourself."

"Y/N needs help," Sam struggled to keep up with Dean's long strides, his own legs weak from the loss of blood.

"She's not Y/N anymore!" He roared, rounding on his brother. Sam's steps faltered and Dean turned away once more. "You know we have to do this."

Sam looked at him, knowing it wouldn't be easy for either of them, but the weight of this was something Dean would carry with him forever. After all, he had been there himself. He nodded solemnly. "Dean, I -"

Dean shook his head, his eyes burning with the tears he held back as tightly as he could. He knew all he had to do was ask, and his brother would do this for him. He cleared his throat. "It has to be me, Sammy."

*****

It didn't take Dean long to find her. He knew how newbie vampires worked, he had hunted enough of them over the years.

She'd want to avoid people, but she was scared, alone and hungry. And even though he hated to admit it, he knew she wouldn't be able to resist the hunt for long.

It didn't take him long to find her, but it was long enough.

She had made her way to a bar on the outskirts of town, and in the dark alley she knelt, her shoulders sagging.

He clenched his jaw, knowing even in the dark that she was kneeling over a body. A body she had dropped.

She heard him approach and knew by his footsteps it was him. "I'm a monster," she glanced down at her hands.

He didn't argue with her, but he couldn't help but think of the possibility that maybe Sam was right. He cleared his throat. "Baby, we can figure this out..." he whispered.

She shook her head and stood, stepping away from him, all too aware of what she must look like.

Dean stepped forward slowly, trying to calm her as she sobbed harder, the sadness and pain drowning her. "We can't figure this out, Dean, I just killed someone!" She screamed. "Even now I can't stop thinking about how hungry I am. Get away from me."

"Y/N..." Dean took another step toward her, and she shoved him away violently, putting him on the defense, and she knew he'd never be able to let her walk away from this.

And why should he? She thought, as she felt the veins ripple beneath her eyes, begging for her to give in to her worst intentions.

She watched as Dean pulled the stake from his jacket, turning it in his hand as he looked at the pointed end of the wood. He contemplated it for a moment before allowing himself to meet her eyes again.

He clenched his jaw, hating himself. Wondering if he should just call Stefan, let them figure out a new life for her, and remembering his promise to her.

"Please," she cried. "Dean."

He winced, his name rolling off her tongue in a siren's call. She was still Y/N, and he knew that even with the blood lust, he loved her. He always would.

Which made his promise all the more damning.

She stepped back, so her back was against the wall, and she reached out to him, pulling him closer. "You promised," she reminded him, her eyes pleading.

He shook his head, biting his lip and concentrating on the pain there instead of the one tearing through his chest.

His eyes bore into hers, and he knew there was a part of her that was considering running. Part of him wished she'd listen to that, but he knew she'd never forgive him if he let her go free and she went into the night, if she took another victim.

Worse, she'd never forgive herself.

That blood would be on both of their hands, and there was already too much.

Her sobs choked away anything she could say, and she didn't fight him as he raised the wood up to her chest.

He wished he could turn it off, steel his nerves so they were no longer Y/N and Dean, but hunter and monster, but he felt every moment, every second of pain and he knew it would never leave him. "I love you," he said instead, his own tears blurring his vision. And that was okay, he thought, because he didn't want to remember her like this - with murderous eyes and her face covered in death.

She nodded, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, raising her chin as she readied herself to meet her fate.

He leaned forward, ghosting his lips over her eyelids before closing his own eyes, slamming the splintered wood forward with as much force as he could muster.

He had killed plenty of vampires before. Most of them had taken a machete to the head, but several he had staked. He was familiar with the way a stake pressed through the layer of skin, the way you had to pop the muscle beneath it to get through all of the way, the force it took and the way the body gave before it broke.

He had anticipated it this time.

So he was surprised when he hit a solid wall. The stake not giving, and bruising his own ribs as he pressed his weight forward. He opened his eyes, surprised to see she was no longer in front of him, when out of the corner of his eye he saw him.

Elijah knelt over her, having rushed in and knocking her away from the force of the stake just in time.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, a mixture of relief, anger, guilt, frustration, love...she couldn't process everything she felt in that moment, still not used to the weight each emotion carried.

"Elijah," she breathed.

He nodded, his eyes searching her, taking in the change. She found he didn't look at her with pity or disgust, only his own regret. Still, there was awe.

He pulled out his handkerchief, wiping the blood from her chin delicately, his thumb tracing against her lips.

"I killed him," her voice cracked.

"Hey," he whispered, helping her stand, but gripping her arm. "This is the hunger."

She nodded, feeling calm in his hold, but as the rage and the hunger dissipated she found it made more room for grief and guilt. "I shouldn't be here," she cried. "I can't be this, Elijah. I can't. I'm a monster."

He shook his head, brushing her hair back from her face. "You can do this," he whispered. "We will do this together, but you must feed."

She made no move as she understood what he meant, her eyes searching for Dean, searching for an answer, but he looked away knowing he was an outsider in this moment.

Elijah gripped her face in his hands, pulling her attention back to him.

She looked dazed but nodded slowly, and he pulled her into him, allowing her to drink from his own veins as she cried, until her body relaxed in his arms.

He pulled back to look at her once more, his thumb wiping at the last trace of blood. "Go, Y/N. Go, and I give you my word I will be right behind you."

Her eyes moved toward Dean once more, and he looked back at her, his eyes filled with despair and longing. For a brief moment she saw the life they could have had, the life Dean had deserved, because he deserved it all. She cursed Chuck at the shitty hand he had dealt him, and knew even he didn't deserve Dean Winchester.

"Go," Elijah said urgently. "Go now."

Maybe it was her newfound perception, she thought maybe instead it was because she knew him, but she saw the slightest nod from Dean, and she knew he was giving them both an escape from this nightmare. He was saying goodbye, letting her go. He was breaking his promise.

She looked at him one last time, committing his face to memory, knowing she'd forever be haunted by his beauty, by the life they should have had.

And as quickly as Elijah had appeared, Y/N was gone.

Dean turned as Elijah stood and adjusted his suit jacket, sure he had a fight coming to him that he couldn't win, unsure if he cared anymore.

The Original waited until he was sure Y/N was out of hearing range, his eyes studying the man before him. "Tell me, Mr. Winchester. What kind of man gives up on the woman he loves?" He asked, his jaw clenched.

Dean looked away for a moment. He didn't need Elijah to hate him, he hated himself enough for the both of them. "I made her a promise, that if she ever became a monster..."

"You have no idea what she will become, what she is capable of."

He shook his head slowly. "She won't be Y/N anymore."

"I can help her," Elijah said with confidence. "Help her control her urges, teach her how to live with the hunger."

"When she kills again, the guilt will tear her apart, and she won't come back from it. It'll change her. It already has."

Elijah nodded and for a moment Dean saw the sorrow reflected in his own eyes. "Perhaps you are right," he said gravely. "But what kind of man would I be if I didn't try?"

Dean had no answer for him. Either way he knew Y/N was lost to him, and it killed him all the same.

Elijah stepped around him, pausing when Dean's hand came up to her shoulder. "I made a promise to stop her, Elijah. And I keep my promises."

Elijah considered him for a moment. He nodded silently and moved past him. When he was at the entrance of the alley he stopped, turning to face the hunter once more. "I am a man of my word as well. I meant it when I said I'd make it my business if you hurt her again."

Dean didn't turn around, waiting for the silence to wash over him once more, the all too familiar feeling of loneliness sinking on him before he dropped the stake he had white knuckled in his hand. He took a breath, his heart pounding as he realized it was all over.

Y/N was gone.

He punched the brick wall next to him, wincing at the pain in his knuckles that were already bruising.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself as the grief began to consume him.

*****

Y/N stood at the edge of town, pacing wildly. She was struggling to keep up with everything she felt, every noise she heard. The cars, the footsteps, the heartbeats. Everything was so loud.

It was all too much, and so she ran until she heard nothing but her own thoughts. She wasn't sure which was worse, but at least she knew she was alone out under the starry sky. She wouldn't hurt anyone here.

Flashbacks of Sam flooded her mind, and she felt grateful for a brief moment that he was okay - that she hadn't killed him like she had dreamt she had a few days ago. But her gratitude faded under the weight of the pain of what she had done. The pain she felt when Dean had looked at her, knowing she was gone.

It was odd, she thought, because still felt everything she had felt before. For Dean, for Elijah, for her friends...but it was all heightened...and didn't that mean she was still her?

You're a monster, she reminded herself as the flash of the dead man - the man who she had drained the life out of in a moment - came to the forefront of her mind.

So that was heightened, too. The guilt, the self loathing...

The hunger, the monster within reminded her.

She continued to pace when she stopped, her newfound hearing picking up on something in the distance.

Then his scent hit her. Elijah.

She needed to focus, so she grasped onto the emotion that popped up first.

Which apparently was anger. "I don't want this!" She shouted, turning as he approached. He said nothing, instead watching her, his brow creased and his gaze intent. "I should have died back there!" She screamed at him. "I didn't want this!"

Elijah approached her carefully, pulling her into him and pressing her against his chest.

It should have soothed her, like it had earlier, in the alley where the dark had hid what she had become. But out there in the open, under the light of the moon, where he could see her clearly she felt she was undeserving of his comfort, of his compassion and understanding. It only angered her more.

She pushed him away. "This was not the plan!" She cried, a fresh wave of anguish pulling her under once more.

Elijah clenched his jaw for a moment, thinking carefully on his words. "Y/N, everything you are feeling is heightened, and raw. It's all new, you need time..."

"I was out of time, Elijah! And I made my peace with it!"

"And I did not!" He hollered back.

Her stance faltered as she stepped back from him.

"I would have protected you," he whispered. "I would have done anything to keep you safe, and you took that away from me."

She was at a loss for words.

"And had I been there when you were in transition," he continued "I would have..."

"What?" she cut him off. "What would you have done Elijah? You said it yourself, you wouldn't have let me go."

He shook his head sadly. "I would have respected your decision," he whispered. "Whether you decided to feed or not, I would have loved you through it."

Her heart ached, knowing he meant it. If Elijah had been there, he would have broken his own heart to keep her from this life, if she had asked him to. "And now?" She asked.

His eyes searched hers, and she wondered if he still saw her, when it occurred to her that it wasn't the monster that had changed the way he had looked at her. Instead, the monster within his own eyes rose up to meet her demons, and she knew he'd fight them off for her as long as she let him.

It wasn't the monster. He looked at her differently because he knew.

"Elijah..." she said softly. "Earlier, back in the cabin you asked if I had made my decision..." words escaped her, unsure of how to tell him she wished she could go home to Dean, how it didn't even matter when all was said and done - because she still lost both of them.

He shook his head. "Don't," he pleaded.

She held back her words, locking them in a piece of her heart he'd never quite be able to reach. "Okay," she whispered.

"We have an eternity to discover what we are, what we could be. No matter what that might look like, I promised to protect you. Always."

She smiled sadly at that, knowing she didn't deserve him. "And forever."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. "Come," he said, offering his hand.

She glanced down at it, contemplating this new life that awaited her, before slipping her hand into his.

*****

A few hours later Dean pulled back up to the bunker.

"What happened?" Sam asked, appearing in the doorway when he heard Baby's engine.

Dean wiped at his eyes, composing himself before turning to face his brother, his eyes hard and lifeless. "Nothing," he said, clearing his throat and moving around to the back of the car, popping the trunk. He threw the stake from his jacket inside with the rest of the weapons.

Sam moved to stand next to him, sure his brother had not only found her, but let her walk away. "Maybe Y/N won't end up a ripper. Maybe she..."

"You ever mention Y/N to me again, and I will break your nose."

Sam blanched. "Dean..."

"I mean it."

Sam swallowed, and cleared his throat, knowing Dean put up a wall he'd never get through, that his word was final. "Okay," he agreed quietly.

"Come on," Dean said gruffly, slamming the trunk. "We got work to do."

95 notes · View notes

bxthharmon · 4 years

Text

Never Go Home Again, Pt. V || JJ Maybank x reader

Words: 3628

Series Warnings: violence / talking about abuse / toxic relationships / talking about nudes sex tapes and sex tapes / drugs / underage drinking

Pt. Warnings: underage drinking / drug use

Series summary: A new girl, a shoebox of old memories, a past she’s trying to forget coincide with a hotheaded, but selfless, boy. teenagers getting in way over their heads

Pt. Summary: A trip to the cemetery and talks of the future

A/N: Okay THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT and as always, let me know what oyu think and if you wanna be tagged <3

Chapters linked in my masterlist.

“masterlist”

“I mean it’s obvious, right?” John B looked around at the group, “A family heirloom, what better place to hide a message? He had to know it was gonna get back to me, right?”

“Yeah, it’s possible.” Kie assured her friend, looking back at Pope’s skeptical face and you and JJ, currently sharing a spliff.

“It could also be possible that you’re concocting wild theories to help,” Pope started, “you know, deal with your sad feels.”

“Bro, you know how I process my sad feels?” JJ piped up.

“Do we want to?” you quipped, taking a hit off the joint.

“Dank nugs and the stickiest of ickies.” he continued, making you snort., “That’s how I do it.”

“You know,” you looked at him, as if about to make a psychological evaluation, “you’re like, such a stereotype?”

“I’m not concocting, okay?” John B snapped, cutting off your tangent, “My dad’s trying to give me a message.”

“If it helps you believe, John B.” Kie assured.

“Look, I - I don’t need a therapy session, okay? I’m not trippin’ out.”

“It’s okay to trip out, bro, but-”

“Look my - my dad is missing, okay? Missing. You don’t know what it’s like to have the person closest to you vanish and then have no idea what happened. To just wake up every morning wandering.”

“It’s been almost a year.” Kie soothed.

“Hey,” JJ piped up, again, “He could have been kidnapped - that’s definitely a possibility.”

“Yeah, could be in a Soviet sub being interrogated by the KGB somewhere.” Pope offered.

“Absolutely. Or Atlantis!”

“Because a fictional, Ancient Greek allegory is the most plausible option.” you deadpanned.

“Y/N,” Kie warned, turning back to John B, “What do you think the message is?”

“Redfield.” he thought for a second, “Redfield Lighthouse, that’s my dad’s favourite place.”

He pulled into the woods, the group leading you to a picket fence overlooking the grey and white tower and the platform of rocks it stood on.

“I didn’t even know there was a lighthouse on this island.” you muttered, shielding your eyes from the sun.

“Alright here’s what’s gonna happen,” John B walked over to JJ, “You’re gonna post up and look out for bogeys, okay?”

“Wait,” JJ frowned, “why me?”

“‘Cause you’re not coming.” Pope said, as if it was obvious.

“Why?”

“Look JJ, there are independent and dependent variables.” Pope explained.

“You’re an independent variable.” you confirmed.

“We don’t know what you’ll do.” Pope added.

“Shut up!” he yelled at you both, “just shut up!”

“Listen to me for a second!” John B shouted over him, “Just listen. Pope and Y/N, stand look out with JJ, okay? If we get split up we’ll meet back at JJ’s house.”

You made eye contact with JJ, thinking of his dad, passed out on the sofa the night before.

“Great.” Kie interrupted your thought, walking away with John B.

“I’m gonna work on my merit scholarship essay.” Pope excused, “and I’m tryna keep felonies down to a minimum.”

“A’ight, will you just shut up?” JJ said, kicking around his hacky sack. You pulled yourself up onto a joint between a tree and its branch, watching JJ kick the sack around. You watched for a couple of minutes, admiring the way his eyebrows pulled in when he concentrated and his blonde locks fell over his face, or the way he pouted when the ball fell into the crisp leaves, before twisting around and kicking your feet out to rest on the branch. He looked up at you, a determined curiosity in his eyes. You looked back down at him, bracing yourself for the oncoming question. “What happened last night?”

You glanced over to Pope, who was too busy thinking to pay any attention. “My dad got drunk and started saying shit, I didn’t wanna stick around and I had no clue where to go. Thanks, for all of that.”

“It's nothing you haven’t done for me.” he reminded you. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

You smiled a tight-lipped smile, nodding quickly, “Of course.”

You dragged Pope into a game of hacky sack, and he was beginning to get the hang of it (after much teasing from you and JJ) when you heard the sirens. You swore, running to the Twinkie as the cars pulled closer, sirens wailing and lights flashing. You all jumped in, driving away despite your point that “Pogues don’t leave pogues behind, right?”

John B had picked up you, Pope and JJ, and after a short delay caused by Kie’s refusal (you explained to the boys that John B had kissed her and been rejected, which was all Kie had told you during your shift at the Wreck) you found yourselves on the way to the cemetery.

“You mind if I just relax on this one?” JJ spoke up, “It’s been a long day, and a lot of weird stuff’s gone down. I’m just gonna lay low,” he turned to you, “Did you want a hit of this?”

You took the blunt, inhaling the weed and exhaling the smoke. You offered it to Pope, who shook his head. You groaned. “Popey, you’re a total buzzkill!”

“How much have you had?” you flipped him off, “I keep the signal clear.” he shook his head, and you handed the blunt back to JJ.

“Dude, okay.” JJ leaned forwards like an old mage about to give the wisest advice of the century, “Do you understand that your problem is that you don’t get creative? If you got creative, then-”

“Look, John B interrupted, sparing you all from JJ’s wisdom, “I - I know I was wrong about the lighthouse, alright? And wrong about everything else going on. But I was right about one thing, okay? My dad is trying to tell me something.”

“Come on.” you hopped out of the van, and turned, grabbing JJ’s handed and trying to pull him up from the floor with all your might, frustrated when he giggled at your efforts, not having moved an inch. Kie scolded the pair of you, so you let John B lead you into the cemetery, tickling Pope on the back of the neck with a bit of long grass so that he panicked, spinning around like a deer in the headlights, searching for whatever ghost he thought had touched him. You and JJ giggled.

“This place is scary.” Kie shuddered, the torch lights swaying in time with the footfalls. “John B, what are we doing?”

“Shut up!” he hissed, “Okay, so you know how you’re trying to remember a song,” you prepared yourself for an unnecessarily long explanation, “and you can’t remember who sings it?”

You all hummed in understanding.

“So. Redfield. This whole time I thought it was a place, right? But it’s not a place.” He held up the light to show the word “REDFIELD” written over the door of a tomb, “It’s a person.”

“Voi-effing-la.” JJ snarked, and you elbowed him playfully.

“See,” John B continued, “My great-great-grandmother, Olivia Redfield.” he glanced back at you, “That was her maiden name. Look, help me with the door, come on.” he stepped forwards, him and Pope beginning to push on the count of three. JJ joined.

“Are you pushing?”

“Yeah, I’m pushing.”

“Hold on, I got it.”

“This door is, like, 700 pounds man,” Pope sighed, “it’s not gonna budge.”

“We didn’t come this far, to get this far, alright?” JJ countered. You and Kie looked at each other, fighting back giggles at the macho-man display in front of you. Your stifled laughs were interrupted by a hissing, the pair of you squealing slightly as you stepped back.

The boys pulled back as well, JJ throwing his arms out dramatically in front of you. “Snake!” he yelled.

“No shit.” you whispered.

“That’s a moccasin, alright.” he confirmed, “Ye olde Dr. Cottonmouth. Death in tall grass.”

He barked loudly at the snake, crouching slightly.

“JJ, Shut up!” Kie hissed, “Shut up!”

“You’re gonna wake the frickin’ dead, man!” Pope whisper-shouted.

“They’re afraid of dogs.” JJ shrugged like it was common knowledge, ignoring your confused faces, “Everyone knows that, man. Wait, hold on.” he pulled Kie and John B back, the four of you turning back to him with unimpressed faces. “If there’s one, there’s probably dozens.”

“What?” Pope fretted.

“JJ,” you groaned. “Stop being dramatic, it was just a snake.”

Pope and JJ looked at you almost offended, with terror stricken faces.

“Can you stop? You’re scaring me.” Kie begged. JJ started barking again.

“Oh my God, Jay.” you seethed, “stop fucking barking!”

“Just making sure it’s clear!” he argued, making you roll your eyes.

“Shut up!” Pope finalised, “John-”

“It’s a snake!” JJ countered.

“We’re not gonna get in there.” Pope continued, as Kie nudged you, pointing to the whole in the door. “It’s not budging. We should probably just go.”

“I can get through.” you spoke, Kie glancing at you with a worried smile.

“What?” JJ stared at you, concern striking his face, again.

“What?” echoed John B, “No, no, you think you’re gonna fit through the hole?”

“That hole?” JJ confirmed, and you nodded.

“Look,” you turned to face John B, “I know we only met like a week and a half ago, but I can see how much this means to you. If this helps you find him, or, at the very least, find out what happened, then of course I’ll climb through that whole. You deserve to know the truth. I’ll do it.”

Kie went forward to clear the vines away, and JJ frowned at you. “Are you sure?”

“For John B,” you reminded him, “I’ll try not to get possessed, you know, like the Tutankhamun shit. Though, if I did, I’d take all of you down with me.”

With that, JJ helped pull the vines to the side, allowing you entry. “I’m gonna boost ya,” he said, leaning against the wall in a crouch position with his fingers interlocked, “I’ve seen it in the movies several times, ready?”

You turned to John B, “Remind me what we’re looking for?”

“You’ll know when you see it.” he said, arms crossed and staring straight on. You nodded, not really assured, but ready to go in.

“Hold my flashlight.” You passed it to Pope.

“Okay,” JJ instructed, “Put your hand right there, and your foot. Alright, on three.”

You ignored him, pushing yourself up and clambering through the whole, jumping down onto the dusty ground on the other side. You brushed yourself off in the darkness, hearing JJ mutter “Okay, nevermind, just forget about three then.” the lights from outside were moving, and you saw the shadow of JJ moving away, and Pope moving towards the gap.

“Okay, flashlight?” you called, and are greeted by the feel of Pope thrusting a flashlight in your face, barely an inch away. You took it from him, clicked it on and shone it around. You could see the shapes of the individual tombs, and shuddered.

“You alive?” John B called, “Got like a - a heartbeat, and everything?”

“So far. No Howard Carter shit yet.” you confirmed, hearing JJ mutter something about Tutankhamun, and you slowly turned, looking at the dusty tombstones and plaques for clues. “Uh, I need some more light.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He handed you another light, “I got ya.”

You shone it towards a gap between two stones, stepping forwards slowly, trying to make out exactly what it was. An envelope of some sort?

“You got something?” JJ asked, “Is there gold?”

“Oh my God.” you muster, picking it up. You read the front, “FedEx”, and then next to it, in handwritten block letters, “FOR BIRD.”

You stepped towards the hole, holding the envelope and light out blindly as someone took them from you. You heard Pope say “That’s not gold.”

“Holy shit.” You heard John B murmur as you tackled your way out of the tomb, tumbling out of the whole with JJ’s help, “This is from my dad.”

You and Kie smiled softly, turning at the sound of a vehicle. JJ took a hit from his Juul, “Code red.” he called, “Code red. Square groupers. Square groupers!”

“Go!” Kie said, the five of you running from the headlights.

“It’s the guys who robbed your house!” JJ yelled as you all collapsed behind some tombstones, leaning around to try and see who they were.

“Lights!” You hissed, as the boys struggled with their flashlights. You clicked JJ’s headlight off for him, and he smirked in the shaky light. “John B - your light!” he tried to stuff in his shirt, making you smirk, idiot.

You could hear shouts, “Do you think it’s them?” Kie asked.

“Homie’s got a gun.” observed JJ.

“Screw this.” You grabbed Kiara’s hand, pulling her up with you and ran towards the gate. You let go, grabbing the gate and climbing, throwing your legs over one by one, and then hopping down the other side, only then noticing that the boys had, in fact, followed. Kie jumped down beside you, then JJ and John B. You looked back, seeing how Pope’s shorts were hooked over a loop, and he was stuck. You could see him panicking, and ran back to him, grabbing his waist as he yelled complaints. You pulled him back, stepping away from the gate a cackling at the sight of him standing awkwardly in his pants.

“Nice,” JJ commented, “It’s a little tootsie roll!”

Kie grabbed your forearm, the pair of you jumping in the car in fits if barely-contained giggles.

“Dumbass,” you mumbled through your laughter, helping him in, “Ain’t you ever jumped a gate before?”

“I have limited experience!” he countered, John B driving away.

“Guys,” you wheezed, you and JJ still giggling your heads off, “I’m pretty sure that was just the cemetery guards.”

You watched JJ spread jam over two slices of mouldy toast, disgust pulling at your features.

“That bread had mould on it three days ago.” Pope said, in passing.

“I’ll just pull off the bad parts,” JJ shrugged, “Plus, mould is good for you, it’s just a natural organism.”

“Jay, deadly nightshade is also ‘just a natural organism’, and, clue in the name, it’s deadly.” you pointed out, and he shrugged, joining you next to John B as Kie called to him.

“Hot damn, let’s do it.” he came, watching as John B pulled the seal off the envelope. He took a bite from the bread, and immediately gagged, spitting it back into his hand, and going to throw the bread away. Your face contorted in disgust, again, but softened at the sight of his sheepish grin. John B unfolded the map, and the five of you leaned over to check it out.

The map showed the island, a hurricane and ‘x’ marked in with a black marker.

“Holy shit.” John murmured.

“Well, ‘x’ marks the spot.” you pointed to the ‘x’ situated on the sea.

Next, John B pulled out an old fashioned tape recorder.

“What’s that?” JJ asked.

“A tape recorder, dummy.” you chuckled, “Where’d he get it, the 90s?”

“Dear Bird,”

“Who’s Bird?” you asked.

“That’s what my dad called me.” John B explained.

“I hate to say ‘I told you so’, but I told you so. And you doubted your old man. I suspect, at this moment you’re filled with guilt and self-loathing about our last fight, but don’t kill yourself just yet, kid. I didn’t expect to find the Merchant either.” you looked at the others, seeing their matching expressions of shock and wonder, “You were probably right to call me out, I wasn’t exactly father of the decade. What can I say, kid? I could smell the barn. And hopefully we’re listenin’ to this in our brand new sugar-shack down in Costa Rica livin’ off passive investments and pulling on permits. If not, and you find this for less optimal reasons, well, that’s what the map is for. There she is, the wreck of the Merchant. If somethin’ happens to me, finish what I started. Go for the gold, kid. I love you bird, even if I didn’t always act like it. I’ll see you on the other side.”

The tape went static, and you could see John B tearing up, your heart breaking for him. He clicked the recorder off, standing up and grabbing onto a door frame, sobs racking his body.

“Holy shit, he did it!” JJ grinned ecstatically, “Big John - He found, he found the Merchant!”

You slapped his arm, eyes widening in warning as you nodded over to John B. “Can you… can you please?” JJ nodded, looking down and muttering an apology. You could hear John B’s sobs from feet away. You watched Kie hug him from behind, and leant your head on JJ’s shoulder.

You lay between JJ’s legs, head resting on his chest as he played with your hair, and you watched Kie strum at the ukulele, your faces lit up by the fire beside you, the soft, glowing light illuminating your small circle.

“How much was it again?” JJ broke the relative quiet.

“Four hundred mil.” You responded in a low murmur, looking up at his golden face.

“Alright, let’s talk the split.” he lightened up, hands leaving your hair and coming down to meet your hands. “Now, before we say ‘evenly’, may I remind you that I am the only one that can properly defend us from those groupers who are after us.” he lifted the gun to show you all, ignoring the collective groan, “Protection, not cheap, okay?”

“You haven’t trained.” Pope pointed out. “You’ve done zero training.”

“Nada.” You emphasised, “Zilch.”

“Youtube, bro!” JJ justified. “That’s at least a five percent bump right there. Any objections?” he ignored you and Pope’s muttering, “Didn’t think so.”

“Yeah.” You and Pope said in unison, and you sat up, twisting to face him.

“Complaint right here!” you leaned away from him.

“I don’t hear any.” He pouted as you pulled away, reaching out for your waist and pulling you back down to how you’d lay before.

“Guys,” you twisted your head to look at the pogues. “I’m like, new here, and y’all don’t really know me, so like, are you sure you want me in the cut? ‘Cause I’d understand if not-”

“Y/N,” Kie shut you up, “quality over quantity. You’ve helped us, we’re all getting 80 mil, JJ.” she glared at him, making you snort. “what are you gonna do with your 80 mil, Pope?”

“Pay for college in advance. And also textbooks. Those are expensive.”

“What about you Kie?” you asked.

“Yeah, what does a socialist do when she’s rich?” Pope smirked.

Kie chuckles, shrugging, “Just wanna make a double album. About OBX, the pogues. You know, the way Catch a Fire’s about Kingston. Record it at Marley studio, Peter Tosh producing.”

“Peter Tosh is dead.” Pope said.

“Peter Tosh is dead, I know.” Kie grinned, “Spirit of Peter Tosh will never die.” she toasted with her beer, “What about you, Y/N?”

“Pay off my brother’s student loans.” You paused, “And travel. I wanna see Europe. And Asia, and South America. I wanna see other cultures, you know? Might come back here, one day, I might even go back to LA for a bit, but probably not, just come straight home after a couple of years, and go full kook.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, “I’m gonna get a big ass house of Figure Eight and go full kook.”

“You’re gonna go full kook?” Pope asked.

“Yeah.” JJ nodded. “Gonna get a marble statue of myself and then I’m gonna get a koi pond.” You giggled, grinning up at him. “Put a bunch of those fish-”

“I’m never visiting.” Kie laughed.

“What are you gonna do, JB?” Pope brought your attention to your other friend.

He looked back around at the group and toasted, “To going full kook.”

“To going full kook!” you all cheered, all of you laughing, drinks raised, and heads stuck in your temporary bliss.

Eventually, John B clocked out, heading to his room, and Kiara gave Pope a ride home, leaving you and JJ alone for the first time since last night. You had been drinking and smoking all night, while he had stopped uncharacteristically early. As a result, he was almost sober, and you were nearing wasted as you went to grab your stuff and head home. He put his arm around your waist, letting you lean on him as you ambled slowly towards your house.

“Jay?” you mumbled, and he hummed, helping you further down the road, “When we go full kook, we should combine our money to get an even bigger house.”

He smiled at the thought of sharing a house with you.

“You wanna share a house with me?” he stopped by your door, and you turned to face him.

“Duh.” you slurred, blinking up at him.

“I’ll warn you, I’m a messy person.” he gazed down at your drunken smile.

“I’ll manage.” you mumbled, leaning up into him.

You pressed your lips to his, feeling pure bliss for a split second, but sobering when you felt him move away, punching against the kiss. You stepped back, cheeks reddening as you realised what you had done, feeling stupid and embarrassed, wanting to disappear. You felt your vision go cloudy, and he was talking but all you could hear was the voice in your head screaming that you had ruined this perfect, happy friendship You frowned, trying to keep the tears in as he stepped away from the door, backing into the road.

“JJ, I…” you watched him walk away, his shape turning into a smudge that crawled away, and disappearing completely when he turned the corner. Then, you let yourself fall.

Tags: @tangledinsparkles @jellyfishbeansontoast @lolitstiana @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @teamnick @thoughtsofthestars @obxmxybxnk

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yeehawetc · 3 years

Text

Title: Bachelor’s Grove

Pairing: none

Summary: It’s Christmas 1885. Dutch is talking to anarchists, Hosea’s trying to scam an old man out of his house, and Arthur’s trying to figure out the very weird kid they just picked up. Nobody knows if they’re going to keep him, and John doesn’t want to go back.

Warnings: some gory imagery; almost-kind-of-you-decide-whether-it’s-magical-realism?

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28368408

@wolfmeat, I was your secret santa! (I bet you never guessed. Love you)

The sun glancing off the frosted windows of the station house blinds Arthur temporarily as he slips off Boadicea. He tugs off his heavy mittens to tie her to the hitching post, then stuffs his chapped hands quickly back into his coat pockets. There was an inch of ice on the water bucket this morning in camp. Arthur wishes Dutch had chosen a warmer morning to get caught with a known anarchist distributing anti-government literature.

He steps inside, and again can’t fucking see for a minute. The station’s dark even in daylight, old wood lit by dusty kerosene lamps that stink louder than the general musk of a constant cycle of drunks’ piss and tobacco spit. Arthur stops for a minute inside the door to let his eyes adjust, and the officer at the desk barks at him.

“What you want, son?”

“Payin’ a social call,” Arthur says, and takes the wad of bills Hosea counted out for him and tosses it onto the desk. The fella’s eyebrows hop nearly off his face, and Arthur scans the cells while he counts the money. It doesn’t take him long to pick him out. There’s not many people in the 18th district jailhouse wearing black silk and sitting on the cot like it’s a goddamn throne.

Dutch stands to meet him when Arthur approaches the cell, straightening his vest and checking the time on his pocket watch. As if Arthur were here picking him up from a social function, as if he didn’t have a huge purple bruise over one cheekbone.

“Good morning, Arthur,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Hosea’s gonna have your hide,” Arthur tells him. Dutch waves that away blithely, picking up his coat. He limps elegantly to the door of the cell and extends a broad hand to the jailkeeper, who doesn’t take it.

“A merry Christmas to you and your family,” Dutch says, beaming. Arthur can tell he’d like to knock the man’s teeth out. “Very sorry to insult your hospitality this way, but I’m afraid I ain’t inclined to spend another night in the company of the state.”

The guard isn’t impressed. “Go on,” he says, “before I change my mind.”

Dutch, Arthur notes with some dismay, is clearly in a good mood. For the first fifteen minutes of the ride back to camp, Dutch expounds on the uselessness of the state and the pathetic bankruptcy of soul that must lead a man like that wretch back at the jailhouse to feed his family off the profits of a government that’s nothing more than a tradition, and a cruel and foolish one at that, and Arthur picks at the loose wool on his mittens and watches his breath steam in the air.

“The true place for a just man, Arthur, is a prison,” Dutch shouts to him through the blistering chill as they wind south towards Bachelor’s Grove.

“True place for a man who can’t run on a sprained ankle, more like,” Arthur says, and Dutch throws his head back and laughs so loud a crow gets startled off the fence they’re passing by, and Arthur can’t help himself, he’s grinning.

“We’re onto something good here, Arthur,” Dutch says as they pass into the woods. “Silas tells me that Leslie Ashville—that haggard old maggot who owns the steel works where Silas’s poor cousin lost his hand last month—is losing his mind.”

“This the same Silas who got you arrested last night?” Arthur asks.

Dutch ignores him. “Old Ashville’s cracking, Arthur. Talking to folks as ain’t there and forgetting his own name. They say he ain’t gonna see the year of our Lord 1886, and it don’t seem right to me to let that fine gentleman die alone, with no one but his vampire of a nephew to carry on his legacy.”

“So,” Arthur says, starting to see where this is going, “you’re goin’ to apologize to Hosea for getting yourself arrested by inviting him to con a dyin’ man out of his money?”

“A dyin’ industrialist,” Dutch confirms brightly.

The camp’s a cluster of tents and wagons in a stand of oaks just south of the quarry pond, a respectful distance from the scattered headstones of Bachelor’s Grove cemetery. As they ride in, Arthur can see Hosea and Miss Grimshaw hurrying between the tents, ducking to look under the wagons and talking hotly. He catches Miss Grimshaw’s last sentence on the wind as he and Dutch ride closer: “...can’t have gone far in this cold.”

“What’s happening?” Dutch inquires as he slips down from the Count, favoring his hurt ankle just a little.

“The boy’s disappeared,” Hosea says, and Arthur doesn’t miss the relief that settles over Dutch’s features when he realizes this latest catastrophe is going to postpone a conversation with Hosea about his own sins.

“Go on, Arthur,” he says, “you look up thataways, and pray he ain’t fallen down that quarry. I’ll look off to the west, and Hosea, you and Miss Grimshaw stay here in case he comes back on his own.”

Arthur sets out grudgingly on foot. This ain’t the first time the kid’s given them trouble. In fact, Arthur reflects, he’s been more trouble than anything else since the moment Dutch caught sight of that rabble of homesteaders tying a noose to a walnut tree and decided to investigate. When they got closer and it turned out the fearful criminal due for a lynching that day was a twelve-year-old kid with an armful of onions and a crazy look in his eye, Arthur was the one who picked the kid up and carried him to safety while Dutch and Hosea argued with the would-be executioners. And then, Arthur was the one who got onion juice spit in his eye for his troubles and a nice set of bite marks on his neck.

The kid’s calmed down in the weeks since, or at least been effectively convinced Arthur isn’t trying to kidnap him, but he still bites. And apparently that ain’t all. Once they got him back to camp and a bowl of stew in front of him, he told Dutch his name’s John, his folks are dead, and he knows how to kill a man. Those facts, in that order, and if they didn’t light Dutch’s face up. Dutch likes the odd ones. Arthur tries not to think too deeply about how that reflects on him.

John’s odd, all right. He talks to himself all day; talks to animals too, and rocks and trees. And, strange enough, he’s a hell of a shot—hit every one of the cans Dutch lined up for him a week after he joined the camp, “just to see what he can do.” But he’s young, younger even than Arthur was when Dutch found him, and that’s a problem. Dutch said he’s safer here than on his own, Miss Grimshaw said a child his age got no business running with outlaws, Hosea said he ought to go to an orphanage, and John started hollering so loud nobody could finish the argument, and in the month since the question of what’s to be done with John has stood open. For now, it seems, he’s with them, but one of these days somebody’s gonna have to make a decision.

But maybe John’s made a decision of his own, now. This isn’t the first time he’s run off—he seems to have a special talent for that—but the longer Arthur trudges through the snow, the more it seems John might have made a real shot at it this time.

Arthur skirts the mouth of the quarry pond, looking reluctantly for any sign of a little body floating in the glassy dark water ringed all around with ice, and ascertains to his satisfaction and relief that John hasn’t drowned. He’d be sure to, if he had fallen, based on the almighty fuss he put up the first time Miss Grimshaw tried to get him to wash himself, shrieking that she was trying to drown him. Dutch finally intervened, grabbing John by his collar and belt and tossing him bodily into the creek, where it immediately became clear John’s never been in water deeper than his big toe. Arthur grins to himself as he picks around the clumps of buckthorn skirting the edge of the pond, remembering the look of dumb outrage on the kid’s spluttering face when he resurfaced and realized he was only knee-deep.

Arthur turns away from the quarry and up the snowy path towards the cemetery gates, squinting at the beaten stones that line the ground on either side. He can’t make out the names, but Hosea told him it’s mainly railway workers and homesteaders buried here, Russians and Germans and Irish. Folks who came from worlds away to get run over by wagons, or catch the grippe, or just to blow their own brains out when the crops failed and the government turned a blind eye. Ma’s buried in a place that looks like this. Pa too, maybe, only Arthur didn’t stay to see.

He watches a red-bellied woodpecker hammer busily at someone’s gravestone, and wonders if he should start to worry.

Then he turns onto the path leading up to the cemetery gate, a rickety wrought-iron arch planted between two spreading white cedars, and sees the kid. He’s sitting in the snow next to a tall granite monument, arms clasped around his legs and his head ducked down onto his knees, drowning in Hosea’s spare coat and Miss Grimshaw’s old scarf. His hair, as usual, hangs down over his pinched face like he’s trying to hide it.

“Hey,” Arthur calls out, and watches as John’s head snaps up like a spooked deer. But he stays where he is, body held tense and unmoving, as Arthur jogs forward through the icy cover of snow.

Up close, Arthur can see the kid’s been crying: his eyes are red, his cheeks are wet and chapped, and there’s a goddamn river of snot traveling down his chin. Still, when Arthur asks if he’s all right, he snaps, “A-course” and glares as if Arthur accused him of some grave offense.

“You scared folks, runnin’ off like that,” Arthur tells him, nudging John’s leg with the toe of his boot.

John shakes his head. “I ain’t scary.”

“Never said you was.” Arthur holds out a hand to pull the kid up. John doesn’t take it. “Come on now.”

John shakes his head, straggly hair flying side to side with the vehemence of his refusal. Stubborn as a horse’s ass is one thing they’ve already learned about John, and it ain’t Arthur’s favorite quality.

“What happened this time?” he sighs, settling himself against a gravestone opposite John. “Hosea said you just up and disappeared.”

John shrugs. “I ain’t talkin’ to you.” He’s picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of the coat, frowning furiously at it.

“What, did Grimshaw try to make you wash again? Because you know you stink.”

“Don’t neither.”

“You do,” Arthur assures him.

John sniffs, pulling his sleeve over his face and smearing snot even further across his cheek. “I ain’t goin’ back,” he says.

“Suit yourself,” Arthur says, shrugging broadly. “You wanna run off on your own, get yourself strung up by another pack of tetchy farmers, I guess that ain’t no business of mine.”

“No it ain’t,” John snaps, nodding in satisfaction.

“Awfully cold, though,” Arthur remarks, pulling his coat a little closer and squinting up at the sky. “I do believe that’s a storm comin’ in off to the east there.” John pokes his head up from the depths of Hosea’s coat to swivel his skinny neck around. “Still,” Arthur goes on, “you’ve obviously made up your mind, so I ain’t gonna try to talk you out of it.” He stands up, brushing snow off his coat. “Shame about them pies, though.”

John squints at him. “What pies?”

“Pies?” Arthur says. “Oh, the pies—oh, that ain’t nothin’. Only, I know Miss Grimshaw was plannin’ a heap of pie for Christmas. Mince pie, she said. Maybe apple. And Hosea, he’s made friends with a fella down at the slaughterhouse, figures he’ll get us a pig to roast.”

John stares. “I never seen a pig roast.”

“Well,” Arthur says, “I guess you ain’t gonna see one this year. Seein’ as you’re goin’ it alone now.” John squirms irritably in his snowy seat, frowning at Arthur. Arthur waits, listening to crows scream in the cedars.

“They was fixin’ to take me back to the nuns,” John says finally, in an unusually soft little voice. Not looking at Arthur.

“What,” Arthur says, startled, “Hosea and Grimshaw?”

John nods. “I heard ‘em. I was diggin’ in the dirt by that big ol’ stump an’ I was eatin’ some cheese an’ then I heard the lady say ‘this ain’t no place for a child, I heard him cough’ only I wasn’t coughin’, I just had some crumbs in my throat, an’ then Hosea said ‘he ain’t settlin’ in so good an’ I think we oughta see if them nuns’ll take him,’ an’ Dutch weren’t there and now he’s gone they’re gonna take me back there an’ so I got my coat an’ I snuck off ‘fore they could catch me an’ I ain’t goin’ back, if you take me back they’re just gonna make me go back to the nuns an’ they’ll cook me an’ eat me an’ then I ran an’ I ran an’ I heard someone comin’ so I hid behind the graves only then I thought maybe it was dead folks so I waited an’ then I heard someone else comin’ but it was you an’ I ain’t goin’ back, I ain’t gonna let ‘em do it.” He breaks off, breathing hard. His cheeks are red.

Arthur, a little dizzy trying to parse out that garbled spew of words, thinks he can see tears gathering in the corners of the kid’s eyes. Passing over, for the moment, the idea of cannibal nuns, he sighs and says, “Look, kid, ain’t nobody gonna send you anywhere without Dutch’s say-so, and Dutch ain’t decided yet.”

John frowns. “But he went to jail.”

“Yeah, dumbass, and I went and got him out,” Arthur says. “He’s out lookin’ for you right now.”

The kid’s eyes get wide at that. Arthur sees him take a shaky little breath and whisper something to himself that Arthur can’t catch.

“Come on,” he says, “I’m freezin’ my nuts off, and you ain’t gettin’ cooked alive by nobody this Christmas. Come on back, and I’ll tell Grimshaw an’ Hosea to lay off talkin’ about nuns.” He holds out his hand again.

This time, after a little consideration, John takes it, tugging hard as he struggles up to his feet. Arthur’s astonished at how light he is; the kid weighs nearly nothing. He sets himself on his feet, pulls Grimshaw’s scarf over his grimy face, and looks up to Arthur.

“An’ we’ll have pie?” he asks, hopefully.

“Sure,” Arthur nods. “Pie and pig.”

“I ain’t never had a Christmas dinner,” John tells him as they head back towards camp.

“What, never?”

John shrugs. He’s playing with the loose ends of his scarf, tossing them back and forth on his palms. “I heard about it, but I never had one. Me an’ pa, one time we stole a whole duck an’ he said that’s Christmas dinner, but it gave me the trots an’ I shit till I yelled.”

“Thank you for that,” Arthur says.

John nods, clambers over a wooden fence, and drops down the other side in a little flurry of snow. “What’s it like?” he asks, and the question’s so dumb and so oddly sweet that Arthur feels a little twinge in his chest.

“I dunno,” he says. “Like a party, I guess. Folks make good food and talk and sing, and go to church I suppose, only I ain’t been since I was a little, little kid, littler than you.”

“I ain’t little,” John interjects, scrambling over a rock.

“Well, I was,” Arthur says. “But my ma used to make supper, and we’d have turkey and fish and ham and potatoes and beans, and after she’d play on her organ.”

“What’s a organ,” John asks.

“A kinda musical instrument,” Arthur tells him. He hasn’t thought about this in years, can only vaguely picture the boxy little organ in the corner, Mama’s pale hands on the keys. The melody’s long gone. “Sorta like a piano, I figure, only it’s got pipes and pedals. My ma had one from a catalogue, and she said it kept her company out there in the country.” He remembers that: the way she’d sit at the organ in the evenings, not even playing some nights, just sitting. The way she cried when they came back from town and the organ was gone, sold to a man Pa found looking to pay good money for a secondhand Beckwith for his wife. Arthur remembers that, all right.

“So,” John says, “ya play music and ya eat?”

“More or less,” Arthur says. “S’posed to be some kinda holy day, but mostly folks just like to eat.”

They’re nearing camp, now, and Arthur can see the defensive curl in John’s shoulders. When he sees Dutch sitting at the camp table, though, he breaks away from Arthur’s side and dashes over, planting himself next to Dutch, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest.

“So you found him, Arthur,” Dutch greets him as Arthur approaches the table.

“Out hidin’ in the graveyard,” Arthur says. “I guess he prefers the company of dead folks to ours.” Dutch laughs, and John scowls.

“I weren’t hidin’,” he says. “And I didn’t see no dead folks.”

Arthur leaves him with Dutch, leaning intently over Evelyn Miller’s America and shooting Dutch shy reverential looks, and goes to find Hosea. He’s by the fire, poking at the dull coals, and he raises a hand as Arthur approaches.

“Found him all right?”

Arthur hums his yes, settling himself on the log Dutch dragged out of the woods as a seat. “Told ‘im we’d have pie for Christmas,” he tells Hosea. “He liked that.”

Hosea laughs. “Our little associate seems mightily driven by food,” he remarks drily.

“Like a damn pig,” Arthur agrees. Hosea chuckles, stretching his legs out and lighting a cigarette.

“I take it Dutch filled you in on his latest scheme,” he remarks, and Arthur can tell from the crinkle at the corner of his eye that excitement’s overtaken his annoyance at Dutch.

“The Ashville thing? He mentioned it,” Arthur says. “Somethin’ about stealin’ the fella’s legacy, or something.”

“Legacy, Arthur, is another word for a fat bank account,” Hosea says. “Besides, if we can play this thing right, there’s a roof over our heads in January. That boy’s already got a cough, and I for one would prefer not to spend the winter thawing out my backside every time I need to shit. I’ll need your help with the paperwork for this one, though.”

Arthur nods, rubbing his hands together in the growing warmth from the fire, and feels odd. Doesn’t know why he feels, suddenly, choked. He feels the way he did when Hosea and Dutch first picked him up, as though any wrong word would have him out on his ear or worse. Like all his words were caught in his throat, because he couldn’t pick the ones that were right.

Hosea, naturally, doesn’t miss a thing. “What’s on your mind?”

Arthur hesitates, chewing his lip, thinking about John’s blank, tearful face; about Mama crying the night the Beckwith disappeared; about old Leslie Ashville alone in his house on Cherry Street, talking to people who aren’t there. About the look on John’s face, hope and wonderment, when Arthur said Dutch was looking. For him.

“He’s scared of us,” he says finally. “Scared of you. And Grimshaw, but that’s—I mean, she scares everyone.”

Hosea snorts gently, but all he says is, “Give him time.”

“How much time?” Arthur says. “Dutch ain’t said if he’s staying with us.”

“Dutch’ll decide when the time’s right,” Hosea says, as if that settles it. As if Arthur hasn’t heard John whimpering in his sleep every damn night since they picked him up. Arthur turns to look at him and Dutch—two dark heads matched at the table—and hopes the right time’s soon.

ii.

The house on Cherry Street is three dusty stories of Italianate brick, lit from within by a dozen candles. From the street, it looks warm, even festive—someone’s hung a grand ring of pine and holly on the heavy oak door—but as soon as Hosea steps inside, he feels the chill. It’s different from the brisk winter evening outside: a dry, sickly cold that seeps through Hosea’s coat and settles along the joints of his bones.

Someone’s dying in this house. Hosea’s felt that cold before.

He follows the maid down the hallway to the parlor, past the cavernous recesses of unlit rooms. Behind the false front of lamps, this house is dark and silent, save the single corridor of light that traces a line down its center. Hosea watches a chandelier of thick, ugly crystals sway mutely above his head as he passes beneath, and fixes his mind on his story.

It’s his second visit to the Ashville mansion. On the first, he introduced himself as William Ashville, the long-lost offspring of the affair a group of Ashville Steel workers told Hosea about over bad whiskey at the Red Hen. It seems the story’s well known among Ashville’s discontented employees: the lady’s name was Eleanor, and Ashville promised her marriage, then left her at the altar and came west instead to make his fortune off the work of honest men. Nobody’s been able to give Hosea an exact date, but one fellow, with a rough white beard and teeth so sparse and loose Hosea suspects he lost one in his beer over the course of the conversation, remembered the year Ashville turned up in Chicago as 1856, so Hosea’s dated the affair to about thirty years ago. He considered, briefly, having Dutch step in as the prodigal bastard, but this part requires a delicacy that Dutch, for all his charms, lacks. Besides, Hosea flatters himself that he can still play thirty. He borrowed a bit of Dutch’s pomade for the occasion, and a little of Susan’s face powder—and besides, old Ashville’s eyesight isn’t that good.

All in all, Ashville took the news of his unwitting fatherhood surprisingly well. Hosea, who after thirty-odd years of disregard for the fairer sex unexpectedly became surrogate parent to an unwashed teenage criminal, can attest to the shock that comes with that sort of arrival. True, there was a moment of initial skepticism from Ashville, but the family bible Hosea produced (purchased from a bookseller in the Levee, embellished by Arthur with the names of a whole fictitious lineage for poor forgotten William Ashville) seemed to turn the tide of his disbelief, and the love letter Hosea wrote after making a study of Ashville’s handwriting clinched the story. Today, Hosea’s back, in character as young William, with two missions: to lend cheer to his aging father’s lonely indisposition, and to lift a copy of the old man’s will.

He hears Ashville’s voice before they reach the parlor: halting, guttural, like water through a clogged pipe. He’s murmuring about the newspaper, about catching a train. The maid leads Hosea into the room, where an unfed fire lights a frail circle around Ashville’s chair and casts long shadows across the rich Turkish carpet, and Hosea can see that it’s empty; that Ashville’s talking to no one.

“Sir?” the maid says, leaning down to the high upholstered chair by the hearth. “Young Mr. William here to see you.”

Mr. Leslie Ashville, sole owner and proprietor of the Ashville Steel Works, looks molded of lean clay. He’s wrapped in a brocade robe that looks like it hasn’t been washed since the early ‘70s, his head bare save the airy thatch of white hair shrouding the glare of his scalp. Hosea finds him fascinatingly grotesque.

“Good evening, father,” he says, settling in the chair across from Ashville, who acknowledges his presence with a faint hum that turns into a cough.

“Is that you, William?” he croaks, finally, and Hosea leans closer to take his hand.

“I’m here.”

“Thought I saw your mother last night,” Ashville rasps. “Thought I heard her, in the walls.”

“Perhaps it was her spirit,” Hosea offers. “I do believe she’s glad to see us reunited.” There’s a bulk of shadow off behind Ashville’s right shoulder in the general shape of a writing desk. Hosea makes a note, and refocuses his attention on Ashville.

“She was beautiful, your mother,” the old man says, and then he’s off chasing the thread of that long-forgotten memory, a thread that seems to unravel every time he reaches another knot. Hosea plays the dream-weaver, dropping a hint or a suggestion every time he hears the man’s voice falter. It’s fragments he offers the old man, things that could have belonged in any lifetime, things easily forgotten and more easily misremembered: the color of a dress, the fate of an old school friend, the name of a parson or a shopkeeper; always just enough to get Ashville’s feet back under him and send him off along another strand of reminiscence. Together, between Ashville’s dying memory and Hosea’s healthy imagination, the two of them write Leslie and Eleanor’s love story by the light of the fading fire as the evening deepens into night.

The bells of St. Clement’s are chiming ten when it finally happens: Ashville stammers, trails off, and doesn’t look to Hosea for the next line of his memory-fantasy. Instead, his ancient head droops and lolls magnificently, and after a moment’s pause Hosea hears a loud, guttering snore. Ashville’s asleep.

Finally.

Easing himself off the slick horsehair of his seat, Hosea crosses to the shadowy desk he noticed earlier in the evening. It’s a heavy thing, made of rich cherrywood and full of drawers and cracks and pigeonholes. Hosea returns to the center of the parlor for a candle, and sets to work searching the desk, an ear out for the maid’s footstep or a shift in Ashville’s steady, ugly breath.

An hour later, he’s slipping out the front door into the midnight chill, bidding the maid a happy Christmas, with the thin pages of Leslie Ashville’s will flat against his side under his heavy coat. He found the lockbox easily enough, stowed in a deep drawer under a sheaf of old bills and past due correspondence, and five minutes was all it took to break the lock while Ashville snored in his seat ten paces away. The will itself is simple: all Ashville’s wealth and property deeded to his nephew Fred Ashville, the current junior proprietor of Ashville Steel and the devil himself as far as most of the working population of the west side’s concerned. Hosea thinks, as he makes his way down Cherry Street under a soft flurry of snow, that they’ll be doing mankind two services this December: keeping Leslie Ashville company on his trip towards the undiscovered country, and seeing to it that Fred Ashville never prospers again.

The campfire’s burning unusually bright when Hosea makes his way through the last bent hickories of Bachelor’s Grove. At first, Hosea thinks it must be Dutch who’s up, caught in one of those odd brain fevers where he can’t sleep till he’s filled fifty pages with words about God and death and man’s perverse indifference to nature—but when he gets closer he sees that it isn’t Dutch at all. It’s John, hunched gracelessly on one of the logs like a disgruntled little bullfrog, tossing little twigs and dead leaves into the flames to watch them sizzle and smoke. His lips are moving, but from his distance Hosea can’t tell what he’s saying. It occurs to Hosea that he’s spent quite a lot of his time lately in the company of people who talk to the air around them.

That’s the thing that worries Hosea. It’s not the taking him in—they’ve done as much before, and not only with Arthur. Hosea knows what it’s like to be ten and cold and empty as a tomb on Judgment Day, and he’s not about to turn away hungry mouths when there’s room at the fire and enough in the pot to go round. Besides, he’s never regretted letting Arthur stay. But Arthur was fourteen, not twelve, and Arthur didn’t talk to people who aren’t there. Arthur was just a kid whose father hit him too much, and a damn good thief. John’s something else, and after weeks Hosea still isn’t sure exactly what.

Hosea approaches the fire, and John starts, shoving his hands under his armpits as though Hosea just caught him doing something bad.

“It’s late,” Hosea observes.

John shrugs. “I’m not tired.” His eyes are huge in the firelight, and Hosea has the feeling he often gets when John looks at him—that the kid is sizing him up, calculating where to strike if trouble starts.

“I can see that,” Hosea says.

“Is he dead?” John asks. Arthur’s been telling him about the scheme, then. Hosea makes no pretense of sensitivity when it comes to death, but having spent a full evening playing the loving son to Ashville, Sr., he feels a mite put off by the ghoulishness of the question.

“Old Ashville? Not yet,” he says. “Go to bed.”

John doesn’t go to bed. He leans back, firelight catching the ragged ends of his hair, and says, “I seen a fella die once.”

“So have I,” Hosea tells him.

“He was coughin’,” John goes on, undeterred. “Blood was comin’ out of his mouth, an’ out of his nose, an’ all down his shirt an’ then—” he pauses dramatically, gathering a handful of rotting leaves into his grubby hand, “—then he shit in his pants, an’ a whole lot of blood came out his mouth, an’ the lady said he’s really dead now.” He tosses the bundle of leaves into the fire, which sends up a small gasp of muddy smoke. Hosea wonders who the lady was. Wonders where this child’s been, to tell that kind of story.

He doesn’t ask. “You’ve been dreaming,” he says, and it’s less a guess than most of what he spun for Ashville earlier tonight. He’s seen that spooked look before—seen it in Arthur’s eyes when he was barely older than John and still fighting his father off in his sleep; seen it in his cousin’s eyes when he came back from Sharpsburg a leg light and ten times heavier for it; seen it in Dutch, sometimes, too. Hosea knows too well what nightmares look like.

John scrubs at the snot trailing from his nose and shrugs. “I seen it,” is all he says. But he shudders, and his skinny shoulders hunch smaller against the night.

He’s clearly not going to go back to bed, and in a way, Hosea can’t see why he should have to. It’s well past midnight now, but Hosea isn’t tired either. The moon’s high, the air’s quiet, and he’s got a job to do. He might as well have some company while he does it.

“Come on,” he says, waving towards the table. John follows him over, and Hosea draws Leslie Ashville’s will from under his coat and spreads the pages across the pocked wood. John, who can’t read and tried to bite Dutch when he offered a lesson, peers at the frail sheets with the curiosity of a spider inspecting a particularly fearsome fly.

“Now,” Hosea begins, “what we’ve got to do is this.”

iii.

On Christmas Eve, something happens.

John isn’t sure at first what’s happened, only that folks are talking real loud and nobody’s telling him anything, but that’s not new. He goes into the trees and finds a big old stick and hits a stump till it falls into soft, stinking rubble, and stamps in the snow till there’s a flat circle all around. There’s a fat squirrel running around the base of a tree a ways off, and it stops for a minute and sniffs in John’s direction.

“I ain’t smelly,” he tells the squirrel. “An’ I ain’t stupid.”

The squirrel twitches and scoots away, tiny claws on the snow.

“John!” Arthur calls, and John kicks bits of rotten wood across the ground until Arthur comes through the trees. “Get your coat on,” he says, nodding back towards camp; “we’re goin’ into town.”

“Why,” John asks. He thinks about a wagon full of kids, rolling through the iron gates of the orphanage. He thinks he could kill Arthur, if he tried to put him in there. Kick his nuts, put his thumbs in his eyes and squeeze the jelly out, like that fella did to Pa in the bar, get his gun off him and point it to his heart.

If he had to do it, he thinks he could. He’d be sad about it after, though. He likes Arthur.

“Ashville’s dead,” Arthur’s saying. His face is split with a grin; John’s never seen him smile much. “We’re gonna be rich. We’re gettin’ the house.”

“Oh,” John says. He can see the old man in his head, wrinkled and tiny in a house like a tomb, the way Hosea told him the night he came back with that secret pack of papers. Worms in his nose. Gobs of blood pouring, pouring out of his slack, black mouth. “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s a cold ride into town, perched on the back of Arthur’s horse with his arms tight around Arthur’s middle. John can hear Dutch talking up ahead, but the wind’s too quick to hear the words. John probably wouldn’t understand it anyway. He can’t understand half what Dutch says. He’s never met anyone as smart as that. He wonders when Dutch is going to find out that John’s dumb as a rock. Dumb as a rock and the devil in him, that’s what people say. Dutch don’t seem to mind the devil so much, though. John doesn’t know what to think about that.

How exactly they got this house, John still doesn’t understand. Hosea took that dead man’s sheaf of papers, and said we’ll write these out again, and he and Arthur sat at the table for hours inking and scratching till Hosea said it was all perfect, and then there was some meetings with lawyers and magistrates and aldermen, and then it was all done, only the old man weren’t dead. John asked if Dutch was going to kill him, but Dutch just laughed and said I ain’t a murderer, I’m a philanthropist, and Hosea said that’s my old dad you’re talking about, and now John isn’t sure. But Arthur said it’s like a game, don’t you worry, and when the old man dies we’ll take his house, and now he’s dead. John squeezes a little tighter around Arthur’s middle, and tugs himself closer in the saddle.

They’re riding through the grand part of town now, the part where every house has three floors and curly carvings on the windowsills and a pretty little tree out front all its own. John remembers sleeping here one night last summer, after Pa died, in a little stand of apple trees behind one of the mansions. He ate the hard little apples off the ground till his stomach hurt, and fell asleep in a shed, and in the morning an old African man came along and told him to run or he’d be in a pile of trouble, so John ran. He’s scanning the houses as they pass, trying to remember which one it was with the apples and the old man who said to run.

The house where Ashville died is cold, and it smells like dust. John watches Arthur and Dutch and Hosea and Miss Grimshaw striding through the halls, crowing and laughing and saying Shakespeare, and looks to see if he can spot the place where the old man died. But there’s no blood on the floors or the furniture, just warm leather and shiny velvet and wood that gleams like gold when Dutch pulls back the heavy curtains and lets the winter sun spill over the room.

“Merry Christmas,” Dutch booms, and Hosea says “hear, hear,” and John wonders if the ghosts can hear them too.

Arthur takes him upstairs. Upstairs is a row of rooms, each the size of a house, each full of cobwebs and dead beetles and beds with heavy ceilings. Arthur tugs the curtains aside in each room while John sneezes in the bright dust and pokes at the silky wallpaper.

Then Miss Grimshaw comes up the winding staircase and sets them to work, hauling carpetbags up the stairs and beating dust out of the duvets with an old broom from the kitchen. She snaps orders like a policeman and drags John by her iron knuckles to a room at the end of the musty hall and tells him it’s his. John suspects a trap, but Arthur laughs and says I ain’t bunkin’ with you no more, and John understands. After supper that night, when Dutch and Hosea pop open a bottle of wine they found in the cellar and Arthur starts singing and Hosea says John can’t have any wine and Dutch says it’s all right and Grimshaw says it ain’t, John sneaks upstairs to the Room That’s His, and wonders when they’ll drop him at the orphanage.

He’s lying in the dust, watching moonlight crawl over the tall windows, when he hears the voice. It doesn’t sound like Dutch or Hosea or Arthur, but it’s a man, and it’s saying his name.

John.

John stands up. The door to the hallway opens, opens without him touching it, and on the other side’s a man who looks familiar. He’s not tall and he’s not short, with a little mustache and a fancy suit, and his hat reaches towards the ceiling and his eyes are fixed on John’s heart and not his face.

“John,” he says, “I’ve missed you.”

Then his face swells and melts. His eyes are hot black hollows, crawling with white worms, blood pouring out his mouth. John watches the river of black gore, swimming down his front, running over the rich, dusty carpet, the smell of shit rising thick and hot around him, and the man twitches and moans and heaves. Blood pouring out his mouth. John tries to scream and he can’t scream, he can’t breathe, and the smell of blood and shit makes him gag and retch, and the blood keeps coming, a black waterfall streaming from the strange man’s face as he sways and leers and shimmers in the dark.

“John!”

Someone’s holding his shoulders, shaking him. There’s carpet under his feet, warm and soft, and he gags, and hears Arthur say shit.

He opens his eyes. He’s in the dark, in the hallway, and Arthur’s here in a big white shirt with his hair mussed up from sleep. He’s got John by the shoulders, and he’s got an odd look on his face, like something bad is happening, and John wonders if it’s happening to him.

He looks worried, John realizes with a muffled shock.

“You okay?” he’s asking, and John shakes his head before he can think about it. His heart’s beating like an army drum. He thinks he can feel it shaking his whole body. He steps from foot to foot on the swampy carpet, and realizes his pants are wet. “What happened,” Arthur asks.

John’s stomach jerks and twists inside of him. If he tells Arthur the truth, he’ll be gone by morning.

Arthur’s hand’s at the back of his head, in his hair, steady and warm.

“Come on, kid.”

John sucks in air.

“It was him,” he whispers. “It was the devil.”

Blood pouring out his mouth.

Arthur sighs, a little sound that’s almost a laugh, and says, “There ain’t no devil here. You had a dream.” He leans in, smelling like wine and horse, and pats John on the back, one arm around him pressing close, his scratchy chin brushing against John’s forehead. John thinks it’s a hug. He doesn’t know what that means.

“I ain’t good,” John starts to tell him—heart in his stomach, stomach in his throat. “I’m crazy an’ I’m bad an’ I got the devil in me an’ he follows me an’ last year he made me shoot a man till his brains came out through his nose an’ the nuns’ll give me back to him,” but Arthur stops him, hand on his cheek, shaking his head and saying no, no, forget all that, you’re dreamin’, there ain’t no devil and there ain’t no nuns here. You’re home now, John. Forget that.

In the end, Arthur picks John up like he’s a kid, and John’s too tired to complain. He wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck and lets him carry him down the hall, away from the room with the devil’s blood soaking into the floor and into Arthur’s room, where there’s a heap of orange coals in the hearth and a wooly blanket that Arthur wraps him in once his sodden pants are gone. They sit by the fire, John a mute cocoon and Arthur more than half asleep, and Arthur pulls out his notebook and shows John a funny drawing of a man with an apple for a head.

John thinks about home.

“You’re a good kid,” Arthur says, his voice soft and silly. He’s drunk. “Dutch ain’t gonna send you back, y’know.”

John’s throat aches like there’s someone punching it. His cheeks are hot, lit up by the fire and the tears spilling up and over his eyelids. He can’t answer back. He thinks about a flat plain, gray grass wrinkled by the wind, and a heap of rocks at the edge of a hill. He can’t get the picture out of his head. Can’t get the devil’s voice out of his throat.

“You’re home,” Arthur says, and the warmth of the fire swallows him up, and he sobs into Arthur’s side for a long time.

Down the hallway, in the darkness, the door swings silently open and shut.

#rdr secret santa 2020 #rdr2 #john marston #arthur morgan #rdr2 fic #we got some christmas here and we got some wild handwaving towards the background plot i had in mind but didnt have the energy to write #this really might not make sense but it is gifted with love to my perfect wife

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thompsborn · 4 years

Text

It’s easy to be someone else in college.

Peter finds this out during his first week at MIT. No one knows him there—other than Ned, of course, but that’s different. It’s not like high school, where everyone in his grade watched the live new report covering his uncle’s death, where they all saw as the camera swept across the crime scene and, for just a moment, sitting in the back of an ambulance, they could see fourteen year old Peter Parker, shivering under the blanket draped over his shoulders, blood staining his fingers and his clothes and dotting his neck and face from the—the spray, caused by the bullet ripping through. Even if no one approached him about it directly, it was something that weighed him down at Midtown. Everyone saw him at his lowest.

At MIT, all anyone knows is what Peter tells them. They only see Peter Parker—the kid from New York, who has an internship locked into place at Stark Industries the second he graduates and likes to wear sweatshirts that are a bit too big on him. Eighteen and giggly and, as far as they’re concerned, untouched by the traumas of life. Pure, bubbly, and bright.

He isn’t a super social person, per se—as in, he can hold a conversation with some kind of ease, but he’s not that great at making new friends. Which is why it feels odd and exhilarating when he meets Harley, and they just—they click.

It’s like falling into place when they’re together. Peter feels unrestrained and able to make all the stupid little jokes that pop up in his brain and Harley laughs at each and every one. Most of the time, he claims to be laughing at just how bad of a joke it is, but Peter doesn’t mind—he knows his sense of humor is a little odd and as long as it makes someone laugh, that’s alright.

Falling into place—platonically, easily—doesn’t take very long to change into just falling. In like, in what might be love, Peter isn’t sure just yet. All he knows is that he starts saying whatever he can think of just to hear Harley laugh again.

(Ned isn’t helpful in the slightest when this happens. He just laughs, has to drop his head to rest it against his textbook while his shoulders shake and Peter would be annoyed if he didn’t just feel fond of the familiarity.)

The shift is gradual in a way that feels like nature chose to do it, like it was always meant to happen and they were only along for the inevitable ride. Peter soon learns that he quite likes holding hands, and he likes when they curl into each other on the sofa while a movie plays—knees to shins and wrists to elbows and it looks uncomfortable, according to Ned, but it feels like trees twisting their roots together, like they mould into one another—and he especially learns that kissing is a lot of fun. Like, a lot.

But he also learns that Harley is from a small, conservative town in Tennessee. He learns that he has a mother that has to work two jobs just to pay the bills and put the food on the table. He learns about Harley’s little sister and her knack for filmmaking and the way her grin can brighten the room. He learns about Harley’s father leaving and—eventually, learns that he isn’t the only one with connections to Stark Industries, learns that Harley knows Tony, too, and that he had requested Tony not talk about him to anyone, which explains why this is news to Peter. Harley snorts when Peter tells him about his own father/son relationship with Tony and it feels even more like fate, somehow.

Peter learns to love not only Harley, but all the aspects about his life—the chronic depression, the insomnia, the way he chortles at immature jokes and smothers his giggles in the sleeve of his sweatshirts when he knows he shouldn’t laugh at something. Peter learns to love how Harley likes his coffee and how he sometimes starfishes across the bed and always ends up stealing the pillows—which is fine, because Peter is a blanket hog, so it evens out. Every little thing about Harley, Peter learns to love.

But it’s easy to be someone else in college.

Peter realizes this when Harley comes with him to New York for the beginning of summer, and it clicks in his head—Harley doesn’t know him.

Or, he does, but not all of him. He knows Peter’s college self, the one that doesn’t show his trauma and isn’t stared at in the halls because everyone else knows them, too. He knows the Peter that lives in a dorm and goes back home every other weekend to visit family. He knows only the good parts—the stuff that Peter puts on display and doesn’t try to hide.

And Peter never meant to keep it a secret, no, but it never seemed to come up. Peter tried so hard to only think about the relevant stuff during the school year—didn’t allow himselt to dwell on the bad things, didn’t even allow himself to think about Spider-Man and how he had to go from daily patrols to only on the weekends he was in New York. He focused on college and fun and Harley and nothing else.

“So,” Harley says, holding Peter’s hand and swinging their arms back and forth happily. They’re trailing down the sidewalk in Queens, and Harley only knows that they’re headed for where Peter used to live—before college, before deciding to spend his summer in the Tower with Mr. Stark for training and internship stuff. “Should I know anything in advance?”

Peter cocks his head to the side. “What?”

“Like, ways to act, ways to not act, stuff I should or shouldn’t say. The whole parent approval preparation guide, you know?”

“Oh. Uh—”

And it’s right there—the chance to open up his chest a little bit, to give Harley a peak into his past. But Peter is—a coward, sometimes.

He shakes his head. “No. You’ll be great.”

Harley meets May and it isn’t until about halfway through the night that he seems to realize that— “You’re not Peter’s mom.”

“No, I’m not,” May says simply. “I’m his Aunt.”

She leaves it at that, and Peter hopes it slides over quickly, but Harley seems confused and curious throughout the rest of the visit. Still, he smiles at May, ducks his head in a parting nod and wins her over with all his charm before they leave, and he waits until they’ve started walking around the block while waiting for Happy to pick them up to say, “I thought you said you were gonna show me where you lived.”

“I did,” Peter tells him. Hopes he drops it.

He doesn’t. “Then I’m confused.”

Peter purses his lips, squints up at the sky and keeps walking. “Why are you confused?”

“That was your aunt,” Harley says, almost slow and matter of fact, as if he’s forgotten that, yes, Peter knows who it was. But, to make matters worse, he then asks, “Where’re your parents?”

The laugh that bubbles up from Peter’s chest is rough and a little bland, bitter tasting. He shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Harley stops walking, tugs on Peter’s hand until he stops, too. “Yes, I do. I want to know.”

“Trust me—” Peter keeps walking. “You don’t.”

“Why are you trying to make that decision for me?” Harley questions, almost—frustrated.

Peter huffs. “Why are you pushing at something I very clearly do not want to talk about?”

“Because I—” Harley waves his other hand through the air, as if scrabbling for his words, trying to pluck them from the space in front of him. “I’ve told you everything—everything about me, you know? You know—all of it, and I don’t want to act entitled or like I deserve to know everything about you or—but it definitely feels like... like, a red flag, or something, the fact that you’re not even mentioning your parents. If you have a bad relationship with them or something, or just—whatever—just, tell me that so I know not to talk about it.”

And Peter—he understands what Harley means. He understands how unsettling it must be to realize that you’ve opened up your heart and soul to someone who doesn’t seem keen on doing the same. But, Peter has—baggage, a lot of it, and maybe he never mentioned any of the shit he’s carrying at MIT because maybe he just wants to prolong the change, wants to have Harley look at him without seeing everything that’s gone wrong in his life—just a little longer.

But that isn’t fair to Harley, really. Because that baggage and that heaviness? That’s part of Peter, as much as he wishes it wasn’t.

“Fine,” Peter murmurs, and he pulls his hand back, away from Harley’s—not because he wants to let go, but now he feels a little bit like a fraud and isn’t sure if Harley will wants to keep holding hands after he finds out all his secrets.

A car pulls up to the curb before either of them can say anything else, and Peter wastes no time, doesn’t look at Harley or at Happy as he clambers into the backseat and says, “We’re going to see my parents on the way back to the tower, if that’s alright with you, Hap.”

Harley looks conflicted and wary as he climbs into the backseat as well, watches as Happy instantly whips around to look at Peter with wide, somber eyes. “Kid...?”

“Harley wants to meet them,” Peter says, swallowing roughly. “Haven’t seen ‘em in a while anyway, so—might as well, right?”

There’s a whirlwind of unreadable emotions in Happy’s eyes as he glances to Harley, looks back to Peter, and then nods, just once, the action kind of curt and firm. “Alright,” he says, tone soft. “We’ll stop there first. No biggie.”

All this does is make Harley nervous, almost afraid of whatever they’re going to walk into, but Happy is already shifting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb, and Peter is looking adamantly out of the window with hunched shoulders and arms tucked against his chest, and Harley’s tongue is twisted, stuck in the back of his throat. He stays silent, just looks down at his lap and ponders what’s gonna happen, wonders how far the drive is.

About fifteen minutes later, the car comes to a stop. Happy puts it in park. “We’re here.”

Harley steels himself, mentally prepares himself for whatever it is that’s making Peter act so broody and quiet, looks up and—

Feels his heart drop to his stomach.

Maple Grove Cemetery.

Peter clears his throat, pushes the door open and steps out of the car with almost silent footsteps, rounds the car and pulls open Harley’s door—doesn’t look at Harley, doesn’t look up at all, just holds the door open and says, “C’mon. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

Feeling speechless and—and suffocated by his own thundering, raging hesrt beat, Harley just nods and unbuckles himself with shaky hands. He steps out of the car and can’t stop looking st the word cemetery, like staring will make it change from a graveyard and into a nice, cliché looking family home in the suburbs.

It doesn’t change. Peter closes the door behind Harley and silently leads the way—into the cemetery, clearly has the route memorized if the way he moves with ease and zero hesitation is telling anything. Harley just follows after him, struggling to catch his breath with the dread weighing down his lungs, and comes to a stop when Peter eventually freezes in front of a line of headstones, faces them with—empty eyes.

Harley parts his lips to suck in a harsh breath and turns his head, finds the names and—

Mary Teresa Parker

Richard Laurence Parker

Benjamin Franklin Parker

—there’s three.

Aunt May—just Aunt May, no partner in the apartment with her. Peter, telling Harley that it’s where he lived before college. Never mentioning his parents, or family, or—anyone, other than Tony, eventually. Father figure, Tony.

Because Peter’s dad is dead. His parents are dead. Ben—an Uncle, Harley guesses—gone.

“I’m—such an asshole,” Harley breathes, that weight growing tendfold in the pit of his stomach, making him feel ill, queasy, nauseous. “I can’t believe I—Christ, Peter, I’m so sorry.”

Peter chuckles, the sound dry and—not MIT Peter Parker, but actual him. The real Peter, with the heaviness and the loss and all of the bad things. The Peter with the trauma and the pain and the deadpan rasp to his voice as he shakes his head and murmurs, “You’re not an asshole, Harley. You just didn’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have to know,” Harley says, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “You didn’t want to tell me, and—and it’s your right, not wanting to tell me, and I pushed when it wasn’t my business and—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I wanted you to know,” Peter says, his tone a little... vacant of his usual conviction. “I want you to know, really, I do, but—but it was so nice, not having everyone look at me differently because of what I’ve been through, y’know? By the time we met, I just—I never even thought about talking about it because I was trying so hard to keep all of that—all of the—the bad stuff, away from college. Away from me, for a bit. Just give myself room to breathe.” He laughs, an empty sort of sound, scrubs a hand over his features and looks down at where the toes of his shoes are sinking slightly into the damp grass. “Selfish of me, I guess.”

Harley wants to reassure, wants to insist that Peter isn’t selfish for wanting to have a break from his trauma. He wants to reach over and hold him and find a way to make it better.

He doesn’t know how.

He wishes, more than anything, that he did.

“Y’know,” Peter continues, either not noticing or blatantly ignoring the way Harley is looking at him with wide, watery eyes. “It’s actually my fault, the three of them dying. I caused it, and it’s—shitty, just living, for people that are dead because of you. Existing for them. It’s hard.”

“I don’t—” Harley stops, swallows roughly. “I don’t know the story, but you—I can guarantee that it isn’t—it isn’t your fault, Peter.”

The laugh is more of a sob now. “It is,” Peter says, shaking his hear and bringing up a shaking hand to wipe the tear off his cheek. “My parents, they were—they left a business trip early to come home a few days sooner because I was sick. They were on that plane to get to me, and it went down, and—and Ben, he was just trying to be a dad when he never asked to be one, you know? And I was such a shitty kid, Harley, I—I lashed out at him, I blamed him, and I ran off. And he came after me, because he was—he was so good at being a dad, even if he didn’t realize it, and it—the mugger just—and I heard the gunshot, and I looked over and he was—he was on the ground and I couldn’t stop the bleeding and he was—before the ambulance even got there, he was already—”

“Hey,” Harley interrupte, voice a croak as he reaches over and envelopes Peter in his arms. Peter cries, wails in an anguish that Harley has never heard before. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault, Peter, and they—I bet on everything I’ve got that they loved you more than anything, alright? And they wouldn’t want you to blame yourself like this. They’d want you to be happy.”

Peter sniffles, presses his nose to the side of Harley’s neck. “You didn’t know them.”

“No,” Harley agrees. “But I know you. There’s no such thing as not loving you, Peter Parker.”

(It’s easy to be someone else in college. But you don’t always have to be.)

#my writing #parkner

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thekillerssluts · 4 years

Photo

DIY Magazine, October 2020.

Interview TALKING ‘BOUT MY GENERATION: WILL BUTLER

Talking to Will Butler is a bit like trying to have a conversation with a human magpie. Hugely enthusiastic and with a constant giggle on the go (“I have a nervous laugh, so I laugh at more things than I should…”), the 37-year-old has a tendency to veer off down strange tangents, taking your original point but then getting distracted or excited by some other new, shiny train of thought in a different direction.

You can tell he’s smart - not just booksmart, but the kind of smart where you can practically see the cogs turning at 100mph. “I love knowledge for its own sake,” he professes at one point. “I believe in it to a fault. I think it’s worth knowing all this shit, for no other reason than just knowing that it’s true.” And it’s this attitude that’s filled the three years since ‘Everything Now’ - he and his Arcade Fire bandmates’ society-skewering fifth LP.

In that time, amid world tours and festival headlines, Will has had two more children - twins - and went to Harvard to study a masters in public policy. He also found time to record ‘Generations’ - a second solo effort that takes the brilliantly all-over-the-place nature of 2015’s ‘Policy’ and hones it into something that’s more pointed, though still clearly fuelled by the same curious mind. Or as he puts it: “The first [album] it’s like, ‘I’m at the market! There’s some eggplants! Oh there’s a nice sausage guy! And OK cool I’ll get some of those and these!’ But then ‘Generations’ was much more like, ‘I’ve been storing these bones in my freezer for two years and now we’re gonna boil this down to make the pure essence of the beast’.”

Like most debuts from artists splintering off from their main projects, ‘Policy’ had been born from accumulating a collection of material that didn’t fit with his band. Unlike most, Will had just been nominated for an Oscar (for his soundtrack to Joaquin Phoenix film Her) before its release, “so that was a confidence boost,” he notes amiably. Conversely, the essence of ‘Generations’’ particular beast seems a far more targeted one - one intrinsically linked with the intense political conversations the musician had found himself wrangling with during his recent studies.

“I always want whatever I’m making to emerge out of what I’m living and for it to help me understand how I’m living better, so going to policy school was certainly part of that artistic project as well as the ‘what do we fucking do?’ project,” he explains. “I jokingly say that I was radicalised at Harvard, which is basically true. I was in a mid-career programme, so there were 25-year-old geniuses but also people in their middle age who’d worked in the UN in Pakistan or the government in Mexico. They had this whole perspective of how fucked everything is across the whole globe so it was… educational.

As such, his second brims with a sense of palpable unease for a society that’s not only crumbling before our eyes right now, but has been doing so intermittently for decades and centuries. The twinkling, finger-clicking patter of ‘Close My Eyes’ belies the all-too-timely despair beneath it (“The photograph is new / But I seen that same headline, and I got to dance to keep from crying”), Randy Newman-esque closer ‘Fine’ digs right back to “George Washington and all his slaves,” while ‘Not Gonna Die’, he explains, was written in direct response to the November 2015 Bataclan shootings.“All these things hit different people in different ways, but that was so close to home,” he says. “It was Christmas after that and I was shopping in Manhattan; I walked into Sephora and it was super crowded and I thought, there’s a lot of people in here, where would I go [if something like that happened]? And I got so mad. It fucking worked. You made me scared. I’m not gonna die in Sephora on 5th Avenue but you made me think about it, you fucking pieces of shit.“Mike Pence was writing about it before he was running for Vice President, like, ‘We need to make sure we don’t have any immigrants come in because the immigrants can do this to us here’. And it’s like, I’m not gonna be killed by a woman fleeing violence in Guatemala!! The terrorists and the people saying ‘Be afraid!’: what you’re doing is working, and I AM afraid, and fuck you.”

Perhaps most interestingly, however, ‘Generations’ doesn’t just point the finger outwards, it also poses questions of the singer’s own inherent part in it all. “A big chunk of this record is asking: What’s my place in American history? What’s my place in America’s present?” he explained in a previous statement about the album. “Both in general, but also extremely particularly: me as Will Butler, rich person, white person, Mormon, Yankee, parent, musician. What do I do? What can I do?”

“It’s basically like, ‘My God, how did we get here?’ - that Talking Heads line,” he continues now. “The record is at times literally a conversation with people arguing back and forth, and there’s a lot of questions raised and the answers aren’t answers - you just end the conversation in a different spot. There’s something to that process of discussing and coming to some sort of revelation only to find out what’s lacking there, and then you move onto the next conversation and find out what’s lacking there. I was pleased that the material felt cyclical and of a piece, and you feel like you’re in a different spot than you were at the beginning.”

Because yes, his latest might not provide all the answers - “This is a musical work and I don’t know what the end notes are,” he admits - but ‘Generations’ does emphasise the importance of asking the questions and having the conversations, both with the world and with yourself. And if you can have them over an album of musically explorative, rich and often perversely funny new offerings? All the better.

Next, he’ll return to the fold to begin work on Arcade Fire’s sixth opus. Writing for that had originally started in New Orleans before the pandemic hit, but the band “don’t have the file management down to really do it at a distance,” he chuckles. “Win and Régine are always demoing and working, and I’ve done a little. We always work on a record for about a year and a half and we’re not off that pace yet, we’re still weirdly on track…”

You can bet by the time that record lands, he’ll have chalked up a handful of other accomplishments to his name, too; lord only knows the political battleground of the coming weeks will give him enough food for thought. And in the inquisitive mind of Will Butler, thought and curiosity are clearly the most nourishing tools of all. “You can write a love song that’s super true, but can you write a history song that also is? And if it comes out right and there’s some value in it, then what does that mean?” he muses. “It’s about just trying different angles to express something true.”

‘Generations’ is out now via Merge.

Butler’s Bits

‘Generations’ is undoubtedly an album rooted in politics and society - this much we know. But it’s also a record that digs into the musician’s relationship with other parts of the human experience…

HUMOUR “It’s a coping mechanism and it’s also a worldview. There’s not exactly a cabaret scene in New York but the comedy here is quite musical and there’s a lot of comedians that interact with people in interesting ways. They’re a bit younger than me - I’m the oldest millennial - but there’s something in that spirit that feels relevant.”

RELIGION “I grew up Mormon and I’m still ethnically Mormon. It’s like The Smiths song, ‘Meet Me At The Cemetery Gates’ - ‘Keats and Yeats are on your side, and Wilde is on mine’, you lose, haha. I’m sure Yeats is such a fucking asshole but that’s my heritage. The classic lineage of the Western canon is how I grew up.”

ADULTHOOD “I have three kids now, and it doesn’t make me worry about the future so much as it’s made me learn so much about humanity watching them - watching how it all goes into the ‘this is what humans are’ mill. On ‘Policy’, the protagonists are a motley crew of rag-tag whatevers, whereas this is much more a coming of age novel - not like a teenager becoming an adult, but an adult becoming a worse adult…”

As featured in the October 2020 issue of DIY, out now.

#Arcade Fire #will butler #generations #interview #the HOT Butler

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infinity0nh1gh · 3 years

Text

Koushi Sugawara x Reader

Angst

~Sugawara's POV~

I am just a fool to keep on chasing after nothing great

There they were right there shining.. perfect... Everything I'm not. Y/N L/N, the definition of perfection. But the thing was that they're my "friend" and I fell into a trap.

You are just a fool to keep pretending that you're loving me

They always tell me that I'm a "great friend", but is it always true? It was getting the best of me every time they told me. It... haunts me.

I don't know where I'm supposed to go

I hide the fact that I might have a slight crush on them. But, like in a million years I would confess to them.

Of course, Daichi and Asahi being the only ones that know my crush on them. They'll constantly tease me how I don't dare to confess to them.

I was sitting in class and I could feel many pairs of eyes staring at me. 'Why are they staring at me' I thought to myself. Oh that's right I'm "friends" with Y/N they're probably jealous that I'm "friends" with them.

'Friends... Friends... Just friends...'

Call me on the phone at three, I talk to you while half asleep

I was trying to pay attention in class, but I was too busy just admiring Y/N. They looked at me, I waved but they ignored me. ‘Did I do something wrong’ I thought to myself. I feel like vomiting right then and there. But something was bothering me. Why was Y/N ignoring me and talking to other people? AH- I DON’T NEED TO WORRY ITS NOT LIKE WERE TOGETHER OR SOMETHING.

~3rd P.O.V.~

Next Day

Y/N has been talking to other people but not Sugawara. Even some of his kohais. Was he worried? Yes. Did he miss Y/N? Yes. Was he desperate? No. Even if he was, he would still respect Y/N boundaries.

Complaining 'bout your mother so I take you to the cemetery

He would always try to talk to them. Sometimes Y/N would respond with small responses and sometimes they would just ignore him at all cost. He would buy Y/N her favorite drink, snack, or food. That's the only time Y/N would talk to Sugawara and act like nothing happened. He would ask his long-time friend, Haruki, but not even she would know how to help with that.

Rant to me I like the sound, I like your voice, I like your mouth

In Suga’s and Y/N’s science class they were desk buddies (A.N.my least favorite types of buddies) That was another chance for him to talk to Y/N. ‘Since we’re partners we have to talk to each other’ thought the setter. But luck is not on his side (A.N. But anime is our side) Y/N would just talk to the other people around them.

Another time, Y/N was on their phone texting someone. Suga out of curiosity saw who they were texting and he was the contact name ‘bae <3’. His heart shattered, he froze up, turned pale at the thought that his crush was taken. Daichi saw him and waved his hand to get Suga’s attention. Suga calmed down but it wasn’t enough to forget what just happened.

~Sugawara’s P.O.V.~

~After School ~

‘Idiot idiot idiot’ I thought ‘Of course they’re taken. Like who wouldn't confess to them first.’ Of course I was heartbroken, but like I what did you want me to feel, happy-happy joy-joy that my crush is dating another person and it’s not me. No. That's what I thought. I asked Coach Ukai if I can skip practice today, he said sure since I looked dead. Haruki asked me if I was okay,I just nodded.

‘He is not okay...” Haruki thought

I went home very much tired, but not tired enough to go straight to sleep. I just kept on thinking about Y/N. ‘ I should just stop thinking about it’ I thought to myself again for like the 20th time today. I made some little snacks for the team that will cheer them up, especially the first years. I got my mind off Y/N for a good while. I went to bed peacefully.

~Next Day~

Cycling to school at 7:30 in the morning

I was walking to school and accidentally bumped into someone, “Ah I’m very much sorry...uhhh.” I saw Y/N with R/N (Random/Name), they… they were holding hands. ‘So is this the lucky person’ I thought to myself.

I am still your baby boy I'm stuck in 2013

“Oh! Hey Sugawara.” said Y/N to me, “Ok see later in class R/N” they hugged them. ‘They never hug me like that’ I thought to myself. “what's that you got there Suga?” Y/N asked. I had a bag full of snacks that I totally forgot about. “Oh this..umm.. It’s some snacks for the team.” I told them. “Right, I forgot you were in the team,” Y/N told me, ”Anyways came I have some?”

Don't understand my body, Washing machine confuses me

‘They didn’t remember I was in the team’ I thought ‘Is it because I’m not in the starting team line up’ I started to think more how Y/N didn’t really remember the things I do. I stared into space until a hand was waving in front of me.

“So are you gonna give me some or what?’ said Y/N with sparkles in their eyes. ‘Say no, Suga. Say no, Suga’ instead of me saying ‘no’ I said, “Sure, you can have some Y/N” they took some snacks.

I am such a fool to keep on chasing after nothing great

‘They look so happy’, I thought, ‘But they look happier with R/N. They will never be the same with me.’

I knew it. I saw it. I felt it. What was it? A broken-heart.

Yes, it's simple but did I already expect it. I was never the first option. There was always someone above me, and I knew it. First, on the starting line up, now this I’ve seen too much. Y/N would talk to me..., touch me…, ignore me and I felt it.. Too much.

You are such a fool to keep pretending that you're loving me

~Weeks Later~

~Karasuno v.s. Shiratorizawa ~

‘We won… damn’ I thought. I ran to Daichi and Asahi in tears. Everyone was crying, even Kiyoko. I haven’t felt so happy in a long time.

~3rd POV~

But good things never last…

While everyone was celebrating their win, a curtain person was in the crowd and was staring right down at them. When the team was going to thank the crowd, Sugawara got a glance of Y/N ignoring R/N. ‘Whoa, what happened to them.’ Suga and a couple of the others thought. “I knew this was going to happen..” Haruki silently said. “What did you say?” Coach Ukai asked. “Oh nothing, just something I predicted a long time ago..” Coach Ukai just stared at Haruki with confusion.

~Later On~

~Hallways~

Sugawara and Haruki were walking to the bus to go back to Karasuno. Haruki stopped walking, so did Suga.”We all saw that, you know.” Haruki stated. They were both staring at each other. “I know that..” Sugawara broke the silence, “But now I might have a chance you think.” When Sugawara finished his sentence, Y/N was walking by themselves. “See in the bus Sugawara.” Haruki said while walking away from the two.

I don't know where I'm supposed to go

“That was a nice game out there.” Y/N said ‘Even though I barely played a part in it” Sugawara thought. “That Kageyama kid was pretty good with his team.” they said. ‘Oh did they forget that I play setter as well?’

“You did good as well Suga…” they continued, “But you can do better you know.”

“Stop… stop… stop… Can you just stop. Stop reminding me that I’m barely part of the team anymore.” Sugawara yelled at them.

I was such a fool to keep on chasing after nothing great

‘What do you mean ? “ asked Y/N “ Why are you tell-”

“YOU NEVER TELL ME THAT I’M GOOD ENOUGH “ Sugawara cut them off. Y/N was shocked at the fact that they got yelled at by Sugawara, they saw tears in his eyes.

You were such a fool to keep pretending that you're loving me

“You only use me for your little games “, Sugawara sobbed out, “Do you ever think what your words can do to a person, huh.” Sugawara and Y/N just stood there with mixed emotions.

I don't know where I'm supposed to go

Sugawara just walked away from Y/N. Y/N just stood there until a person came by. It was Haruki. She said the following words,

“Look in the mirror, I love that boy, don't hurt my dear, don't hurt my joy”

“Well I hope you're satisfied with everything you have caused.” Haruki told Y/N and went to catch up to Sugawara. Y/N just stood there. “So words can hurt as much as fists, huh.”

~Some Events are Based on Real Life Situations of Mine~

So I have been gone for a while..again. Sorry about that some things came up and it distracted me from art and fanfic. So I hope this made it up for you all. Later, Alex

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #koshi sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi #sugawara x y/n #angst haikyuu #Spotify

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atomic-taco-muffin · 3 years

Text

The Lost Princess Chapter 27

Warnings: idk. You decide

Rating: SFW

You and the group entered Halloween Town. Once there, the four of you were clothed in scary-looking outfits, and Goofy noticed the scary scenery in the area. You became scared of how scary everything looked.

“Gawrsh! Don't like the looks of this place. I bet it's crawlin' with ghosts!” Goofy said.

“Neither do I. And don’t mention ghosts. They freak me out,” you said.

“Aw, phooey! There's nothin' to worry about. You won't be spooked if you already know what's coming! Not even real ghosts can frighten us anymore. If they take one look at us, THEY'd be the ones to run away!” Donald said.

“You really think so?” Goofy asked.

“Trust me!” Donald walked toward the green fountain, and Jack Skellington popped out of it. You screamed and hid behind Sora.

“Welcome to Halloween Town!” Jack said.

“Waaak!” Donald screamed as he fell on his back.

“A ghost!” you and Donald said. Sora and Goofy prepared for battle.

“Wow, those are the best shrieks I've heard in ages! If you two are THAT easy to scare, we're gonna have a great time! Sorry, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Jack Skellington! And this is Halloween Town. People around here call me the Pumpkin King! So if you're lookin' for a ghoulishly good time, you've come to the right place,” Jack said.

“Well, we aren't!” Donald said angrily as he jumped up and down.

“Too bad, because at the moment, we've got a bit of a problem in Halloween Town.”

“What kind of problem?” Sora asked.

“Well...” Just then, several Shadow Heartless surrounded you all.

“Like this!” Jack said. You and the trio quickly took care of the heartless.

“What's the big idea! Why'd you go and call the Heartless?” Donald said to Jack.

“I didn't call them. I just knew when they were going to show up. In fact, I'd love to get rid of them. They actually go around attacking people, instead of just scaring them,” Jack said.

“Why are they here?” you asked as you tried to stood close to Sora.

“I was just going to go ask Dr. Finkelstein the same question. I'm heading to his laboratory right now. Follow me!” Jack said as he left.

“Sora, what should we do?” you asked.

“I guess we'd better go,” Sora said.

“I don't like this. What if he's leading us right to the Heartless?” Donald said. Jack suddenly reappeared.

“Bingo!” he said. You screamed again and clung to Sora.

“Waaak!” Donald screamed and fell down again.

“Ha ha ha, I'm just kidding! Now let's get going,” Jack said. Jack started to leave. You, Sora and co. followed him. You, Sora, Donald, Goofy, and Jack entered Dr. Finkelstein's lab. Dr. Finkelstein was in his wheelchair reading a large book.

“Allow me to introduce Dr. Finkelstein! He's a world-famous genius!” Jack said.

“Yes! Maybe I'm TOO smart. I'm afraid I've created something horrible!” Finkelstein said.

“What's that?” Donald asked.

“Well... Have you ever stopped to think about the power of ‘true memories’?” Finkelstein said.

“True memories?!” you and Sora asked.

“You see me children, our hearts are full of memories---but not all of them reflect the truth. The heart isn't a recording device. Even important memories change with time. They warp or fade, leaving us with but a shadow of what we hoped to remember,” Finkelstein said.

“Could that be happening to us?” you asked.

“It happens to everyone. Some memories grow ugly, and some become more beautiful. If we could recover our true memories, the world would seem completely different. So, I devised a potion from forget-me-nots that brings our true memories back.”

“Did it work?” Sora asked.

“Well, that's the problem...”

“As soon as the doctor got a whiff of the potion, Heartless started popping up!” Jack said.

“Sounds like a failed experiment to me,” Donald said.

“No! My research is flawless! I just need another look at the potion to find out what went wrong!” Finkelstein said. The doctor moved his wheelchair over to a tube containing green liquid. He opened the top of his head to scratch his brain and you cringed at the sight.

“Unfortunately...it's vanished,” Finkelstein said as he closed his head.

“Maybe someone swiped it?” Sora asked.

“It must've been Sally! Jack, you've got to find her and get my potion back.”

“Leave it to me!” Jack said.

“Can we tag along?” Sora asked.

“What for?”

“I want to know more about these ‘true memories’ the doctor keeps talking about.”

“Excellent! Then let's go find Sally!” You all left the laboratory to go find this Sally person. You, Sora, Donald, Goofy, and Jack found Sally in the cemetery.

“There you are, Sally. I thought I'd find you here,” Jack said.

“Who are your friends?” Sally asked.

“They're interested in true memories. You have the potion, don't you?”

“Well...yes.” She took the potion from a pocket in her dress.

“Could you give it back?” Jack said.

“I guess so, if you insist. But...I'm afraid. All the Doctor did was smell it, and the Heartless appeared. What if someone drinks it?” Sally said.

“Are you kidding? What could be more exciting?”

“I'm worried, Jack. Isn't there another option?”

“Any ideas, Jack?” you asked.

“I can't think of a thing,” Jack said.

“I can! Give it here!” someone said. Suddenly, Oogie Boogie appeared behind Sally, attacked her, knocking her away, and grabbed the potion.

“Oh no! The potion!” she said. You and Sora's group readied your weapons.

“Oogie! You again!” Jack said.

“Jack, where are your manners? I'm just helping you put the potion to good use! You should thank me! Well, well. Just one sniff, and the Heartless appeared. What would happen if I chugged the whole thing? THAT would be scary! Poor Jack! You can't hold a candle to Oogie Boogie. Time for Halloween Town to taste pain and despair beyond any nightmare!” Oogie said.

“Pain and despair? Oogie, you monster!” Oogie ran away with the potion.

“C'mon, Jack! We've gotta go after him!” you said. The five of you ran after Oogie. you, Sora and co. chased Oogie Boogie into his lair. As you all entered, the gates closed behind you.

“Oogie! Hand over the potion!” Jack said.

“You fools don't know when to quit! Say...all this running around is making me thirsty!” Oogie said.

“Oogie! No!”

“Yes!” Oogie took out the potion, uncorked it with his mouth, and drank the entire thing.

“Oh, no...” you an Sora said.

“Ahh! Lip-smacking good!” Oogie said. All of a sudden, he started shaking.

“Agh! What's this? What... Something's wrong! Something deep inside me. Something...scary!” he said.

“Oogie! What's going on?” Jack said.

“No! Get back! Stay away from me!” Oogie coward. You and the trio fought and defeated Oogie. Later at Dr. Finkelstein's laboratory, you, Sora, Donald, Goofy, Jack, and Sally met with the Doctor.

“Confound that Oogie Boogie! He drank nearly all of my precious potion! There are only a few drops left!” Finkelstein said.

“Sora, (Y/N), why don't you ask the doc if you can drink the rest?” Goofy asked.

“No. We'd better not,” Sora said.

“I agree,” you said.

“What, don't you want it? Too bad. It would've been a great experiment,” Finkelstein said.

“Now, Doctor...” Sally said.

“Don't you want to find out about your true memories?” Jack asked you and Sora.

“Of course---now more than ever. But there's this guy---Axel. We promised him we'd find the truth on our own,” you said.

“I just don't understand. When I inhaled the potion, Heartless appeared--- ...and when Oogie drank it, he was overcome with fear. What could it mean?” Finkelstein said.

“It means the potion was a failure,” Sally said.

“No! I can't be wrong! Oogie MUST have found his true memories! Hmm... True memories must unbalance the heart--- ...and cause unpredictable changes within!”

“Then...what about us? What happens when our true memories awaken?” Sora asked.

“Perhaps something even more terrifying... But this is all just a hypothesis. I can't be sure without further research.”

“What's wrong, (Y/N)? Does the doctor's theory scare you?” Jack asked.

“Well, yeah---a little,” you said.

“Same here,” Sora said.

“That's good to hear! Fear and doubt are signs of a strong heart. They push your heart, strike out in new directions, take chances! Without them, your zest for life might fade... ...as would your taste for fear. And believe me, that would really ruin my fun.”

“Thanks, Jack. I'll remember that,” Sora said.

“Then good luck, everyone! May you always enjoy being frightened!” You and the trio left the lab, and then Halloween Town. You and gang entered the Third Floor Exit Hall.

“Aw... I hope the king is gonna be okay...” Donald said.

“Why bring that up?” you asked.

“I had to be sure that I hadn't forgotten him.”

“How'd that go for ya?” Goofy asked.

“Good! I remembered---we're on a quest to find the king.”

“I remember that too. The king helped save everything by staying on the other side of the door to darkness. I think...”

“You got it, Goofy!”

“And me and (Y/N)--- We’re looking for Riku. He was with the king when the door closed. Hm. I guess there's no way we'll forget the most important memories,” Sora said.

“That's good. 'Cause I don't want to forget...” Donald said.

“Neither do I. I may not know who my mother was but I don’t want to forget her. It’s like she’s a part of me,” you said.

“Well, you do have her powers and her dagger,” Goofy said.

“That’s true. I hope I find her soon.” You and the trio leave the Exit Hall. Meanwhile, in another room inside the castle, Axel and a woman wearing a similar black coat were standing near a crystal ball.

“You seem pretty intrigued by this Sora and (Y/N) kid,” Larxene said. (QUEEN!)

“Are you telling me you're not, Larxene?” Axel asked. Larxene giggled.

“Haven't decided yet... I think what intrigues me more is what you see in them,” she said.

“There was a time he became a Heartless. And if one becomes a Heartless---” Axel said.

“They lose their minds and their feelings... They're consumed by the darkness.”

“Right. But not Sora. He held on to his feelings, even as a Heartless. And there's only one other man who's been able to do just that.”

“It's the strength of his heart... That's what interests you. Why the Keyblade chose Sora's heart. But that doesn’t explain that spirit.”

“To unlock the mysteries of the heart. Isn't that the Organization's mission?” Larxene snickered. You, Sora, Donald, and Goofy entered the Fourth Floor.

“Hey, I wonder if there's anything we've forgotten...” Donald said.

“Hmm... If we did, what would it have been?” Goofy asked. The two fo them thought for a moment.

“I can't think of anything, so maybe that means that I really am losing my memories,” Goofy said. Donald looked sad.

“But whatever they were, they couldn't have been very important memories, right?” Goofy asked.

“Right, or else I don't think you would have forgotten it,” you said. You and Sora took out the seashell charms that Kairi gave to you.

“Look,” Sora said.

“What is it?” Donald asked.

“A good luck charm Kairi gave us. It's special to her, so we promised that we would return it. I'll never forget making that promise. It's why we could never forget Kairi,” you said.

“I’ll never forget it too,” Sora said. Donald and Goofy nodded.

“Are we right, Kairi?” Sora asked. You and Sora saw an image of Kairi in your heads. The three of you smiles at each other. Then a girl wearing a white dress appeared behind you two.

“Huh?!” you and Sora asked. You and Sora looked back but the girl disappeared.

“Oh... Do we know...that girl?” Sora asked.

“I...have no idea,” you said.

“Hey, Sora, (Y/N). Where did you two go?”

“Sorry. Never mind,” Sora said.

“We better keep goin'” Goofy said. You and Sora held up the next card at the Fourth Floor world entrance, and entered to the next world.

#kingdom hearts #kingdomhearts #kingdom hearts imagine #kingdom hearts x reader #kingdomhearts imagines #kingdomhearts x reader #kingdomhearts+imagines #kingdomhearts+x+reader #kingdom+hearts+x+reader #kingdom+hearts+imagines

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

ooh haunted house and hayride? or maybe... haunted hayride? is that even a thing haha

3. Haunted House + 25. Hayride

from autumn fic prompts here

i am in SUCH a fall/halloween mood!!!! it’s getting chilly already where i am baby, im ready. this is loosely based on a haunted hayride attraction that was popular back in my hometown (thought it might actually be more widespread). unfortunately i was too much of a wimp to ever do it so im going off of my 15 year old sister’s account of it :/

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

“If you get scared, you can hold my hand,” Newton says.

He extends his right hand out to Hermann and wriggles his fingers. Hermann turns away with a snort, tucking one of his own mittened hands into the pocket of his parka. “Mm. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I’m just saying,” Newton says. “I’m here if you need me.”

Hermann wonders whether Newton is being facetious, or if he’s managed to completely delude himself into thinking he’s the braver of the two of them. Because, arguably, he’s not—at least not in anything beyond the real world. (Hermann will begrudgingly admit many of Newton’s actions during the final days of the war, though incredibly foolish, were also quite brave.) Newton cowers behind his popcorn bucket when he drags Hermann to see horror films at the cinema; he shrieks at jumpscares, ghostly faces in windows, slasher killers stalking their victims; once, he watched a YouTube playthrough of some zombie video game, and showed up at Hermann’s bedroom five out of seven nights the following week to ask him to check to make sure the front door was locked, or if he heard that noise, or if Hermann was the one who left that hall light on and not an undead intruder who was probably hiding in the linen closet waiting to massacre them… “I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermann says, sarcastically.

The problem is that Newton hates being afraid of things. As a result, he feels the constant need to reaffirm to Hermann—and probably himself—that he’s not afraid of anything. It’s why the small octopus-shaped bowl on the entranceway bookcase in their flat is overflowing with movie ticket stubs from horror movies, and currently, why they’re in line for a Haunted Hayride.

“Do you realize we’re the only people above twenty years old here?” Hermann says.

“Young people know how to have fun,” Newton says with a smile. Hermann’s idea of a fun Friday night is taking a bath with a mystery novel and a glass of wine. He does not consider standing in the cold around a bunch of hormone-fueled and PDA-happy teenagers to be very fun. Newton’s added presence isn’t really helping much. “You know I worked a part time job at a haunted house when I was a teenager?”

“Did you scare people?” Hermann says.

“Nah,” Newton says. “I worked the fog machine. Hey, look, we’re up next.”

The line for the hayride has wound them through a Styrofoam-tombstone cemetery, “The Field of Terror” (dead corn stalks and angry-looking scarecrows swaying in the breeze), and now finally a small pumpkin patch. It’s too dark to see ahead where their ride will take them. “Tickets, please?” a vampire asks them in a hokey Transylvanian accent.

“Sick costume, man,” Newton says. He holds out his ticket, which has a little Jack-O-Lantern grinning away on it. Hermann does the same.

“You may…enter,” the vampire says, and steps aside with a whoosh of his cape.

“I should be a vampire for Halloween this year,” Newton says, as he helps Hermann up a few rickety wooden stairs to the tractor hitch they’ll be riding on, and then over to a terribly uncomfortable bale of hay. “But like, a cool vampire. Not a dumb Dracula one. Like Lost Boys. Did I make you watch Lost Boys?”

“Yes, Newton,” Hermann sighs. “You made me watch Lost Boys. And Lost Boys 2. And Lost Boys 3.”

“It’s insane how uncultured you were before I met you,” Newton says.

“I don’t want to talk about Lost Boys anymore,” Hermann says.

“Fine,” Newton says. He turns and begins squinting into the field ahead of them. “I wonder how this is going to go down? Like, are people going to try and drag us off? No, I don’t think that’s legal. Or maybe—”

Someone in an intensely gory zombie costume, holding a bloodstained, bladeless chainsaw, suddenly leaps out from below at Newton; Newton shrieks and lands on the wooden bed of the hitch. A group of teenagers seated a little further down from them begin laughing. “That is so uncool,” Newton says, as the zombie continues to gleefully wave their chainsaw around. “I could’ve, like, fallen off or something. I could’ve really hurt myself.”

“Get up off the bloody floor already,” Hermann sighs, and raps his cane against Newton’s boot.

Newton, to his surprise, stares at him in something like genuine hurt. Hermann feels a pang of guilt. He quickly puts on a show of rolling his eyes to offset it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Are you alright?”

Newton dusts hay off his pumpkin-patterned sweater and sits back next to Hermann with an affronted sniff, though he does shoot a wary glance back down below. Looking for more zombies, Hermann presumes. “I’m fine,” he says. “It’s cool.”

The ride is jerky, uncomfortable, and—more likely than not—not very structurally sound. They pass through the rest of the pumpkin patch, where more scarecrows (these, animated) stalk them, and wave scythes; a large, fog-shrouded tunnel where hidden speakers play clattering chains and wails, and the occasional ghostly white hand grabs onto the edge of the tractor hitch; more zombies, more vampires, even a mad scientist’s lab, which does manage to rouse a burst of laughter from Hermann. He could imagine Newton being very much at home in it—in fact, it very nearly does resemble his half of their old Hong Kong laboratory. “I rather feel like I’m having deja-vu,” he whispers to Newton, watching a short man in a white lab coat plug wires into a monster on his dissection table.

Newton nearly jumps a mile into the air the second Hermann opens his mouth. “Gimme a warning next time!”

“Before I speak?”

“I wasn’t expecting it, okay?” Newton says.

Newton is jumpy the entire car-ride home, eyes continuously darting up into the rear view mirror, to the backseat, over at Hermann, and when they make it back to their flat, he locks the deadbolt and the chain on their front door. “Who do you think followed us?” Hermann says. “Frankenstein’s bloody monster?”

“Just taking precautions,” Newton says. He darts over to the window by their couch and peers out of it, then checks the lock on that, too.

“We live on the fourth floor,” Hermann reminds him. “Frankly, if someone manages to climb in through that, I’d be impressed. Oh, come on, Newton—” he starts, when Newton doesn’t so much as crack a smile, “Let’s put something on the telly. Whatever you’d like. We could watch one of those cooking programs you—”

“I think I’m just gonna brush my teeth and go to bed,” Newton says.

This, it turns out, is a lie. Hardly an hour later, while Hermann relaxes in bed with the mystery novel Newton so cruelly kept him from enjoying in the bath this evening, there’s a little knock on his door; in slips Newton, wearing green boxers and an oversized TU Berlin sweatshirt.

“I was wondering where that went,” Hermann remarks mildly. “Can I help you?’

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Newton says, in a very, very small voice.

Hermann smiles, and slips off his glasses. “If you’d like,” he says.

Newton shuts the light off while Hermann makes room for him. He takes happily to the left side of the bed, and even more happily to pillowing himself against Hermann’s chest, eyes fluttering shut almost immediately. “Just for tonight,” he mumbles, as Hermann strokes back his unruly hair. “I’m not scared, though. That’s not why.”

“Of course you’re not,” Hermann tells him kindly. Truthfully, this is why Hermann can put up with the annoyances of double-checking the locks, shutting linen closet lights off, assuring Newton at four in the morning he hasn’t heard a thing: it almost always ends with Newton in his bed, which Hermann doesn’t think can be termed an annoyance in any universe.

“I just thought you might be,” Newton says.

“How terribly considerate of you,” Hermann says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Too Hot (Hot Damn) || Morgan & Erin

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @corpse--diem & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Erin and Morgan take a day off to play target practice at Jericho Hill, but someone there wants to make a target out of them.

CONTAINS: Gun use (salt rounds). Many, many ghosts.

In a world of life, death, and violence, sometimes you needed to drive out to Jericho Hill with a friend, a bag of empty bottles, and a couple of pistols for some fun. Morgan aimed a salt round at one of the targets she’d poised over a leaning tombstone. The colonial soldier watching them, pimply as a high school kid and just as eager, smirked and nodded at her to take a shot. She’d been doing okay so far this afternoon, but this one was at an angle, and a little close to Soldier Boy. If she missed, he wasn’t going to be around to spectate the rest of the day.

Bang.

Salt burst against the glass in a white spray of smoke and water. The glass fell over and plunked to the ground. “And that, friends, is how you do it in Texas!” Morgan cheered. She blew on the muzzle of her pistol, just for show. “You know, this is a lot easier when you’re not running for your life or scared out of your mind. Funny how that is, right?” She looked sidelong at Erin, nudging her teasingly. “How about it, Annie Oakley? It’s your turn.”

Erin let out an appropriately loud holler as the salt bullet connected with the bottle, holding her own lager high into the air. “Oh, that was beautiful,” she laughed, perched atop a long forgotten memorial bench, the surface worn smooth from age and weather. It was hard to even make out the inscription anymore. She wasn’t sure what to expect when that salt bullet cut through the air but the way it knocked the glass off, causing a satisfying shatter as it smacked to the ground was certainly something. “You want me to follow up after that?” She raised a brow but stood anyway, hopping up from her seat. “Alright, alright.” Guess it was her turn to fail beautifully at something. She’d been the expert with the hockey stick and the dishes last time, after all. With one last sip, she emptied the beer bottle in her hands and stuck it in place where the previous one had sat.

“You’re going to show me how to use this, right? I mean, Nic showed me how to use the real thing and it looks similar but--” she shrugged, eyeing the salt pistol warily. “Believe it or not, I’m not Annie Oakley, dollface. I’d like to desecrate as little as possible while we’re here,” she smirked, but took the gun anyway, looking off at the target in the short distance. Her gaze drifted after a moment towards the open cemetery. Looked as normal as it usually did, to her, but she had to wonder-- “You’d tell me if there were ghosts hanging out with us right now, right?”

“Heck yeah I do!” Morgan encouraged. “If you know how to use a real one, then--okay, well I don’t know how to use a real one because my parents weren’t that kind of Texan, but it’s the same principle, so I bet you can do it!”

She came around beside Erin and put her friend’s hands in position on the pistol and got her in a good position to hit the next bottle. “Just keep your eyes open and hold steady. You got it, toots.”

At Erin’s question about ghosts, Morgan gave the soldier watching their target practice an uneasy look. “Uh, would you want to know?” She asked. But just from Erin’s tone, she already knew the answer. “We do have one discreet spectator, but he seems nice. We passed a few of the regulars on the way in, but they’re just hanging where they like to hang, nowhere close by.” Morgan scanned their surroundings, and the colonial soldier did the same. He whistled, a tricky thing with half of his mouth blown to pieces, and jerked his thumb behind him. Morgan stepped away to check. In the distance among a wiry corpse of trees stood a girl, shriveled as a skeleton, picking flowers and tucking them into a pocket in her white dress. When she saw Morgan, she waved and beckoned her over.

It took Morgan a second to wave back. Normally ghosts couldn’t tell she saw them so fast, or cared about interacting. “We’re okay over here!” she called. “But thank you!”

She came back to Erin, shrugging. “Some sad flower-picking girl ghost. Wanted some company I guess. But, she has plenty of friends here, I bet. Now take your best shot!”

Same kind of principle. Super encouraging. Erin nodded anyway, deciding that Morgan was probably right and the logistics weren’t too different than what she was used to. If anything were to go wrong, the most she had to worry about was possibly blasting a tombstone with some salt. Or if her aim was off enough and she managed to hit a ghost--well, that was to be determined, huh? She moved the way Morgan directed, eyes flitting back and forth between the bottle and her friend. “Think I can handle that,” she said, though her smirk held more confidence than she felt.

Her finger hovered over the trigger and she took aim, holding the pistol tightly between both hands. There was more kickback than she expected when she pulled the trigger but it knocked her only slightly off guard. Not surprisingly, the shot missed, whizzing by the bottle and smacking into the tree behind it with a bang. White dust blew in the wind as the pellet evaporated. “Damn it,” she grumbled.

Her muscles tensed at the comment about the ghost girl. Guess that answered her question. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised. This was a graveyard. Didn’t mean she had to feel comfortable and it resonated in her voice. “Right. And… what happens if we hit one?” She asked, glancing off into the distance to where Morgan had seemed to be speaking to while readying the gun for another shot. “Does it just… poof? For good?”

Morgan winced as the bullet missed. The colonial soldier laughed, even after Morgan gave him a look to the extent of be nice. “Don’t get down on yourself. It’s only your first one. And how long has it been since you handled one of these things at all anyway?”

She saw Erin tense as she talked about the ghosts and squiggled her face with confusion, then amusement. The colonial soldier behind her shifted further away from the bottles. “What? No!” Morgan put out an arm to reassure the poor kid. “Seriously, no. You’re gonna be fine,” she said to him. “They just kind of dissipate for a few hours. It hurts them, maybe. I would assume it hurts to have your spirit kind of scattered or...whatever happens. But they’ll be fine, in the end. No permanent damage. So they have plenty of time to move on with themselves peacefully.” She gave the solder another pointed look, though not an unkind one.

“Don’t worry, Erin, okay? It’s as deadly as shooting blanks. You’re not gonna scar any spirits for eternity.”

As she spoke, the girl in white drifted closer, spinning and throwing her flowers in the air in a strange, clumsy dance. She tossed some their way and waved again, beckoning so earnest Morgan could almost hear a child’s voice whining, please can we please please pleeeeeaseeee. Morgan waved back, not knowing what else to do.

“Don’t look now, but I think you’ve got an admiring audience,” she said, coming around behind Erin again and adjusting her form. “See those floating flowers? She’s really excited about having some gal pals around, I guess. Ready to try again?”

“October,” Erin answered flatly. The last time she’d held a gun in her hands, she’d used it to shoot Roy. The last time she hoped she would ever need to. She blinked the memory away as she grabbed another pellet and reloaded it like she’d seen Morgan do earlier. “That’s a shame,” she muttered quietly to herself. Would’ve been nice to have a real way to protect herself against another incident like the all out brawl she’d had with ghost-Dale a few months back. Her eyes followed Morgan’s as they bounced between what she assumed were the locations of their visitors. When the bottle was set, she moved back into position and lifted the salt gun like

“I mean, I don’t want to maim or… re-murder a ghost but it’d be nice to have something I know could actually do some permanent damage. We both know they’re not all cute, sad ghost girls who just want to make friends. Sometimes they’re assholes in tacky vacation shirts and sometimes they’re--” She glanced briefly over at Morgan with a tilt of her head. “Well, you know.” It was interesting to see Morgan standing so calmly amongst them, even now, after all she’d gone through. She lowered the gun, pausing briefly. “Sometimes they’re Constance.”

Morgan scoffed at Erin’s remark and took back the pistol, wanting another turn. “Hey, at least your asshole in a tacky shirt didn’t try to destroy half the town. Not that the other stuff was great but—I mean, they’re just people, Erin. The only people around who might know them long enough to care are the other dead. It’s shitty and lonely. And sometimes that makes assholes and mal-adjusted teenagers into a serious danger, and sometimes it makes them sad, or kind.” She fired once, then twice. The rounds knocked over one bottle and grazed the air next to another. So she wasn’t much of a sharpshooter yet, but she hadn’t exactly been practicing. She still felt a little ill at the thought of hurting someone and the ripples and painful cycles it always seemed to make.

“Besides, isn’t being wary of them in sight, or I guess chill, in your case, some kind of profiling?” She said this lightly, certain that Erin was just having a bad day, or a bad few months, and didn’t mean it all so much in a literal sense. “Maybe fix your aim a little more like—” She adjusted Erin’s hand. “That. And really hold yourself steady. And uh, keep your eye on the prize so you don’t accidentally maim your new ghost groupie.”

Part of Erin knew Morgan’s points were all valid and that her fear was just that--fear. Still, the feeling lingered, wrapping icy fingers around her bones, sending a chill up her spine at the empty spots where Morgan had been looking before. “Maybe,” she admitted with a small huff, folding her arms in against herself. Focused on the bottle as it clinked against the tombstone before landing with a thump onto the grass instead. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to stay stuck in the thick of that fear. That “imaginary friend” of hers had turned out to be more real and more of a friend than any of the children she’d known back then too. They were people. “I don’t know. It’s just… unsettling. It’s not their fault, I guess. I can’t see them and knowing what they’re capable of, what they’ve done, just doesn’t feel great.”

She allowed Morgan to fix her positioning, and when it felt right, she let loose another pellet. This time it connected, just barely, but enough to send the bottle flying. The next shot wasn’t as accurate, flying a little too far to the right, smacking into a tree and--the sound of a young woman cried out in the same direction. The bullet ripped through her shoulder but left no mark, no blood, before it hit the tree. Like it’d simply gone straight through her. It was hard to tell from this distance, even if her eyes weren’t fixated on the haunting skeletal face staring back at her or the flowing white dress that was as pale as the rest of her. There was no discernable expression but her body language, the way she clutched to her shoulder seemed to indicate that she’d been hurt. Maybe even fearful of the two women. “Morgan,” Erin managed after a moment, tongue suddenly heavy in mouth. “You see that too, right? Please tell me you see that.” She finally managed to pull her gaze from the woman, who was staring at the same spot on her shoulder in shock. “She didn’t--she didn’t poof. Why didn’t she poof? Who--what did I just shoot?”

“Erin!” Morgan pushed her arm off course, but the round had already gone flying through the ghost. Morgan followed it with her eyes and stared, dumbfounded, as the girl remained intact. It took her a few seconds to realize Erin was talking to her, and her thoughts hadn’t just taken on a different voice. “I see her. I--uh--I just can’t believe you can see her.” She would’ve heard from someone if mediums could be ‘activated’ mysteriously, right? Morgan’s eyes slid sidelong toward Erin, confusion giving way to awe. “--Holy shit,” she said, laughing breathlessly. “I don’t know how this is happening but--holy shit!” She squeezed Erin excitedly.

“Sorry!” She called. “It was an accident! My friend is still learning how to shoot, but we’re not mad at you or anything!”

She turned back to Erin. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I mean, for being a ghost, she’s amazingly intact, and did you notice her dancing earlier? The joy she still has even though that dress looks like it’s from, what, the 1930s? I’d go bonkers without someone to talk to for that much time. I don’t think she’s even mad…”

The girl was inching closer, hesitating, like she wasn’t sure whether to believe Morgan’s explanation.

“Come on, we should at least make amends, right? I think she’s lonely. It doesn’t have to be for long, and you could think of it as--exposure therapy! And you know what’s also great for defending against ghosts? Ghost friends.” She gave Erin a tug and nodded encouragingly. This could be a nice kind of surprise in the day, couldn’t it?

Whoever this was had been simply going about their undead day before getting pelted with something that, from what she’d been told, should have ended her day pretty quickly. For that, Erin did feel guilty, though the fear wasn’t far behind it. They’re just people, she reminded herself, using Morgan’s words as a mantra. Erin shook her head, ignoring Morgan’s sudden enthusiasm as she struggled to focus on keeping her composure. “I don’t know either. Are we sure she’s a ghost?” Morgan seemed sure, and she knew more than Erin ever would, but there was a quiet, tickling nag that kept her from rushing over and checking on the young woman. Ghost friends. Erin scoffed and her jaw clenched at the thought but resisted only slightly when Morgan started tugging her. She supposed she had to do something here. She did shoot the girl, after all. “Okay, okay,” she whispered at Morgan, the zombie’s insistence pulling her out of her stunned disposition.

Taking a quick breath, she swallowed her nerves and took a timid step forward. “Hi there,” she called out softly, giving a gentle wave and a smile that showed her sincerity. The woman’s head tilted to the side. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there, I swear and--are you okay?” She asked, brows furrowing in concern now. Maybe she’d missed. Maybe the bullet had simply grazed the ghost or missed her completely. It’d explain why she was still standing.

The girl nodded slowly, seemingly accepting her apology, silent as she looked between the two other women. Her curious gaze fell on Morgan. “I’m fine,” she answered after a long moment. She wiped off her shoulder where Erin had sworn she’d seen the bullet slide through. Maybe the salt pellets were duds. “Are you playing a game? I don’t know what you’re playing but I don’t think your friend is very good at it.” Her voice was softer and more innocent than Erin expected. She allowed a smile to creep up her lips, a playful sparkle returning to her pasty features. “I like games, though. If you’d like to make it up to me, I know a really fun one.”

Morgan was almost bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Oh, that. I guess you could call it a game, but it takes a while to learn, you know? We definitely didn’t mean anything, and we’re so glad you’re not hurt! Oh! And uh, I’m Morgan. This is Erin. What would you like us to call you?”

The girl laughed. “I haven’t had a name in I don’t know how long. You can call me whatever you like best, as long as you’ll play my dancing game with me.”

Morgan turned to Erin and shrugged. It wasn’t every day you got to do a dance party with a ghost, right? She gave the girl her hands, ready to try whatever she had in mind.

The girl gripped her firmly.

“Have you always been able to do this? Touch people?” Morgan asked.

The girl squeezed her tighter and spun her in a circle. “Why shouldn’t I? Have you always been so dry?”

“So what?”

But the girl didn’t answer. She let go of Morgan and let her stumble around the grass and turned her attention to Erin. She didn’t ask for her hands, just took them, smiling in a way that showed too many teeth. “Oh, I like you.” She said.

Erin was almost more bewildered by Morgan’s eagerness than she was with the cryptic ghost who wanted to dance with them. Not just a ghost, she reminded herself again. A person. Was this how the woman spent her sunny afternoons when she was alive? Laughing, frolicking, barefoot in the grass? An unsure smile gave way to a genuine laugh of her own as she watched Morgan try to find her footing.

“Do you hear that Morgan? She likes me,” Erin teased, glancing back at her friend as she was pulled in closer. She wasn’t a dancer and her movements lacked the same grace, but she had accidentally shot the woman. She could at least play along here. Her hands were as cold as a cadaver and the once warm, shy smile made her uneasy. Or maybe it was the quick, repetitive circles she spun them in making her dizzier than expected. “Whoa. Can we slow down a little?” She asked and tried to slow down her movements but the ghost either wouldn’t hear it or didn’t care. Only hummed a whimsical tune that seemed misplaced in a place surrounded by gravestones. Her stomach churned with every rotation. Something was very wrong here. “Hey--hey! Stop!” Her voice cracked, the words spilling out like saw dust as she tried to shout. God, when was the last time she had something to drink?

“Stop?! Oh, dear, but we’ve just begun!” Her laugh pierced her skull like a nail, agitating the increasing pressure building in her head. Where was Morgan? The world spun in a blend of greens and greys as the woman dragged her farther from Morgan.

Morgan found her balance by way of stumbling into one of the grave stones and falling over. By the time she’d stood up and shaken the grass and dirt from her hair, the girl was dragging Erin further afield. There was something...off about this. Erin wasn’t being clumsy so much as she was dragging her feet, trying to slow them down. “E-erin?” She called.

The girl yanked on Erin harder. Trying to run off with her. Morgan fumbled along the ground, looking for the salt pistol. “Hey!” She called. Where was it, where was it, where-- At last her fingers closed around the handle and she leveled it at the pair. “That’s enough, let her go!” She marched toward them, looking for a clean shot. “She’s not like you, she needs to rest!”

“Maybe when I’m finished with her. It’s been so long.”

Morgan’s heart plummeted. That sounded a lot like killing people. She’d been around enough supernaturals to know how they tried to be cute and discreet about killing people, including herself, and that was definitely some kind of no-good very-bad code for killing people. Shit, shit, shit… The pair whirled And Morgan fired two shots, as many as she dared. She squeezed her eyes shut when the last bullet left the chamber. She didn’t want to know if she’d hurt her friend. She didn’t want to know just how wrong she’d been about this.

Erin heard Morgan, finally, and with a jolt and the blast of two gunshots, the dancing stopped. A blood-curdling scream replaced the laughter that had once filled the cemetery as she thudded to the ground with a slump. Her arms and legs ached, stiffening and seizing as she crawled away. Morgan had landed the shots--something she’d praise her endlessly for later--but it wasn’t fatal. There was no ethereal dissipation like Morgan had described earlier. She was just angrier now, her fingers digging into Erin’s ankle as she stopped her from getting away.

“I don’t like this--game!” Erin grumbled, emphasizing the last word with a hard kick that sent her backwards. What kind of fucking ghost bullshit did she find herself in this time? This was stupid. This was so stupid. It was a weak kick and the salt bullets had little effect. Within moments, her hands were on Erin again, dragging her back. Her breathing became labored, dry and sore as her chest heaved with more effort than she should have been necessary. And then suddenly--she let go.

“I think that’s quite enough, miss.”

Out of nowhere and of course, in the nick of time, the colonial soldier ripped the woman off, dragging her backwards across the grass. He nodded at the handful of ghosts that had gathered in the area that now circled the two as they began to help. “You won’t be harming another living soul on my land if I have anything to do with it. Come now. Good job, everyone.” He instructed the other ghosts to lend a hand. Gave one last nod at Morgan, an assurance that they’d take it from here. Erin could only watch as the woman flailed about, the other ghosts invisible to her panicked human eyes. “Morgan?” She asked, tearing her gaze from the sight as she tried to sit up, the fear thick in her throat. “What’s happening? What--how--”

Morgan was already scrambling toward Erin and pulling on her arms, ready to fling her onto her back. She looked up the the colonial soldier, bleary eyed with relief and gratitude. “Thank you,” she whispered. He was too busy leading a strategic charge with the other souls in the cemetery, chasing her uphill, wielding hoarded scraps of rustic metal as projectiles. The girl shivered as she fled, and Morgan could only wonder if she was the reason the young colonial soldier remained. If he still wanted to defend his miserable little town, because it was his.

He spent one look her way, calling simply. “She’s not so clever when she’s cold.” Before rounding around the trees as she sped to get around him.

“We’re being rescued,” Morgan said to Erin, pulling her up and starting to run. “But I don’t know for how long. I think the best they can do is make her work around them. When we get to the car you need to blast the AC, in case she tries to come in.” They hadn’t parked far. Morgan tightened her grip on Erin and pulled out her keys, punching the button to unlock. “Hurry!”

Nothing that Morgan was saying made any sense, but with the world still spinning around her, Erin wasn’t about to argue. She nodded and followed on wobbly legs, collapsing into the car the moment the door unlocked. “Go, go, go!” Shaky fingers found the knob and cranked the AC at full blast. She cringed at the blast of warm air bursting from the vents. “Water,” she droned, glancing around in a panic. “Where’s my water--” It was here somewhere. Her cheeks burned, her skin flushed a bright red, like she had been standing under a heat lamp in the middle of the desert. The water bottle rolled at her feet and she very nearly wanted to cry at the discovery. It was warm and tasted like it had been sitting in a car for a few hours but it was the greatest thing that had ever touched her lips, temporarily calming the black eating at the edges of her vision. A glance out the window showed the woman in white off in the distance, struggling against something Erin couldn’t see. Anger flared up hotter than the warmth in her cheeks. Too angry to speak, to even yell. Again. This bullshit happened again. She had been trying this time too. Really trying. Ghosts were people too. When she drank as much as she could without getting sick, her hands touched over the vent, waiting for the air to cool down, watching the cemetery grow smaller and smaller behind them. God, she was exhausted, pure adrenaline keeping her eyes wide open. “What the fuck was that?” She snapped, finally turning to Morgan when they’d made some distance.

“I don’t know,” Morgan said, ignoring the speed limit and lurching down the lane. “But the other ghosts in the cemetery knew what was up with her. If I had to guess, she can do something to change her constitution. And somehow she’s visible. And the ghosts in the cemetery have put up with her shit before. I might come back later and talk to them about it, see if there’s a way to do something about her for good. She didn’t dissipate, but maybe she could be trapped somehow, at least until I can phone an exorcist who I haven’t pissed off or insulted. They were able to make her stay solid, right? And whatever she did to you isn’t something she can do on dead people, so I’ll probably be safe. But that was still-- I didn’t even know they made deluxe ghosts like that.”

She slowed down as she neared the busy center of town and let herself ease back in her seat. “Are you okay? What did she even do to you? Do you need the hospital, or first aid or--something?”

Deluxe ghost. Those two words popped out to Erin more than anything else from Morgan’s explanation. A graveyard full of dead people and Erin had still managed to be the most useless and the most helpless one of the merry bunch. Even now, she couldn’t do anything to get rid of the thing that had violated her. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” she managed, her teeth clenching at the dull ache lessening bit by bit between her eyes. She lifted the water bottle to her lips, feeling the weight lessen and lessen. It was like she could drink ten of these and still not be satisfied. “I don’t know what she did. It was like she was absorbing the water right out of me.” The only time her body had ever experienced something like this was during an ill-prepared hike on a hot summer afternoon a few summers ago. Even still, it didn’t come close to this. This was instant and all-consuming, leaving her exhausted in more ways than the obvious physical toll. She covered her eyes with her hand, slumping against the car door, trying to force away the itchy, gross feeling crawling along her flushed skin. “Can you just take me home? Please?”

“Yeah,” Morgan said quietly. “Of course.” She gave Erin a sidelong glance when they came to the next stoplight and reached out to touch her arm, maybe cool off some of her flush with her cold body temperature. But wherever Erin was inside her head, it was the kind of not-okay that sent out spikes when you got too close. A dozen questions filled Morgan’s mouth (Where are you? What’s really the matter? Why aren’t you talking to me…) but she swallowed all of them down. “I’ll uh, get us there fast as I can, okay?” The light turned green and Morgan hit the gas a little harder. She’d get Erin home and come back later and leave some iced tea by her door and whenever she found it, she’d know that they were friends, and Morgan would do anything for her that she could, and then they’d talk and everything would come out and it would be okay. Of course it would. Morgan and Erin were always okay.

#wr erin #wr chatzy #wr erin chatzy #too hot hot damn #gun use tw

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