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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 5 months

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Last week I did a round-up of comedy shows I’ve seen/heard lately, and I left off Daniel Kitson’s Maybe a Ghost Story, because I felt like it deserved its own post. This is that post. Spoiler alert, obviously.

Daniel Kitson – Maybe a Ghost Story (2022)

This was a 2022 show because it was first performed last year for two nights in late October, in the Shakespeare Globe theatre, which of course is cool as fuck. This year, he performed it again for a few nights around Halloween, and on one of those nights he livestreamed it. I had a lovely time watching the livestream. The script was pretty well exactly the same as last year’s show, so he wasn’t doing a new run because he’d written new parts to it or anything. It was just Halloween again. I’d be happy for performing this on Halloween every year to become a new tradition. Especially if it always includes a livestream.

I really liked the livestream, as I’ve heard Daniel Kitson a lot more often than I’ve seen him, and it’s fun to see the act-outs and general physical expressiveness. Really quite a lot of physical expressiveness, considering he performed the whole thing while sitting down and reading from a book. It was in a pretty theatre and a nice atmosphere and he smiled and waved his arms around a lot and it was just great fun to watch in the middle of the night on Halloween.

I also think it’s a really good story. It’s pretty much the same concept as his Christmas story, which is available for free on his website in audio form. (Spoiler alert for both shows at this point, and I do recommend listening to that Christmas show unspoiled if you haven’t before and have enough interest in the subject to read my post about it.) Person mourning the loss of a parent travels back to the home of that parent on a holiday. Those circumstances leave them cynical about the holiday, but along the way they meet another person who represents some supernatural entity associated with that holiday, and maybe that’s just in a symbolic way, or maybe they’re actually supernatural in some way, it’s left ambiguous. The entity travels with them on the road trip to the parents’ home, and helps them come to terms with their issues.

…When you put it like that, the Halloween show does sound both derivative, and a bit like boring holiday cliches. But it’s not, I promise! I mean, your mileage may vary. But I really enjoyed both shows. It helps that I don’t mind derivative, particularly when it comes to Kitson. If I really liked the first thing, I’m happy to have more of it. (This is a good thing, I guess, given that both shows he's performed in 2023 are pretty much re-hashes of old shows. But I liked those old shows. And the new ones.)

I like that neither of his two holiday shows rely on a major twist about who the entity is. For the first while, it becomes clear that, according to cliché holiday story lore, it’s probably going to turn out that there’s more to this man who seems like Santa/woman who’s dressed as a ghost than meets the eye. So as an audience member, I’m just waiting for that to get dramatically revealed, or even understated-ly revealed, after we spend enough time with the other character oblivious.

But it doesn’t go that way. Both times, fairly early on, the main character acknowledges that this situation is fucking weird and it seems like they might be traveling with some supernatural thing but of course that’s absurd and they want it explained. So that takes away any impact of a big reveal at the end, which means Kitson can’t rely on the surprise (though it wouldn’t really be a surprise since you can see it coming) of a big reveal, and has to write a story that’s good enough to be worth listening to even if we can already see how it ends.

Maybe a Ghost Story does have one twist that I found quite impactful the first time I listened to it last year, and hit pretty well this year even though I already knew the story this time. (Again, spoilers, genuinely, big spoilers) We spend the first half thinking the main character is a father who lost his son to a tragic accident on the roof, and carries with him an old picture of himself with his son. At some point, he points at the kid in the picture and says “that’s me”, and you realize he’s actually the son and it was the father who died in the accident, and it recontextualizes the whole second narrative. I’d spent the whole time thinking the surprise with those would be that it turns out it’s a story about the dark secret in the main character’s past – which, again, is hardly a surprise as it was obvious, but just hadn’t been spelled out so we were waiting for the spelling out. Kitson sidesteps that, understands that we already got that he was in the story, and gives us a different surprise. I mean, that’s what I thought happened. Maybe everyone else listening to the story worked it out just fine from the beginning. But I found it worked well.

Both stories have some good ruminations on tradition and holidays and aspects of culture that we take for granted because we grew up with them and don’t pick apart much. Both of them are set on road trips and make you feel like you’re on a road trip and are therefore fun for people like myself who like road trips. Both have plenty of both characters acting as mouthpieces of Kitson’s own views and, occasionally, jokes. Which I also think is great. I’m all for more mouthpieces for Kitson’s views and jokes. Both are story shows rather than stand-up shows, but they’re funny. Both are described so vividly that I can see them like a movie in my head.

I think the Halloween one might hit slightly harder than the Christmas one just because it’s such a horrific story. It makes me think of the Mark Watson novel Eleven (major spoiler alert for a major reveal in that one, do not read if you haven’t read that novel and want to, it’s a really good novel and you should read it if you haven’t yet), which is about a guy who had to start his life over after he was babysitting a friend’s baby, and in one moment lost focus and dropped the baby, and it died. I saw Mark Watson interviewed about the book, and he said he wanted to explore that moment of panic that goes through people’s minds all the time, when they’re doing something and realize they could make one tiny, tiny mistake at this point, and it would be catastrophic. Like when you’re holding a baby and imagine what would happen if you stood up too fast and forget to hold it tightly enough and then you’ve killed your friend’s baby. He said he wrote that book to face up to those horrifying thoughts that we all have but try to avoid, by playing out in a novel what would happen if the worst did occur.

Mark Watson, whom I’m pretty sure has spent most of his career wishing he’d be compared to Kitson more often, would be delighted to know that that’s what I thought of when I heard Daniel Kitson’s Maybe a Ghost Story. It’s a similar thing – playing out what happens in the realistic worst-case scenario. The nightmare that keeps people awake at night and could really happen, any day, over one mistake. In this case, the story of how a little boy who didn’t understand the danger decided to play a game with his father on the roof, and then had to live for the next fifty years with the knowledge that his father had died because of him. Genuine horror. Absolutely horrifying horror. Scarier than ghosts or made-up things, was the not-very-subtle-but-still-well-conveyed message.

Having said that, the Christmas show had a lot going for it too, like really poignant and interesting discussions of what family Christmases are like, of the sort I don’t hear often. Stories about how the number of people dwindles as the years go on and older relatives die off, and you can feel them there in subsequent years, but we gather anyway. And a bunch of other similar shit that I can’t think of off the top of my head right now, but, you know, shit like that. Observations that make me think quite a bit more than a “family Christmases are busy, aren’t they?” joke would have done.

So I really like both shows. I'm glad we have a video of the later one now. Would love a video of the Christmas one too, if he wants to stream that in December this year. Though I did order a CD of it, so I'll at least have that soon. Well, I'll have it someday. Eventually. Probably by 2025, given Kitson's organizational skills with that sort of thing.

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quibliography · 2 years

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The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

Synopsis: This novel is about the long and enduring life of Addie LaRue. Adeline LaRue was born in Villon in the year 1691 in a stone house just beyond an old yew tree. Even as a child, she longed to see the larger world and big cities like Le Man. But in 1714 her parents decide she’s past marriageable age and forced her hand. She could never accept such a dull fate, to be born and to die on the same plot of land, and so she escapes to the woods. There she pleads to the gods to save her and in her desperation, she forgets Estelle’s warning: never call on the gods that answer after dark. And when the darkness answers, Adeline makes a deal she can’t take back.

My Quibs: The basic premise is a classic, done and re-done so many times. (There’s even a bizarrely similarly-titled movie, The Age of Adaline.) I had high expectations that Schwab would bring something different. The boundaries she sets around the concept of immortality was interesting. I enjoyed learning them along with Addie, although it was difficult to fully grasp the details with all the time jumping. I’m a big fan of world-building so I have a tendency to pick at holes when details are important. For instance, if a plot is dependent on science and the author explains part of the science, I’ll expect the other half to hold up. On the other hand, if the author hand-waves most of the science, I’ll let all of it go. So when Schwab begins to construct the “cage” that Addie lives in, I’m going to want to test it. But back to my point, she jumps back and forth so much that I’m too turned around to really question anything. I’m also too turned around to really connect with her either. She’s a guarded character but she’s also written guarded-ly (?). The closest I could feel of her frustration and jadedness is when we flip through a decade of meetings with the Darkness, waiting each year for a chance to fight a battle and prolong a never-ending war. But during the times we jump back and forth, we meet her 100th heartbreak and then we meet her first heartbreak and then we meet her 48th heartbreak. The feelings swing too much and I detach, because anything over 20, she’s more or less detached now. But I guess feeling detached is important to contrast against the excitement that is meeting Henry.

I *sigh* don’t like Henry. In my opinion, he’s just another version of Addie. And this gives me weird vibes like when I see a couple who look too much alike. He doesn’t contribute to the story in a new way and only seems to be there (more or less) to be something different for Addie. But if that’s the case, why do we need such in depth understanding of Henry’s life and thoughts. Especially when it resonates the same isolated loneliness that we already get from her.

“Ideas are wilder than memories.”

It’s ironic that in the novel, ideas have permanence and immortality. She cannot make her own physical mark, but if she inspires a thought, she can see it centuries later in a sculpture. It’s ironic because Schwab has created this idea of Addie, but in my opinion, its “wildness” makes it that much less permanent. Ideas need weight, need to adapt and grow, to become more concrete, in order to have permanence. But then it’s not just an idea, it’s become a movement or a product. I think it’s more of a dreamer’s perspective to idealize ideas and maybe I’m too practical, but I need more than just an idea for a book to make a lasting impression on me.

Should you read it? It’s a good read but not her best. I’d say add it to the list if you’re a fan of Schwab, but don’t make it a high priority.

Similar reads? Hm, let’s watch that movie and then see.

(Spoiler Alert!) Ugh, well, to double down on how blah I feel about Henry. I feel like either she wasn't subtle about it or the concept is cliche. But the fact that Addie has unlimited time, I sorta kinda anticipated that Henry would have next to no time. Schwab even labels them as star-crossed lovers and I'm thinking, is that supposed to make me ship them automatically? Nah. Especially. Especially! when Addie goes to plead and bargain for Henry's soul, she chooses to sacrifice a stranger instead of offering the one thing she has over the Darkness, herself. What kind of love do they have when she doesn't even consider it. My estimation of her dropped considerably considering how badly she is at playing this supposed game with Luc. Are we supposed to believe that the gods will always win and feel sympathy for her? I dunno. Despite using first-person present, the characters' feelings seem detached or clinical. By the end, I was kinda over it. Addie and Luc deserve each other.

What did you think of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue?

#the invisible life of addie larue #ve schwab

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impalementation · 3 years

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spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 1

I said a long ways back that I thought the switch from Angel to Spike as Buffy’s primary love interest represented an interesting evolution in the show’s attitude towards—and interrogation of—romanticism, and I finally felt like expanding on what I meant by that. This is very long, very meandering, and not terribly academic or well-edited, but I hope there’s something of interest in it nonetheless. It is about 20,000 words in total, and will discuss, in more or less chronological order, the arc of the show’s attitude towards romanticism as it is embodied in Spike, Angel, Buffy and Buffy’s relationships with both of them. I was going to release it as one long post, but because it’s so long, I figured a series of posts might be more readable. Here’s the first one.

“When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

Both Spike and Angel are at once capital-R Romantic figures, and lower-case romantic interests, and in both cases that Romantic/romantic duality is what makes them such effective avatars for ideas around romanticism. In the case of Angel, the show is aware from the beginning that he is very much a Romantic idea of something. In “Welcome to the Hellmouth” Buffy describes him as “dark” and “gorgeous”, evoking the “tall, dark and handsome” cliche. He’s mysterious. He gives her a necklace and his coat, gestures out of high school romance fiction.* In “Out of Mind, Out of Sight” Giles lampshades the romance of him: “A vampire in love with a Slayer. It’s rather poetic, in a maudlin sort of way.” Initially, Angel is basically designed to be a teenage girl fantasy, and it’s no coincidence that his successors like Edward Cullen or Stefan Salvatore conform to similar tropes.

*(Think of how five seasons later, a vampire will give Dawn his letterman jacket in “All the Way”. It’s hard not to read as a deliberate echo of Angel’s gift in season one. Once again, a vampire makes romantic gestures towards a high school version of “Buffy”, and later turns on her. But more on this much later in the series.)

The difference between Angel and those other, more typical Supernatural Romance love interests however, is that the show ultimately attempts to subvert the romance of him. As part of its commentary on Gothic themes, season two makes Angel more Romantic than ever (the Claddagh, the tormented past), and makes the romance between him and Buffy central to the story in a way it wasn’t in season one. And then, of course, the season tears it all apart. The first time we learn what Angel did to Drusilla it’s horrifying, but still somehow abstract. Something that seems more like it’s meant to contribute to Angel’s dangerous, Byronic image. As in, something to make him more Romantic. And then suddenly it becomes real. Suddenly, it’s something that Angel could do to Buffy, or the people Buffy cares about. It turns out that his darkly romantic aura was not just an aura, but genuinely dark all along.

In turn, Angel’s devastating transformation is a metaphor for broader disillusionment about romantic ideas. It’s less to me about a “guy going bad after sex”, and more about what it means and feels like to have the scales fall from one’s eyes in that sort of situation. As Buffy copes with the fallout of Angel’s transformation, and later is forced to kill him, I see it as being about the tragedy of having to see the world in ways that are less simple, easy, or pretty as one gets older. As Buffy and Giles say in “Lie To Me”:

BUFFY: Nothing's ever simple anymore. I'm constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. It's just, like, the more I know, the more confused I get.

GILES: I believe that's called growing up.

For more on this, I recommend this livejournal post on “Lie To Me”, which goes into great depth on the way season two frames stories as pretty lies that one needs to look beneath, and how Buffy’s romanticization of Angel symbolizes that.

The whole arc of the season is Buffy’s failure to see the danger presented by Angel. In this opening scene that danger is foreshadowed. More to the point for this essay, Angel goes on to lie to Buffy about having encountered Drusilla. He doesn’t want Buffy to know about the nature of Angelus – which means that his first inclination is to mask the danger he presents to Buffy. This is one episode after Halloween, where Buffy’s romantic fantasies about what Angel wants (a damsel) nearly get her killed. Nor is she completely over those fantasies, as she notes that the mystery woman talking to Angel had a pretty old-fashioned dress. So against the backdrop of Buffy’s fantasies about her dark and mysterious boyfriend we have the truth about what he is, which is quite horrifying.

Season three then takes this to another level, by not just pointing out the darkness of the romance of Angel, but in fact puncturing his romantic image. Instead of emphasizing his dangerousness, as season two did, season three emphasizes his adulthood. It emphasizes the way that Angel is someone Buffy sees in secret, or away from her friends. He’s not integrated with her teenage, high school life, and doesn’t fit with the peppy, high school movie aesthetic that characterizes a lot of season three. By doing this, the writing indicates that at this point in their lives, Buffy and Angel are ultimately incompatible and holding each other back. Regardless of however much they might care for each other, Angel can’t fully appreciate her teenage longings like dances, and college, and having a boyfriend. And Buffy can’t fully appreciate his adult need to find himself on his own terms. By the end of season three, Angel is less of a shadowy, tragic figure, and more just an adult man who needs to finally grow up a bit.

Season three also starts making jokes where the punchline is that Angel isn’t living up to the romantic aesthetic he embodied in seasons one and two. In “Helpless”, for example, he and Buffy have an exchange where he waxes sincerely about wanting to “keep [her heart] safe, to warm it with [his own]” and although Buffy says the sentiment is beautiful, a second later she deadpans: “Or taken literally, incredibly gross.” To which Angel replies, “I was just thinking that, too.” Or in “Graduation Day, Part 1”, Angel trips on a doorway instead of making a silent entrance and Buffy again deadpans: “Stealthy.” Angel’s romance slips at moments when Buffy herself is feeling weak, either because she has lost her Slayer powers, or she’s investigating the scene of her sister Slayer’s crime. Her Romantic Slayer half is betraying her, and her romantic girlish half is feeling insecure. This is echoed by the reminder that Angel is no longer a straightforward fantasy man--or a terrifying, larger-than-life villain--but a guy who is sometimes both verbally and physically inelegant.

(Notice how one of the few times season two makes similar jokes about Angel it’s in “Lie to Me”, the very same episode that begins to peel off the layers of deceptions and unknowns about him. Angel slumps around Willow’s bedroom and jokes about “honing [his] brooding skills”, he insists that the vampire wannabes know nothing about vampires right before a guy walks by wearing his exact outfit, and Xander runs color commentary, saying “you’re not wrong” after each of Ford’s observations. In “Lie to Me” one of Angel’s hidden faces is his dangerousness, yes. But another hidden face is simply his human awkwardness.)

There’s an interesting Slayage piece by Elizabeth Gilliland that discusses the idea of Angel as a Gothic double for Buffy, specifically connecting him to the story of Jekyll and Hyde. It argues that Angel’s split identities represent Buffy’s fears that her human and Slayer halves are irreconcilable, and she cannot fully control either half. In season three, the fact that Buffy and Angel must continuously resist a loss of control with each other, and are treated as romantically incompatible, reflects this fear.

In Season Three, replete with various factors in Buffy’s life that threaten to put her role as Slayer and girl into imbalance once more [...] Angel once again returns [...]. The season culminates in an attempted attack on Buffy’s classmates during graduation, which essentially forces her to “out” herself to her community and combine her roles as Slayer and daughter, classmate, and friend for the first time publicly (“Graduation Day: Part 2” 3.22). The worst has happened: her secret has been revealed, the entire school knows about both of her personas, and she has not only survived, but emerged with a stronger sense of self [...] Buffy has conquered her first Gothic fear, and proven to herself that she can not only exercise control over both dualities of her persona, but allow them to peacefully co-exist. Thus, Angel’s continuing struggle with Angelus can no longer act as her shadow, and he literally and metaphorically leaves her to continue the rest of her journey.

It’s an interpretation I mostly agree with, and see a lot of evidence for. But in keeping with the focus of this series, I think you could also read Angel as embodying a duality between the romantic and the unromantic. In this view, Buffy’s struggle between her human and her Slayer halves is not just a struggle between personas, but a struggle to see the world correctly. In season one, it’s not Angel that revives Buffy in “Prophecy Girl”, because Angel is a vampire trope just like the Master. He cannot help her, because he is exactly the kind of traditional romantic concept--like a candle-lit cavern, an ancient Nosferatu-looking vampire, or a Chosen Hero duty--that Buffy is trying to escape. In season two, loss of control is specifically associated with passion, romance, and romanticism. Buffy’s human half longs for the romantic, but her Slayer half, and Angel’s vampire half, prove that sometimes the romantic is something dangerous and violent. The fact that Buffy’s Slayer identity and Angel’s Angelus identity both end up being outed by the end of the season (especially to Joyce, a figure of Buffy’s human home life), echoes Buffy’s loss of innocence. Season three then continues this suspicion of passion. Buffy fears that like Faith, enjoying the violence and power and desire of being a Slayer, means that she will go down a dark path. She also fears that indulging in her sexual and romantic desire for Angel will unleash Angelus. To some extent, these fears are even borne out, given that her love for Angel results in her attempted murder of Faith, and near death at Angel’s hands. But to some extent they also aren’t, given that she, Faith and Angel all live.

To me, what really gets resolved at the end of season three is not quite the issue of Buffy’s human and Slayer halves, given that Buffy will continue to struggle with that duality until the end of the show. Rather, what gets resolved is the need for binaries. Binaries are romantic things. When Giles gives his speech to Buffy at the end of “Lie To Me”, it is the language of binaries that he uses:

GILES: Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.

BUFFY: Liar.

In season three, Buffy thinks she must resist both Faith and Angel. She thinks she can only be either a human girl or a Slayer leader. Many plots in season three have to do with the danger of binaries, whether that’s the witch-hunting parents in “Gingerbread”, Willow dealing with her vampire self in “Doppelgangland”, the various alter-egos in “Beauty and the Beasts”, or Cordy choosing a Buffy-less world in “The Wish”. And no character in the Buffyverse embodies the concept of binaries so starkly as Angel does. Thus by the end of season three, Buffy collapses the binaries within herself by merging the human and Slayer parts of her life, as Gilliland observes, and taking on Faith’s traits. She acknowledges her shadow by kissing her tenderly on the forehead, and bids farewell to the illusions and binaries that Angel embodies. Buffy is leaving that part of her life behind, and starting a new chapter where she can no longer split either the world, or herself, into any one thing or another.

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

#romanticism series #buffy #angel #s1 #s2 #s3 #s6 #gen #spike #btvs

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kyotarou · 3 years

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title: a little more noise

pairing: kyōtani kentarō x gn!reader

synopsis: in a world of constant silence, he’s the noise you need in life, even if he’s a bit quiet.

warnings: fluff, angst, mutual pining, slowburn, strangers to friends to lovers, lotta tropes and cliches, two swear words if i counted correctly

word count: 4.8k+

a/n: i wrote this in two days which i’m very proud of, go me! always wanted to write a kyōken fic and here it is. kinda scared to post this bc he’s quite tough to characterize imo and i’m terrible at writing longer pieces. oh well :,) no indentation because that’d be such a pain. hope you like it, feedback is always appreciated! (this is also my first time writing slowburn so please lmk if it’s still too fast)

Your parents were not bad people—that was a fact. They were kind, and you did everything an ordinary family would; eat dinner together, go on trips, attend school events. Things were quiet, a little too quiet for comfort. It never felt… right. You heard stories of parents arguing, nasty divorces, and custody battles. They tore your friends apart, made them feel a pain you could never understand. You knew how terrible it was, yet sometimes you wished you went through that to fill the silence in your home. The same monotonous, “good mornings,” and “hellos,” became sickening to hear. You told yourself to push on until after graduation where you’d escape. As the years dragged on, you weren’t so sure you could keep your sanity intact.

It was how you met Kyōtani Kentarō, a second-year from your school who was in a different class. Your friend told you of a gym nearby that was secluded at night. With a sly grin, he said he met up with students from other schools to smoke, and sometimes as a hookup spot. You wrinkled your nose at his comment and flicked his forehead. These were the people you hung out with; not so bright, but easygoing and fun. They were the ones who satisfied the need for noise, the bit of excitement in your life.

You snuck out after your parents had gone to bed. It didn’t hit until halfway through your walk that several things could happen. You were alone with nothing to defend yourself with except your phone and bare hands. Looking down at your outfit, an old dark hoodie and some sweats, you hoped it was ominous enough to ward people away. Besides, the last thing you wanted was to go home and wallow in its emptiness.

To see the lights on in the gym was a surprise. Upon closer inspection, you heard the squeaking of shoes and the cannon-like sounds of balls slamming the floor. You peeked your head through the door. The only person inside was a boy, no older than you. The first thing you noticed was his oddly dyed hair which resembled a tennis ball. The second was his piercing gaze as he turned his head and stared at you. You jumped. He looked as though he was going to charge at you. Instead, the boy huffed, walked to the other side of the gym, and picked up the ball. You spotted a familiar white and blue jacket on the ground.

“Seijoh?”

The boy turned to you again. “Yeah.” His voice was low, but powerful enough to rumble the earth.

You swallowed. “I go there, too.” This was a waste of time, you thought. You should’ve gone home, and you almost did until he spoke again.

“Never seen you before.”

The ball flew into the air with the boy tailing it. His body bent in a way you didn’t think was possible, face pinched in concentration. It hit his hand then the ground with the loudest smacks you had ever heard. It was incredible, but also scary. He picked up another ball behind him and did the same, and again, and again, until his side was empty and yours was strewn with several blue and yellow volleyballs. The more you watched, the more mesmerized you became.

“Can I stay?” You felt stupid for asking, but if he was trying to concentrate, you didn’t want to disturb him. Surprisingly, he nodded. You sank to the floor with your knees to your chest and listened to the constant thwacks and smacks all night.

You only learned his name a little while after. It was by accident. You were walking by a group of boys at school when one of them called him Mad Dog-chan, and you bit your lip to stop your laughter. Luckily, they didn’t notice. It was kind of cute the more you thought about it. It fit his appearance quite well, too. That night, you found him at the gym once again. Instead of a curt nod, you waved.

“Hey, Mad Dog-chan!”

You immediately regretted your words when he stopped bouncing the ball and flashed you a murderous look. You muttered a hurried apology and sat on the floor in your usual spot. He whacked a ball a couple of times then came over to grab his water bottle. After a few quick gulps, you expected him to get back on the court, but he stared at the spot beside you.

“It’s Kyōtani. Kyōtani Kentarō.”

Some nights, he didn’t practice. You sat in a playground nearby with soda and snacks from home. Originally, they were meant to replenish his energy when he overworked himself. Now, you were the one eating most of them, with Kyōtani nibbling on a custard bun as you wolfed down chip bag after chip bag. One thing you could say with confidence was Kyōtani was a great listener. At first, you sat in awkward silence. Then, you started rattling off all the things you did that day. It led to you talking about anything and everything, including the funny-looking dog you saw on the street last week. You hoped he didn’t think he reminded you of it.

Talking to Kyōtani was equivalent to talking to a wall. If anything, you were talking at him. He barely looked your way, and if you asked a question, he responded with a grunt or a simple, “Yeah.” Even though you wished it was two-sided, it felt good. You could finally break the silence that shrouded you for years, something you yearned to do but never had the confidence to. With Kyōtani, because of how quiet he was, you felt you could say anything without judgment. You did this for a while, rambling to him in the playground while he sat and listened.

Together, you sat on the swings with fruit sandwiches you made earlier that day. Your feet dragged against the sand and dirt as you swung back and forth. It seemed like Kyōtani enjoyed it. You noticed him eyeing your sandwich while licking his lips. You laughed and handed the rest to him. You started your daily tangent; woke up, ate a meat bun for breakfast, went to school, did homework, then came here. Somewhere along the way, you mentioned how you were home alone since your parents had lots of meetings to attend. You wished it was a little more lively. It was why you left the house every night, to find some noise in the suffocating void of it all.

You talked some more about your family, which you never did. You were too distracted to see Kyōtani’s head perk up. He stopped munching on the fruit sandwich and leaned forward, trying to look at your face. You continued to ramble, feeling your irritation slowly rise.

“Am I a bad person? I mean, they’re really nice, and I adore them. But it’s unbearable sometimes, and then I end up feeling like an asshole.”

You let out a dry laugh, ignoring the pain of the metal chains holding up the swing as they dug into your palms. You pressed your lips together in a thin line, unsure of what to say next. You chose to draw circles in the sand with the tip of your shoe.

“I understand how you feel.”

You looked at Kyōtani in surprise. You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. The night felt a little brighter.

The last thing your “friends” expected was for you to ditch them for him. “Looks like a tennis ball,” one of them said. You chuckled since it was your exact thought when you first met him. You were relieved but also disheartened when they didn’t seem to mind too much. At least you knew where they stood.

Hanging out with Kyōtani was much different compared to your nights at the gym or the playground. You got lots of stares from the third-years who never thought he could behave like this. Some people in your class whispered about the two lone-wolves banding together. You pretended not to hear.

“You’ve been cheery lately.”

You stared at your mother, trying to process her words. They never asked about you, which you grew to appreciate. It meant not having to force out a conversation. You almost brushed it aside until she spoke again. Your chin rested in your palm as you picked the vegetables on your plate, stomach full with snacks.

“I met a new friend.”

Your mother raised her brows, impressed. “Oh? Tell me about him.”

“How do you know he’s a boy?”

“Just a hunch.”

You sighed, continuing to stir your food. “He’s quiet. A little weird, but he’s nice. I can talk to him about anything.”

“That’s good.”

Your father glanced at her, and she shot him a strange look. Don’t, it said. He backed off and ate as if nothing happened.

You managed to weave yourself with the other boys from the volleyball team. They were a scary bunch at first, most of them glaring at Kyōtani the moment he walked through the door, but they were nice to you. He had left his jacket at the playground one night, and you made a mental note to return it to him the next day. Except, like Kyōtani, you also forgot about it. When you saw the boys flood to the gym for practice, you raced home then back to school and shyly followed a group of girls to the gym who were there to gawk at the captain.

During their break, you nervously approached Kyōtani and poked his shoulder. They watched you return his jacket but didn’t expect his, “Thank you,” afterward. When you left, Oikawa bugged him to invite you back. Kyōtani shrugged. He usually ignored him at all costs. Oikawa took it as a good sign.

Hanging out with them was a lot more fun than you anticipated. They were better than your previous friends, and even though most of them didn’t like Kyōtani, they seemed to be warming up. Your favorite moment was the movie night at Oikawa’s house. The living room was packed, with little room to wiggle, but it was comfortable. That night, you laughed so hard your stomach hurt, and the tensions between you, Kyōtani, and the rest of the boys dissolved. You belonged here.

Yahaba caught him staring at you outside your classroom. You sat across from another classmate, helping her with a few assignments for her art class. You posed and let her take pictures. Some were silly, but the others captured your features perfectly. In one of them, you rested your cheek in your palm with the tip of your pencil wedged between your teeth. You looked at the camera through your lashes as your classmate continued to snap more shots.

“Cool it.” Yahaba clapped him on the shoulder.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Never said you were.”

You helped your classmate pack her things. While you followed her out the door, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger and fiddled with the hem of her skirt. You bid her goodbye as her friends called her over, then turned to Kyōtani and Yahaba.

“Ready to go?”

Yahaba nodded, as did Kyōtani. You walked ahead of them, listing off that day’s menu. Behind you, Kyōtani’s eyes zeroed in on your moving form, the shift of your hips as you took each step. From an outsider’s perspective, it looked like he was honing in on a kill. Yahaba prodded his arm.

“Don’t be a pervert.”

You swore you heard a slap.

Friday after school, your parents were home from work much earlier than anticipated. A game show played on the television. They barely noticed your arrival until you called out. The TV turned off, and your mother looked over the back of the sofa with a wry smile. Your father drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. His eyes stayed glued to the empty screen.

“Welcome back,” your mother greeted. She glanced at the boxes in the kitchen, filled with old plates and cutlery you hadn’t touched in a while. You assumed they were throwing them out.

“So…” she drawled. “What do you think of Tokyo?”

“Tokyo?”

Your hands shook as you set your school bag down on the kitchen table. The boxes made more sense. You remembered your father talking about a school his friend’s son attended. Nekoma, was it? He told you how great it was there, that it’d be easy to make friends in such a populated area.

“Tokyo…” you repeated. A heavy lump formed in your throat. “It seems… nice. Why do you ask?” You couldn’t stop the waver in your voice. Your mother caught on too.

“Dad’s company moved areas. It’s a big shift, but it’s too good to lose. So-”

“We’re moving.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you were about to.”

Your head hung over the table. There was a crushing weight in your chest. Of course they wouldn’t tell you. They never did. It was too much to not expect this betrayal. If you told them how happy you were at Seijoh, maybe things would’ve been different. I could’ve prevented this. You shook your head. You couldn’t stop an entire company from moving, nor could you convince your father to find a new job in Miyagi. You had to follow them like you always did.

“If we can stay, we will, but most likely-”

“I’ll start packing.”

You grabbed your school bag and stomped to your room, vision obscured by your tears. Why now? Why did it have to be when you were starting to fit in, when you found real friends who made you happier than ever? Just when things looked like they were turning around, you were back at square one. You’d be there for a while, stuck in a new city far away from Seijoh. If you were with your old group, you wouldn’t have been this upset. But to not see them again—Yahaba, Hanamaki, even Oikawa.

You opened your phone and stared at the lock screen: a picture of you and Kentarō from the movie night at Oikawa’s. His arm was slung over your shoulder, a scowl on his face, but the peace sign he held up made it worth it. You remembered taking it and everyone gasping that Kentarō would even allow anyone to take a picture of him, let alone save it. Your heart fluttered. When did he stop being Kyōtani and become Kentarō?

Kentarō faced the empty playground. He sat in the right swing as he always did, scanning the area for any sign of you. In his hand was his attempt at a fruit sandwich, messily covered in cellophane with whipped cream oozing between the bread. A bandaid wrapped the tip of his finger where he accidentally cut himself. Damn those strawberries.

Kentarō kicked at the dirt. He waited, and waited some more, but after twenty minutes, you didn’t show. He pulled out his phone and sent you a quick text. Your absence made his skin crawl. His phone lit up with a response. Sorry, was all you said.

He couldn’t shake the heaviness as he trudged home.

The view outside the window gave you an excuse to be distracted. The voices of the boys were loud, but you chose to focus on the birds circling the courtyard. Two of them swooped down and landed on the thick branch of an old tree. They ruffled their feathers and nuzzled their beaks. You saw your old friends walk out of the main building. The one who introduced you to the gym glanced up. His eyes met yours momentarily. He went back to talking to someone you didn’t recognize and led them to the other side of the campus.

You stared out the window until Mattsun shook your shoulder. You turned and put on a faux smile. Your classwork was still strewn across your desk even though it was lunch. A few drops of chili sauce had landed on your math homework. You scowled at Hanamaki, his face stuffed with food.

“Oops.”

You wiped it off with an eye roll then stuffed it into your bag along with your other notebooks.

“What’s buggin’ ya?” Mattsun asked.

You shrugged. “Nothing. I’m ready for the day to end.” It was the last thing you wanted. There was a bit of time before you left for Tokyo, but the countdown moved fast. You ignored Mattsun’s opposing look and ate. They couldn’t know yet.

Kentarō knew there was more than what met the eye, but he bit his tongue. He was paranoid, he told himself. The guilty look on your face as the boys laughed, unaware of the shift in attitude, said otherwise. He threw his arm over the back of your chair. You relaxed, but the sad look remained. Remembering the fruit sandwich he made, Kentarō grabbed it from his bag and slid it across your desk. You raised your brows.

“What’s this?”

“I made it.”

You unwrapped the sticky mess of whipped cream and strawberry jam. Kentarō watched you take a small bite, followed by a bigger one.

“This is delicious!”

He showed you the tip of his finger. “The price I paid for it.”

Your knees knocked against his under your desk. He flinched. You pressed your finger to your lips, then to the bandaid. “Thank you. Hope it feels better.”

Your cheeks swelled as you took more bites than you could chew. Pink syrup stuck to the corner of your mouth. Cute, Kentarō thought.

“What was that?” you mumbled. A crumb lodged itself in your throat. Mattsun rushed over and slapped you so hard on the back it echoed. A handful of other students looked over. Hanamaki scolded you for gulping down your bottle of water without taking any breaths. Kentarō cheeks turned a darker shade than the strawberries when you gripped his arm for support. You didn’t ask again.

“Cute,” he whispered anyway. He knew you wouldn’t hear over Mattsun’s teasing. “You’re cute.”

Kentarō invited you to the movies. He planned on having it at home, but his parents occupied the TV, and his laptop was too small to enjoy anything. He met you at a plaza a walking distance’s away. He let you pick the movie, curious about your tastes. Action? Romcom? When he looked at his ticket, it was for the latest horror movie. Critics raved about it, calling it the best of the decade. Impressive.

The movie started a while ago. The critics were right, it was scary, a lot scarier than he expected. You enjoyed it like a comedy movie, clapping your hand over your mouth when the entire theater shrieked at the killer, including Kentarō.

“You’re a sadist,” he whispered.

“Am not, just think it’s funny.”

He shook his head. Another jumpscare happened, this time worse than before. Several people jolted in their seats and bits of popcorn flew into the air. Kentarō didn’t realize he had sank into his seat—your seat, actually—until you nudged his foot with yours.

“Scared?” Your breath was warm against his ear.

“Sorry.”

You patted his hand which clutched the armrest with a vice grip. Kentarō’s heart beat faster.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m right here.”

The movie ended and the lights switched on. People left the theater with wobbly legs and pale faces. You headed to the exit holding your empty cups and popcorn bags with Kentarō in tow. He wished the movie was longer. Not because he enjoyed it, but because the smile on your face made it worth it.

Your room was bare besides your bed and desk. Most of your stuff was packed neatly in the many cardboard boxes piled inside your now empty closet. It’d been a few weeks since that Friday, and you still hadn’t told Kentarō or any of the boys. You weren’t sure how to break the news. He noticed how clingy you became, tailing him wherever he went at school. Not that he minded. You talked less at the playground. It was him who filled the silence instead, though his daily recaps weren’t as interesting as yours.

Next week was the last with Kentarō. In your shaky hands was an envelope, the edges indented from how hard you gripped it. You took out the letter inside, read it over, then slipped it back in. You thought about sealing it for the umpteenth time that day. Before your tongue swiped against the flap, you quickly scanned over the letter once more as if the words would disappear. You’d seal it later, you told yourself.

Your over-the-top cheeriness was so evident it was painful. They asked what was up, and you said you were simply having a good day. Kentarō knew better than that. At lunch, when you were away from everyone else, he prodded your shoulder and asked what was wrong. You frowned at him, then smiled.

“Everything's fine.”

Before he could probe further, you grabbed his wrist and led him to the cafeteria.

“There’s chicken! It’s your favorite, right?”

Something slipped out of your pocket. Kentarō thought it was your school notes. He bent down to pick it up and saw it was a white envelope, unsealed. You were already gone, dragged away by his teammates. He didn’t want to pry, but curiosity got the best of him. Turning the other direction, he grabbed the note inside. His name at the top caught his eye.

Dear Kyōken-chan,

He snorted.

Sorry for not telling you this sooner. I’m still trying to process this too.

A crease formed on his forehead as he squinted. The letter was quite long, the handwriting messy. He repeated the phrases in his head over and over, but he couldn’t fully understand what they meant. He flipped it to the back and sighed when there was more. He decided to scan it this time, except a handful of words made him reread it in depth.

“Kentarō!” In your arms were several wrapped buns from the cafeteria. He tried to stuff the note into his pocket, but you already saw.

“Oh.” The buns fell to the ground. “Oh no.”

Kentarō’s face was a mix of frustration and hurt. The hand holding the letter shook, the other balled in a fist. You wanted to run, but if you moved, you swore you’d collapse.

“(Y/N),” he murmured. “What is this?”

A weary laugh escaped your lips. “Um. Can we go somewhere else?”

Not waiting for an answer, you grabbed his wrist and led him to the school’s courtyard.

“One week,” he huffed.

“One week.”

You sat beneath a large, shady tree in the farthest corner away from the main building. Kentarō rubbed his temple and sighed. He held onto your letter. You fiddled with your fingers in your lap.

“For how long?”

“Probably forever. Not literally, but it’ll feel like it.”

“So you’re graduating from Nekoma?”

You nodded. Kentarō tapped his knuckles against his cheek.

“Wished you told me sooner.”

You blinked at him wearily. “You’re not mad?”

He shook his head then turned away. You grew quiet for a moment. He took it as his chance to butt in.

“So, you like me?”

“It’s all in the letter.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

You looked away. Your hands were clammy, and the air felt ten times hotter. The word you used was stronger, much stronger than he anticipated. It made his cheeks burn and a smile threatened to pull at his lips. He wanted to hear it come to life.

“I love you, Kentarō.”

It sounded sweet, almost tooth-rotting sweet. Kentarō chewed the inside of his cheek. He liked you, he really did. He just wasn’t sure if it was the right moment to say it. Would there be a right moment? After this week, you’d be in Tokyo in another school—a rival school, to make matters worse. He wanted his words to hold weight, and in that moment, they didn’t. Not as much as he wished.

“If you don’t feel the same, I understand.”

“I do.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the bell cut you off. Kentarō hoisted himself from the ground then held his hand out. His palm was rough under yours, but his touch was gentle. Once you got to your feet, you let go, but he kept his pinky locked with yours.

Friday arrived quickly. Sadness filled the air as you said your goodbyes, thanking your classmates and teachers for the short, but pleasant year. After school, the team led you to the gym with your eyes covered. The boys’ gym was decorated with a banner and a table with food. There was even a cake, the word Seijoh iced and crossed out on top. You let out a hearty laugh before inviting the boys to dig in.

“Of course,” said Oikawa. “I paid for it.”

On one side, Mattsun smeared frosting over Hanamaki’s cheek. On the other, Oikawa tried to spoon-feed Iwaizumi only to be smacked on the head. You sat on the floor next to Kentarō and looked around with a big smile. His thumb reached out to wipe a dollop of frosting from the corner of your mouth. The phrase, “Time flies when you’re having fun,” held up its end of the bargain. When you looked outside, the sun had begun to set.

You thanked your friends, took one last photo, and managed to hold in your tears until your walk home. You promised to visit and to cheer them on at nationals, even if you were on Nekoma’s side. They laughed, waved with sad smiles, then watched you leave.

Kentarō caught up with you a third of the way home. His hand slipped into yours, a habit he recently picked up. It wouldn’t last much longer. You stopped a few houses down from yours. You didn’t want to let go, not yet.

You learned many things this year. One, life wasn’t fair. It never was. Two, people weren’t as shitty as you thought, proven in your new friendships. Three, seeing Kentarō cry made your heart ache in a way you never wanted to feel again. His head fell against your shoulder with a hard thump, tears soaking through the uniform you’d wear for the last time. You rubbed his back and pressed your lips to the top of his head.

“Stay,” he pleaded.

“I wish I could.”

“Please don’t go.”

“I have to.”

Kentarō looked up through his watery lashes. Your lips connected. Who initiated it was a mystery. His kiss was slow but fervent. You leaned in, deepening it until you swore your teeth clashed. Kentarō’s hands rested on your hips, yours on the nape of his neck. His kisses were magnetizing, drawing you closer with each movement. You broke apart for air, foreheads pressed together. He still had tears in his eyes, and so did you. You stayed like that for a bit, wrapped in each other’s arms until you knew you had to let go.

“Call me everyday, please,” he whispered.

“I promise. I swear on my life.”

You kissed him again.

“Goodbye, Kentarō. I love you.”

“Goodbye, (Y/N). I’ll be waiting.”

“So will I.”

Kentarō didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to. You knew he loved you, proven by his daily text messages and calls thereafter. Even if it only lasted a couple of seconds, you never missed a day. Sometimes, you heard his teammates' voices in the background. The audio would become crackly before a new voice replaced your boyfriend’s: Mattsun, Yahaba, Oikawa, and even Iwaizumi.

Boyfriend. The fact made your stomach fill with butterflies. Kentarō was yours, and you were his.

It’d been months since you last saw him in person. You finished your second-year at Nekoma, a school that welcomed you with open arms. You met lots of people, found new friends, but the boys from Seijoh never left your mind. The picture you took hung on the wall of your new bedroom, a space you were still getting used to. Summer vacation was here, and you promised to come home to Miyagi for a week or two. On the train, you checked your phone to see how many kilometers were left. Just a few more minutes.

When it came to a halt, you burst from your seat, duffle bag in tow. You sent Kentarō a text, only to be face-to-face with him the moment the doors opened. You leapt into his arms, knocking him back a few steps. His chin rested on your shoulder as you hugged, swaying side to side.

“I missed you so much, Ken.”

“Missed you, too.”

Your fingers clasped around his, resting perfectly in the dips between his knuckles. Hopefully, he hadn’t dropped his habit. The months you were apart flew by, but they were also the longest you had ever witnessed. Seeing Kentarō for the first time in a while felt like a breath of cool, fresh air.

You tugged on his wrist, ready to head to town. He stayed put.

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

He grinned shyly at you. Kentarō brought color into your dull life, your source of noise in the thick silence. The summer wouldn’t forever, and you had another year left to endure. But as long as he was there, even kilometers away, you’d get through it together.

284 notes · View notes

alrightberries · 3 years

Text

strawberries and cigarettes (always taste like you)

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: angst ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: Levi celebrates Christmas Eve the only way he knew how: getting drunk and high on a rooftop while thinking about you.

❈ trigger warnings: drinking and smoking. mentions of violence, gore, blood and death. brief mention of sex. profanity.

a/n: canon compliant but also kinda not? idk if they have cigarettes in the aot/snk universe or if they celebrate christmas so just roll with it.

Smoke puffed out of Levi’s lips, slowly dissipating in the chilly December night. The breeze that passed by caused goosebumps to rise on his skin, a product of the winter’s unforgiving coldness, and the thought of getting off the rooftop where he sat in silence briefly crossed his mind. His office wasn’t that far and it wouldn’t take that long to quickly grab his coat, but the longer he stayed and stared at the dark sky, the more he found himself not caring about the cold breeze or the below zero temperatures.

He took another puff from the cigarette in his hand, eyes drifting towards the barracks where the rest of the regiment most likely was at this hour. The torches and lamps scattered around the base glowed a warm orange-y yellow, a contrast to the whites and blues of the snow and darkness. It looked gorgeous, almost, and Levi silently chuckled to himself at the sickening thought of finding anything beautiful at this fucked up time of year.

Christmas Eve.

A time for friends. A time for family. A time for people to gather around the fireplace and drink warm beverages as they sang songs, told stories, and eagerly waited for the stroke of midnight to open and exchange their gifts.

What a load of bullshit.

Christmas Eve was Levi’s version of a pain in the ass. It was a holiday filled with a bunch of cadets greeting him with a warm and cheery ‘Merry Christmas, Captain’ every time he passed them in the halls, and he would only respond with either silence or a brief nod of acknowledgement. Not to mention, it was also the time where Hanji would try to get him to celebrate different festivities in an attempt to cheer him up.

It was technically a week-long headache for Levi, with the eccentric soldier- for an entire seven days prior to Christmas- trying just about everything in the book in attempts to get him to sit around the fire with the other squad leaders or even do something as small as switch out tea for hot chocolate to match the holiday spirit. It seemed like Hanji’s excessive invitations would always get worse around Christmas Eve, but of course, it never worked.

Levi took a swig of the whiskey he’d brought with him onto the rooftop, extinguishing the cigarette he was holding and lighting a new one once it had reached its end, before taking another deep inhale of the stick of nicotine.

Indeed, Christmas Eve was nothing but a pain for Levi.

Perhaps Hanji thought of him as lonely. Maybe Erwin had even just half a mind to worry about his well-being. But truth be told, Levi did celebrate Christmas Eve in his own little way: at around 10 o’clock at night, without fail, Levi would make his way onto the highest rooftop of their current base carrying nothing but whiskey, nicotine, and strawberries. From there, he would drink and smoke until midnight came, at which point he would start to eat the strawberries he’d brought. Then he would drink and smoke some more until he felt like his liver couldn’t handle it anymore, before eventually making his way back to his quarters at 4 o’clock in the morning and attempt to get his drunk and high mind to rest.

It was his fucked up little Christmas Eve tradition.

The first year Hanji had noticed that Levi wasn’t around the base for their Christmas Eve celebration, they went around asking people if anyone had seen him, to which everyone would reply with ‘No, I haven’t seen him, sorry.’ When the second year came around, Hanji once again noticed that Levi was gone and no one had seemed to know where he was. So when the third year came around, they waited for him to leave his office and stealthily followed him around the base to find out exactly where Levi runs off to during the holidays. Hanji got caught, of course, and by the third time they’d gotten caught (and almost strangled each time) they knew it was best to stick to pestering him rather than following him.

Levi grimaced at the memories of Hanji trying to follow him around, him sensing it immediately and going around the base in an attempt to shake them off his tail, failing, and eventually just resorting to telling them off (Oi, four-eyes, how much longer do you plan to stalk me like a creepy old pervert?)

He sighed.

He wasn’t always like this. He used to enjoy Christmas Eve and doing all the cliche holiday traditions that came with it; sitting around the fireplace with Isabel and Farlan and playing the guitar, pretending not to care about their tone-deaf voices as they sang their own version of holiday songs, never really knowing the lyrics but knowing the tune and making up words to accompany the melody as they go.

Where did he go wrong?

It was around his second bottle of whiskey and his second (or third? He couldn’t remember but didn’t really care at this point) packet of cigarettes when Levi’s fuzzy mind would finally unlock the memories he’d kept at the very back of his mind- a place where he couldn’t reach them and they couldn’t reach him. Memories he’d repressed years ago, never to be thought of, never to see the light of day. Except on Christmas Eve.

He closed eyes as he exhaled, lying down on the rooftop’s snow-covered shingles as he carefully set down the bottle of whiskey next to him, just within his reach. He went through cherry-picked memories of his life Underground once again, relishing in the warmth and happiness he once felt when he was with Isabel and Farlan. But at the very corner of each memory, always within his peripheral vision, was a fuzzy character- a person, no doubt- laughing. Smiling. Holding his hand. Playing with his hair. Kissing him good night. Bandaging his wounds. Showing him tricks with a knife. Making tea. Talking with Isabel and Farlan.

He took another swig of the bottle of whiskey, eager to make the fuzzy memory vivid in a way that only the drink that burned his throat could do. His heart skipped a beat as the blurry edges and lines he’d superimposed into his own mind cleared and revealed the one person that made this living hell a bit less terrible, and the only reason why he ever did his little Christmas Eve tradition.

For a moment, it felt like he was floating on air as he finally got a good look at the character that he’d tried so hard to erase from his mind but never could. His mind may have forgotten but his body still remembered, and he felt the tips of his fingers tingle not from the cold but from the memories of a touch, a touch so endearing, a touch so warm, a touch that felt like home. A touch that was unmistakably you.

Mind fuzzy from the alcohol and head just a little light from the nicotine, Levi can faintly remember the moments he’d shared with you during his time in the Underground.

He remembers being homeless after Kenny had left him, then meeting you as you both ran into each other- quite literally, at that- when you stole bread from a bakery and made a run for it as two angry adults chased after you, cutting him a deal that if he helped you get out of it alive then you would share your measly loaf of bread with him. He remembers teaming up with you from that day onward and watching each others’ backs, sleeping in alleyways and taking shifts for safety, rummaging through garbage cans for food before Levi decided that enough was enough and robbing a stall so you both could eat that day.

Faintly, he also remembers the day he joined a gang that promised him food, shelter, and a steady paying job if he could prove how strong he was by beating up a rival gang member. He remembers getting jumped by three other people as he beat up the man he was told to pummel, fighting them off and winning without so much as a sweat. He remembers the gang he wanted to join eagerly inviting him after the fact, and he agreed on the condition that you came along too.

He remembers the first time he’d taken a shower after years of being filthy, and how clean and fresh he felt without the dirt and grime caking his clothes and his skin. He remembers hearing the door to his small room open- knowing that it was you- and turning around so he could marvel at how clean he felt. But his words died on his tongue as he took a look at you, hair clean, face visible, dirt free, and looking ever-gorgeous in the clothes he’d bought you the day before using his blood money. The clothes weren’t fancy in any way at all, just simple clothes that he bought on a whim when he realized that you’d been wearing the same unwashed garments for years, but he remembers it was enough for him to decide that, even though he didn’t understand what it meant when his heart sped up and the tips of his ears started to burn whenever he was around you, he liked looking at you when were clean. He liked being clean.

He remembers the first time you kissed him. He was sat on the bed of your shared room, gritting his teeth as you stitched up a cut on his forehead and berated him for being so careless, being too confident, on one of the jobs his boss had assigned him. He finished the job, of course, his ability to get the job done without fail being the main reason why he was assigned so many assignments in the first place, but it didn’t make you less angry when he walked into the room with bruised knuckles and a large gash on his forehead. He remembers staying silent, breathing through the pain of what was essentially surgery with no anesthesia as your berating slowly died down and he could finally see in your eyes the worry you tried to conceal with anger. He remembers taking your hand in his after you’d finished cleaning up the materials you used to administer first aid, gently pulling you down to sit next to him as your hands reached out and cradled his face, careful not to touch the freshly sewn skin as he slowly leaned in until his lips met yours.

He remembers the first time he had sex with you, how it was nothing short of awkward and clumsy as two teenagers tried to figure out what goes where and how to do this and that. You were both each others’ first, that much he knew, and though the first time wasn’t as hot and steamy as everyone had worked it out to be, he still enjoyed it because it was you. He remembers cradling you in his arms that night as you fell asleep, a small smile on your peaceful face, and he made his first silent promise that night: that he’d do anything within his power to keep you safe and happy.

He remembers Farlan and the support he gave as Levi worked his way up to a higher position in the gang’s ranks, inevitably becoming the leader through his skills and hard work (a result of the second silent promise he’d made to himself: that he would work hard and become successful enough that you wouldn’t have to lift a finger to live a decent life.) He remembers taking you out of your small shared bedroom and moving you to an actual house that you could call your own; it was barren and filthy and needed a lot of tender love and care, but it didn’t matter- as long as you were with him, he was home.

He remembers getting his hands on some ODM gear through the black market, training Farlan to become his right-hand man as you stayed within the base and administered first-aid to any member of his gang that needed it. He refused to let you learn how to use the gear, fearing that if you were to be seen doing his dirty work with him then you would become a target of both rival gangs and the Military Police. You didn’t mind, perfectly comfortable with staying at home and handling the more business side of things that involved pay distributions and document blackmails.

He remembers meeting Isabel that fateful day she barged into your home, scaring away the thugs who chased after her and accepting her into the group, your odd little family of dysfunctional orphans now complete.

He remembers spending Christmas Eve with his little family, sitting around the fireplace as you laughed at one of Farlan and Isabel’s stories, hand tightly clutching his as he silently reveled in the peace and happiness he managed to find in the least happy and least peaceful city within the walls. He remembers you telling him to close his eyes as the clock struck midnight, eagerly placing a cardboard box on his hands and apologizing for not wrapping it because you couldn’t afford the wrapping paper anymore, money already spent on the gift itself. He remembers his heart swelling as he opened the box, a beautiful porcelain tea set staring back at him as Isabel and Farlan proudly proclaimed that they also got him a copper kettle and some quality tea leaves to match your gift. He remembers scolding the three of you for spending so much money on such lavish gifts, but you dismissed him and said that it was alright, the little extravagance and months of saving being well worth his present for Christmas and his birthday (which were, coincidentally, the same day).

He remembers the Christmas Eve after that. He remembers the three of you shyly apologizing for not getting him a gift, still recovering from your lavish spending the year before, and he said it didn’t matter because he bought whiskey and cigarettes to share. Faintly, he could still hear Farlan asking him what the hell cigarettes were, and he explained that since the whiskey itself was expensive, he couldn’t afford cigars and instead opted for the cheaper synthetic version of it. He remembers being sat on the roof as you laughed and drank and smoked until sunlight peeked through the gutters on the ceiling of the Underground, clumsily making your way back inside your home to sleep (really, it was mostly you, Isabel, and Farlan who were clumsy. Levi had a high alcohol tolerance and though he grumbled about having to always babysit the three of you when you drank, he always made sure that you were all tucked into bed and snoring away before he himself went to sleep.) He remembers it becoming a tradition for your little family, something that you did every Christmas Eve after that.

He remembers the mysterious nobleman who sat in his little carriage, offering a job to Isabel, Farlan, and himself in return for a generous fee and citizenship to Wall Sina. He remembers rushing home and relaying the news to you as you held his hand, happy that they would be able to go above ground, a privilege that few had. He remembers kissing your forehead and promising to use the money that came with the job to buy you citizenship as well, promising that he would take you above ground and show you the sky. He remembers you crying, tears of joy falling down your face as you kissed him, silently thanking whatever higher being there was that you met Levi.

He remembers his last day in the Underground, gearing up with Isabel and Farlan as they prepared to execute their plan of getting “arrested” by the Survey Corps and taken above ground to finish the job. He remembers your sad eyes and the way you tried to conceal them with a smile, yet he saw right through your act and promised he’d be back for you. He remembers sarcastically asking what souvenir you wanted for him to bring back after the job was done, and you kissed his nose before saying you wanted strawberries, a rare delicacy in the Underground but commonly found above. He remembers agreeing, giving you one last kiss farewell before they set out to do the job.

He remembers sitting on the barracks’ rooftop with Isabel and Farlan, admiring the heavens. He remembers being in awe of how beautiful the moon and stars were, the way they twinkled and shined in the darkness of the night. It was the first time any of them had ever seen the sky. He remembers smiling as he sat between his two closest friends, a feeling of wonder and serenity washing over him as he made another silent promise to himself that night: that he would show you the sky the way he sees it now, with your little family.

He remembers the horror he felt the day after when he rushed back to Isabel and Farlan in the battlefield, finding nothing but Isabel’s severed head and Farlan’s torso on the ground. He remembers the pain, the anguish, the despair that ran through him as he yelled and cried, killing the titan that murdered his friends and ripped away half of his family before collapsing on the ground, realizing that there was no point because he was too late. He remembers Erwin telling him that he knew what he was up to all along, but he was more than welcome to stay in the Survey Corps if he so desired. He remembers agreeing numbly, mind still reeling at his loss. He remembers realizing it had almost been an entire year since he last saw you, but he was too ashamed and in too much grief to come back empty-handed. He had failed the job. He had no money. He had no citizenship for you. And he didn’t have Isabel and Farlan anymore.

He remembers working hard for the next couple of months, realizing that the longer he stayed alive the more money they would pay him. He remembers the day he realized he finally had enough money to buy you citizenship, immediately requesting for time off on Christmas Eve, planning to finally come back to you and fulfill his silent promises. He remembers stopping by the local market, buying a fresh basket of strawberries as an apology for making you wait so long (and also because he still remembered your request), before heading to the Underground the day before Christmas to surprise you.

He remembers feeling nervous yet giddy as he walked to the location of your home, thoughts of finally seeing you for the first time in so long filling up his mind. Nervousness was replaced with worry the closer he got to your home, and he realized that something was horribly wrong. He rushed to the house, fresh bodies littering the front steps as he tried not to step on them. Blood dripped around him, and he knew that whatever happened, happened recently. The door was already open, and Levi wasn’t sure what he was expecting as he cautiously stepped inside but he already feared the worst. Just then, he heard a loud thump followed by a groan coming from your shared bedroom, and Levi rushed inside. He remembers the way his heart stopped at the sight he saw: you, bleeding out on the floor, multiple stab wounds on your abdomen and struggling to breathe. He remembers dropping the basket he held, strawberries scattering around the floor as he rushed to your side, fear turning into panic as he clutched you in his arms.

“Levi,” he remembered you whispering with a weak smile. Your hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair away from his face. “You came back.”

He remembers scoffing because of course he came back. He promised you he would.

He remembers trying to put pressure on your wounds but not knowing where to start because you had been stabbed so many times and there was only so much he could do since he only had two hands. He remembers you trying to stop him, telling him it was no use. He remembers yelling at you to shut up, okay? You’re not fucking dying on me. Not now. Not ever.

He doesn’t remember crying, however. But he does remember you reaching out once more to wipe at his cheeks, and he was briefly aware that somehow his cheeks had gotten wet. He remembers you holding his hands that were still trying to put pressure on the wounds, begging him to stop, Levi, please. You and I both know it’s no use.

He remembers the unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock’s bell, signaling the strike of midnight. He remembers holding your hand as you weakly looked up at his face, a small smile on your lips as you whispered “Merry Christmas and a happy birthday to you, Levi. I love you.” before your hands fell limp in his.

He remembers collapsing, yelling out your name as he held your corpse in his arms. He remembers shifting, feeling an empty basket bumping against his leg, and he’s suddenly reminded of the strawberries he’d brought as he rushed to gather them all up with shaky hands and put them in the basket once more. “I brought you strawberries, just like you asked.” He remembered saying, pathetically placing it down next to your head. But it was too late. He was too late.

It was gang activity, most likely retaliation. He remembered the Military Police saying. You’re lucky, actually. They left just a couple minutes before you arrived.

He doesn’t remember what happened after that.

But he does remember that he broke all of his promises to you. He remembers that you never even knew that Isabel and Farlan were dead. He remembers that you never even got to see the sky or breathe in the fresh air. He remembers that you never even got to know what strawberries taste like. He remembers that he was too late. For you. For Farlan. For Isabel.

He was always too late.

The feeling of something cold and wet on his cheeks snapped Levi from his reverie. He sat up, silently cursing the snow that fell on his face as his hands wiped at his cheeks, letting go of the bottle of whiskey in favor of blindly looking for the strawberries he’d brought up with him onto the roof. He felt numb. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the cold, the alcohol, the nicotine, or his own heartbreak at the memories he tried to suppress. He never allowed himself any time to mourn, instead choosing to keep all those memories under lock and key somewhere within the dark crevices of his mind, only to be opened on Christmas Eve, the day he lost it all.

The day he lost his entire family.

He shifts, suddenly aware of the small box in his pocket. As he took out and opened the small black velvety box, he noticed more snowflakes had melted on his cheeks, the gold ring staring back at his face for a few moments before he angrily closed it once more and shoved it back inside his pockets, its weight feeling as heavy as his heart.

He was too late.

Silently, Levi realizes that snow wasn’t falling. He realizes that the wet on his cheeks isn’t from the snow melting on his face, but rather, from his own tears as they slowly came down in gentle streams.

The bell tower rang throughout the base, signaling the stroke of midnight. Bitterly, he took a bite of the strawberries as he lied down once more, reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

Merry Christmas and a happy fucking birthday to me.

If you want to be added to the tag list, click this link!

#this was supposed to be fLUFF believe it or not #writing #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #snk x reader

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sunflowerheartsandstarryskies · 3 years

Text

The Devil and the Mermaid - Chapter Four (Lucifer x Mermaid!Reader)

Author’s Note: The inspiration here came from a dream of mine, also one of my favorite shows “The Legend of the Blue Sea” has some heavy inspiration in here as well. Thank you so much for the support of the series! I will also create a tag list for this story since I saw people interested in that. Again I love reading your guys’ comments and if you want to be part of a tag list for this series please let me know :)

Warnings: None, maybe mild violence? (You shove a guy out of the way)

Taglist: @th3gl1tt3rgam3roff1c1al, @magnet-girl, @roxytheimmortal

Prev Chap Next Chapter

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You were covered in darkness, but you were adjusted to the darkness, you lived in the dark with your clan who usually swims in the parts of the ocean where the light just barely touched your skin.

However instead of the comforting warmth and assurance, you had when you were a woman swimming with your clan, your family, it was a lingering warmth and a reassurance that had made you realize you were dreaming and not of your memories.

“(Y/N) you have met an interesting fate having fallen for Lucifer,” a voice echoed around you. You looked around in the dark space to search for the voice but found no answer to that.

“I would not have known of your existence if you hadn’t gone out of that water, it’s strange what this world has created once I left it.”

“Are you the moon? What do you mean by that? All I know is what I have been taught and seen when I was in the ocean”

“You could say I am the moon, but I am more than that and also less than that at the same time. I affect the world around me indirectly but you have caused quite a stir where I am at with your involvement with Lucifer, I wish you the best of luck and the best of health.”

With that, you were startled from your sleep by pressure on your shoulder, and you opened your eyes to see Lucifer smiling at you. Once he saw you were awake he went to say, “Good morning my dear, have a good dream?”

“Funny you should mention that, I heard a voice say that they were the moon, I think anyway. I don’t quite remember what they said but I remember your name,” you say as you start sitting up from the bed.

Lucifer sat down next to you as he took in what you said, humming in thought, he turned to you and patted your shoulder.

“Well the only one I know that could do that, would be my Dad, but I don’t know why he would want to talk to you.”

After a couple of days, you have gotten well versed with different aspects of human life and culture, mainly you are not allowed to eat spaghetti with your hands. You also have gotten interested in the tv that had got you basically hooked on the subtleties of different subsets of human culture, one being that if bad men are about to hurt you you can beat them up.

“Anyway, darling remember when I was talking to you about my consulting job for the police?”

You nodded remembering the different stories of his workplace along with his partner, Chloe. She seemed weird but nice from what you heard from him.

“Well, I have to go in today there is a case that the police department says they need my help with,” Lucifer continued, “and I want you to come with me.”

“I would like to, is it going to be like what I saw on tv with how they deal with violence?” you asked.

“Kind of, it depends, now love let’s get you ready for the day and we can get going.”

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

You and Lucifer walked into a one-story house it looks plain and forgettable with its beige outside paint and white shingled roof. There were also some beautiful hydrangea bushes in the front, and you noticed them because they were the only splash of color in the whole property. There were police officers around the property and you saw one documenting the bushes. You tilt your head as you were stalling to enter the house and saw footprints underneath the bushes.

“(Y/N) are you okay? Come on,” Lucifer urged on. He leads you into the home, and you immediately see the crime scene.

It was an execution. Plain and simple. The victim was a young woman from what you saw, and she was shot point-blank in the back of the head as she was sitting on her couch, she probably knew the killer, since the tv was still on.

The aquarium was direct across from the living room, and you saw the fish in there was trying to get your attention. You can hear the voices of the fish repeatedly crying out, “He hurt her! Help her! He was her friend” You looked at the aquarium and the fishes seem to surround you as they try to talk to you through the glass. ‘Can you show me what he looked like,’ you broadcasted to the fish.

Lucifer was looking at you confused at what you were doing and was about to talk to you when he got interrupted.

“Oh no, you did not bring a civilian to a crime scene” you hear a voice coming towards you.

“Ah detective, how good to see you again, and this is (Y/N) she is my assistant and friend,” Lucifer says.

You turn your head away from the aquarium and saw a stressed blonde woman coming towards you, and you realized that this must be Chloe Decker. She tilted her head with furrowed brows and a hand to her hip as she eyes you.

“Why would you need an assistant?” Decker questioned.

“You know there are always things that I could miss out on while we’re out here and plus don’t you want someone who can put me in line and in order for once?” Lucifer replied.

“That’ll be the day,” Decker snorted.

You tugged on the jacket sleeve on Lucifer to get his attention to you, and he leaned for you to whisper to tell him the thoughts and profile the fish given to you about the person who committed the murder.

“Oh that’s brilliant, darling, see Detective my assistant just gave us a solid lead to go off of. We have a suspect!” Lucifer exclaimed as he grabs your hand and leads you out of the crime scene.

“Wait a minute can you tell me what means?” Decker ran off to you two.

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

So the three of you ended up at an apartment building on the opposite side of Los Angeles waiting to interview the suspect that the fish had identified to you at the victim’s home.

Lucifer ended up filling into Decker that you had deduced based on the footprints outside the house and the way she was killed, it was someone she knew intimately enough to let the person in without a second glance. You just confirmed that for him with the description of the man the fish saw kill their owner, Blaire Wright. He also found that there was a single picture of him and the victim together faced down so he connected the dots to realize that the relationship must’ve turned to an obsession for the man and had gone possessive over the woman. The old “if I can’t have her nobody can” cliche, which made Lucifer quite bored about that trope but you can’t always choose what happens in your cases.

You all made your way to the apartment building, Decker went to find out from the landlord about the suspect and you and Lucifer were ordered to stay out in the parking lot. You spotted the man that matched the description the fish gave you and the picture Lucifer showed to verify it. His name was Oscar Grant, and he’s suspected to have developed an obsessive behavior over Ns. Wright … and he was heading your way.

Lucifer seemed to be aware of it as he straightened himself and walked over to where the man was walking into the parking lot.

You felt a strange sensation of being submerged in the water again, you felt heavy and light all at the same time. You couldn’t hear what the two were saying, but you felt the danger and sensation of a cornered animal, and that’s when you felt that you had to move. So you did. Grant pulled a gun but as soon as he did you grabbed his forearm and threw him towards the dumpsters that were ten feet away from him. You may have used a bit too much of your strength. There was now a new dent behind Grant that there wasn’t there before and a shocked looking Lucifer next to you and staring at the gun in between you and the culprit.

You heard Decker walking behind you and you heard her go with a bewildered voice, “How in the-?”

When he came to a few seconds later, he was given his rights by Decker and placed in the back of her car off the police department. While you were walking up to you and Lucifer’s ride you felt a lingering gaze on your back throughout that entire encounter. You just shook your head in an attempt to get rid of that feeling.

Later on, Oscar Grant ended up confessing to both the attempted murder of you and Lucifer and the murder of Blaire Wright. Decker relented upon the idea of Lucifer bringing you to cases because you ended up being a pretty good asset.

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

Now you were back at Lucifer’s penthouse and you were in pajamas lounging around the bar area in his place. Lucifer was down at the LUX club area taking care of some business that he needed to get done as he told you.

There was a small pool that he had in his apartment which you found, and you can hear the call of the water no matter its state. So you took off your clothes and went in the pool, your tail and scales came as soon as you were submerged and your whole body was singing with happiness as it felt alive again.

The more you spend on land without the return of the love that you came out of the water for, your heart will stop beating unless you step back in the ocean. You forgot to tell Lucifer about that specific part of the deal of you coming on land because you didn’t want him to feel the pressure of returning a love that might not be real, to begin with.

You begin to worry about what might happen if he found out you didn’t tell him the whole truth of your situation to him. You didn’t want him to concerned for your fate, because you never know what might happen there might be a happy ending for you both.

As you were swimming in the small pool brooding in your thoughts you heard the elevator ping, so you peaked your head over the corner of the pool. When you just saw it was Lucifer and no one else you let yourself be seen by him.

“Well hello there, I see you have found my pool then?” Lucifer greeted you. You beamed at him and nodded fervently at that.

“Y’know I never actually saw you as your original mermaid self? Is it alright if I watch you swim?”

“Um sure if you want to, I’m not the most beautiful, there are others in just my clan that have amazing scales and tail fin,” you state.

“Let me be the judge of that, love-” he cut himself off with a mouth agape look as he marveled at your full beauty.

Your tail was massive and the scales decorating and protecting your body were glittering with a rainbow of colors complementing your skin tone. It made you look heavenly and the flowing tail at the end made you look that way even more so.

You became self-conscious at the way Lucifer was just staring at you, so became to fidget under his heavy gaze in the water.

Then he spoke gently, “You are beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Thank you for letting me see your true self like this.”

“Thank you Lucifer, that means a lot to me.”

The brooding can wait, you have time to be hopeful and to think about that happy ending.

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer netflix #lucifer #x reader #Lucifer Morningstar #lucifer imagine #lucifer fox x reader #imagines #mermaid reader

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thefairyletters · 3 years

Text

✨ Spooky Recs✨

I read a lot of fanfictions... More than I am proud of. I thought I should recommend as I go before I lose sight of their existence among the sea of my favorites.

Since past few days I have been craving for some creepy, unnerving fanfics that will keep me restless and awake at night. I remembered my favorites and wanted to read more of the kind so I looked up, patiently going through each story that sounded compelling. I also revisited old stories for nostalgia's sake.

Of course, rare as they are, in Naruto fandom no less, it's even harder to find a horror and mystery fic that is well written, not dropped under 2 chapters, and really keeps your attention.

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

Genre: Horror, Mystery, Comedy

I've rated 4 aspects of the work -

Writing – I don't judge writing based solely on the grammar and vocabulary. I also consider how the author expands upon a subject, if they are consistent with the facts, if they are able to keep the attention of the readers regardless of their creative writing skills.

Characters – If the characters are well-developed, in their given character, if OCs have any real significance to the story.

Plot – How gripping is the storyline, if the story sticks to its original plot, the structure of the story, plot holes.

Flow – Mother-of-slow-burn, slow-but-steady, steady, fast, I-am-speed

When the flowers cry : TCOOKIES777 || M || AO3/FFN || SasuSaku || Goth Horror || Post-Canon, set during Blank Period || Ongoing

When one of the greatest medical-nin in the world goes missing in what should have been a simple delivery to the Land of Spring’s Hidden Snow Village, the rest of Team 7 must reunite to find her. But even the most powerful team of shinobi will find themselves challenged in a battle against the supernatural. With Sasuke's return, vengeful ghosts of the past will test him and his love.

My thoughts : One of the best stories I've read in a while, and top tier SS stories. I read this in one sitting. I never listen to music while reading, preferring silence, but for this one, I suggest you do as the author says. Also, keep some tissues and food with you. This story is major in mystery and minor in horror but otherwise full of SS fluff.

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 10/10

Plot: 9/10

Flow: Steady, if a bit confusing (but that's why it's mystery)

Kyuro : silver_shot || T || AO3 || SasuSaku || Mystery || Post-Canon || Complete

“Oh,” says Naruto, “well, its sort of like that. Except in this village, the story has a way more darker ending – it basically goes like this: the girl and the guy plan to run away together. The guy steals a bunch of treasure, and stashes it away. But then, when he goes to get the girl at her village, he kills her and decides to run away with all that money. But then he is killed by the guards of the girls village and now they're both dead and the treasure is hidden away somewhere”. Sasuke stares blankly at the blond, “that story makes no sense”.

My thoughts : I know you must be thinking the same thing as Sasuke – "makes no sense". I did too, but it's a pretty cool short story. It lies on the funny, creepy side that slowly starts to lose its funny touch. SS makes stupid mistakes later on but it could be because they are MCs. The ending is very ambiguous. It's not my favorite mystery but it is something. Enjoyable read but not something I will pick again.

Writing: 8/10

Characters: 8/10

Plot: 8/10

Flow: Fast

Moon stuttering in the sky : xfrinz || T || AO3 || Gen || Mystery || Pre-Shippuden || One-shot

Kakashi is suspicious of many things about Haruno Sakura. Too many things about her don't make sense, with too many incongruous explanations.

My thoughts : Author of this story just summarised Pre-Shippuden in less than 4k words and made some tiny changes to it. Not much though. One of my favorite gen fics yet. Read it if you haven't yet. You'll feel more sad than thrilled tbh. But worth it.

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 10/10

Plot: 10/10

Flow: I-am-Speed

Breath mints : silver_shot || T || AO3 || SasuSaku || Comedy-Mystery || Post-Canon || Ongoing (maybe)

Their home no longer exists with the life it once had – in fact no settlement thrives anymore; they exist only in a snapshot that contradicts time itself. Families within their own homes sleep in a slumber that they cannot wake from. Those that were chatting on the street prior to the event simply drop their heads and remain unresponsive.

My thoughts : I picked it up for Mystery but I stayed for Comedy. But of course that's not to say supernatural elements in this story is not it, but it sure pales in comparison to effortless humor in this story. Lee and Kiba pair is something you don't see often but they get along too well here. Charactisation is on point as well. SS angst! + NS angst (but it's downplayed)

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 10/10

Plot: 9/10

Flow: Steady

The Curse : sincerelyLen || T || FFN || SasuSaku || Horror || Post-Canon || Ongoing

Team 7 is unexpectedly assigned an S-Ranked Mission involving an unsolved mystery of 10 years. An eerie adventure that will test their teamwork, strengths, and greatest fears. Do you believe in Curses?

My thoughts : My all-time favourite horror Naruto fanfiction. To me, this sets the standard of how mystery and horror elements should be handled. I have never been able to get this story out of my mind even it's been years. Perfect charactisation of Team 7 with Smart-yet-Stupid!Sakura, I-can-fight-aliens-and-reanimated-corpses-but-keep-ghosts-away-from-me!Naruto and I-dont-get-paid-enough-for-this!Sasuke. I especially love OCs here. They kinda reminds me of Pillars from KnY. You must read this story, loosely based on Zombie apocalypse + curse concept.

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 10/10

Plot: 10/10

Flow: Slow-but-Steady

Silent High : Istoria || T || FFN || Gen || Mystery || Post-Canon || Complete

A bit of the Silent Hill series mixed in with Naruto. Trapped in an illusion whose rules are unknown, they struggle to find answers before darkness consumes them.

My thoughts : One of the best mystery fanfictions I've read. I especially loved how this story handled Genjutsu in the best possible way it could without it turning into some cliche, ghost story. Though really, this story has shown what my greatest fear actually is. I will never be able to leave my back open to a wheelchair. This story has simple writing yet it gives you creeps with the twists and turns. A must read one because it is unlike any other in this list.

Writing: 9/10

Characters: 10/10

Plot: 10/10

Flow: Steady

Silence of the Damned : Daystar Clarion || T || FFN || Gen || Psychological Horror, Mystery(?) || Pre-Shippuden || One-Shot

When Naruto wakes up to a dead body in his bathroom, he begins a quick spiral into madness.

My thoughts : Listen to Halsey's Control while reading this. Quite chilling, deals with mental issues and morbid but in a fascinating way. It gives a new meaning to Dark!Naruto, but one that actually makes sense. I never saw the ending coming... I had something else in mind and I was convinced it would be, but nope. Here's a sequel to this One-Shot (Uzumaki's War) which I never picked up.

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 9/10

Plot: 9/10

Flow: Slow-but-steady

To the Victor : Letta || T || FFN || NaruSaku || Psychological Horror || Shippuden || One-Shot

Naruto loses the fight and Sakura is a trophy of war.

My thoughts : A very twisted NS, if you squint. It's not horror but it might as well be... it is still a disturbing story to see from the eyes of Sakura. Quite chilling to be in Sakura's shoes. But I love this because it is one shot and I loved the ending.

Writing: 9/10

Characters: 10/10

Plot: 8/10

Flow: Steady

Under the Skin : BukkakeNoJutsu || T || FFN || Team 8 || Body Horror || Pre-Shippuden || One-Shot

Your actions don't make you a monster. Your reasons do.

My thoughts : There's a reason why Shino is my favourite team 8 member. In my opinion, Shino is also one of the strongest Shinobi of his generation. His clan techniques are just that horrifying. This story is testament to that. He is so terrible.

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 10/10

Plot: 10/10

Flow: Slow-but-steady

Instant Message : Keelah || T || FFN || SasuSaku || Murder mystery || Modern AU || Incomplete

She gave him names to kill, in order not to be killed herself. But having blood on her hands was turning out to be much worse than dying. "…There's still round 2…3…4…" When does this game end? She asked. "Don't you see, Sakura?" He said, "It never does."

My thoughts : I read this story a long time ago and have read this twice. Personally, it has the most interesting concept of all stories in the list. It reminds me of Vocaloid series, "Bookmark of the end". Kind of. To those who are thinking of picking this up, go ahead! It's a great book and has one of the best suspense I've read in Fandom. BUT, it has been stopped in mother-of-all-cliffhangers and Author is MIA for 4 years now. But, all things considered, it remains to be one of the best stories I've read.

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 9/10

Plot: 10/10

Flow: Steady

Monomoth : Ohtze || M || FFN/AO3 || SasuSaku || Horror || AU || Incomplete

Everything ends, eventually. Eight years after the war, Sakura's unhinged and Sasuke's obsessed. The fields are filled with corpses.

My thoughts : I read this story right after "The Curse", my favourite. From what I remember, Sakura and Sasuke are both mentally deranged, in different ways. Lots of death and gore to stomach, so not for weak readers. There's no speak of fluff in this one. Zero, Zilch, Nada. I wouldn't call it your classic 'Horror', but it is very disturbing, so psychological horror is more like it. Don't eat food while reading this one. Did I mention how Sakura is mentally disturbed beyond help in this one? And Sasuke is obsessed. If these suit your tastes, go ahead.

Writing: 10/10

Characters: 9/10

Plot: 10/10

Flow: Slow

I hope you enjoy this list. Let me know your opinion in comments.

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orionsangel86 · 3 years

Note

your bare minimum post is great and I am totally with you on ever thing you said but what about the absolute most ? what if you had every thing you could want ? what would that look like ? do you have a check list ?

Since I now have two asks asking me the same kinda thing I figure I might as well write out a wishlist! Though bear in mind this is literally my absolute fantasies and not anything I actually expect will happen okay!

Disclaimer: Reading this may make you want things from the ending that Supernatural will never ever give us. Do not get your expectations up based on this post. This is not meta. It is the futile hopes of an emotional woman who just wants these boys to be happy goddammit.

Bare Minimum post referred to here

Supernatural Series Finale Wishlist

Castiel narrates the episode. We get his POV, explaining how his love for Dean grew over the years.

Dean rescues Cas from the Empty in a huge call back to how Cas rescued Dean from Hell.

Dean has to go into Castiel’s mind to wake him up and he sees how Cas falls in love with him and has to convince him to wake up by confessing his love back.

Cas chooses to give up his grace and be human.

It is revealled that Cas has a human soul.

The Empty gets sent back to sleep. It is confirmed that Cas will never go back there even after he eventually grows old and dies. His soul will go to heaven.

Sam finds Eileen, and we get domestic scenes of them happy together.

Sam gets to keep the dog.

Sam’s happiness with Eileen is what triggers Dean finally opening up to Sam. We get an emotional brother heart to heart where Dean finally admits his feelings for Cas, and Sam reveals that he has always known but didn’t want to pry.

It is revealled explicitly that Dean is bisexual (not just Cas-sexual or “gay for Cas).

We get backstory to Dean’s bisexuality - maybe a confirmation that the thing with Lee WAS more than friendship.

Confirmation that Dean hid it from John, and supressed his sexuality for fear his father would reject him. (any chance to get a dig at John in there)/

Sam is the most accepting, wonderful, loving brother ever and gives a speech that makes us all cry that’ll go down in history kinda like that “you can breath now” speech Simon’s mom gave him in Love, Simon.

When trying to convince Cas to come back with him from the Empty, Dean’s “i love you” confession speech is another tearjerker, and is just as beautiful, poetic, and heartfelt as Cas’s was. Bonus points for “you said you couldn’t have what you want... but you’ve had me all along.”

Once Cas is saved and they are both back from the Empty, Dean cradles Cas in his arms and they hold each other tightly, and then share their first kiss. It’s passionate. Bob Singer uses the drone. We zoom out. Sam is standing awkwardly in the corner. It’s hilarious.

SOFT EPILOGUE

No Seriously. My biggest wish is a soft epilogue montage of the brothers growing old with their respective partners, with scenes along the lines of as follows:

Sam decides he wants to travel/go to college/leave the bunker basically. With Eileen. Dean realises that he can’t stay in the bunker without Sam. They all pack their bags and turn off the lights. They go their separate ways.

The brothers say goodbye and drive of in separate directions.

Dean and Cas find a house by the ocean. They do it up and build a life together.

We see them happy. We see them watching cowboy movies together.

We see them in bed together. Naked, sweaty... soft focus cliche sex scene like those old hallmark movies.

We see the morning after, sunlight pouring in through the window. Dean wakes and looks at a sleeping Cas. (Mirror to the scene with Lisa in 6x01)

We see them through the kitchen window. Making breakfast until a song comes on the radio. Dean takes Cas in his arms and they dance. (mirror to the scene with Garth and Bess in 15x10)

We see Sam and Eileen as well. We see them also sharing a happy life.

Sam graduates from college.

We see Sam propose. We see their wedding.

Dean and Cas dance at Sam’s wedding.

Sam and Eileen have kids. The boys are going grey.

Dean and Cas are sitting watching the sunset over the ocean. They are content and happy. Dean says it’s been 10 years since the events of 15x19, when they defeated Chuck.

Sam, Dean, and Cas meet up to commemorate the last 10 years. 10 years of peace and freedom. Turns out you can have both. There are fireworks.

Jack appears. They all hug. Cas narrates that even though the story is over now, it doesn’t really end. So long as you know that they lived, they loved, and they were happy, but most importantly, they were at peace.

Carry on wayward son plays. We all break down in tears.

Other things I’d like to see but couldn’t fit into the above:

OG Charlie returns

OG Bobby returns

We get confirmation that heaven has been restored

Did Jack bring the angels back from the Empty? Confirmation of that too please

Jack and Cas get a heartfelt conversation where Cas gets to tell him how proud he is.

Now if anyone comes into my inbox telling me that this is so perfect its gonna ruin the actual finale for them don’t say I didn’t warn you. :P

#destiel #spn endgame #spn endgame wishlist #my dream ending #asks #Anonymous

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etheraella · 3 years

Text

The Lost Letter for Love

(Fred Weasley x Reader)

Summary : 10 years of friendship through letters, and being a hopeless romantic didn’t help you realise your feelings for your best friend, until it might be too late.

Warnings : MUGGLE!AU slow-burn, angst, violence if you squint, best friends-to-lovers, a few cursing you probably won’t realise.

Feet shuffling against the living room carpet, you finally let your body slump on the sofa with a sigh. The sound of wrinkling leather waves through the empty corridor of your shared house. You ignored it, knowing that one of your housemates (who also happen to be your best friends) might come huffing into the room for continuously abusing furniture. With the same occasion happening countless number of times that week, you expected them to grow tired of your mood swings.

You reached for the nearest cushion beside you, digging your fingers onto the sides of the rough object, before stuffing your face into it; rage burning in your chest for a peculiar Weasley. You lift your face from the cushion furiously, running your hands through your hair.

"Is it that hard for that git to take time and write to me?" you cursed under your breath.

You heard a scoff before lifting your head and meeting eyes with your friend, Delilah. She was leaning against the archway of the living room. "Go on, explain yourself." she said, walking to the couch beside you -- leaving a gap, knowing you might blow off any minute if bothered. Before you could reply, she shakes her head. "And don't lie to me, you've been acting like a maniac, plotting a murder for a week now."

"She probably is, It's been 3 weeks since she last received a letter from her long-distance boyfriend. Of course she's gone mad." You needn't turn around, knowing it was your other roommate, Sara.

"Fred." you say gripping the sweat-stained pillow and throwing it at her. "Is my best friend," pausing before adding "Nothing more," then leaning against the couch.

You bit your lip in frustration, pulling off a few loose threads from the hem of your sleeves in anger, "Be patient, Y/N," Delilah says, patting your back. "He might be busy with his shop or dealing with.. well, whatever he might be doing," You rolled your eyes, seeing the now sitting Sara looking at you, sympathetically.

"Well, he can do whatever the hell he wants for all I care. No actually--I don't care, they're just letters." You stood up and stormed up to your room. Shutting the door with a click, you hear muffled voices of your two friends, one of them saying "Wasn't she enraged three minutes ago".

You feel your head spinning before pulling out a specific letter from a wooden box and leaning against the desk. The words that were inked on the paper still enliven the butterflies in your stomach, even after you've memorised them. It was the last letter you received from him before his gifts came to an abrupt stop. You felt like a 16 year old teenager feeling giddy over a crush. Your eyes widen -- reminding yourself "NO Y/N, he's just a friend!" Suddenly remembering you weren't supposed to be 'caring', you cringed to yourself before shoving the letter back in the box weighing a heavy heart.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

You let your body fall against the soft mattress with a squeal, staring up the ceiling whilst clutching the new envelope up to your chest. Without realising the rapid rate of your heartbeat, you impatiently tore open the envelope and unfolded its content.

Dearest Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you in the best of spirits.

I deeply apologise for this delayed reply as I have been quite busy with the joke shop here. Formalities aside, I'm going to be making a few business arrangements in your town. George thought I should go instead of him, and I definitely agree with him. I can't wait to see you, and expect me to ring your house phone tomorrow to discuss. Sadly, I'd have to make this letter short, pumpkin.

P.S bring along that beautiful smile of yours when we meet.

Yours lovingly,

Fred G. Weasley

A smile forms across your face as you read his words, your heart doing summersaults. Before you could trace his signature, you hear a knock on your bedroom door. Sighing, you opened the door, seeing an eyebrow raised Delilah and Sara. Seeing your friends just makes you want to squeeze them in a hug of joy. The smile on your lips didn't falter as you tried forming words "I-"

"We know, Y/N." Delilah interrupted. "We guessed the moment you turned all giddy when coming home. You even fell from the entrance stairs! What'd he say?" Sara asked, smirking. You stared at them, the red mark on your ankle feeling suddenly obvious.

"He said he's going to be dealing with a few business things here. I think he's coming in a few days." You say, your smile growing wider as the words escape your lips. Fred and you have met before. Only, it was twice or trice a year from a long-distance decade of friendship.

Your friendship with Fred was a rather complicated story that even to you, seems a little cliche of how it started with a single complication.

A letter,

The letter had somehow mistakenly ended up to your address, knowing that a 'Hermione Granger' doesn't exist in your household. Being the hopeless romantic you are, you thought it was some kind of love letter so you tore open the letter and read it. In the midst of the paragraph, you feel a pang of guilt as the letter has only to do with family matters. You cursed yourself, and felt sorry for the sender and immediately returned the letter to the signed name 'Fred Weasley' with an attached paper for explanation.

A few days after, you received a letter a letter from him, this time with your name as the addressee. Fred apolagised and offered his gratitude for returning his letter, as it was his mistake for writing the wrong address after all.. And that ladies and gents, was the story on how your friendship was formed.

Although the two of you had exchanged numbers on paper, you fancied the idea of continuing to use the old method with letters, as it was a reminder of how the two of you had gotten to know each other. Fred had always been open about his family and business to you. The both of you admitted that you weren't romantically involved with anyone, but decided to leave that topic 2 years ago. Surely, if he was in a relationship, he'd let you know anyway.

The more often you and Fred exchanged letters, the more you felt a tinge of excitement as he expresses his life and thoughts to you, hoping he'd feel the same. Sometimes, you'd spend endless nights rereading a few old letters of his which you cherished in a wooden box, paragraphs memorised.

Fred took you to meet his family on the third year of your friendship, even Hermione who was Fred's future sister-in-law back then was there. Molly Weasley had sent you presents for Christmas since then, which contained her self-made sweaters. You wondered how much Fred mentioned you to the Weasleys.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

Later that week, Fred gave you a call, arranging your meeting for an evening. As soon as you saw the red-head arrive on your front door, you smiled and embraced him in a friendly hug. Fred, who was towering over you, looked the same as he always did; charming, with freckles painted on the bridge of his nose, enough to sway any girl’s feet.

"How's my pumpkin doing?" he grins, with a raised brow. You feel your face heating from the sound of his low-pitched voice calling the nickname he gave you 4 years ago. "I'm doing fine, Freddie." you said, returning his grin. The two of you immediately caught yourselves in a conversation on the journey. Clueless as to where Fred was taking you.

"Are you trying to kidnap me?" you scoffed jokingly, after the fourth time you had asked Fred for the destination while he was continuously refusing. "Pumpkin, I would have ordered someone to bring you to my hotel if I was." he winked, glancing sideways at you, making your cheeks blow bright pink in the shadow of the night. "But then again, I won't be kidnapping if I don't do it myself".

Finally, the two of you arrived at a coffee shop, "Is this the 'surprise', Freddie?" you asked him, getting out of the car.

"Not exactly." he smiles. The smell of baked muffins hit your nostrils as you enter the shop. Fred led you to a seat while you silently followed him, he stopped at a corner table next to a huge window, a girl with long black hair was already occupied.

"Y/N, I'd like to introduce you to Grace, my girlfriend." Fred turns to you with a prideful grin plastered across his face. "Darling, this is my best friend, Y/N." You felt your heart stop. Following his gaze, your eyes landed on the girl appearing to be his girlfriend, smile up at you, showing her pearly white teeth. Quickly pushing your overfilled thoughts away, you shook her hand, the room suddenly became insufferable. You forced a smile as you hesitantly took the seat opposite to them.

"Since, you're my best friend and all, I thought the two of you should meet." Even though he sounded as if it was meant for you, he didn't spare you a single glance. "Yes, Y/N. Seeing how much you meant to him and all." Grace smiled slightly, "I mean.. as friends." Grace added pressing the word 'friends'. You could’ve sworn you saw a sly look in her icy blue eyes, but shook it off, trying your best to act natural, smiling back at her sweetly.

━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━

Every time you glanced at Fred, you felt a stinging pain in your chest; maybe you were just feeling protective over him? But does that include wanting to have him all for yourself, as selfish as it is? It felt wrong with the idea of loving your best friend, but it felt right loving him.

Regretfully, you felt like an idiot for not recognizing your feelings sooner and denying them. The missed opportunities you could have experienced if you had just revealed your true feelings to him whether it was on paper, on phone or even in person. Were you just scared of ruining your friendship?

Sara and Delilah noticed your change in behaviour when Fred’s name pops up in random conversations, until one night you burst into tears and poured your bottled-up feelings onto them. It didn't help matters when you and Fred met, the blue-eyed minkle always tagged along. When Fred wasn't around, she bared her venom-like teeth. "I've seen the way you look at Fred, I'm not stupid."

And from there onwards…

"You're too immature for Freddie."

…you started knowing her more than Fred ever will.

"The two of you have been friends for what? A decade? He's known me a year, guess we all know who he sees as his lover and who as a friend."

That last statement hurt enough for you to have to restrain yourself from slapping the smirk off her face as she said it. You tried your best to act normally in front of Fred, but you knew seeing them together was a pain too unbearable for you to handle, so you declined his hangout calls and started seeing him less and less.

The last thing you wanted was to destroy their relationship by breaking down in front of the person you cared for, and revealing Grace's true colours. Knowing Fred, he'd side with you and break up with Grace, but seeing them together made you realise how happy they were. Fred deserved the happiness Grace brought him. And you’re well aware that the feelings he shared with her were much more in depth than the ones he shared with you, because when he looks at her, his face says it all

A/N : Hi ! This is Luna, SO the ending wasn’t what I had in mind but overall, this story gives me victorian era vibes idk why lmao. OMG all my love goes to Celeste for helping me edit this, please reblog and comment if you like this fic :) We haven’t been active lately due to studying and all, but now we’re back with more fics. + taglist form up soon 🤝

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glenncoco4 · 3 years

Text

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 9

••••

The shaggy blonde is so focused on his girlfriend that he doesn’t realize she misses the turn towards his apartment, instead she keeps going for a few minutes until she hits the Santa Monica exit. A few minutes later they’re back in the same spot at the overlook where they were just a week ago.

“What are we doing here?”

She turns towards him, that unrecognizable look still swirling in her mismatched eyes. “Well, I’ve been thinking.”

His heart picks up speed when he suddenly realizes what the look on her face earlier could very well be...“Yeahhh.”

“And what I want more than anything else in this world is to feel safe every day of my life.”

“You do realize you’re a federal agent, right? One of the most dangerous jobs ever.”

“That’s not...I’m not explaining myself right.”

“Well, you can always resort to my form of communication.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully, semi-kidding but not really.

Shaking her head, unable to keep the smile off her face, she leans over the console, bringing her lips to his in a chaste but passionate kiss. “Better?”

“Oh yes, very much so.”

A sudden burst of nervousness washes over her and she looks down at her left hand, imagining what it would be like to have a ring there and not just any ring, his ring. “What I was trying to say is that I want to feel safe every day of my life in all aspects. I feel so safe with you as my partner. And I know safe is such a mundane word but to me safe means you. You make me feel like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Like everyday you wake up next to me is better than the last. You have my back no matter what just like I have yours. And as cliche as it sounds, when we’re curled up together in bed or just on the couch and your arms are around me...in my mind its just you and I existing together. You challenge me in a way that no one ever has before and it’s one of the reasons I love you so much and...”

“Kens?”

There’s a hint of desperate hope in his voice, which is strangely calming to her. She finally lets herself look up and when her eyes meet his cerulean blues everything in her is telling her that this is the right choice. “What it all comes down to is this...there’s nothing more I want in this world than to grow old and grey with you. So if your offer still-“

He doesn’t give her time to finish her sentence before his hand finds the back of her neck and he’s pulling her towards him. His lips find hers, but she suddenly pulls back making him whimper. He curiously watches her, wondering the cause of her actions when she gracefully maneuvers through the two seats into the back, tugging him along with her. The fact that they’re parked in a not so private place is the last thing on either of their minds especially once she straddles his lap and his hands find the hem of her tee, ridding her of the white piece of cloth. Good thing NCIS sprung for the extra tinted windows.

••••

The past week has been filled with a happiness that neither of them can describe. Who knew that officially being engaged would bring this type of euphoria into their lives. Ever since Kensi took him back to that outlook and finally said yes to his proposal everything and nothing has changed at the same time. They’ve been more touchy ever since and definitely happier. A huge challenge that they’ve come across the past week however is having to go into character around the guys at work.

There have been a couple of instances where they thought the charade was up but it turned out that their coworkers were oblivious as to what was going on around them...which is quite concerning if you think about it.

The week of bliss had been shattered when a marine’s young daughter goes missing. Kensi was suddenly lost in the past and the similarities of the story playing before them was to her own.

As she and Marty step onto her front lawn after walking home from school, they both immediately feel something in the air shift. Sharing a look, they quicken their pace, taking the front porch steps 2 at a time.

Marty swiftly pulls the screen door open, ushering his best friend inside before the sound of soft sobs fill the room around them. They both all but throw their things onto the ground before finding Roberta in the living room, her arms wrapped around Julia comforting her as best as she can.

“Wh-what’s going on?” The shaggy blonde 17 year old speaks up as his best friend finds his hand, already preparing herself for the worst.

Roberta looks up, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart, it’s your dad.”

“No!” The brunette shakes her head vigorously. “No!”

“What happened?”

“His helicopter was shot down.”

He’s already prepared for her to collapse in his arms, hell he’s surprised he’s still standing himself. But instead of tears, the young brunette just screams in denial once again before running out the front door.

Without thought Deeks chases after her, running out the door as he calls out to her. He doesn’t know why he thought she’d stop. He sees the direction she’s going and immediately knows where she’s running off to.

A few minutes later his flip flop bound feet hit the wooden dock as the echo of her whimpers break his heart. Slipping off his shoes, he takes a seat right next to her, his arm winding around her shoulders as he pulls her into his body.

Her fingers find the cotton of shirt, grabbing on for dear life. It’s not until he feels her tears seep through the fabric that he finally lets himself break down as well. Donald Blye was more of a father to him than his own and there’s nothing in this world that’s going make the pain go away.

His lips find the top of her head, knowing that he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure she makes it out of this, but for now he will grieve with her, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

As the arrests are made and Amanda is reunited with her father, Deeks’ attention shifts to his fiancée. He’s seen how lost she was today, who could blame her considering what she went through with her own father. The case brought up memories for himself, but nothing compared to what he knows is going on inside his partner’s head.

Walking up next to her, it takes everything in him not to pull her in his arms. Her focus doesn’t move away from the marine and his daughter as they embrace, and share apologies. The tears forming in her eyes is unmistakable and considering their coworkers are focused on other things he lets his facade slip a little. “Thinking about your dad?”

“Yeah.” She nods, unable to look at him otherwise her tears might fall.

They’re sitting at the table eating lunch, actually eating might be a bit of an overstatement. It’s been 6 weeks since they got the news about Don. 6 weeks of tears and regrets along with denial. It was only 3 days after the news until Marty and Roberta found themselves living in the Blye residence once again.

Both mother and son knew that moving in to take care of their respective best friends was the only option. So here they are, sitting in silence, trying as best as they can not to breakdown.

A sudden knock at the door pulls the four out of their haze. Marty wipes his mouth and quickly stands. “I’ll get it.”

Walking to the front door, he can see the top of an official marine’s hat peaking through the door window. Dread fills the young man’s body, already sensing that this is the official house call, the one that confirms their worst fears.

He reaches for the door knob, his head falling in defeat thinking about the hole Kensi is going to go further down. God he wishes he could take this pain away...he’d do anything. She’s been so beside herself especially considering the last time that she ever talked to her dad they were fighting.

Begrudgingly pulling the door open, he looks up and meets the eyes of one of Don’s unit members. His brow furrows in confusion until he hears the squeaking of the porch swing. He almost falls to his knees when he sees the familiar warm brown eyes.

Marty stands there for a minute, paralyzed in shock.

“Hi, Marty.” Donald hesitantly stands with the support of his crutches.

All he think about is Kensi and Julia. He doesn’t respond to his surrogate father, and before he can even process what he’s doing, the 17 year old turns and walks back into the house, cerulean blues wide in shock.

Kensi’s brow furrows when she hears her best friend walk back into the kitchen and says nothing. She looks across the table at his frozen features and begins to worry. “Marty, what’s wrong?”

This gets the attention of the two older women, three pair of eyes now all on him. He wants to say something but his words fail him. All he can do is turn towards the hall and watch the marine walk down the hallway, that’s when he suddenly notices the reason for the crutches.

Kensi’s and the mom’s eyes follow his, it takes a few seconds but slowly Donald steps into view. The resounding gasps fill the room, none of them able to process what’s happening before them.

“Hi...it took me awhile but I finally made it.”

No one says a word, but each set of eyes look the man up and down, stopping their gaze when they realize the reason for his crutches.

“Oh my god, Don, what happened to your leg?” Roberta’s lips work faster than what her brain can process, the words spilling out of her like its the most reasonable question to ask.

Marty’s eyes go wide in shock, before her sending a pointed glare.“Mom!”

“What?”

Before anything else can be said the marine’s eyes follow the length of his body, eventually coming to a stop where his left leg once was. “Oh my god!”

Marty can’t help but crack a smile, his attention flying to his best friend trying to gage her reaction and get some sort of semblance as too what she may be feeling. The small smile and huff of laughter that emanates from her gives him his answer.

Shaking herself out of her daze, the 14 year old jumps out of her chair, running over to her father and carefully wrapping him a death gripping hug.

“Hey, he came home.”

Her story may have a happy ending but it was that month and a half that still weigh on her mind. “I know, but its just those 6 weeks and...”

“I know, baby. I know.” And he does. Just like before they found out Don was alive, he’d give anything to take this pain away from his girl.

Once given the okay to go, the pair make their way towards the SRX and just as he expected, she hops in the passenger side leaving him to drive. That’s when he realizes this is one of those days that only has one solution. Quickly pulling out his phone, he shoots off a quick text knowing exactly what she needs.

••••

Every once and awhile the shaggy blonde catches himself taking a look at her. She must be more lost in thought than he assumed because she doesn’t notice him miss the exit to her apartment and continue on towards Malibu until they’re pulling into the parking lot. “How about some tacos at the beach?”

“Sure, I guess.” She shrugs.

As the SUV pulls to a stop, Marty’s eyes find the lone figure about 100 feet in front of them.

Noticing he hasn’t made a move to get out yet, Kensi’s brow furrows and follows his line of sight. As soon as her eyes land on what he’s staring at her heart fills with even more love for him than she ever thought was possible. She feels the tears pool in her eyes, her hand finds the his neck, pulling her surprised fiancé’s lips towards hers in a kiss emotional passionate kiss. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

A smile rises to her lips as she places another kiss to his lips before hopping out of the SUV, gaining attention from the man on the bench. The older brunette stands up as quickly as he can and starts heading towards the junior agent.

When he received a discreet text from his surrogate son, the former marine dropped everything he was doing and headed to the beach. It wasn’t an emergency, which is always a relief but considering there wasn’t much to the text that alone told him she was dealing with something.

As he slowly walks towards her, he outstretches his arms, leaving Kensi to all put collapse into his arms. “Rough day?”

“Yeah.”

The detective watches on as the pair embrace, it breaks his heart knowing that she’s still dealing with the turmoil of thinking she lost her father for years now. He’s tried to help her get through it, her parents have tried, but one thing Kensi Blye is good at, it’s not forgiving herself.

After a few minutes the pair pulls back, giving Marty the chance to get in his own hug with his surrogate father. “How you doing, son?”

“Better now that she’s better.”

The older man notices a change in the younger man’s gaze towards his daughter. And then when she sends Marty a teary-eyed smile, wrapping her arms around him in thanks, it suddenly hits him. They’re together.

#Densi #Densi Fanfic #Kensi Blye #Marty Deeks #You Can Count On Me #NCIS: LA

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ravensbug · 3 years

Note

Kuvira x reader au where she gets a cat please. I'm a shameless obsesser. Of both.

Jinx

Fandom: Legend of Korra

Ship: Kuvira x reader

Request: Yes

Prompt: ^^^^

A/N: I absolutely love this idea so much. My heart can’t handle all the adorable thoughts that come to mind. You are a genius Anon. Thank you for giving me this gift of a story to write.

There you two were, in the animal shelter, picking out a pet. After almost three months of convincing, Kuvira finally gave in and said yes. She saw how you missed the cats from your parents since you two had moved in together. Getting one wouldn’t be so bad she thought. It would mostly spend its time with you, you had promised to take care of it, so there was no reason for it to ever really bother her at home.

You were weaving your way around little kids whose parents had brought them to also get a pet. Most of them were looking at dogs anyway. Not that you didn’t like dogs, but you couldn’t exactly have one in an apartment.

When you got to the cats your eyes lit up. There were so many, and if it were up to you then you would take them all. But you promised Kuvira only one cat, for now.

You read each paper of every cat you walked by, looking for one that you knew would be perfect for the two of you. You knew if Kuvira would ever have gotten a pet by herself that it would have been a cat. Graceful and nimble, just like her. Also affectionate.

You probably spent a little too much time looking at each and every cat because a volunteer walked up to you.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked. You looked away from the cat that you were reading about.

“Kind of? I guess one that can handle being by itself, but also will be able to handle other cats in the future,” you shrugged. You felt Kuvira glare at you, but not in an angry way. It would be a long time before she thought about getting another cat.

“You should look at some of the younger cats then. Most of those are rescued from kitten mills or found abandoned at the sides of roads. They usually come in groups, but the cats seem to do fine on their own as well.” He talked as he directed you to the section of younger cats. You noticed now that some of them were pens together. The older cats were always by themselves.

The little meows of the younger cats tugged at your heart. The age differences were fairly big, there were old cats and cats who probably should still be with their mother. Your eyes landed on one of the pens in the back. You learned from your years of adopting cats that they put the ones that were less likely to be adopted there.

In one of those pens sat a small black kitten, maybe six months old. You looked at the papers, seeing the kitten didn’t even have a name. At this point your mind was made up. You knew the poor thing would be here for the rest of her life if you didn’t take her. Black cats were almost never adopted.

“This one.” you pointed at the kitten. She walked up to you since you had gotten there and attempted to sniff your hand.

“Are you sure?” Kuvira asked.

“I’m sure.” You looked up at Kuvira. She wasn’t going to second guess you again.

Kuvira had been over your parent's house plenty of times before you moved in with her to know that you liked all kinds of cats. Your parents currently had four cats. Two of them were Calicos, being brother and sister. One was a Maine Coon, who was the ‘mom’ of the group. The last one was a black cat, who was basically yours since he spent most of his time with you. Kuvira should have known that because of which cat you spent the most time with that you would choose one that looks like him.

“I’ll get the papers then. Another volunteer will get a carrier ready for her so you can take her home.” The volunteer walked off. You knew to meet him back at the front desk, as this was the same shelter your parents got the two Calicos at. Kuvira followed along, occasionally looking at some of the cats herself. This made you smile a little knowing she wasn’t completely disinterested in the idea of a cat.

You two waited a few minutes for the volunteer to come with the adoption papers. You smiled as you saw the excited kids leaving with their new companions. It was the best feeling in the world, to get a new friend who would love you just as much as you loved them. Even if they would be gone long before you would be.

“Just sign on the marked lines, pay the fee and you’re good to go!” The volunteer handed you a pen so you could sign the papers. In your opinion, you didn’t like the fact that you had to pay to adopt an animal, but you knew it was how the shelters stayed running. If it were up to you, you would have the government put funding into the shelters so they could afford to not have fees for adoption.

“Perfect,” the man smiled. “I’m glad she’s getting a home. She was the last one from her litter left,” he explained. It hurt your heart that whoever had adopted her siblings decided to leave her there on her own.

Another volunteer came out with the kitten in a carrier. You could see she was scared, but you knew that most cats were scared during and right after adoption. Kuvira was the one who took the carries from the volunteer, careful to keep it as steady as possible. You had never seen Kuvira so attentive to each and every movement she made. It was different from her dancing, even though the basic idea of precise movement was the same.

When you two finally got back to your apartment you were so giddy to let the cat out. Kuvira adored this side of you, so happy and excited, even if she wouldn’t say it out loud. Not that you hadn’t been happy since you moved in together, this was a happiness that was beyond that. It made Kuvira a little jealous.

Kuvira gently placed the carrier down on the floor in the living room. You were already sitting on the floor, having done this situation plenty of times. You motioned for Kuvira to sit next to you, which she thought was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to spend much time with the cat so what was the point of her joining you. The look you gave her made her give in, but only to make you happy.

Kuvira opened the cage with her metal bending and you two waited patiently for the cat to come out. She walked out of the carrier slowly, eyeing her surroundings for anything dangerous. Once she saw nothing except for you and Kuvira she finally came out of the carrier. Apparently, the small time of interaction with her at the shelter made an impact. She walked over to the both of you with caution.

You were the first to reach your hand out. You placed it on the floor, to make yourself seem less threatening. The cat stood still at first before coming up to sniff your hand. She didn’t have any problems with you so now it was Kuvira’s turn.

You grabbed Kuvira’s arm and placed it down on the floor like yours had been. You can tell how tense she is. She never did this with the other cats, them being adults and all. They just looked at her and didn’t really mind whenever she came over to your parent's house.

“Just relax,” you chuckled. You telling her to relax seemed to work a little, but she was still nervous.

The cat moved over to sniff Kuvira’s hand. It took its time, longer than it had with you, and that worried Kuvira. If the cat didn’t like her how would that make you feel? She at least wanted the cat to be fine with her.

When the cat rubbed her head against Kuvira’s hand you both were in shock. You put your hands in front of your face and you couldn’t stop grinning. Kuvira was frozen with the cat still rubbing her head on Kuvira’s hand. You thought this moment was ironic and perfect. The cat meowing at Kuvira just made it even better.

“She wants you to pet her,” you said, still grinning from ear to ear.

Kuvira moved her hand so she could pet the cat. She was still hesitant even though the cat clearly liked her. She had never been known as a fragile or soft person and this cat was exactly that. When she finally started petting it, that little bit of fear went away.

“Have you thought of a name?” Kuvira asked while petting the cat.

“I was thinking Jinx,” you smiled.

Kuvira raised an eyebrow at you. The name was cliche but you loved it anyway. Kuvira didn’t really care what you named the cat. It was more yours than it was hers anyway.

As the weeks went on you spent more time bonding with Jinx. She finally warmed up to you and loved playing with you when you had the time. Working from home really helped the bond. She often curled up next to you or even on you while you were working. Those were the moments you missed from home.

What was even better, in your opinion, was that whenever Kuvira was home Jinx would follow her everywhere. Sometimes it got on Kuvira’s nerves, especially when she would turn around and almost trip over Jinx. You always thought it was the cutest thing in the world. You eventually decided to get Jinx a collar with a small bell, so Kuvira could hear whenever the cat was behind her. She never outright thanked you for that, because that would mean telling you the cat was annoying her.

Weeks turned into months and Kuvira finally took some time off of work. You were grateful that you could spend more time with your girlfriend now. Spending time with Jinx was nice and all, but being with Kuvira was nicer.

Because of her time off Kuvira started to do more things around the apartment. One of your favorites was when she would make dinner for the two of you. She had picked up a few things from the chef back when she lived with Su. You didn’t expect her to be a good cook because you knew all of Su’s kids were horrible at it.

One particular night, when she was cleaning up after you two had finished, Jinx was sitting patiently next to her in the kitchen. Kuvira hadn’t seen her do this before so she was slightly confused. You looked over from your spot on the couch and laughed.

“What?” Kuvira asked.

“She wants a piece of the chicken,” you told her.

“I’m not giving her a piece. She’ll learn to expect it every time we have it.” Kuvira looked over at you. You had a sheepish grin on your face, telling her why Jinx was sitting there so patiently.

“You’ve been giving her some before haven’t you?” She asked.

“Maybe.” You looked away. You had given her a few pieces every once and a while either when you were putting the leftovers away or giving Jinx her own dinner.

“Look at her, sitting so nicely. How can you deny that face?” you pouted. You heard Kuvira sigh and knew she gave in.

“Fine. But stop doing it so often.” Kuvira pointed at you with the knife she was using to cut up the remaining chicken.

“I can make no promises,” you smiled. You would try, but as you said, who could deny that face.

When Kuvira finished in the kitchen she joined you on the couch. You sat there with Kuvira’s arms wrapped around your waist. You loved it when she got time off of work. She loved it more than you did because sometimes work got to be too much. Coming home to you was the best part of her day. With the addition of Jinx in the house, she had become more accustomed to the cat coming up to greet her whenever she got home.

Jinx had hopped up on the couch while you two were snuggling and decided to climb on Kuvira’s lap. You heard her sigh, but she refused to move from her position. You looked down at Jinx, who had now curled up on Kuvira’s lap, and smiled.

“Y’know, she really likes you. Like more than she likes me,” you explained.

“How, she’s your cat. I’m also not home as often as you are,” Kuvira argued.

“I think that’s why. She doesn’t see you as often so she misses you. Plus she warmed up to you way faster than she did with me.” You knew more about cat behavior than she did. You also knew more about how people dealt with cat behavior more than she did.

“Pretty sure you like her more than you’re willing to admit,” you smiled.

“I tolerate her,” Kuvira mumbled.

“Which is why you’re letting her sleep on your lap and why you let her sleep on your side of the bed?” you smirked.

“She’s not as bad as I thought she would have been,” Kuvira admits. That’s what you were looking for.

“Well, I’m glad you like her.” You moved your hand to pet Jinx’s head. She meowed and stretched out across Kuvira’s lap. You heard Kuvira sigh, but that didn’t stop you from petting Jinx.

Kuvira eventually moved from holding you to sit up carefully, so as to keep the cat where she was. When she was done with that she gently picked up Jinx and held her in her arms. Jinx began to purr even though Kuvira wasn’t even petting her.

That image will forever be in your mind. It was perfect in every way. This is what home means to you.

#kuvira #kuvira/reader #kuvira x reader #kuvira legend of korra #cat #adoption

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

Text

annoying? yes. boring? never. // james potter

Summary: James’ best friend has always been a muggle and, despite what everyone thought, they were just that; friends. Right?

Request: Hello there! If you write for James Potter, would you mind writing for him with the cliche prompts 'there’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close', 'blurting out a confession of love' and 'I’ve been in love with you for years' Thank you very much!!!

A/N: I fucking love this oml thanks for this request it’s literally made my week

Reader: female

Warnings: swearing, a mean boy, fist-fight?

At ten years old, James Potter had been pampered for a whole decade. His parents, who loved him a great deal, gave him everything he could ever wish for and more. So, when he came home one day after school with a friend, they did their best to accommodate, despite the fact that said friend was a muggle. Even at ten years old, you knew something was wrong with the Potter household. Some things moved if you looked at them for too long and you swore the eyes in the paintings followed you. Being a particularly bold and shameless child, you decided to ask James just why his house felt like it held its breath every time you came over. Being a particularly bold and shameless child himself, he told you that his family were wizards. From there began a very lovely friendship.

You spent every day at the Potters after that and whilst his parents made a habit to not parade magic around in front of you, James would often tell you magical stories about elves and wands and sweets and broomsticks. Most of all, he told you about Hogwarts.

“I’ve never been,” he said, lying on his stomach facing you as you lay on your back on the carpet of his massive bedroom. “But I’ve heard it’s amazing. It’s a massive castle and you’re put into four houses-“

“Houses?” you asked, sitting up and wiping dirt off your arm; you’d been playing in his garden all afternoon.

“Yes! Everyone is put into a house that’s most like them-“

“Like when we picked what Jungle Book characters we would be?”

“Exactly!” he smiled; glad he’d made a friend that understood him so well.

The week before he left for Hogwarts was one of the most bittersweet weeks of your life. You were excited for James and, thanks to a good word from the Potters to your parents, you could spend the whole week with him, but you were devastated that your best friend would be leaving you for a magical place you could never go to, to make friends you could never dream of.

“James,” you started, turning to face him. You were both lying on his floor, feet up against the wall with the Beatles playing in the background from his record player. “You won’t forget me at Hogwarts, will you?”

“Crikey, Y/N,” he turned to you, nudging your shoulder. “If it was that easy to get rid of you, I would’ve done it ages ago.”

He laughed at your gasp of mock offence, his guffaws only growing louder as you pushed him over and began to wrestle.

The first year without James was hard for you. At a new school, having to make all new friends with the knowledge that whilst you were doing maths and biology, he was learning about magical creatures and ridiculous spells, you struggled. It did help, though, that you received a letter from James almost daily. You weren’t sure how they got to you but once or twice you saw a strange looking bird fly away when you found them. His letters were full of his adventures and excited for you to meet his friends, he’d described them in detail which, although lame, you found very endearing. You were glad he hadn’t forgotten about you.

You were surprised that his parents hadn’t either. You got a call from Euphemia Potter on your family home phone around June time. She’d asked whether you were at school the next Thursday; you were, but she didn’t need to know that. And so, on that Thursday, you went with the Potters to Kings Cross station and waited for James to appear at platform number nine and three quarters. The whole journey there, they told you how much you’d grown since they last saw you and you didn’t understand what they meant until you saw James. He’d stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas and so you hadn’t seen him for nine months when he appeared with a trolley of bags, dressed in strange robes. He looked so different. He was taller now and his hair was much scruffier. You thought it suited him.

You’d never been so excited to see someone and you were pleasantly surprised that the feeling was mutual as you raced to hug each other. You spent most of the summer together, making up for lost time. He told you all about his lessons and teachers and how he and his friends would play pranks constantly.

“I’m shocked that you have friends.” You remarked, helping him put posters of Bob Dylan and Buddy Holly on his walls. You were very glad that he was being cultured on the taste of the time despite the whole wizarding boarding school thing.

“Now that’s just cold.”

You laughed at his wounded expression.

“Go on, tell me about Serious and Remy.”

“It’s Sirius and Remus, you know that. And Peter, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, smiling so he knew you were only messing with him. “Strange names your lot have.”

Despite how much he wanted to tell you about his adventures, he always asked about how you were doing and what life was like at home. It was sweet, you thought, that he wanted to hear about your life. You told him about new friends you’d made and about how boring the lessons could be, fully aware that listening to someone talk about them would be just as dreadfully tedious as actually going. It didn’t matter, though, because for a whole summer you had your best friend back and life had never better. You tried not to think about how in September, he would just disappear again and you’d be left with another nine months without your favourite person.

The next months went by extortionately slowly and whilst you tried to be happy around your friends, nothing felt right without James. When you got a letter from him in the middle of English class, an owl, of all things, tapping at the window, you were beyond excited to hear that he would be coming back home the next week for summer. He said he was bringing his friend Sirius because his parents weren’t the nicest and whilst you were excited, you couldn’t help but feel nervous about meeting his friend – what would happen if he didn’t like you? You had to wait till the weekend to see him; your mum had found out about your ditching school last time and forced you to go in until the school finished for summer. On that Saturday morning, you all but ran to James’ house, hammering on the door in excitement.

When James opened the door, an ear-splitting grin on his face, you were surprised to see how much he’d grown in four months. He was taller, again, and he looked nice, a thought that repulsed you in a way. Heat rushed to your cheeks at your thoughts – this was James, your best friend, you didn’t see him like that. He didn’t even say hello before he pulled you inside and hugged you like there was no tomorrow. The hug didn’t help how flustered you were, his warm arms surrounding you tightly, but it was long overdue.

“So, this is the infamous Y/N.”

When you pulled away to find the source of the noise, you saw a tall boy with long dark hair and mischievous eyes.

“Does he talk about me?” you asked, elbowing James in the side before offering your hand to Sirius. The idea that James talked about you made you strangely happy.

“Does he ever shut up about you?”

James spent the next few days partially regretting combining the two greatest forces in his life. You and Sirius teamed up constantly to tease James, often sharing stories about how ridiculously headstrong he could be. Though he should’ve been mad, he enjoyed his best friends getting along immensely and something about seeing you and Sirius at the same time made something within him feel right.

“Has he told you about Lily?” Sirius asked, lying across James’ bed whilst you and James sat on the floor, staring at a chessboard. He said he needed the practice for something or other.

“Who’s Lily?”

You looked up at James to see him blushing and a strange discomfort came over you. You tried to convince yourself you weren’t jealous.

“She’s this Gryffindor girl-“

“Your house?” you asked, knocking over one of James’ bishops with a less gleeful grin than you had before. “Lions and stuff.”

“A perfect description.” James teased, earning him a flick in the forehead. He frowned at you, pushing his glasses up.

“Exactly.” Sirius smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “I think James here might be in love with her.”

“Oh really?” you asked, trying to fill your voice with as much curiosity as you could; you didn’t have the stomach for it, though. “Checkmate.”

You didn’t notice the sly smirk Sirius sent your way at your response, too busy looking at James, whose reaction to losing was, as always, piss poor.

They spent the rest of the holiday trying to teach you Quidditch which, as imagined, was hard with only a football and some sticks. You enjoyed yourself, though, and spending time with James and Sirius was so much fun. You began to understand the general idea of the game eventually, and James loved to see you pretend to fly on a stick as you threw the football at Sirius.

“You’d make a great beater.” He said over dinner, cutting into his food.

“Of course, I would.” You replied, earning a snort from Sirius.

“You’d probably make a better chaser than James, too.”

“Oi!” James flicked a pea over the table, earning a half-hearted scolding from his Father and a kick under the table from Sirius’ rather heavy boots.

“You should come around for dinner tomorrow, love, too.” Euphemia said as you stood at the door, ready to leave. James didn’t miss your apologetic expression.

“Sorry, Mrs Potter, my Mum wants me doing schoolwork tomorrow.”

“We’re going back to Hogwarts the next day, I won’t see you.” James said, pouting. You would’ve teased him but you felt the same; saying goodbye to James was always your least favourite part.

“You’ll just have to write to me every day.” You hugged him, oblivious to the eyes watching both of you.

“Of course, I will.”

He didn’t. It was the first time since you met him that you’d gone more than two days without hearing from James. It had been six already and you were worried. Part of you, undeniably, was jealous; his last letter had been about asking Lily to go on a date with him. You knew you probably would’ve liked Lily. From the way Sirius described her, she was tough and smart and you suspected you would’ve been good friends if she didn’t have James wrapped around her little finger. With your life getting busier with exams and school, and friends, you paid less attention to the fact that you hadn’t heard from James in months. It hurt, to say the least, to have your letters unanswered. You gave up sending them after a while, bored of only being hurt. You wanted to tell him that you’d been on your first date, if only to make him jealous for a moment before you told him about how awful it had been. You wanted to tell him that you’d gotten first prize at a competition at school. You didn’t though, he didn’t want to hear it.

Just before Christmas, you sent Sirius a letter. You felt desperate but you just needed to check that James was alright. A sick part of you hoped he wasn’t so you would feel less bad about him forgetting about you. To your surprise, Sirius replied in just four hours. How his owl flew that far, you had no idea, but you were grateful for any form of reply. The letter was short and blunt but quite kind, which you were grateful for. He said that James was busy with trying to get Lily to fancy him, an actually important issue with Remus and trying not to get kicked out of school. Though it hurt, you were pleased to know anything happening in his life. Sirius also said he was surprised James hadn’t replied to you, because he still talked about you non-stop. You figured that was Sirius lying for the sake of your feelings. You sent him a shorter letter back, thanking him, and then decided you got out of the habit of writing letters.

It was boxing day when someone knocked at your door like a man deranged. When you saw James standing there, on the verge of tears, the coldness in your heart that he’d caused thawed instantly and you beckoned him up to your room, despite your parents’ protests.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to ignore you, I swear, I just-“

You wrapped an arm around him as he cried. He took his glasses, off, rubbing tears from his eyes with his hand.

“I couldn’t tell you about Remus and that’s all I’ve thought about and there was nothing else to say- I couldn’t write, I couldn’t bring myself-”

“It’s okay, James, it’s okay. Go on, you can tell me, what’s wrong with Remus?” you asked, pushing his head under your chin to hold him closer.

That night, he told you everything. Between sobs, he told you how worried he was for Remus when he turned (you were mentally trying to cope with the idea that werewolves exist), how his friends had turned into animals to protect him. Most of it went over your head, but you tried to listen for his sake. When he went back to Hogwarts that January, he wrote to you every single day without fail, sometimes twice if he had the time. Somehow, along the way, you felt like you had your James back – the same James but with very different feelings.

By the time summer rolled around, you were doing everything you could to take your mind off of him. You even started flirting with a boy to try to convince yourself you didn’t like James, a fact that seemed more improbable when you considered you might actually love him. You didn’t know when his term ended, he hadn’t said, and so you made yourself busy until he arrived, unsure of how you would react to him given your newly discovered but ever-present feelings.

You stood next to the corner shop, not having that much fun when he appeared. You were standing next to the boy you’d been flirting with and a couple of his friends. They’d been making jokes about something or other – you weren’t listening at all, even less so, when a familiar voice called your name.

“Oi! Y/N!”

You turned around to see James Potter, impossibly taller and more handsome and more James-like than you’d ever seen him.

“You alright, Potter?” you shouted, grinning as he came closer. You went to greet him but the boy next to you, jealous as anything, stepped in front of you.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said, trying to square up despite being dramatically shorter. At first, James didn’t reply. He just looked over the boy’s shoulder at you. You shrugged, frowning.

“My name’s James. I’d like to talk to Y/N, please.”

“My name’s James.” They mimicked in high pitched voices. You rolled your eyes.

“Alright, I’m leaving.” You went to leave when the boy opposite James grabbed your arm.

“Let me go.”

He didn’t. So, with a sharp exhale, you drew your other arm back and punched him square in the jaw. A bark of laughter escaped James’ lips before you realised that three rather angry looking boys were staring at you both, one with a bruised jawline. James grabbed your hand and you ran.

You barely saw the alley but you guessed that was the idea as James pulled you in after him. Your back hit the wall and suddenly he was very, very close and you were both breathing heavily from the running. He hadn’t realised how wide the alley was until you were centimetres from him. That was, to say, not that wide. You barely noticed the boys run past, completely missing your hiding space.

“Why were you hanging around those muppets?” he asked, noticing how pretty your eyes were up close.

“My muppet left to go to a magical school for tweens – needed a replacement, didn’t I?”

“You’re so mean-“

“Am I so mean?”

“Yeah, you’re always rude to me-“

“Well maybe if you weren’t so-“

“I’m pretty sure I’m completely in love with you.”

You swallowed your words in surprise at his confession.

“I’ve been in love with you for years and I never realised.” He continued as if saying it out loud gave truth to something he’d known all along. “And I think you punching that guy in the face was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some pretty magical shit.”

You nodded, a small smile making its way onto your face. The blooming feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away; it only worsened when he smiled. It was a familiar smile, a smile that reminded you of home more than anything else could.

“See?” you said softly, biting your top lip. “I might be a muddle but I’m not too boring.”

“Muggle.”

“What did you just call me?”

As if that were the most perfect thing you could’ve said he tipped his head to the side and looked at you. His hand lifted to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“You have never ever been boring.”

And with that, he leant forward and kissed you. You tipped your head against the brick wall, grateful that you had a best friend as stupid as him.

#james potter #James Potter imagine #James Potter x reader #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter #imagine #writing

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winchesterwords · 4 years

Text

“Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time” Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Sam and Dean need help on a case, they reach out to Rowena who sends you, a hunter, to help them with a ghost problem. Dean however, may have just met his match in more ways than one.

Word Count: 5265

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time” by Thomas Rhett

Note: Dean Winchester has my heart! Feel free to request! Also, I am not exactly sure where I set this, but it’s before the fall as Cas still has his wings.

---------

“Of all the people we know, Sam, you called Rowena.”

Dean looked over at his brother in the passenger seat of the Impala with narrowed eyes. Sam sighed, shaking the hair from his face. “You said we needed help and she has connections,” explained Sam. “Besides, she said she was sending someone to help, not that she was coming herself.”

“Great so we don’t get the Head Bitch Witch, just one of her friends,” Dean said.

“Rowena said she’s a hunter, not a witch,” Sam said as he tapped away on his phone. Dean didn’t bother to respond as he turned his eyes back to the road in front of him.

The Winchesters had gotten word of a case just outside of Omaha. There had been previous witch activity in the area years before so Sam had reached out to Rowena in hopes of getting some insight. However, the woman was currently busy trying to wrangle her son and since she didn’t believe the case had anything to do with witches, she passed along the message to you, a hunter she knew that was in the area. You had told her that you were going to meet the boys at a motel off the highway and Rowena had sent the message along to the Winchesters.

“I just don’t get it,” Dean said after a few more minutes, “why is she helping us all of a sudden?”

“When it comes to Rowena, she’s probably only doing us this favor so we have to do her one in return.”

“What? Does she think we’ll be at her beck and call?”

“Seems like it.”

“Well if this goes South,” Dean said, “I’m tracking down her broomstick and making her fix it.”

“Fair enough.”

-------

When the Winchesters arrived at the motel, the parking lot was nearly empty except for a dark truck in the corner.

You leaned against it, tapping away on a cell phone. When you heard the rumble of the Impala you looked up and lifted your hand in greeting. “I really don’t like new hunters,” Dean grumbled as he pulled into a spot across from you.

“I bet they think the same thing about us, Dean,” Sam countered.

“No, no they don’t,” Dean said with a sly smile at his brother, “because we’re awesome.” Sam rolled his eyes as he shoved open the door and stepped out. Dean followed quickly after. Both men kept their weapons close as they approached you.

You were calm and casual as they walked over. If this was any other night, Dean would have thought you were just a normal girl waiting on a friend, not a hunter with a specialty in ghost possession.

“Sam and Dean?” you asked. “Though, I don’t know who else would be driving a car like that.” Sam smiled first, moving forward to reach for her hand. “I’m (Y/N),” you said as Sam grasped your hand in his.

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said pleasantly as you turned to Dean. He gripped your hand tight as well.

“So, you’re the ghost girl?” Dean asked, trying to get a feel for you.

“That’s one way to put it,” you said with a small laugh. “I’ve been called worse. Come on, I already got a room.” You nodded your head towards the motel room not too far where you had parked your respective vehicles. The boys followed after you and out of the corner of your eye, you could see that both were keeping their hands near their weapons. You rolled your eyes at the movement. “You know,” you said as you dug the key out of your pocket, “if I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t do it at a motel frequently visited by hunters. That would be a bit too cliche.” Looking over your shoulder you sent them both a wink.

Dean blinked at you as Sam awkwardly coughed next to him. With another quick laugh, you pushed into the room and tossed the key on the small table by the door. “So,” Sam said as Dean closed the door behind you, “how exactly do you know Rowena?”

“She and I worked on a problem last year,” you explained, leaning against the wall, observing the two flannel-clad hunters before you. “Rowena was helping out another witch. Some kind of dark versus light turf war, I guess.” You shrugged. “Bystanders were getting caught in the middle and it got pretty messy.”

“I bet it did,” Dean said, crossing his arms as he stood by the garish partition. He was looking at you as if he was trying to see the tumblers of an unbreakable safe. Every move you made, he clocked. You had heard the stories of the Winchesters.

Sam and Dean, they were legendary within the hunting world. You were surprised to see that they were traveling with just each other as you had heard of a winged companion that tended to tag along at times as well. Regardless of the Angel, these two were some of the best and you were hoping to make a good first impression. As Rowena had said, “it never hurts to have a Winchester owe you one”.

“She warned me about you,” you said to Dean as you took a seat at the table and kicked your feet up.

“Is that so?” he asked. “And what did the witch say?”

“That you’re impulsive and have major trust issues while Sam here, is the smart one with a knack for magic and the books,” you said, recalling the last conversation you had had with the Scottish witch. “Though, I am still not sure if she was saying those things out of kindness or annoyance.”

“Knowing Rowena, it was probably the latter,” Sam said as he took a seat across from you. You nodded in agreement.

“So, show me what you got,” you said.

“Over the past couple of weeks there has been an increase in drownings in the area,” Sam began, digging his laptop out of his bag and placing it on the table.

“Accidental?” you asked.

“That’s what the cops think,” Dean said, sitting down on the bed next to you and Sam. “But four people drowning in the same place like this doesn’t seem like an accident to me.”

“Where did it happen?”

“A local spot,” Sam said, turning the screen toward you. It showed the front page of the local newspaper. A local fishing hole that apparently had a history of its own.

“What’s with the creepy statue?” you asked, pointing in the background of the main photo.

“That was the first thing I noticed too,” Dean said, leaning back on his arms. Sam enlarged the photo and zoomed in. Just behind the main swimming area was an old stone statue of what looked to be an old man reaching towards the murky water. It was a bit too ominous for your liking.

“We’re not sure,” Sam said. “Apparently it’s just always been there. Some people think it was put there by the first person to own the land, but now it’s all owned by the city.”

“And this is where everyone had been drowning?” you asked and Sam nodded. “Sounds to me like spirit doesn’t want the Living hanging out their spot. What are the details behind the deaths?”

“All strong swimmers and they just calmly walked into the lake and then didn’t come back to the surface until their bodies were discovered.”

“Does this sound like your kind of thing, Ghost Girl?” Dean asked. You slowly looked over at him and then grinned. Digging into your pocket, you produced your fake FBI Forensic badge and showed it to him.

“Why do you think I brought this?”

---------

You elected to ride with the Winchesters over to the crime scene.

Leaning towards the front seat, you rested your head on your forearms. “Yeah... I could never do the suit,” you commented. Dean looked at you in his mirror with a brow raised.

“You do realize you’re posing as FBI too, right?” he asked.

“But I’m a tech,” you clarified. “All I need is my trusty windbreaker,” you said, shaking the collar of the jacket that was wrapped around your shoulders. “I have found that people tend to overlook an extra tech at the scene rather than another agent.”

“That… is actually very smart,” Sam said, looking back at you. You winked at him and settled back into your seat. You listened to the boys talk about the case and as Dean drove, as you mulled over theories of your own.

The statue was the biggest clue, but you weren’t sure how it all fit. However, Rowena had been right when she realized this wasn’t witchcraft. If a witch wanted to kill someone, drowning wouldn’t be the way to do it. The combination of water and witches never really worked out in history so they tended to avoid it.

You had perhaps thought it was demon possession, but then it didn’t really fit with the usual motivation behind demonic activities. Also, there weren’t any omens in the area so you were back to your comfort zone, ghosts. Ghost possession was something you had focused on after you, yourself, had become possessed at age sixteen, and then both of your parents years later. You had inked up shortly after discovering the world of hunting and now were impervious to their body jumping, but not everyone was a hunter and so you had to help clean up the messes whenever you could.

As you went over a strategy in your head, you didn’t even realize Dean was talking to you. “Sorry, what was that?” you asked, leaning forward again.

“I asked if you needed any weapons,” Dean repeated as he turned down the final street and pulled over by the entrance to the trail that lead to the water.

“Oh, no, I’m good,” you said, lifting your shotgun that was placed in your bag along with salt rounds and then the iron brass knuckles you kept on an iron chain around your neck. Dean whistled low at the sight of your accessory.

“I gotta get me some of those,” he said with a charming smile and then pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car. You followed after the boys, scanning the area. It was crawling with squad cars and you knew it wouldn’t be long before the press showed up.

While Sam and Dean headed to speak to whoever was in charge, you hiked your bag up on your shoulder and ducked through the branches to get to the water’s edge. Nobody gave you a second glance as you walked the shore of the swimming hole. Divers were still in the water collecting evidence as you made your way towards the statue. That is where Sam and Dean met up with you.

“Sheriff is clueless,” Dean said as he approached you.

“As always,” you agreed, walking around the statue, eyeing it closely.

“A deputy thinks these are all suicides,” Sam revealed.

“He might not be that far off…” you said as you took out your pen and dragged it along the side of the statue. When you pulled it away, black slime coated it. You held it up for the boys to see. “Ectoplasm.”

“Great,” Dean sighed. “So spooks are doing this?”

“Yep,” you said, shaking off the ecto. “For some reason, this ghost is possessing people and drowning them. It explains why they just walked into the water. Somebody really doesn’t want people here.”

“What was this place before it became party central?” Dean asked, kicking an empty beer bottle.

“Just old land,” Sam said, “there isn’t much in the county records and when I asked the cops, everyone shut up like it was taboo or something.”

“Oh, I love a good town scandal,” you said with a smile at the boys. As you went to grab your bag, your eye caught something glinting in the sun. Kneeling down, you dug it out of the mud. Holding up to the light, you turned it in your hand.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“I’m not sure,” you said as you held a small locket in your hand. It looked as if someone had dropped it recently, breaking the mechanism on the side. It was tarnished and caked in dirt as if it had been underground. Popping the seal, you nearly gagged. “And I’m not sure I want to know,” you said turning to show the boys. Nestled in between the two metal sides was a tooth, the root still attached. Dean did gag at the sight.

“Okay, that’s just wrong,” Dean said. “Oh, what are you doing?”

“It could be evidence,” you said as you slipped into a small bag you kept in your fake forensic kit.

“Or it could just be someone’s necklace where they keep grandpa’s final tooth,” Dean said. You stowed it away anyways.

“Look all I know is that a ghost is drowning people and this locket may have something to do with it. Can we continue debating this or can we go get a drink?” That last sentence had Dean grinning.

“See, Sammy, this is how you solve a case,” he said, clapping his hands and gesturing everyone back to the car.

---------

The three of you sat in a local dive bar, swapping war stories.

“You really took out a fully grown skin walker on one of your first hunts?” Sam asked you as he sipped his beer. You laughed.

“Okay, don’t make me sound like some big badass,” you said, swirling the whiskey in your glass. “The guy was drunk off his ass. I just got lucky with him.”

“Still, that’s pretty damn impressive,” Dean said with a smile. You gave him one of your own. At first, you weren’t sure about Dean Winchester, but now? He was definitely one to keep an eye on. “Alright,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to the task at hand. “Sam, what did you find?” Sam took out his computer and fired it up.

“I looked into the tooth locket that (Y/N) found and I think I got something,” Sam said, turning the computer so you and Dean could see. On the screen was a photo of a young woman, dressed in white, and around her neck was the same locket you had found by the statue.

“Who was she?” you asked.

“Melinda Manns,” Sam explained. “She was the wife of Thomas Manns, the man who owned the land the swimming hole is on. And get this, her grave was recently robbed.” Sam flicked to the news article that reported on a series of grave robbings nearby. “That necklace was one of the things missing.”

“So then who is our spook? Melinda or Thomas?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know,” Sam said.

“How did Melinda die?” you asked. Sam grabbed the computer and began typing away.

“Oh,” Sam said, “she drowned under mysterious circumstances.”

“Which in my book means murder,” you said downing the rest of your drink. “My bet? Old Man Manns killed his wife and buried her with that locket of hers. Maybe he felt remorse, maybe he didn’t, but one thing’s for sure, he didn’t want people digging her up.”

“So, he’s drowning people out of revenge?” Dean asked.

“Ghosts have had stranger motivation. He’s tied to the swimming hole. Doesn’t know who disturbed the grave so he’s just taking who he can get. Sometimes spirits get confused and a lot of the times they can’t help but possess people to try to get answers.”

“Well, I scanned for EMF and didn’t get much of a steady reading at the lake,” Sam said with a sigh.

“Don’t frett, Sammy, we’ll figure it out,” Dean said with a wink and his brother rolled his eyes.

“Ya’ll want another round?” you asked as you stood up from your seat.

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna head back to the room for a bit,” Sam said as he gathered his stuff.

“Ah, come on, man,” Dean said, but Sam shook his head.

“I’ll see you two later,” Sam said with a slap on his brother’s shoulder. You waved to him as he slipped out of the bar.

“What about you, Winchester? You want another beer?” you asked Dean, leaning towards him.

“Make it a double tequila and you got yourself a deal,” he said with a wink. Shaking your head, you got up to get the next round.

Dean watched after you and he couldn’t help but think of the way you had walked around the crime scene earlier. There was something so...natural about the way you searched for the clues and how you were able to put the pieces together quickly. You were born for this life, but there was also something underneath the surface, something dark that prompted you to become a hunter in the first place. While he was curious, he knew he didn’t want to push. He knew about inner demons and he wasn’t about to force you to reveal yours.

When you came back to the table, you had a grin on your face. “Flash a smile and a badge and look what you get, free booze!” You handed Dean his tequila and took your seat again, sipping on the smooth whiskey. You smiled as you leaned back in your chair. Dean watched you for a second before placing his drink down and leaning forward.

“You are an odd one,” he said, narrowing his eyes a bit.

“Is that bad?” you asked, trying to read the man before you.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said with another grin. The night went on with many more shots and a whole lot more laughter. You and Dean exchanged more stories and soon, the two of you were leaning against one another in a booth, watching the patrons of the bar stumble around and play pool. Taking off your jacket, you relaxed further into your seat.

Stretching your arms over your head, Dean noticed something on the side of your neck. “What happened there?” he asked gently. Your hand went to the scars on your neck and covered them with your hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you...uh, sorry,” he stuttered.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Just a hazard of the job. I was, uh, possessed by a ghost when I was sixteen,” you explained. “I managed to get control for a few seconds and we had this old iron tool at our farm and I don’t know how I knew to use it, but I just grabbed it and,” you mimed raking something across your neck.

“Damn,” Dean said. “What happened to the ghost?”

“Local hunter took care of it, I guess,” you said. “Some guy showed up on my doorstep a day later with an obvious fake badge and I never had a problem with it again. Until two more possessed my parents later on. I guess I don’t have the best luck when it comes to spirits.”

“That’s why you’re the ghost specialist,” Dean figured.

“We all have our things,” you said. “I know yours is Angels and Demons.”

“Well, that was not really my choice. When an Angel saves you from Hell, you sort of owe them,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re not the only one who owes them,” you said with a small smile. Dean’s brows shot up as he caught onto your meaning. “Sorry was that way too forward?”

“Not at all,” Dean assured you, draping his arm across the seat behind you. “Although, and this may just be the tequila talking, I wasn’t exactly sure about but you when we rolled up.”

“Because I know Rowena?” you asked, leaning slightly into his arm.

“She hasn’t always been the most...helpful of people,” he said. “I mean she’s a witch with the King of Hell as a son.”

“Fair point,” you said with a small laugh, “but Rowena has helped me in the past. Not just the witch turf war, but she has looked out for me for a while. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know, but she’s never let me down. So, when she calls, I answer.”

“There seems a lot to unpack there,” Dean said.

“It’s a story for another time, Winchester,” you said with a smile as you shuffled out of his arm and threw some bills on the table as a tip. “Walk me home?” Dean rolled his eyes, but grabbed his coat and followed you out of the booth.

You and Dean stumbled from the bar, still quite tipsy from your night of drinking. Sam had taken the Impala back, so you two began the short walk back. Dean slung his arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. The two of you walked the dark street back towards the neon sign in the distance. He kept you tight to his side as cars rushed past on the street and you didn’t mind the feeling at all of his strong arm wrapped tight around your waist.

When you finally got back to the room, you leaned against the side of the motel, trying to gain your bearings. Dean stood in front of you, resting his hands on either side of you. As he leaned in, you didn’t object. You smiled as Dean pressed his lips against yours. You leaned into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his chest against yours, but eventually, you pushed him back.

“Easy, Winchester,” you sighed, “we’re working and I am not sober and neither are you.” Dean smiled, but stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.

“Breakin’ my heart, Darlin’,” he said but kept his hands to himself.

“I know, I enjoy it,” you said with a small smile. Dean laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“Now I see it, the reason Rowena likes you so much,” he said and you pursed your lips.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” you said. He winked at you and elicited another laugh from you that brought another smile to his own face.

“Okay, since we are working, any more theories?”

“I think it was the maid,” you said with a serious expression.

“(Y/N), there is no maid,” he said.

“There isn’t?” you asked, feigning confusion. It was only a few seconds before both of you began laughing. Suddenly, the door to the motel burst open and Sam came out. He stared at the two of you for a second before shaking his head.

“We have another body,” he announced and you and Dean sobered up quickly.

“And I was just starting to have fun,” you whined as you pushed off the wall. You approached Dean and patted him on his chest. “Rain check, Winchester,” you said.

“(Y/N)” Sam said, “Dean and I are going to go to the Coroner’s Office. Can you check the swimming hole? We’ll meet you there in a bit.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you said as you headed to the Impala, sliding into the back as you waited for the boys to change into their suits and grab their badges. As soon as Sam slipped into the driver’s seat seeing as he was the only one equipped to drive at the moment, you headed out.

-------

Sam and Dean dropped you at the entrance to the swimming hole and you crept through the trees.

Forensics were packing everything up and soon, you were alone with the neon yellow crime scene tape and the light from the moon above. Pulling out an EMF reader you had snagged from the trunk, you turned it on. It lit up immediately as you scanned it back and forth. “I know you’re here somewhere…” you said, slipping on your iron knuckles. Realizing you left your salt gun back at the motel, you hoped that there was actually only a single ghost and not two.

It was another half hour before you finally spotted something. It was flicker at first, but then you made out the full figure of one Thomas Manns. The spirit stood by the statue of himself, watching out over the water. Pulling out your phone, you silently dialed Dean’s number.

“What’s up? We’re on our way already,” Dean said as he answered.

“Thomas is the ghost,” you whispered into the phone.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Because I am looking right at him, genius,” you said, but then the ghost disappeared. “Dammit, I lost him.”

“Okay, listen to me, (Y/N),” Dean said. “We finally have a connection for the victims. They’re all suspects in multiple grave robbings. Most likely Melinda’s too. That’s why he’s killing them.” Suddenly, your pocket felt very heavy. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your jeans and felt the cool metal of the locket.

“I think I screwed up, Dean,” you said and as you spoke, your breath was very visible.

“What’s wrong?”

“I still have the necklace. The one from Melinda’s grave.”

“Get rid of it!” Dean yelled, but it was too late. A coldness swept through you and as you turned over your shoulder, the very angry face of Thomas Manns appeared. He lashed out at you, tossing you through the air. You hit the ground with a grunt, your phone leaving your hand as Dean yelled your name on the other end.

You scrambled for your knuckles, but they were too far from you as you struggled to get to your feet. However, Manns was faster. He took hold of you and fear entered your gut. You knew your warding protected you from being possessed, but nothing could stop him from killing you.

You fought as Mann threw you into the water. The coldness shocked you immediately as you struggled for breath. Swimming to the surface, phantom hands pulled you back under. You kicked out at nothing as you tried your hardest to break the surface. When you finally got a breath of air, Manns was there. In his hands was a knife that you were positive he used to injure his wife before drowning her in the very lake.

Your brain struggled to remember a banishing spell Rowena had taught you, but it was too cold and the fear was overwhelming. As Manns went for you again, his hands freezing your blood, you finally heard the shouts of Sam and Dean. Manns tried to pull you down again, but Dean arrived at the shore.

“Hey, Old McDonald!” he shouted. “Hands off!” Dean raised his shotgun and fired. The salt hit Manns and then entered your shoulder. You shouted as the ghost disappeared and then Dean was running through the murky water to get to you. You weakly met him halfway, tossing your arm around him. “I got you,” he said in your ear.

“Ouch,” you whined as your shoulder bled. Dean hauled you back onto the shore and checked you over, pulling your jacket aside to see the wound. It wasn’t deep and the salt wouldn’t do any permanent damage.

“Sorry,” he said, “hard to aim from that distance.”

“Thanks for the save,” you said as Sam wrapped his blazer around your shoulders, “but next time? Let’s make sure that the salt is accompanied by tequila.” Dean smiled down at you and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

--------

The last thing to do was salt and burn the body of Thomas Manns.

You leaned against a nearby tombstone as Sam and Dean dug up the grave of Manns. “Who knew grave robbing was going to bite us in the ass one day?” Dean asked, tossing his shovel down.

“It’s technically not grave robbing when we salt and burn bones,” Sam said from inside the grave. “We’re not taking anything.”

“Oh, well that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

“Sam,” you said, gaining his attention. The younger Winchester looked at you and you tossed him Melinda’s locket. “Better safe than sorry,” you said and he tossed it into the coffin.

Sam had wrapped up your shoulder before heading to the cemetery in your respective vehicles. You watched as they soaked the bones with lighter fluid and then Dean lit the matches and dropped them into the pit. The grave was set ablaze and you finally relaxed.

Sam and Dean stood over the burning bones, watching it with the same calmness as they did with everything. Rowena had said that they were becoming numb to the idea of monsters, but you didn’t think she was right. Sam and Dean weren’t numb, they were just used to the ugliness of the world and knew how to process the emotions that came with it.

Even in the short amount of time you had known them, you realized there was a reason Angels watched over them. The Winchesters were what the world needed and you had only wished that you had known them when your parents had died. Dean’s eyes flickered to yours over the flames and he nodded to you. You sighed, offering him a nod of your own. Whether you saw him again after this, he was going to be leaving your mind any time soon.

-------

You said goodbye to the boys at the entrance to the graveyard. Giving Sam a big hug, you said, “Don’t hesitate to call, big guy.”

“I won’t,” he said, stepping out of your hug. “Tell Rowena thank you for me.”

“I will,” you promised with a smile. He squeezed your shoulder once more before heading to the Impala to wait for his brother. Dean approached you, his hands in his pockets.

“So, this is goodbye?”

“For now,” you said. Dean smiled, awkwardly staring down at his boots. You rolled your eyes and grabbed him by his jacket. He fell into you and didn’t waste any time in connecting his lips to yours. His hands went into your hair as you gripped him tight. You sighed into the kiss, trying to memorize every touch and caress from Dean Winchester.

He pulled back for a second before kissing you again and then once more. You smiled up at him. “Are you gonna call me?” he asked, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“Maybe,” you said, “only if you need my help.”

“Well, I’ll need something,” he said with a smile. You rolled your eyes but mimicked the smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet, Winchester,” you said. “I’ll see you around.” You reached up and kissed him one more time, letting your lips linger on his for just a bit longer before pulling away. You waved to him as you got in your car and drove away.

Dean watched after you, feeling like you would keep your word and he would be seeing you very soon. He waited until your taillights were out of sight before joining his brother in the car. “Sammy, I think I just found my future wife.”

Sam snorted, “Great, maybe Cas can officiate,” he joked.

“Officiate what?” Sam and Dean jumped at the sudden voice. Turning around, Castiel was sitting in the back seat of the Impala, looking between the brothers.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean yelled, trying to get his heart rate down.

“Sorry,” Cas said and then looked at Sam who just burst out laughing. “Am I missing something?”

“I’ll fill you in on the way,” Sam said.

“On the way where?” Castiel asked, confused. Dean revved the engine and hit the gas.

“We’re going after a girl, I got a date.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you #Dean x you #Dean Winchester x reader #Sam winchester #castiel #hunter!reader #rowena #spn imagines #supernatural #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural imagine

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checkurwindow · 3 years

Text

we can’t do this

Book: Open Heart

Warning: one or two swears, lots of angst. Rating: General Pairing: Ethan x F!MC Word Count: 2500+ Author’s note: Sequel to ‘denial’. I’d advise you to read the first part here before reading this to avoid any confusion. More notes about this fic is in my reblog. While you’re at it, take a look at my masterlist!

“We wish you a merry Christmas...”

The words trailed off her lips, almost soft enough to be drowned out by the sound of her boots crunching against the snow. It was uncharacteristically quiet for her.

Her hand lightly brushed against the railing next to her, quickly retracting back when her nerves registered the low temperature of the surface. The sudden movement made a lump of snow that had previously sat calmly on top of the railing to fall to the ground before her feet.

Another clump fell, this time many meters further, the sound of it meeting the river below the bridge where she stood disrupted the short period of calmness that washed over her for the first time in quite a while.

The cold was starting to numb her fingers, making them feel stiff and frozen; though she was more distracted by the fallen snow that had unsurprisingly seeped through the thin layer of clothes she was wearing, which were now painfully scrubbing against her clammy skin.

“...we wish you a merry Christmas…”

The sky hung above her like a blackout curtain, the stars nearly invisible behind a thick layer of clouds. Surroundings only dimly illuminated by the faulty streetlights that lined either side of the road, she focused her vision on the small clouds of air that escaped her mouth with each shuddering breath in between each line of the song.

The song wouldn’t, couldn’t leave her mind, always lingering at the back of her head, even though Christmas was long over. If one would consider a week long, that is.

She paused longer this time before continuing the next line. Bringing her soaked sleeve to her face and rubbing her stinging eyes, she tried to clear her vision from the tears she’d been struggling more and more to hold back the further she strayed from the city.

“...we wish you a merry Christmas…”

She leaned against the metal bars in front of her, the only things preventing her from plunging into the rushing river below.

Amid the peaceful environment she isolated herself in, she could hear the sound of the people in their homes not too far away. The cheers and celebrations from the people celebrating the new year with friends, family, the people they love.

Imagining it like it was taking place right in front of her eyes, she saw how everyone stood close together, bright sparklers in one hand, bubbling champagne in the other. She swore she could hear their laughter and drunken giggles. She smiled as she thought of them shamelessly slurring their favourite songs at the top of their lungs next to the old karaoke machine they only got out of the closet for times like these, her favourite times.

But she wasn’t them. Hell, she wasn’t even the one awkwardly lingering at the corner of the room, envious of all the fun everyone else was having with their friends but too afraid to join in. No, she was standing there, in the cold, with nobody by her side.

Tugging on the green leather jacket, the only thing she brought with her, she brought it closer to her chest. She was sure that it was the one thing she could never bring herself to let go of. It was the one thing of his that she still held on to, and yet it still failed to protect her, to give her warmth, a tiny feeling of not being so alone in the numbing weather. She laughed at the irony of that damn jacket being the polar opposite of what he was to her.

A glance at the watch on her wrist that was half-hidden by her sleeve told her that it was 23:54, 6 minutes until midnight, a point in time that symbolised a new beginning for so many people, but was just yet another moment that had lost its spark to her.

“...and a happy...new...year…”

Her voice gave in, barely managing to pronounce those 5 little words, and her legs soon followed.

With her back now turned to face the barrier, she let herself slide down as slowly and gently as her jittery legs would allow--which admittedly, wasn’t a lot anymore. She more or less plummeted into the snow on the rough floor beneath her soles. And though her breath was caught in her throat for a moment as she felt the full extent of her body’s impact on the bitter cold, there wasn’t any movement to indicate she was getting up anytime soon.

A tear fell from her eyes. She didn’t feel it, she didn’t feel a lot, but she could still register that it was hot in contrast to the seemingly never-ending shower of snow that slowly fell on and around her. Another tear slipped out and she mindlessly watched as tear after tear dripped down her cheeks and fell onto the thick bed of snow.

Before she knew it, her face felt warmer than before, the wet tracks down her face warming her despite the sobs that shook her body more than the cold ever had. She shut her eyes as tightly as her weakening body would allow her, it was a desperate attempt to stop and she knew it. And so she let go. She let the shaking and the sobs and the cold take over, letting her legs go limp and fully enclose themselves in the snow, her hands fell to her side instead of tightly clenching them inside her pockets. She let herself be exposed to whatever poor soul was roaming the streets on the outskirts of town at that time of the night and had the displeasure of witnessing the in the state she was in.

Bells rang loudly in the air, signalling the start of the new year. The formerly pitch-black sky behind her was now filled with the loud and colourful explosions in the form of New Year fireworks. She didn’t want to start the new year just yet, still too caught up in everything that happened last year. She only wished she could turn back time.

The last time she saw him was bad, horrible, but that feeling wasn’t as bad as the one she was feeling right now.

The last time she saw him was...so long ago. At least that’s what it felt like. In reality, something she wasn’t too sure she was even apart of anymore, it had barely been half a year, yet it felt like an eternity ago.

As the fireworks died out, so did she. It was like the memories of him were slowly moving past her along with the previous year.

She started walking back to Donahue’s, simultaneously the best and worst place for her to be headed at that moment. On one hand, everyone was there, all her friends, colleagues, and superiors from edenbrook were at the local bar ringing in the new year. It had become somewhat of a tradition, the forever busy doctors came together and were a family for that blissful little period of time, drinking, chatting, dancing the night away. She smiled at the thought of her friends making fools of themselves and being as rowdy as can be.

It was a long way back into town, but the freezing weather and the adrenaline and numbness wearing off were a more than helpful incentive for her to hurry into the packed establishment and warm herself with the burning feeling of all sorts of alcohol sliding down the back of her throat.

By the time she walked in, her tears had dried and she managed to conjure up as convincing of a smile as a person who had just broken down at the side of the road could. Her friends welcomed her with open arms and shot glasses full of questionable liquids, minds not focused enough to wonder and ask why she had only stumbled in well after the clock had struck twelve, much like an opposite-cinderella.

It was just after 1:45 in the morning. Of the 8 that were originally there, only her and Sienna were left, the others had gone back home not too long ago but Sienna insisted on staying with her.

She had been silent for a while now, unlike the rest of the bar. Many patrons had gone but the ones that were left looked to be far from it. She sat silently as Sienna told stories about almost anything, she had been loosely paying attention. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested, she really was, but her night hadn’t been the most celebratory.

It wasn’t looking like the night could get worse than it already had, but then the door opened, the bell at the top ringing and the swoosh of the door closing behind them clear. The same couldn’t be said for the countless drunk Bostonians who had come and gone throughout the night.

A few seconds passed and firm footsteps cut through the chatter of the crowd before her intoxicated mind had registered that someone walked in, and it took even longer for her to look up and realise that he had walked in.

It was barely half a second after it dawned on her that it was actually him that had just entered her line of sight and not another one of those dream scenarios she experienced in the weeks after he left.

In the haze of the moment, she wasn’t sure who looked over first but they had caught each other’s eye. She swore she saw him physically stop in his tracks and freeze up at the sight of her, and suddenly she felt more intoxicated than she had been all night, like she got high just off the sight of him, if that made any sense.

It was like the most cliche fairytale dream she had ever seen; the room seemed to fade away and a spotlight shined down on the two of them, like two lost lovers reunited at last. And if she were honest, that’s all she hoped for, to be in that situation where she could run into his arms, his only-for-her warm embrace that she couldn’t get enough of, and just melt into him after being apart for so long.

Instead, she settled for staying put and pretending like her mind wasn’t racing, with the exception of the glances she sneaked in when she thought he wasn’t looking. But as her luck would have it, he was, every single time.

Sienna got up to leave, advising her to at the very least say a friendly goodbye to him before she left, if nothing else. She reluctantly nodded her head. Thinking she had everyone fooled that she was fine after he left was a stretch, especially when it came to Sienna Trinh. It was almost like she had a sixth sense for spotting it.

She stood up and walked over to the bar, careful to steer her vision away from where he sat at the very end of the bar, a glass of his usual top-shelf whiskey in his palms. Ordering one last drink before she faced her fears, she walked over to him, looking in his direction but not quite meeting his eye.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied in his usual toneless voice.

“Let’s sit over there,” she said, “I’d like to talk.”

He nodded, following her to an empty corner booth at the very back, almost fully secluded from the rest of the room.

They walked, sat down, and stared at each other in silence, unsure of what to say to the other.

“You went away for what? A month or two?” She lied, she knew exactly how long it had been. Hell, if she really concentrated, she probably knew it down to the second.

“Something along the lines of that, I can’t really remember,” he lied too. The guilt that was constantly eating away at him made it damn near impossible for him to forget.

That voice, his goddamned voice. It felt so good to hear his voice again, like it set off delayed New Year’s fireworks inside of her, and the bastard didn’t have the slightest clue that he had that kind of effect on her.

She let out something of a cross between a laugh and a scoff. Ethan, not being able to hear her inner thoughts, furrowed his brows and his hands started fidgeting, inching closer to her glass, concerned that she had drunk a little too much.

Lost in her own thoughts about him, she almost didn’t hear him when he finally broke the silence hanging eerily in the air between them.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you too,” she replied back, almost too quickly.

Surpassing any expectations she held regarding what would happen when he walked in, he hastily leaned over the table separating them and pressed his lips against hers. Her body tensed at first, but eventually returned the kiss.

Are you kidding me? Her head practically screamed at her internally. That was all it took? For him to say that he misses her and just like that she’d forgive him and forget about everything that had happened that past year?

Finally making a logical decision, she pulled back, drawing in a breath from the loss of contact despite being the cause of it.

“Ethan,” she breathed out, all the air suddenly disappearing from her lungs, “we can’t do this.”

The look of hurt and pain that showed on his face almost made her want to take back what she had just said, but she knew better than that, “I can’t do this. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“Rookie…” He trailed off in a pleading tone.

“I begged you,” she recalled that dreadful moment in time, forever branded into her memories.

“I’m sorry. Please, I-”

“Why did you leave me?” She said bluntly despite her quivering lips and watering eyes.

“They needed my help an-” he tried to make things better, soothe her conscience, and at the same time his too.

“Why did you leave me?” Never in a million years did she ever think that Ethan Ramsey, world-renowned internal medicine doctor, would have commitment fucking issues.

She had hoped. She wasn’t religious but she hoped to god that he would be different with her, that it would be different with him, that it would be different despite him. It never did happen, no matter how much she tried to convince herself that it did. Maybe that’s why she had broken down that much after he left, because it meant that they weren’t good enough, that she wasn’t good enough for him to want to stay and try, maybe that’s why she couldn’t bear to risk it by being together with him again.

Maybe that’s why she stood up and cupped the now tearful Ethan’s face in her hands and placed a parting kiss on his lips, as he had done the same for her so long ago, muttering a soft apology and a soulful goodbye. Then she let go. She let her arm drop back down to her side and walked out while she was still thinking clearly enough to not go back on the promises she made to herself.

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