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eideticmemory · 3 years

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TWO GHOSTS IV | MATTHEW GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right? Read PART 3.

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.9k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

Love Affair - UMI

Debt - Eliza McLamb

Sometimes Sunshine - Seasalt

A nonstop flight, from New York City to Los Angeles, is three hours long. On a good day. And May 16 was supposed to be a good day. A great day. The best day of Matthew’s life. He tries not to think about it, not to reminisce too often. About the way he walked through the airport with a little jog, a little pep in his step. And the way he smiled through security, and constantly checked behind him as if you would magically appear. The roses he bought for you in a gift shop near the terminal.

See, a nonstop flight from New York City to Los Angeles is three hours long. On a good day. But Matthew wasn’t looking for three hours. He wasn’t asking you for a few hours of your time, or even a good day. He was asking you for a lifetime.

And that day, he had booked you two a connecting flight that totaled over six hours, with a two hour layover in Colorado. There was a little ice cream shop in the Denver airport, and they served blueberry ice cream. Matthew remembered it was your favorite, and saved just enough money to get your tickets and an entire pint. He couldn’t shake the thought of flying across the country with you, seeing a few small parts of it at a time. A few small parts at a time, until someday, you two had seen the whole world together.

He bought a blanket for you and, while waiting at the terminal, he sat it in the seat beside him, keeping it warm for when you would arrive. He had a little itinerary written in his notes app, and so far everything was going to plan. He had a bouquet of roses in his lap, and he killed time by looking up engagement rings online.

He didn’t start to worry until maybe, an hour, an hour and a half before the plane was set to depart. He called you, just to check in, and it went straight to voicemail. But he was still hopeful. There was very little that could destroy his peace that day. His hope. His happiness.

He tries not to think about it. The way the seconds inched by like a caterpillar moving across the limb of a tree. Slowly, painfully. The way his hope dwindled, and dwindled, and the insane amount of times he heard,

Hey, it’s [y/n]! Leave a message!

He can’t think about it anymore. The way he spents those six hours alone. Bawling his way through flight after flight, and eating a pint of blueberry ice cream by himself. He spent hours on his own. And weeks, months, hell, he spent years thinking that maybe, just maybe, you would find your way back to him.That the universe would magically correct itself.

And you’d come home.

Fifteen.

It took him fifteen years to find you again. It took fifteen years for the universe to bring you back together, and Matthew spent the first five thinking it was all some really shitty nightmare. It took him fifteen years to get close to you, to hear you say his name again, to get inside of you again.

And he managed to fuck it all up in a matter of twenty-four hours.

His body is paralyzed. His mind is moving a mile a minute, and he can’t take his eyes off the ceiling. His chest feels tight, like he can’t breathe properly. He knows he should not feel sorry for himself. That he, alone, is responsible for this wreck. But he can’t seem to shake it. He can’t seem to move.

“What the hell did I do?”

A knock at your door wakes you up. You don’t remember falling asleep, you don’t know how you were able to. But now, it’s all you want to do. You want to stay in the bed, in a state of unconsciousness and dreariness where you can’t remember your mistakes. But someone is knocking. Incessantly, loudly. And they won’t stop.

You roll out of bed, and drag your body across the floor. Zombie like, your shoulders are slouched, your eyes are hooded. Your feet shuffle along the floor like they’re weighted to the hardwood. Your footsteps are slow, hesitant. You don’t know what you’ll do if Matthew is on the other side of that door. You just . . . you don’t know. The very thought of it is making your stomach churn, and you suddenly feel very, very nauseous. The banging continues, and it’s as someone is using all their force. Like they’d break the door down if they could.

“[y/n]!”

You instantly relax at the sound of her voice. You speed up, hurry to the door, “[y/n] [y/l/n]! I know you can hear me! Open up!”

The door swings open and you catch her with her fist in the air, ready to strike the door once again. She’s pissed, doesn’t try to hide it, couldn’t hide it even if she tried.

“Good morning,” you rasp.

“It’s one in the afternoon,” she corrects you, pushing her way into your home.

“Please,” you say, shutting the door behind her. “Come on in.”

“Y’know,” Everest starts, clasping her hands in front of her as a wild look graces her face. “You’ve always been one of the good ones . . . hell, you’ve been . . . great, if that’s the word. You’re better than the others. The ones that really write my checks. But, um, you’re testing me, [y/n].”

You don’t even have to ask.

“Now, if there’s is some magical relationship blooming, or a monumental disaster about to strike, then you need to tell me now, so I can fix it. I’m a fixer, you know, that’s what I do. So, why are you making this so hard for me?”

“If it . . .” you clear your throat, cross your arms as you stare at her feet. “If it makes you feel any better, um, this is hard for me, too.” You attempt to joke. But you just sound sad.

“Yeah?” she raises her eyebrows. “So hard that you come out of his hotel in tears? And what the hell were you doing over there anyway? Was there a plan? Did he call you to come over?”

“I don’t see how any of this matters.”

“It matters because I woke up at seven in the morning — on a saturday — to all sorts of choas and speculation, and picture evidence of you doing exactly what I told you not to do!”

“Yeah, well, I’m a idiot. Don’t worry, that’s been established.”

“The internet is undefeated. Okay? People are . . . great at making up stories, making assumptions. And as your publicist, I need to know the whole story, the real story, before it gets twisted even further.”

You sigh, and walk over to the couch. As you sit down, you pull a pillow into your lap for just a little bit of comfort. “What do you mean the whole story?”

“Wrong choice of words,” Everest says. “The important parts of the whole story. Like are you dating him? Are you fucking him? If so, how long has this been going on?”

You can’t make eye contact as you speak, “I . . . fucked . . . him . . . a few times, a long time ago . . .”

She nods. She motions at you to continue, “. . . And?”

“And . . .” you breathe out. “I fucked him, again. Recently.”

“Last night? At the hotel?”

“Last night . . . not at the hotel.”

“Sooo, when? — Oh, my God,” she lowers her eyebrows at you, purses her lips. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” you nod. It’s a shameful nod. “You know they say there’s no sex like sex in a dressing room.”

“They also say polka dots are making a comeback, you believe everything you hear?”

“Sorry.”

“So you fuck him in the dressing room, and?”

“And . . . we go our seperate ways . . . again. And, then I realize that’s a lot easier said then done, so I . . . I go for him. I go for him . . .” Everest can hear the way your voice is cracking, the way the weight on your shoulder is slowly pushing the air out of your lungs. “And, uh,” you clear your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, it didn’t work out. Hence the . . . photos of me crying, I guess.”

“Mm,” she nods, crosses her arms. “And the other girl?”

You freeze, cut your head up at her. “What other girl?”

“What do you mean? The girls that came out right behind you. Same sad face? Kinda got a Natalie Portman look to her?”

“I . . .” you shake your head. “I didn’t know she came out after me, I must have left by then.”

“Who is she?”

You give her a shrug, “I don’t know.”

“His girlfriend?”

You huff, “Guess so.”

“Ah, so, some people online actually got it right. Huh, look at that.”

“Look, if the point of all of this is to keep me away from him, you can stop now. I don’t plan on seeing him ever again.”

The doorbell rings, as if on queue, and Everest instantly gives you a look. “What?” you ask. “I don’t know who it is. Your guess is as good as mine.”

She scoffs at you, and turns around, marching towards the door with a certain determination. She pulls it open, and immediately puts her hand on her hip. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Oh,” Matthew gasps. “Uh, oh . . . fuck . . . sorry, I must — I must have the wrong house.”

“You sure do, Romeo.”

You stand from the couch, your face laced with shock and anger and confusion, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Don’t engage, [y/n], what the hell?” Everest interjects.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “How the hell did you find my house?” you direct at Matthew.

“Oh, what?” he scoffs. “Like you’re the only one around here who can play stalker?”

“Go home, Matthew.”

“Five minutes. I’m asking you for five minutes. You can time me if you want.”

“Go back to California, Matthew.”

“Look, I know I fucked up. I know, but —“

“Do you?” you snap. You take slow, calculated steps towards the front door, and your voice is lowering to a rumble. “Do you know that you fucked up? Because, if you did, if you truly knew just how badly you fucked up, then you would leave. You would get on a fucking plane and leave, and you would never come back!”

The way Matthew is looking at you right now.Like he can’t fathom what’s happening. Like he is trying his very best not to feel defeated. “Can I . . . can I just —“

“No.” Everest says. “You heard her. Fuck off, string bean.”

You walk away, retiring to your kitchen. You try to keep yourself busy, but you’re trembling like mad and you can barely breathe.

Matthew leaves. You know because you hear the door close. Everest comes into the kitchen, and you feel stuck. Frozen to the spot and position you’re in. Your back is to her, and you can’t begin to imagine or guess what look is on her face right now.

She’s quiet for a moment, eyeing you with her arms crossed at her chest. She leans against the entryway and sighs, “Tell me more.”

Ramona walks up your driveway, and it isn’t until she looks up from her phone that she sees Matthew. She notices him, and he notices her, and Ramona tries to act like it didn’t happen, But when Matthew opens his mouth to speak, she blows past him, “I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“I know,” he says instantly. He is well aware, but it doesn’t stop him from running in front of her, blocking her from your front door. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but . . . please, can you give this [y/n]?”

Matthew holds out an envelope. It’s bright red, your name is printed on the front of it in his handwriting.

Ramona glances at it, but she quickly glances back up, “Do I look like a mailman to you?”

“She won’t take it from me. She won’t talk to me. She might take it from you.”

“Yeah, or she might fire me for even taking it from you in the first place.”

“[y/n] wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s usually pretty amazing, except for when you’re around, or when you’re brought up, or when you’re fucking with her head. You make her a different person, dude. I want no part of it.”

He nods, looks down, “Fair enough . . . I’ll put it in her mailbox.”

“Yeah, why don’t you do that?” She shrugs, and she continues on by him.

“Damn . . .” Everest says. “You ghosted the guy at the airport?”

“Basically,” you shrug.

“Well, fuck,” she scoffs. “That is some serious great gatsby shit.”

“Yeah, we’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.”

The doorbell rings, and you both turn your heads sharply towards the entrance. “You don’t think he would come back, do you?” Everest asks as she walks to the door.

“Well, he never listens much to anything I say, but he’s probably a little scared of you.”

She laughs, and when she opens the door, she tells you it’s only Ramona, who walks in quickly, looking for you. She gives you a soft smile, and joins you in the kitchen as Everest follows close behind.

“So,” Ramona pips. “What’s the game plan?”

“You and [y/n] come to my office in the city and we’ll figure it out. Hey, did you pass him on your way out?” Everest asks her.

“Uh, who?”

“Matthew,” you tell her. “He was just here, you didn’t see him?”

“He was here?” Ramona questions, putting on a look of bewilderment. “When?”

“Just now. He left right before you got here.” Everest explains.

“Holy shit,” Ramona says. “What’d he want?”

“[y/n].”

“So,” you interrupt. “Your office? Now? We can go ahead and get going.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Everest stops you in your tracks, throwing her hands up. “Not so fast, you . . . you need to shower first.”

You look down at your outfit. You’re still dressed in Claire’s clothes and they’re completely disheveled. You haven’t showered or brushed your teeth since the last time you had sex, and the very thought makes you feel dirty. You look exactly how you feel. You sigh, “Fair enough.”

“We’ll wait in the car,” Everest nods, and motions to Ramona to follow her.

“What are we gonna do with her?” she says to Ramona as soon as they’re out of the house and walking down the driveway.

“I don’t know, she’s my boss . . . I can only help so much.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve known [y/n] for a long time now, and she’s never needed saving. But, something tells me we’re going to have to keep her away from this one.”

“From Matthew?” Ramona stops in her tracks.

“Well,” Everest stops, turns around to look at her. “She’s a grown woman. She’ll do what she wants. But, that zombie in there,” she motions to the house. “Who walks around the city in her pajamas for a man, is not [y/n]. Atleast, not the world’s [y/n]. People love her. She’s one of the few celebrities that’s kind and passionate and isn’t problematic. I’m just being proactive here.”

“Proactive?”

“She says she’s done with him. She told him she’s done with him. Now, we will just keep her on that path. Few months later, she and the rest of the world forget this ever happened and everything is back to normal.”

“You sound very sure of all of this.”

“Yeah, well, I like my schedules and I happen to like [y/n] so I better be sure. Come on, our ride’s further down the driveway,” Everest continues walking. While Ramona is stuck in place.

“Hey! Uh,” Ramona stutters, suddenly, loudly, causing Everest to turn around once again. “I think I left my water bottle in the house. I’ll meet you in the car?”

“Okay,” Everest eyes her. “It’s just around the corner. And tell [y/n] to hurry up.”

“I will!”

Ramona waits for Everest to continue down the driveway, and when she’s just far enough, Ramona turns around and acts as if she’s walking back up to your front door. When she’s positive Everest has made it to the car, she runs over to your mailbox. She opens it slowly, so it doesn’t creak as loud. The bright red envelope is the only thing in there, and she takes it out quickly. She looks at it for a moment, asks herself what the hell she’s doing. But she doesn’t have time to think right now, you could walk out at any moment. She closes your mailbox, shoves the envelope in her bag, and walks down the driveway.

Matthew Gubler, himself, is a disruption in the space-time continuum.

When you start tallying up the days, it just doesn’t make sense. Some days, every second feels like it’s crawling by. You’ll be in class, at the head of the class, and you’re surprised when your lesson plan ends atleast ten minutes early. And some days, time moves too fast. You find yourself running late for things, events, important people or things, which isn’t like you.

You call it Matthew Brain, and you keep that term to yourself. It happened fifteen years ago. And it’s happening now. It’s a slow, steady descent back to earth, back to reality. Time isn’t real with him, and you think that’s the reason you can’t remember much of your senior year. It’s a rush, a high to even be near him, and it’s the ultimate collapse when he’s gone. Really gone. Out of the life, for the second time.

Time has reset.

And what feels like one month with Matthew Gubler, only turns out to be four days.

You’re on a journey back to earth, and you haven’t even reached the bottom yet. It’s coming, but not now, you thought. You have time to prepare. And this time you’ll be ready. Ready to hit rock bottom, and spend another fifteen years digging yourself out. You have time, you’re sure of it.

Then Ramona comes into your office. She notices you crying, and you have to twirl around in your chair while you wipe the tears away. “Shit, Ro,” you try to laugh. “What’s up?”

“Uh, your afternoon class?” she reminds you. “With the girls at the community center? . . . What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

A lot. Not anything that you can really talk to Ramona about. And each day is something different. Like today, you’re feeling like a fucking idiot. You feel unbelievably stupid and lost and question why anyone in their right mind would choose to learn anything from you. You feel defeated, and you can’t get the look on that girl’s face out of your head.

You turn to Ramona with a soft smile, “I’m fine. I forgot about the class, thank you for reminding me. I just have to grab a few things before I go.”

“Well,” she sets her bag down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. She takes a seat in the other, “You’ve got some time, I haven’t even called the ride yet.”

You eye her, suspicious furrowing your eyebrows, “Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she seems genuinely confused.

“Sit there and feel sorry for me. I don’t need pity. I’m alright.”

“I’ve never seen you cry before . . . I’m just worried.”

“And I appreciate that, kid, I really do. But you don’t have to be, alright?”

“. . . okay.” she shrugs.

“Anyways,” you change the subject. “How much time do I have until I’ve gotta be out of here?”

“Um, I can call you a ride now, it should be here in about, ten minutes?” Ramona pulls her phone from her pocket, and holds it up as she dials the number.

“Sounds good,” you nod.

She leaves the room to make the call, and when she closes the door, you release a big sigh. As if you’d been holding it in the whole time she was here. You get up from your chair, and walk around the desk. Not paying attention, you stub your toe into the adjacent chair, so hard that the chair falls to the ground.

“Ow! Son of a b—“ your yelp is cut off by a painful groan, and your reach down to hold your foot. You look out in front of you, and Ramona’s entire bag has spilled out across the floor. “Fuck,” you mumble and instantly begin to clean it up.

It’s bright red. And it sticks out like a sore thumb. You reach over to grab it, but only because you recognized his hand writing. You run your fingers over your name, and your head is starting to hurt from the amount of pure confusion.

The door swings open, “Okay, they’ll be here in fifteen, but you have some wiggle room —“ Ramona stops when she sees the item in your hand.

You stand up straight, look her in the eye. She’s shaking. She’s trembling, and there are already tears in her eyes.

“I . . . can explain,” she says.

“Then explain.”

“Matthew . . . wanted me to — to give that to you.”

“When?”

“When, um, when he was at your house on Saturday.”

“You said you didn’t see him. You acted like you didn’t even know he had been there. You took this from him?” your voice goes up at slight octave. Not by much, but it stills cuts Ramona like a knife.

“No! No, I didn’t take it from him. I told him to put it in the mailbox. Which he did, but then I . . .”

“You? You what? Went into my mailbox and took it? Are you kidding?”

“It was crazy! I know! It was absolutely insane of me! But—But Everest was saying all these things about protecting your image, and being proactive, I just wanted to help. I thought —“

“Everest? Everest knew about this?”

“No. No. I took it when she wasn’t looking, and I just, I thought maybe if you didn’t know about the letter, you would be able to move on, y’know? Heal.”

“That was not your decision to make.”

“I know. [y/n], I’m so sorry. I can’t — I can’t even begin —“

“You’re right,” you interrupt her. “You can’t.”

You look down at the envelope in your hands, and shake your head. “God, Ro, I can barely look at you right now.”

“I’m sorry . . .”

You nod.

“I’ll . . . go wait for the car,” she nods, sadly and apologetically exiting the room.

You close the door behind her, and press your back against it. You slide to the floor, and bring the evelope close to your face. The day is not over, and you may need all night to take this in. You are not mentally prepared for whatever is in your hands, but, you rip it open anyway.

There’s a thin piece of paper inside. You pick it up, and it feels so frail that you worry it might rip. You set it on top of the envelope, and examine it. Your eyes dot over the page, until you realize, it’s not a letter at all.

American Airlines

[y/n] [y/l/n]

Seat: 14A

May Sixteenth, 2002

It’s a plane ticket. From fifteen years ago.

One you’ve never seen.

One you’ve never touched.

And now that it’s in your hands, you wish you never knew it existed.

#mgg #esny #tg #mine

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lovclyboncs · 3 years

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Everything I Wanted (Todoroki x Reader) Soulmate Au

inspired by Everything I Wanted by Billie Eilish.

TW! Mentions of contemplated suicide and insecure thought that could be triggering.

soulmate Au! Where your soulmate tattoo appears on your wrist after you touch your soulmate for the first time.

F!reader x Todoroki

F!reader x Bakugou (brotp)

Plot: the reader is Todoroki’s soulmate, but he doesn’t want to let some mystical ink on his wrist dictate who he should love, so he rejects reader as his soulmate. This story is about how reader first reacted to the rejection and how slowly reader lets herself heal, but what the universe wants it will get.

Part two out now!

This is my very first post on here! I hope you guys enjoy!

I had a dream I got everything I wanted Not what you’d think And if I’m bein’ honest It might’ve been a nightmare To anyone who might care

Every night you’d wake up drenched in sweat, panting as you tried to calm your breathing, tears staining your rosy cheeks. Every night you had the same nightmare, you wished it was just your mind overthinking, but sadly it wasn’t. Even in your dreams you’d replay that memory in your head over and over again.

“ I’m sorry (y/l/n), but even if your name is tattooed on my wrist and even if fate says we are meant to be together, I can’t return your feelings. My heart belongs to another. I’m truly sorry if I’m not what you expected as a soulmate.” He told you with nothing but sincerity in his voice. The sad and hurtful truth.

“I-It’s okay. I understand Todoroki-san. Don’t worry about me I’ll be fine” You said holding in the need to cry, and the need to let the crawling feeling in your throat free, to scream and yell how once again this world was nothing but cruel.

He gave a slight nod of his head before walking away from you. His other half as written by the universe and written on your left wrist.

You looked down at the floor clenching your fists and look up once again to see him standing with the rest of the A-1 class who was chatting as they waited for class to resume. A lone tear raced down your face.

“I’ll be fine” You whispered to yourself.

‘I have to be’ you thought.

As a young girl all you ever did was fantasize about your soulmate. You thought it would be a dream come true for you when you would finally get to meet them. You would get your happily ever after like in those princess tales you’d love to read before going to bed. You thought you’d have the perfect white picket fence life to look forward to.

As a young foolish girl you thought life would be easy.

you didn’t know your parents were going to sacrifice their lives to save others.

you didn't know that you weren’t quirkless and that your parents had been using ‘vitamins’ to suppress your quirk because of how dangerous it was when your emotions went haywire.

you didn't know that it wouldn’t get better contrary to what your therapist would tell you.

you didn’t know that you weren’t going to make as many friends as you had hoped you would.

and what hurt the most was that you didn’t know your soulmate wasn’t going to be your knight in shining armor like you had hoped.

Thought I could fly (fly) So I stepped off the Golden, mm Nobody cried (cried, cried, cried, cried) Nobody even noticed I saw them standing right there Kinda thought they might care (might care, might care)

It had been a month since Todoroki rejected you as his soulmate. You thought you could've gotten over it but as always it seemed like the universe wanted to punish you for just existing. You didn’t participate in class anymore, You made sure to cover your soulmate tattoo so that no one would accidentally look at it, you didn’t tare your gaze from the floor, you thought that it wouldn't hurt as much if you didn't have to look at him, but then the rumors started spreading and then the rumors weren't so much of a rumor.

“ Todoroki and Momo made it official!”

“ I knew they were soulmates, I mean just look at how perfect they look together.”

“ Did you see the picture Momo posted of their soulmate tattoos? I'm so jealous!”

It was all too much for you, so you ran and you ran until you found yourself on the rooftop of U.A. and you let the tears you were holding in fall.

You let the monster crawling at your throat free, letting yourself scream, letting yourself voice the hurt you had been bottling up.

why weren't you good enough for anyone?

not good enough for your parents to live for, they would rather die for others than to live for you.

not good enough for your classmates, they barley talked to you or invited you to places like they did with each other.

not good enough for your soulmate to want you. hell he’d rather cover you up than let people know fate had chosen you for him, were you so disgusting that you weren't even worth mentioning as the soulmate he rejected?

“stop” you whispered to your thoughts.

“ please just stop” your voice sounded hoarse.

“I just wanted everything to stop. To end” you said louder to no one, because no one was there, because no one cared.

you slowly walked towards the edge of the roof and looked down at the ground.

your eyes were void of anything, they looked empty.

shakily you put one foot out into the nothingness, into the only thing that could stop you from letting the pain overwhelm you. you closed your eyes ready to fly.

‘This world is so cruel and yet so beautiful’ you thought before letting your eyes snap open and gasping.

your eyes regained a light and tears began to swell once again, you let yourself fall backwards away from the edge of the building.

Yes the world was cruel and life wasn't fair, but it was also beautiful. there was still so much you wanted to experience, still so much that would be worthwhile.

after sitting on the floor for what felt like hours, you heard the distance sound of the bell signaling the end of lunch. you slowly picked yourself of the ground and cleaned your tears with the sleeve of your uniform jacket.

you made your way back to class 1-A. you were the last one to walk in, and some of your classmates glanced up at you, but they didn’t say anything about your puffy red eyes, they didn’t ask why you weren’t at lunch, they didn’t ask how your day was going so far, they didn’t ask if you were okay.

because you were not okay.

you once again felt a heaviness in your chest.

you thought they would care at least a bit, they were heroes in training after all, yet it seemed like they hadn’t even noticed.

they hadn’t even noticed your absence and maybe they didn’t mind it in the slightest.

I had a dream I got everything I wanted But when I wake up, I see You with me

Maybe you were too wrapped up in your own mind or maybe you finally lost it, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how you ended up like this. Eating spicy noodles quietly with your class’ very own lord explosion murder sitting across from you.

If you were to ask Bakugou why he demanded you have lunch with him, he’d say it was because your dumbass face was the only one he could stand enough to willingly share his homemade noodles with, and if you were to ask him why he was sharing noodles in the first place, he would tell you to shut the hell up and just eat without questioning him.

What Bakugou would never admit is that when he was roaming the school grounds during lunch two weeks ago he saw you standing at the very edge. He stood frozen in place, not sure of what he could do, but before he could will himself to move he saw how you feel backwards and out of his sight. He knew why he froze because he remembered a comment he made to deku before they entered U.A. He obviously didn’t mean it, but seeing you so willingly to just dive of a building made something in him feel guilt for making such an insensitive comment even if it was to deku.

He really didn’t know you well. He knew that he had never actually seen your quirk in action though probably more than half of the class could relate to that since you never really used it. He knew pretty much that he didn’t know you at all and that unsettled him. Sure he wasn’t the most sociable guy or easiest to approach, but he at least knew a couple of things about each of his classmates friends.

So he decided to pay more attention to you, he noticed how you really didn’t talk to any of your classmates and how they wouldn’t try to include you in their conversations. He noticed you always walked with your head down not really looking at where you were going. He noticed the bags under your eyes making themselves more prominent. He noticed how sometimes when you would space out in class you’d be staring at the back of the class where the half and half bastard would sit. He became aware of your being but he still didn’t know how to approach you.

The opportunity came after an awkward encounter.

Everyone (or so you thought) had gone out to who knows where and like always you hadn’t been invited. You decided to train for a little while. You had been slowly progressing with being able to control your quirk, but after your conversation with Todoroki you were back at square one. Your emotions were a train wreck making it hard to control your quirk. Becoming frustrated with yourself you decided to call it a day but since you were sweaty you went to take a shower first. You forgot to take your clothes with you, and since you were by yourself in the dorms you didn’t think it would be that big of a deal if you ran to your room. Midway there you bumped into a wall that wasn’t there this morning. You looked up and there was Bakugou looking down at you.

‘Oh shit I’m going to die’ you thought but then you saw Bakugou frown as he looked directly at your uncovered wrist.

‘Shouto Todoroki’ Bakugou narrowed his eyes. He finally understood why you had been acting more closed off than usual, and maybe if you had looked a little harder you wouldve seen the understanding in them.

“Sor-” you began to say but he cut you off

“get dressed and meet me in the kitchen” he said before walking away.

After that day things changed for you. Who knew eating noodles in silence with an angry blonde could set you on your path to healing?

Every time you saw them holding hands you didn't have enough time to let yourself question what you could have done for that to be you.

“hey dumbass hurry up or I’ll kill you” the red eye blonde would yell at you once he noticed you lagging behind. Making you forget about the black ink on your wrist and making you worry about how bakugou was going to react to you getting a C- on the test he spent a whole afternoon helping you study for.

And you say, “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you Don’t wanna lie here, but you can learn to If I could change the way that you see yourself You wouldn’t wonder why you’re here, they don’t deserve you”

It was close to the end of the school year and if you were to say that much hadn’t changed you’d be lying.

thanks to practing your quirk with bakugou and him suggesting meditation to help you stay calm you were finally able to control your quirk enough to use it without fear around others.

Through him you also became friends with the rest of the bakusquad and they helped you warm up to the others.

all the second guessing and the comparing yourself to others didn’t cross your mind often anymore.

unbeknownst to you every time you peeled off the layers of insecuirty that held you back from expressing yourself bakugou would smile glad that you,just like him, could get passed the pain left by an unrequited soulmate bond.

also unbeknownst to you, as you began getting along with the rest of the class and opening up, he couldn’t help but be captivated by some of your quirks. How you would help the likes of denki study even when you weren’t better off yourself, how you were the only one who entertained Midoriya’s rambling and even added comentary.

He began to get to know you and he could see how the universe could’ve blessed him with a soulmate such as yourself. you were the complete opposite of what he was used to, the todoroki home wasn’t exactly the most affectionate.

He was seeing you bloom right before his eyes and all he could feel was guilt as he diverted his eyes to look at his left wrist.

‘Momo Yaoyorozu’

He softly caressed his thumb over the name and even with his soft touch the fake dark ink smuged.

He thought he had what he wanted.

He thought the universe had been wrong.

He thought it was for the best.

but as he saw you bickering with bakugou he found himself wondering what he could’ve done for that to be him, for you to be open with him like that.

he knew he was wrong but he was too far in to fix it.

If I knew it all then would I do it again? Would I do it again?

lastly Todoroki knew that even if you found it in yourself to forgive him, he still wouldn’t deserve you.

Thank you so much for reading this far if you did! I don’t know why I couldn’t get this out of my head and so here it is. Also I threw in an AOT reference to cope with the pain.

#mha x reader #todoroki shōto #todoroki x reader #todoroki angst #mha angst #anime angst #bakugou x reader #brotp #fanfic #oneshot #angst oneshot #billie eilish #songfic #soulmate #themes: unrequited #unreciprocated love #healing #fanart #strwbrrybratff

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years

Text

Oh, Calamity!

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Your death breaks Loki, and all he wants is for you to come back to him. Warnings: short, but pure angst; mentions of death and blood A/N: inspired by the song Oh, Calamity! by All Time Low. It’s written a bit different from usual style, but felt right for what this was. Hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki had been planning on being king from a very young age. One thing he never considered, though, was needing someone to rule beside him. And then he met you.

After the Battle of New York and a brief imprisonment, Loki was able to straighten things out with Thor, who then convinced their father to release him. The only condition was that he had to live among those who he viewed as so inferior to himself. Naturally, that stirred some trouble on Midgard, but they were able to reach an understanding; Loki would work as an Avenger and serve humanity, so to speak. No one was too pleased with that arrangement, Loki least of all. Most days, the God of Mischief was relegated to his room or the library, alone and untrusted. Thor was kept busy protecting all the realms, though he did visit Earth quite often. Loki hated to admit it, but those times were the most bearable. Then, one day, you joined the team, and the rest of his time became far more enjoyable.

“Mind if I join you?” you’d asked your first night in the Tower.

He didn’t respond with anything but a small gesture of his hand, signaling for you to sit next to him. So it went for many nights, both of you reading on a common room couch. Neither of you said anything to each other until one day you showed up with the same book. You struck up a conversation with him that lasted into the early morning hours. He didn’t want to enjoy it, but he did. Thus started your new routine of reading the same thing, almost like your own mini book club. The conversations eventually led to things beyond your reading material, and then one day you kissed him. Despite the disapproval of the rest of the Avengers, you began to date. Finally, Loki felt like he had a place on Midgard.

But that was all in the past now, and Loki was left with nothing but his memories to keep him company. He could still hear your last conversation playing in his head.

“Why are you acting like this?” you’d asked, teary eyed after Loki had pushed you away yet again. “Every time I think we’re close, you act like a stranger.”

“Try as you might, you cannot change what I am.”

“No. I guess not.”

It was the last thing you said before walking out of the room, slamming the door behind you. He wanted to chase after you, but convinced himself you would be better off without him. Told himself he was too much of a wreck for you, that he’d just ruin you. Now he wonders why he ever dared leave it there. You left for a mission the next day, the last one you’d ever go on.

Loki was waiting in the hangar for you, watching as the rest of your team got off the ship. He immediately noticed the tears in their eyes, but no one could speak of whatever tragedy had occurred. But he knew, even before it became obvious that you would not appear on the ramp. As if possessed, he walked onto the ship. Your limp body was the first thing he saw, draped across the seats of the plane. He knelt beside you and grabbed your ice-cold hand, eyes landing on the blood soaking your shirt. A wound, far too close to your now silent heart. Thor came up behind him and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder as a lone tear stained Loki’s cheek.

“Come, brother. It will do you no good to stay here.”

There was nothing Loki could say. His mouth was dry and his tongue heavy, and any words he tried to speak choked him. He began to sob.

“I am sorry, my love. Please come back to me. I am so sorry,” he repeated over and over as Thor dragged him away.

By the time he reached his room, he was completely hysterical. Desperate to be alone, he threw his brother out and began his rampage, taking out his anger on the expensive furniture and decor. Broken glass on the floor cut his hands and knees as he crawled over to the now cracked frame holding a picture of you, his beloved. He stayed there all night and into the next day, just staring at your face that would never smile at him again.

He ate nothing for days, his throat and eyes raw from crying. He managed to piece himself together well enough for your funeral, though he was unable to deliver your eulogy. He wanted to, but there was nothing he could say that would do you justice, that would make up for what he had done. Everyone offered their condolences to Loki, to which he responded with a numb nod of his head. It felt surreal, like he was walking underwater or in a never-ending nightmare. Everything was foggy.

Out of habit, Loki still talked to you often, speaking to the air, half-expecting a response. Deep down he knew, of course, that you would never answer again, but most days it felt like the only thing tethering him to his miserable life.

“It is like when I first came to Midgard, my love. I am terribly lonely. When will I see you again? I miss you. I love you.”

He was still in the habit of calling you, too, on the wretched cellphone you’d insisted on getting him. He was met with only dial tones, though somehow he kept hoping to hear you say hello. Those were always his greatest moments, he realized, the ones when you were with him. Now he struggled to find the reason why you were so violently taken from him.

Much like his sleepless nights, his days were spent in solitude. Every corner he turned, he saw your face, but it was just an illusion created by his tortured mind. He saw you in his dreams, too, when he finally slumbered, but even there you never recognized him. Sometimes he’d dream of you sitting in a peaceful field, and you’d offer him a seat.

“You seem familiar, as if I know you. But I don’t, do I?” you’d ask, quirking your head.

“You were the only one that did,” he’d reply before waking up in a cold sweat.

He knew why the dream went like that. He was still haunted by the way you’d called him a stranger. By the way he had been acting like one. By the way he let you walk out without saying what he really wanted. He loved you and he would until the day he died, and only then could he be reunited with you. But through the calamity of your death there was only one thing he wished for.

“Please, my love,” went his usual desperate plea, “come back to me.”

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bloomyn · 4 years

Text

you can be the cherry on top

Helloo! If its okay can I request prompts 16 and 27 from the random prompts with Ushijima where the reader introduces some spontaneity into his life, teaches him to take risks and go off a routined lifestyle like going for a drive at 2am to a convenience and like cheating a game at an arcade or something ? And he actually kinda enjoys the thrill of going out of his comfort zone and wants to get to know her more ! Thankyouu srry if it doesnt make sense😊

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader

tags: fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, breaking records ; fixing hearts, learning to live a little

warnings: none

tendou screeched.

“wakatoshi! you’re never going to beat the high score.”

olive - colored eyes narrowed, focusing on the screen in front of him. it was stupid game, nothing more than something he would’ve played as a child but it was the score board that ticked him off.

1. ‘ur mom’

2. ushijima

3. ushijima

4. ushijima

5. miracle boy sa to ri!!!!

“wakatoshi let’s head back to the dorms. it’ll be fine, you can’t beat the high score so what.”

the taller man scowled.

you’ve grown to hate the oak brown of the desk in front of you. the imitation wood has glared at you every second of everyday for the past three years and you might throw up if you have to look at them for another second. when you drop your forehead against the desk no one pays mind, you’re sure their all bored out of their minds too. it doesn’t help that the sickly gray walls of the classroom love to tease the tangerine sunlight that’s blocked by the thick window curtains.

being a teenager is horrible.

being a teenager stuck in a classroom with possibly the most boring people in the world is catastrophic.

you could care less about modern japanese literature, you’re more worried about the sweat that’s pooling under your arms and the back of your thighs and..have they fixed the ac in your dorms yet?

outside of the window you could see a student jogging, it wasn’t surprising, he was always there. purple tracksuit, you had called him, always the same outfit at the same time, every single day.

how boring

“[l/n] please do not take my advice lightly, entrance exams are coming up and it is very important that-”

you nodded your head, “yes sensei i know, trust me, i’ll figure it out!”

your homeroom teacher sighed. “just, please. shiratorizawa wants to make sure that all our students succeed.”

plastering on a fake smile you started stepping backward slowly, “yep, mhm, i understand.”

“just go.”

“thank you bye bye!”

you rushed out of the hallway, passing through the classrooms and out of the gates of shiratorizawa academy. thankfully, the streets were pretty much empty save for the occasional student or cat making their way down the street.

the arcade was visible for miles. blinding lights that lit up the block and the smell of sweaty seats that lingered for ages.

yum.

you waved a hello to the attendant and made your way to the back, searching for your high score (you couldn’t help it, seeing ‘ur mom’ on top the scoreboard was almost intoxicating), only to find a boy (man? maybe.) pounding harshly at the keys. you almost wanted laugh, watching this mountain of a man get so frustrated at what was no more than a child’s game.

“you good there buddy?” you teased, making your way next to the boy. he only grunted in response, his fingers wrapping tighter around the consoles and eyes narrowing themselves, focusing solely on the screen in front of him.

leaning against the side of the game you sighed, pretending to flick dirt out from your fingertips.

“you know,” you drawled lazily, “ i have the high score.”

the boy froze, you could practically see his back stiffening at the sound of your words. a cold chill ran down your spine at the mere sight of his face (or more specifically the look on his face).

on the screen the “game over” flashed loudly, displaying the score board, and by the consecutive list of ‘ushijima’ underneath ‘ur mom’...

“oh, are you ushijima?”

he nodded stiffly. “you have the high score. how?”

you grinned cheekily, ignoring his obvious disbelief and disgruntlement, “wanna watch me play? i’ll blow your score out of the water. i promise.”

ushijima smirked, “show me.”

you started the game up, playing just as usual, you know; following the rules. behind you ushijima crossed his arms. you weren’t doing anything special, in fact he was pretty sure you were moving slower than him how could---

and with a quick flick of your fingers in an unknowable combination, the screen was cleared of the ‘bad guys’, and “NEW HIGH SCORE!’ bounced around on the screen. you licked your lips, whipping around to see his reaction and oh, it was so much better than you’d expected.

“good game right?”

slowly, the taller man closed his eyes, “how?”

should you tell him the truth? you wondered. it’d be so much more fun if you lied instead; leaving him frustrated and flustered over your effortless ability to wreck his scores.

“cheat code.” you breathed lazily, “it works for a lot of games actually, it’s really common.”

“you...cheated?”

you almost rolled your eyes, “it’s just a game ushijima, don’t tell me you haven’t cheated at a game before?”

his silence spoke for him.

had this man had any fun ever? at all? even a little?

“come on ushi-kun, live a little why don’t you.”

your persistence was refreshing. maybe it was because he had only just met you and you had no idea who or what he was like that you would push him like this. he knew was blunt, there was no point in lying or drawing the truth out. but you seemed to be immune to that.

so he held out his hand, asking for the coin.

“i can try to be more exciting.”

besides him you blew air out of your lips, “ i don’t want you to try and be more exciting, just like,” you paused, looking him up and down. “what do you do for fun?”

“volleyball.”

“and when you’re not playing volleyball...”

“i’m at school.”

you really had to think of different response besides groaning. begrudgingly you held out your hand.

“come on.” you huffed.

tentatively ushijima placed his hands in yours. “will i regret this?”

“i’d be insulted if you didn’t”

so you were breaking into your own school. well, it wasn’t exactly breaking, just sneaking into the closed volleyball gym.

“it’s locked.”

rolling your eyes you shoved your hands around in your pockets, hoping that somehow you’d have a bobby pin, and voila! you smirked, whispering a ‘got it!’ before jamming it into the lock.

“this would be a lot easier with a key.”

suppressing the fattest eye roll you could possibly think of you turned around,

“obviously it-- oh.”

behind you ushijima held up a single bronze key, matching the same company as the one on the lock. oh.

“you play for the volleyball team?”

he nodded.

“wait you go to this school?”

this was not fun anymore. holy shit this was not fun.

a screech left your throat as you dodged another one of ushijimas serves. you thought volleyball was all fun and games, this was a nightmare.

“i thought you wanted to play?” he quirked, tossing the ball up one more time.

“yeah, play. not die!”

you dove to the floor barely dodging the ball. on the other side of the net ushijima was smiling, laughing almost.

at least one of you was having fun.

“god ushijima do you enjoy torturing yourself?”

ushijima tossed a towel to you, while continuing to sip from his water bottle.

“hm?”

grimacing, you wiped the sweat from your forehead onto the towel.

‘geez, this guy hasn’t even broken a sweat’

“why volleyball?” you breathed softly.

“my father taught me how, he used to play for shiratorizawa.”

you nodded along, “that’s cool.”

an icky silence spread over the two of you as cooled of from your unintentional work out. you smiled to yourself, it was fun though, even if your bones seemed to be in danger.

“something wrong?”

you blinked a couple times before looking up. had you accidentally made a face? (your mother had made it point to call you out whenever that ‘pinched look’ arrived)

“no? what do you mean?”

this time you were frowning, but of course ushijima didn’t notice (or simply just didn’t care).

he set his water bottle down, “you look disappointed.”

scoffing you tossed the towel back to him. “i’m not.”

“i don’t believe you.”

this man.

so you shrug. “ i don’t know, just feels like the day has so much potential and instead i’m going to end up laying by myself in a dorm where the ac doesn’t work.”

“it’s only 7:22.”

you sighed, “yeah but it’s too late to do anything and too early to go back to the dorms.”

in his mind ushijima had two options:

1. leave and maybe never talk to you again

2. stay and, not have any regrets about what you were going to do or if you were going to do anything because he wanted to be there, not to be with you, but to have fun, yeah to have fun, he needed to have more fun.

“come with me.”

ideally ushijima would’ve whisked away in his new car and driven you into the sunset while listening to your ‘don’t cry just vibe’ playlist.

unfortunately the two of you were broke third years who had no form of personal transportation and had to worry about missing volleyball practice the next morning.

so you were on the train.

“ushijima where are we even going.”

he hadn’t given you an answer for at least 15 minutes prior to asking so you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“answer me.”

peering down at your figure he nodded his head. “i can’t tell you.”

already you were starting to receive some stares from the others from the train so you dropped the subject. i mean you had been the one to tell him to live a little. god he didn’t even know your name! he wasn’t gonna kidnap you, no, but he could! especially with those serves--

“we’re here.”

“i only come here during school breaks but, i figured now might be an appropriate visit.”

the moon hung heavy over the dips and curves of the hills. the small lights flickered in and out, lanterns most likely, setting the scene. wonderful.

“well.” you huffed, “aren’t we just full of surprises today.”

smiling at your words, ushijima motions upward.

“step there. you’ll have a better view.”

ah, so he was going to push you off the cliff and they would never find your body. that’s how this was going to go down.

“just so you know ushi - kun, if any murderers coming running at us--” you take his hands, wiping a fake tear off your face, “i would die for you, i would sacrifice, my life so you could escape.”

“you just met me.” he deadpans.

stepping up on the rocks you extend your arms out. wind swept underneath them, the sounds of the hills working in tandem, your mind was gone, too absorbed in the view. “i know.”

“does it still feel like a waste?”

this time you shook your head, “here with you? absolutely not.”

two weeks later:

“you stole a car.”

those are the first words he speaks when he finally sees you again. after your little moment at the hills you’d disappeared for two weeks. he was starting question your existence. but here you, waiting for him at the front of the school swinging car keys between your fingers.”

“technically,” you start, “it’s my aunt’s and i’m just borrowing it.”

you can’t describe the look he’s giving you. you can but, it wouldn’t accurately describe whatever he was feeling. “so are you getting in or what.”

“i have volleyball practice.”

you hold up the little bronze you’ve stored in your pocket. “not anymore you don’t”

-- he forgets to ask if you even have your license yet. (it’s fine, it’s you we’re talking about)

you don’t immediately start dating after that. it takes three more spontaneous tokyo roadtrips and six almost ushi - abductions for him to ask you out. and when he does, you beat him to the punch.

“well.” you say, poking his chest a bit. “who else am i gonna drag to the arcade at 3 in the morning?”

(he says yes.)

#wow #um #i will be editing the ending 2nite #its so hot #ITS SO HOT AND I CANT THINK #bleh #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu #ushijima #ushiwaka x reader

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id-rather-be-an-outsider · 3 years

Text

Angel From Ymir

Reiner Braun

word count: 1418

summary: Reiner comes across a kitty. kitty decides Reiner is his person. this is Reiner’s written experience.

tw: mentions of depression + ptsd. cute cuddliness and Reiner being adorable.

a/n: cats are cute and well-suited for many lifestyles! but please adopt responsibly and don’t take on a cat unless you’re ready and financially able to do so! please remember: 1) keeping your cat indoors is the ONLY way to prevent them from being hit by a car, stolen, attacked by other animals or exposed to diseases! 2) be careful and do your research and consult your cat’s vet before giving your cat a flea treatment! some brands cause seizures that can kill your cat or shorten their lifespan severely! protecting your cat from fleas and other sicknesses should NEVER cost a cat their life! 3) declawing a cat is NOT taking away their fingernails, it’s taking away their FINGERS! cats need their claws to climb and declawing them is inhibiting them from doing what they were born to do! 4) if a cat can reach it, they can wreck it, and that’s on you, not the cat, and that’s on PERIOD! if you have items that you want to keep safe 100% of the time then keep them AWAY!!! you can’t tell a cat to not be a cat, but you CAN tell YOURSELF to be a responsible cat owner!

Entry 1 - Monday

I’m not all that sure what I’m doing. Pieck gave me this, and suggested journaling to help me. She said there’s no wrong way to do this but I’ll probably fuck it up like everything else, so here goes. I uh... had a pretty average day today. Full of planning, saluting, groveling to Marleyans while they called me a devil, and pretending like I don’t hate myself and hate existing. I can tell Gabi is worried about me. Nothing out of the ordinary at this point. A cat followed me home, a yellow tabby. Cats are a rare sight nowadays. They were skinny.

Entry 2 - Tuesday

The cat was sitting outside my door when I left today. It rubbed up against my legs when I was locking my door, and made a noise that sounded like a tiny motorcycle. I think it’s called purring. It followed me to work, and it followed me back home again. I feel bad that it’s so skinny.

Entry 3 - Wednesday

I set out food and water for the cat today when I left. Just some sardines I had sitting in my cupboard. The food was finished and the cat was there waiting for me when I got home. It meowed at me until I pet its’ head.

Entry 4 - Saturday

I had a nightmare last night. Not uncommon for me. Today was my day off, and when I woke up in the morning I heard a scratching noise at the door. Turns out it was the cat, because when I opened the door it ran in and sat in my reading chair like it owned the place. I guess it’s here to stay now, because it runs every time I try to grab it, and it’s not really scratching anything up, so... I don’t know. I moved the food and water bowl inside.

Entry 5 - Sunday

Second day off. I spent the day reading. The cat came and napped in my lap. I fell asleep at one point, too. What? The cat was warm. And the sun was shining on us through the window.

Entry 6 - Thursday

I wish we could take afternoon naps at work. The cat followed me to work again. Pieck saw and asked me about it, so I told her what I told you. She said the cat picked me, whatever that means. I’m not really an animal person so I don’t get why. When I got home, there was a dead bird on my doorstep, and the cat was licking its’ chops. Kinda disgusting.

Entry 7 - Friday

Today I woke up to a crow on my doorstep. This cat is crazy. I asked Pieck about it, she said cats bring gifts to their masters. Some gift, if you ask me. Another observation: cats like boxes.

Entry 8 - Sunday

Something peculiar happened. I had a nightmare, but when I woke up, the cat was there kneading on my chest, licking my nose and rubbing their face against mine. They haven’t left my side yet. Literally. When I took a shower they just sat on the toilet seat lid next to it, and every time I’ve sat down today they’ve climbed in my lap and purred really loudly, rubbing their head against my hands when they could. It’s almost like they could sense my unease. It feels... calming. I usually write at the end of the day but the experience made me want to take note.

Entry 9 - Friday

I’ve missed a couple days, to sum them all up: I go to sleep with the cat under the blankets and wake up with them curled up under my armpit or in the crook of my neck. Today they brought me a squirrel. Their presents are getting to be terrifying, but also normal. They brought me a couple rats the past few days, too.

Entry 10 - Monday

I’m getting this heathen a collar. I woke up to them holding a goose twice their size in their mouth, and the poor creature wasn’t even dead. I had to put it out of its’ misery.

Entry 11 - Tuesday

I came home to find the cat napping in my untouched potatoes. I think I’m gonna call him Potato.

Entry 12 - Tuesday

I think the collar worked. Between the bell and his tags jingling, Potato must scare off every animal in sight because he hasn’t caught anything in a week. Or maybe I’m just not seeing it and he’s been eating his catches after my last reaction. He’s been getting a little fat. I’m worried I’m feeding him too much, I’ve been refilling his bowl every time I saw it empty, which is about twice a day. How much do cats normally eat?

Entry 13 - Saturday

Potato’s not acting normal. He’s been meowing a lot, which is cute, but he also hasn’t been moving as much. And he’s been eating even more than he usually does. I just hope he’ll be okay. Cats aren’t usually kept as pets anymore since they’re so scarce, so no veterinarian will take him. They all keep laughing at me when I tell them my problem. Why is it funny to them? They’re being rude and cruel. If anything happens to Potato I don’t know what I’ll do. Potato is my best friend. Even when he steals my dinner from time to time, I don’t get mad at him. I talk to him about my day like he can hear me, and I tell him about the things I’ve experienced and it really feels like he listens, because every time I get to a bad part and start panicking or crying he’s there, helping me calm down. I haven’t had nightmares even half as often anymore and when I do, he’s there on my chest when I wake up, making me feel better. I can’t call out of work to stay with him. I’m worried he might die. If he does, I’m just glad I have these last two days off. So I can say goodbye.

Entry 14 - Wednesday

He’s getting worse. He’s been laying in the same spot in my closet for awhile. I moved his food and water there and brought blankets and his favorite box to make it cozy for him, but I don’t feel like I can do anything.

Entry 15 - Friday

Well... it turns out Potato was a girl. I came home from work today to find her laying with two kittens - a brown tabby and a black one. I’m just glad she’s okay, and trying to not to think about the fact that I now have two more cats that I’ll have to start feeding myself in a couple weeks. Potato’s been back to her normal self, mostly, but she splits her time between me and running to check up on her babies.

Entry 16 - Saturday

A couple weeks have gone by and I’ve been too busy to write, but the kittens are up and running around now. The black one seems very sure footed and confident in her steps, but the brown tabby runs into walls when he gets excited. He’s... kinda stupid. I made sure to actually check their undersides this time instead of just assuming. I’m hoping to find someone who can get them all fixed at some point so I only have to pay to care for the three I have now.

Entry 17 - Sunday

I have never found myself so content. Or maybe just so distracted. I don’t know. The kittens are cute and so soft but they’re also little nuisances, racing around at night and scratching up the inside of the closet door. They’ve bitten through my lamp chord three times now. I didn’t realize damage control was more expensive than the actual care for them. Why can’t they be like their mom?

Entry 18 - Monday

Gabi wants the brown tabby. I’m kind of attached despite his idiocy, but I see the way her eyes light up when she comes over to play with the kittens. He picked her as his and always cuddles with her. He won’t even sit in my lap now. He just wants Gabi.

Entry 19 - Thursday

Gabi took Porkchop home today. She picked out his name and I paid for the collar and tags. Her mom was already cooing to him within the first five minutes of him being there. Letting him go was the right choice.

Entry 20 - Wednesday

Oh god. Potato’s getting fat again. Wish me luck.

#outsider writes #aot reiner #reiner braun #reiner fluff #technically???#tw!depression #tw!ptsd #cat stories #outsider moods #cat moodboard #aot moodboard

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beanie-beebo-writes · 3 years

Text

Call for Action

Series Summary: You finally get your dream job, but it comes with a cost.

Warnings: Description of panic attack

Masterlist

Chapter 2

It was a nightmare that set you off the next day. Even though you couldn't remember it, you knew there was no way you could go into work that day, which was a nightmare in itself. Your second day on the job and your anxiety already had to butt itself in at the worst possible time, of course.

You tried anyway, knowing how vital your job was to the process of the series being made. You didn't even bother with breakfast, knowing it would upset your stomach even further. You took a cup of coffee to go just in case, fearing if you drank it, the jitters would only add to your anxieties.

On set, everybody was mostly in their places except for a few PAs as always. You had forgotten to check your phone, so you went to the front office yet again to pick up another schedule. The day was already turning out to be a wreck and it barely started yet. Thankfully, Paul noticed you weren't in much of a talkative mood and let you be in your thoughts this morning.

The schedule was even busier today, making your heart drop into your stomach. You knew a panic attack wasn't far, but you didn't have much time. You tried to forget about it as you ran to the stage for today. Your heart was pounding, and no amount of breathing exercises could quell the deep settled anxiety. You knew people were starting to notice, but your thoughts were too loud to pay much attention.

"Alright, is everyone in their places?" You called aloud, still out of breath.

"Just about, give us less than five!" An A.V tech said from somewhere.

"That's fine." You said.

It gave you a minute to try and control your racing thoughts, if that was even possible. You bent over and held your knees as you tried to control everything bubbling inside you. Great, look at you. Someone definitely noticed that you're acting weird, next thing you know you'll be outcasted and fired. Hell, maybe even blacklisted if you decide to keep up this charade of job to job. Maybe-

A hand to your shoulder rescued you from drowning to the depths of darkness, startling you in the process. You stood up a little too quickly, starting to see dark spots. You blinked them away and looked up at your savior. And of course, it was Jensen.

"Hey I just-" He began before taking in your appearance. "What's wrong?"

You inhaled a deep breath, finding calm in his voice. "It's nothing, just a bad day." You said.

"Are you sure? Because it seems like a bit more than that." He said.

Your thoughts faintly began to start up again. "No, it's okay really. Get to your mark, Jensen." You said, half reassuring yourself and him.

"Alright, just remember what we talked about yesterday." He said.

You nodded and waited until he walked away to pull out a compact mirror, something you kept on yourself for situations like these. Yes everyone had already been likely staring at you when you had a moment, but you didn't want more lingering eyes if your panic attack had screwed up your appearance.

You wanted to roll your eyes in sheer embarrassment. You looked like you had run a mile and you had begun to cry. You thanked yourself that you didn't wear makeup like other higher ups, as you were sure it would be more noticeable. Before anyone could take notice, you set the mirror back down and made your way to the director's chair.

"Alright, everyone set?" You asked aloud.

You got a bunch of affirmative replies before making the decision to call "action" for the scene to start.

Sam and Dean sat in a motel room, arguing about the aspects of a current case.

"There is no way you're going in on this one solo. Absolutely not." Dean said, throwing his arms up.

"Dean, you said it yourself. Going with two people is just asking for trouble. They'll instantly catch on and it'll blow our cover. I understand needing backup but.. I got this." Sam replied.

"For the last time Sam, no." Dean said.

Interrupting their argument was one of Dean's ringing cell phones; it was Bobby Singer.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Well, I found that information you wanted, turns out they are also killed with silver to the heart." Bobby said on the other line.

"Yeah, that's easy." Dean said sarcastically. "So did you hear about this genius plan of Sam's?"

Bobby sighed tiredly. "What now?"

"He wants to go in under cover, but when guns go blazing, no backup." Dean said animatedly.

"Well, he may have a good point you know." Bobby said.

"Excuse me? Bobby, that's suicide!" Dean argued.

"You watch your tone with me, boy." Bobby said. "You said the place is like an underground bar, right?"

"Yeah but-" Dean began.

"And that means he already is going to stick out like a sore thumb. Two of you would mean you're dead meat. He only needs the alpha and the rest will scatter. Now which plan sounds like suicide again?" Bobby asked.

Dean was silent, knowing there was no use arguing with the aged hunter.

"That's what I thought. You can stand by, just give him a lot of space outside the building. Got it?" Bobby said.

"Yeah Bobby." Dean said defeatedly.

"Good. Let me know how it goes." Bobby said.

"We will, talk to you later." Dean said.

"Bye, and be safe ya idjits." Bobby said, ending the call.

And then everything was quiet, too quiet. You felt a nudge from next to you bring you back to the modern world.

"And scene!" You called out, cheeks tinged slightly pink. "Sorry guys, got swept away there."

"You're good, we can just cut it later in editing." Bob Singer said, standing up from his chair.

"Cool. Alright everyone, settle for a minute and then we'll start scene 26." You called out to the stage.

--------

Before you knew it, lunchtime had rolled around again. This time though, you made the move to sit by Jensen and Jared, who had beat you to the table first. They were in a light conversation before you asked to sit with them.

"Of course (Y/N)." Jared had said.

They were currently talking about some sports team that you didn't follow; you listened in and tried to understand where you could.

"Who's your favorite team?" Jared asked.

"Oh, I don't really follow sports, it isn't really my thing." You admitted.

"Aw really? Bummer, another one." Jared teased.

"Hey, knock it off." Jensen said lightly.

"No, it's okay, I know he's only joking." You said, smiling at Jared.

"Okay, just checking." Jensen said with a wink.

Your heart flipped sideways and missed a beat. If you didn't have anxiety, you would have never distinguished the feelings you were starting to feel towards Jensen. Your feelings with crushes were always different from your anxiety, and yet so similar at the same time. Sometimes you wondered how you could tell the difference.

You still remembered the first time you had a crush. You were a late bloomer, so it didn't happen until 7th grade. You were so confused; anxiety was always something you were used to that when you were hit with all of these feel-good endorphins along with the anxieties, you threw up. Literally, in front of half of the grade and your crush, Nathan Sullivan. You had bumped into him in the middle of your moving-up ceremony in the middle-school hallway. You had wanted to say everything and nothing all at once, and ironically your brain chose to vomit instead. Now that you thought about it, you wondered that's where some of your current anxieties began.

With Jensen, it wasn't that different in a sense. You felt all of the bubbling emotions, the confusing anxieties telling you to either go for it or stay low. But you were past that for the most part. Or maybe it was the fact that Jensen made you feel safe, unlike the other guys. There was just something about him that you couldn't quite understand.

"Hey, have you guys ever dealt with anxiety?" You asked as the conversation headed to a lull.

Jensen swallowed his food before answering. "Actually yeah. About a few years back, maybe even longer, I had this huge fear of what others thought of me."

"Really?" You asked.

"Mhm, anything done on set or stage that was seen as funny to everyone else, was actually a huge anxiety factor for me. I was beyond embarrassed and hated being the one everyone laughed at, even if it was literally for comedy." Jensen explained.

"Oh wow, I never knew it was that bad." Jared said.

"I was too embarrassed to tell you at the time, honestly." Jensen admitted.

"I actually deal with anxiety sometimes too, just not as bad as Jensen." Jared said.

"What helps you guys through it?" You asked.

"Honestly? For me it was therapy, lots of it." He said with a chuckle. "But the main thing I keep with me all the time, is to remember that most people are more likely to be absorbed in their thoughts, than they are paying attention to you or me. At the end of the day, what you do may not even matter to them at the dinner table. And if it does, it does."

"Wow, that's some good advice." You said.

"Thank my therapist for that one." He said.

"I use a lot of deep breathing techniques, it tends to quell a lot of things for me." Jared said.

"Why you ask? Something on your mind?" Jensen asked.

"No, just curious. My one friend back home deals with this kind of stuff and I figured it would help to know." You stretched a bit.

"Ah." Jensen said.

"Well, send her some love from us, okay?" Jared asked.

"Of course." You said, finishing up your lunch.

A beat of silence surrounded the three of you.

"Hey, are you busy later?" Jensen asked. "I know you're technically my boss and all.."

You looked up from your food and almost choked. Was Jensen asking you of all people, on a date? This had to be a misunderstanding. Yet again, Jared was practically all over Jensen, just by looking at him with his head in his hands.

"Huh? Uh, no, not really. I usually just pass the time by watching netflix or something I guess." You said.

"You want to grab a bite?"

You felt the tips of your ears burn like a hot stove.

"As a… date? Or…?" You asked.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Well, do you want it to be?" Jared asked.

"Would it even be appropriate? I mean.. Like you said, I'm practically your boss, Jensen." You said.

"Don't see why it wouldn't be. It's not like you're doing any special favors to get me top role or anything." Jensen said with a knowing smile.

You smiled back and lightly rolled your eyes. Oh, this man is definitely going to be something if I date him. How could you say no?

"Yeah true." You said, probably still with a red face. "Sure, let's make it a date then."

"Yessss!" Jared whispered.

He did a silent victory dance on the way to the trash can and shut the trap closed with his hip. He strode proudly all the way back to the stage as if his son had won a competition. Jensen put his hands over his face a moment and exhaled lightly.

"Just ignore him." He said, muffled behind his hands.

"Couldn't if I wanted to." You said with a giggle.

#jensen x reader #Jensen Ackles #jared padalecki #spn reader insert #call for action series #call for action

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hadenodom-stories · 3 years

Text

Clair’s Voyage, Part 1

Clair woke up in a cold sweat. There was no light breaking through her open window, and her heavy dark Navy curtains made no noise as they wavered in the summer wind. It was the 5th of July, and she was freaking out. Have you ever had a dream that stays on your mind and colors your mood for an entire day? Clair had just endured the second such dream in as many nights.

Regardless of the dread her dream had instilled in her, she knew she had to get up and moving. Yesterday's dream had nearly sapped her of all of her energy, and her friend Elaine had noticed at the neighborhood 4th of July cookout. "I've never seen you in such a foul mood", she'd remarked. She couldn't let that happen today. She had a very important interview, and her entire future potentially hinged on it. She couldn't be in a dour, depressed state -- 'Then I'll have to fake a smile', she thought, 'and I'm absolute shit at that'.

Despite a grim determination to force herself into a better mood, she found herself dwelling on the previous day's events as she trudged through the hallways of her quiet house towards the kitchen. By the time she was sitting down, her head full of frizzy auburn hair slumped forward beholding the sight of a depressing bowl of some "healthy" cereal that'd been sitting in the cupboards well past its expiration date, her mind was busy replaying and reliving the most traumatic part of that day. The part that she'd seen before in a nightmare just hours before it happened in real life. The part of the day that was at first clouded in a sense of Déjà vu -- a surreal "I've seen all of these events, in this exact order, before..." sense -- until it burst into traumatic realness. The pops and whizzes of fireworks zooming into the sky. The cheers of the neighborhood kids as one particularly bright, low, and loud firecracker exploded. Her younger brother looking at her with a cheeky "watch this" expression as he prepared to light a cobbled-together collection of old fireworks that he'd taped together and put into a small pipe to launch. His uncomprehending, still-excited face as the spark ran along the fuse far too fast and the pipe began to tilt back towards him. The flash and screams afterwards. And everything going black once she saw the blood and exposed bone. Once she realized how bad it might be...

She neatly placed her spoon back on the table and stood up. 'No way I can fucking eat now', she thought. As she walked out onto the back patio and tossed the now-soggy cereal out into the yard for the local cats to enjoy, she remembered her mom's instructions:

"Look, go home. Just go home. You heard the doctor, honey. He's going to be alright. They're doing their best. We won't be able to see him for quite a while. I'll stay here for now. Just go home and sleep in your own bed. Get you mind off of it and come back when you're able."

Clair slammed the patio door shut behind her, furious now. She understood that her mother wasn't exactly a master of emotional understanding or empathy, but how could she be so fucking stupid? How could her mom just think that she'd be able to go home and be comfortable knowing her brother was in surgery, having seen what happened to him? 'I'm an adult now, but goddamn, how do I even process this on my own? How do I just move on with my life? How can she expect me to just go home, forget all about it, and then get ready for this interview?"

She continued to ruminate and curse her mother's lack of empathy - or at least the kind of empathy Clair expected - as she lazily got ready for her interview. It was only 5 AM and her interview wasn't until 9, but there wasn't anything else to do and she certainly couldn't go back to sleep. She was going to put on a frightfully awful dress - she hated dresses - with a pair of shiny black businesslike pumps - which she also loathed - and apply more makeup than usual, and then go spend a couple of hours at the hospital trying to get an update on her brother's situation. 'I'll go ahead and let mom know that I can't handle this on my own while I'm there', she thought. 'She won't care, but I'll let her know'

In her old, grey Civic hatchback with the paint peeling, she barely focused on the road or on driving. The static-filled dulcet tones of an NPR reporter reciting headlines momentarily calmed her, but she wasn't processing any of the words. She was just busy thinking of what she could remember from last night's dream. It was a mess - all she could remember was some boy she barely recognized (but couldn't place) talking to her mother, and her mother suddenly displaying more emotion than Clair had ever seen from her - but she still wasn't able to actually identify the emotion her mother was feeling in the dream. Something like shock - or confusion - or betrayal - or all of those. Clair tried in vain to figure out who the boy in the dream was - his face looked very familiar, but she couldn't remember where, other than the dream, she'd seen him. And as for what emotion her mother had been reacting with or what the boy had been telling her mother, she was at a complete loss. Her eyes flashed upon a sign and her brakes squealed. Lost in thought, she'd almost missed the exit for the hospital.

The hospital was a tiny rural hospital on the edge of town, a decaying building full of old doctors and young underpaid nurses, kept alive on a shoestring budget despite the exorbitant prices it charged you for the simple privilege of remaining alive. Clair was sure that her mom wasn't ready for any of the financial burden her brother had just incurred -- at least not on the meager retirement checks and alimony they'd subsisted on since her dad had left. Walking into the main waiting room, she was mentally prepared to hit her mom hard with three questions: "How is he?", "When can I see him?", and "You're not going to make me stay at the house by myself for another night". The last one wasn't a question, but she expected, at the very least, her mother's acknowledgement. Instead, she was met by the face from her dream - the unfamiliar boy - walking out of an empty waiting room. She couldn't help but stop in her tracks and stare at him. "You're Micheal's sister, right?", the boy said, seemingly unphased by her glare. "Yes", she finally managed to respond. "He's not here anymore", the boy replied.

"What?"

"They took him to a hospital in Jacksonville. He's stable. Your mom didn't call you and tell you?"

"No..."

"Oh, well. They left about 30 minutes ago. He's stable, but your mom's kind of a wreck. I stayed to meet up with his friend Lisa who wants to ride with me to Jacksonville. He's going to go into another surgery to try to save his face and they said he'll probably be ready for visitors by later tonight."

'This is absurd', Clair thought. 'How can this random boy know more about my brother's situation than me. How could my mom be so detached as to not tell me any of this? And I'll be goddamned if anyone's going to finally visit my brother's hospital room before me'

"You can ride with us if you'd like", the boy offered.

"No, thanks, I actually have to drive to Jacksonville this morning anyways. I have an interview at 9..."

"Say no more... I guess I'll see you there"

With that, the boy walked past her. She turned and followed him outside. "So... who are you?"

"Oh, we've met before I think. I'm Cavill, Micheal's... we're friends. I've been here since last night worried sick about him. I guess your mom wanted you to be home so you wouldn't worry yourself sick like her."

"Fat lot of good that did", Clair replied drearily. "And yeah, we have met... Micheal just never bothers to introduce his friends to us. I guess he gets that from mom, the habit of keeping everyone at a distance"

"Cigarette?" Cavill was holding out a crumpled pack of smokes. It was odd to think that anyone Micheal hung out with smoked -- to Clair, she couldn't think of her brother as anything but a kid. Hell, she had a hard time calling herself an "adult"

"No thanks", she replied, waving sheepishly.

"I quit like a month ago - most on your brother's insistence. But sitting here waiting last night and stressing out... I just couldn't do it. I went and bought a pack of smokes. Micheal would be ashamed of me."

"Don't say that. I've never known Micheal to be anything but supportive"

"Yeah, but he..." Cavill's voice trailed off as he began to choke up. "He's the only person that really ever cared, you know? And I care about him too. I don't want to let him down." A single tear ran down his cheek.

Clair was at a complete loss. She always came to a complete loss when anyone cried or became vulnerable around her. 'I guess I'm not too unlike my mother', she thought.

"You won't. You know he talks about you sometimes? The other day he told me that you're learning guitar and that you're pretty good"

"I'm not, and he knows it. He just..."

She wasn't sure why Cavill was trailing off now. She'd met friends of her brother's before, but something was different in the way Cavill talked about his bond with Micheal. What was it?

Suddenly, some neurons firing in her brain or some semblance of emotional intelligence came to her, and it made sense. Months before, Micheal had confessed to her that he was in a relationship but said it was a secret and refused to give her any more details. It'd annoyed her at the time - she hated secrets in any form and saw them as puzzles or riddles that she needed to solve - but now, with her brother's somewhat-secretive friend quietly crying over a cigarette in front of her, an uncomfortably vulnerable figure, she felt like she was close to unraveling this particular puzzle. She eyed Cavill again, taking him in. He was a bit taller than her brother, and thinner. His hair was golden-brown and jettisoned out from his head at odd angles, like some sort of anime character's. His face didn't quite match it - soft angles, a small button of a nose, and thin lips. Blue eyes. He looked absolutely sad, and she couldn't stand to leave him here on his own.

"You're going to Jacksonville, right?", she said.

"Yeah, but I'm waiting for Lisa, remember? She's my ride"

"Well, you can ride with me if you want. I'm going right now."

"That's probably more convenient. Lisa lives between here and Jacksonville and hasn't even left her house yet".

"Well, I'll make some room in my car. And I have an interview later on, so I won't be able to give you a ride back until after lunch"

"That's okay, I'm staying at the hospital for the day if I can help it"

Clair looked at Cavill, who'd extinguished his cigarette between his fingers and was starting to walk behind her towards her car. "Go wash you hands and splash some water on your face", she said. "I don't want the smell of cigarettes in my car, and besides, you look tired"

Cranking her car, her head disappeared in thought again. What was the meaning of the dream she'd had the night before? What kind of secret life had her brother been living? Who is this Cavill kid she's seen around who's suddenly very attached to her brother? Why would her mom not tell her that her brother had been taken to a hospital an hour's drive south for surgery? What was Cavill telling her mom in the dream she'd just had, and why did it make her mom so... upset?

She couldn't sit there with her thoughts for a second longer, so she reached for the pair of pliers in the center console and used them to twist the metal stub on which her car radio's volume knob had once rested. The dulcet tones of the NPR announcer now filled the silence:

"Next on NPR: We talk to an experimental psychologist about a new study on the phenomenon of apparently precognitive dreams. Can dreams predict the future?"

Not even NPR was going to give her a moment of escapism.

=============================================

This is part one of my unfinished series about a girl named Clair whose dreams begin to mirror reality (sounds fun until it happens to you!), which for now is going to be titled “Clair’s Voyage”. I started writing a story along these lines, with much less detail, a few years ago until it was apparent that I was writing a longer story than I’d set out to write. At that time, I just saved the draft but left it unfinished. Now, I’m adding more details and breaking it out into different parts. It may become a book by the time I’m done. Clair, you see, is an aspiring psychiatrist - she loves studying the mind and how it works - but right now she’s just trying to struggle through community college and get a job as a secretary at the local psychiatric hospital. She’s also trying to struggle with the traumatic events surrounding an eerie July 4th, on which her brother was grievously injured in a scene that played out exactly how it had played out in her nightmare the night before. With her brother’s boyfriend, Cavill, at her side, she’s about to embark on a journey of discovery and empowerment filled with ups and downs and unspeakable trauma. So be sure to tune in for the next Part of Clair’s Voyage.

#Clair's Voyage #short story #tumblr fiction #writeblr #writing #creative writing #psychology #dreamscape #dreams #nightmares #amwriting #ya #hadenodom stories

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 3 years

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thank you for coming up with that ship name, it's so pretty <3 Anyway have a Faywood HC: Penny crushes on Aurelie in the early years before slowly realizing that Aurelie doesn't appreciate her (I agree with you she was so shallow) and realizing Luca lied about the trinket when Aurelie has no memory of giving it to her. But she's not mad ofc, she's touched <333

...I don’t know what inspired me to write this. I don’t even particularly ship Luca with Penny in general, but I guess you caught me in the right mood, and I’ve enjoyed our back n forth, and somehow this just came spilling out of my fingertips. I hope you enjoy -

Dear Jacob,

I’ve told you this before, no doubt, but I really dislike lying. Especially to friends. A first year could tell you as much, that it’s wrong to deceive the people you care about...and yet I’ve done it, time and again. I kept my misgivings about Rowan a secret and that led to us falling out for months. I had my reasons, and Rowan themself has even said they were understandable, but that fight was still my fault. But there have been other times as well. I lie to cover for Talbott and Chiara virtually any time I talk about them. And in those cases, I genuinely think I’m doing the right thing. That’s the trouble, lying sometimes feels like it would be the right thing to do, for the best outcome all around, so that's what I wind up doing.

It’s what I did to Penny, when her pen-friend visited from France. I lied, more than once, to protect her feelings. First by keeping my suspicions quiet, and second by giving her that ornament “from Aurelie” when it was not, in fact, from Aurelie at all. Well, it was from her...to me. But it should have gone to Penny if you ask me, so it did go to her...from “Aurelie.” and by that I mean me.

Of course, I was only a second year at the time and I didn’t really think it through. Didn’t have a contingency plan for getting caught in the lie, and I probably should have thought of that. For all I knew, Penny could have immediately written to her pen-friend to thank her. But it never came back to haunt me like lying to Rowan did, so with time, I mostly forgot about it. Until tonight.

I’m pacing around the Hufflepuff Basement, looking for a certain Mitten who is not yet awake for her breakfast. With term having ended and the winter holiday begun, most of our friends have left school. Most of us. Rowan’s sticking around and we’re making up for lost time, (not like Mum wants to see me anyway, apparently…) and Penny’s parents would have to drag her home in chains - she’s not about to leave Beatrice stranded for Christmas. So there aren’t too many people to ask about my cat’s whereabouts.

Just as I’m thinking about leaving to search for her by the dungeons, in case she’s seeing Bitten, I hear a familiar “Mrooow…” from within the girl’s dormitory. Door isn’t shut, so I peer inside to see Mitten on the floor, rolling around with whatever stray object she has claimed ownership of this time. It’s blue and looks far too fragile for her to be batting it around, but that’s Mitten. In another moment, I blink and recognize it - Penny’s ornament.

I’m about to step inside and extract the makeshift “toy” from Mitten’s hold, when I see that Penny is already there, sitting on her bed and watching the show. Okay, well, that’s good - at least playtime has permission this time. I still owe Diego a new Ballycastle Bats poster...and to this day, I have no idea how Mitten knocked it down from the wall to convert into a scratching post.

“Hope you’ve worked up an appetite.” I call out to Mitten gently, holding up her breakfast bowl and waving it slowly. Mitten looks up, and I swear her eyes dilate before she dashes over to circle me, mrowing up a storm. “Okay, okay, right here…” I lead her away from the ornament, setting the bowl down and rewarding her with head rubs as she chows down, before glancing back up at Penny. “Thanks for that.” I really owe her one for her patience.

Penny stares back at me with an odd, misty look in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything at first, and I don’t press her too. These haven’t exactly been easy times for her, Jacob. For the past two weeks, someone - usually me or Tonks - has to gently tug her away from Bea’s portrait so that she doesn’t sleep there. It’s no exaggeration to say that she’s a wreck. Still, she’s been brewing a calming draught to help quell her nerves, and when she takes it, that does seem to help. I can’t tell if she took some last night or not (I camped with Rowan) so I slowly approach, keeping an eye on her. “Did you sleep okay?”

Penny doesn’t answer, and I feel fear rising in my heart that she may have had another nightmare. Like most things, they aren’t as bad when she takes the calming potion, but they still happen from time to time. Yet when I study Penny’s face, she doesn’t look upset. Emotional, maybe, but...not upset. Sitting down next to her I notice she’s holding something in her hands - a letter, by the looks of it. With very fancy handwriting. Penny has lovely handwriting, nothing like your wild chicken scratch, but she didn’t write this. She must have received it. Trying not to pry, I keep my face level with hers, before she folds up the letter and sets it aside.

“You know, three years ago.” She speaks softly, and turns to look at me. “You told me that the blue ornament was a gift from Aurelie.” I feel my heart skip a beat. An old lie resurfacing, one I haven’t thought about in ages, and now I’m caught with no excuses. Yet Penny, predictably, doesn’t appear to be angry with me. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. “But we’ve been trading letters, and she asked about you. Asked if you ever wear the robes she got you, or if you kept the trinket she gave you.” I...have never worn those robes in my life, I’ve only just realized. Not even sure where they are. But never mind that, Penny’s frown is a gentle one. “Why did you tell me it was for me?”

I bite my lip, feeling the back of my neck heat up and I’m not sure why. But no, it’s time to come clean. “Because...because it should have been.” Maybe I’ve matured, maybe things are just coming together, but my fifth year has really led to a lot of conversations that should have happened ages ago. Making up with Rowan, making up with Jae...Tulip and Merula finally made up this year, in a sense...and now there’s this. “I’m sorry Penny, I guess I just didn’t want to spoil anything for you. But I…” Slowly rubbing the back of my neck, why is my skin prickling so much? “I feel like Aurelie should have gotten something for you, not me. You’re the one she’s closer to, and you were the one she lied to, back then…” I hesitate from going any further. Whatever my feelings, I’m not going to bash someone she cares about.

Penny is looking down, her hair falling in her face. Jacob, have I ever mentioned that she has the most intense case of bedhead that any human being has ever had before? We both agree Tonks’ would be worse if her hair was actually long, but it’s not, and Penny’s practically hidden by a straw nest by now. Which is why...damn, I’m not sure what makes me do it, but it’s not like we’ve never been affectionate before. Still, I don’t know why I decide to start pushing her hair out of her face, but that’s what I do.

Looking at me, she shakes her head, taking my hands. “No no, I’m not upset with you Luca. I just didn’t understand.” For the first time, she laughs a little. That is a good sign - she’s definitely still medicating with the calming draught. “Thought I may have just badly needed some morning tea. No, I...appreciate it. A lot, actually.” Her eyes meet mine, and I don’t let go of her hands. “Aurelie and I haven’t been writing to each other as often these days, though that’s at least partially my fault. I haven’t had the energy to write to anyone these days.”

“That isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.” I try to comfort her, but it’s never easy. There’s nothing that can be said to fix her situation, no spell to be cast. We simply have to break the curse - but we’ve done it before, and we’ll do it again. “You’re doing your best, and whatever that is right now, it’s enough.” I promise her. The room falls silent, except for the soft sounds of Mitten munching on her breakfast nearby.

Penny shuts her eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “I hope that’s true. It’s taken me awhile to realize it but, even when I give everything I have, people don’t always give the same amount back.” My stomach twists slightly. If she’s talking about Aurelie, I’m hesitant to agree even now, though of course I do...maybe I just need to listen and let her get this off her chest. I’m not sure. “I know that no one is required to give any amount of effort, but sometimes you-you’re led to believe they will, or that they want to, and...oh, I don’t know. Maybe she and I are simply growing apart. Maybe we’ve grown into different people. I’m certainly not the same.”

“No, you’re wiser than you used to be,” I respond softly, squeezing her hands. “You’ve seen more of the world and not all of it is nice, but you still see the nice things. You ARE one of the nice things. Now, I haven’t talked to Aurelie in years, so, it’s probably not fair for me to make judgements, but...if she’s taking you for granted, she definitely hasn’t grown any wiser.” I had to hold myself back from saying that she was “still” taking Penny for granted, but it’s true.

Penny sniffs. I don’t think she’s going to cry, but she’s usually closer to breakdowns than even I am these days. Bowing her head, she lets our foreheads nudge together and with no real rhyme or reason, we just stay like that for a while, still with our hands clasped. “Thanks Luca…” She finally whispers, sniffling again before sitting up more. Lifting her arms, I feel her cup my face, feel lips brush my forehead. After another moment’s pause, she sighs. “I need to start getting ready for my day, or I’ll lose my mind...am I keeping you from anything, or can you stay…?”

I nod, knowing full well that Penny’s morning schedule lasts an hour at least. “I’ll be here.”

Love, Luca

#Luca Fawley #Penny Haywood #Faywood #HPHM Fanfiction #HPHM Fanfic #Penny Haywood x Jacob's Sibling #Penny Haywood x Luca Fawley

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spn-safeandsound · 4 years

Text

18. Ways to Grieve

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 2x02; Everybody Loves a Clown

Word Count: 11,378

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, grief, mentions of sexual activities

Author’s Note: Here’s Abby’s first hunt with Julia and the boys! I hope you like the chapter. Let me know what you think. Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlist in Pinned Post!

Julia was tossed onto the bed by Dean—he was careful of her healing wrist—her semi-naked body bouncing a couple times. She gasped and lifted her head, watching with dazed eyes as Dean pulled his t-shirt off his body, throwing it in the corner of their temporary room at Bobby's house.

"Uh-uh," Julia clicked her tongue, eyeing his jeans.

Dean rolled his eyes and unbuckled his belt, sliding it from around his waist and letting it drop to the floor. "I was getting there."

"Sure."

"Keep talking," Dean stepped out his jeans and eagerly crawled onto the bed and over her. "I might have to punish you."

"Is that a promise?" she teased him; she reached up with her good arm and hooked around his neck. Pulling him only two inches away from her lips, she whispered, "Dean."

"Hmm?"

His green eyes were on her swollen lips, where his own had been only a moment before. She could feel his erection against her stomach and she hardly felt his bare chest against her.

She arched her back, pressing her breasts against him. "Fuck me, Dean."

Dean buried his face in the crook of her neck and groaned, pressing an open mouth kiss against her sensitive flesh. She could feel his rough hands trailing from her ribs to her thighs, spreading them so he could fit between them. "With pleasure, shortcake."

Julia rolled her neck under the warm spray of the shower, trying to relax her muscles. Last night had been another night of rough sex and while she enjoyed it just as much as all the sex she had with Dean, so many nights in a row were killing her body in the mornings before she could get it warmed up with yoga or a run.

This morning was one of those days; she had woken up at five o'clock and met with Sam so the two of them could take a run while the sun came up. Sam would talk about John, airing all the grief and regret he had about his dad and Julia would listen and comforted him when he needed it, just like a best friend should do.

It had been a week since John Winchester died and they'd been at Bobby's ever since so Dean could work on his car. Beth, Taylor, and Lizzie had stayed for a couple of days, too. They picked them—and John's body—up at the hospital and drove straight to Bobby's house, staying at one of the motels in town while Julia, Dean, and Sam stayed with Bobby. Sam was a wreck, though having Lizzie there for a couple of days distracted him from his grief, and Dean was worse.

It wasn't that he was having crying meltdowns—come on, it's Dean—but instead, he had stayed stone quiet at any mention of his dad. He didn't talk about John and he would walk away if anyone mentioned him—especially Sam.

Not that it matters, but that's what would lead to the rough sex Julia and Dean had been having. He took all of his frustrations out on her—being careful not to hurt her, of course—and Julia would let him. John had just died and if sex is what would make Dean feel better, she was all for it. Of course, she wished he would just open up but Dean wasn't that kind of guy. She stood by his side, though, doing whatever she could to help him process his grief.

When Julia and Sam were done with their jog at six, Dean was already up working in the junkyard. He had been getting up earlier than usual to fix up the Impala. It had been absolutely wrecked in the accident—and according to Bobby wasn't worth the time to fix it—but Dean was determined to fix Baby back up. Both of them muttered a good morning to Dean, but he just grumbled back, sliding under the car to fix whatever damage had happened there.

From there, Julia and Sam separated. Sam went up to the guest shower to wash off and after he was down, Julia would get a turn. While Sam was taking his time in the shower, she would make breakfast just as Bobby would wake up. It had been their schedule since they arrived a week earlier.

Hearing her stomach growl, Julia rinsed out of the rest of conditioner in her hair and turned off the water. She stepped out of the shower and dried off, inhaling deeply to get a whiff of bacon once again. She quickly dressed in some leggings and a long tank-top before heading downstairs.

Dean was still outside but Bobby and Sam were seated at the kitchen table, eating their breakfast with vigor.

"How's the breakfast?" she announced her presence as she walked into the kitchen, heading straight toward the cheddar and bacon quiche with a biscuit crust she had made.

"This is great, sweetheart," Bobby smiled at her as she served herself a piece and sat in her usual seat between Dean's chair—it was empty at the moment—and Bobby's chair. "Thank you."

Julia waved him off with a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, thanks, J, it's good," Sam added.

"Thank you," she took a bite of her quiche and sighed, enjoying the flavor. "Did Dean eat?"

Bobby nodded. "He shoved a slice down his throat and went back outside. He told us to tell you thank you."

"Did he say anything else?" she prodded. "Maybe about John or how he's feeling?"

"No," Sam answered her this time. "But I found an old voicemail on Dad's phone and I think it's something we could check out. I'm gonna go talk to him after I finish eating."

Julia nodded. "Okay. What did the voicemail say?"

"It was a voicemail from Ellen," Bobby told her, giving her a pointed look.

"Ellen Harvelle? As in Jo Harvelle?"

Bobby nodded.

"So you know her, too?" Sam turned to Julia with curious eyes; Julia nodded. "How?"

"I've never met them personally but Abby talks about them all the time," she explained. "Abby hooks up with Ellen's daughter, Jo, from time to time, so—"

"Abby hooks up with the daughter?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised. "I didn't know she was bisexual."

Julia shrugged, knowing that some people may judge her sister for her sexuality but she wasn't one of them. People could love the people that they loved; she wasn't bothered by it and she proclaimed herself a proud ally for her sister. "She doesn't hide it."

"Oh," Sam hummed before shrugging casually. "Anyway, do you know why Ellen would call my dad?"

"I have no idea," Julia's eyes flickered over to Bobby. "Don't they own that bar?"

"The Roadhouse, yeah," Bobby finished the rest of his food and stood up, taking the plate to the sink. "I'll get you the address."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam gave the older man a grateful look as he left the room; he then turned back to Julia. "I'm going to talk to Dean. Want to come with?"

"No, it's okay," Julia insisted. She wanted the brothers to have a minute by themselves; usually they were together all the time and she knew that the Winchesters needed a break from her once in a while—the same went for her, too. "You go on."

Sam nodded and went outside to talk to Dean. Even from the kitchen, where she finished her meal and started the dishes, she could feel Sam and Dean's energies clashing together. Sam was sad for his father and annoyed with Dean while Dean was guilty and angry. Each boy had more than two emotions racing around in their auras but these were the two that she could feel the strongest.

Three hours later, they were on the road in one of Bobby's cars—a minivan that hardly drove past sixty miles per hour, which was a nightmare to Dean, and had no backseat so Julia had to sit on a sheet on the dirty floor.

For some reason, a five-hour trip turned into something much longer. They arrived at the Roadhouse a little before sunrise the next day and by the time they parked out in front of the run-down bar, Dean was severely annoyed with the van and so on edge that Julia and Sam felt like if they said one word, he'd blow up—it wasn't the best way to travel.

Dean turned off the van with a huff, got out of his seat and opened the sliding door so Julia could get out (the sliding door happened to not have a handle on the inside, which aggravated the crap out of her). "This is humiliating!" he slammed the sliding door shut once Julia was safely out of the way. "I feel like a fuckin' soccer mom!"

Julia exchanged a half-amused, half-annoyed look with Sam as she adjusted her Nike shorts. She didn't understand how Sam and Dean could wear multiple layers of clothing in the hot weather and not die of heat exhaustion.

Sam tried to placate his brother. "It's the only car Bobby had running."

Julia stuck next to Dean in the front of the building as Sam wandered to the side.

"Hello?" he called. "Anybody here?"

Dean rattled the doorknob and when it wouldn't budge, he turned to Julia. "Shortcake, do you have the—"

"Yup!" Julia exclaimed, digging her hand into her drawstring bag and pulling out one of their beloved lockpicks.

Dean gave her a grateful smile and a promising wink as he took them from her. Julia could practically feel the flush in her cheeks, though the hot air around her made her feel the same, temperature wise. Dean finished up picking the lock and handed the tools back to her as he cautiously opened the door.

Julia hadn't seen many bars at the side of the road but the Roadhouse met her expectation of what they would be like. It was an open room filled with dark, dusty wood—tables, chairs, the bar—a pool table, and a jukebox in the corner by the door. Somehow, it was still cute and homey.

Julia let the door close behind her and followed the Winchester brothers further into the large room, looking around at the bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind the bar, the numerous tables, and...yeah, there was a guy passed out on the pool table.

"Hey, buddy?" Sam tried to wake him up as they all drew nearer; the man simply snored, unaware of the three people watching him. "Yeah, I'm guessing that isn't Ellen."

Dean scoffed under his breath. "No kidding."

Julia wandered off and Sam joined her while Dean stuck near the pool table. She had just walked off the mini platform that the table was on when she felt the head of a gun prod the small of her back.

"Dean," she squeaked. "Please tell me that it's you behind me and not a rifle."

There was a second of silence and then there was the cock of a gun behind her. Okay, shit, it was a rifle.

"Okay, we're not breaking in—I mean, we did break it but it's for a good reason—"

"Don't move," a woman's voice came from behind her.

"Yeah, okay, I won't move," she agreed quickly.

From his place next to the pool table, a knife pressed against his throat and a warm body against his back, Dean shook his head. He'd have to give her some more training on hostage situations. She was talking too much—as usual—and playing right into the kidnapper's hands.

He looked over to Sam, who was being held by another woman—this one older than the blonde that held her gun against Julia's back—and then back to Julia. "Jules!"

When she looked over at him, he silently tried to tell her to do the move he showed her a couple weeks ago, but he didn't need to. A familiar voice spoke behind him. "Jules, is that you? Can somebody turn on the damn lights?"

Julia recognize that voice anywhere. "Abby," Julia sighed as Abby let go of Dean; he sent her a glare and quickly took the knife from her hand, earning himself an apologetic look. "Thank God."

"Wait, this is your sister?" the older woman behind Sam asked. "Then the boys must be Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Yes, I'm Julia, Abby's younger sister, and that's Sam and Dean," Julia said quickly. "So, can you please put down your guns?"

The girl behind Julia dropped her rifle and walked to the nearest light switch, bathing the room with light. Julia first looked over at her sister—who was standing beside Dean wearing only a camisole and boy shorts—then at the blonde—who was only a couple inches taller than herself and wearing pajamas like Abby—and then at the older woman—who was lowering her gun from behind Sam's back.

"Son of a bitch," the older woman mumbled, putting the gun back on safety and setting it down on the board. Her mood lifted as she chuckled, introducing herself to Julia, Sam, and Dean. "Hey, I'm Ellen and this is my daughter, Jo."

Julia smiled at her in greeting and then turned to Jo. Jo was one of Abby's closest friends. They hooked up a bit and she had heard her sister gush over her all the time. By the way Jo was giving her an apologetic look, she assumed she had a good heart—and she was super pretty, too.

"I'm Julia, Abby's younger sister," she introduced herself, pulling Jo into a hug that made her stiffen in shock. "Sorry, most of my family are huggers," she let go, not wanting to make the blonde uncomfortable. Then she gestured to her sister, "Except that one."

"It's nice to meet you," Jo smiled softly. "Abby talks about you all the time."

"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you, too," Julia laughed and then turned to her sister, who was apologizing to Dean about something; then she saw the nick on Dean's throat. "Excuse me for a second," she told Jo before walking over to her boyfriend and sister. "Abby, what the hell?"

Abby put her hands in the air, defensive. "I didn't know who he was!"

"You've known Dean since you were born," Julia pointed out. "How do you not recognize him?"

"It was dark?" Abby's statement came out as a question. "Look, it was an accident."

Julia rolled her eyes at her sister—she was so much like Dean; shoot first ask questions later—and grabbed Dean's hand, squeezing it tightly. He returned her action as she dragged him over to where Sam and Ellen were talking. "Hi, ma'am, I'm Julia. It's great to meet you."

"You, too, sweetheart," Ellen smiled down at her.

"Do you happen to have a first aid kit?" Julia wondered, gesturing to Dean, who was holding his hand against the small cut on his throat just above his collar bone.

"Of course."

Within minutes, Dean and Sam introduced themselves to Ellen and Jo, they had sat down at the bar, and Julia was cleaning up Dean's cut and sticking a bandage over it.

"So," Dean turned to Ellen for answers about the voicemail she left John. "You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?"

"Well, the demon, of course," Ellen shrugged casually. "I heard he was closing in on it."

"What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?" Dean asked, scoffing in annoyance; he didn't like to have his business out there so everyone could know. "I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?"

Julia spared at look at Abby, who smiled mischievously at her. Abby had always loved when Dean lost his temper for whatever reason. It just always brought a smile to her face; Dean absolutely hated when she did it and would just get angrier, which led to more amusement on her part. It was an endless routine that always had Julia annoyed. But, at that moment, Julia took Abby's smile to mean that she was the one who told Ellen what John and Luke were up to.

Julia shook her head at her.

"Hey, I just run a saloon," Ellen held up her hands, showing she meant no harm. "But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean snarked back at her. "How come he never mentioned you before?"

Julia elbowed his bicep, whispering sharply, "Dean!"

He didn't really relax like he usually did; he kept his sharp eyes on Ellen, watching as she shifted uncomfortably.

"You'd have to ask him that."

Dean fell quiet for a second, looking back at Julia with sad eyes. Julia softened the annoyed look on her face and gave him a sympathetic look; he was lashing out because his dad was gone and suddenly there was a lady out of nowhere that knew his dad without him knowing it.

Dean's lips quirked at her before he turned back to Ellen. "So, why exactly do we need your help?"

"Hey, don't do me any favors," Ellen sassed back. "Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if..." she trailed off in realization. "He didn't send you. He's all right, isn't he?"

It was quiet for a second before Sam spoke, "No, no he isn't," he told her while Julia took Dean's hand. "It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess."

Ellen frowned sadly. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Dean told her gruffly as Julia rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. "We're all right."

"Really, I know how close you and your dad were," Ellen said somberly.

"Really, lady, I'm fine," Dean bristled, his voice hardening.

Ellen didn't seem to mind his attitude for the moment but that didn't mean that Julia or Sam wanted Dean to continue to make things hostile.

"So, look," Sam changed the topic of conversation. "if you can help, we could use all the help we can get."

"Well, we can't," Ellen glanced at Jo before looking back at Julia, Sam, and Dean. "but Ash will."

Julia furrowed her eyebrows. "Ash?"

Ellen nodded and raised her voice. "Ash!"

The man who was still passed out on the pool table jerked awake, shaking his head—his blonde mullet swishing with every move—before turning around to look at Ellen. "What?" he grunted loudly. "Closing time?"

Julia looked back at Jo, Ellen, and Abby. "That's Ash?"

"Mmhm," Jo nodded while Abby smirked. "he's a genius."

Sam dropped the thick file—the one full of information that John and Luke had gathered on the yellow-eyed demon within the past year—on the bar in front of Ash. Julia watched Ash as she sat in between Abby and Sam at the bar, examining his energy—it was full of light with a happy-go-lucky attitude. Meanwhile, Dean stood on the other side of Sam, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Ash.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean scowled. "This is guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie."

Ash chuckled at Dean. "I like you."

"Thanks."

Julia rolled her eyes at Dean's flat tone while Jo moved from her place at the side of the bar, where she was filling up glasses of water, and brought them over to Sam and Julia.

"Just give him a chance," she advised Dean.

Dean hesitated and Julia caught him looking at her. She pointedly moved her eyes toward Ash and cocked her head only a little but Dean got the gist; he sighed and sat down next to Sam, facing Ash.

"All right," he pushed the file over to Ash. "This stuff is about a year's worth of our dad and Luke Alexander's work. So, uh, let's see what you make of it."

Ash didn't respond to Dean's challenging smirk. Instead, he opened up the file and quickly started sorting through the papers. "Come on," he shook his head. "This shit ain't real. There ain't nobody who can track a demon like this."

"They could," Abby assured Ash while Sam and Dean exchanged a proud look. Ash cocked his head thoughtfully. "My dad is an expert in demons. Runs in the family."

"These are nonparametrics, statistical overviews, cross-spectrum correlations. I mean...damn," Ash said in appreciation. "They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon."

"Like crop failures and electrical storms?" Julia hummed curiously.

Ash looked over at her and winked. "You ever been struck by lightning?" he asked her, a twinkled in his eyes. "It ain't fun."

Seeing the way his brother stiffened, Sam got Ash back on track. "Can you track it or not?"

Ash nodded. "Yeah, with this, I think so but it's gonna take time. Uh, give me..." he paused to think, one of his eyes closing. "uh, fifty-one hours."

Julia smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, Ash."

"No problem, sweetheart," Ash stood from his stool and started heading to the back, where Abby told her the bedrooms were located.

"Hey, man," Dean called after him, voice tense, causing Ash to turn around to face him. Dean faltered, seeing that the man had no true intensions with Julia, "I, uh, dig the haircut."

"All business up front," Ash pointed to the short hair toward the front of his head before flicking the longer hair from his shoulders. "party in the back."

Julia giggled when the door closed behind him. "I like him."

"Ash is, like, a ditzy lab with amazing tech skills," Abby nodded in agreement.

Julia hummed and hopped off her stool. "I'm gonna check out the jukebox."

Abby waved her off and she wandered away from the bar and to the jukebox in the front. She flipped through the tiles, smiling and gasping excitedly when there were a couple of eighties love songs she liked, as a warm hand slid around her waist.

"Find anything good?" Dean asked as he looked down at the jukebox screen.

"A couple," Julia looked up at him with a sweet smile that he returned. "All Out of Love, Faithfully, Can't Fight This Feeling..."

Dean's smile slipped, turning into a small grimace when she listed some of the titles. He was fully aware that Julia liked the cheesy love songs from the previous couple of decades. They were all on her iPod and she played them once in a while when Dean allowed her to pick the music—he didn't like them but he sure did love the way her face light up when she listened to them. Her favorite of the songs was, of course, Hungry Eyes. The girl watched Dirty Dancing every week without fail.

But it was kind of funny to him that she liked Hungry Eyes the most. It described the two of them and their relationship pretty closely. Whenever he looked at Julia, he got hungry eyes—whether it was sexual, loving, or emotional, it didn't matter. He always wanted Julia in every way.

"No Hungry Eyes?" he clicked his tongue, faking his disappointment.

"Nope," she didn't catch onto his acting. "Don't worry, though, I can just sing it. I've been meaning to tell you! I've got this feeling that won't subside—oof!"

Dean had put his hand to her mouth, cutting off any more lyrics that trembled in her not-so-amazing singing voice. He laughed when she giggled and pulled his hand off, kissing his palm before dropping it.

"Oh, so you're ashamed of my singing, huh?"

"Not just your singing, shortcake. I'm not so hot at it, either," Dean reminded her; it was true and if she really got going, he wouldn't be able to resist joining in with her.

He hated to admit it but the song was kind of catchy.

Back at the bar, Sam and Abby—who moved over to Julia's seat—spoke quietly, were catching up. She had just been telling him about the picture Beth emailed her from the Fourth of July, when his gaze fell to the police radio behind the bar, a thin folder beside it. He quickly apologized to Abby for changing the subject and then caught Ellen's attention.

"Hey, Ellen, what is that?"

Ellen followed his gaze. "It's a police thing," she told him, continuing to fill up the containers of salt for the tables. "We keep tabs on things—"

"No, no," Sam interrupted politely, pointing to the file. "The folder."

Ellen hesitated for a second then walked over folder. "Uh, I was gonna give this to Abby..."

"He can take a look at it," Abby smirked, knowing that Sam was terrified of clowns. She took the folder from Ellen and slid it over to Sam. "Let me know what you make of it."

"Thanks," Sam opened the folder as Abby slipped away from the bar to where Jo was wiping off a table.

Sam went through the contents of the file, quickly skimming over each paper he picked up. When he finished, he called out for Dean and Julia, who were still by the jukebox, heads close together as they laughed. "Dean, J, come check this out!"

At the sound of her name, Julia pulled away from Dean and looked over at Sam, who was waving at them from the bar. She ignored Dean's sigh with a light smirk and linked their hands, pulling him over to see what Sam was looking at.

"Yeah?" Dean grumbled.

"A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of," Sam informed them, showing them the research. "Looks to me like there might be a hunt."

"Yeah," Dean raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So, I told her we'd check it out—"

"And you're not going without me," Abby interjected, bounding toward her little sister and the Winchester brothers. "Let me pack my stuff and we can go."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, let's not—" he grunted when Julia poked him in the ribs, glaring up at him; Abby sent him the same look. "We'll wait outside."

"Good. We'll take my car."

"A clown?" Julia clicked her tongue, taking the file that Sam handed back to her and opening it up. "A killer clown?"

"I'm pretty sure that's what I said, Jujube," Abby rolled her eyes from the driver's seat of her Ford Explorer before focusing back on the road. "He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to shreds."

"And this family was at some carnival that night?" Dean asked.

Julia's eyes flickered to the top of the printed article she was reading. "Cooper Carnivals."

"So, Gail, how do you know we're not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?"

Abby glared at him through the rearview mirror. "Don't call me that, Deanna."

"Hey, now!"

Julia rolled her eyes and though she couldn't see Sam, she knew he was, too. Abby and Dean were never best friends growing up like she and Sam were. They acted like siblings who couldn't stand one another. It came from love, sure, but it could be a little annoying sometimes.

"The cops have no viable leads, Dean," Sam sighed before they could really get going. "and all the employees were tearing down shop."

"Alibis for each of them."

Sam agreed with Julia while Abby added, "Plus, this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course."

Dean hummed. "Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam," he chuckled. "Why did it have to be clowns?"

"That's right!" Abby exclaimed, joining Dean in laughter. "Oh, my God, do you remember that time we went to Mickey D's and Ronald McDonald came out to visit the kid's play place and Sam peed his pants?"

Seeing the severely annoyed look on Sam's face, Julia had the sense to hold in her laughter. Her stomach hurt and her eyes stung but she did it. Dean, however, was howling with gut-bursting laughter. It was nice to see that bright smile on his face.

"After that, he'd burst out crying every time he saw a McDonald's commercial!"

"Oh, come on!" Sam protested weakly; when Julia couldn't help but join in, he shot back, "At least I'm not afraid of flying, or spiders," he pointed at Julia and then Abby. "or horses."

"Planes crash!"

"Spiders are poisonous!"

"Wait, wait," Dean caught up, shaking his head. He leaned forward and dipped to the side so he could see Abby's face from his spot next to Julia. "You're afraid of horses?"

Julia snickered while Abby scoffed. "We were talking about Sam's ridiculous clown phobia, remember?"

Julia shook her head and patted Sam's arm soothingly. "Don't worry, S, your phobia is valid. Apparently clowns do kill."

"Thank you, J," he gave Dean a pointed glare which had his brother chuckling again.

"All right," Dean calmed down. "So, these types of murders, have they ever happened before?"

"It's in the file," Abby told him, turning on the windshield wipers as they drove into some light rain. "Take it away, Julia."

"Yeah, the file says it happened in 1981," Julia hummed. "at the Bunker Brothers Circus. Same M.O. Three different times, three different places."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "That's weird, though. I mean, if it is a spirit, it's usually bound to a specific locale, you know? A house or a town."

"So, how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?" Sam wondered.

"Maybe it's a cursed object," Abby chewed on her lip. "A spirit attached itself to something and the carnival carries it around with them."

"Great. It's a paranormal scavenger hunt."

"This case was your idea," Dean reminded his brother. "By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."

Julia wrinkled her nose uncomfortably and faced her foggy window. She was all for the brothers sharing how they felt with each other but lately, Dean had been too irritable. He didn't like those kinds of chick-flick moments, anyway, but after his dad died, he'd been avoiding them more than ever. Especially because Sam kept pushing him about dealing with his grief.

Abby kept quiet as well, not wanting to intrude on the brothers' business.

Sam shrugged. "So?"

"It's just not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt."

"I don't know, I just think this job...it's what Dad would have wanted us to do."

"What Dad would have wanted?" Dean scoffed, looking at Sam in disbelief.

Oh, God, please don't let this turn into another fight, Julia pleaded mentally.

"Yeah, so?" Sam looked back at him, daring him to say something."

Dean shook his head and turned away from his brother. "Nothing."

Julia rubbed her nails over Dean's scalp, making sure that the shampoo she had applied for him was getting his hair nice and clean. They struggled in the small shower-bathtub combo and Dean had to get on his knees in order for her to even reach his hair in the first place, but they made it work.

"It's what Dad would have wanted," Dean repeated Sam's words with a scowl, holding onto her hips for balance. "He didn't give a fuck what Dad wanted a week ago."

Julia hummed to show that she was listening as she went toward the front of his head, rubbing the soap into his sideburns.

"He didn't even want to hunt," he went on. "He got out and he said he wanted to get out again! What, Dad dies and now he's wanting to carry on the family business all of a sudden?"

"I don't think that's it, babe. Here, lean your head back," she gestured toward the water; Dean did as he was told and rinsed his hair. "Sam's grieving just like you are. If hunting is what helps him deal with the fact that your dad's gone, then let him."

"I know," Dean grumbled, getting to his feet and switching places with Julia. "No, no, you need to stand—yeah, that's fine—I get it but it just bugs me."

Julia frowned sympathetically and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair. "I'm sorry that you're going through this, Bean."

The corner of Dean's lips quirked only a little. "It's not your fault, shortcake," he murmured, bowing his head to press a soft kiss on her bare shoulder. It wasn't sexual in nature, just loving. "You're helping me."

Her heart melting, Julia grinned when she saw that he had some excess soap on his nose. She stood on her tiptoes to wipe it off. "You're adorable."

"I'm not adorable," he pouted, making her giggle.

"I beg to differ, hotshot."

After Julia and Dean were dried off and dressed, they met up with Sam and Abby in the room next door before heading over to the local fairgrounds, where Cooper Carnivals was located for the week. Detectives were already on the scene when they arrived, forcing them to rethink their plan of faking police.

Dean went to talk to the detectives, so Julia, Sam, and Abby waited by the Tilt-a-Whirl that was being set up. A short woman dressed as a clown had walked by and she and Sam had the most awkward—and hilarious—showdown with their eyes . It lasted what felt like a whole two minutes, with Julia and Abby snickering at Sam, before the woman smirked at him and walked away.

Dean, who was walking back to them, had seen the whole thing. "Did you get her number?"

Sam scowled at him while Julia wheezed, her chest aching from lack of breath. Abby slapped her arm to get her to stop, a cheesy grin on her face, and addressed Dean, "Were there more murders?"

"Two more last night," Dean confirmed. "Apparently they were ripped to shreds and they had a little boy with them."

"Who fingered a clown," Sam assumed.

Julia quirked an eyebrow and shared a look with Dean and Abby.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean told his brother. "anyway, the clown apparently vanished into thin air."

Abby hummed thoughtfully, biting her lip. "Looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything."

"It's bound to give off EMF," Dean said distractedly, looking around nearest carnival trailers. "We'll just have to scan everything."

"That's nice and inconspicuous."

Dean didn't respond to Sam's sarcasm with any of his own. "I guess we'll just have to blend in."

"You boys picked a hell of a time to join up," Mr. Cooper, the owner and boss of Cooper's Carnival, led Sam and Dean into his trailer. It was a tiny little thing with half of it being living space and the other half office space. Mr. Cooper gestured to his desk, where two chairs were waiting on the other side. "Take a seat."

A grin started to stretch across Dean's face as he took in the chairs; one of them, the closest to the door, was decorated to look like a clown. He didn't bother looking at his brother and rushed to the normal chair, pushing Sam away as he attempted to avoid the clown chair.

Dean smirked at Sam as Mr. Cooper finished, "We've got all kinds of local trouble."

"What do you mean?" he turned his attention back to the older man.

"Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first," Mr. Cooper said casually. "So, you two ever worked the circuit before?"

"Uh, yes, sir," Sam confirmed solemnly, disturbed by his chair. "Last year through Texas and Arkansas."

Dean gave Mr. Cooper a fake smile. "Yeah."

"Doing what?" Mr. Cooper asked skeptically. "Ride jockeys? Pull shoot? A-and-S men?"

Dean had absolutely no idea what any of those jobs were. He bet that Abby or Julia would know, though. The Petersen women were smart like that. Unfortunately, it wasn't very realistic for four people to apply for jobs together as a group so they had to stay on the sidelines at the moment—Abby wasn't very happy about that.

"Yeah," Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. "it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess."

Mr. Cooper cocked his head knowingly. "You two have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?"

"Nope," Dean didn't try to bullshit his way around this. "but we really need the work...oh, and, uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady."

He chuckled to himself but quieted down when Sam gave him a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look.

"You see that picture?" Mr. Cooper pointed to a framed photo on the top of the filing cabinet next to his desk. "That's my daddy."

The guy in the photo looked exactly like Mr. Cooper. Too much like him, if you asked Dean.

Sam noticed the likeness, too. "You look just like him."

"He was in the business. Ran a freakshow until they outlawed them in most places," Mr. Cooper informed them. "Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess."

Honestly, if Dean was born different like that, he wouldn't do either. Two negative choices on either end didn't sound like a good way of living. Choosing between being laughed at for money or rotting away in a hospital? No, thank you. He was good.

"You see, this place is a refuge for outcasts. Always has been for folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But you two?" Mr. Cooper leaned forward in his seat. "You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Have two-point-five kids. Live regular."

Their lives weren't normal and they would never be. Julia and Sam? They were the lucky spectrum of hunters who had a taste of a normal life. Most of them lived and breathed hunting and that included Dean. He didn't know how to do anything else.

He had a girl and Julia was one of the two most important people in his life. He was lucky to have her because most hunters aren't able to find a significant other who even understood the life, let alone someone who lived it. And kids? He still thought about the dream he had of Peter and Jonah but it was just that—a dream.

Even if he wanted that apple-pie life, it wouldn't happen. It wasn't in the cards for him.

He went to tell Mr. Cooper that but Sam beat him to it. "Sir, we don't want to go to school and we don't want regular. We want this."

Dean looked at Sam in complete shock. Sam had told him before their run-in with Yellow-Eyes and the death of their father that he intended to go back to Stanford when everything was over. Sam didn't want to hunt for the rest of his life, he made that clear. Now, all of a sudden, he didn't want to go back?

Dean stared at the gravel under his feet as he and Sam walked away from Mr. Cooper's trailer, contracts of employment in their pockets. "Huh."

"What?"

"That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing," Dean gestured to the trailer behind them. "Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?"

Sam hesitated.

"Sam."

"I don't know," Sam looked away from him, looking around at the rides that were now up and running for the day.

"You don't know?" Dean scoffed. "I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State."

Sam stopped walking only a few feet from the parking lot where Julia and Abby were waiting for them in the Explorer. "I'm having second thoughts."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "I think Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job."

That made Dean pause. Sam had spent most of his life fighting with their dad and had taken off for almost four years, without any contact, and now he wanted to join the family business for good. Just because their dad died. It infuriated Dean that Sam was only now wanted to do what John had wanted him to do. It was too little, too late.

"Since when do you give a fuck what Dad wanted?" his voice hardened as he questioned his brother. "You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam."

"Since he died, okay?" Sam admitted. When Dean nodded knowingly; he must have had an irritated look on his face because Sam bristled. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Nah," Dean lied. "I don't have a problem at all."

He continued walking without another word, heading straight to Abby's vehicle. Julia rolled down the passenger window as he approached and he leaned his arms on it as he greeted them.

"Did you get the job?" she asked him with happy eyes.

He wished that he could maintain a quarter of the happiness that Julia always had within her. Maybe he wouldn't be a dick most of the time. Maybe he'd handle his dad's death better. Maybe he'd be actually able to talk about how he felt instead of keeping it bundled inside of him until he blew up. He wasn't that person, though, and that was okay. Julia was his person and she could be happy enough for the both of them.

"With benefits," he forced a smirk onto his face. "We start at noon."

"Nice," Julia smiled and leaned toward him. "Hey, did you happen to see if they had funnel cakes?"

"What's a carnival without funnel cake, Junior?"

It was hard to walk around the crowded carnival with full hands and eat funnel cake at the same time but somehow, Julia managed. With a yellow balloon tied around her wrist, a blow-up baseball bat and a small stuffed lion in the crook of her arm, and her cell phone pinned between her ear and shoulder, she was able to stuff the sugary deliciousness into her mouth while keeping an eye out for any suspicious clown activity and keeping in contact with Abby.

Half of Sam and Dean's shift had already gone by and none of them found anything. Sam and Dean had the EMF readers out and going while they picked up trash from the carnival goers but, according to Dean, they had canvased half the fairground and there was zip to show for it.

There was only so much to do at a carnival and Julia had done it all. She rode all the rides, going for the Tilt-a-Whirl and spinning strawberries five or six times, played a bunch of games while only winning twice, and had eaten at three different booths. Don't get her wrong, carnivals were exciting and she loved them as much as the next person but she was by herself after she and Abby split up in the second hour and now, she was growing bored.

"I'm passing the frozen lemonade stand now," Julia informed her sister, who was looking to meet up with her, as she passed the crowded booth.

"The one next to the deep-fried twinkies, the chili dogs, or the turkey legs?"

"Turkey legs—wait, there's deep-fried twinkies?" she wanted one of those. "Where?"

"By the Ferris wheel," Abby told her. "I don't think you need one of those, Jules."

"Sure I do," Julia didn't understand why she didn't need one. She liked snack cakes and if it was deep-fried? All the better. "I'm headed toward the Ferris wheel."

Before she could even turn back the way she came from, a calloused hand grabbed her elbow. She jumped and whirled around, about to drop her prizes and funnel cake to beat the person's ass, but faltered when she saw that it was Dean. He looked so cute dressed in his red carnival jacket.

"Oh, Dean's here," she said to Abby. "I'll call you back."

"Ugh, fine."

Dean grabbed the phone from in between her shoulder and head with a small smile, ending the call for her. "You look like you've been busy," he shoved the phone in his jeans so he could take a piece of her funnel cake. "Having fun?"

"I'm getting bored," she confessed. "Oh, I got you something."

Dean smirked teasingly at her. "Look at that, my girl won me a prize," Julia laughed and handed him the little stuffed lion. "Oh..."

Julia wrinkled her nose as she studied the almost blank look on Dean's face as he held the stuffed lion. "You can put it on your dashboard or, uh..." she hesitated. "or I can take it back if you don't want it."

"Of course I want it," Dean grinned at her and stuffed the lion into his jacket pocket. "I love it."

"You do?"

"Yes," Dean was careful not to jostle her enough so that she could drop her funnel cake or inflatable bat while he pressed his lips to hers quickly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Julia gave him another kiss before he could pull away fully. "So, have you found anything yet?"

"I haven't but Sam has," Dean told her. "Apparently there's a human skeleton in the fun house."

Julia raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Any EMF?"

"No, but I was on my way to check when I ran into you," Dean gestured behind him with his thumb before grabbing another piece of her funnel cake. "Wanna head there?"

"Sure," Julia agreed.

Before they could even start walking in the direction of the fun house, they were stopped by Papazian, the blind knife-thrower that had teared into Dean while he was asking for directions for Mr. Cooper's trailer earlier that morning.

"What are you doing here, kid?"

Dean and Julia shared an alarmed look.

"I'm...I was just, uh, sweeping and taking my break," Dean struggled to answer him.

"Bull," Papazian wasn't having Dean's nonsense. "And what were you two talking about? Skeletons? What's EMF?"

Julia furrowed her eyebrows while Dean looked at him in surprise, "Dude, your blind man hearing is out of control."

"Hey, we're a tight-knit group, we don't like outsiders," Papazian proclaimed. "And we take care of our own problems."

Julia stiffened when she felt the man's aura pulse angrily and darken drastically. Something was off about him.

Dean sized him up, finding an issue of what Papazian did say, rather than what he didn't. "We got a problem?"

Another flare of anger.

"You tell me, you're the one talking about human bones."

Dean hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"What?"

"My brother, me, and our girlfriends—" Abby would get a kick out of that, Julia was sure. "—we're writing a book about them."

Papazian seemed to except that and went on his way. Julia stared after him, not liking his aura or the vibes he was giving off. He certainly didn't feel like a normal human being; he was dark and had a severe hunger.

Without noticing, she and Dean ended up at the funhouse, where Sam and Abby were waiting for them.

"What took you so long?" Sam asked Dean.

Dean grimaced. "Long story."

"Mommy, look at the clown!" a chirpy voice that could only belong to a little girl came from only a few feet away from them.

They all turned their attention to her, watching as the mom questioned where the clown was and when the little girl pointed to nothing, she hurried her daughter toward the parking lot. Once they were gone, Julia, Dean, Abby, and Sam exchanged knowing looks.

Julia finished typing her email to Beth, giving her a brief summary of how the boys were dealing with John's death and making sure to include video of her and Abby that told her, Taylor, Lizzie, and Maggie that they missed them. Once the email was sent, she started looking up supernatural creatures that dressed up as clowns.

She didn't think this was a spirit for two reasons. One, Sam and Dean had found no EMF, even on the skeleton from the fun house. And, two, something about Papazian gave her a bad feeling. Like worse than a common spirit usually did.

She shared her thoughts with Abby, who had stayed behind with her when Sam and Dean went to watch the little girl's house—in a totally not creepy way—and was currently cleaning her weapons on her and Sam's bed.

"All right, tell me again—"

"I told you, Abby," Julia rolled her eyes and looked away from her laptop. "I had a bad feeling about Papazian."

"So, what, you're Luke Skywalker now?" her older sister joked; Julia gave her an unamused look. "Okay, sorry. So, if you think that Papazian is behind this people-eating clown, what do you suppose it is?"

Julia grimaced. "Honestly, I was hoping you would know."

Abby shook her head with a laugh and climbed off her bed to settle next to Julia on hers. "Let me show you something."

Abby grabbed the computer from her pajama-clad lap and onto hers. She went to PSC's website and went to the employee section. That led them to another site where she maneuvered her way to a page where one of the links under IT tech brought them to a private website that they had to use a username and passcode to get in. It was that website that amazed Julia.

Similarly set up to PSC's website, this one had hunting items for sale like silver bullets and particular knives that a hunter might need and so on. There was a forum where hunters could post information that they've come across on hunts or if they needed a partner for a hunt, they could search there. And there was an online encyclopedia that was Julia's favorite, where each letter in the alphabet had sections that would list creatures under that letter and could lead you to more information.

She had no idea that the website had ever existed.

"How do I get in?" Julia asked. "Like, how do I get my own username and password?"

"I'll give Frank a call and have him add you, Dean, and Sam," Abby said casually. "He's the IT guy where you get the link."

"He works for us?" the picture of Frank made him seem like a very grumpy man who didn't play well with others.

"Kind of. He runs this site and he makes sure it's secure but he's pretty much a recluse," she hummed. "I think he knew Nana Rachel and Papa Isaac."

"Huh," Julia's maternal grandmother, Rachel, had died before she was born but her Papa Isaac was a great man. He was gone now, having died only a few years before her mother went.

Abby laughed lightly, rolling her eyes at her younger sister. "All right," she moved off of Julia's bed and went back to hers, starting up her own laptop. "Let's start narrowing down possibilities."

The sun had finally risen after two hours of hiding in a stolen car in the middle of nowhere, covered by a thicket of bushes so the police wouldn't be able to spot them. Their whole night blew; the mysterious apocalyptic clown had turned out not to be a spirit and it had definitely gotten away when the little girl screamed at their attack, alerting her parents to the fact that two strange men and a murderous clown were in their house.

They had run out quickly after that and had found a spot just out of town to stay hidden until dawn. Luckily, Dean wasn't left alone with Sam—well, he was but they were also on the phone with Julia and Abby in order to find out what this clown really was. All they knew so far was that the creature was corporeal, wasn't affected by salt, and could make itself invisible. So, thankfully, there was no talking of any kind about the death of John Winchester.

Unfortunately, now that Sam and Dean were beginning their trek heading back to the outskirts of town so that Julia and Abby could pick them up, they had plenty of time to talk. Unluckily enough for Dean, Sam did just that.

"Hey, uh, you think that Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?"

Dean was in no mood to talk about his dad—even if it wasn't about the subject of his death. It was hot out, the sun was searing the back of his neck, he was tired, and he was definitely hungry. The last thing he wanted to do was theorize about his father's flings.

"Nah."

"Then why didn't he tell us about her?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out."

That was something that John was actually consistent about; he always fell out with other hunters—Bobby wasn't the only one and if John was still alive, he certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "You ever notice how Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?"

Dean nodded his head noncommittedly. There wasn't a need to answer. They both knew it was the truth and there wasn't a reason to hash out the fact that their father was a stubborn asshole who always thought that he was right.

Just thinking of John that way—even though he had those kinds of thoughts a lot while he was alive—made him nauseous. His dad was dead and here he was, thinking bad of him. This was why he didn't want to think about John. Because there was too much to think about. If he thought about how his dad treated him while he grew up, or how he didn't have a childhood because of him—or how he missed out on so much in life, the suspicion around his restored health just before his dad died, or about the last words John said to him—he would break down. And he couldn't. He wasn't that person.

He wouldn't be that person.

Sam noticed his melancholy mood. "Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man."

Dean shot him a look. "What do you mean?"

"I meant this strong-silent thing of yours. It's crap and I'm over it—"

"Oh, God," Dean expressed his irritation before Sam was finished speaking.

"This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad," Sam said, annoyed. "I know how you felt about the man."

"You know what, back off, all right?" Dean snapped at him. "Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to—"

"No, no, no," Sam objected, cutting him off. "that's not what this about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this but you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Dude, I'm okay!" he raised his voice. "I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me."

Sam stopped walking and turned to Dean with a bewildered look. "What are you talking about?"

"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad," Dean shot straight, unable to hold back his opinion of Sam's change of heart. "It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, fuck, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him."

Sam grimaced and yeah, Dean felt a little guilty about his heated words but if Sam wanted him to share his feelings, he was going to do it.

"And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right?" he continued. "Well, I'm sorry, Sam, but you can't. It's too little, too late."

Sam's hazel eyes sparkled with tears. "Why are you saying this to me?"

"Because I want you to be honest with yourself!" Dean exclaimed. "I'm dealing with Dad's death. Are you?"

Sam pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw, obviously fighting back the anger he felt at Dean. Dean wished that he wouldn't; maybe he wanted to get Sam mad, wanted him to fight back. Maybe physical pain would take his attention away from all that he was feeling.

"I'm going to call Abby," Sam finally said.

It was only when Sam had slumped away from him that Dean started to feel guilty. This was his little brother; he was supposed to protect him, not make him feel worse.

Twenty minutes later, he and Sam were sliding into the backseat of Abby's car, relaxing as cool air surrounded them. Without a word, Julia—who was taking the opportunity to sit shotgun—had handed them each a breakfast sandwich and some hash browns. Of course, it was McDonalds; Dean wasn't a fan of them but Julia loved their breakfast, especially the sausage, egg, and cheese bagel. He wasn't surprised to see that she had her bagel sandwich in her lap.

He smiled at her in thanks and immediately took a bite of his own sandwich.

"All right, so, I'm pretty sure this thing is a rakshasa," Abby spoke up as she started driving back to town.

"What's that?" Dean asked around a mouthful of food.

"It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures," she told him and Sam. "They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited."

"So, they dress up like clowns and the children invite them in," Sam assumed.

Both Abby and Julia nodded in response.

"Why don't they just munch on the kids?"

"No idea," Abby sighed, answering Dean's question. "Maybe there's not enough meat on their bones."

"Abby," Julia gave her sister a disapproving look, her face paling a little.

Abby shrugged nonchalantly.

"So, what else did you find out?" Sam wondered.

"Apparently, rakshasas live in squalor," Julia answered this time, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "They sleep on a bed of dead insects. And they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years."

"That makes sense," Dean nodded. "I mean, the carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81."

Sam agreed, "Right, and probably more before that."

"All right," Dean clicked his tongue and looked toward the front of the car. "So, did the lore say how to kill this bastard?"

"A dagger made of pure brass," Abby smirked, tapping her fingers against her steering wheel, the red polish on her nails gleaming brightly in the sunlight. "Luckily, I have one in my collection."

"Good," Dean said decidedly. "Let's go gank the blind guy."

Julia didn't particularly like being in a bar full of other hunters. Something about it just made her stomach twist. Maybe it was because she hadn't worked with other hunters except Sam, Dean, Abby, John, and her father...or maybe it was because of the leering looks they gave Jo as she wandered around, giving them the pints of beer that they ordered. Honestly, she felt bad for the blonde; she had been on the receiving end of disgusting leers but never everyday all day. It had to be tiring.

Jo was a spitfire, though, and she could totally handle herself. That was what Julia liked the most about her, other than the fact that she was funny and easily kept up with Abby's banter. Abby wasn't the type to settle down with a boyfriend or girlfriend, but if she did, Jo had Julia's vote. The blonde was special and so was Ellen. They'd fit into the family great.

Ellen came over to her with a bottle of beer and a glass of soda in her hands just as the familiar weight of Dean's arm slid around her waist. He sat on the bar stool next to her and accepted the beer from Ellen with a grateful smile.

"You guys did one hell of a job," the older woman praised one half of their quartet.

Julia smiled at her and accepted her cola. "Thanks, Ellen."

Ellen backed off with a smile and went to dry some glasses. As soon as she was out of earshot, Dean turned to her with a mischievous grin on his face. "I think your sister is chatting up Sam."

"Oh?" Julia gave him an excited look, though it was more for his benefit. She didn't really know how to feel about Abby and Sam hooking up. It wasn't because she didn't think they wouldn't make a great pair but Abby was a player and she didn't want her sister to hurt Sam, who was more emotionally intense when it came to stuff like that.

Dean nodded excitedly. "And I don't think she's the only one."

Julia gave him a confused look and glanced over his shoulder; at the other side of the bar, Sam sat with Abby and Jo on either side of him, both wearing flirtatious smiles.

Oh.

Julia coughed uncomfortably and placed her attention back on Dean, who still had that shit-eating grin on his face. "It's very weird that you're so excited about Sam's possible hook-ups."

Dean shrugged. "It's good to see him get back on the horse—or horses—heh-heh."

"Please don't refer to Abby and Jo as horses, D."

"Sorry," Dean shrugged, his eyes locking on the door that led to the resident area of the bar. "Look, there's Ash."

Ash walked over to them and set his laptop on the bar next to them. "Jules, Dean," he nodded at them and waved Sam over; Sam excused himself from Abby and Jo. "Where have you guys been? I've been waiting for ya."

"We were working a job, Ash," Sam came to stand behind Julia. "Clowns."

Ash gave him a you-have-to-be-shitting-me look. "Clowns? What the fuck?"

"You got something for us, Ash?" Dean asked before he could go on a tangent.

Ash nodded and opened up his laptop, which was stripped down to wires, the hard drive, keypad, and screen. Julia guessed that he had built the computer himself because she was pretty sure you couldn't buy one of those. Jo did say he was a genius.

"Did you find the demon?" Sam asked.

"It's nowhere around," Ash answered gravely. "At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like divine on dog dookie."

Julia quirked an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig will go off," Ash explained and turned the laptop, showing them the screen; there was some type of radar and database pulled up. "Like a fire alarm."

Dean's eyes lit up as he looked over the computer; he reached for it and Ash stiffened, cocking his head. "Do you mind...?"

Ash clicked his tongue and the hand that Dean had almost put on the mouse slowly retreated.

"What's up, man?" Ash lifted his chin in a swift nod.

Julia grinned at Dean's pout while Sam asked, "Ash, where did you learn to do all of this?"

"MIT, before I got bounced for fighting," Ash answered casually.

Sam quietly scoffed in disbelief. "MIT?"

Ash nodded. "It's a school in Boston."

"I like you, Ash," Julia laughed as she reached for a high five from the genius blonde. "You're the best."

Ash returned the high-five sluggishly, though the crooked grin on his face gave away his friendliness. "You too, sweetcheeks."

"Okay," Dean said all too quickly. "give us a call as soon as you know something?"

"Si, si, compadre," Ash confirmed, taking Dean's bottle from in front of him and gulping down the rest.

The three of them got ready to leave. As Julia paid their tab, Ellen spoke up, "If you guys need somewhere to stay, we've got a couple of rooms in the back."

Dean exchanged looks with Julia and Sam before answering, "Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish."

Hours later, as the sun set, Dean was crouched down in front of the back-right tire of his baby, tightening the bolts of the new tire until they were just right. When he heard the gravel shift to his right, he didn't bother looking up. He knew it was Sam just from the gait of his steps.

Great, he grumbled to himself, another pep talk.

He finished with the tire and only then did he look up; Sam was standing behind the newly restored trunk, kind of huddled in on himself.

"You were right."

Dean stood up straight and walked around Sam in order to set his wrench back in the toolbox. "About what?"

"About me and Dad," Sam elaborated. "I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him."

Dean didn't respond; he had nothing to say.

"So, you're right. What I'm doing right now, it's too little, too late," Sam paused for a moment, his eyes filling with tears. "I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all...But neither are you, that much I know...I'll let you get back to work."

Sam left and headed back into Bobby's house. Dean turned around, a mess of emotions brewing at the bottom of his stomach. It built and it built until it rested in his chest. There was anger and hurt and resentment, and oh-so much grief...And all of it was because of his dad.

His dad, who treated him like a little soldier. His dad, who taught him how to shoot a gun when he was way too young. His dad, who left his baby brother in his care when he was only five years old. His dad, who made him grow up much too soon. His dad, who made him feel safe even when there were beings that came out of his nightmares living in the world around him. His dad, who loved him and Sam so much. His dad, who was dead.

His dad was dead.

He hastily picked up the crowbar next to his toolbox and whipped around, slamming it into the driver's window of an old car behind him. Glass shattered onto his lower torso, legs, and feet but he didn't care. It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough to describe how he was feeling.

He smashed the crowbar into Baby's trunk; it bounced but didn't budge or break. He did it again and again, over and over, as his anger exploded from him like a bomb. At the moment, he didn't care that he was trashing his beloved car all over again; the Impala just reminded him too much of his dad.

His blood was pumping, he was sweating profusely, and tears had sparked in his eyes as he bashed Baby's trunk until there was a decently sized hole in the middle. Only then did he drop the crowbar, where it made it tinkling sound against the gravel. He turned in the direction of Bobby's house, as if Sam would be able to feel his angry glare from where he was standing, but he came face-to-face with Julia.

His beautiful Julia. Julia, who had been understanding throughout the week since John's death, letting him fuck his frustration out on her. Julia, who had been good about giving him space to deal with his grief. Julia, who was the sunshine in his dark and cloudy mind. Julia Ruth Petersen, who was too fucking good for him.

And there she stood, a small smile on her face that felt like home. There was love and understanding in her eyes as she waited for him to do something, anything, but it made his stomach turn. She was good and he wasn't. He would just bring her down.

He was poison; his dad dying had proved that.

So, even though Julia there, waiting to support him and love him, he walked away from her.

(Gif is not mine)

#supernatural rewrite #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x original character

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oldsoldierr · 4 years

Text

The Carnation ~ Part 6

summary: the media always told you that the famous art critic bucky barnes is an arrogant, rude playboy and you agree, but something still draws you to him. is there a deeper reason to why he acts the way he does or is he the class A jackass you first met?

art critic!bucky x artist!reader

word count: 1.7k

series masterlist

The sound of a gun cocking snapped him back to reality. A low, sinister voice followed.

“Hey, James. How’ve you been?”

It was husky and haunting. Bucky felt the cold metal of the gun muzzle against the back of his head. He slowly put up his hands.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he growled. He heard an apathetic chuckle behind him.

“Well I do.” he felt Brock get closer to him.

“You’re gonna do what I want and you’re going to like it,” he snickered.

“Just kill me already. I’m not going to play your game,” Bucky retorted aggressively.

“Oh I think you will.” The brunette could hear the smile in Brock’s voice. He heard some shuffling in the back seat before a paper was slipped into his lap, face down.

“Flip it over.” Brock shoved the gun harder into Bucky’s skull. He begrudgingly turned it over. He regretted it immediately.

There, on the page was a picture of his sister in her kitchen. Bucky moved to cover his mouth. She was smiling blissfully, with no clue she was being photographed. Brock could shoot him, but he wouldn’t allow him to touch his sister.

“Why are you doing this?” he breathed. He knew Brock’s answer.

“I’m not letting you ruin my reputation. I worked hard to get where I am, and you’re not going to try anything. Now, you can take my offer. Or,” Brock equipped a faux sorry voice. “You can kill your lil’, poor, baby Becca. Your move Barnes.” Bucky took a sharp breath.

“What do you want?” The brunette looked into the rear view mirror to Brock grinning like a maniac.

“You’ve got a lot of questions for a dead man.” He leaned in close. Bucky could feel the heat from his ex-manager on his ear.

“I have only one request.”

Brock continued in a menacing whisper. With every word he said Bucky felt like he was losing more and more oxygen. The simple sentence felt as if it was an eternity. When Brock finally pulled away, he only said six words.

“You’ve got a week. Bye now.” he opened the car door, and disappeared into the night.

It was as if he was never there, but the single Polaroid of his sister taunted him, reminding him this wasn’t just a nightmare. Bucky sat completely alone, soaking wet, with not much more than thousands of strings of thoughts choking the air out of him.

He just wouldn’t accomplish Brock’s request. But the thought of his family’s blood on his hands was so much stronger. How did he get into this shit? He let his forehead fall onto the steering wheel in defeat.

~~~

On the first couple days after, Bucky had been confident he could avoid any of the outcomes. There had got to be, there HAS to be, there always is. But days kept going by, faster than he could fight. His hope for an easy solution, or pretty much any solution, dwindled and was diminished, like a small, pathetic flame.

Before he knew it, it was the morning of the seventh day since that night. Bucky had slaved for hours trying to find some way, some loophole, out of this but he just couldn’t find one. The deadline was approaching quickly and he didn’t have much of a choice.

He sat in his dim living room mulling over his very limited options. Bucky looked like a wreck. His hair was greasy and tangled, his eyes were sunken and dark, he looked like he could’ve just gotten out of a cave he’d lived in for 100 years. He hadn’t been able to get any sleep for three consecutive days.

He had done nothing but think but he still came out empty handed. There was nothing he could do.

Bucky would have to do what Brock wanted. He put his face in his palms as a sob wracked his body. He shuddered in silent tears. They slid off his cheeks and landed on his carpet.

Bucky would have rather been dead than be him at this instant. No matter what he did, someone would die tomorrow. Everything felt heavy.

All he ever wanted was to be an art critic, his dream job since he discovered it. He supposed this was the price. Everything had seemed so perfect, too perfect. He should’ve know. Bucky laughed without humor and took a sip of beer from the bottle. He couldn’t have imagined being in this situation in his worst nightmare. Yet he was still here.

That was Bucky’s last thought before he collapsed onto his couch and blacked out almost instantly.

When he regained consciousness it was the evening. Bucky checked his watch. It was 10:43 pm. Only a little more than one hour until Becca would be killed. It was a ticking time bomb with no way to disable it.

He had a decision to make. In the end, there was only one choice. He had known it all along but it was still endlessly painful. Even to think about it made him feel like his heart was getting cut out.

“I guess it’s time,” The exhausted looking man mumbled. Life was far too long.

He reached for a single pistol placed at the end of the clear glass coffee table. The last resort. Bucky grasped it with a shaky breath and slid on a black leather jacket.

He walked out of the apartment. He got in his car and began driving. He drove as slowly as possible. Maybe that would delay what was about to happen.

He tried to admire the outside world, one he might never see after this. Every tree, bug, person, building. The things he should’ve appreciated more. His destination was now only a little more than five minutes away. Bucky could barely breathe. His arms felt numb.

Four minutes.

Three minutes.

Two minutes.

One minute.

He saw the building coming up. The pit in his stomach grew. Bucky swallowed. If he had stood up at that moment his knees would have buckled. He felt like he was going to pass out but pulled up to the building anyways. He didn’t even bother to park, he just left it there in the middle of the parking lot and climbed out.

He padded his way to the front door. It was locked but Steve had given him a copy of the key before he left. Bucky inserted the key and stepped inside.

The halls were echo-y but not too large. What was though, was the staircase. It seemed to go on forever. Or maybe that was just what it felt like at the time.

With a huff Bucky started his way up. His steps felt heavy. Each one boomed of a man who didn’t have any more strength left in him. He passed two floors, barely registering it. All he knew was what would happen at the third one. He was there the next minute. The adrenaline was catching up to him.

Down the hall he saw the one person he wished to avoid as long as possible. You had come home for a quick change of clothes before leaving for some food. You came out of your apartment and fiddled with your keys a little before locking your door.

You went to keep walking but instead you saw a certain brunette man who had missed his usual visits to the art studio. You figured it was because you had slept with Sam. You still felt guilty. You had been trying to contact him and explain but he never picked up or responded to any of your many texts.

This seemed like the chance you’d been needing to make amends. You were a tad suspicious of why he’d come to your place, or how he even got in but you brushed it off.

As you got closer to him you realized how terrible he looked. He could’ve been a walking corpse. His eyes were swollen and red like he had been crying.

“Bucky!” you ran towards him. “Are you okay? Gosh, come here--” You stopped dead in your tracks.

Bucky had pulled out a gun from his pocket and was pointing it straight at you. You felt all your air leave your lungs. A silence rang through the hall.

“...Bucky?” you breathed. Your confusion laid out on your face. The man in front of you looked as if he might fall apart at any moment.

“S-stay where you are!” He threatened, tears brimming from his eyes. You were still processing what was happening.

“What are you doing?” you asked, fear creeping into your voice. He attempted a smile. It wasn’t ill intended though, it was one of those charming lop-sided grins that you liked, but this one felt different than the rest.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, full of remorse, ignoring your question.

“He-he said he’d kill my sister if I didn’t--” He took a breath. You took the opportunity to step toward him hesitantly.

“Bucky, we can figure this out, just please put the gun down.” Your words only made him hold on harder to the handle. He cocked the gun.

“Don’t get any closer to me.” He told you. His eyes were sad and mournful. He looked broken.

“Please,” he begged.

“Okay,” you held eye contact with him. “I won’t.”

He interrupted, “I never meant for you to get swept up into this, I--I just wanted to have a normal life for a little bit, but--” his lip trembled. “--but I shouldn’t have. Now you're gonna hurt for it and I--I’m so sorry. You’re an amazing person, you always figured out a way to make me laugh and--god--your talent, it’s unbelievable. And I know it doesn’t mean much now but, I just needed you to know that you have been the best part of my life--for a while now--and I’m so lucky to have found you. Visit me in hell, if you get the chance.” Bucky breathed out a chuckle.

“D--don’t talk to me as if this is goodbye. We can still change this, we’ll find a way!” you searched his face for anything that could tell you that this was just some mean spirited joke, but it wasn’t there.

Something else seemed to change in his face though you couldn’t quite place it. Bucky’s finger quivered on the trigger, a single twitch away from firing. He gave you an earnest, reassuring look that was contrary to the rest of his body.

With a shaky breath he continued. “I love you.”

He pulled the trigger.

only 2 more chapters(probably)! thank you for the support on my first series! i’m really bored so if anyone wants to hit me up feel free! 💕💕💕

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@the-fifth-marauder101

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eldritch-muppetshow · 4 years

Text

((another puppet hat fic but black hat actually shows up this time))

[[MORE]]

Flug’s routine for today is simple: go out, get the groceries and supplies for his latest project, negotiate with anyone who’s order was delayed, and try not to do anything too immoral while accomplishing those last three tasks. Placing his goggles over his eyes and substituting his lab coat for a light jacket, he instinctively braces himself for the feeling of his body being forcibly contorted at impossible angles—

Oh wait, Black Hat couldn’t summon him to his office if he tried. In fact, Black Hat isn’t in his office at all, but is resting safely in a box on the floor of Flug’s room. If Flug didn’t already know that his boss was turned into a puppet as punishment for his crimes, he wouldn’t have given the innocuous-looking toy a second thought. But because he was present for the trial and personally watched Black Hat be reduced to a goofy-looking plaything, he gently picks up the puppet by its middle, making sure to hold him upright as he makes his way to the testing chamber (he’d make the mistake of handling him too roughly and gotten an earful for hours afterwards).

From what he can see, Demencia’s quarters are even more of a wreck than usual, and she tears into her breakfast with the ferocity of a half-starved animal. Slowly, he brings her out of her quarters, not looking her in the eyes. Demencia glares at him.

“I still don’t get why you get to carry him around all day.”

Flug sighs, but doesn’t release her restraints yet in case she wants to attack him. “He’s legally in my custody, Demencia. Not yours.”

She squirms against the restraints, irritated. “So what? He’s my boss too, you know! And 505’s! Who said you got to keep him all to yourself, huh?”

“The council. Look, I’ll let you watch him some other time, okay?!” He tells her this every time she brings this up. Really, he has no intention of leaving Black Hat alone with Demencia, especially not when they’re the only ones in the manor.

Demencia huffs, finally managing to squirm free of the restraints when Flug’s attention is turned away. “Can I at least go with you?”

“I’m not even going out to do anything interesting or evil, it’s just errands.” Really, it’s mostly because he can’t supervise her and argue with Black Hat at the same time. “I’ll take you next time, okay?”

“Ugh, fine.” She mopes, laying down on the metal floor. “Why do I need to be ‘supervised’, anyway? I’m 22 years old!”

“Because they don’t trust you, me, or 505 to do anything on our own because they think we’ll try cheating the system to speed up Black Hat’s sentence.”

“That’s exactly what we’re doing, though.”

“Yeah, but they’re not supposed to know that! Look, I’m running late! Just stay in the manor, stay out of the lab, and don’t. Touch. Anything. Okay?” He rushes out of the chamber, leaving Demencia alone for the day. The last thing she hears from him is a faint cry of “And don’t bother 505!” before he’s gone.

Activating the hatplane, Flug takes off and heads for the city before finally placing Black Hat on his hand, bracing himself for whatever he’s in trouble for this time.

Black Hat immediately takes control of Flug’s right hand, moving the fingers so he can “frown” to the best of his ability. “You really took your time getting ready this morning.”

“Sorry Lord Black Hat, Demencia’s been getting really pushy about keeping you at the manor lately.”

“Then stop promising her that you’ll let her watch me! I don’t want her manhandling me any more than you do!”

“It was the first thing I thought of, okay?” Black Hat scowls, looking as angry as a puppet possibly can. But with his googley eye and fuzzy fabric body, he doesn’t look anywhere near as intimidating as he hopes. In fact, it’s taking all of Flug’s willpower to fight the urge to snicker. Seeing the city on the horizon, Flug prepares to land. He’d much rather fly right to the grocery store, but he’s not allowed to operate anything with wings or wheels as part of his punishment. Landing the hatplane on the outskirts of CN City, he walks to the bus stop as quickly as he can. “Be civil, okay? I don’t want to take the bus any more than you do, and it’s not my fault that we have to shop at the other grocery store across the city because you thought it’d be good idea to bite someone!”

Black Hat grins as Flug boards the bus and seats himself next to his fellow toons. “Tuddrussel deserved it.”

“Shhhh!” The bowl-haired kid sitting next to Flug gives him a weird look, and all he can do is offer a nervous smile under his bag.

Yep, this is already going to be a nightmare.

#puppet hat au #villainous au #villainous #ask to tag

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Under The Bed / Chapter Three, “Down”

-> SERIES MASTERLIST

-> MAIN MASTERLIST

-> READ ON WATTPAD

WARNINGS: Mild swearing???

WORD COUNT: 5.9k words

LEGEND:

* : jump in time

* * : change in point of view

TAGLIST: IDK HOW TO DO THESE, BUT IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED SO YOU KNOW WHEN A NEW CHAPTER IS POSTED, JUST LET ME KNOW! :)

@berrynarrybanana

@wotamelonsugar

SNEAK PEEK OF COURSE ->

THEN

He kept doing that thing, and by thing I mean, showing up and scaring me.

Every night, he popped out from underneath my bed without fail, and scared the bejeezus out of me. He left me crying into my butterfly pillow from an impossibly horrible face he made, an insult he made that I took to heart, or because he wrecked one of my stuffed animals. I didn’t know how to get him to stay away, even if he was kind of cute I’d never tell him that, and when he screws up his blue face to look like a goblin, it’s not very cute.

I dreaded him coming tonight, just like any other night for the last two weeks. He never missed a night, and I had gotten used to staying up past my bedtime until he arrived, sure that that would save me some pain instead of getting woken up to frogs in my bed and gum stuck in my hair. He had told me about doing that to Polly down the street last week, and the last thing I wanted to do was explain that to my parents in the morning. So, I stayed awake even though it was so hard on so many nights. Tonight, it was hard, but in a different way, because I wanted more than anything to be asleep after my third horrible day of school. I had no choice in the matter, and it worked out that Harry showed up right at nine-thirty.

“Wakey wakey, bratty!” a voice booms, and I jump awake.

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I moan, unsure of who or why I announce myself.

“Shiiiiiiit, I was hopin’ ya wouldn’t be. ‘s much mo’ fun t’ scare ya awake, ya hardly made a peep jus’ then,” the voice tuts with a clicking of their tongue. A puff leaves my lips when the light flicks on and his menacing figure appears before my eyes. “Welcome back t’ tha world o’ yer nightmares, Josie, loud and proud. Afraid ‘m back fer anotha night t’ scare yer socks off.”

The My Little Pony covers slide off of me, and I fix the sleeve of my flowery night gown that rode up my shoulder. Ignoring him, I’m met with relief when my fingers grasp the cold familiarity sitting on my nightstand.

“What tha hell, are ya givin’ me tha cold shoulder now?” he retorts with a volume in his voice, but I kn- I hope that he won’t talk loud enough to wake up Mommy and Daddy. “Since bloody when d’ya do that, Josie?”

“I’m reading, shhh,” I tell him, turning past the first few pages of a Clifford the Big Red Dog book until I find the first page with a picture of him and his owner, Emily Elizabeth.

“Oh my days, I can’t believe tha nerve you have, girl,” the monster spits back at me, but with shaking fingers, I try to shove his voice away. I have an even harder time finding happiness in the pictures when it’s so hard to forget that he’s standing right there, ready to attack. “Ya think ya can talk t’ me like that, a full-on monster? Tsk, tsk, you dunno who yer talkin’ t’ here, ya li’l-.”

“Eh-eh-v . . ugh . . Eh-eh-v-r-e-e . . ,” I try to sound out the word at the bottom of the page, but it’s so long and I don’t know this one. “Eh-ev-ree . . won loves Clifford, b-b-b-bee-c-c-cah-ssssss-e he has good m-m-m-a-a-a-n-n-er-r-r-r-s. You don’t have good manners, Harry, that’s something you need to work on.”

“‘Scuse me, Josie Stephens? I reckon ya don’t even know what tha hell manners are, now d’ya, ya li’l shit?”

Gulping, I tear my eyes away from his angry green pair. Looking back to the book, I try to focus on reading the next part. I get the first two words, but then I’m stuck again, sounding it out like a dummy. I don’t understand how so many of my classmates already know how to read, and I don’t!

Creeeeeeeeeak!

My eyes shoot up and find Harry is closer, he must have taken a step towards me. As soon as I had looked up, his feet inch away from me, and I wish I hadn’t. Rubbing at my eyes sleepily, I take a deep breath and try again.

“M-m-m-m-y-s-s-s-eh-l-l-.”

“Myself,” Harry pipes up, and when I forget the book to look at him, we’re both shocked. “Tha word ‘s ‘myself’. ‘I taught him myself,’ it says,” he tells me slowly. Maybe, just maybe, he sounds normal and like me. Who would have thought that could be? “Duh, ‘s an easy word, even a Kindie like you shoulda known that, stupid.”

Shaking my head, I move the hair out of my eyes and continue to read, quieter than before, and yet I feel his eyes on me like a hot pair of sun rays.

“Clifford says p-p-p-l-eeeeee-s w-w-he-n he a-a-s-s-. Why are you laughing at me? I’m only five, we don’t know how to read yet,” I say, pointing my eyes at him. A sound flies from his lips that I’ve never heard before in that way. I think it might be a laugh, a happy one.

“Sounds like I jus’ heard a five year old swear right there. Looks like me job ‘s done, ruining you by teachin’ you yer first curse. Ass,” he titters, walking away and towards the end of my bed.

My throat begs for a glass of water and the words that didn’t make sense anyways become blurry in front of me. Swiping under my eyes, I get rid of the tears the second they warm my cheeks.

“W-What’s this word?” I ask nervously, keeping my head down and refusing to look at him. I know that he likes to see my tears, and I don’t want him to, because then he only becomes meaner. Sniffling, I listen as his steps creak along my floor and his musty smell tickles at my nose.

“Which one?” he groans as if I had asked the most stupid question in the entire world. I don’t answer out loud, and instead, I point to the one that starts with an ‘s,’ but my tired brain doesn’t want to figure it out.

“Sumthin’,” he responds, and it pulls my eyes up and over to him. The light catches in the caramel colored streaks in his hair, and the gold bits in his eyes. Shocks of pink around my room from posters, stuffed animals, books, and my Hello Kitty clock look funny behind him. “Something,” he repeats clearly, yanking the book from my hand to point at a word. “D’ya know this one at least?”

“P-p-p-puh-l-,” I begin, but he interrupts me with a whine of ‘you jus’ read it, c’mon now,’ and I continue until he nods when I say ‘please.’

“And this one?” he continues, pointing to one that starts with a ‘t’ that takes me a few tries until I get it. “What comes afta ‘thank’ usually?”

“You,” I tell him, and he nods, at some point perching himself on the side of my bed like a bird. I almost think I hear him say ‘good,’ but it’s gone before I can decide if I did or not.

The books lining my shelf across the room under the window itch for me to go and grab them, and sound out the words with him that look like nonsense to me. I hold back, and ask Harry to repeat what he said.

“Yer fallin’ ‘sleep,” he notes, bumping shoulders with me. I shake my head and blink hard, knowing that he’s right. “He says ‘thank you’ when he gets sumthin’. And he writes a thank-you note when someone gives him a present . . ,” and before I know it, the words from the pages are dropping from his lips, slowly, telling the story.

I don’t remember my head falling onto his shoulder or him letting it stay there. I definitely didn’t know that when I let my eyes rest for one second that I was going to fall asleep, and that the next time it would all feel like a dream, a far away dream that could never be true.

Because there’s a monster under my bed who’s really gross and mean to me, and he just read me a bedtime story and was maybe nice to me.

That couldn’t be, could it?

* *

The ripe smell of mothballs and wet dogs welcomes me back, ripping away the sweet relief of berries and cream that graced my senses for the last however-long-it-was. My feet land with a loud clap! onto the shambles of wooden decking below. I kick the forgotten remnants of a Scooby Doo stuffy away with the torn toe of my Converse. Loud, raucous laughter echoes around me and is followed by a spit and whizz of a bottle rocket nearby. It paints the ink black sky with shocks of gold and white for a few moments, suddenly making me miss the light. The next thought makes me stumble over a lost pink ukulele with broken strings. I think I miss the smell and the warmth, no matter if I never get cold.

How the fuck can I miss that obnoxiously sweet smell of ripe red strawberries, and decadent cream that they’re drowned in?

Would you shut the fuck up, Harry? What, are you finally going nuts here, on your four hundred and eighth year?

“Oi!” somebody shouts, yanking me from my thoughts much to my gratitude. “Wait up, would ya?!” they continue in their familiar lilt. Stuffing my hands away in my pockets, met with the typical cool temperature of my own body, my feet kick up sand clouds when they stop suddenly.

“What d’ya want, Ni?” I spit back, not bothering to turn my head. His cackle accompanies my boring slide down the Hill of Doom Jr. that he rides like a wave.

“Who put a stick up yer arse, ‘arry?” he gripes, almost losing his footing once we reach the end. “Not a good night with yer kiddies or summat?”

“Sure,” I answer stubbornly, my eyes flitting past the weathered signs slapped onto the pole, pointing every which way with words scrawled onto them. Minneapolis. Chicago. Detroit. Los Angeles. Washington D.C.

“I found some peanut butta at one o’ mine. I s’pose I could be a good mate and give ya some, but y’know what ‘s gonna cost ya. Figure I should get even mo’ than that seein’ as how ‘m deathly allergic.”

“Don’t want any,” I retort, walking around the scuffed Spongebob skateboard and Kim Possible figurine lying beside it, missing her signature head of red hair. But it’s forgotten when my foot steps on something, and I lift it to find a plush Hello Kitty with its head torn off, the white more like a light brown now from all of the shoe prints muddling it. A little stuffy that I know all too well, and had forgotten my handy work with until now.

Somehow, it bothers me more than it should, and tips me over the edge.

“What d’ya mean ya don’t-.”

“I said I don’t want any fuckin’ peanut butter, Ni, and I never said I wanted yer company, now fuckin’ did I?”!” I explode, whirling around and scaring him to the point that he almost runs into me. His unruly eyebrows sink and the neon purple in his eyes shrinks, the scaring of a monster quite comical in the thought.

“Fuck you, ‘arry. Dunno who shit in yer bed, yer always high as a kite afta gettin’ done with that Stephens girl. Jus’ cuz ya couldn’t scare tha lights outta her dis time doesn’t mean ya hafta jump down me throat cuzza it,” he says curtly, shaking his head of silver hair that sticks up at all ends. Muttered words float past me as he walks away with the pep out of his step.

“‘s not that I couldn’t . . ‘s that I didn’t wanna . . fer tha first time,” I curse under my breath, kicking a pink stone riddled with holes off the edge, not waiting to hear its plink! at the bottom of Ghastly Gorge.

Clenching my jaw to stop me from saying all of the words that ricochet inside of my skull, I take a few turns until I step onto a rickety lift. Ignoring the two vampires who cling to each other’s necks with loud suckling noises, I tip my head back and close my eyes against the yellow light of the naked bulb above me. I don’t even lose my footing as the contraption whips from side to side and up and down with the loudest of screeches, lastly halting with a piercing ding!

Sulking my way off and back to unsolid ground, the giggles from the ghoulish pair continue behind me, suddenly making me wish Liza was here. Biting my tongue, I try to forget about her, and the other her. Yanking open the door, it falls off its top hinge and I leave it there hanging, not giving a shit clearly. The squeals of the fireworks are almost out of earshot, but now, the shouting from some kind of game trickles past.

“Can’t even get peace and quiet here o’ all places?” I mutter with a long sigh, pushing harshly at the metal gate. It hits the fence with a deafening clang! of metal on metal.

“Heya, Harry!” somebody shouts and I nod and wave. More ‘hellos’ follow between the gravestones as I kick my feet along the black dirt path. “Oh, on your way to The Rotting River, I see . . Let’s leave him be, lads, he doesn’t look too terrible, the poor bloke,” Henry the Horrid whispers ever so loudly and I toss a hand up in the smallest of thanks, only bringing the memory back bigger and brighter.

Since when do I have fucking manners?

Their transparent white bodies float away with their silent steps, and from the corner of my eye, I see Marcus speed away like a flash of moonlight.

“Why? Why? Why in tha fuck why?!” I scream, pitching the hundred pound rock into the black water, far and away. “What tha absolute fuck am I doin’? ‘m gonna ruin it all, everythin’ ‘ve ever built!” the red rock crashes into the water and under the green cast of the orb hung in the sky, it smatters onyx droplets across the green. I pluck another one from the ground at random, in between shards of bones, glass, and lost lovers necklaces, propelling them into the lazy waves of the river, wishing it was crashing tonight like the throes of my heart. Something I thought I hadn’t had for the last few centuries, but here I am, low and behold, seeming to have one.

That doesn’t happen, it’s not supposed to be. My kind . . we’re not supposed to use them, or even have a working one.

How is it that when I saw the glassy tears in Josie’s eyes tonight, it felt like it was being squeezed in my chest? I can’t explain away the warmth I felt in it when her head fell onto my shoulder, and then when I pulled the covers over her tiny, sleeping body.

I broke a hundred dozen rules tonight, enough to get me sent to the headstones just over the hill, and I can’t decide whether I care or not.

* *

The tater tot casserole sitting in my stomach tried to lull me into an early sleep that next night, but with determination, I ignored it. I sat in bed with my school books in my lap, flipping through the pictures and trying to find familiar words. I knew that I wouldn’t find many, if any, but it didn’t stop me from trying.

I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there after dinner looking through the books and making up my own stories, until my tired eyes glanced to the window. There I sat, watching the last few rays of sun be sucked back into the ground, or that’s how it looked.

Smack!

“Arentcha a li’l old t’ be havin’ shit like this?” a voice pipes up, and before I see him, I smile. I really wish that I hadn’t, because when he turns around, that dark glint in his eye has returned. I don’t know why I thought his voice sounded- what did it sound like, like it had last night? When the words from the Clifford The Big Red Dog book fell from his chapped lips?

All of my questions are answered when there’s a loud crash! and my Hello Kitty pink clock smashes into a puddle of glass at his feet. “Whoops,” he giggles as I suck in air loudly, the dirty bottoms of his shoes crunching through the glass that I’m sure I’ll never get out of my carpet now.

“What, ya think ‘m gonna bloody read t’ you again or sumthin’, brat?” Harry says, nodding to the pile of books that I tighten my grip on now. “Not gonna speak t’ me, are you? Y’know that’s never a good bet, Josie Stephens,” he continues, each word laced with disgust from his lips. He licks them with his chalky pink tongue as the floor creaks with his nearing.

“Don’t!” I squeal when he reaches for the books, but I put up a fight.

“It never does any good fightin’ me, li’l shit, ya should know this by now,” he retorts, giving one last yank with his hands and painfully ripping the books from my grasp. “Ooooo, what d’we got here, huh? More stupid Clifford, Scooby Fucking Doo, Pussy Tom and that minx Jerry, and Peter Bloody Pan. Hmmm, looks like a good lot ya got here, Josie. I reckon they won’t be very easy t’ read if they’re in shreds.”

“Harry, no! Please, those are from school, they’re not mine! I’ll get in trouble with my teacher,” I beg, getting on all fours and crawling across my bed towards him. One look is all he needs to get me to stop, because I know if I took one more step towards him he’d pull out one of those faces that’d make me wet the bed . . again.

“Even better then, love,” he smiles that mischievous smile with his yellow teeth that he swipes his tongue across. I feel a lurch in my chest when the first book begins to look like rainbow snow falling from his fingers, then the next, and the others while he laughs loudly. My pleas for him to stop don’t make any difference, and I fear that they only make his devilish smile brighter and wider across his blue tinted cheeks.

“Why’d you do that?!” I almost scream, and one of his unruly eyebrows raises in answer.

“How many times do I gotta bloody tell ya t’ shut yer mouth?” he lips back in return, tossing the last handful of papery snow behind him.

“No, I won’t! Why’d you read to me last night if you were just gonna do that?” I sob, angry words flying with the tears. It’s only a second, but I think that I surprised him. “I thought you could be nice!”

“Ya well, ‘m not nice, Josie. ‘m a bloody monster, I dunno why you expected that I could ever be nice. Me job ‘snt t’ be nice, ya brat, and that was a fluke - a one time thing that’s never gonna happen ‘gain, ya hear? Stop cryin’ ‘bout yer bloody books and fuckin’ go t’ bed, ya cry baby,” Harry hisses, tightening the frayed red and black flannel tied around his body covered in holey black clothes.

“But you can be nice, I saw it! You are nice, Harry, if you just try!”

“What’d I say, li’l girl, huh? Go t’ bed befo’ I make ya, and ya don’t wanna see that happen, I can promise ya that,” he answers with a stern finger pointed at me. The lights flick off with no warning and I fall back when he pushes me onto my covers. I don’t remember when he left, because I was too wrapped up in the tears flowing down my cheeks, and the fear leaking through them.

He’s right, I am stupid for thinking that the monster who lives under my bed could ever be nice.

* *

Even after I slipped under the bed, and back into my world, her sobs still wrench at my heart and fill my head. It doesn’t matter how far I get away from her door that looks like a pixie threw up on it, pink as can be, I still hear them. If anything, they get louder and swarm around in my head. I shake it a bajillion times, wishing they would leave, and that when I pass other monsters who pat me on the back for the sound of her wails, I wish all the more for them to be gone. Suddenly, I’m not proud of them, and I had thought that the few tears she shed the other night bothered me, but this is anything but that. It rips apart my insides how they dig into the crevices of my mind, and how they pull me back to her.

With every step past the cracked headstones weathered of names and dates of life, my feet become heavier, like cement blocks. With each step, they grow a pound in weight, and the stones and boulders I chuck into the blackness can’t even compare. The shrieks and requital of the pissed off mermaids and slimy grindylows below don’t throw a damper on my exaggerated rock skipping.

“We’re tryna sleep here, ye fool!” one of the pinched faced mermaids bellows at me, propelling the sharp edged stone back at me.

“Does it look like I fuckin’ care what yer doin’?” I scream back, chucking a bigger stone in her direction. She yelps before her muddled neon pink hair disappears below the murky surface. “Fuckin’ mermaids, bloody lot still hate me afta I broke tha heart of yer beloved Hera last century,” I mutter under my breath, at last falling to sit on a smooth, red boulder. Prying the minuscule shards of glass from the soles of my shoes, my dormant lungs beg for air, something that stuck with me past my days as a human.

I don’t need to breathe or let alone be gasping for air, but it never escaped me, although most other mortal things certainly did.

It feels as if a stone stronger and wider than those beneath my feet sits lodged in my throat when I try to swallow, her face stuck behind my eyes. My throat soon feels akin to Darkly Desert a few miles away and the emerald reflected on the toiling waves grows messed up in front of me.

“What tha bloody hell?” I curse, swiping a finger across my cheek and feeling wetness greet my chalky skin. “Christ Almighty,” I breathe, feeling the cool tears scatter my cheeks as my nose sniffles accordingly. “I can’t remember tha last time I had a bleedin’ cry, certainly not since ‘ve been a monster. Tha fuck ‘s happenin’ t’ me?” I croak, my head collapsing into my hands.

“Gotcha heart broken by another girl, Harry?” a slinky voice asks, waves lapping against the rocks at my feet. I don’t need to peek my eyes open to know who it is, their revolting voice and squeaky, wicked laugh tells me the whole story.

“Would ya fuck off, Freya? N’body asked you,” I crack, toeing my shoe through a puddle of rotten weeds that I fling at her. She scoffs loudly and it’s unbeknownst to me whether she scurries away or lingers.

“Me’s hopin’ she did good work on it, if ya even have anythin’ left in there. Guessin’ ‘s a shriveled ol’ black thing by this time,” Freya bites back, making a loud exit and whipping her tail to spray me with the water that reeks of rotted corpses and fish.

“Like you’ve ever had one, Frey, it takes one t’ know one!” I shout, standing to my feet and tossing one more stone in her direction. “N’body likes yer kind anyways, jus’ glorified fish with boobs, you are,” I groan with a shake of my head, my feet crunching with every step over the tiny bones that her and her posse toss to the shore like it’s their own garbage bin.

Questions swim through my mind as I hike up the hill muddied by last night’s boiling hot rain showers, wondering how I can fix this. I jumped right past the wondering and decision making, and have landed right at the ‘how.’

I really do have a problem here, but the one that concerns me isn’t the existential one of sorts.

“Open alfucking ready!” I shout, pounding my fist on the chipped wooden door, streaked with red. I’m not sure if I want to ask the question of what made it red. “Zekey, c’mon open up , you git!” I continue, lifting my fist for another blow right when the door swings open.

“Da fuck d’yeh want, ‘arry?” he sighs in return, rubbing at his eyes and only further smearing the black makeup surrounding them. “Shouldn’t yeh be out on yer route, and not buggin’ me?”

“‘m uh, in between kiddies right now, Z. Ya busy, mate?” I explain softly, biting at my nails but there’s not much left to bite.

“Apparently not, and would it even matta if I was? ‘m sure yeh’d still barge right in, wouldntcha?” he tuts, turning around and leaving the door open for me. “By tha way, did yeh fookin’ tell Ly’ that I revoked his invitation? Told yeh not t’, I found him snoggin’ me girl and that’s reason enuff t’ banish him from here, I reckon.”

“Nah, that wasn’t me. Maybe it was Ni, I dunno. Can we get on with this, ‘s important,” I rush, tip toeing a careful trail through his doorway littered with empty beer bottles, cardboard pizza boxes, and cigarette butts. “D’y’know how t’ bloody pick up fer once, Z? Yer not even a monster, so ya can’t fall back on tha ‘messy monster’ cliche, mate.”

“I dont’ rememba askin’ yeh, ‘arry. Now, what tha fook d’ya want that I had t’ wake up fer?” Zeke responds with disdain laced in his voice, collapsing onto his maroon sofa that’s by far seen better days, perhaps last century even.

“‘m takin’ up that favor o’ mine ya owe me, and don’t even say sumthin’ like, ‘oh, what favor?’ Cuz ya bloody well know what favor, need I remind you?”

“No, no. My bloody God, ‘arry, jus’ name it already. ‘m not gettin’ any younger sittin’ here waitin’ fer yeh t’ explain yerself away, am I now?” he sighs, raking a hand through his spiked, electric green hair. I nod and with an unnecessary breath, I steady myself, and prepare the sentence that I’ve rehearsed over and over.

“I need some o’ yer Fix-It Dust,” I say slowly, waiting for his reply.

“That’s all? God, yeh scared me, thinkin’ I needed t’ hex somebody, bring a lover back from tha dead, or wipe a memory,” Z chuckles, springing up from the sofa and across the room to his bookshelf that’s never changed in appearance since that day I met him at the Wobbly Waterfall and came back here. “There, easy ‘nough,” he announces a moment later, tossing a small, dark bottle at me. The bookshelf behind him slides closed, and the fluorescent bottles coloring the rainbow disappear behind the moving novels.

“Thanks, Z.”

“Don’t mention it, Hare. I dunno why yeh think that warrants a favor,” he replies with a soft laugh and shrug of his shoulders.

“What d’ya mean?”

“‘s bloody dust, mate, not a bleedin’ spell, jinx, or body swap. Tell anybody I did this fer you, and yer screwed, but tha favor still stands. Good luck with whateva tha fuck it ‘s, I don’t care and don’t wanna,” he insists, waving a hand at me.

“I appreciate it, mate, thank you.”

“Since when d’yeh have fricken manners, Hare? Yeh gettin’ soft on me, or sumthin’?” he giggles, crossing his pale arms riddled with black ink, one or two of them my own handiwork.

“Oh, would ya learn when t’ shut yer fuckin’ mouth, Zeke?” I scoff with a tut of my head, turning around and kicking a few beer bottles out of my path.

“Hare, a softie? It really mus’ be tha end o’ days a comin’,” he titters from behind me, soon the sound of his TerroVision roaring to life.

“Mention that t’ anyb’dy and ‘ll knock a few mo’ o’ yer teeth out, mate!” I counter, hearing the last few licks of his laugh before the door slams behind me.

“This shite better magic me way back onto her good side,” I sigh, turning the dark bottle over in my hands, watching the flecks of fluorescent orange trickle around, and wondering just what the hell I’m doing. “I need t’ fix me fuck up befo’ ‘s too late,” I say, shoving it into my pocket hurriedly and padding down a flight of chipped steps, my heart thumping harder with every step that nears her.

Her decadent smell of berries and cream welcomes me back first, and then the sound of her slow snores. Her Scooby Doo night light smiles at me ironically, shedding light on the piles of torn paper on the cream carpet. Never, did I feel so guilty. The dried tears staining her cheeks and the heart wrenching sniffling in her sleep only make matters worse. Her mattress sags under my weight and I watch how her chest rises and falls with every breath, a sensation I can’t remember experiencing, but then again, I’ve never tried to remember it. I thumb away the strands of golden hair cast over her face, her smell wafting over me when I brush my thumb against her warm skin. Toasty breaths against my hand remind me that they feel like icicles, and that somehow long ago, they used to feel like her. They used to feel human, and so did I.

“‘m so sorry, Josie, for ruinin’ yer books and clock. Pinky promise ‘ll fix ‘em. Right here and now,” I whisper softly, placing the wild strand of hair behind her ear adorned with an earring of a little, pink ice cream cone. Standing up, I look over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t wake her.

She’s not really a heavy sleeper or a light one, I’ve found, somewhere in the middle instead. With my back to her, my grimey shoes come to freeze before the flurry of colored paper below me. Nibbling at the inside of my cheek, fretting, I fish the bottle from my pocket. The brown cork slides from the opening easily with a pop! before I turn it around in my hands, finding Zekey’s chicken scratch on the other side.

After sprinkling on your screw up, chant these words and it’ll magic your mistake away, like it never happened. Three times is a charm.

Fixus Motalus

“Easy enuff,” I mutter, stuffing the cork away into a pocket. Tipping the bottle to the side, I tap my finger against it to watch the glowing dust fall to the floor. “Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus. Fixus Motalus,” I recite and within a blink, the pile of torn books sparkles before an imaginary wind kicks them up into a tornado of sorts, mending themselves back together before my smiling eyes.

My steps leave creaks along her carpeted floor, something I’ve always hated, because it gives me away. I just hope it won’t do that very thing now, when I need to remain in secrecy more than ever before.

“C’mon, Posie, where’s yer markers? They’ve gotta be here sumwhere, bein’ a little kiddie and all,” I sigh, my eyes searching her desk that, of course, is a baby pink. Only when I pull open a drawer do I find a stack of plain paper, and a plastic box chalk full of markers.

Plucking one of the papers from the stack and a blue marker, I quickly scrawl a note on it before the cap clicks! back onto the marker. I’m careful to shut the drawer quietly and to not move a thing from its place, besides the Aladdin water bottle on her bed stand. Beside it, I find room to place the shiny pile of books with her teacher’s name written on the front, and with my note sat on top.

She continues to snooze away, unknowing of my presence, and ignoring the crackling of glass below my feet at the end of her bed. As silence trickles through the house, I watch until every last sparkling fleck has fallen from the bottle to the floor, leaving it empty. A small tornado of sharp glass whirls into the air above the floor, and like a puzzle, they fit themselves back into the pink frame of the clock. With a whooooooosh!, it flies itself back up the wall and to the nail that it hung from, a shiny glint on its glass.

“I dunno what yer doin’ t’ me, Josephine May Stephens,” I cluck softly, hands stuffed in my pockets as I trudge over to her bed and find a seat in front of her. “But I know ‘s no good, that’s fo’sure . . cuz I think I may be gettin’ a soft spot for you . . and monsters don’t get soft spots for kiddies, we hate you lot typically. Yet, here I am, thinkin’ I might be likin’ a kiddie. ‘m in fer real trouble with you, aren’t I, lovie?”

* *

Sun stretches through my blinds the next morning, trying to reach me. Groaning, I turn over in my bed and call back to my mom when she knocks on my door, asking if I’m awake. Flying up to sit, my eyes race around the room, hoping she won’t walk in.

“Alright, honey. Breakfast is ready, come and eat before it’s cold.”

“Okay, Mom!” I reply, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as I lift the covers, accidentally hitting my bedside table. Something falls to the floor with a slap! and my tired eyes follow curiously.

“What was that? I didn’t have anything on the table last night,” I yawn, my feet falling onto the carpet. “Huh?” I exclaim with wonder, falling to my knees and picking up the pile of books, the very same stack that Harry shredded to pieces last night. Questions roll through my head and no answers come as I flip through the pages that are just like before, not even a page tear in sight. “This is really weird . . Am I still dreaming?” I mumble. Something tells me to lift my head and when I look at the wall, there sits my Hello Kitty clock with her arms telling me the time, ticking along just fine.

Huffing, I glance back to the books but they’re forgotten when I see a piece of paper on the floor. Wait, that wasn’t there before, was it? I never wrote a note or colored last night before bed. Reaching a hand out, I pick it up and find that this morning can only get weirder, and weirder.

“If only I could read you, because I bet you’re from Harry, and then all of this silliness would make sense to me,” I huff, stashing the note in my side table’s drawer and trudging downstairs, wondering what to expect tonight from the monster under my bed who signs his notes with a really bad drawing of a monster.

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gracedpersassonality · 4 years

Text

Golddust

Prequel: Wrecked Ship

I don't know about the future

No one knows what the future holds

All I know is I know that I'm giving you my life

You keep me strong when I can't carry on

When you lose your feet, fall down to your knees and your heart's about to break

I will be your saving grace

Saving Grace - Kodaline

It is hard to see the one person you love the most on the edge of breaking down. And it's even harder when there is nothing you can do.

Three months ago Jason discovered that his feelings for Percy wasn't that platonic as he wants them to be. And it took Jason three months to get along with that. Three weeks ago Annabeth dropped Percy and put an end to their relationship. And it took Jason three weeks to figure out why he was so upset about that. Two weeks ago Percy vanished in the ocean. And it took two weeks to get Jason angry.

One does not simply break up with Percy Jackson. He knows that Annabeth was in suffer too but he can't understand why she did that to him after all the things they went through. First he didn't want to but after waiting for about two weeks for Percy coming back he can't stand it anymore and confronted her after all. He wanted to know why Annabeth let Percy down so easily. The only answer he got was "That's none of your business, Grace. I don't want to talk to you about this. But it was not easy." At the moment he turned around, Annabeth grabbed his shoulder. "Please take care of him if he comes back. I am not silly, Jason. And not as oblivious as Percy is. I have seen how you look at him. If you get the chance don't let him go like I have to." She spoke so softly that he wasn't sure that she did it after all. He jerked his shoulder out of her grip and left her standing there without another word. She wasn't in the position to tell him what to do. He looked back and regretted it instantly. The view of Annabeth silently crying almost made him turn around and hug her. But he didn't, he was to upset to console her anyway. He couldn't understand why she leaved him if she was so in pain too and why she wanted him to take care of Percy instead. Not that he didn't want to but he just couldn't figure out why she wants it too.

Jason spent the rest of the whole day at the beach, like he did the last two weeks, to wait for Percy to reappear.

After their break up he thought it would be better for Percy to have his own space and if he wants to talk about it he would get in touch by himself, right? But that never happened, so Jason decided to walk straight up to Percy who hid in his cabin for a whole week. But that never happened either. Before Jason could knock on Percy's door, it was slammed open and Percy rushed past him straight to the ocean. He didn't answer his calls and just dived under water and didn't come back. Since then Jason spent every freetime he has at the beach, waiting, waiting and waiting.

He was angry about Annabeth for dumping Percy. He was angry about Percy for vanishing. And he was angry about himself. He really wanted to blame Annabeth but he couldn't help the feeling that this was his fault too. Since he knew that he fallen in love with one of his best friends he started to distance himself. Maybe that's why Percy didn't want to talk and ran off.

Nearly in the midnight Jason was too tired to get up and falls asleep by the soft sound of the waves and the smell of the saltwater that reminded him of Percy.

He was awakened by the sunshine early in the morning. He found that sleeping in the sand wasn't that comfortable. He sighed, brushed the sand out of his face and rolled on his back. How long would it take till Percy come back?

"You are really stubborn, don't you?" Percy's voice made Jason almost jumping out of his skin. He didn't realize that Percy was sitting next to him. Jason was a moment to long distracted by the view of Percy. His gaze into the distance, his black hair swaying gently in the wind. Even exhausted, he looked like a god. Jason cleared his mind, sat up, still brushing the sand off, so he could look into Percy's bloodshot eyes. Usually he love these eyes that reflect in all colors of the ocean and always shine unnaturally bright. Sometimes Jason get lost in them, just being fascinated how vibrant they are. So full of life, hope and dreams. But now he only could see the pain behind them.

"You're okay?" Jason asked that with such concern in his voice that he almost surprised himself. Percy snorted. "Do I look like I'm okay?" He flinched by the sharpness in Percy's words. "No... But I'm here if you want to talk. And if not that will be fine too. I'm just here for you, you know. But please don't disappear again. We get you through this. Together." He made this declaration before he even could think about it. Percy sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just... I don't know. I thought... It would be easier if I leave. You were so distant recently. The rest is in New Rome or elsewhere. And after Annabeth..." His voice cracked. "I thought nobody would care." "I care about you, Percy. I waited for you to come back since you vanished. And I guess everyone else would care too if they would be here and know about this." He hated his next words, but it was the truth. "Even Annabeth still cares." When her name fell Percy's body tensed. And Jason mind to see that the waves grew a bit stronger.

"I can barley imagine how hard it is, Percy. When Piper dumped me it felt like the world stopped turning for a moment and we were just a few months together. And we never went through the things you two had to." Percy tore his tear-filled eyes away from the sea and looked for the first time in Jason's. "It feels like the whole world is crashing down. And there is no hope for rescue. It's my fault that she broke up with me." Percy looked so broken that Jason couldn't stand it anymore and moved closer to Percy and pulled him into a hug from the side. "It's okay. I am here." Percy rested his head on Jason's shoulder. "She... is scared of me, Jason." He said hesitantly and started to breath harder. "I am terrifying. She ..." Percy whispered, his voice cracking again. Jason stroked slightly his back. "You're not terrifying." He contradicted. "I am. To her." Jason saw the waves grew wilder, but he didn't care. They just reflected Percy's emotions like the sky does his sometimes. "She is getting nightmares because of me. Could you believe that? Hers getting worser with me and mine without her. How pathetic. Once she flinched because I raised my arm to grab a piece of paper behind her. She said she can't be together with anyone with whom she always feels like she is in danger. She really tried, but since we were down in Tartarus and I almost choked Akhlys to death, she just can't get rid of that feeling. Even now, look at the waves. I can't tame my powers. I am literally out of control!" To proof he's right he made a dismissive gesture and created a tidal wave bigger than usual without any effort that he otherwise would need.

"You're not out of control. Have you ever noticed what happened when I get upset? The sky turns grey. Mostly it just rains, but sometimes there are thunderstorms. We're just that powerful and our emotions are connected to that power." Percy trembled in his arms. "You know, sometimes you just have to let it out. It's okay to cry." Jason said softly.

And after a long time Percy started to cry. Jason didn't know what to do. He just hold him. With every sob Jason felt more helpless. He tried to sooth him but it didn't work well.

"Percy? Why did you came back when you thought nobody would care?" Jason asked gingerly after a while. Percy took a deep breath. His voice was rough from crying. "I just wanted to get my things. That's why I came at the night. But than I saw you, sleeping here. And a naiad told me that you waited for me the whole time and ... I don't know ... I thought maybe you still care after all. I just couldn't bring myself to leave without saying goodbye at least. And I couldn't bring myself to wake you up either, so I waited." "That's why you called me stubborn earlier?" "Yes. Everyone else would give up after a few days but you don't. What was your plan? Wait here forever? Staring at the ocean for me to come back?"

"Yes that was exactly what I was gonna to do and No I didn't and never will give you up. And you should neither. What ever your plans were, remember that you're not half as alone as you think. I was so worried about you and I am so glad you're back." Percy shifted in his arms to look him straight into the face. The light of the ascending sun sparkeld in his wet eyes. "But if that's true, why were you so distant lately?" Jason couldn't help it and started to blush. Percy's face was really close to his ones. He didn't want to confess his crush to Percy while he was newly separated. He wanted to give him all the time he need to recover and he didn't want to loose their friendship. Maybe he would tell it Percy when the time comes. He had a lot time to think about it while he was waiting. He actually had plans how he could do it. It didn't felt right now but he didn't want to lie to Percy either.

Staring into his red puffy eyes he just couldn't bring himself to make an excuse. He threw all the plans he made to the wind. Percy deserved the truth after all. "I had things to figure out. And I didn't want to ruin our friendship or get between your relationship with Annabeth." "How would you do that?... Oh." Jason thought Percy would pull back or be a bit more surprised at least. But he stayed in his position. Maybe this was a good sign, at least it wasn't a bad one. Both gazes moved towards the sea once more. And a long time nobody said anything, both stuck to their own thoughts.

"I am not worthy beeing loved, Jason." Percy finally said with a shaky breath.

"Yes you are. Even after all the things you are gone through, you never expected something in return. You are one of the, no, you are the strongest and most loyal and loving person I know. You put down immortality in the name of love. You literally went through hell. You saved the world not only once but twice. You deserve everything. Even if the things with Annabeth didn't worked out, there will be enough people who care about you and love you." "I am not that person anymore. I am just.. I don't know... I am broken inside and it feels like all hope vanished and there is nothing that could help me getting out of it. I don't know... It almost feels like there is nothing worthy to live for. I am not needed anymore. I am just..." Percy's words hung in the air and he sounded so defeated it almost made Jason crying too.

"I need you if that counts and if you let me I will help you. With your nightmares. Your control of power. With finding the meaning in life. With everything. You know, let me be your saving grace." Percy laughed dryly at that pun. Maybe it was to soon for bad jokes but at least he stopped to cry or maybe he just ran out of tears.

"You can't fix things that are broken once. Even if you put it back together, there are tiny pieces that are missing. Even if it looks like everything is fine, there are still small cracks in the surface."

"Yes. You can't break something and put it together and expecting they are just like they were before, but you can fix them and make them even more beautiful. Have you ever heard about Kintsugi?" Jason was so glad Leo told him this once. "Kin...what?" "Kintsugi. It is an old Japanese tradition to repair broken ceramics. Translated Kintsugi means gold joinery. The pieces are patched together with gold using a lacquer and if one piece is missing it would be replaced with putty dusted with powdered gold. Instead of hiding the cracks you show them and create something more beautiful than before. You embrace the flaw, show the history which only adds to it's beauty and make it more valuable." Percy swallowed. "I have to admit that sounds really beautiful."

He let out a sigh. "But I'm not a ceramic and you're not a craftsman." "No and I'm not trying to fix you with gold. But maybe with being your friend. I am going to accept you as the person you are. Honestly I'm not thinking you really need to be fixed at all. You're just great as you are. You just can't see it right now. But if you let me I will show you. We are all imperfect in our own way. I have to learn this the hard way." This was the reason why Jason was so fascinated by Kintsugi. He always felt the pressure of being perfect. So the thought of not only accepting the imperfection but embrace it has a really comforting feeling. "And I promise I will never leave you as long as you don't want me to. And even then I will always be there for you if you need me. You can't scare me off. Please don't give up yourself. Please don't disappear again." Once he started he couldn't stop his speech. "Please don't leave me again." Jason adds a few seconds later a bit quieter. Percy's didn't respond immediately. Jason could tell that he was caught up in his thoughts. He would wait patiently even if his nerves were on the edge. Maybe he gone too far and scared him off but he really wanted him to stay and he knew putting Percy under pressure would do the opposite thing. So they watched the sunrise in silence. It had something peaceful and Jason couldn't miss that the sea was calm again.

"I can't promise anything but... I will stay." Percy whispered. Jason would take everything he could get. At this moment his feelings didn't matter. The only thing that matters was the fact that Percy would stay.

And maybe, only maybe, he would stay forever.

Nobody knows what the future would bring but maybe Percy finally found the light he needed in the dark and maybe Jason was right, they could create something more beautiful. Something golden.

#jercy #jason grace #percy jackson #percy and jason #i know the saving grace joke was just cringe idk why I kept it #i really should learn but I wrote this instead TWICE #And this wasn't meant to be a prequel to 'Left Behind' but imagine Jason promise this then it hits different #A really long time ago about I heard about Kintsugi but unfortunately Idk where #But I know that I really liked this as an metaphor and it stuck in my mind #Anyway a week ago I was listening to music and remember this randomly and want to use it so here it is #After having an existential crises and writing it a second time because I was too dumb to save it correctly

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

don’t go where I can’t follow

I don’t know guys, I’m sad so I wrote some sad podcast twins

Please leave a comment on Ao3!

Trigger Warnings: Underage Drinking

----

Juno hated waking up more than any other part of his day. And, this morning, he hated it even more.

Dry mouth and cracking headache that had made its home, all nice and cozy like, right behind his eyes. The tacky, sour taste on his tongue that told him he’d thrown up last night and probably would again before the morning was through. A disconnected feeling in all his limbs, lying there in pieces, a dismantled puppet in too many parts. His head rocking like his bed was bobbing in the middle of the ocean.

And, already, before he’d even twisted his face into an expression of disgust, flashes of last night. A best bits clip show of all the ways he’d made a complete ass of himself in the previous twenty four hours, shoving him over the edge of these fresh ones with the heavy realisation that he’d probably fuck them up just as badly.

Juno finally got out his groan, turning his face to the pillow, taking a bleak assessment of all the smells on his breath. Gin. Beer. Vodka. What the fuck was that, was that vermooth? Where the hell had he gotten that from? Had he gone back in time to the 1920s? And overlaying it all the thicker smell of what it had all come back up. Hopefully not on someone else, hopefully not in the middle of his classmate’s living room. But Juno knew better than to hold out any hope.

He was grateful, for once, for the miserable drabness of his and Ben’s bedroom. No bright colours to make his eyes ache worse, no sunlight making it through the smog of Oldtown to sneak in through the broken blinds. Just the plain brown walls and the plain brown carpet, the dull stains on everything. He was glad Ben’s attempts to liven it up had died around the time they were six.

Ben. That thought snagged on something and he lifted his head to peer into the identical bed across from his own. He felt anxiety pinch for a second before he remembered it was Sunday and Sunday meant dance classes. Ben had three paper rounds to fund those classes and the bus to get him from Oldtown back up into Halcyon, he wasn’t going to miss them even if he was as wretchedly hungover as Juno. Which Juno doubted, Ben always had the good sense to drink water and all that crap before bed.

And, yeah, there it was. A glass left on Juno’s side table, gathering some dust now like anything left unattended in their house for more than five minutes. Ben’s way of tugging him towards some kind of functionality, even when he’d been too belligerently drunk to listen.

Juno sighed and drained the glass, of course it was exactly what he needed. He wiped off the thin trail that ran out the side of his mouth and sat up, the movement dragging a whine of pain through his teeth as his body protested. One glass of water wasn’t going to be enough to bring him back from the dead.

He was still wearing his party clothes under the duvet, the sequinned drop sleeve shirt and billowy skirt, his only nice clothes now rumpled and sweat stained. He couldn’t see but he had no doubt his make up was a state too. He brought a hand up and confirmed there was mascara congealing in clumps on his eyelashes, glitter shedding from his eyelids and…

Why was their lipstick halfway to his cheekbones? Had he tossed and turned enough to ruin it that much? But there was none staining the pillow as there should be if some nightmare had been throwing him this way and that, sending him cowering against the bed enough to rub off his lipstick. Juno winced. The only explanation left was that he kissed someone last night, kissed them hard enough and sloppily enough that he made this ruin of his face. As if this morning couldn’t get any worse.

He didn’t really want to know, there was no one at his school he’d be willing to admit he’d made out with, but Juno couldn’t help but run through the candidates anyway. Carlos, maybe, he was cute enough but he’d hated Juno’s guts since he wrecked their science experiment back when they were partners in freshman year and he’d cost them a final. Appoline could be a possibility, she’d been staring at him all night but he’d thought she looked more likely to punch him in the nose than kiss him. Maybe Dev but they’d been even drunker than he was, they hadn’t looked fit to stand, let alone make out with someone. Oh god, please don’t let it have been Sasha…

Juno froze, stomach clenching sudden and hard and he’d been positive for a horrible second that he would vomit all over his bed. Memories crashed down on him like an ice cold wave. Throbbing lights, music that barely qualified for the title, stolen champagne drying stickily on his fingers. Something making sense in the way things only did when the world was coloured by liquor. And a very, very bad decision.

The muffled sound of the front door slamming into the wall of the hallway made Juno jump. Not because that was an uncommon sound, that was how ma always came in whether she’d had a good day or a bad one. Juno jumped because he knew that wouldn’t be ma, not with the way his luck was going.

Angry, heavy footsteps in the hall, ones their owner was deliberately making audible for effect. And then, the bedroom door flew open.

“Juno, you asshole!” Benzaiten screeched.

The worst thing about an angry Ben was the tears. They came tumbling down his cheeks in an endless tide, making his skin a blotchy and furious red. That was the worst part by far, knowing you were the cause of those tears.

“Ben, listen…” Juno croaked, cringing back against the headboard.

“There were loads of people you could have kissed at that party!’ Ben threw the door back into its frame, nearly cracking the wood, “Loads of people! And the one you picked was my fucking boyfriend?”

Juno wanted to curl up in a ball so tight he would just disappear. He hadn’t kissed Sasha or any of his classmates. He’d kissed Mick. Mick Mercury. The tall, perpetually grinning idiot they’d been friends with since they’d moved to Oldtown. And his brother’s boyfriend.

“Ben, I’m sorry,” Juno closed his eyes tight against the headache and the tears that were building up. He didn’t have a right to cry right now, he knew that, “Listen, it wasn’t Mick’s fault…”

“Yeah, I know that!” Ben raged. He was still in his dance gear, curls kept back by a headband.

He usually looked so calm after class, the happiest he’d be all week, like there had been something building up inside him he’d only managed to shake off during those two hours. He’d walk on the balls of his feet like he didn’t see their shitty house and their shitty town and their shitty life, like sun shone out of his skin.

And Juno had taken it away from him with one stupid, drunken decision.

“He called me and told me everything, he told me you came up to him when he’d been drinking and wouldn’t be able to tell us apart and you didn’t speak so he wouldn’t know and you kissed him,” it all came rushing out of Ben like a burst pipe, the tears still dripping from his chin onto Juno’s blanket, “And I believed him because he isn’t a fucking asshole, like you. I can’t believe you’d do that to me, Juno!”

“I didn’t think like that, I wasn’t trying to hurt you!” Juno’s heart wrenched, “I just…”

What had he been thinking? Why had he done it?

“I don’t want to hear it,” Ben snapped, hand reaching for the first thing he could grab. It ended up being a pillow, thankfully, because he pitched it right at his brother’s head. His headache didn’t take kindly to that, pain exploding at the base of his skull.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, I don’t want to hear apologies because guess what, it isn’t going to be enough this time!” Ben scowled, reaching again, “He’s my boyfriend, Juno, after everything I told you about how much he means to me? You’d go and try and take him?”

“I wasn’t!” Juno managed to lurch away from the book that came flying at him next, “I...I just…”

“Shut up!” Ben yelled, sitting down on his own bed, head in his hands, “Shut up and let me be pissed at you!”

Juno bit his lip, guilt hot and prickling under his skin. The only thing he’d ever been good at, the only thing he’d ever strived for, was to be as decent a big brother as he could be. It was written on every one of his cells, right down in his DNA. He was the eldest so he had to do everything he could to protect Ben, to put his happiness above his own. It was all he could do to keep going sometimes.

And he’d hurt him worse than anything ever had. Worse than Ma, worse than the bullies at school, worse than the bad luck that clung to them like oil that never washed off.

Juno knew he’d been told to shut up and that for once he should listen but he couldn’t help it, “Benzaiten, you should be angry at me, I’m never going to tell you you shouldn’t. I fucked up so badly.”

“Yeah,” Ben mumbled tearfully, shoulders shuddering, still not looking at him, “You did.”

“But I didn’t do it to hurt you. I’d never hurt you, Ben. I mean, I know I did and I know I’ve done it before and I said sorry and it meant less than dirt…” God, he was crying, sobs building up in his chest, making himself even angrier at himself.

He could feel Ben’s gaze on him, not angry but wounded. Wanting answers, in spite of what he’d said.

“I didn’t do it because I want to take away what you and Mick have,” Juno tried to say things he only knew were true but it was hard to pick them out of the roiling mess in his head, “He’s good for you, he knows I’d break his jaw if he wasn’t.”

“Then what were you trying to do?” Ben sniffed, rubbing at his eyes like he was six rather than sixteen.

Juno forced himself back into those memories, even as he wanted to recoil away from what he’d done. He remembered the flute of champagne he’d stolen from some senior girl who was busy sucking the face of the girl hosting the party. He remembered going out into the front yard, where Mick was sitting, watching the cars go by as he liked to do when he got tipsy and moony eyed. He’d turned when he’d heard heels on the wooden porch and his whole face had lit up with such pure and uncomplicated joy, the way he’d always looked at Benzaiten…

Juno took a deep, shuddering breath, “I...when he saw me and thought it was you, he looked at me so...well, like a guy in love. And it was so nice and soft and...and it hit me that no one is ever going to look at me the way he looks at you. No one is going to love me like that. And...and I just wanted to keep hold of it for a few moments because I’m stupid and selfish and awful. Okay?”

Ben didn’t say anything, looking at his brother through tear beaded eyelashes.

“We kissed but he realised it wasn’t you,” Juno continued thickly, “And as soon as he did, he pulled away and he was apologising and crying and he ran away. He really didn’t mean it, Ben. He really cares about you.”

“I know that,” Ben murmured, shoulders slumping as some of the tension left him, “And someone will care about you too, Juno. But it won’t happen until you stop thinking it won’t, y’know? You treat yourself like crap and it makes you do stuff like this...and yeah, then people are going to think you’re a dick if you act like one.”

Juno rubbed at his eyes, mascara coating the heel of his hand, “Maybe I am just a dick, has anyone ever considered that?”

“No because it isn’t true,” Ben aimed a kick at him that wasn’t really a kick at all, just a nudge with his foot, “You’re not a dick. Just apologise to Mick and maybe don’t drink too much and kiss other people’s boyfriends?”

Juno sighed, plucking at his blanket, “I mean, I’ll do my best. I sure as hell won’t kiss yours anymore.”

Ben rolled his eyes, red rimmed now but the tears had stopped. He threw another kick in his brother’s direction, one that meant a little more business, “Don’t do it to anyone! Maybe you’re done with parties for a little while.”

“Yeah,” Juno admitted, running a hand through his hair, “I feel like shit.”

“You look like it too.”

“Shut up…”

Ben managed a rough laugh, leaning back against the wall. Juno sank back onto his side, wincing again, wrapping his arms around his pillow and trying to find a position where his head wouldn’t throb so badly.

After a while, he mumbled, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Ben?”

“Yeah, Super Steel?”

“Just...promise that when we’re grown up and you and Mick are married and you’re off being the solar system’s most famous dancer somewhere on another planet...just promise you’ll still call me?”

He couldn’t see Ben’s smile but he heard it, “What makes you think I’m not gonna bring you with us? I’m not going anywhere without my brother.”

Juno smiled crookedly into his pillow, hoping he wouldn’t see the relief on his face.

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Benzaiten.”

#juno steel #benzaiten steel #twin feels #angst #set during their high school years #ben/mick #do they have a ship name?#tpp #the penumbra podcast #tpp juno #tpp ben #sorry #please reblog and comment!

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